Free Rowan Hood Returns by Nancy Springer Page B

on that other occasion when she had summoned the aelfe, they had manifested themselves to her as Robin Hood, spirit of Sherwood Forest.
    But not this time. Father was not here, not even in spirit.
    A stinging feeling in her eyes, perhaps from the smoke of her need-fire, made Rowan look down as the aelfe spoke again. “What do you want, daughter of Celandine?” Cold, impatient, the voice came from none of them and all of them.
    Rowan found herself unable to bespeak what she wanted. Instead, she whispered, “You are angry with me.”
    The voice sounded merely indifferent now. “Was your mother ever angry with you? ”
    â€œOf course. But—you have turned away from me.” Or so she felt, with her face torn by the twiggy fingers of the forest, her body sore from its stony bones.
    â€œDoes the falconer turn away from the falcon?”
    Trust the aelfe to speak in riddles. Rowan tried again. “Every step of my way here, you have opposed me.”
    â€œAs the darkness opposes the light, or as the light opposes the darkness?”
    Rowan clenched her teeth in frustration. There was no getting sense out of—
    â€œGo back.”
    Ro’s mouth dropped open, and she blinked. Never before had the aelfe spoken to her so plainly, and for that reason she could not understand them. She whispered, “What?”
    â€œGo back to your rowan grove.” The voice deepened, darkened. “You stray this way for no good reason.”
    Ro stiffened. “But my reason could not be better!” Anger flared in her, hot and sudden, like need-fire. “I have sworn vengeance. And now I know the names of those who slew my mother.”
    â€œThey slew her? How so? Only you can kill her truly.”
    More nonsense. More riddles.
    â€œGo back to where you belong,” they told her, “Rowan Hood of the Rowan Wood.”
    Rowan hardened her jaw, lifted her head, shook it. “And do what? Sit there and let my comrades care for me?”
    â€œUse the gifts your mother gave you, daughter of Celandine.”
    They had told her this before, more than once, but she had never fully understood. Even less now. Whatever gifts of aelfin power she had possessed, they were gone. She said, “I cannot go back. There is nothing for me to go back to. I must go forward.”
    â€œSo you think.”
    â€œSo I know. I ask you only this, wise ones: Where is my father?”
    â€œ Where he belongs.
    That could mean anything. “Is he alive? Is he well?”
    â€œYou cannot tell? Use the gifts your mother gave you, little one.”
    Little one? Rowan stared, unable to tell whether that was mockery she heard in the voice, or tenderness, or—
    It mattered not. Before her eyes, the aelfe faded away, leaving her alone with her need-fire and the distant voices of frogs.
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    â€œOnward,” Rowan told the others in the morning—a fine morning, sunny, with breezes whispering a promise of primroses and cowslips to come, on the meadows they would be crossing.
    Etty nodded placidly and handed Ro a slab of cold cooked venison to eat. “We have plenty of meat. A stag walked right into our camp last night. Beau shot it.”
    â€œBeau did?” Beau could barely shoot the tree she stood under.
    â€œSacre bleu, it surprise me too!” Beau flashed her brilliant grin. “Maybe the denizens send the stag, yes?”
    Rowan said, “I doubt it.”
    Lionel asked quietly, “You saw them? You spoke with them?”
    â€œYes.” Still seated by the ashes of her fire, under the struggling rowan tree, Ro gnawed at the food Etty had given her. Her arms, sore from making need-fire, ached so badly, she could barely lift the meat to her mouth. Nevertheless, she tore at it with her teeth. When had she last eaten? As she swallowed, her stomach began to ache almost worse than her arms.
    Lionel prompted, “And?”
    â€œAnd what?”
    â€œThe denizens. What did