Torch

by R. J. Anderson

  “I know how that feels,” she soothed. “It’s a dreadful cough, isn’t it? Come sit by the fire, and you’ll soon feel better.”

  And with that, the tension broke. The Delve folk swarmed the wakefire, holding out their hands to its warmth. Fern fetched a platter of saffron buns and offered them to the newcomers, while Hew refilled the blackened kettle and set it on for tea. Mica struck up a hornpipe, and Elvar began to dance it, skinny legs flailing as the older men cheered him on.

  Ivy’s followers were barely more than twenty, and the piskeys who’d come up from the Delve to join them were perhaps fifteen more. Which meant there were still over two hundred of Ivy’s people underground—including all the children ten and younger, and the old ones too feeble to reach the surface. They’d made a start, but there was still a long way to go.

  White wings shirred the darkness at the corner of Ivy’s eye, and with a leap of her heart she spun about. A barn owl landed silently in the window of the Engine House, its heart-shaped face tilted like a question. Then it launched itself into the night.

  Longing swelled in Ivy until she could scarcely breathe. She glanced at the bonfire, where her fellow piskeys were dancing. Would they notice if she slipped away for a few minutes? Would it worry them even if they did?

  She’d told Mica she didn’t have to choose anyone. What he didn’t realize was that her choice was already made, and the only way to unmake it was to unmake herself. Backing into the shadows, Ivy changed to falcon-shape and flew after Martin.

  She found him at the far edge of the wood, where the trees sloped into a little valley, and the moonlight glimmered on the slow-moving brook below. He looked pale as hoarfrost, but when he saw Ivy gliding toward him, his smile blazed up like the wakefire itself. Ivy dropped out of falcon-shape, hit the ground running, and threw herself into his arms.

  Martin caught her easily and swung her around with a laugh that made her shiver. “Well,” he said, dropping his hands to her waist, “there’s no need to ask if you’re glad to see me. May I?”

  “Please,” breathed Ivy, and raised her face to his.

  Their first—and until now, only—kiss had been a desperate, hurried impulse, clumsy with grief and the knowledge that others were watching. This one felt like a new beginning, a secret treasure for just the two of them to share.

  “Ah, Ivy,” Martin murmured, a timeless moment later. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve dreamed about that sweet mouth of yours.”

  Her cheeks flamed, but she wouldn’t let him fluster her so easily. “I know exactly how long,” she retorted. “You didn’t dream at all until I gave you back your memories, and that was barely two weeks ago.”

  “I meant daydreams, you impertinent minx. And you know better than to take anything I say literally.”

  “Or seriously?”

  “That, either. Except for this.” His voice lowered. “I love you, Ivy of the Delve.”

  After all he’d suffered for her sake, Ivy had no reason to doubt it. But hearing the words was enough to still her blood and take her breath away. She opened her mouth, but Martin stopped it with a gentle finger.

  “Don’t steal my dramatic moment,” he said. “Or make promises you might not be able to keep.”

  “It’s not fair,” she whispered, dropping her face against his shoulder. She could feel his ribs even through the fabric of his jacket; whatever he’d been eating as an owl or an ermine, it wasn’t enough to sustain him for long. “I want us to be together.”

  “You understand, then. Why I couldn’t stay.”

  “Of course.” She tightened her arms around him, trying to share her warmth. “I know you’re not afraid of Mica—”

  “I absolutely am. Have you seen your brother?”

  “Hush,” she said irritably. Yes, Mica was big even by piskey standards, and Martin disliked physical combat. But he had unusual strength for his size, and if he hadn’t been exhausted the first time they’d fought, her brother wouldn’t have won so easily. “I know you left for my sake, and I’d be a fool to blame you for it. You’re right that Mica doesn’t understand, and the rest of my people wouldn’t either. But . . .” She drew back, gazing into his face. “That doesn’t mean there’s no hope.”

  “Ivy,” he began, soft with pity, but she cut him off.

  “My people are starting to change, Martin. They’re learning better. The way they’ve accepted Thorn and Broch—the way they’ve accepted me, even knowing I can change shape—and look what’s happening right now, here, tonight!” She shook him for emphasis. “They will understand, someday. We just have to give it time.”

  “You never give up, do you?” He kissed her again, lightly. “Well, I won’t argue with you. I don’t know about your people changing, but you weren’t wrong to hold out hope for me.”

  She’d seldom seen Martin look so serious. “What happened?” she asked. “Why did Queen Valerian let you go?”

  Martin took her hand and led her to a fallen log, where the two of them could sit together. “I don’t know. When Rob dragged me into her council chamber, I thought execution was the best I could hope for.”

  He rubbed his face wearily. “I tried to make her do it, Ivy. When she asked if I deserved punishment, I told her I did. When she asked what I’d done to deserve it, I told her every sin I’d ever committed—the lies, the betrayals, the murders, all the filthy things I did to serve the Empress and save my own wretched skin. I thought if she knew all that, she’d decide prison was too good for me and have Rob cut off my head.”

  And from what Ivy knew of Rob, he’d probably have been glad to do it. He’d never forgive Martin for killing the kindly old man who’d taught him music, even if the evil faery Empress had left Martin no choice but to obey.

  “When she asked what I’d do if she pardoned me . . .” Martin’s voice roughened. He was shivering now, with cold or with memory, so Ivy put an arm around him. “I thought she was mocking me. I was angry enough to spit, until I looked up and saw her face.”

  He stared out into the darkness, gazing at something Ivy couldn’t see. “She wasn’t anything like the Empress. It never crossed her mind to offer me hope and then snatch it away. She meant it, Ivy. She was giving me a chance to start over.”

  “So you swore you’d come back here and never leave Cornwall again?”

  “Not exactly.” He gave a shaky laugh. “First, I fell on my knees and bawled like a mooncalf. Then I told her I’d do anything she asked. She said, ‘Will you give me your name?’ and it felt like she’d ripped my guts out. But I crawled up to her and whispered it, I was that desperate. And instead of using it to enslave me like the Empress did, she gave it back to me. Forever.”

  “Gave it back?” Ivy had never heard of such a thing. Knowing a faery’s true name gave you the power to command them absolutely, and that didn’t seem like something Queen Valerian could forget even if she wanted to.

  “I know. I didn’t think it was possible. But when she told me I was free, I could feel the truth in it. In her.” He exhaled slowly, his breath frosting the air. “The Oakenfolk think she made me swear a blood oath not to come back to England. But she only asked for my word. As if . . . that was enough.”

  No wonder he’d looked so awestruck when he first came back to Ivy. She’d met Valerian only briefly, when she’d begged the Oakenfolk to heal her dying mother, but the queen’s wisdom had impressed Ivy then—and her compassion astonished her now. Betony would never have shown such mercy.

  “So here I am,” Martin said, shifting to face her. “And this time I mean to stay. Will you come with me?”

  Ivy recoiled, startled. “Where?”

  “I’ve found a place, one of my father’s old troves. It’s not much, but I’m making it better. We could hide there, just the two of us, and no one would know.”

  Ivy gazed at him, aching inside. Martin had changed for the better in so many ways, but he still thought like a fugitive. She couldn’t blame him: he was the last spriggan left in the world,
and hiding was the only reason he was still alive. But she couldn’t follow his example, especially now.

  “My people need me, Martin. I haven’t found them a proper home yet, and I can’t leave until they’re safe from Betony. And Cicely’s not been happy since our mother left . . .”

  “Did she?” He frowned, then his face cleared. “Ah. Of course. David?”

  Ivy nodded. “And Molly. The house here isn’t safe anymore, now Betony knows where to find it.”

  “Which means it isn’t safe for you, either.” His voice was edged with frustration. “Why are you still putting yourself in danger? You’ve done more than enough for your people already. If they can’t see that now, they never will.”

  “You don’t understand. They think I’m their Joan. I know that’s not true, but until they find another leader, I’m the best hope they’ve got.”

  “Their weakness isn’t your problem, Ivy. And even if you think it’s your duty to help them, that doesn’t prove that you can.” He took her hands, thumbs caressing her knuckles. “If Betony comes for your people, how are you going to stop her? Your people might think you can make fire, but we both know better.”

  So he’d been watching her in the Engine House, long before she noticed. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time. “We don’t know Betony will get her fire back,” Ivy said, trying to ignore the hard clench of her stomach. “And I won’t give up on my people until there’s nothing more I can do.”

  Martin sighed. “I knew you’d say that. But you can’t blame me for—” His head came up. “What was that?”

  For a moment Ivy wondered what he was talking about. Then her ears caught the sound of distant shouting, and the sizzling crack of a thunder-axe jolted her to her feet. “The Lighting!” she gasped, and willed herself back to the Engine House.

  As soon as she landed Cicely pelted toward her, braids flying. “They just burst in—we couldn’t stop them. What do we do?”

  The wakefire still burned, but there was no more merriment in the Engine House. Thorn’s tables lay overturned and broken, food and drink spilling across the stones, and Ivy’s people cowered back as a rank of piskey hunters advanced on them. Mica, Mattock, and a trembling Elvar had drawn their own knives in answer, and a few of the Delve’s knockers stood with them. But they’d left their thunder-axes on the other side of the wakefire, and without them they didn’t have a chance.

  “Stop!” Ivy shouted, and the leader of the hunters swung to face her. It was Gossan, his handsome face set with fury.

  “You. How dare you come to our Engine House and offer our people false fire? You’re no Joan—you’re hardly even a piskey. Give yourself up and tell your people to surrender, or we’ll kill you all.”

  The Gossan she’d grown up with would never have spoken so harshly. He’d always seemed gentle compared to his wife, patient and slow to anger. Had the toxic air of the Delve poisoned his mind?

  “We’re not here to fight,” Ivy said, spreading her hands. “We were only trying to help. Let us leave in peace, and we won’t trouble you again.”

  “You’ve made nothing but trouble since you were born,” Gossan said coldly. He nodded to his hunters. “Take them.”

  “Wait!” cried Ivy. “We surren—”

  Wind blasted through the Engine House, and the wakefire exploded, sparks raining in all directions. Gossan’s men yelped and dropped their weapons, slapping their clothes in panic—but to Ivy’s astonishment, her people weren’t touched by the fire at all. It was as though some invisible shield was protecting them.

  The knockers who’d joined her ran for their thunder-axes, while the ones who hadn’t bolted. Gossan whirled, eyes wild, as a pair of blurred figures appeared from nowhere, grabbed some of Ivy’s followers, and vanished with them. By the time the Jack managed to gather his scattered hunters, there were hardly any piskeys left for them to fight.

  “Away, you starvelings,” boomed a rich, rolling voice out of the darkness. “You elf-skins, you dried neat’s tongues! Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon, thou poisonous, bunch-backed toads! I’d beat thee, but I would infect my hands. Exeunt!”

  Oh, blast and smelt it, Ivy thought weakly. It was Martin, and he was thoroughly enjoying himself. He must have leaped to the house to find Thorn and Broch, urged them to rescue Ivy’s people while he provided a distraction, and now he was playing the role of the evil giant—or spriggan—with all the melodrama he’d learned on stage.

  Meanwhile Mica and Mattock stood their ground, knives drawn, and the remaining few knockers stayed with them. Iron stopped faery magic, so Thorn and Broch couldn’t whisk them away. But it didn’t matter. By the time Martin finished cursing them, the Jack and all his soldiers had fled.

  “Picks and hammers!” Quartz danced excitedly, leaving muddy boot prints all over the barn floor. “How’d you do it, Ivy? That was the best prank I’ve ever seen!”

  “Stop your gabble, boy,” Hew told him sternly. “What happened tonight was no joke.”

  “But the look on Gossan’s face!”

  “Enough of that. Get on with you.” He pushed the boy toward the stall where his mother waited, then laid a hand on Ivy’s shoulder. “All right, me bird?”

  Ivy nodded, too shaken to reply. She’d come so close to losing all the good people who’d followed her. If Martin hadn’t intervened, they’d be captured or dead by now.

  “Ah, Ivy-bird, don’t look like that.” Hew turned her to face him, his weathered face lined with sympathy. “T’wasn’t your fault. You did the best you could, and we’re no worse off for it.” He gestured to the new arrivals, who were tentatively exploring the barn while the other piskeys made up straw beds for them to sleep on. “And for these folk, it’s all the better.”

  Perhaps, Ivy thought, but for how long? The box stalls were already crowded, so the newcomers would have to sleep in the corridor. She’d invited them to the house, but like the others they’d refused, so the best she could do was offer food and water and the few blankets she could spare. And though Martin had left her with a good pile of human money, she’d spent much of it already. If she couldn’t find a new home for her people, she’d soon have nothing left to offer them.

  Teasel must have noticed Ivy’s troubled look, because she marched up and shooed Hew away. “I’ll see to our young Joan,” she said firmly. “Off to bed with you. I’ll be there dreckly.”

  I’m not the Joan, Ivy wanted to protest, but how could she? The piskeys who’d joined them at the Lighting had barely settled in yet, and she feared to disappoint them. So she let Teasel lead her to the other end of the barn, where she could confess without being overheard.

  But the older woman spoke first, hushed and urgent. “Bless the day you brought those faeries to join us. We’d have been in a right stew tonight if it weren’t for them. But how do we repay them? A life-debt’s a costly burden, and we’ve no treasure here fit to give.”

  Ivy was taken aback. She hadn’t realized her people understood faery bargains so well, or were prepared to take them so seriously. “I don’t think they’d want gold or jewels anyway,” she said. “Only our willingness to help them in turn, if they’re ever in need or danger.”

  Teasel looked relieved. “Ayes, that would be fine. But . . .” Her grip on Ivy’s arm tightened. “What of the other one, him who frightened Gossan and his bully-boys away?”

  Ivy winced. She’d hoped her fellow piskeys wouldn’t guess what had really happened—that like Quartz they’d think Ivy had blown up the wakefire with magic and assume the Shakespearean insults had come from Broch. But Teasel was sharp-eared as well as sharp-witted, and not much escaped her.

  “He’s . . . a friend,” Ivy said, hoping her discomfort wasn’t obvious. “And he did it to help me, not to put you in debt. You needn’t worry.”

  Teasel’s eyes narrowed, and Ivy braced herself for more questions. But the older woman only sighed. “Get some sleep then,” she said, and padded off to rejoin her husband.

  For a wild
moment Ivy nearly dashed after her. She still hadn’t told the truth about the wakefire, and she longed for Teasel’s advice. But then she caught sight of Mica standing halfway up the corridor, arms folded and eyes hard as basalt, and her nerve failed. She wasn’t up to another clash with him right now.

  I’ll tell her tomorrow, Ivy promised herself, and hurried away.

  Thorn met Ivy coming out of the barn and fell into step with her. “I’ve put a few more wards about,” she said. “Not that we’re likely to need them tonight, but it never hurts to be careful. You’ll want to make stronger ones, though, in case Gossan and his folk come looking for you.”

  The faery woman was right, but that too would have to wait for tomorrow. The first pangs of a headache tapped Ivy’s skull like a tiny hammer, warning her she’d done enough magic for one night.

  We could hide, just the two of us, Martin had said, and she’d refused like the loyal, hard-working piskey she was. But right now Ivy longed to take falcon-shape and fly off to him, if only to forget her worries for a while.

  “My people aren’t safe here,” Ivy told the faeries the next morning, her hands clenched around her teacup. “I know that. But all the mines I’ve found so far are either flooded too deep to live in or poisoned just like the Delve.”

  Broch and Thorn sat across from her at the breakfast table, arms folded and heads cocked in matching looks of deliberation; it would have been funny, if Ivy weren’t too exhausted to appreciate it. She’d gone straight to bed last night as Teasel suggested, but her thoughts were such a tangle she hadn’t slept at all.

  “Does it have to be a mine?” Broch inquired. “What about a cave or a burrow?”

  Ivy shook her head. “Caves are for spriggans. And burrows are dirty. We’re miners, not rabbits.”