Oakwing Page 5

  “She has the gift, then?” asked Harold.

  “Her pain is real,” replied the GodMother. “I could feel it.”

  They glanced back inside at the sleeping Rowan.

  “She won’t rest easily. It’s why I had to bring her,” said Harold. “It reminds me of . . . the last time.”

  Rowan turned in her sleep. The acorn pendant that had been tucked beneath her dress fell out across her collarbone. The GodMother’s eyes widened.

  “What’s that? Around her neck?” she asked.

  Harold hopped in to take a closer look.

  “Oh my,” he said. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice before.”

  The GodMother lowered herself next to Rowan, slowly morphing back into a fairy as she did so. The feathers of the GodMother’s wing shrank away to reveal a hand that gently lifted the pendant to her face so that she could examine it more closely.

  “This changes everything,” said the GodMother. “We must wake her as soon as dusk has fallen. Has she encountered a fox yet?”

  Harold looked at the ground and nodded. The GodMother sighed.

  “Then they will almost certainly come tonight, and she cannot be here when they do. You have to get her away, Harold. And there’s only one place she’ll want to go.”

  Harold looked troubled.

  “I know you don’t believe you can do this,” said the GodMother. “But I do. I always have.”

  • • •

  Rowan was dreaming. It was a dream she’d had many times since her mom had disappeared. She would open the door to their apartment to hear music. Drawn to the sound, she would slowly follow it to the living room to see her mother standing by the window. Her mom would be facing away from Rowan, with her violin to her chin, its bow sliding gracefully across the strings. Rowan would call to her, but no voice would come out. Her mom wouldn’t turn. Rowan would struggle to take a step toward her, but find she could no longer move. Rowan would try to open her mouth, but no words would emerge. All she could do was watch, as tears slipped down her face. And then the dream changed from the usual. She reached for her pendant to find . . . that another hand was holding it! She woke with a start to see the GodMother with Rowan’s pendant in her palm.

  “No!” she cried, shrinking back against the wall of the duck house. “What are you doing?”

  “It’s all right, Rowan. We just had to be sure,” said Harold in a calming voice.

  “Sure of what?”

  “The last time we saw a pendant like that was seven years ago,” said the GodMother.

  “But the only other pendant like this was my mother’s. . . .”

  “And where is your mother, child?”

  “She disappeared.” Rowan’s eyes widened with the realization. “Seven years ago.”

  “Rowan,” said the GodMother, “there’s a lot to tell you, and not much time to tell you in.”

  “She’s here? Are you saying Mom is here?”

  “Perhaps, yes,” replied the GodMother, but she didn’t look as happy as Rowan would have liked her to.

  “What’s the matter? Where is she? Is she all right?”

  “Slow down, Rowan,” said the GodMother. “Give me a chance to explain.”

  Aiken and Olor began to blink awake.

  “You remember the story I told you—about the last fairy who thought she possessed the Heart of Oak? She was never seen again.”

  “That was my mom?” she whispered.

  “You know why people turn into fairies, Rowan. Because they feel unloved. And for them, coming here is the most blessed relief,” began the GodMother. “But other fairies . . . like you? Well, they wish they weren’t here. Like I said, it’s rare, but it happens. And those fairies, those restless souls, are the ones who seem to have the power of transformation. They can transform themselves into the many plants or creatures of their Realms.”

  “Like Rowan can?” Aiken piped up.

  “It’s possible,” said the GodMother.

  “Like my mom?” asked Rowan.

  “If the fairy I knew was indeed your mother,” replied the GodMother, “she was a fairy with great power.”

  “So she went looking for the Heart of Oak? To get back to us?” asked Rowan, her mind racing.

  “Not exactly,” replied the GodMother. “She thought she already had it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Her necklace. An oak tree with a carved-out heart. But before she got a chance to find out how to use it . . .”

  “What? Where is she?” Rowan was almost in tears with frustration.

  The GodMother exchanged glances with Harold.

  “Vulpes,” said Harold softly.

  Aiken and Olor looked nervously at each other.

  “What’s Vulpes?” cried Rowan.

  “Vulpes is a fairy,” said Harold, picking up the story. “An angry, vengeful, dangerous fairy.”

  “He fell into this world many, many years ago when he was around your age,” said the GodMother. “In the human world he was heir to a great estate in Greenwich, but when his father died, he fell into deep despair beneath a weeping beech in Greenwich Park. There he became a fairy of the fox. One day he saw his uncle walking through the park, and overheard him boasting of how he had been responsible for his brother’s death. By getting rid of Vulpes’s father, the uncle had inherited the other man’s fortune. Vulpes flew into a rage, desperate to become human again to take revenge. Ever since, he has hunted down any fairy who might possess the Heart of Oak so that he might avenge his father.”

  “So he wanted to find my mom?” Rowan was almost in a panic now.

  “Let us say that this fairy was your mother,” said the GodMother in a reassuring tone. “When she fell into the Realms, she was desperate to get home. Her soul was one of the most restless we had ever seen, and that made her a truly powerful fairy. Not only could she transform into the trees of Hyde Park, but the birds of St. James as well. Vulpes heard about her pendant and assumed it was the Heart of Oak. Naturally, he wanted to take it from her. He attacked the Park of St. James, along with his tribe of foxes. We lost many fairies in that battle.”

  “And my mother?” pleaded Rowan, terrified at the thought she might have lost her mother for a second time.

  “Vulpes managed to snatch the necklace. But he realized he couldn’t use it. He wasn’t the most powerful fairy in the Realms, which meant the pendant was powerless in his grasp. By the time he realized this, we’d had a chance to spirit your mother out of the park to safety,” said the GodMother.

  “Where did she go?”

  The GodMother paused, glancing around as if the walls might have ears to hear the secret. She lowered her voice to a whisper to continue. “She transformed herself into a swan and flew to the River Fairies in Bushy Park. At Bushy there was another fairy—Jack Pike. He hid her. To this day Vulpes still can’t find her. But his foxes lay siege to Bushy Park and are constantly on the prowl. She’s never been able to come out of hiding.”

  “But you know where she is, right?” Rowan asked.

  The GodMother looked to the floor. “We . . . have an idea.”

  “Perfect.” Rowan shook her head in disbelief. “So what will Vulpes do if he gets to her?” Rowan looked around at the others, but no one seemed to want to meet her gaze.

  “He has to make sure that he is the most powerful fairy in the Realms.” Harold paused for a breath. “By making sure that no greater fairy exists.”

  “And he does that by getting rid of my mother?” Panic prickled across Rowan’s skin. “I have to go. I have to help. I have to do something!”

  No one said a word.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Rowan, looking across the faces that were avoiding her gaze. “I’ll take the Heart of Oak from Vulpes and reunite it with my mom, and then we can all go home! Vulpes won’t have to defeat her, because we won’t be here anyway. It’s the best news I’ve ever had in my life!”

  “It’s Vulpes, child,” said the GodMother. “I’m a
fraid you won’t find it easy to steal something from him. Especially not something so precious to him.”

  There was a sudden hubbub on the other side of the lake. They all rushed out of the duck house to see what was happening. Fairies were flying this way and that; birds were squawking noisily.

  “You need to leave—now,” said the GodMother.

  “I’ll go to Bushy Park,” announced Rowan, turning to face the others. “At least I can start to look for my mother there.” She paused and glanced at her robin friend. Harold looked down at his injured wing.

  “I’m sorry, Rowan. I can’t fly.”

  “Cygnus can take us,” announced Olor.

  The enormous black swan rose up from the lake, beating its wings so hard, it nearly knocked them all over. Rowan smiled gratefully at Olor through the blast of air. Olor gave her a small smile in return as she climbed nimbly up onto the enormous bird, throwing a tiny harness made of ivy around its neck.

  “But how will Rowan find her mother if Vulpes has never managed it?” asked Aiken.

  “Because she’ll have you three with her,” replied the GodMother.

  Aiken puffed out his chest, jumped onto the swan’s downy soft back, and pulled Rowan on behind him. They grabbed a handful of feathers each to steady themselves.

  “I’m not getting back on that thing,” said Harold.

  “No need,” replied Olor, and she whispered something to Cygnus. The swan reached out a great webbed claw, grabbed Harold, and pulled him up in her grip so that the little robin hung beneath the black swan’s breast.

  “Oh, perfect,” said Harold.

  Before he could complain any further, a pack of snarling foxes suddenly broke through the trees, ridden by fairies in rust-colored furs who glared with pale orange eyes as they careered around the lake toward Rowan and her friends. Snarling and howling, the foxes bounded toward Cygnus, scattering fairies left and right. Olor immediately whipped the ivy reins, and Cygnus lurched into a run. With the foxes snapping at her claws, the swan skittered across the surface of the lake before finally lifting up and taking flight.

  “Yes!” Aiken punched the air. “Too slow, furballs!” he yelled down to the chasing pack.

  Rowan smiled and breathed out to slow her heart’s racing. The foxes fell farther back until they were just orange ants in the distance. Cygnus wheeled high over Big Ben’s almighty clock face and turned her beak heading westward along the river to safety.

  For now at least.

  * Chapter Eight *

  THE ISLAND

  Olor guided Cygnus to the west, following the dark, winding path of the river. As they passed over Lambeth Bridge with its sudden rush of traffic noise, red and white lights beamed in both directions. Rowan stole a glance to her left, back to the east. Less than a mile away was home. As a human girl she could have walked there in twenty minutes. As a fairy it was a whole world away. Her entire body ached to be back there. And beyond home, farther to the east, lay Greenwich Park, where Vulpes lived—the fairy she would have to fight if her family had any hope of being reunited. The breath caught in her chest as she thought about what lay ahead.

  “It’s a cold wind out here tonight,” said Aiken. “I’m shivering like a river fairy’s toes in a frozen lake.”

  Rowan put her arms around him to warm them both up. He gratefully held one of her arms with his hand.

  “Though they mostly don’t have toes, actually. Mainly tails. But I bet those get cold too,” he said quietly.

  Rowan craned over to try to catch a glimpse of the robin held beneath them in Cygnus’s claws. “Are you okay, Harold?” she called.

  “Yeah. How are things down there, beak face?” added Aiken.

  “Just wonderful,” replied the bird awkwardly.

  “I used to live round here, you know,” Aiken suddenly announced.

  “Really?” said Rowan.

  Aiken pointed to where the red and white lights of cars were streaming down a highway. “Just near there.”

  “Don’t you miss being a boy, Aiken?”

  Aiken shrugged. “Being a fairy is better.”

  “What about your parents? Wouldn’t you like to see them again?”

  “I don’t know where they are,” Aiken replied. “I never did.”

  Rowan didn’t know what to say to him. However bad she felt, at least she knew who her family was. At least she could picture them in her mind. She only hoped that the pictures would come to life, and she’d be able to hold everyone in her arms once again.

  A silence fell between them, and together they stared out into the dark night.

  • • •

  At a small shooting club down by the river, a night watchman heard a noise outside. It sounded like the clatter of garbage cans being turned over. He put down his knitting, unlocked a nearby cupboard, and took out a rifle. He ventured outside to investigate. As he crept around the corner, he saw a pack of foxes under a security light tearing into some garbage bags. He raised the rifle to his shoulder, narrowed his eyes, and took aim.

  “You picked the wrong night to mess with me, vermin,” he muttered under his breath. But as his finger squeezed the trigger, something barreled into him from the side. He flung his arms up, and the gun fired into the night sky. A straggly fox sank its teeth into the security guard’s leg. As the guard cried out in pain, more foxes emerged and joined the attack, snarling and circling the man. The security guard fell to the ground, shouting for help, but no one could hear him.

  • • •

  Olor patted Cygnus on the neck. “How are you doing, big girl?”

  The great bird turned its head to nuzzle Olor briefly, when the sound of a gunshot rang out, followed a split second later by a thud. Rowan glanced down and saw blood starting to seep between Cygnus’s feathers.

  “Olor!” Rowan cried out. But as her friend turned to see what had happened, the great bird was already beginning to spiral down toward the river below. Rowan and Aiken held on tight. The wind rushed past, the world spinning around them. A flash of panic hit Rowan as through the dark she spotted foxes gathering on the riverbank. At the last minute Cygnus managed to arc her body toward the water, before she finally hit the river with an almighty splash. Rowan hugged the swan’s neck.

  As Cygnus flipped a spluttering Harold out of the river and onto her back, Olor slipped down the bird’s neck to join them.

  “What happened?” asked Olor.

  “I think she’s been shot,” replied Rowan, showing Olor where blood was starting to pool by the bird’s wing.

  “It’s going to be okay, big girl,” Olor said, stroking the bird’s neck. But Rowan could see the fear in Olor’s eyes.

  “It’ll be okay if we don’t keep floating that way,” said Aiken, pointing toward the bank. The pack of snarling orange was growing.

  “We need you to paddle, Cygnus,” urged Olor. “Away from the bank.”

  Cygnus tried to propel herself away from the foxes, but she was pushing against the current and was too weak from her injury. They started to drift dangerously toward the shore. Their enemies watched intently, looking more like wild, slavering wolves than city foxes. Rowan looked around desperately, unsure whether she was more scared of the beasts on the bank or the dark water. Then she saw something on the river behind them.

  “Don’t fight the current, Cygnus,” she said. “I’ve got an idea.”

  Cygnus turned around to let herself be carried back down the river, her head bowed with tiredness. The foxes slowly paced along the riverbank. A small island in the river began to appear out of the blackness, and the foxes howled as they realized what Rowan was planning. Everyone paddled with their hands alongside Cygnus’s body to help her steer toward the island, urging one another on.

  The friends scrambled up onto the island and collapsed in a heap on the shore, breathing heavily as the river rushed past.

  “So, now what?” asked Olor as she slumped to the ground. “Any other bright ideas?”

  “We’re safe he
re,” said Harold. “For now.”

  They looked across at the foxes on the opposite bank, licking their jaws.

  “Trapped, you mean,” replied Olor.

  “I’ll go for help,” said Harold. “The Fairies of the Deer in Richmond Park are only a few hundred meters away across that meadow. They’re no friends of Vulpes.”

  “What about the foxes, Harold?” asked Rowan. “You’ll have to get over them first.”

  “As long as they can’t fly, I’ll be okay.”

  Aiken muttered under his breath, “As long as you can fly, you mean.”

  Harold ignored Aiken and continued. “And as long as they can’t swim, you’ll be okay.”

  “Are you sure you can manage, Harold?” asked Rowan.

  Harold beat his wings, seeming to wince as he did so.

  “Don’t worry about me. Look after Cygnus. She needs your help.”

  Rowan wasn’t happy. She wasn’t pleased about Harold leaving them, and she was even less pleased about him flying with his injured wing but knew that it was the only way. She tried to be brave about it, and gave the side of his head a pat.

  “Good luck, beak face.”

  Harold leapt into the air over the water and then dipped down again shakily, his lame wing tip scratching the surface of the river. Rowan rushed to the water’s edge, but all she could do was will him on to safety. The foxes on the opposite bank were willing him on to danger. . . . Harold seemed to skip across the water like a flat stone, and then lifted properly into the air as a police boat appeared out of nowhere, rushing headlong toward him with its lights flashing. Rowan’s heart was in her mouth as Harold narrowly made it over the top of the speeding cruiser. The foxes let their jaws hang open in expectation, but the current of hot air formed behind the boat whipped Harold up high as the boat passed, looping him over the foxes’ heads into the meadow behind them. Rowan gave a little shriek of delight as he disappeared from sight, but her smile quickly faded as she saw half the foxes run after him.