"Long story." Keelie shrugged.

He made a sweeping motion with his hand. "Hurry up and get your costume. The gates open in thirty minutes. I hope you're good at improv, Heartwood. Or should I say, Dilly?" He laughed, a weird little chortle.

Thirty minutes later, Mona the costumer had stuffed Keelie into a stained peasant shirt and green, calf-length, broadcloth pants. Keelie stared wistfully at the Plumpkin head, which now lay abandoned and forlorn next to the unicorn head. She realized that she was nostalgic only because she wasn't close enough to smell it.

The pickle cart was parked outside. It was a heavy, tipped-over pickle barrel, with two big green wheels on each side and long wooden handles that seemed to be made so that a donkey or pony could pull it. Sir Brine trotted ahead, and Keelie grabbed the handles and pushed the heavy cart down the graveled path after him. Sir Brine of Cuc.u.mberton sang, "Do you know the Pickle Man, the Pickle Man, the Pickle Man? Do you know the Pickle Man, who walks down Nottingham Lane?"

Even though Sir Brine had a good baritone voice, his stupid pickle song was already getting on her nerves. Worse, now that she was outside, Keelie sensed that something was different; something was wrong. It wasn't the Dread, but something akin to it that tainted the morning. She couldn't put her finger on it, but her skin tingled and her head ached like it did in the aftermath of too much tree magic. Her vision was distorted, and the air was hazy as if a thick fog of discord blanketed the Faire.

Keelie thought she must be the only person who could feel the weirdness, because they sold dozens of pickles. People seemed to love Sir Brine. She wondered if they actually ate the pickles or only bought them because they thought the vendor was funny.

They'd made their way in a big circle, from the front gates to the jousting ring and back down Enchanted Lane. They were almost at the Heartwood shop when she saw it was closed. Dad must still be at the lodge. It was then that Keelie realized that something was very different about the landscape.

"Dilly, hurry it up. I want to break for lunch after we do this bit." He broke into his song for what seemed like the one-thousandth time.

Keelie rolled her eyes and bent over to push the cart over the acorn-strewn path.

"Watch out, la.s.s, you're going to run into that tree." The pickle man tsked and grabbed the front of the cart to pull it to one side.

Keelie stopped pushing and the cart rolled back toward her, hitting her hip. She barely felt the jolt, her attention fixed on the tall, slender oak in the path. A tree where one had not been this morning. One of the oaks from across the lane had moved, and was now standing between Dad's booth and Lulu's puppet shop.

She looked around at the shops. No one seemed to notice the tree. She put a hand out toward the bark, then pulled it back and instead opened herself to the forest. Anger Anger. She was surprised to feel strong animosity flow to her, along with a really icky feeling. Sickness. Even these trees were sick. Queasiness made her knees weak. As she felt wildly for the pink quartz that would neutralize the effect of the tree magic, she realized that her costume didn't have pockets. Her quartz was back at Admin in her jeans pocket. She felt wide-open, exposed to the magic around her. She was going to have to find a way to get away from Sir Brine and return to Admin.

Sir Brine looked around. "We may as well set up here for a while."

"Stay here?" If Laurie and Raven went to Janice's herb shop they'd have to walk right past her.

"Surely. We move up and down the lanes, then stop for a while. We can stay here about twenty minutes and see how business is." He pushed the cart to the side of the path and started to sing again.

They were in front of Lulu's building. Lulu had company, a stern-looking man in wizard's robes she'd seen watching Lulu by the front gates on opening day. He sat in a chair behind the counter as Lulu glumly waved at the children pa.s.sing by her shop. Her costume was crumpled and her wings frumpled, hanging limply down her back as if they'd been left in the rain. She picked up a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag and swigged from it.

Lulu then noticed the cart, and came to her shop door. She hadn't seen Keelie yet. She sneered at Sir Brine. "Get out of here, and sell your pickles somewhere else, you green jerk."

Sir Brine glared at her. He placed his hands on his hips and sang out, "Old Mother Puppet went to the cupboard, expecting to find Elianard, but when she got there, she found it was bare, and now she's all alone."

"Aw, shut up." Lulu chugged whatever was in her brown bottle.

Keelie couldn't believe that Elianard's rejection of Lulu's home-baked goods had broken her heart. She didn't think that a witch who preyed on children's imaginations could have a heart.

A crowd of Faire goers gathered round and watched, laughing as if the vendors' battle was part of the show. Sir Brine smiled and began his Pickle Man song. He moved his hands as if he were directing an orchestra, then turned to Keelie. "Okay, Dilly join in on the chorus. 'Yes, I know the Pickle Man, the Pickle Man, the Pickle Man, who walks down Enchanted Lane.'"

Keelie stared at him with her arms crossed over her chest. She was not going to sing.

He smiled at her and again animatedly moved his arms in big gestures. "Sing it, Dilly." No way she would sing. Not her. Not happening. She pointed to her ear and shook her head, miming that she was deaf.

He arched an eyebrow, placed his hands on his hips, and tapped his foot. Keelie grinned at him, then reached into the pickle barrel with her large silver tongs and removed a huge, warty green pickle. The tangy smell of vinegar and spices filled the air. Maybe if they displayed the product she could divert attention from Sir Brine and his song and dance.

A little curly-headed girl, dressed in a pink fairy outfit, pointed at her with a chubby finger. "Ickle."

Aw, how cute!

The girl's mom searched her purse for money. "She loves pickles. How much?"

Keelie pointed to the wooden market pickle sign that had "$1.00" carved into it. She wanted to ask how old the little girl was, but she had to stay in character.

The mother gave Keelie a dollar, and Keelie handed a napkin-wrapped pickle to the little girl. From the corner of her eye, she saw three of the oak trees across from Heartwood lift their branches in perfect synchronization, as if they were taking stage directions from someone nearby.

The little girl's face scrunched up as she stared at the trees, and Keelie followed her gaze. The bark on the tree trunks had formed faces. Dark green eyes blinked from the bark. Uh oh. This was not normal tree behavior, even for a unicorn's forest. She had to contact Dad before more people noticed.

The little white cat ran across the lane and onto the steps of the Heartwood booth. Keelie wondered if Knot was close by, too. He could get a message to Dad. Better yet, she could do it herself. She closed her eyes and opened her mind to the trees, searching for that green sensation, like sap running through her veins. For a second it was there, then it quickly cut off and she was queasy. She staggered and grabbed for the cart to steady herself. Shocked, she realized that the oaks had blocked her telepathic attempt to communicate with them. The aspen heart was cold against her skin.

The oaks swayed to and fro as if a strong wind waltzed through their canopies, the hiss of their leaves as loud as if a storm was approaching. People were looking up, searching the sky for clouds. Keelie looked up, too, but she surveyed the uppermost treetops for any sign of the trouble-making bhata bhata. She closed her eyes, opening herself to the trees once more. Still, the aspen heart was cold, and this time the nausea that followed brought her to her knees. She sensed hostility. The trees didn't want her around.

A single lovely note rang through the air, and Elia stepped into a beam of sunlight in the middle of Enchanted Lane. She strummed her harp and sang, "Here's the song of the Pickle Girl, the biggest loser in the world. By day she smells of pickle juice, beware when she is on the loose-"

It was just Elia. Keelie could handle her, although the elf girl was badly in need of a poetry intervention. She had some nerve, calling Keelie a loser when her rhymes were so awful.

As Elia neared, the little girl in the fairy outfit dropped her pickle and hid her face in her mom's blue-jean-covered leg.

Sir Brine walked over and picked up the discarded pickle, now dusty. "Dilly, give this fairy princess another one."

Elia sauntered closer to the pickle cart and played another chord on her harp strings. The hairs on Keelie's neck stood up.

The little girl kept her arms tightly wrapped around her mother's leg. Keelie noticed that Elia's gaze was focused on the child. Behind them the trees swayed together in the same direction, like ch.o.r.eographed woodland dancers.

Instinctively, Keelie ran to stand in front of the little girl and her mother as all of the oaks acted like living sling-shots, sending a barrage of acorns flying toward them. She extended her hand, palm outward, and visualized a shield of green magic to protect them. Tingles of magic flowed through her as her talisman, the heart of the aspen queen, grew warm.

Sir Brine's voice rose over the crowd. "Everyone stay calm; it's just the wind blowing."

Keelie telepathically summoned Tavak. I need your help. I need your help. She allowed the tree to see through her eyes, as if she were a video camera. She allowed the tree to see through her eyes, as if she were a video camera.

Tavak answered immediately. Tree Shepherdess, their fear has made them wild. Tree Shepherdess, their fear has made them wild.

Fear of what?

Tavak's answer was m.u.f.fled; then he went silent. Keelie wondered what was going on around here.

A scream erupted behind her. She turned, fearing the mom and little girl had been hurt, but it was Lulu who had screamed. Hundreds of acorns covered the entrance of her shop. Acorns were rolling down the shop roof and red welts covered her face where she'd been pummeled by the nutty projectiles. The wizard dude, who'd been keeping watch over her, glowered at Lulu as if the acorn blizzard were her fault.

The oak that stood between Heartwood and Lulu's shop seemed to become more alive, more animated. A face formed from the knots in its trunk. Keelie stared, fascinated. She'd seen a tree's face before, in the meadows of the High Mountain Faire, but she'd considered Hrok her friend. This tree was a stranger.

The little girl gasped and pointed at the closed eyes, nose and lips that had formed on the bark. The mom looked, but apparently didn't see anything. Keelie watched the girl, wondering what she could do to lessen her fear.

Keelie waved to get the mother's attention. "Ma'am? There's a petting zoo over there with sheep, chickens, and ponies." She pointed at the sign that marked the way to the zoo.

"You can talk," the child said accusingly.

Keelie placed her index finger against her lip and winked.

The little girl giggled.

We're with you, Tree Shepherdess. Tavak spoke again in her head. Tavak spoke again in her head. Touch the oak. Lord Einhorn will use his magic to help you contact him Touch the oak. Lord Einhorn will use his magic to help you contact him.

She shivered and wondered where he was, wishing that he didn't trust her. That's what Dad was here for. She looked around, but saw only the busy Faire and the avid faces of the crowd around them. The unicorn was so sick that his guard might be down. If he came out of the forest, maybe the child would see it, as well as all the other innocents here. If only Dad were here. He'd want to know that Einhorn wanted to talk to her.

The little white stray meowed at her feet. Keelie bent down, picked it up and placed it on the railing that bordered one side of the Heartwood booth. "Silly kitty. You could get hurt. Go back to the camper and stay with Knot."

She reached out to the oak tree and it opened to her, allowing their thoughts to touch. She didn't need the unicorn to talk to a tree, especially this poor oak. It was hurting. She stretched out a hand and brushed its rough bark. Pain filled her mind. Reeling, she pitched forward, bringing both hands into full contact with the tree as she tried to catch herself. She cried out as the oak's pain coursed through her. Falling to her knees, she tried to shake her thoughts free from the tree's. But she was trapped.

twenty.

In the green darkness, Keelie's mind was trapped in the tree's mind, her movements tree-slow. She throbbed with pain and thirst and despair. She felt Lord Einhorn, and saw that he was frail and almost transparent. He'd given up everything for the forest. He stood between it and the dark evil that threatened them all.

Keelie was the tree. Voices surround her, like the rustling of leaves before a storm. She had to find the Tree Shepherd, even if he did not heed their calls. The Tree Shepherd's child was too young, although she had deep roots. As if she were the tree, she felt its roots shift. Where her left leg would be was a twist of roots that reached, thick and deep, into the nourishing earth. Her mind was one with the tree. She tugged, and the root moved again. She pulled harder now, and it pulled out of the ground and snaked across the top of the earth. The pain was excruciating. As if she were the tree, she felt its roots shift. Where her left leg would be was a twist of roots that reached, thick and deep, into the nourishing earth. Her mind was one with the tree. She tugged, and the root moved again. She pulled harder now, and it pulled out of the ground and snaked across the top of the earth. The pain was excruciating.

Keelie tried once more to separate herself from the tree as it pushed its roots further out, and the tips and rootlets sought the soil and sank deep again. Her canopy moved forward, then back again. As if she were the tree, she thrust out her branches for balance, and an abandoned robin's nest broke free of her shoulder and fell, turning over and over to splinter on the ground below. Around her roots the humans swarmed, running back and forth. She saw herself at the base of the tree.

Bruk, the tree's name was Bruk, and she was a sapling of the mighty Silak of the ancient place, the untouched forest that felt no pain except the sky fire that sometimes came before the rain.

"Dilly! Aw, la.s.s, are you sick, too?" She heard the words and understood them, but had no voice to answer.

She was back. Keelie opened her eyes. She was lying in the middle of the dirt path. Sir Brine stood over her, a paper-wrapped pickle in his fist and a worried expression on his face.

"Are you back with us? I think you knocked your noggin on the tree." He grinned nervously. "Don't want you to get sick, girlie."

Over his shoulder she saw Bruk the tree. The oak had become more lifelike, more human in appearance. It was looking down at her, and sitting on a ma.s.sive branch by its eyes was the white cat, chin pointed up and eyes slit shut as if he was smelling the air. The face in the oak blinked, then the eyes, nose, and mouth formed back into knots. The cat shook itself, then seemed to collapse, draping itself onto the branch. The scent of loamy earth and deep forests on a cool spring day surrounded her, as did a sense of calm. The oak tree was quiet; asleep and pain-free.

Keelie sighed with relief. The cat looked down at her and meowed piteously.

Sir Brine rubbed his head. "I could have sworn I saw a face in that tree. What is the Faire administration thinking? We pay more and more to run our businesses, and they're spending the money on fancy animatronics instead of putting in a decent bathhouse."

Keelie ignored his rant, but she couldn't ignore the fact that he'd seen the tree. Where was Dad? She couldn't handle all this by herself. On top of everything else, how was she going to get that idiot cat out of the oak? Not that she had to. The first thing was to get some aspirin, because her head was throbbing. Keelie got up and dusted off her pickle costume. She should never have touched the tree without the rose quartz. She knew that. Being inside a tree was an all-new experience, though.

"Back to work, Dilly."

Sir Brine was working it, and Keelie dutifully handed out pickles to buyers. Elia walked up, her harp in one hand, and placed her other hand on the barrel lid as if to keep Keelie from getting another pickle. Her long golden hair twisted in bright curls, cascading down to her little waist. She wore a long, fitted gown with wide, sweeping over-sleeves in blue, and tight, gold-embroidered green sleeves underneath. The green sleeves were loosely laced over a fluffy, thin white cloth. A low leather belt was clasped around her waist, worked all around with oak leaves and acorns. It hurt Keelie that Elia was so beautiful on the outside and so hideous inside.

As if to prove her point, the elf girl leaned forward and hissed, "Tell me where the unicorn is, and I won't hurt the little human girl."

Keelie glanced around. The little girl and her mother had not gone to the zoo yet. They were coming down the steps of Lulu's shop. Lulu seemed pathetically happy to see them.

Keelie removed Elia's hand, then lifted the lid and reached in and grabbed a pickle. "I thought elves weren't supposed to use magic in front of humans."

"We're not, but I need to know where the unicorn is. If you don't tell me, then I'm going to follow that little girl to the petting zoo, and I will make sure that all the animals hurt her because you were nice to her. All kinds of odd things are happening at the Faire today, are they not?" Elia plinked a harp string for added emphasis and smiled insincerely.

Keelie matched her fake grin as she wrapped the pickle in wax paper. "I don't know where the unicorn is."

"He is here. I can sense him. And he summoned you last night."

Keelie remembered Dad's warning to not discuss the unicorn. No worries there. "Were you hoping that he would come to you, Elia, and he didn't? Maybe you scared him away."

"So amusing. But if you don't get the unicorn here right now, then I'm going to follow through on my threat. Don't forget I cursed your bird, and I can curse that ugly little human pig."

Keelie slammed the barrel lid down on Elia's fingers. The elf girl yelled and s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand back, dropping her harp. She glared at Keelie. "That hurt!"

Keelie grabbed the harp and held it close to her chest.

"Get your filthy human hands off my harp," Elia screamed.

Sir Brine watched them, wide-eyed, from a crowd of Faire goers that had gathered thinking the girls were putting on a show.

Not missing a beat, Elia cradled her hand against her chest as if she were hurt. Her voice rose, plaintive, over the crowd. "I have to find Prince John, and I will see that this wicked pickle peddler is punished. Now give me back my harp, you villainous wretch."

Keelie shrugged, pointed to her ear, and shook her head.

Elia stomped her foot on the ground and shrieked. "Get over the lame act. You can talk. I want my harp back."

"Dilly, you must return the harp to Princess Eleanor." Sir Brine grabbed one end of the harp as Keelie clung to the other. His voice lowered to a hiss. "You idiot. What do you think you're doing?"

For a few seconds, a tug of war continued between Keelie and Sir Brine, while Elia held up her hurt hand and pretended to cry.

"What is this?" Little John's familiar voice boomed over the clearing. He wrapped his burly arm around Elia, who glowered at him. Then she smiled, as an evil idea had popped into her brain.

"Oh, Little John, save my harp," she squeaked like a maiden in distress. "I was attacked by this beastly pickle peasant, and she's stolen my harp."

Little John's face reddened, and his eyes narrowed as he shot Keelie and Sir Brine a very nasty look.

Keelie had seen that overzealous look before. Here was someone who was still Little John after the Faire was closed and the mundanes had gone home.

Sir Brine released his end of the harp and pointed at Keelie. "She stole it from Lady Eleanor."

What a wuss!

Little John released Elia and held his staff before him. The crowd had grown, and now they cheered. "Little John. Little John. Little John."

He punched a fist into the air, then turned on Keelie. "Peasant, are you going to give Lady Eleanor her harp back, or am I going to have to persuade you?" He twirled his staff as if he were a member of the Sherwood Marching Band. And he was looking straight at Keelie.

Yup. Somebody hadn't taken his medication this morning and had slipped back into his own little make-believe medieval world. It wasn't worth a broken arm.

Keelie shoved the harp toward a smirking Elia, who hissed "round-eared peasant." She took her harp and made a big show of examining it for damage, before tossing her curls and leaving in a swirl of skirts.

Victorious, the rogue and delusional Merry Man held his staff up and the crowd cheered.