Trials of Hallion, Two of Swords, Book One

By Maria Greene

Through a dimensional rift, stuck inside a tarot card spread, and trying to solve the mystery why her aunt stole something that could spell the end of an entire continent, modern New Yorker Kate McKnight has to face the fact that she has landed in a different world. Totally unprepared, she is plunged into a war where evil is moving toward resounding victory. As she is forced to develop skills she never knew she had, she struggles to reconcile what is real in her life and what is a dream, all her beliefs put to the test.

Jamie Kirkland attempts to right the wrongs of his father who perpetrated the rift, only to be told he is facing a useless death. Even if his efforts will not make a difference to saving Hallion, he has to support Kate in her struggle to discover the clues of their mission, a race against time that will take them to the heart of evil. They have to recover the six items that will give them the power to restore Hallion, but they have to face all of their own inner weaknesses to succeed, and a dark force that permeates everything.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maria Greene
• Release date: Jan 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310429163

Maria Greene

Hi, I'm a veteran writer of twenty-three historical romances, but decided I wanted to forge a road into a new genre, fantasy. TRIALS OF HALLION is my first effort, and I loved writing about a heroine who is plunged into something so completely different from her regular, pretty boring, life. This is my first book in epublishing, and I'm excited about the possibilities. I'm also an artist, but writing is in my blood and I have stuck with that art form for many years. I live in Florida and I'm now at work on book number two in the series, THE DARKNESS.

Book preview

TRIALS OF HALLION

Book 1

TWO OF SWORDS

By Maria Greene

Copyright 2014 Maria Greene

Smashwords edition

Chapter 1

Kate McKnight's ears filled with distant war cries and screams. She dreamed of a slender woman with long blond hair that hung in a mass of curls down her back. The woman wore a gold circlet around her head, from which flowed a whispery veil. A plain dark blue gown and an ancient cloak that had been torn and mended many times covered her body. Strange symbols were embroidered onto the cloak, and as Kate strained to see better, they moved as if animated. The cloak swirled and Kate saw a dagger stuck inside a beaded belt at the woman's waist and she wore a steel plate on her upper body. Strength and splendor, hand on the dagger, gripping tight. There was something fierce, yet pure about the face with its angled jaw and the clear-as-light eyes, all seeing, like those of an eagle. Full of wisdom. She looked so familiar yet very far away.

Above her head, a silver hawk hovered for a moment, then flashed away in a blur of light. A triangle of gold hovered in front of the woman's eyes; it turned and tilted, and Kate felt a sharp jolt in her forehead. She slapped a hand to her face and sat up in bed, panting hard. Her forehead tingled as if something had dug deep into her skin.

What the-! she cried, her voice hoarse with sleep. She looked around, forgetting where she was for a moment. All at once, the surroundings closed in around her, the earthy cottage smell of old herbs and dry roses. No one was in the room.

Scotland. Liliath Cottage, in its timeless setting reminded her that ancient history existed, something she'd never come across in her everyday life in New York City, except at the Metropolitan.

Insecure and vulnerable, she pulled the down comforter up to her chin and stared into the darkness. She sensed a presence, but it didn't frighten her, and then the presence turned into the solid shape of a dresser, and there was the ancient oak wardrobe in a corner. The stairs beyond the open bedroom door creaked and she remembered the woman in her dreams, almost expecting her to come through the door. Nothing happened, but her heart started pounding. She could have sworn she was not alone in the room, yet there was no one present.

Anyone there? she whispered.

Maybe her aunt was haunting the place. The woman in her dream had been younger, and from a different time in history. Kate closed her eyes and saw again the woman with the blond hair and the strange cloak. She tried to get rid of the memory, but it stayed with her, forcing her to acknowledge the odd sounds that kept drifting in like echoes from the woman's surroundings, the groans, people dying in the mud. Uneasiness flowed through her. The sounds were real and Kate found it hard to shake off the sense of horror. I don't believe this!

Finally, her limbs heavy, she flung aside the covers and stood up. Stumbling over the wide floor boards covered with woven rugs, she headed to the bathroom off the tiny landing by the stairs. Her head swam with images, and that disturbing sense of disorientation came over her again. With a groan, she washed her face with ice cold water from the tap. She let out a curse of frustration as the cold hit her and brought her back to full consciousness.

She staggered back to her warm bed and curled up into a ball under the old quilt. Waiting for sleep to come, she clearly remembered her aunt Mattie. Liliath Cottage had been Mathilda McKnight's home for the last forty years. The woman had been colorful and large, so unlike her brother, Kate's father, thin and stylish in his gray Brooks Brothers suits. Mattie had worn wild colors, sumptuous fabrics, extravagant hats. More than anything she'd had a large personality and a laugh Kate could almost still hear if she concentrated.

Kate had only good memories of her aunt; the stories about far-away lands with dragons and wizards, the homemade strawberry and blackberry jams, the smell of herbs steaming on the stove in a pot. Her father rigid in a chair by the dining room table, reluctantly digging into a herb-spiced omelet, all the while lifting the egg folds with his fork as if there were lizard tails and frog eyes baked in with the eggs.

Mattie had been everything that was not allowed in the proper McKnight family; she'd had a child without being married, she'd been a fortune teller, and a healer. She might as well have been a Martian, and Kate's father had removed the family from any contact with the wild woman as he called his sister.

Mattie left when she was twenty-five and never returned to New York; she'd moved to the Highlands of Scotland, purchased this cottage with some land, grown her herbs, and probably lived the life somewhat of an outcast. Kate had been eight the last time she saw Aunt Mattie. That had been twenty years ago, yet Mattie had always called her on her birthday and at Christmas. She had sometimes sent cards with pressed flowers and herbs.

Aunt Mattie had taught Kate the difference between bee balm and other mints; not that she remembered much, but she remembered the love her aunt had always given her. What could be so wrong with herbs and omelets at a farm table deep in the Scottish Highlands? Of being a single mother? It happened all the time these days. Or some runes thrown, or Tarot cards read?

Not that Kate believed in any of that crap, but what was wrong with it? Her dad had lost out of a lot of good times, and there hadn't even been a family feud. What purpose did upholding righteous stiffness serve? He'd probably been filled with fear.

She opened her eyes and stared at the dark shapes and listened to the sounds of the creaking old walls. Many years had passed, and Kate tried to recapture the feelings she'd had as a child but it wasn't easy. The lone wilderness of this place felt as foreign as China, yet she also felt the roots of the land pulling at her. Originally from Ireland, the McKnights had come from these wild parts in the eighteenth century, and a few ounces of wild blood still flowed in her veins. She could go outside and howl at the moon to honor her heritage, but to what purpose? As if on cue, a pale moonlight flowed into the room, illuminating the walls with a silvery light.

Again, she caught a whiff of old roses and the floor boards creaked. She took a deep breath, got out of bed again and pulled the lacy curtains aside and opened the window.

So beautiful, she said out loud. The moon was almost full, a cold otherworldly disc in the sky, bathing her. Night was like living in a photo negative, shrouded in stark and unspoken mystery. As soon as color entered the picture, the world would take on its familiar dress. The mystery of the moon pulled at her, and she dragged off her T-shirt, bathing her body in the silver light. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. A cold eddy of air wove up around her and this time the smell of roses came strong. The magic of this place was getting to her, and she knew she needed to heed its beckoning, and yet her other life still said: get the sale of the cottage over with, go back to New York, invest, and forget the rest. That was her father speaking in her head.

Aunt Mattie would've said: Relax. Explore. Take your time. Breathe in the mountain air, visit the Loch Ness monster, enjoy the magic of this place. Listen to the silence. Work will always be there-later.

Right now, that's what Kate was doing. The moonlight filled her with wonder, brought her a reprieve from her otherwise hectic life. The clock had stopped; in fact it had stopped the moment she stepped onto Scottish soil. She wondered if anyone in her family had felt the connection, but she doubted it. Everyone lived by McKnight Sr.'s SEMEP motto: Success Equals Money Equals Prestige.

Though Kate had lived in the lap of that motto since college, she knew it wasn't true. The silken prison of money and success had ensnared her, and the need to perform like a puppet every day. No need to blame her father for it; after all, she had chosen her path all by herself. That was five years ago. It would be so easy to live the life of least resistance, but she liked it less every day. In fact, she hated it.

Who was Kate McKnight anyway? She didn't know it at the moment the moonlight caressed her body, but a deep yearning to know filled her now. It had nothing to do with money and prestige—that much was clear.

She pulled the T-shirt back on. The spring night air flowed cool from the window and goosebumps rose all over her body. The night smelled of damp earth and pine forest. The freshness penetrated every cell, and she breathed deeply. All this wholesome country stuff was too much! She closed the window and was now wide awake.

She dragged on a pair of jeans and sat by the tiny desk under the window. The letter from Aunt Mattie that had come via the lawyers in Edinburgh lay on top of the legal documents that stated Kate as the new owner of Liliath Cottage. She turned on the desk lamp, unfolded the stiff paper, and read:

Kate,

When you get this, dear niece of mine, I will have passed over to the other side of the veil. Do not cry. I know there’s peace where I’m going, a beautiful place where I’ll be free at last.

Kate paused and blew her nose with a tissue. It was so damned final!

I hope you’ll love Liliath Cottage just as much as I did-and still do. You’ll find it a great place to live, near the blessed soil, and among smiling nature spirits. They’ll help you through every ordeal you might face (whether you believe it or not.)

Yeah, right!

This leads me to a favor I have to ask of you, dear Kate.

Kate shook her head. Nature spirits? Maybe Dad was right and Aunt Mattie had gone over the edge.

I made one grave error in my life; an ill deed that I sorely regret. It’s not my place to tell you the exact nature of my mistake, but I’m certain you’re the perfect person to set things straight. I feel comforted knowing that, as you're a McKnight. I can trust you because I know you're capable of making your own decisions. All I’ve ever heard about you was positive. You’re the daughter I never had, and therefore, you can help. You are of my blood, and I missed watching you grow up. Your father saw to that.

I left behind a mystery that is located at Kirkland Place, the mansion next door. With my demise, things are bound to get out of hand over there. Anyway, I didn’t get along with the current laird, Jamie Kirkland, the Earl of McAndrew, or his father, but I pray you’ll have better success in that area. You must convince him that time is of the essence, and he will have to take his power to prevent disaster. Remember that. He refused to have anything to do with me, but somehow you shall convince him to do the right thing.

Kate stared at the white-painted wall. Aunt Mattie does sound as if she had a loose screw, she said to the brooding air. She led a life I knew nothing about. In her heart, she sensed it was a deep loss not to know more. Sighing, she placed the letter on the desk. I have no idea what this is all about, but I'll look into it—tomorrow.

The first pale fingers of light sifted through the window and she could see the dense outline of the mountains and the massive hedge separating the two houses. She'd go over in the morning and see if the Earl of McAndrew, or laird as they said in Scotland, could shed any light on the mystery hinted at in the letter. Anyway, who would name anyone Laird McAndrew in this day and age? Weird, she thought.

Jamie, the current laird of the McAndrew clan had slept the best sleep of the century-that after staying up for three solid nights in a row, cutting down Eavesdroppers. He basked in the glow of well-being for a moment before a horde of problems rushed back into his mind with full vengeance. Demons really, alive and thriving. How in the bloody hell was he supposed to solve problems that were more than twenty years old? Those issues should rightfully have been solved by his father, but here they were literally growing up against his own back door. Father had died two years ago, but not his problems.

Bollocks! Jamie swore and rolled out of bed. He contemplated getting back under the down duvet, but he could not hide from the present. He knew that from experience. They would wake him up, as he was pretty sure that they had woken him this morning. The Eavesdroppers always found a way ... was it midday? Disoriented, he looked at the clock on the nightstand. Two in the afternoon.

Sod all!

He stripped and went into the shower. Unfortunately, his preoccupation would not go away with the hot stream of water pounding his body. He knew that too from experience. Why the hell wouldn’t they leave him alone to get on with his work? That was all he wanted to do, work. Alone and in peace. No crime in that, surely.

Even now as he shampooed his hair, he could see the vines growing thickly over the bathroom window. Downstairs, they were coming inside the house, under the back doors and any cracks in the walls. They even made cracks if there weren’t any ... They didn’t care if they wrecked the damn mansion. There was no stopping them.

Shaking his head in disgust, he lathered soap all over his body. Every cell of him resisted the suggestions-orders really-that the Hallion people had delivered. There was no way in hell that he was going to take up the Old Art. No bloody way! He didn’t have the knack, or the time-nor the slightest interest.

He wasn’t responsible for his father’s mistakes. Truly, he wasn’t, but the people would not listen. He was the laird, the next in line to the powers. He could not break generations of tradition. The people were desperate to find a solution. He didn’t blame them, but there was nothing he could do. Every particle of him resisted the Old Art.

He dried off and put on a fresh pair of jeans and a black T-shirt. He brushed back his wavy red hair. Taking a deep breath to brace himself, he opened the door to the long stone corridor. Ancient rusting armor lined the walls, but nothing untoward seemed to be happening up here. You never knew these days.

The age-old walls hung with gilded portraits looked perfectly normal. He leaned over the railing of the curving mahogany staircase and glanced into the gloom of the hallway below. Only checkered floor and Grecian marble statues to be seen. So far so good!

Stiffening his shoulders, he opened the door to his studio. The black curtains had been drawn tightly across the windows. Denying the vines light might be the only way to kill them, but they thrived. The computer screens sat dead and gathering dust; the piles of scripts had yellowed dog-ears and lay choked with vine tendrils. He hadn’t worked for weeks—months, really.

He slammed the door shut. Leaning heavily against the jamb, he hung his head and exhaled hard through his nose. If he could invoke a desire for revenge, he might return with a sharp ax to hack off the new green limbs before they crushed the equipment completely. But, damn it, he couldn’t deny the feeling of guilt in the pit of his stomach. He empathized with the Hornbeams' plight. But they couldn't force him to obey the command!

He ran down the stairs and hurried to the back of the house where the kitchen was located. Winding staircases, landings, nooks and crannies, filled with memories and knick-knacks of happier days. They sat familiar and very still, as if holding their collective breath. Just as he was holding his.

He stopped for a moment and inhaled deeply, releasing the tension in his throat. The air smelled slightly mildewy and damp. Earthy. There was the new odor that had entered with the problem, one that should strictly stay outside-stink weed. The old mansion brooded, a tomb around him. By God, he hated Eavesdroppers.

Worried sick, he flung open the door to the kitchen and stepped inside. Strong coffee was the ticket to clear his mind and bring back his vigor. All looked the same as the last time he’d been in here-thank God. No more vines had found their way inside. His pruning had slowed them, but stopped them? No.

He filled the kettle with water and glanced at the French doors leading outside. A curse hissed between his teeth. Almost dropping the kettle, he saw that something had happened in the night. Moss grew on the tile floor, a thick magic green moss only found under some trees in the forest, but never inside the house.

Jamie's last defenses had been breached, and even as he watched, the crowd of Eavesdroppers pressing against the door shattered the glass and the determined greenery flowed inside.

Kate planned to head over to Kirkland Place next door later in the morning. She'd slept in; no sirens or honking horns had disturbed her. Stretching her stiff limbs, she remembered what the woman in the village shop had said when Kate had stopped there for some groceries on her way to the cottage.

Not from hereabouts then? The older woman’s dark eyes had scrutinized her without embarrassment as she filled a paper cup with coffee, and then clamped a plastic lid on top.

No ... Kate had grabbed a shopping basket and loaded up with bread, apples, coffee, cereal, milk, cream, and a bag of chips-or crisps as it said on the packaging. She also found a tin of Scottish shortbread. The lid sported a tartan pattern and a portrait of Bonnie Prince Charlie. Made in Belgium it said on the bottom of the tin. I’m from New York.

Aye, a Yank. Thought as much, the clerk muttered under her breath. Ye don’t look like anyone from ‘round here. She pursed her lips and gave Kate’s white designer coat a thoughtful look.

Kate smiled at the woman, not minding the frankness. She set her basket on the counter and sipped the hot coffee. It tasted like vending machine brew, but would have to do. She needed to wake up. The clerk unloaded the basket with expert hands, and punched the price of each item into the cash register.

I’m looking for Liliath Cottage. Shouldn’t be far from here, right?

The woman looked at her, eyes alive with curiosity. Aah, Liliath Cottage, ye’re on the right track then-only about one kilometer south of here. Right next door to, she snorted, that nut house–Kirkland Place. Her mouth twisted in sarcasm as she placed the purchases in a plastic bag. Kate could tell she was dying to know her business with the cottage. She might become a good ally for the future.

I’m Mattie’s niece, Kate McKnight.

Verna McLaren. We’re a friendly bunch around here, except for that silly young Laird McAndrew at Kirkland Place. A right nutter! She cackled. Never comes out of his house, but maybe he’ll be curious about who’s moving in next door.

I'm not planning to socialize much.

Neither is he, I’m sure.

What does he do for a living?

Computers and things like that. Writes games and such. Film people from London come up sometimes. A rude lot if you ask me.

What’s a laird really?

Head of the McAndrew clan. Old family that. The family has been in these parts for centuries. He’s the last of his line, but Jamie is nothing like the lairds of old. She snorted anew, then pursed her lips. A disgrace if you asks me. A laird has his duty to uphold tradition, but we don’t get much of that ‘round here. Her mouth pinched further, resembling the rear end of cat. Jamie never did his father proud.

Kate wondered if she’d fallen through the Rabbit Hole into another time. Old lairds and clans? Pride? Family traditions?

You want to stay away from him, Kate. A fiery glint appeared in Verna’s eyes, and then she laughed as if she knew something Kate didn’t. Like I said, he's a strange lot, and there are rumors ... well, I won't burden you with those. You'll find out soon enough.

Kate didn’t want to get drawn into village politics, not yet anyway. She was just about to leave when Verna said, Maybe you, as an outsider, would have better luck finding out his secrets. It makes me uneasy to think of what might be going on inside those tall hedges of his, and you living alone right next door.

Maybe he just likes his privacy?

No ... not him. He’s hiding. You go on, Kate. You’ll find your aunt’s cottage in good order. She was one for neatness and beauty.

Kate flung open the window and breathed in the fresh air. It was early morning in New York, five hours behind, but she felt as if she’d missed twenty-four hours somewhere along the way. She took a bath in the old claw-footed tub, and then pulled on jeans, shirt, and strappy designer sandals. The breeze from the open window rushed in with the promise of a great day. May could be fickle around here, just like in New York. She decided to have a cup of tea.

The brew of Darjeeling tea from an old jar she found in the cupboard tasted smoky and soothed her dry throat. She opened the tin of fake Scottish shortbread and placed some on a plate and went outside.

The thatched roof and gray stone walls glistened with dew, and the deep set latticed windows kept a watchful eye on the dormant garden. From where had the smell of roses come in the night?

A brick path lined with wide flower borders led up to the door. Daffodil and narcissus bloomed, their scent sweetening the air. Clumps of snowdrops and budding Scylla huddled near the taller bulbs. Tulips were bravely poking green stalks out of the ground. Kate felt her every muscle relax and she sighed with pleasure. Sitting down on the ancient garden bench facing the garden, she drank her tea and nibbled on the shortbread.

After relaxing for an hour, she put on Mattie’s straw hat and set off to say hi to her neighbor.

The giant wrought iron front gate at Kirkland Place opened on creaky hinges. The vegetation hung like a dense curtain around her and crept along the ground, choking the rose bushes. Strange ground cover, and so vigorous even though May was barely underway. Clearly the laird wasn’t into gardening—or keeping up the yard..

She rang the bell next to the ancient double doors, but heard no movement from inside. Her frustration rising, she banged on the old tarnished door knocker. Nothing. A bank of last year’s leaves lay along the bottom of the door as if undisturbed for ages.

Whatever. I'll see him when I see him. She went back to the cottage. The day had turned lovely, the air warm. The sun shone from a perfectly blue sky. She stepped along the hedge, hoping to see something of the mansion’s backyard, but the privet grew so dense it was impossible to see anything. As she pondered the hedge, she heard voices on the wind. It sounded like a far off argument. The wind bore a whiff of the sea to her nose. That was odd; the sea was too far away for briny scents. Come to think of it, the wind seemed fierce over there, yet calm over here. What in the world was going on?

She walked the length of the hedge, but could not find an opening in the greenery. Giving up, she went back to the cottage along the garden path curving around the vegetation. A bug scurried across the path, and she jumped, startled. She did not like bugs, but in the country, what could you do? She glanced around nervously for others like it, but saw only a busy trail of ants. She kept far away from them.

Frustrated with her failure to learn more about her strange neighbor and thereby more about Mattie’s mysterious letter, she fixed herself some lunch. It was only six o’clock in the morning in New York and here she was already stuffing herself with a sandwich and chips.

The day turned quite hot. Restless, she slipped her cell phone and the letter into her pocket and went back outside. Her brother Ian might call. The straw hat protected her well from the sun as she sat down on the garden bench. Aunt Mattie had probably sat here and worn the same hat many times. Kate pulled out the letter and reread it for the umpteenth time.

Jamie has to take his power ... What did that mean? Stand up for himself? Make a corporate decision? Take back something from someone else? She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wooden slats. Bees, or was it flies?—droned among the bushes, making her uncomfortable. The silence was difficult to accept by someone used to the relentless noise of the big city canyons.

She dozed off, her thoughts flying and fading away until she only noticed the sun’s heat on her skin. She dreamed that a woman was coming toward her, a woman wearing something straight out of the Middle Ages. The woman from her dream! A long blue dress, a veil that flowed behind her, a glittering golden girdle. Her beautiful skin and perfect features glowed, an ethereal princess come to introduce herself. But wait! She had Mattie’s black eyes ...

She placed a cold hand on Kate’s arm, and Kate jerked awake. A monarch butterfly sat on her forearm, slowly flexing its wings. Kate shuddered, but could not help but admire its beauty. The butterfly drifted away and Kate raised her closed eyes toward the sun. She felt strange, as if the dream was still lingering, actually alive and right there. But she sat alone. The air trembled as if stirred by heat waves from the ground. Maybe jet lag was getting to her.

She heard a shout and she opened her eyes, shading them with her hand. A thin man stood by the hedge at the bottom of the garden, as if appearing like magic. He was waving at her, irritation in every line of his body. Come along now!

What? Her head swimming, Kate stood, cautious, yet curious.

It’s time, he snapped and walked through a green painted door in the hedge.

Kate had not noticed the door before. Maybe it was her neighbor calling to her, and this might be a good time to introduce herself. She put the letter back into her pocket and walked toward the door where the man waited.

A strong smell of pine filled the air, as if the sharp spring sun was cooking the trees around the property. Hesitating only for a moment, she stepped through the door.

Chapter 2

The air felt cooler here. A mist had risen from the ground and surrounded her. Where she had expected a formal garden, there was a dense forest of pines that towered huge and primordial above her. She had never seen trees of such vigor. A soft bed of brown needles littered the path winding among the trunks.

Except for the wind, the silence was total. She took some steps under the gray-green darkness of the trees. Looking over her shoulder, she noticed that she’d walked further than she thought. The hedge and the door were gone. She tried to go back, but the path had disappeared and a thick mist barred her progress.

Her throat went dry with sudden, inexplicable fear. "Hello? Anyone around? Where did you go? Mr. McAndrew? Laird!"

Only silence packed tight around her. Taking a deep breath, she walked down the path, now strewn with rough boulders. What kind of mansion had boulders in the backyard? She doubted it; she doubted everything ...

Muffled footsteps came from behind one large rock. She had barely time to jump aside as the short thin man dressed in a tobacco brown tunic barreled across her path carrying a heavy load of sticks.

Blessed time, where is she? Slowpoke! he muttered to himself.

Kate stared at his tight knitted hose and well-worn shoes with upturned toes. He wore some sort of cone-shaped bark-patterned felt hat on his head. The guy was straight out of a Shakespeare play.

Hi, she said lamely. Nice day, but can you tell me how to—

He stopped and dropped his sticks on the ground at her feet. He swept back long gray-streaked brown hair under his hat, and his blue eyes glared at her.

"There you are! Don’t just stand there! Help me carry this heavy load to the clearing, or there won’t be any supper for you. He glanced at her jeans and strappy sandals. You look silly enough; not dressed for this work at all. Just my luck that I was chosen to find you."

Kate’s anger rose at his rudeness, but she reigned it in. She needed to get him to find the green door in the hedge again. Are you Jamie, the laird, by any chance? She held out her hand. I’m Kate McKnight.

The man laughed and made a derogatory gesture. The laird? That failure of a magician? Hardly. I’d rather be dead. With his kind of help, Hallion will fall and its entire people with it. He pussyfoots around and won’t take his power. I can’t stand weaklings. With that kind of backbone, he will melt into a puddle. Kil Morgol will evaporate him with a swing of his arm.

I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about. The man reminded her of a small tree trunk, his face like creased leather and his hands tough as bark. I would appreciate it if you could show me back to Liliath Cottage.

Ha! Another pussyfoot. I should’ve known. Well, well. I told the others that this was a compete waste of time, and I was right. But then I always am, but will anyone listen? Nooo. He gave an exaggerated sigh and bent to retrieve the sticks. Nevertheless you’re here and you’re young enough to carry a few spears, aren’t you?

Kate thought. If he left her now, she wouldn’t know how to get back. If I do, will you help me find my way back to Liliath Cottage afterwards? She knew where she’d seen the man before. In a book about Tarot cards that one of her friends in New York owned. Too strange. She took a deep breath, desperate to find her way back. Maybe you can introduce me to Jamie and he-

"Hah! You’ll meet him soon enough. We’ve got him now, or the Eavesdroppers did. We won’t let him back inside until he promises to help us. Not that anything will change, even if he does decide to give us his aid. Come on, that is if you have courage enough to face the angry people of Hallion. His lips pursed thoughtfully as he looked her up and down. I doubt it."

Kate bristled at his criticism. You judge me without knowing me? I resent that.

If we have to rely on the likes of you, we’re bound to fail.

You’re a pessimist, aren’t you, Kate thought and hoisted the remaining sticks off the ground. The sticks, saplings, from which all the branches had been cut recently, seemed to vibrate in her arms. A low level buzz filled her head for a moment, and then faded away. What are these?

Tools ... weapons, he grumbled. To ward off Morgol’s brain power. Without these willow trees, we would all be dead, killed. He doesn’t know where we are, but he will if we stay here much longer. The laird’s stubbornness has delayed us. And without the wands the crops will die.

He made less and less sense, but Kate felt the power of the willows running up her arm. They conveyed their strength to her. Her fear faded rapidly. Can I ask who you are?

"Will Hornbeam, of the Carpinus family. We’re also called Ironwood. Still, it was ridiculous to send me to carry all of these spears alone. I’m an old man and deserve some rest in my old age."

You look vigorous enough, she said, grimacing at his back. And a jerk. She had difficulty keeping up with him as he hurried through the forest. Sap-scented air filled her lungs. The mist still hovered over the ground and touched her skin, but she didn’t feel cold.

In the old days, I could run twice as fast. That was before they poisoned the air.

Kate sniffed. It seems perfectly pure to me.

You don’t know what pure air is, he scoffed. Come to think of it, you and your kind, don’t know much, do you.

Her voice rose with anger. What do you mean? Humankind? That’s a sweeping generalization, and I resent-

See? You instantly go defensive as if you know everything. Truth is, you’re completely incapable of original thought. You think you’ve got it figured out, while in reality you’re a bunch of sheep-following each other over the edge of the abyss.

You’re one of us, if I’m not mistaken, she replied forcefully and poked his shoulder with one of the sticks.

He jumped aside as if touched by electric shock. Don’t do that! Are you trying to kill me?

Kate stared in surprise, but she was pleased to have caught his attention. I could, after what you said. Admit it, you’re human, so don’t condemn our species.

"Never pretended to be human-like you do. Humans don’t know what it means to be human. I am Ironwood. At least we have some common sense."

Frustration roiled in her stomach. Just stop it, okay? The man couldn’t convince her that he was some type of tree.

Keep on walking, and try to keep those wands away from my back. You can do that, can’t you? He gave her a long sour look and resumed his pace.

After another half hour, they reached a flat part of the path. It wound beside a stream that reminded her of the one going through Kirkland village. Had they gone into the Scottish countryside without her noticing? Of course they had. It wouldn’t take half an hour to walk through the garden of Kirkland Place, even if the garden was vast. Spooky.

They walked along a valley at the edge of the forest and came to a kind of hollow surrounded by trees. Kate couldn’t believe her eyes, but there stood a large group dressed like Will Hornbeam, and some wore wreaths of green leaves on their heads. The deciduous trees around them had fully developed leaves as if spring was further along here. Now this was truly weird. Maybe the sun warmed this valley faster than the area around Liliath Cottage. She glanced around; there was actually a sea of Hornbeams.

I found her, Will