Departure
BEN 
After waking the next morning, Ben lay in bed with his eyes closed for a little while. His pillow was marvelously soft and smelled of hay. I’m in Faerie, he thought. At Queen Titania’s court.
When he finally opened his eyes, a moon-moth was tumbling across the dark room. He reached out, and the featherlight moth settled on his hand. Its little feet tickled his skin, and it glowed more brightly. It was like a light bulb you could dim with a switch—just way more amazing. Ben softly blew on its wings, and it fluttered away. He sat up and threw off his blanket. As he moved, the other moon-moths in a jar by the wall woke up, casting their milky light over the walls and ceiling. Ben looked anxiously at Portia’s bed. If she was still asleep, the light would surely wake her up.
He was surprised to see that her bed was empty. Ben frowned and got up. He had no idea what time it was, but he felt well rested. More and more moon-moths fluttered about the room until Ben felt he was standing in a cloud of glowing pollen. Portia’s backpack was sitting on the stool by his bed. She had attached a note to the safety pin holding Ridik’s feather. Ben tore it off and began to read:
For your journey. You can ask Meralyn to refill the thermos. Blister Band-Aids are in the mesh pocket inside. Good luck!
Ben took a moment to process the message. Then he understood. This was Portia’s goodbye. And she was leaving him her backpack. He felt a warm glow spread through his chest like sunlight.
Curious, he opened the backpack, and found the thermos, Portia’s map, and the promised Band-Aids, as well as a slim red notebook. Ben opened the notebook and found that it was empty—except for the very first page. With a black felt pen, Portia had written Summer Vacation in Wales at the top of the page. Underneath, she had glued in a section of a map of north Wales, and a Welsh flag. In the lower corner, she had pasted in the ticket for Conwy Castle with tape, and next to it she had written Conwy, 10th August. It was a travel diary!
Ben flipped through the blank pages, thinking how he would have liked to find out what else Portia was going to add to her diary. He could have helped her, could have shown her some exciting places or helped her cut out pictures. Perhaps she would have let him add a few small drawings of his own.
Suddenly he wished he’d had a chance to say a proper goodbye. Or rather, he wished there had been no need for a goodbye. It was a strange feeling for Ben. He never wanted to spend time with his classmates, but he would have liked to get to know Portia better.
The dye works were in a big cave in the eastern wing of the palace, where daylight streamed in through gaping cracks in the ceiling.
The cracks provided natural ventilation, which was fortunate, because the cave smelled absolutely disgusting. Large tubs of colored water lined the walls, and the air was thick with the stink of vinegar and urine. The dye workers didn’t seem to pay the smell any mind, though. They hustled and bustled everywhere, dipping fabric into the tubs or stirring plants and other ingredients in steaming water. No one paid any attention to Gwil and his companion.
Meralyn had dressed Ben in Fairy World clothes: a pair of comfortable boots, brown wool trousers, a plain shirt, and a scuffed leather jacket that was a few sizes too big. Last but not least, he wore fingerless gloves, just like Gwil’s. The only mismatched detail was Portia’s green backpack.
Gwil’s face wore a determined expression, but his hands revealed how tense he really was. He laced and unlaced his fingers again and again. It was strange, but somehow Gwil’s nervousness made Ben feel braver. He was on the brink of an adventure. And he had come well prepared.
“Ah,” Gwil sighed suddenly. “There she is.”
Ben followed his gaze, and saw Meralyn making her way through the dye workers, easily clearing a path with her long stride. In her hand, she held a folded piece of parchment.
“Has he…?” Gwil asked when Meralyn had reached them.
“He has indeed.” Meralyn grinned and handed the parchment to Gwil. “One look at that fabric, and he immediately agreed to allow you some travel time.”
“Good, good.” Gwil’s hand was trembling. Meralyn’s expression was serious again. She took his hand and squeezed it gently.
“Good,” Gwil repeated. He opened the note and read the foreign-sounding words it contained aloud. A shiver passed through his whole body, and then he sighed, clearly relieved.
“Are you okay?” Ben asked.
“Yes.” Gwil smiled faintly and raised his wrist. His tattoo had paled to a gray band. “It feels as if an iron manacle has been removed from my wrist.”
“Five days,” Meralyn said. “That’s as long as I could get.”
“Pricklethorn believed the story?” Gwil asked.
Meralyn nodded. “I told him you’re going to look for a recipe for cerulean ink at the library. Five days,” she said again, and now Ben thought he heard some doubt in her voice. “Long enough for a journey to World’s End.”
“And for everything else as well. Now”—Gwil looked at Ben—“shall we be on our way?”
Ben was still staring at Gwil’s wrist. “What happens if Titania finds out that you took me with you? Won’t she activate the mark again?” he asked, concerned.
“She can’t,” Meralyn said. “For Titania to do that, the bearer of the mark must be there to hear her words.”
“And if she does realize that you’ve come along, we’ll be miles away by then,” Gwil added.
“Okay,” Ben said. “Thank you, Meralyn.”
“Oh, don’t mention it.” She smiled, and then turned to Gwil again. “Weather permitting, you’ll make it to World’s End by tomorrow evening. Here.” She pulled a little pouch from a pocket of her robe and held it out to Gwil. “Take these with you.”
Gwil accepted the pouch and opened it. His eyes widened. “Oh. Oh no. That’s not a good idea, Meralyn.”
Curious, Ben peeked inside the pouch, but all he saw were a few smooth gray pebbles. “What are they?”
“Ember pebbles,” Meralyn replied. “One touch, and they grow as hot as if they’ve been sitting in a blazing fire.”
“No, no,” Gwil repeated, and handed the pouch back to Meralyn, closing her hand around it. “I can’t have these on me. I… I wouldn’t be able to restrain myself.”
“But you’ll need them. Maybe. If you’re running out of time.”
“What’s so bad about a few hot pebbles?” Ben asked.
“If I take one in my hand, I’ll shape-shift immediately,” Gwil explained. “And I won’t be of any use or help to you in my animal shape.”
“Well, I’m not suggesting you use them right away,” Meralyn said. “But five days isn’t such a long time. And if the mark is reactivated—”
“Meralyn!” Gwil protested.
“… then the pain will return,” she said, finishing her sentence.
“Pain?” asked Ben, aghast.
Meralyn nodded gravely. “The mark spell inflicts terrible pain if Titania discovers we have disobeyed her, or if we stray from the hill without permission. Only when we shape-shift do we lose the pain. That’s the choice she has given us. Either we submit to her rule completely, or we spend our lives in our animal shape.” Her expression softened. “Gwil, take the pebbles.”
Gwil blushed. “All right. But Ben should look after them for me.” He turned to Ben. “Please don’t give them to me until it’s absolutely necessary.”
Ben took the pouch and put it into his jacket pocket. “Why would you want them earlier?”
Gwil gave a shamefaced smile. “Because we salamanders love fire, and everything that gives off heat. It’s in our nature. And sometimes that is, let’s say, rather disadvantageous.”
Meralyn shot him an amused glance. “Gwil likes the heat just a little too much.” Gwil’s face was still glowing, but he was smiling too.
“Now then,” she said. “That’s that.” She looked from Ben to Gwil and back to Ben. “Be careful, both of you.”
Ben felt a tingling sensation crawling across his skin. They were setting off on a journey. A journey into the Otherworld, where even more wondrous places and creatures must await. This hill of fairies and shape-shifters was just the beginning.