Nomad

by R. J. Anderson

  It was all much as Ivy remembered, except for two things. One was the bitter, sulphurous taste to the air—she’d barely noticed it when she first came in, but here it was strong enough to make her lungs tighten in protest. The other was how sickly everyone looked, especially the women. They smiled and laughed, but it looked like a brave effort: their faces sagged beneath the dark hollows of their eyes, and they coughed almost as often as they spoke.

  Anger kindled in Ivy, and she clenched her invisible fists. How could Betony ask her people to endure such suffering, and claim it was for their own good? What would it take to shake her complacency, and make her see the evil she’d done?

  A distant bell announced the closing of the Market, and the uncle on the bench groped for his cane. Nodding to his fellow hunters, Mattock skirted the dice game and set off along the Silverlode, Ivy a shadow at his heels. They passed the Market Cavern, turned down Elders’ Way—and there was Jenny, frantically beckoning them into Nettle’s quarters.

  “What took you so long?” she whispered as she shut the door after them. “I was about to come looking for you.”

  “Mica,” said Mattock, and Jenny’s mouth framed a silent, sad oh. Then she looked around and asked, “Ivy?”

  “I’m here,” Ivy said, turning visible. “Where’s Nettle?”

  Jenny led them across the small, stuffy-smelling cavern, drawing aside the curtain to the even more modest chamber beyond. There in her bed-alcove lay the old woman, curled motionless with the covers pulled about her. But when Jenny touched her shoulder and said, “Ivy’s here,” Nettle struggled upright—and the blankets fell away to expose the wings crumpled against her back.

  If Jenny was shocked, she didn’t show it. But Matt made a choking noise, and Ivy didn’t have to ask why. Like Marigold when she lived in the Delve, Nettle had spent her life using a glamor to change the translucent faery wings she’d been born with into the broad, moth-like wings of a piskey. But now that she was too ill to keep up the illusion, it was obvious what she truly was.

  “Ivy-lass,” Nettle croaked. “Ah, it’s good to see you again.” She gripped Ivy’s hand with her gnarled, papery one. “I knew you’d come.”

  Growing up, Ivy had never been close to Nettle: she’d found the Joan’s attendant almost as daunting as Betony herself. But that was before she’d learned of Nettle’s faery origins, or her relationship to Gillian and Molly. And seeing the old woman now with yellowed skin and sunken cheeks, all her protective illusions stripped away—it struck her as deeply, painfully wrong. Even faeries had to die some time, but no one should have to die like this.

  “What can I do?” she asked softly. “How can I help you?”

  Nettle sniffed. “I’ve no need of fussing. I called you here to—” Then her eyes focused on Mattock, and she said sharply, “Eh, lad, what are you gawping at? Get away with you.”

  “It’s all right,” said Jenny. “He’s with us. He brought Ivy down from the surface.”

  “Any fool can tell that,” Nettle shot back. “Why he’s still dandling after her like a lovesick goose, is what I’d like to know.” She raised her voice again. “The Joan banished Ivy for a reason, my lad: she’s not going to pardon her for the likes of you. She’s more likely to throw you out of the Delve after her, if she doesn’t hang you first.”

  Matt’s face turned redder than his hair, but he didn’t move. “I’ve my own reasons for being here,” he said, “and with respect, Auntie, you don’t know me as well as you think.”

  “Hmph,” said Nettle. “I knew your father, lad, and you’re as like him as no matter. Soft heart, hard head—they’ll both be the death of you, if you aren’t careful.” She leaned closer to Ivy. “Though you could do worse,” she added in a cracked whisper, “if you don’t mind thinking for two.”

  Matt threw up his hands and stalked out, letting the door-curtain fall behind him. Ivy’s cheeks were burning, as much for his sake as her own—even if what Nettle had said was true, which she doubted, it wasn’t fair to humiliate him that way. But the old woman looked more satisfied than sorry.

  “That’s got rid of him,” she said, and patted the bed beside her. Cautiously, Ivy sat down. “Look, my girl, I served your aunt for nigh on fourteen years, and the Joan before her for sixty. The Delve is my home, and faery-born or no, I’m as true a piskey as ever was. You know that.”

  Ivy nodded—though she still wondered how Nettle could have forgiven the piskeys who’d stolen her from her wyld and killed the rest of her family, let alone chosen to stand with them against her own sister. When Gillian attacked the Delve, it could have been the perfect chance for Nettle to avenge herself on her captors, escape to the outside world and reclaim all her lost youth and beauty. But if there’d been any doubt of the old woman’s loyalties, her refusal to leave the Joan’s side had made them plain enough.

  “So what I’m about to say to you, Ivy-lass, you know I don’t say lightly.” Nettle let out a rattling sigh. “Your aunt Betony’s not right in her mind. And if you don’t stop her, she’ll do a terrible thing.”

  Jenny clapped her hands over her mouth. Ivy felt stunned herself—if even Nettle dared to speak against Betony, the Joan must be mad indeed. “What is it?” she asked.

  “She wouldn’t say if she means to kill the girl or not,” Nettle said. “But to her mind, the Delve will never be safe until we piskeys are the only ones who know of it. And even with poor Gillyflower dead and buried, that’s not enough for her—”

  Ivy’s mouth went dry. “Molly,” she whispered. “She’s after Molly.”

  It was so obvious now, she could only curse herself for not guessing it sooner. Molly’s feeling of being watched by unfriendly eyes, Matt’s remark that Betony had been spending more time outside the Delve…

  “Ayes,” said Nettle heavily. “Molly’s a brave girl, a good girl. If she hadn’t given her own sweet blood to break the Claybane, your Mattock and our Jack and even the Joan herself wouldn’t be with us now. But my lady can’t see it. All she sees is that Gillian’s daughter knows where to find us, and she’s sure she’ll come back and destroy us all one day. She’s tried every scheme and spell she could think of to hunt Molly down, and it’s driving her nigh wild that she still hasn’t found her.”

  Ivy could guess why she hadn’t: the protective charms Gillian had laid about the house had shielded Molly as long as she lived there, and for the past two months she’d been at school in Hampshire. No wonder the Joan was frustrated.

  “I’ve done all I could to keep Molly safe without the Joan knowing it—laid false trails aplenty to throw her off the scent. But I’m too weak for spells now, and my lady won’t give up, she’s that stubborn.” Nettle’s hand tightened on Ivy’s, imploring. “That’s why you’ve got to stop her, before she finds Molly and does her a harm—”

  “It’s all right,” Ivy said, before the old woman could become more agitated. “Molly’s safe. She’s far away from here, right outside Kernow, where Betony can’t touch her.”

  Nettle’s rheumy eyes widened. “You’re sure of that? Sure and no mistake?”

  “Absolutely sure. And I’ve sworn to do everything I can to keep Molly out of danger, from Betony or anyone else. You don’t need to worry.”

  “Ahh.” Nettle sagged back against the pillows. “Thank the Gardener.” Her hand slackened, falling away from Ivy’s, and she closed her eyes.

  “I don’t understand,” said Jenny in hushed tones, as Ivy climbed off the bed. “Why is Nettle so worried about a human girl? And who is this Gillyflower she was talking about?”

  “I’m resting, not dead,” Nettle spoke up crisply from the alcove. “Or deaf, either. Use your eyes, Jenny-girl. I was born a faery, outside the Delve, and Gillyflower—her you call Gillian—was my sister. Which makes Molly my niece, and all that’s left of my blood. But I’ve not told the Joan that, and don’t you go telling her either.”

  Jenny nodded, but her expression was troubled, and Ivy could understand why. After a lifetime of
being taught that faeries were cunning, malicious creatures only slightly less dangerous than spriggans, it was a shock to realize that one of them had been living in the Delve all along, and that nobody had known the difference.

  “And speaking of faery folk,” added Nettle, her shrewd black eyes fixing on Ivy, “how’s Marigold?”

  Ivy closed her eyes, not wanting to see the dismay on Jenny’s face. She hadn’t meant to hide the truth from her friends, but their meetings had always been so rushed, and she’d never found a good time to explain. “She’s fine,” she replied bitterly. “But if you want people to keep your secrets, Nettle, it’s not fair to go around telling theirs.”

  “Ivy?” Jenny sounded shaken. “What are you saying? You mean your mother…”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,” Ivy said. “It’s not that I didn’t trust you, but—”

  “Never mind that,” interrupted Nettle. “Jenny’s got sense enough to work it out for herself, or she’s not the girl I took her for.” She pushed herself up against the pillows. “But you two had best watch yourselves, and that lad of yours as well. I’ve done my best to keep the Joan from noticing what you’ve been up to, and she’s been distracted fretting about that Molly business in any case. But all this creeping about asking people how they’re feeling and if they think there might be something amiss in the Delve won’t end well for you, any more than it did for Marigold.”

  “But what else can we do?” Ivy asked. “When I tried to warn Aunt Betony about the poison, she wouldn’t listen. And there’s no way the three of us can stand up to her alone.” If it still was the three of them, after this.

  “Then you’d best bide your time until you find somebody who can stand up to her,” said Nettle with asperity. “But you can’t go poking a bees’ nest and expect not to get stung.” She pointed a shaky claw at Jenny. “I’ve done my best to give you youngsters a chance. Don’t go wasting it on foolishness.”

  Ivy was about to reply, but the sound of running footsteps and a rattle of curtain-rings distracted her. Matt stood panting in the archway, his eyes wild.

  “Betony’s coming,” he said. “She’s halfway down the Silverlode already. Ivy, we have to get out of here!”

  There was no time to lose. Ivy squeezed Nettle’s hand, cast a last pleading look at Jenny, and dashed out the door after him.

  “It’s a good thing you decided to stand guard,” said Ivy in an undertone as she and Mattock crouched at the far end of the passage, shielded by the invisibility charm she’d cast over them. Betony had come striding into Elders’ Way mere seconds after the two of them had whisked out of sight, and now she stood before Nettle’s door with one foot tapping, waiting for Jenny to answer.

  Her aunt hadn’t changed at all, as far as Ivy could see: her dark hair fell thick and smooth to her shoulders, and her skin was only lightly creased by age. She had the same striking bones as Ivy’s father and Mica, and her cream-dappled wings were almost as lovely as Jenny’s. But her eyes were cold as the bottom of the Great Shaft, her posture so stiff that she might have been carved from granite. It was hard to imagine what Gossan had ever seen in a woman so harsh and unyielding—yet there he stood behind her, as always.

  “Knock again,” he suggested in his deep, mild voice. “She may be alone, and unable to hear you.”

  “I think not,” Betony replied. “I saw Jenny come this way—ah, here we are.” The door had opened and Jenny appeared, holding out her skirts in a curtsey.

  “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, my lady,” she said. “I was helping Nettle into her chair. Please, come in.”

  And no doubt Nettle had been giving her some last-minute advice, as well. Ivy waited until the cavern door had shut, then tugged Mattock’s sleeve and they slipped out of the corridor together.

  Getting out of the Delve ought to have been easier than getting in, since by this time many of the piskeys had retreated to the privacy of their caverns and the main passages were all but empty. But though Mattock set an easy pace, Ivy found it hard to keep up with him: her head started pounding before they’d even climbed out of the Silverlode, and by the time they passed the Treasure Cavern it was a constant struggle not to cough. It was a relief when they came out onto the surface, and she could turn visible and breathe fresh air again.

  “Are you all right?” Matt asked.

  “I didn’t realize—how bad it was—until we started climbing,” Ivy panted, her hands on her knees. “The air in the Delve’s gotten worse since I was here last time. A lot worse.” She exhaled and straightened up again. “Anyway. You’d better get back to Mica before he gets suspicious.”

  He took a step back, watching her. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. But if it’s not too much to ask,” she added before he could disappear, “would you think about what I said before? About helping me find that dealer—Ralph Pendennis?”

  Mattock shook his head. Ivy’s heart sank—until she saw one corner of his mouth lift in a tiny smile.

  “No need to think about it,” he said. “You heard Nettle: it’s your job to do the thinking for both of us. If you don’t mind, that is.”

  Blood leaped into Ivy’s cheeks. “I don’t believe that,” she said. “Or anything else she said about you. I know you’re not—I mean, she was just trying to embarrass you into leaving.”

  And part of her was still annoyed at Nettle for that. Mattock had always been such a good friend to her, better than her own brother; it wasn’t fair to dismiss his loyalty as some silly infatuation, even if she’d thought it was possible for him to feel that way.

  “I’d be glad of your help,” she went on, “but if you think it’s too risky to go together, I’m sure I can manage.”

  Matt stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure you can, too,” he said. “But there’s no reason you should have to. Give me a couple of days, and I’ll come to Redruth with you.”

  The sky was darkening by the time Ivy returned home, and she knew it must be well after tea. Fortunately, Marigold had taken Cicely to Truro with her for the afternoon, and with any luck they wouldn’t be back for some time yet.

  But she’d barely unlocked the front door before her mother opened it. “Where have you been?” she asked.

  Ivy’s mind went blank. She couldn’t tell Marigold the truth: her mother knew Betony’s ruthlessness too well, and it would only distress her to know that Ivy had dared to go against the Joan’s command. And if she found out about her conspiracy with Jenny and Mattock, she might try to stop her going back to the Delve for her own safety. That was a risk Ivy couldn’t take.

  “I wasn’t out looking for Martin, if that’s what you’re wondering,” she said.

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Marigold closed the door behind her as Ivy hung up her coat. “But Cicely tells me this isn’t the first time you’ve disappeared and not told anyone where you were going. What have we done to make you feel you can’t trust us?”

  “I do trust you,” Ivy said slowly, buying herself time to think. “But it’s… awkward, and I wasn’t sure how you’d react if you knew.”

  Could she do this? The answer that had come to her wasn’t a lie in fact, but it was certainly one in intent. Yet she had to satisfy Marigold somehow, and if this kept her from wondering what Ivy was up to, it would be worth it. She looked up and met her mother’s gaze.

  “Mum,” she said. “I can take bird-shape.”

  Emotions chased each other across Marigold’s face: shock, disbelief, confusion. It was exactly as Jenny must have looked when she realized that Ivy was half faery, and a sudden dread that she might lose them both clutched at Ivy’s insides. It was painfully hard to stand still, watching tears well up in her mother’s eyes, and not run away.

  “My own daughter,” Marigold whispered. “I never imagined…” Then, to Ivy’s astonishment, she pulled her into a hug. “I’m so proud of you!”

  Ivy ducked her head, afire with shame. She’d told the truth in the most deceptive po
ssible way—she didn’t deserve to be praised for it. “Martin taught me to turn myself into a swift, when I was still back in the Delve,” she mumbled. “So we could fly to see you.”

  “No wonder you were traveling together,” said her mother, releasing Ivy to arm’s length and smiling at her. “I couldn’t imagine how you’d become so attached to him, or why he’d take such a risk for someone who could only slow him down, unless…” She gave a little laugh. “Well, now I see how foolish I was. Can you show me?”

  She moved to the door, but Ivy hung back. “I can’t,” she said. “It’s not safe to be a swift at this time of year.” And besides, it had been so long that she wasn’t even sure she could do it anymore. “I’ve been trying to learn falcon-shape instead… but it’s harder than I thought.”

  Marigold’s face cleared, and Ivy knew she understood—or thought she did. “So you’ve been practicing where no one would see you,” she said. “Oh, Ivy. If I’d only known!”

  “Then it’s all right if I go off by myself sometimes?” She hated herself for asking, but she had to be sure. Especially with Matt taking her to Redruth in two days’ time.

  “Of course,” said Marigold. She glanced back at the corridor, then added in a hush, “But I think it’s best to keep this between ourselves. Cicely’s having a difficult time right now, and she might not take it well.”

  No, she wouldn’t. First she’d be outraged that Ivy hadn’t told her, then she’d sulk because Ivy got to do everything and it wasn’t fair, and then she’d pester Ivy to teach her bird-shape as well. And Ivy didn’t have time for any of that.

  “I agree,” she said, forcing a smile. “It’ll be our secret.”

  Ivy spent most of the following day with Cicely, to ease her conscience—though when Ivy told her she could take care of Dodger from now on, the delight on her little sister’s face only made her feel worse for not saying so before. Looking after the horse would be a good distraction from Cicely’s worries, or so Ivy hoped.