Huntress

by Malinda Lo

She turned her eyes away, feeling sick. She stared at the fire, at the hearthstones, at the candlestick holding the black leather book open, the words crawling like worms across the page.

  And then Mona was smearing an ointment over the cut, and she pressed a cloth against it. “Hold it there,” Mona ordered, and began to crush the herbs into the blood. She poured in water from a black bottle; she knelt before the hearth and shoved the pot into the coals. She made a sign in the air—a circle—and she folded her hands together and touched them to her forehead, her mouth, her heart. A log fell with a crash, sending up sparks.

  After several moments Mona stood again, and Taisin asked nervously, “Is it ready?”

  “No, not for at least another hour. The herbs must absorb the blood fully.” Mona looked tired, and she sat down in the rocking chair. “Let me see your arm.”

  Taisin had almost forgotten about it, but now she peeled back the rag. The ointment had left an oily residue on the cloth, which was now stained red, but the cut itself had stopped bleeding. She didn’t resist when Mona wrapped a strip of linen around it, tucking the ends into place firmly. Her arm throbbed a little, and Mona said, “You should sit down. You’ve lost blood now, too.”

  Dazed, Taisin sank down to the floor. As Mona rocked nearby, Taisin stared at the iron pot in the fire, wondering if she had been right to let the greenwitch take her blood.

  Chapter XXIV

  Con paced back and forth in the clearing outside the cottage, his shoulders taut with worry. Earlier, they had heard Shae crying out in pain, but hours had now passed with no sounds from within. Taisin was still inside with Mona, who had shooed Con and Kaede away once they delivered the firewood and water. “You’ll just be in the way,” the old woman had said. “You’d best wait outside.”

  So they tended to their horses. They built a small fire in the stone-lined pit in the middle of the clearing, and they boiled water for tea. They cooked a cup of rice to eat, but neither Con nor Kaede had much experience with cooking, and the rice began to burn. They added more water, and then it became too wet. They ate it anyway, feeling gloomy and tired.

  Afterward, Kaede pulled out her bedroll. She was so worn out she was sure she could sleep in broad daylight, but Con was too wound up, and he began to pace. His agitation was contagious, and she was about to give up on sleeping when he sat down on one of the logs beside the fire pit, demanding in frustration, “Why haven’t they come outside yet? This woman must not know what she’s doing. I was too eager to believe in her.”

  Kaede rolled over, pillowing her head on her bent arm to look at him. “She said she’s a greenwitch.”

  He put his head in his hands. “But what do we really know about her?” he asked, his voice muffled. “Mona, is that her name? Who would want to live out here alone?”

  “She has a dog,” Kaede pointed out drily. Cavin was lying just outside the cottage door, apparently asleep.

  Con let out his breath in an exasperated sigh. “You’re making jokes, Kaede?”

  She groaned, lying back again and blinking up at the gray sky. It seemed unusually bright today. “I’m sorry, Con. You know I’m worried about Shae, too.”

  He nodded briefly. “She seems unusual, though. This greenwitch.”

  “Do you know many?” Kaede rubbed her hand across her eyes. Yes, she was positive: The cloud cover was thinner today.

  “A few. I met a few when I went up north last year. Aren’t they women who never passed the tests required to become sages?”

  “Some of them are. But I’ve heard of others, in recent years, who have rejected the sagehood and chosen to call themselves greenwitches instead.”

  “Why?”

  She glanced over at the cottage. The door was still closed. “There are some greenwitches who claim that the Academy—and the Council—are too distant from the people of this kingdom,” Kaede explained. “They believe that sages should be among the people, not removed from them.”

  He was surprised. “I haven’t heard anything about this.”

  “I don’t think the Council wants it to be widely known.”

  He quickly understood. “It would stir up trouble if people knew that some are resisting the Council’s orders.”

  “And there are fewer sages made every year,” Kaede pointed out. “They don’t want to lose anyone.”

  “What about you? Aren’t you due to join their ranks?”

  “I will never be a sage,” she said, and she realized that the idea of it no longer made her feel inadequate. It felt, instead, perfectly ordinary.

  “But you’ve been a student there for six years.”

  “I’ve read the classics, but I’m not meant to be a sage. I don’t have the skill.”

  “Why didn’t you leave the Academy earlier, then?”

  She turned back onto her side, propping her head on her hand, and gave him a tiny smile. “I have a powerful father, Con. He—and my mother, who would have been a sage if she hadn’t married him—wanted me to be there. I’m sure they hoped I’d develop the abilities, but… I don’t think it’s something you can learn.”

  “What are you going to do, then? When we return.”

  The question startled her. They had been on the road for almost five weeks now, but it felt like years. Her life before—the Academy, her family, her obligations—was a different world, one she could barely believe she had ever lived in. The real world was here and now: this clearing, where the clouds overhead were thin enough to remind her what a blue sky might look like. The dirt under her nails, the healing scars on her hands, the ache in her shoulders and back from digging Pol’s grave. Returning to her previous life seemed impossible. What would she do?

  “I don’t know,” she said at last. “My father wants me to marry someone.”

  “Who?”

  “I haven’t met him.” She grimaced. “Someone named Lord Win.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Really? I’ve met him. He’s—”

  “Don’t tell me,” she interrupted, sitting up. “I don’t want to know anything about him. I don’t intend to marry him.”

  Con’s lips twitched as though he were amused, but he only said mildly, “I didn’t expect you would.”

  Kaede sighed. “Tell that to my father.”

  “All right, I will.”

  She gave him a skeptical look. “What do you mean?”

  “When we return, I’ll talk to your father.”

  “My father won’t listen to you.”

  “Why not?” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “You don’t believe in my powers of persuasion?”

  She rolled her eyes. “My father is the most stubborn man alive. He usually gets what he wants.”

  “Have a little faith in me.” He grinned at her. “I am your future King.”

  She smiled faintly. She knew he was joking with her, but the thought of the future was sobering. Tali and Pol, both dead, and now Shae hovering on the edge. She said quietly, “I hope Shae will be all right.”

  Con stiffened; his grin vanished. “Shae is going to be fine,” he insisted. He picked up a stick and began to poke at the fire.

  “Of course she is,” Kaede agreed. Con’s brows were knitted with worry again, and she was sorry she had brought it up. If she had doubted his feelings for Shae before, she no longer did.

  She watched Con run a hand through his hair; it had grown at least an inch since they had left Cathair, and now it stuck out everywhere, as if he were a porcupine. Kaede noticed he had grown a beard, too, and she wondered when he had stopped shaving. It had been some time, she guessed. Wearing dirty, bloodstained clothes, he looked more like a highway bandit than a prince. But when they returned—when, she told herself, not if—he would also return to his obligations, and they did not include falling in love with a guard.

  Kaede asked, “Has your father spoken to you about marriage?”

  “No.” Sparks flew up as Con broke apart one of the burning pieces of wood. “He has been busy with his new bride,” he said bitterly
. “And by the time we return, I suspect I’ll have a new half brother or half sister.” He stared at the fire with a dour expression. “I’m guessing it’ll be at least another year before my father realizes he could use me that way.”

  At that moment, the cottage door opened, and Taisin came outside. “We’re finished,” she said. She looked exhausted, with purple smudges beneath her eyes and yellow and red stains on the front of her tunic.

  Con stood up and asked immediately, “How is she?”

  Taisin sat down on the log, rubbing at her tired eyes. “She is as well as she can be, given the circumstances.”

  “Is she in pain?” Con asked.

  “She is sleeping. Now all we can do is wait.”

  They slept away the afternoon, curled up around the fire pit, and even Con dozed a little. When Taisin awoke, evening was falling in lush, soft shadows around them, and Mona was pulling an iron teapot out of the fire.

  Taisin pushed herself up, blinking in the firelight. “How is Shae?” she asked, her voice thick with sleep.

  “She’s resting,” Mona answered.

  Con was holding a small iron cup of tea. “She looks a little better,” he said. He had gone inside the cottage as soon as Mona came out, and he had been relieved to see some improvement. Shae’s fever had cooled somewhat, although she was still hot to the touch.

  Mona poured another cup and handed it to Taisin. “Be careful. It’s hot.”

  Taisin took it gingerly, holding it by the rim. The fragrance of summer flowers wafted up at her. “Where’s Kaede?” she asked.

  “She’ll be back soon. Ah! There she is now.”

  Kaede came from the lean-to behind the cottage carrying an earthenware jar. “Is this what you were looking for?” she asked, handing it to Mona.

  “Oh, yes,” the woman said. Her smile spread wrinkles across her whole face. With a deft twist, she opened the jar. “I haven’t had visitors in so long.” She sounded both eager and a bit uncertain. “The occasion deserves something special, doesn’t it?” She handed the jar back to Kaede, who sniffed it: honey. Her mouth watered instantly; it had been so long since she had tasted something sweet that she wanted to upend the entire jar into her mouth. Mona laughed at her. “Use this, my dear,” she said, and handed her a wooden spoon and a steaming cup of tea. Then she turned to Con and added, “Although I’m afraid I can’t offer you anything to compete with the King’s table.”

  He paused, teacup half-raised to his mouth. He hadn’t told her who he was. “How did—do you know who I am?”

  “I have seen your face before, Your Highness,” she said.

  “Where?”

  She shook her head, clucking her tongue. “I cannot reveal my secrets. I know you and your companions are embarked on a very important journey, and I am so pleased that I have been able to do my part in it.”

  “Did you know to expect us?” Kaede asked.

  “Expect?” Mona repeated. “I don’t think that is the right word, exactly. Although I have been seeing pieces of you all for years, you know.”

  Kaede considered the old woman’s impish expression. “Do you have the Sight?”

  “It is not what you would call the Sight,” Mona said, clucking her tongue again. “No, not what you would know. Young Taisin here may have an idea… she has visions I would never dream of having.” Mona gave Taisin a smile that was almost proud, and Taisin looked nervous. “Do not be afraid of your visions,” Mona said to Taisin, speaking as if she were addressing a small child. “You must be open to them—open to everything under the sun and the moon, though these are both obscured to us now… sadly.”

  Con set his teacup gently on the ground and said, “Madam, you are undoubtedly a wise woman. May I ask how many years you have lived here in the Great Wood?”

  She turned her head toward him almost coquettishly. “I am not averse to some flattery, indeed I am not, young prince. I have lived beneath these trees for longer than you have been alive, certainly.”

  He smiled at her. “Then you must surely know much about this Wood that I—that we do not. Will you look at our maps and share your knowledge about the land here?”

  “Oh, maps,” Mona said, her voice lilting. “What have maps to do with anything? They do not show the true path.” She sighed. “But of course I will look at them, though I assure you they are useless.”

  Puzzled, Con went and retrieved the maps from their long carrying case. He spread them out on the ground near Mona, taking care to avoid the fire. The light flickered over the paper as the old woman crouched down and stared at the lines demarcating the Great Wood, the river Nir, the Kell. Con pointed at a spot south of the intersection of the two rivers and said, “Is this where we are?”

  Mona squinted down at the map and said, “That may be. Yes, that may be.” She gestured broadly at the northern portion of the map, which was largely unmarked forest. “All of that is wrong. All wrong.”

  “Have you been north of the Kell?” Con asked.

  “No, not I,” Mona objected, as if affronted. “I stay to my side of the boundary.”

  “So there is still an agreed-upon boundary?” Con said.

  “Well, I have agreed to my own boundary.” Mona laughed as if she had told a joke. Then her face grew serious, and she pointed at the line of the Kell. “This,” she said. “This is the boundary I have agreed upon. I stay on my side, and they don’t bother me.”

  “Who?” Con asked.

  “The fay, of course,” Mona said.

  “You mean the Xi?” Kaede said.

  “The Xi are only one of many races of fay peoples,” Mona said. She added with an arch smile, “Perhaps the most arrogant ones. The Fairy Queen, of course, purports to rule them all.”

  Kaede asked curiously, “What other fay races are there?”

  Mona shook her head. “It is not so simple, young one. Many of them have died out. There were wars between many races; few survived.” But then she seemed truly delighted as she added, “And yet life moves in its cycles, doesn’t it? I believe some fairies survived after all. I saw the loveliest little sprite the other day—moving just like a hummingbird. Do you know those? So pretty.”

  A thrill ran through Taisin as she heard Mona describe the sprite. Was that the name of the creature she saw in her visions? She burned with questions, but Mona picked up her staff and levered herself to her feet. “Nonetheless, it makes no difference to you,” she said. “You won’t see anything that doesn’t want to be seen.”

  Con said, “Madam, we must travel north of the Kell. We’ll surely encounter the Xi, won’t we?”

  She gave him a measuring look and answered, “It is unwise of you to cross the river.”

  “We have an invitation from the Fairy Queen,” Con said.

  “An invitation?” Mona said, her white eyebrows rising. “A true invitation?”

  “Yes,” Con said.

  Mona shrugged. “Then perhaps all will be well.”

  “Do you know where we should cross the river?” he asked. “Is there a bridge?”

  “I have been to the river, but never forded it. You will be safe enough on this side if you keep quiet about your destination—the Wood listens, you know. But on the other side, it is not a place for humans.” She paused for a moment as if considering whether or not to tell them something. At last she said, “When I visited the Kell some years ago, I saw the Xi. They guard the border, I think. A great phalanx of them, hunters all. With bows and swords and grand horses. They kindly allowed me to leave without an arrow in my back.”

  And then Mona looked up at the darkening sky and seemed to remember something. “Oh, my, it is growing late! Taisin, you had better come with me; I’ll need your assistance sitting up with our invalid tonight.”

  Chapter XXV

  By now, Taisin recognized parts of the fortress—the long, sloping corridor; the cavernous ceiling hung with icicles sharp as swords; the endless ranks of golden cages. And then there were the creatures she had seen, each one equ
ally strange and beautiful. Some had scales like fish, and they slipped beneath still pools. Others, with fingers as gnarled as tree roots, nevertheless moved with the grace of leaves in a summer breeze. But the only creature she had seen whole was the winged fairy, who repeatedly flew down that corridor as if she were doomed to traverse the same small space for eternity.

  It wasn’t until late at night in Mona’s cottage, when Shae was finally resting peacefully, that Taisin saw the other woman. Mona was asleep in her chair by the fire, and perhaps it was the greenwitch’s presence that made it possible for Taisin to finally see her. One moment Taisin was lying on the pallet she had made on the floor next to the bed, and the next she was moving swiftly down the same corridor she had floated through countless times before—but this time, she was walking.

  She could feel the contours of her body—this woman’s body—and she wore a gown of some kind of heavy fabric. A cloak of ermine was draped around her shoulders. The floor was cold beneath the thin soles of her shoes, but she was used to the cold; it no longer bothered her. Taisin felt a fierce protectiveness for the ice, and it surprised her. This woman was in love with the mountain she had raised, block by block, from the frozen northern sea. She was no one to be toyed with, for she could shape icebergs into towers so high they scratched the sky. Taisin felt the power in the woman’s veins, and she was awed by the strength of it. The way Taisin herself had felt when she had ripped into the fabric of the world to kill those wolves—that was only the beginning of what this woman could do.

  She walked briskly to the end of the corridor, and Taisin saw her hand pushing open a door. The sight that greeted her made the woman swell with pride and determination. It was a nursery. On a dais, as if it were a throne, was a cradle made of crystal. Small hands reached up from within, and the woman went to the cradle and lifted out a baby. It was a perfect child in many ways. It had soft, sweet skin, and tiny fingers and dimpled knuckles. Verdant green eyes looked up at her from beneath long black lashes. Then the child opened its mouth and turned its head, and sank a row of pearly little fangs into the woman’s arm.