I pressed my palm against the mossy trunk, wondering if I could feel his heartbeat within the tree, a vibration, a sigh. Something, anything, that told me he was still there. But I felt nothing except sap, moss and the rough edges of the bark. Puck, if he still lived, was far from my reach.
“Are you sure he’s in there?” I asked the dryad, not taking my eyes from the trunk. I didn’t know what to expect: his head to pop out of the wood and grin at me, perhaps? But I felt that if I took my eyes away for a second, I would miss something.
The dryad girl nodded. “Yes. He lives still. Nothing has changed. Robin Goodfellow sleeps his dreamless slumber, waiting for the day he will rejoin the world.”
“When will that be?” I asked, running my fingers down the trunk.
“We do not know. Perhaps days. Perhaps centuries. Perhaps he does not want to wake up.” The dryad placed her hand on the trunk and closed her eyes. “He is resting comfortably, in no pain. There is nothing you can do for him but wait, and be patient.”
Unsatisfied with her answer, I pressed my palm against the tree and closed my eyes. Summer glamour swirled around me, the magic of my father Oberon and the Summer court, the glamour of heat and earth and living things. I prodded the tree gently, feeling the sun-warmed leaves and the life running through their emerald veins. I felt thousands of tiny insects swarming over and burrowing into the trunk, the rapid heartbeat of birds, dreaming in the branches.
I pressed deeper, past the surface, past the softer, still growing wood, deep into the heart of the tree.
And there he was. I couldn’t physically see him, of course, but I could sense him, feel his presence in front of me, a bright spot of life against the heartwood. I felt the wood cradling his thin, lanky frame, protecting it, and heard the faintest thump-thump of a beating heart. Puck hovered limply, his chin on his chest and his eyes closed. He seemed much smaller in sleep, fragile and ghostlike, as if a breath could blow him away.
I drifted closer, reaching out to touch him, brushing insubstantial fingers over his cheek, pushing back unruly red bangs. He didn’t stir. If I didn’t hear his heartbeat, vibrating faintly through the tree, I would’ve thought he was already dead.
“I’m so sorry, Puck,” I whispered, or maybe I just thought it, deep inside the giant oak. “I wish you were here with me now. I’m scared, and I don’t know what’s going to happen. I really need you to come back.”
If he heard me, he didn’t show it. There was no flicker of eyelids, no twitch of his head, responding to my voice. Puck remained limp and motionless, his heartbeat calm and steady, echoing through the wood. My best friend was far from me, beyond my reach, and I couldn’t bring him back.
Depressed, feeling strangely sick, I pulled out of the tree, returning to my own body. As the sounds of the world returned, I found myself fighting back tears. So close. So close to Puck, and still so far away.
Ash’s expression was grave as I met his eyes; he knew what I’d done, and could guess the outcome.
“He’s still alive,” he told me. “That’s all you can hope for.” I sniffed, turning away, and Ash sighed. “Don’t worry too much about him, Meghan. Robin Goodfellow has always been extraordinarily difficult to kill.” His voice hovered between irritation and amusement, as if he spoke from experience. “I can almost guarantee Goodfellow will pop up one day when you least expect it, just be patient.”
“Patience,” said an amused voice somewhere over my head, “has never been the girl’s strong suit.”
Startled, I looked up, into the branches of the oak. A pair of familiar golden eyes peered down at me, attached to nothing else, and my heart leaped.
“Grimalkin?”
The eyes blinked slowly, and the body of a large gray cat appeared, crouched on one of the lower branches. It was Grimalkin, the faery cat I met on my last journey to Faery. Grim had helped me out a few times in the past…but his help always came with a price. The cat loved collecting favors and did nothing for free, but I was still happy to see him, even if I still owed him a debt or two from our last adventure.
“What are you doing here, Grim?” I asked as the feline yawned and stretched, arching his fluffy tail over his back. True to form, Grimalkin finished stretching, sat down and gave his fur several licks before deigning to reply.
“I had business with the Elder Dryad,” he replied in a bored voice. “I needed to know if she’d heard anything about the whereabouts of a certain individual.” Grim scratched behind an ear, examined his back toes and gave them a lick. “Then I heard that you were on your way here, so I thought I would wait, to see if it was true. You have always proved most entertaining.”
“But…the Elder Dryad is asleep,” I said, frowning. “They told me she’s too weak to even come out of her tree.”
“What is your point, human?”
“Never mind.” I shook my head. Grimalkin was exasperating and secretive, and I learned long ago he wouldn’t share anything until he was ready. “It’s still good to see you, Grim. Wish we could stay and talk awhile, but we’re in sort of a hurry right now.”
“Mmm, yes. Your ill-contrived deal with the Winter prince.” Grimalkin’s eyes shifted to Ash and back to me, blinking slowly. “Hasty and reckless, just like a human.” He sniffed, staring straight at Ash, now. “But…I would have thought that you knew better, Prince.”
Before I could ask what he meant by that, I felt a hand on my arm and turned to meet Ash’s solemn gaze. “We should go,” he murmured, and though his voice was firm, his expression was apologetic. “If something is chasing us, we should try to make it to Tir Na Nog as soon as we can. It won’t be able to follow us, then. And I can protect you better in my own territory than the wyldwood or the mortal realm.”
“One moment.” Grimalkin yawned and sidled down from the tree, landing noiselessly on the roots. “If you are leaving now, I believe I will come with you. At least part of the way.”
“Really?” I stared at him, surprised. “You’re going to Tir Na Nog? Why?”
“I told you before. I am looking for someone.”
“Who?”
“You ask a wearying amount of questions, human.” Grimalkin hopped down from the roots and trotted off, tail in the air. Several yards away, he glanced back over his shoulder, twitching an ear. “Well? Are you coming or not? If you say there is something after you, it would make sense not to be here when it comes to call, yes?”
Ash and I shared a bemused look and trailed after him.
The Elder Gate loomed before us, tall and imposing even though the tree was dying. As we approached, the entire trunk suddenly shifted with a groan. A face pushed its way out of the bark, old and wrinkled, part of the tree come to life. The Elder Dryad opened her eyes, squinting as though it was difficult to focus, and her gaze fastened on me.
“Nooooooooo,” she breathed, barely a whisper in the darkness. “You must not go back this way. He waits for you on the other side. He will…” Her voice trailed off, and her face sank back into the wood, vanishing from sight. “Run,” was the last thing I heard.