LITMIR.BIZ

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“I’ll come see you next week,” he said, quiet but not whispering.

      The three of them stood there for a few seconds, frozen in time. Then Jamison tilted his head and nodded once at Tamani. Tamani nodded back and returned to his place in the semicircle.

      Laurel felt his eyes on her, but her face was already turning back to the bright glow pouring from the golden gate. The pull of Avalon was too strong to linger even on the sharp regret she felt at having to leave Tamani so quickly after their reunion. But he would come see her soon.

      Jamison stepped just inside the golden archway and beckoned Laurel forward, releasing his hold on the hand lying on his arm. “Welcome back, Laurel,” he said softly.

      With her breath catching in her throat, Laurel stepped forward and crossed the threshold of the gate, her feet stepping into Avalon for the first time. Not really the first time, she reminded herself. This is where I came from.

      For a moment she could see nothing but leaves on a huge overhanging oak tree and dark, loose soil at her feet, lined with plush, emerald grass. Jamison led her out from under the canopy of foliage, and sunlight shone down on to her face, warming her cheeks instantly and making her blink.

      They were in some kind of walled park. Trails of rich, black earth snaked through the vibrant greenery that ran up against a stone wall. Laurel had never seen a stone wall so tall before – to build such a thing without concrete must have taken decades. The garden was dotted with trees and long, leafy vines snaked up their trunks and wound around their branches. She could see flowers all over the vines, but they were tightly closed against the warmth of the day.

      She turned to look back at the gate. It was shut now, and beyond its golden bars she could see only darkness. It was in the middle of the park and wasn’t connected to anything at all – it was just standing upright, surrounded by about twenty sentries, all female. Laurel tilted her head. There was something. She took a step forward, and broad-bladed spears with tips that seemed to be made of crystal crossed in front of her vision.

      “It’s all right, Captain,” came Jamison’s voice from behind Laurel. “She can look.”

      The spears went away and Laurel stepped forward, sure her eyes were tricking her. But no, at a right angle to the gate was another gate. Laurel continued walking until she had circled four gates, linked by the sturdy posts that she recognised from the other side of the gate. Each post attached to two of the gates, forming a perfect square around the strange blackness that persisted behind them, despite the fact that she should have been able to look right through the bars to the sentries standing on the other side.

      “I don’t understand,” Laurel said, coming to stand by Jamison again.

      “Your gate isn’t the only one,” Jamison said with a smile.

      Laurel vaguely remembered Tamani talking about four gates last fall, when she had come to him battered and bruised after being thrown in the Chetco River by trolls. “Four gates,” she said softly, pushing back the unpleasant part of the memory.

      “To the four corners of the earth. One step could take you to your home, the mountains of Japan, the highlands of Scotland, or the mouth of the Nile River in Egypt.”

      “That’s amazing,” Laurel said, staring at the gate. Gates? “Thousands of miles in a single step.”

      “And the most vulnerable place in all of Avalon,” Jamison said. “Clever, though, don’t you think? Quite a feat. The gates were made by King Oberon, at the cost of his life, but it was Queen Isis who cloaked the gates on the other side – and only a few hundred years ago.”

      “The Egyptian goddess?” Laurel asked breathlessly.

      “Only named after the goddess,” Jamison said, smiling. “As much as we’d like to believe otherwise, not all the major figures in human history are faeries. Come, my Am fear-faire will worry if we tarry too long.”

      “Your what?”

      He looked at her then, his gaze questioning at first, then strangely sorrowful. “Am fear-faire,” he repeated. “My guardians. I have at least two with me at all times.”

      “Why?”

      “Because I am a Winter faerie.” Jamison walked slowly down the earthen path, seeming to weigh his words as he spoke them. “Our gifts are the rarest of all fae, so we are honoured. We alone can open the gates, so we are protected. And Avalon itself is vulnerable to our power, so we must never be compromised by an enemy. With great power—”

      “Comes great responsibility?” Laurel finished.

      Jamison turned to her, smiling now. “And who taught you this?”

      Laurel paused, confused. “Uh, Spider-Man?” she said lamely.

      “I suppose some truths truly are universal,” Jamison laughed, his voice echoing off the great stone walls. Then he sobered. “It’s a phrase we Winter faeries use often. The Briton King, Arthur, said it after witnessing the terrible revenge the trolls took on Camelot. He always believed that destruction was his fault, that he could have prevented it.”

      “Could he have?” Laurel asked.

      Jamison nodded to two sentries, who stood at either side of an enormous set of wooden doors that led through the walls. “Probably not,” he said to Laurel. “But it is a good reminder nonetheless.”

      The doors swung open soundlessly, and all thoughts were chased from Laurel’s head as she and Jamison walked out of the enclosure and on to a hillside.

      Verdant beauty flowed down the hill and as far as she could see in every direction. Black paths snaked through masses of trees, interspersed with long, flower-speckled meadows and rainbow clusters of something Laurel couldn’t identify – they looked like gigantic balloons of every imaginable colour, sitting on the ground and sparkling like soap bubbles. Farther down, in a ring that appeared to spread all the way around the base of the hill, were the roofs of small houses, and Laurel could make out brightly coloured dots moving about that must be other faeries.

      “There are…thousands of them,” Laurel said, not quite realising she had spoken aloud.

      “Of course,” Jamison said, mirth colouring his voice. “Almost the entire species lives here. We number more than eighty thousand now.” He paused. “That probably sounds small to you.”

      “No,” Laurel said quickly. “I mean, I know there are more humans than that, but…I never imagined so many faeries all in one place.” It was strange; it made her feel both normal and very insignificant. She’d met other faeries, of course – Tamani, Shar, the sentries she glimpsed from time to time – but the thought of thousands upon thousands of faeries was almost overwhelming.

      Jamison’s hand touched the small of her back. “There will be time for sightseeing another day,” he said softly. “We must take you to the Academy. Continue.”

      Laurel followed Jamison down the perimeter of the stone wall. When they rounded the side of the enclosure, Laurel looked uphill and her breath caught in her throat again. About a quarter mile up the gentle slope an enormous tower rose against the skyline, jutting from the centre of a sprawling building straight out of Jane Eyre. It didn’t look like a castle so much as a grand library, all square, grey stones and steeply pitched roofs. Massive windows dotted every wall, and skylights glittered among slate shingles like caches of faceted prisms. Every surface was veined with creepers, framed by flowers, glimpsed through foliage, or otherwise host to plants of innumerable variety.

      Jamison’s words answered the question Laurel was too amazed to ask. He gestured towards the structure with one arm as he spoke. “The Academy of Avalon.”

       Chapter Two

      As they walked towards the Academy,

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