“Oh, it’s quick,” Tamani said, washing away the gruesome picture from Laurel’s mind. “Don’t forget that both the faerie who became the tree and the first one to join were Winter faeries. The tree retains some of that immense power. My—” He hesitated. “My father told me that you select your spot on the tree and submit yourself to it and when your mind is clear and your intentions burn true, the tree sweeps you up and you are changed instantly.” She saw his eyes wander back up to the spot where he thought he could see his father’s features.
Laurel edged a little closer. “You said the tree communicates. Can’t you talk to him?”
Tamani shook his head. “Not to him specifically. You talk to the tree as a whole, and it speaks back in one voice.”
Laurel looked up at the towering branches. “Could I talk to the tree?”
“Not today. It takes time. You have to come and tell the tree your question, or concern, then you sit, in silence, and listen until your cells remember how to understand the language.”
“How long does it take?”
“Hours. Days. It’s hard to predict. And it depends on how carefully you listen. Also how open you are to the answer.”
She hesitated for a long time before asking, “Have you done it?”
He turned to her, his eyes unguarded as she’d seen them only a few times before. “I have.”
“Did you get your answer?”
He nodded.
“How long did it take?”
He hesitated. “Four days.” Then a grin. “I’m stubborn. I wasn’t open to receiving the right answer. I was determined to get the answer I wanted.”
She tried to imagine Tamani sitting silently beneath the tree for four days. “What did the tree say?” she whispered.
“Maybe I’ll tell you someday.”
Laurel’s mouth went dry as his eyes just looked at her and the living air swirled around her. Then Tamani smiled and gestured to a patch of thick grass several yards outside the shady canopy of the World Tree.
“Can’t we eat here?” she asked, reluctant to leave the trunk of the tree.
Tamani shook his head. “It’s not polite,” he said. “We leave the tree available for answer seekers as much as possible. It’s a very private thing,” he added.
Although Laurel could understand that, she was still a little sad to step out of the shadows and into the sun. Tamani set out a sparse picnic — there simply wasn’t much need to eat in the nourishing Avalon sunlight — and they both settled down in the grass, Laurel flopping onto her stomach and enjoying, for this brief interlude, just doing nothing.
“So how are your studies?” Tamani asked.
Laurel considered the question. “Amazing,” she finally answered. “I never knew how many things you could do with plants.” She rolled over to face him, her head propped up on her elbow. “And my mom’s a naturopath, so believe me, that’s saying something.”
“Have you learned a lot?”
“Kind of.” She furrowed her eyebrows. “I mean, technically I have learned a ton. More than I ever thought I could absorb in just a few weeks. But I can’t actually do anything.” She sighed as she slumped back down. “None of my potions work. Some of them get closer than others, but not a single one has really been right yet.”
“None of them?” Tamani asked, an undercurrent of worry in his voice.
“Yeardley says it’s normal. He says it can take years to get your first potion just right. I don’t have that kind of time; not here in Avalon, or before I need to protect my family. But he says I’m doing well.” She turned to look at Tamani again. “He says that even though I can’t remember, it’s obvious to him that I am relearning. That I’m catching on unnaturally fast. I hope he’s right,” she grumbled. “What about you? Your life has got to be more interesting than mine at the moment.”
“Actually, no, it’s really not. It’s been very quiet at the gate. Too quiet.” He was sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest with his arms wrapped around them, looking at the World Tree. “I’ve been doing a lot of scouting lately.”
“What do you mean, scouting?”
He glanced over at her for a second before his eyes returned to the tree. “Leaving the gate. Venturing out to get a better lay of the land.” He shook his head. “We haven’t seen a single troll in weeks. And somehow, I don’t think it’s because they’ve suddenly given up on Avalon,” he said with a tense laugh. He sobered. “I’m looking for the reason why, but there’s only so much I can do. I’m not human — I don’t know how to blend in to the human world. So I can’t get all the information I want. I’m — I’m missing something,” he said firmly. “I know it. I can feel it.” He shrugged. “But I don’t know what it is or where to find it.”
Laurel glanced at the tree. “Why don’t you ask them?” she asked, pointing.
He shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way. The tree’s not omniscient, nor is it a fortune-teller. It’s the combined wisdom of thousands of years, but it’s never been outside of Avalon.” He shook his head. “Even the Silent Ones can’t help me with this. I have to do it myself.”
They lay there for several minutes, sprawled back, enjoying the warm sunshine. “Tam?” Laurel asked hesitantly.
“Hmm?” Tamani’s eyes were closed and he looked almost asleep.
“Do…” Laurel hesitated. “Do you get tired of being a Spring faerie?”
His eyes popped open wide for a second before he closed them again. “How so?”
She was quiet, trying to think of a way to ask without insulting him. “No one thinks Spring faeries are as good as anyone else. You have to bow, and serve, and walk behind me. It’s not fair.”
Tamani was quiet for a while, his tongue running along his bottom lip as he thought. Finally he said, “Do you get tired of people thinking you’re a human?”
Laurel shook her head.
“Why not?”
She shrugged. “I look like a human; it makes sense.”
“No, that’s the logical reasoning for why people think you are a human. I want to know why it doesn’t bother you.”
“Because everyone has always thought I was a human. I’m used to it,” she said, the words out of her mouth before she realized she had walked right into his trap.
He grinned. “See? It’s the same thing. I’ve always been a Spring faerie; I’ve always acted like a Spring faerie. May as well ask me if I’m tired of being alive. This is my life.”
“But don’t you, on some level, realize it’s wrong?”
“Why is it wrong?”
“Because you’re a person, just like everyone else here. Why should what kind of faerie you are define your social status?”
“I think the way human social status is defined is just as outrageous. More, maybe.”
“How so?”
“Doctors, lawyers — why are they so respected?”
“Because they’re educated. And doctors save people’s lives.”
“So you pay them more, and they have a higher place in society, right?”
Laurel nodded.
“How is this any different? Fall faeries are more educated; they save lives too. Winter faeries do even more: They keep Avalon safe from outsiders, protect our gateways, keep us from being discovered by humans. Why shouldn’t they be more revered?”
“But it’s just happenstance. No one chooses to be a Spring faerie.”
“Maybe not, but you choose to work as hard as you do. All the Falls do. It’s not like you just sit around and mix up an occasional potion. You’ve told me how much you study. Every Fall studies hard. Even if they don’t choose to be a Fall faerie, they choose to work and hone their skills to help me. If that’s not worth my respect, I don’t know what is.”