Passing through the Way from the land of the spiders to the Lake of All Ways was like trying to walk against the flow of a river in full flood. The stilth lurked in the Ways, gathering its strength, and it pushed against her, trying to force her back. Fer gritted her teeth, and to get them all through it drew on the same stubborn spark of human-ness that had gotten her out of the time-spelled tower.
To her surprise, as that spark flared, the stilth pulled away. At first going through was as hard as climbing the wall of the tower where she’d been imprisoned. But as she pushed, the stilth receded from her touch. Pulling the others behind her, she stepped out of the Way and onto the pebbly bank of the Lake. Her bees, exhausted, settled over her shoulders. Behind her, panting with effort, came the pucks and Phouka. Last of all, the giant spider heaved its way through and crouched wearily beside Rook.
Ready for an attack, she gripped her bow and drew an arrow from the quiver on her back. But no attack came.
The stilth was in the nathe.
The air was heavy and still and the land was stuck in the blurry, gray time between day and night. The cloud-covered sky pressed down on them. All along the edge of the Lake, and spilling out over the grass all the way to the gray wall that surrounded the nathe, were people. Many of them sat huddled around campfires that had gone out, dark, lumpy shapes in the chilly air. Some were hidden away in tents. Others stood watching the Lake with dull eyes.
Her feet crunched loudly on the pebbly bank; the water was absolutely still. She could feel the stilth in the Lake, heavy and waiting. None of the people moved as she stepped closer to them. They didn’t even react to the crowd of pucks that lurked behind her.
“Okay,” she said softly, and her voice sounded loud in the stuffy air. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Tatter?”
The healer-puck stepped up beside her. “Here,” he said.
“They’re wildling,” she said, and handed him her knapsack. “You know what to do?”
“I do, yes,” he answered, but he didn’t move.
She glanced aside at him. He stood staring out at all the people. The little spider he’d taken as a pet crouched on his shoulder. The stilth, she realized. It was affecting him, too. “Tatter!” she said loudly.
He started, as if waking up. “Right,” he answered, and shook his head. His pet spider poked him with its front feelers.
“Try to hurry,” she told him. Hurry in the face of something that wanted them all to slow down until they were still and silent. “Be a puck,” she said. Be stubborn and snarly and tricky, she meant. “Fight it.”
Tatter nodded and, collecting Phouka and another puck with a nod, found a clear area and started unpacking herbs and tinctures from the pack.
She called a few of her bees to her. “Keep an eye on them,” she said, pointing to Tatter and the other pucks. “If they start slowing down, do something.”
Zmmmmrm, the bees said.
“Yes,” she answered. “Sting them if you have to. The spiders should help.” Anything to keep the pucks from falling under the influence of the stilth. Now for the next thing. “Rook?”
She heard his feet scuffing over the pebbles. “This is much worse than it was before, Fer,” he said, coming to stand beside her with the spider looming behind him. “We don’t have much time left.”
“I know.” She could feel it: the stilth seeping through this land, flowing into the Lake and from there into all the Ways, spreading its stillness and death. “The Forsworn are here, just as we thought. Can you get the spider started?”
Rook looked around. “It’s too light here.” He nodded toward the gray wall that surrounded the nathe. “Maybe in the forest there’s enough darkness.”
Leaving a few bees and half of the pucks and Phouka behind to help Tatter with the medicine and the wildling people, Fer led Rook and Asher and Rip and the rest of the pucks to the viney, gray wall. She was a Lady, so it opened under her touch, but slowly, the vines oozing apart to leave a narrow opening that the spider barely squeezed through. The forest beyond was shadowy and dark.
Rook led the spider under the eaves of the trees, where he spoke softly to it. Slowly the spider eased into the darkness; then it squatted and, with its long, spindly back legs, started drawing lengths of shadow-thread from itself; with its front legs it wove the thread into a thick, clotted web that it hung from the trees’ branches like heavy curtains.
“Can you see to this?” she asked Rook. “We need to be sure there’s enough web for all the Forsworn, and hopefully for the other Lords and Ladies too.”
He shook his head. “You’re going into the nathe, aren’t you?”
Fer nodded. She had to give the Forsworn one last chance to fulfill their oaths to her. This would be the third time asking, and the most powerful, so she had to try it.
“Then I’m coming with you,” Rook said firmly. “Ash can stay here.” He turned to the other puck. “Can’t you, Brother?”
“I can do that, yes,” Asher answered after a long moment.
No, he couldn’t; not if he was stuck in the stilth. Fer stepped closer to him and dared to reach up and take his chin so she could look right into his flame-colored eyes. His pet spider scurried to the top of his head and clung there. “Listen, Ash,” she said firmly. “The stilth will try to stop you. Don’t let it.”
He jerked out of her hold, his glare suddenly fierce. “Leave it, Lady,” he growled.
“I won’t,” she growled back. Then she grinned. “Be a puck, okay?”
He barked out a surprised laugh. “Oh, I think I can manage that.” He sobered. The spider waved its front feelers at Fer, as if reassuring her. “Take Rip with you to the nathe,” Ash said. “He’ll keep you out of trouble.”
“Get us into trouble, you mean,” Fer muttered, but she nodded. She left a few bees behind with Asher. Then, with Rook at her side and Rip a step behind, she headed toward the nathe.
The forest here had always felt ancient, but now the stilth weighed on it so heavily that the trees’ heads were bowed and their branches drooped; their leaves hung limp. The trees barely noticed her as she passed, leading Rook and Rip through air as thick as honey, but dry as dust. The three bees she’d kept with her flew lower and lower, as if pressed down by the heavy air. Finally they landed on her shoulder and clung there, buzzing with annoyance. Trudging, she and the pucks emerged from the forest. The wide lawn that lay before the nathe had once been green; now it was gray-brown, the grass shriveled and dead. Across the lawn the nathe itself loomed, its windows empty.
“So this is the nathe, is it?” came Rip’s rough voice from behind her.
That’s right; he’d never seen it before. Fer nodded.
“It’s full of nathe-wardens that hate us pucks,” Rook put in. “So watch out.”
“I like it,” Rip said.
Fer glanced over her shoulder to see that he was grinning. Well, Rip was one puck who never forgot his fierceness; he’d fight the stilth harder than anyone. He was the right puck to come into the nathe with her and Rook.
The nathe. They were almost there. It was time to confront the Forsworn and get them to fulfill their oaths.
With his brother a step behind him, Rook followed Fer over the dry grass and up one of the gnarled stairways that led to one of the many doors into the nathe. She stepped inside, and when he stepped after her he felt as if he’d run headlong into a stone wall—and then gotten stuck in the stone itself. He took a breath. It was like trying to breathe with a weight of rocks on his chest. Then another. Then a blink that took a thousand years. Something felt cold and smooth under his cheek. Somehow he’d ended up sprawled on the floor. All the bruises he’d got from trapping the spider awakened with a yelp.
“Are you okay, Rook?” Fer asked. Her voice sounded very far away.
He started to nod, and then she was by his side, crouching, her eyes full of worry. “You’re not moving,” she said. She touched his forehead, and time started again, and he dragged in a deep breath. She turned away, and he realized that Rip was on the floor beside him, also caught in the grip of the stilth.
He felt her hand take his, and he let her drag him off the floor. With her other hand, she held Rip. “Hold on,” she said. “As long as you stay close to me, you should be okay.”
“Okay,” he echoed. He heard Rip growl his agreement.
Staying close, he and Rip followed Fer through the silent, dark hallways. At last they reached the nathewyr, the grand hall at the very center of the nathe. Sitting in front of the double doors were Fer’s friends Gnar and Lich. They were huddled together with their arms around each other and their heads bowed.
“Hello?” Fer said.
Neither of them moved.
Leaving him and Rip, Fer bent and put a hand to Gnar’s dark cheek, and then to Lich’s pale one. At her touch, they looked slowly up. Gnar blinked. The usual fires in her eyes were banked, the color of ashy embers. Lich rubbed his face with a heavy hand. “Lady Strange,” Gnar croaked, as if she hadn’t spoken in a long time.
Fer knelt by their side. “Are you okay?”
Lich spoke as if he was forcing the words out. “It’s too late, Lady Gwynnefar.”
Gnar shoved at Lich with her shoulder. “Maybe not too late, Dewdrop, now that the Strange One is here, with her pretty puck.”
Rook growled at that. Stupid spark-girl.
“The Forsworn are inside?” Fer asked, pointing at the double door.
“They are, Lady,” Gnar answered, suddenly solemn.
Fer got to her feet, and then helped Gnar and Lich stand up. She nodded at Rip. “Can you stay with them?”
His brother grinned and gave her a sharp nod.
“Get out of the nathe if you can,” she told them. She waved her hand, and one of her three remaining bees flew to Rip, where it hung over his head, buzzing. “And back to the Lake. You go too, Rook.”
“The stilth won’t get us, Lady,” Rip said. He bared his teeth at Gnar and Lich. “Get up, you two.” The fire-girl and the swamp-boy climbed to their feet.
Gnar was staring at Rip. “He’s got a huge spider on his neck,” she said, pointing.
“You think this spider is huge?” Rip shot back, grinning. “Come on, fire-girl. I’ll show you a real spider.” He pushed Gnar and Lich, and holding hands, they started down the hallway.
Before following them, Rip leaned in to whisper into Rook’s ear. “You’re staying true to the Lady, Pup? Like you said?”
“I am, yes,” Rook whispered back. “Go on.”
Rip gave a sharp nod and, followed by Fer’s bee, went after Gnar and Lich.
Fer had turned to face the double doors of the nathewyr. She took a deep breath, as if steadying herself. “All right,” she whispered. “I can do this.”
“You can,” he told her, even though she hadn’t been talking to him.
“Rook,” she said, turning to him. “You didn’t go.” She frowned. “You should have gone with Rip; it’s not safe here.”
“I’m staying,” he said. Staying true, he meant.
“Okay,” she said, then paused, as if thinking. “Actually, I need you to do something. Go and find the Birch-Lady and bring her here, to the nathewyr.” She flicked a finger, and one of her two remaining bees left her shoulder and bumbled through the heavy air to land on his shirt collar, where it buzzed a low greeting. She gave him a quick, sharp grin. “The bee will sting if the stilth starts to get you.”
“Oh, sure it will,” he grumbled. On his collar, the bee gave a smug buzz.
“Hurry, okay, Rook?” she asked, suddenly serious.
Yes, he would hurry, as fast as the stilth would let him go. He was not leaving Fer to face the Forsworn alone.