The words weren’t spoken as a reprimand, but Lark felt shamed even so. She’d forgotten about her family. “Ma needs me to watch Wolfsbane,” she said. “My sisters aren’t big enough yet.”
“Your ma needs you to love and to hold, and your da needs your singing,” said the Prince of Farthestshore. He stood then and put out a hand to her. She took it eagerly and let him help her to her feet. Somehow she knew that all the children walked with the Prince of Farthestshore, that he led them each by the hand. But she was alone with him still. How this could be was too much to ponder, so she didn’t. She merely enjoyed herself and the walk across the sky, and the now-distant Song of Lumé falling down from above. They passed through unknown portals, across clouds, across starscapes, across distant oceans and green sweeps of valleys, and it took her breath away. She pointed and exclaimed, and the Prince of Farthestshore joined in her merriment, laughing delightedly at her enthusiasm, and answered questions as she asked them, though she’d not be able to remember what he’d said later on, down in the thin air of the Near World.
But she would never forget the sound of his voice, nor the joy she experienced during that walk. She never told anyone—mere words failed to describe something so sweet, so dear, so magnificent—but she thought of it often, even to her dying day.
Suddenly she saw her home, the Eldest’s House upon the hill above the jungle village. She stopped then, tugging on the Prince’s hand. “Wait,” she said.
“What is it, Meadowlark?” he asked her gently.
“Foxbrush.” She frowned and one of those dark recollections she wished to ignore came back to mind. She saw Foxbrush down in the darkness, battling the shadow that had imprisoned her. Battling to save her and all the children of the South Land. A fight he could not hope to win. “What about Foxbrush?”
“I will take care of him,” said the Prince. “You may trust me.”
“I know.” But Lark’s frown did not dissipate. “I would like to go to him first, if I may. I’d like to find him and see for myself. Please.”
The Prince smiled yet again. “Gentle child, brave child,” he said. “Yes, you may see your friend and thank him for what he sacrificed. He has bravely fought the fight I placed before him, and he has earned your gratitude and love.”
With that, the Prince turned and led Lark in a new direction. She saw trees, forests, gorges pass beneath her feet in a few strides. Then she saw the center of the Land, the deep valley where the Mound had latched hold and the starflower trees were uprooted. Now there was nothing but a blackened hole in that place, a scar to mark Cren Cru’s coming and passing. Lark shivered at the sight.
But she saw too that starflower vines already crept across the ground, covering the scar with their soft leaves and bright faces. “All will be well again,” Lark whispered.
“All will be well,” the Prince of Farthestshore assured her.
Deep in the jungle, Redman and Eldest Sight-of-Day, leading the warriors of their village, felt a tremor through the ground at their feet. A shadow that had kept their hearts captive for long months lifted suddenly, leaving all of them breathless. They did not understand why. But the Eldest turned to her husband, her dark eyes seeking his.
“Lark?” she said.
But he shook his head. “We should return to the village,” he said. So they turned and hastened back through the winding jungle trails. As they went, they heard the voices of hundreds of Faerie beasts singing out in all their chattering, braying, cawing, roaring tongues:
“He’s dead! He’s dead! The Mound is brought low! The Parasite is plucked from its hold! Cren Cru is dead!”
Then, as though in answer, other voices sang back:
“All hail the King of Here and There! All hail the Fiery Fair!”
The villagers understood nothing of this, and many were afraid. But Redman took his wife’s hand, and he found strength there to hurry on and discover what they might.
When they reached the village, it was alive with shouts and joyful cries. The warriors around the Eldest dropped their weapons and ran, arms extended. For the firstborn were come home. Mothers pressed children to their breasts, and fathers wrapped strong arms around families once more made whole. And all wept and talked and trembled with gladness in the growing light of that morning sun.
The Eldest and Redman, however, stood quietly looking on. For they saw no sign of Lark.
The orange cat sat a little to one side, grooming his paws, but his ears were back, listening. He didn’t feel up to joining the mayhem but maintained a rhythmic and focused lick-lick-lick, concentrating on one sorely blistered toe at a time.
Nidawi, however, was dancing.
“He’s dead! He’s dead! Cren Cru is dead! My enemy! At last he’s dead!”
She whirled about the whole of the circle where the Bronze had so recently stood, leaping and cavorting, first in the form of a child, then that of a maid, a woman, a crone, all dancing to a wild music ringing in her head.