Read The Summer King for Free Online Page B

bricks in your brain?”
    Laurel tried to speak, but couldn’t. Waves of fatigue were washing over her. Her head kept dropping onto her chest. She was overwhelmed by the desire to have a little nap. Maybe lie down on the carpet in front of the fire? The alternative was too bizarre: to continue talking with this little man who looked like one of Santa’s elves.
    His tone was suddenly matter-of-fact.
    “Look, stick to the essentials and never mind the existentials. Forget all that palaver about fantasy or reality. Act as if ye believe and see what happens. Is that too much to ask?”
    It wasn’t. In fact, the suggestion was so simple and pragmatic it appealed to her instantly. No need to wrestle with the bigger issues. Take it a step at a time. And Laurel so wanted to believe. She knew the stakes. Either there were more things than she had ever dreamed of, or there was nothing beyond her own experience and philosophy. And if the latter were true, there was no hope for her. She would never, ever see her sister again.
    “I’ll try.” Her tongue felt thick and furry. She had to force the words out. “I’ll act … as if … I believe.”
    She had no sooner uttered the words than she began to feel better. The room came back into focus. Energy returned to her limbs. The little man himself looked more solid and even normal, as he rubbed his hands gleefully.
    Laurel sat up straight, her mind clear. There was only one thing she wanted to know.
    “Was my sister stolen by the fairies?”
    The cluricaun was quick to answer.
    “No, she’s not with us, more’s the pity. She’s caught in a quare place.”
    “What do you mean?!”
    Laurel’s heart was beating so fast she thought she might faint.
    The little man sighed, even as the turf ash sighed in the fire.
    “Your sister’s fallen through a crack, a tear in the fabric of Faerie. It’s a story that belongs to a bigger tale, like most things.”
    He drew on his pipe. Laurel held her breath.
    “These are dark days for the Realm,” he declared momentously. “’Twas only a short while ago we lost our High King. Not the new one who sent me to ye, mind, but the old one. The First King.”
    “What happened to him?” she asked, trying not to be impatient.
    “’Twould take a book to tell ye. I could be here all night with tales about the fairies. The story in a nutshell? He lost his heart to a human girl and that was the end of him.”
    “Dead?”
    The cluricaun nodded.
    “Dead to our world, alive in yours. But there’s no time to be talkin’ about metempsychosis. There’s too much to do and it should’ve been done yesterday.”
    “It’s okay, I understand. My grandfather explained it earlier. But I didn’t realize it went both ways, that fairies could die and come here!”
    “Well, they can,” he told her, “but it’s never happened to the High King before! The place is in rag order because of it. Ruptions and ructures and ruaille-buaille. Your sister’s not the only one missin’. But I’ll tell ye this. If things aren’t set right and soon, bedad, they’ll only get worse. And if Faerie is doomed, ye know what that means.”
    After all she had read, Laurel did. Disaster for both worlds. As the two were linked, the existence of each depended on the other. Faerie needed humanity to protect and believe in it, while the Earthworld was nourished by the land of hopes and dreams. She recognized the chief theme in her grandfather’s books: the Rescue of Fairyland. And in all the tales, it was a mortal who did the job.
    Outside, the wind whistled round the corners of the house. The ivy trailing over the window tapped against the panes. The cluricaun put more turf on the fire, and continued.
    “Midsummer’s Eve is nearly upon us. It’s a high feast celebrated by the fairy folk and those of your kind who remember the old ways. ’Tis a special night, but all the more so in the seventh year. For every seven years, on the day that’s in it, the isle of Hy Brasil