Thistledown seemed mollified. "We perform small services in exchange for a mug of milk, a little bread, that sort of thing."
The nobleman looked at his wet belongings by the fire and said, "I'd be happy to share my foodstuffs with you." He fished around in his small pack. "I've been eating snow for water, but I have plenty of apples, carrots, and peanuts, and a half-loaf of bread-"
"We're not here to eat your food," interrupted Thistledown. "We've long partaken of the bounty of your gardens."
Bram straightened up in surprise. "You know my fields?"
All three tuatha beamed. "We tuatha have been working at night to help you return those weed patches into workable plots."
Bram's face lit with sudden understanding. "I've wondered some mornings about finding gleaming pitchforks and shovels when I left dirty ones in the garden the night before," he breathed. Bram leaned back from the fire. "So how long have you been helping me?"
Thistledown leaned toward Burdock. "Time has no meaning for us," he announced at length. "We have aided you longer ago than yesterday, but less than we will have tomorrow. This is the first time Burdock, Milkweed and I have been sent as a troop to aid you."
Bram blinked. "How many tuatha are there?"
Thistledown turned again to his companions before speaking. "1 daresay we tuatha outnumber you humans."
"I'm surprised, then, that I never saw even one of you before," observed Bram.
"We did not want you to see us until now," Thistledown said simply. "We live in the faerie realm, beyond human sight. In this place where earthly magic once flourished, your thoughts were particularly resonant in our realm. That is why King Weador sent us to give you aid."
Bram used the toe of a new boot to nudge the un- burned ends of a log into the flames. "Unless you have a ship and a full crew," he said, "I can't see that you can do anything to help me get to Wayreth."
"You could be there in no time if you took the faerie road," suggested Thistledown.
Bram waited for the tuatha man to explain, but as usual, Thistledown stared at him expectantly "What's a faerie road?" the nobleman asked at length.
Once again, Thistledown conferred with his colleagues. "Burdock reminds me that the faerie road is like time. It looks different to every human who traverses it, and decidedly different to you than it does to us tuatha. It will magically allow you to travel great distances in a matter of heartbeats."
Thistledown turned to Milkweed, who dug into a pouch and extracted a small object she then pressed into the speaker's waiting palm.
"Here's your coin," said Thistledown. A gold coin of unfamiliar design glinted brightly in the light of the white moon.
Bram stared at the gold piece in Thistledown's palm. "I don't understand. Why are you paying me?"
The tuatha man flipped the coin in his small, pale hand. 'This is milled faerie gold, the coin of our realm," he explained. "Only those invited to Wayreth may find its twin towers; the coin will serve as invitation. In addition, it will offer you protection in the faerie land, but only if you keep the coin with you and never stray from the main road."
"What happens if I step from that path or lose the coin?"
"You'll either be struck dead or kept hostage in some horrible fashion," Thistledown responded promptly.
"What if I meet up with bandits along the way and it's stolen from me?"
"The bandit who touches it without your leave will be struck dead."
"Hmmm." Bram stroked his chin thoughtfully. "What if I choose to spend it along the way for food, or I simply lose it, or I give it up to save my life?"
"Dead, dead, and dead."
Bram pursed his lips in dismay. "1 should risk my life on this road?"
Thistledown looked east toward the cliff that overlooked Hillfort. "Only you can decide which of your options is the greater risk to you or the villagers for whom you feel a duty. I can assure you that you will be perfectly safe on the faerie road //you bide my warn- ings."
Bram looked toward Hillfort and knew the answer he must give. "How do I get to this faerie road?" he asked. "Is it far?"
"As near as here." Thistledown reached over to touch a finger, light as a feather, cool as running water, to Bram's right temple. "You have but to take the coin and speak aloud the name of your destination. A road will appear before you."
Bram stood, collected his belt and small pouch, then reached for the golden coin in Thistledown's hand. To his surprise, the tuatha man drew his own hand back.
"Remember," he admonished, "neither stray from the main road, nor give away the coin while in the faerie realm. Only the third fork to the left will take you to Wayreth."
Milkweed abruptly pulled Thistledown's ear to her lips again. "We have been advised to also tell you that when you reach Wayreth, you're to give the coin to a man named Par-Salian, and Par-Salian only. It will prove you took the faerie road, for the only humans to possess such a coin in your world are those who have safely traveled that road in ours."
That said, Thistledown placed the coin in Bram's waiting palm. The minted gold felt unexpectedly warm and heavy and bore the symbol of a disk that was half sun, half moon. On the other side was an image that Bram assumed was that of King Weador. Bram clasped the coin tightly as he gave a warm smile that took in all three tuatha, even the ones who'd never spoken to him. "Will I see you again after I return from Wayreth?"
Bram saw Thistledown's lips move frantically for one brief second, but he could hear no sound coming from them. He blinked once, twice, before realizing he'd unwittingly uttered the name of his destination. In the third blink of the nobleman's eye, the chilly hillside in Northern Ergoth gave way to a lush, green forest.
Bram had entered the realm of the tuatha.
Bram's first thought was to keep the faerie coin safe, so he slipped it into a small inner pocket just beneath the drawstring that held up his brown trousers. Only then did he let himself look at his surroundings.
The road beneath his feet, crafted of interlocking blocks of stone worn or carved flat, was the smoothest he'd ever felt. This was no Ergothian dirt path riddled with wagon ruts and potholes of frozen water. His eyes followed its flat, gently curving ways around broad, gnarled trees and protruding boulders.
Above the road the green canopy was thick and close on all sides, making the path resemble a dark tunnel. The trees were a variety he didn't recognize, with broad, flat, oval leaves, some variegated with whorls of white, the rest a solid, blackish green. The bark was smooth and gray like that of a young maple, broken only by huge gnarls where once branches had grown. The underbrush was thick with thorny holly and rosy barberry bushes and a host of common roadside weeds, though how any of them received enough light through the canopy was a puzzle to Bram. Occasional thin slivers of bright blue limned the uppermost leaves, suggesting that somewhere above a sky and a sun existed. Unlike Stonecliff, the air was as warm as Ergoth in the month of Corij.
Strangely, it was a cheery forest in a dark, well- manicured sort of way. It looked neither magical nor foreboding as Thistledown's description of a death- dealing place would suggest.
Bram's fingertips traveled to the hidden pocket in his trousers for reassurance. Through the fabric he could feel the small, round outline of the faerie coin. Bram flung the heavy lapels of his winter cloak over his shoulders, looped the strap of his pack from waist to opposite collar bone, then set off down the road at a brisk pace.
He had not walked very far before he noticed that the forest was strangely silent, so silent he began to hear only his own footsteps. No birds sang, no squirrels chittered or shook the underbrush at the sound of his approach. Bram found himself self-consciously stepping so lightly that his heels made no noise to break the unnatural silence.