A strong King. That was just the problem. “Yes, well,” Kate said, managing to find her voice at last, “Emily and I had better be going now. Thank you for your help.”
Old Agatha’s black eyes twinkled up at Kate shrewdly. “Don’t thank me just yet, my dear,” she said.
“Well, good-bye, then,” Kate answered. She took Emily’s hand and turned to go. Then she let out a gasp. Her feet! They were glued to the spot. She tried to tear them free, but they seemed to have grown roots.
“Agatha!” she wailed. She and Emily struggled fruitlessly and then stared at each other in panic. The goblin woman calmly carried on with her work.
“We’re so excited about the wedding,” she repeated. “We’ve got everything all ready. And I’m in charge of the women’s part. It’s quite an honor, you know.”
Kate thought she could hear distant hoofbeats over the drumming of blood in her ears. “Agatha,” she pleaded futilely.
“Now, now, dear,” the old woman said soothingly, “you’ve no need to carry on. He’ll make a good husband for you, you know. He was that kind to his other poor wife, and she was just as mad as a spring hare.”
Yes, that must be hoofbeats, Kate thought desperately, and she knew how that poor mad wife must have felt. But somehow, she knew just what to do.
“Agatha,” she said winningly, not even sure what she was saying, “you don’t want the King’s new wife handed over like a sack of potatoes. Everyone will hear of it. What a dull, drab thing I’ll seem.” The little woman paused in her work, her bright black eyes on Kate.
“And isn’t it good to see the King so busy,” Kate chatted on. “Something new to plan for every day. It’s good for him, you know,” she added persuasively. “He always does get things his own way.”
Agatha burst into a chuckle and patted Kate’s hand. “Oh, go on with you,” she said indulgently as if she were sending them out to play. “Go ahead and get a little head start; it does make it sporting. He’ll be here soon enough.”
“Thank you, Agatha,” Kate gasped, snatching her sister’s hand and dashing from the clearing. On the path, they both froze, listening. The horseman was very near.
“To the tree circle!” called Kate. “He’s already at the house.” Then she saved her breath for running. As they tore up the little slope that led to the tree circle hill, the hoofbeats drummed out loudly behind them. The horseman was catching up.
“Don’t look back,” Kate begged, but Emily couldn’t help it. As they raced toward the first circle of trees, she glanced over her shoulder to see the gray horse break from the woods behind them. His master held him at a gallop, riding low, black cloak streaming back in the wind and one arm reaching out to snatch the sisters. Then Kate was dodging between the massive trees, dragging Emily behind her. They heard the horse plunge and slide to a stop as they ran to the center of the clearing.
The stars hung huge and low over them, and the almost-full moon shone down, but a crackling ring of purple lightning split the sky. It arced and danced in the trees, blinding their dazzled eyes, and a fierce wind whipped up, whirling and tearing at their clothes. The sisters threw themselves on the ground and huddled in terror, their arms clutched tightly around each other. The wind whistled and sang in their ears, and the constant cracks of lightning picked out patterns on the insides of their tightly closed eyelids. Emily sobbed aloud in fright. Kate waited in a state beyond fright for the hands that would drag her away. When they didn’t come, she began to grow impatient. What was he waiting for?
“Stop doing that!” she called out loudly. “You’re frightening my sister!”
Complete calm reigned instantly. No lightning crackled, and the wind puffed down to a gentle breeze. After a few seconds, the girls raised their heads and looked about them, expecting to see destruction and chaos, wildfires and uprooted trees. Instead, the stars hung huge and low, and the silver moon shone down. The clearing looked exactly as it had before.
“Kate,” called Marak’s pleasant voice from beyond the huge oak trees, “it’s time to stop this foolishness now. Come out before you make me do something rash.”
Kate felt her blood turn to ice. She stroked the grassy turf for a second. The feel of it gave her confidence. She looked around at the stars, the moon, the trees. These were things that she could count on.
“You can’t come in here, can you?” she shouted back. “This is a magic place.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” the goblin answered reasonably. “Of course I can come in. It is a magic place, and I’m magic.”
“Oh, no, or you’d already be here,” Kate shouted exultantly. “Your magic doesn’t work here. You can’t do anything to us, I know it!”
Marak walked into the clearing, stopping just inside the circle of trees. Emily gave a gasp of dismay and scrambled to her feet. She was getting her first good look at the goblin King.
Marak grinned, showing his dark teeth. “Kate, you’re a treasure,” he declared. “I don’t know how you know things, but you do. You’re exactly right. I can’t do anything to make you leave this place. Anything magical, anything actual. All force is completely forbidden here because this is the elves’ and goblins’ truce circle.” He sighed. “And once again, I just wish I knew how you know it.”
Kate struggled to her feet, wild hope making her giddy.
“We’re safe here,” she told her sister. She turned triumphantly to face the goblin King. “And you might as well leave. We’ll be staying here all night where you can’t hurt us.”
The wiry goblin smiled at her. “Now, who ever gave you the idea that I would hurt you?” He shook the striped hair out of his brilliant eyes. “No, force is not allowed at all within this circle. You are free to do whatever you want to do. Or whatever you’re persuaded to do. Elves and goblins aren’t susceptible to persuasion spells, so there’s no protection against them.” He leered at the two sisters. “Let’s see, Kate,” he suggested. “I think what you really want to do right now is walk over to me.”
Kate stiffened at once, her confidence evaporating. “I certainly do not!” she gasped. Marak’s big, bony face wore an amused grin.
“No?” he asked coolly. His voice dropped, becoming quiet and gentle. “Walk toward me, Kate, first the left foot and then the right. You want to come away with me.” He continued in a steady murmur, the pleasant voice almost a singsong. Kate felt her resistance begin to fade. He was so convincing. It all sounded so easy. She found herself taking a step.
“Em, help!” Kate cried out in dread, but before her sister could come to her aid, Marak’s voice quickened a trifle.
“And M, you want to sit right down and watch her,” he went on smoothly. Emily plopped down on the grass. “You just wonder what all the fuss is about.” His even voice continued, rising and falling, almost without words. Emily watched Kate tottering step by step toward the edge of the circle, her teeth gritted, hands clenched, desperately trying to stop herself. And Emily wondered, indeed, what all the fuss was about.
Kate was almost to the first circle of trees. The goblin King kept up the quiet rhythm, stepping away from her back between the oaks. His smile was triumphant as he reached out to her. Kate gave a strangled cry. As he disappeared from view, she felt the magic pull weaken just a little. It was her only chance. She turned and bashed her head as hard as she could against the trunk nearest to her. With a sigh, she crumpled at the foot of the tree. The moonlit world winked into darkness.
Chapter 5
Emily came to her senses. Feet flying, she dashed to her sister’s side, but Marak reached Kate first. He rolled her over, a stream of foreign words issuing emphatically from his lips. Emily flinched, afraid of magical lightning or some other powerful result, but no spell was underway. Marak was just venting his sorely tried feelings in the capable goblin tongue.
“Leave her alone,” Emily cried. Marak paid no attention. He snapped his fingers in the air, and a small silvery globe appeared. It was not as bright as a candle, but it shed a soft light. Marak moved it to a spot about three feet above Kate’s face. When he released it, the shining globe hovered obediently in the air.
By its silver light, Emily could see a large, shallow wound across her sister’s forehead. Blood was running in a dark stream into her hair and across her closed eyelids, and a shadowed bruise was already spreading under the skin around her eyes. The goblin murmured something under his breath, pressing his fingers into the wound. He pulled them away and wiped Kate’s forehead with his cloak. The wound stopped bleeding. Emily watched it closely, but no fresh trickles flowed from it to join the dark tracks congealing in Kate’s hair.
The goblin walked away, licking his bloody fingers, and came back a minute later with a small bag in his hand. He knelt again by Kate. Loosening the bag, he scooped out a small quantity of cream and carefully smeared it across the open wound. As he did so, the wound bubbled, flattened, and formed a sudden skin. Within a few seconds, it had healed without a trace.
Emily stared openmouthed at the goblin as he applied minute dabs of cream, frowning with deep concentration, his coarse, striped hair falling over his bony face. As he smoothed the salve down the side of Kate’s nose and underneath her eye, the bruise melted back into fair skin. He took a somewhat generous dollop and pressed it onto her forehead over the spot where the wound had been, murmuring something under his breath. Emily watched the cream vanish as if he had driven it through the skin.
Kate began to groan and twitch. Marak quickly caught her face between his hands. He laid all six fingers of his right hand on her brow, and she relaxed again into slumber.
“You really can work magic!” breathed Emily, staring at her weird companion in awe. Marak flicked her a glance from those gleaming bicolor eyes and then went on with his work. He ran his fingertips speculatively over Kate’s eyes and nose. He ran them along her temples and down her neck. Emily sat back, hugging her knees to her chest, and studied the busy goblin King. Kate was right: He did look pretty frightful. His pointed ears poked out through his shaggy hair like a dog’s. In fact, he looked about as ugly as anything she had ever seen, but Emily was ready to forgive a great deal in someone who could work magic. He didn’t seem so ghastly, really. She mulled over what Kate had told her that afternoon and what Agatha had said in the clearing.
“Kate says you want her to be your new wife,” she began.
“That’s right,” he murmured, applying salve to a bloody knee he had found. Emily watched in excitement as the scab bubbled away. In a few seconds the knee was whole and undamaged. Real magic, right before her eyes.
“But she doesn’t want to be your wife,” she pointed out. Marak had reached the filthy, ragged sock on the foot with no shoe. He pressed his knotted hand on the bottom of her foot and sighed in exasperation, reaching for the salve.
“That doesn’t really matter,” he remarked inattentively. “The King’s Wife is always a captured bride.”
“I think that’s the most vile thing I ever heard,” declared Emily forcefully. So what if he could work magic! “How could you suggest such an awful thing? No wonder she doesn’t want to marry you!”
Marak paused, cradling the foot in one gray hand, and looked up sharply. “So Kate doesn’t want to be my wife,” he said, and grinned, showing his sharp, dark teeth. Emily flinched and decided that he was rather ghastly after all. “Well, young M, just what do you suggest I do? The goblin King can’t marry his own kind. Should I go about holding hands and making sheep’s eyes at farmers’ daughters till some girl decides to give goblin life a try? And what if she balks at the first sight of her subjects or panics halfway through the ceremony? Do I peck her a fond kiss farewell and start all over again?” He gave a short laugh at the thought. “A long life my race would have if we Kings behaved like that. No, the King’s Wife is always a capture. It’s the only prudent way.” He went back to his ministrations on the torn-up foot.
Emily considered that this was the most splendidly evil speech she had heard in her whole short life. She was lost in admiration of its appalling wickedness. Then she frowned again, stabbed with a sudden concern.
“But Kate loves being outside under the moon and the stars,” she said. “If you marry her, couldn’t she at least come out sometimes?”
“No,” said Marak flatly. “But she’ll settle in. They always do.”
“Did your first wife settle in?” asked Emily. Marak fixed her with a glare.
“My first wife went mad,” he said abruptly. “She didn’t believe in goblins.” He went back to his work. “I found her by the lakeshore one evening, picking flowers, and I took her home there and then. But it seems the fool’s mother had gone mad, and she was always waiting her turn. She fainted during the wedding ceremony, and we never had another lucid word out of her. She believed we were just some sort of dream she was having, a delusion in her mind. I studied magic tirelessly after that, trying to find a cure, but I found nothing, absolutely nothing, that would touch pure human madness.” He shook his head, sharp teeth bared and a look of disgust stamped on his pallid face.
Emily watched the strange creature silently for a moment, thinking about that poor stolen woman. “Kate says she’ll never survive it,” she insisted anxiously. “She says she knows it’ll kill her.”
“Is that so?” remarked the goblin, failing to sound impressed. He had concluded the search for injuries. He pressed his long, bony fingers on Kate’s forehead again. “And what is she going to die of, exactly?”
Emily told him Mrs. Bigelow’s story about the cold, dank caves under the Hill. She told him about the hideous things that lived there and about the poor goblin brides, their hair turning white and their skin growing gray, nursing their squalling goblin brats in the dripping caverns far from the sun.
Marak threw back his head and laughed. Reaching up, he extinguished the little orb. Then he turned to Emily. “And you believed her, did you?” he hooted. “Really, M, what a tale!”
“But you live underground, don’t you?” she persisted.
“We live under the Hill, yes,” he affirmed.
“And is it—really awful—in those caves underground?”
“It is more beautiful than you could possibly imagine,” he said impatiently.
Emily pondered this statement. More beautiful than she could imagine. She considered the dank backdrop of her gaunt, white-haired goblin bride and added some sparkle to the cave walls. More beautiful still. She put in a subterranean stream and shiny rock formations. More beautiful than that. She sighed and gave it up.
“If you steal Kate, would you steal me, too?” Her voice trembled.
Marak was studying the sleeping Kate. He glanced up and grinned at her. “A little young, aren’t you, to be a goblin bride?” he teased. “All ready to have your hair turn white in those dripping caves underground?”
