Huntress

by Malinda Lo

  Taisin felt the pain herself; it was as though she had been stabbed by a half-dozen little needles, each one poison-tipped. She jerked on the floor of Mona’s cottage, and in the fortress the woman snarled at the baby and threw it, hard, against the edge of the cradle.

  Blood smeared against the crystal, and Taisin was stunned by the strength of the woman’s rage. It boiled out of her: pain and anger and choking, bitter disappointment.

  And then, in a jarring, disorienting lurch, Taisin felt Mona’s hand on her, shaking her, calling her name, and she awoke on the floor of the cottage.

  The old woman was standing over her, that one milky eye fixed on her as though it could see into her mind. “Where did you go?” Mona muttered, prodding at her with the end of her staff. “No use in flying off to unsafe places. Keep your wits about you.”

  Taisin pushed her hair away from her eyes; her hand came away damp with sweat. “I will,” she said. “I do.”

  Mona gave her a skeptical look. “You are walking a fine line.”

  Taisin was confused. The vision of the ice fortress still clung to her, making this world seem hazy, unreal. “What do you mean?”

  Mona shook her head as if Taisin were a rebellious child. “What you did yesterday to those wolves—I haven’t felt anything like that since… well, not since I was a very young girl. You had better keep an eye on yourself. These things have a way of turning.”

  Taisin went cold all over. Mona’s blue eye was icy as she gazed at her, unblinking, and Taisin felt utterly exposed, as though Mona were peeling back layer upon layer of her defenses and examining each one. Taisin remembered how it felt to bend the meridians of energy to her will: like she was invincible. She realized—half ashamed, half defiant—that she yearned to feel that way again. To hold the webbing of the world in her hands, and to use it.

  Mona bent down and clutched Taisin’s chin in her bony hand and nearly spit in her face as she said, “You listen to me, young Taisin. You have a strong heart, but even the strongest heart can be tempted.”

  Taisin tried to pull back, but Mona’s iron grip was bruising in its strength. It seemed to reach through her—within her—and smothered the flame of that desire until all that remained was a hard, hot little ember.

  Mona let go, and Taisin fell back, gasping and weak. The old woman gestured toward Shae, pushing up her sleeves. “She’s ready for her next infusion. Will you bring the herbs?”

  Taisin was transfixed by the sight of Mona’s bare forearm: There was a mark there, but though it was roughly the same size and shape as a sage’s mark, it was a solid black circle, not the symbols that Taisin had seen before. It was as though Mona had once been marked, but had since chosen to efface the symbol—or to erase it. Mona saw her eyeing the mark, and she said shortly, “We don’t all make the right choices when we’re young.”

  “What do you mean? Are you a marked sage?”

  “No.”

  “But what is that—”

  “I might have once been marked, but I am no longer.”

  Taisin was incredulous. “How could you reject your station like that? It is an honor to be marked.” Another possibility came to her, and the idea that the Council might have stripped Mona of her marking made her look at the greenwitch uneasily. It could only be a horrible thing that would cause the Council to revoke a sage’s status.

  Mona’s eyes narrowed and she leaned down so that she was peering directly into Taisin’s eyes with her single good one. “Not everything they teach you is true. I have chosen my own path. So must you.” She backed away and returned to Shae’s bedside. “Now will you bring me those herbs?”

  Later that night, Mona slept again in her rocking chair, gently snoring. But Taisin couldn’t sleep anymore; her thoughts circled endlessly around Mona’s strange words, the awful vision, and the black mark.

  Shivering, she wrapped her blanket tighter around herself and crawled over to the hearth to stir the coals. The flaring light illuminated the books stacked around the trunk nearby, and as the shadows leapt over the bindings, she began to wonder what was in them. She glanced at Mona, who was still asleep, and then reached for the closest volume, pulling it down as quietly as possible and opening it in her lap. It was a journal of some sort containing long lists of what looked like herbs or plants. The last quarter of the pages were blank, and she realized they must be Mona’s own records. She closed the book and pulled out another, and another, motivated by a rising compulsion she did not understand. She felt as if she were searching for something. But book after book disappointed her—they all seemed to be journals of plant life, notations about tonics or medicines. In every one, the handwriting was the same: tiny, precise, taking up no more room than was necessary. Taisin assumed it was Mona’s work, and it made sense, for she had known precisely what to do for Shae’s injuries. Mona had spent her whole life, apparently, studying the medicinal properties of herbs.

  The last book on the stack nearest to Taisin was the largest yet, and Taisin opened it expecting more of the same. But this time, there were illustrations, too, and they were not illustrations of plants. The drawings—sometimes crude, but always lifelike—depicted creatures like the ones she saw in her visions. Holding her breath in excitement, she stopped at a picture of a being with wings just like a hummingbird’s. There were notes there, too, in Mona’s handwriting. Sprite, Taisin read. She turned the page. A slender woman with hair like sea kelp: asrai. Found in the icy waters of the north. A dwarflike being with legs as thick as tree trunks: knocker. And another creature that looked as if it had been sprung from the limbs of an oak tree: wood nymph. Taisin stared at it, her mouth open, remembering the body they had buried outside of Jilin.

  “Find something interesting?” Mona said.

  Taisin started, looking up at the greenwitch. “Are these creatures… are these all fairies?” Taisin asked, her heart racing.

  Mona cocked her head, reminding Taisin of a bird with a very sharp beak. For a moment Mona’s shadow seemed to arch overhead malevolently, but then Mona settled back into her chair, and she was just an old woman again. “What a silly question,” Mona finally said, though there was no sting in her voice. “What else could they be?”

  Taisin looked back at the drawing of the wood nymph. Notes were scrawled around the picture. “Is this your handwriting?”

  “Some of it is. Some of that book was wrong. I had to correct it.”

  “You mean this book was…” Taisin trailed off, thinking. “Where did this book come from?”

  “I rescued it from the Academy,” Mona said, and she sounded almost cheerful about it.

  “You rescued it?”

  Mona leaned down, the birdlike look back in her eye. “You trust your teachers, do you?”

  “Yes,” Taisin said, feeling defensive. “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “Did they teach you about these fairies?”

  Taisin hesitated. “No, but—”

  “But what, my dear? They have sent you on this journey through the Great Wood without even telling you about the creatures you might encounter?” Mona put her bony hand on her chest, a look of sorrow sweeping over her face. “I wouldn’t trust anyone who did that to me. Why should you?”

  Taisin was disconcerted. Was Mona right? She thought of Sister Ailan, who had always seemed to be so honorable and honest. She thought of Maire Morighan and the other teachers, who had all been generous and kind to her, and answered every question she posed, no matter what it was. Had she been asking the wrong questions?

  Mona seemed to see the confusion in her face, for the old woman said, “You read that book tonight. And when you return to the Academy, perhaps you will have something to teach your teachers.”

  Chapter XXVI

  They spent two nights at Mona’s cottage. Taisin showed Con and Kaede the book of fairies, and they pored over its yellowed pages for hours. By the second night, Shae’s fever was gone, but she was still too weak to travel. When Mona offered to shelter Shae until she was reco
vered enough to return to Jilin, they knew they had to move on. Midsummer—and their appointment with the Fairy Queen—was less than a fortnight away, and they had no idea if they would arrive in time.

  Con lingered by Shae’s bedside on the morning of their departure. She drifted in and out of a drugged sleep, and all he could do was hold her hand. “We’re coming back,” he whispered, as much for himself as for her. His eyes were hot with suppressed tears. “I promise you.”

  They left Shae’s horse behind, along with her gear and a tent, but they took all the remaining food supplies. There wasn’t much, and Kaede began to wonder if she would have to attempt to hunt on her own. She felt extremely vulnerable now, traveling only with Taisin and Con. The two days at Mona’s cottage had been a reprieve from cold reality, but now, as they made their way down an overgrown trail that surely hadn’t seen human traffic in generations, that reality returned. They had lost their leader in Tali. They had lost Pol and Shae, who knew how to survive in the wilderness. Now they were only three, and Kaede was terrified that the Wood might demand another sacrifice. They took care to stay within sight of each other at all times, and Kaede carried Pol’s bow across her lap.

  She watched Taisin’s back as they rode, wondering what she was thinking. She had been a little distant since the wolf attack, and it made Kaede anxious. What if the things that Taisin had done to those wolves had changed her? There were warnings, rules against using the energies to harm any living being. But had she done anything worse than what Kaede had also done, using Pol’s bow?

  When the time came for Taisin to perform the protection ritual around their camp, Kaede was tense, wondering if there would be something different in Taisin tonight. And when Taisin’s fingers pressed firmly against Kaede’s chest, something had changed. But it was not what Kaede expected. There was a new strength to her; there were no hesitations in her movements. And the connection that had grown between them was still there. It had slackened a bit in last few days, but now it tightened again. Perhaps because of Taisin’s new confidence, today the connection opened up, and for the first time, each could see a tiny part of the other.

  In the breathless moment before Taisin realized what she had done, Kaede saw some of the truth that Taisin was hiding from her. Taisin was falling in love with her—the emotions were as clear and hot as a summer sky. But beneath them was the bitter tang of fear.

  When Taisin broke the connection, Kaede staggered. She was overjoyed, but she was also confused. She reached out for Taisin’s hand, but she had already turned away to finish the ritual. When it was done, her face was a carefully controlled mask; she would not meet Kaede’s eyes.

  Con saw the tension between them, and he came to Kaede as Taisin put away her supplies and asked, “What happened?”

  Kaede looked up at him, dazed. She couldn’t tell him. She wasn’t even sure what it meant. And had Taisin seen her own feelings as well? She reddened to think of it.

  “Kaede?”

  “It’s nothing,” she said. But her heart hammered in her chest, and she trembled as she went to light the campfire.

  In the middle of the night, Taisin woke Kaede to take over the watch, shaking her shoulder gently. Kaede pushed herself up, and Taisin pulled back. Con was asleep in his bedroll on the other side of the low-burning fire, and the trees arched above in a rib cage of bare branches.

  Kaede fumbled for words. Her mouth was clumsy, fogged with uneasy sleep. “What did—tell me—”

  She half expected Taisin to flee from her, but when Taisin remained where she was, her face pale and tense, Kaede tried again.

  “Why—why are you afraid of your feelings?” she whispered.

  Taisin bit her lip. She looked away from Kaede; she looked down at her hands; they twisted together as if she were trying to weave a rope around her wrists. She said something so softly that Kaede could not hear it.

  Kaede pushed aside her blankets, leaning toward Taisin. “You can tell me.”

  Taisin touched Kaede’s cheek very gently. Her fingers were cold. Kaede reached for her, but Taisin drew back, flushing. Kaede waited. Taisin’s eyes, reflecting the firelight, looked like tiny burning stars. Finally she said in a low voice, “I’m going to be a sage.”

  “I know that.”

  “I can’t—I can’t be with anyone.” Her words were full of regret. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  The misery in her voice made Kaede ache. She wanted to ease Taisin’s pain, but she had no idea how.

  Taisin turned away, wrapping her blankets around herself, and then lay down with her back to Kaede. The distance between them, though it was only a few feet, had never seemed so great.

  The third day after leaving Shae behind, they came to the river Kell. It was a grand sight to behold. The Nir and the Kell branched off from a wide, tumbling rush of water coming from the north, the Nir continuing south and the Kell running east. Both rivers were swollen with rainfall and thick with boulders that created dozens of small, swift waterfalls. The rains that had doused the travelers repeatedly on their journey had fed into the rivers, making them particularly treacherous to cross.

  They agreed to travel east to search for a better place to ford the Kell, and when they came to a shallow beach in the early afternoon, Con stopped. “Perhaps we should just cross here. There are fewer boulders in the river, and who knows how far we’d have to go to find a calmer spot.”

  Taisin looked out at the river. He seemed to be right—the way was mostly clear. On the far side, the trees looked just like they did on this side. There was no sign of the Xi. “It will be cold,” Taisin said.

  “We’d better cross soon, then,” Kaede said, “or wait until morning. It’ll be difficult to dry off after night falls.”

  Con squinted up at the hard, bright gray sky. “We have time. I don’t think we should wait.”

  They unwound the longest coil of rope they had, tying each horse to it. They secured their bedrolls and supplies as well as they could.

  “Hold on to your horse if you lose your footing,” Con advised, trying to remember what Tali had taught him. “They will swim.” As soon as he was ready, before he could second-guess himself, he led his horse into the river. The packhorse went next, followed by Taisin and her horse, and finally Kaede stepped into the water, leading Maila.

  At first, it was just cold. Kaede shivered when the water rose above her boots and began to seep through the fabric of her trousers, but she was not prepared for the icy wash of it when she was chest-deep in the river. They were barely twenty feet from the bank at that point, and there was more than three quarters of the way to go. She began to wonder if this had been a wise choice, but Con was already too far ahead to turn back. She gritted her teeth and plunged deeper into the Kell.

  She quickly realized that though the river had appeared to be unobstructed here, the boulders were merely underwater, and the river itself was deeper than it seemed. The closer she swam toward the center of the Kell, the colder it became and the swifter it flowed. Her knee smashed into a submerged boulder and she cried out at the impact. River water gushed into her mouth, nearly choking her. She felt like she was struggling in the embrace of a slippery, suffocating beast, and for a moment it pulled her down below. When she fought her way back to the surface, her eyes stung and everything was askew. She saw the trees on the far bank at a strange angle; she saw the gray sky lurching above; she saw Maila battling against the current. Kaede lunged toward her horse, grabbing onto the stirrups beneath the water and kicking back with her legs.

  This was not like swimming in the ocean by Seatown. The water there would rise up and buoy her before the waves crested over her head. She knew how to float on those waves, how to close her eyes and pinch her nose shut when the wave came toward her. She knew that those waves would push her inexorably toward the beach, and she and her brothers used to laughingly skim along their crests until they were spit out on the sand. But here the river was pulling her downstream, and she was trying desperately to
elude its powerful grip. Ahead of her she saw Con approaching the opposite bank, and Taisin was almost through the wide, fast center. Kaede kept her eyes on them, and she had just crossed the halfway point when Taisin’s head went underneath and did not come up again.

  It happened so swiftly—as if she had simply been swallowed. Kaede felt as though she had been punched in the gut.

  “Taisin!” she screamed, and freezing water went down her throat. She spit out, coughing, floundering, the entire world heaving with the rush of the river.

  Kaede sucked in as much air as she could and dived down after her. The water was clear, but there was very little light beneath the surface; all she could see of Taisin was a murky fluttering ahead of her, as if someone were spinning, struggling to escape a trap. She kicked forward, her lungs beginning to burn, and miraculously, she found Taisin’s hand. She gripped her fingers as firmly as she could and lunged up toward the light. When she broke through she gasped, desperate for air, and yanked again at Taisin.

  She bobbed up to the surface, limp, her body still pulled downstream, her face pale and her eyes closed.

  Con had already climbed out of the river, and two of the horses stood shivering on the bank, but now he saw Kaede and Taisin struggling. He pulled out another rope, tying one end to his horse’s saddle and then wrapping it around his waist before he began wading back into the water. Kaede tried to sling Taisin’s arm around her, but the river was too strong. All she could do was drag her while keeping Taisin’s head above water. When Con was waist-deep in the river he threw the rope in Kaede’s direction. At first it missed them entirely, and Kaede just stubbornly pushed on toward the bank. She no longer felt the cold; it was as if all the blood in her body had turned to ice. Now there was only one thing to do: overcome the river, and she had no intention of giving up.