Dream awake. Make a making to please the gate.â
As she thought about this, Clare stood up on the wall again, stepping one foot in front of the other, careful with the balancing. She tried to turn to face Finn again without moving her feet, just turning on the balls. As she completed the turn, with a bit of arm-waving to balance, Finnâs amused expression provoked a flash of memory. She saw another grinning Finn, smaller and softer, swinging his legs on that wall. âFinn! We played here once. Did we? When we were little? I think we did.â
He looked unutterably pleased.
Another thought. âBut you said there were no fairy babies.â
A half smile.
âAnd you said there was no change where youâre from, everything stays the same.â
A nod, smile fading.
âBut what about you? You were a baby, with me. And you changed, since then, youâve grown up, like me.â
His face closed up. âIâm different,â he said. âIâm notâClare, thatâs a tale too long for telling now. No, donât make such a face, it is no matter.â Finn swung himself off the wall, hung precariously by his fingers, dropped to his feet. She couldnât see his face till he turned, but then it was clear again. âLetâs do what we came for. Are you ready to begin?â
Surprisingly, Clare thought she was. âThough if Iâm supposed to . . . I mean I didnât bring anythingâdrawing pencils or paints or anything.â
âNot necessary,â he said. He sat on a low stone and looked at her expectantly. âMake, my girl.â
Clare flushed. âUh, right. Not in front of you.â
Finn opened his hands. âBut, Clare, thatâs madness, donât you know Iâve seenââ
âDonât care what youâve seen. Go to another part of the castle, go behind some walls until I call you. And donât listen. Say you wonât.â
He threw his hands in the air and walked through a crumbling aperture in the wall.
âSAY YOU WONâT!â called Clare.
âAs you wish, mad Clare,â said a faint voice, followed by a little flute trill.
Clare stood for a moment, as if listeningâperhaps to see that Finn was really gone, perhaps for something else. Children playing. Well, it had been a while, but she would try.
She put out one leg, long and straight, drawing a toe in the dirt, then dropped lightly onto that foot; did the same with the other, then again: point-step; point-step. In this idle, half-dancing way she progressed around the perimeter of this large castle room. She stopped to pick a strawberry, but made the rule that she had to continue her point-step dance while balancing the strawberry on her tongue.
Part of her watched in astonishment, that she could remember so well, after all these years, how to play. Perhaps that fresh memory of small Clare playing here with small Finn had brought childhood close again. Or perhaps it was part of the magic of this place, to make it easy.
She made it halfway around the walls before the strawberry tipped so dangerously that she had to eat it. At that place, following her rule, she stopped and sat down. She was within armâs length ofa crumbling gray wall with a low, shallow indentation, as if a small statue had once stood there.
Cross-legged Clare thought for a moment, and then began.
âThe other day, day, day,â she began. As she chanted, she lightly slapped her knees, then clapped her hands, then pressed her hands against the wall.
âThe other day, day, day
I met a fae, fae, faeâ (she thought you could call them that)
âIt ran away, way, way
I cried all day, day, day.â
Now she speeded up, and added some tricky every-other-time crossed-arm movements.
âBut it came back back back back back,
And brought a sack sack sack sack sackââ
(Clare had no idea where this rhyme was going. And wait, was it a trick