by Jo Spurrier
‘Aleida?’ I said, as she started to turn away.
‘Mm?’
‘Where do you think she went? Minerva, I mean.’
She pursed her lips, looking out the window. ‘Hard to say. Mae can’t be too mad at her, she did complete the ritual, after all. But I get the feeling she won’t be back around here any time soon. She set up her escape route early on, bringing those griffins through like that. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s decided to leave this realm behind for good. She’ll be happier out there, anyway.’
‘I just can’t believe she killed her own familiar,’ I said. ‘He was so beautiful. Does it, well, harm a witch if they do something like that?’
Aleida shook her head with a sigh. ‘No. Well, unless you count the guilt of harming the little creature that loved and served you. I don’t like to have familiars, myself. I don’t ever want to find myself in a position where that’s an option. That, and the fact that if someone’s coming after you, taking out your familiar is one of the first things they’ll do. I wish it hadn’t come to that with Minerva, but she was too afraid of Mae to risk failure. It’s a lesson worth remembering, Dee — desperate people do desperate things. Now, get yourself up and moving, you’ll feel better for it. Kara and her father have some breakfast cooking, and it’ll be ready before too long.’
I tried not to dawdle, but just pulling on my clothes was an ordeal, and my hands hurt too much to pull the laces on my stays tight. When I was as presentable as I was going to get, I gingerly descended the stairs, hobbling like an old woman.
Kara and her father were crouched beside the fire, while Aleida sat on the wagon’s steps. I inched past her and made my way to the back of the wagon, where Toro was half-heartedly plucking at the dry grass. At the sight of me he lifted his head with a low nicker and pricked his ears my way.
‘If I could go back and get it for you, I would,’ I said.
He flicked his ears back, and shook his head.
I folded my arms across my chest. ‘You don’t want me to? Why? I don’t understand.’ I glanced back towards the wagon, wondering if Aleida would come translate for him again. She was still sitting there on the step, but I made myself turn away without calling out to her. I needed to figure this one out on my own.
I shuffled closer, and gingerly pressed my fingertips to his cheek. I closed my eyes, remembering the first time I’d seen him, panicked and fighting for his life against the ropes dragging him into the blacksmith’s yard. I’d tried to slip into his mind then, to calm him before someone could get hurt. Now I tried again, bracing myself for the bewilderment and disorientation.
The moment my mind brushed his I felt him go tense with the shock of it.
Can you hear me? I thought to him.
. . . Yes. Yes, lass, I can hear you.
For a moment I was silent, trying to organise my thoughts. I’m sorry, I said at last. I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how you must hate me.
Hate you? Good gods, lass, why would I ever hate you?
Because I almost had it! I had it and then I lost it and now we’ll never get it back.
Listen to me, lass. I didn’t say those things last night just to make you feel better. It was the truth. If you turned me back, I’d just be the same as I was before — a vicious drunkard with a price on his head. I’d fall back into that life. It’s all I know.
But this isn’t fair!
There’s naught fair in the world, girl. If things were fair, I’d have died in that fire years ago, instead of my wife and our little girl. She’d be about your age if she’d lived, lass, and I hope she’d have grown up as brave and kind-hearted as you. I’ve spent the last ten years trying to drown the memory of what I lost, but now it’s time to honour them instead. I’ll serve you faithfully, if you’ll have me, miss; I’ll do all I can to aid and protect you. Maybe it’ll go some way to redressing the evils of my life.
There were fresh tears on my cheeks. I stepped back from him, blotting them away with my sleeve. ‘I’m not giving up,’ I said to him. ‘One day, I’ll find a way to change you back. But I promise I won’t do it unless you wish it. And I’ll tell Aleida I want you to stay with us.’
He snorted, ears pricked and alert, and dropped his head to rub his face against my shoulder. Then, with a flick of his nose, he nudged me back towards the fire with another low nicker. From the scent hanging in the air, breakfast was nearly ready, and my belly was growling with hunger.
Aleida glanced up at me as I hobbled past. ‘What’s the word, Dee?’
‘I’d like him to stay with us. If that’s all right with you, I mean.’
‘Your call.’
Over by the fire, Kara glanced up, her face curious, while Brent lifted slices of bacon from the pan over the coals. In the end I hadn’t done the working to turn him back all by myself — Aleida had lent a hand. Back in his natural shape, Kara’s father seemed nearly as big as he had been as a bear, with a thick, reddish beard and long, unkempt hair. Aleida had found him a smocked shirt and some ragged breeches from a stash of odd clothing she had in the wagon.
‘Holt?’ Brent was saying to Kara, his voice incredulous. ‘Holt, that strutting, perfumed cockerel? I never trusted that puffed-up braggart, Kara. If I’d ever seen him sniffing around you I’d have thrashed him within an inch of his life!’
‘Oh, Da.’ Kara looked away to hide the flush on her cheeks. ‘I needed someone to help me get out of the Haven and away from those nuns. Don’t worry yourself over it, I just led him on to get what I wanted.’ She cast a sidelong glance our way, as though pleading not to betray her lie.
‘And where is he now?’ Brent said darkly.
‘In the fort, awaiting trial for murder,’ Aleida interjected. She’d pulled out her tobacco pouch and was carefully preparing her pipe. ‘Lord Belmont picked him up along with the rest of his crew yesterday. Hey, got your pipe on you, old chap?’ she waved the pouch at him.
‘Oh,’ he said with surprise. ‘Thank you kindly, mistress. Kara—’
‘You go, Da,’ she said. ‘I can handle this.’
‘I’ll help you,’ I said, hobbling over to take over the pan of bacon.
Kara gave me a shy smile. ‘Sorry about last night. About fighting you, I mean. You’re not hurt, are you?’
Aleida’s brew was working, I felt a great deal better than I had when I woke up. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I said. ‘It’s fine.’ I looked her over out of the corner of my eye as I shook the pan. She still looked marvellous, all the more wild and fierce for her rumpled clothes and tangled hair. ‘Umm, Kara?’
‘Yeah?’ she glanced up.
‘I really like your trousers,’ I said.
‘Oh!’ she looked down with a flush and ran her hands over the red cloth. ‘They’re great, aren’t they? Da hates them, but I told him that’s too bad, if he’s going to be off gallivanting around the countryside all the time I’ll wear what I blessed-well like. You should make yourself some, they’re so much better than skirts for doing work around the yard, and for riding. Fighting, too.’
I started to speak, the words in my mouth unbidden. Oh, I’m not a fighter. But I thought better of it. It wasn’t true, after all, not a bit. ‘Maybe I will,’ I said. ‘They might come in handy.’
Kara smiled, but then her face turned thoughtful, and she glanced up at Aleida. ‘Um, miss?’ she said. ‘Remember yesterday, you were telling me about some sword-fighting schools where I might be able to find a place?’
‘Mm?’ Aleida said, glancing up from packing her pipe.
‘Do you think you could tell me where to find them?’
‘Sure,’ Aleida nodded. ‘You’ll need a letter of introduction. I could fix one up for you but I think it’d be better coming from the sisters back at Haven.’
‘Oh gods, you don’t expect me to go back there, do you? I’m not leaving Da again, and he can’t show his face in town!’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ Aleida said. ‘I’ll go with you, I need to stop by any
way. Your father can hide in the wagon, I’m not going to turn him over to Belmont’s men . . . well, not as long as he swears to put all this banditry behind him.’
‘I’ll give you no arguments there,’ Brent said. ‘I’ve spent the last few years trying to figure out how to get out of the life without getting Kara and myself killed over it. I’m out and done, and most grateful for your aid.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ she said. ‘I’m going to hold you to it, you know. Last night, when Dee and I turned you back, I added a little something to the spell.’ Stooping, she picked up a twig from the ground, and breathed on it to set it alight. ‘If you ever raise a hand to someone for any reason other than defence of yourself or others, you’ll find yourself back in the form Minerva gave you.’ She wasn’t even watching him as she said it. All her attention seemed to be on lighting her pipe with the burning twig.
Beside me, Kara fell tense and still. But Brent just paused briefly in packing his own pipe, raising his eyes to her. ‘What about teaching others to fight? I had a thought, if Kara gets into some fighting school, perhaps I could get a place too. Some honest work for once.’
‘You can teach,’ Aleida said with a nod. ‘Just keep hold of your temper. The moment you strike out of anger, you’ll feel the curse upon you, but you’ll have the chance to back down.’
‘A curse?’ Kara snapped. ‘You’ve got no right—’
‘Kara, hush,’ Brent said. ‘It’s fair. More than fair.’ He handed the pouch back to Aleida. ‘I give you my word, that life is behind me. Can I trouble you for a light?’
Aleida handed him the burning twig. Beside me, Kara let out her breath in a soft hiss, and with a shake of her head, went back to her work.
‘It’s a shame about the money for the Haven,’ I said. ‘We never did get a chance to find out where those marked men hid it.’
‘Oh,’ Kara said, ducking her head as though to hide a smirk. ‘That’s a shame. I suppose it’s lost for good.’
But Aleida just laughed. ‘Oh, right. I’d forgotten about that. Glad you mentioned it, Dee, we can pick it up on the way.’
I glanced up at her from across the fire. ‘You know where it is? How?’
‘While you were off spying on Minerva and trying to get yourself killed, I borrowed a beast to track their scent. It’s not too far away.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘But there is one other thing I’d like to do, too.’
‘Oh? What’s that?’
‘One of the bandit lads — the one whose arm I helped fix up? He said his ma is sick, and they can’t afford to pay the doctor. I thought maybe we could stop in and help.’
‘And how do you propose to find them?’
I raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Witchcraft? Or we could just ask. I mean, you said you were going to the fort anyway.’
She huffed a sigh. ‘Oh, fine. You know, this is going to take all day.’
‘Did you have somewhere else to be?’
‘Yeah. Far away from here, before a certain person comes sniffing around after a certain hell-beast. But that’s fine, you’ve got your pathways all under control, once we’re done here we can go pretty much anywhere.’ She turned her dark eyes to me, pipe in one hand as smoke wreathed around her face. ‘So the question is, kid, where do you want to go?’
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JO SPURRIER was born in 1980 and has a Bachelor of Science, but turned to writing because people tend to get upset when scientists make things up. She lives in Adelaide with her husband, two young sons and a formerly feral cat, and spends a lot of time playing with cars and trains . . . although she still occasionally daydreams about snow.
Jo’s first novel, Winter Be My Shield, was shortlisted for the 2012 Aurealis Award for best fantasy novel. Her first book from the Tales of the Blackbone Witches trilogy, A Curse of Ash and Embers, was shortlisted for best YA fantasy at the Aurealis Awards.
ALSO BY JO SPURRIER
CHILDREN OF THE BLACK SUN TRILOGY
Winter Be My Shield (1)
Black Sun Light My Way (2)
North Star Guide Me Home (3)
TALES OF THE BLACKBONE WITCHES
A Curse of Ash & Embers (1)
COPYRIGHT
HarperVoyager
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First published in Australia in 2019
by HarperCollinsPublishers Australia Pty Limited
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Copyright © Jo Spurrier 2019
The right of Jo Spurrier to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.
This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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