The Hallowed Isle Book Three Read Online Free Page A

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    The afternoon was waning when she saw one of her mother’s women advancing toward her with a decidedly repressive look in her eye. Rather suddenly Guendivar remembered that Petronilla had been quite explicit about the behavior that was expected of a chieftain’s daughter at this festival. She knew that she had disobeyed, and she did not mind being punished once it was over, but the sun was still well above the trees!
    Before the woman could grab her, Guendivar was off again, slipping behind a cart and then around the horse-lines and toward the protection of the trees. Perhaps her father’s huntsmen knew these woods better than she did, but Guendivar did not think anyone else could find her once she was among the trees. And even a woodsman might think twice about entering the tunnels that a small girl could negotiate with ease.
    One of them brought her out into a small glade surrounded by hazels. The grass in the center was flattened, as if someone had been sleeping there, and hanging on one of the hazel twigs was a flower crown. Guendivar began to smile.
    To watch the dancing last night had been exciting, with the drumming and the naked bodies shining in the light of the fires. She had not quite understood what those men and girls were seeking when they leaped over the flames or ran, half-embraced and laughing, for the forest, but she knew it must be something wonderful, part of the magic she felt pulsing from the land itself on Beltain eve.
    Guendivar could still sense it, a little, here in the glade. She sat still, senses extended, feeling the warmth of the afternoon radiating from the grass. The sounds of the festival seemed distant, and as she continued to sit and her eyelids grew heavy, more distant still. She had not gotten much sleep the night before, and the day had been busy. The warm air caressed her and she curled drowsily down into the tangled grass.
    It was the change in the light that roused her, a ray of the sinking sun that found its way through the tangle of branches to her closed eyelids. Still half-asleep, she scrunched them shut more tightly and turned her head, but the sun’s angle let the last of its radiance pour through the trees. Sighing, Guendivar rubbed her eyes and slitted them open.
    Within the glade, every stock and stone was glowing, and each leaf and blade of grass was edged with flame. Pretty . .  . she thought, watching with half-focused gaze, and stretched out her arm. Everything has light inside, even me.. .  . Beneath the scratches and the smears of soil and the scattering of golden freckles, her pale flesh shone.
    A flicker at the edge of vision caught her attention. Her vision refocused; something was moving there. Bemused by beauty, she did not stir, even when her vision transmuted the spiraling sparkles into attenuated figures that danced and darted about the glade. At first they seemed tiny, but they seemed able to change their size at will, and they moved as if weightless, or winged. And presently she realized that susurrus of sound was neither the wind nor music, but the chatter of high, sweet voices.
    Fragments of old tales configured themselves into sudden certainty. Slowly Guendivar sat up, refusing to blink, lest the vision flicker away.
    â€œI know you now . . .” she said softly. “You are faerie-folk. Have you just moved house into these woods today?”
    For a moment even the motes of light seemed to stop moving. Then the air shimmered with faerie laughter.
    â€œ She sees us! She can see!” The faeries clustered around her in a glowing swirl. One of the figures floated upward to face her, expanding until it was as large as a child of three.
    â€œOf course I can see you,” answered Guendivar. “I have seen faeries before, I think,” she added, remembering, “but they never talked to me.”
    â€œ It is the moment between day and darkness, and in this child, the old blood runs true,” said one