“I know this is hard,” she began. Her heart was thumping and her mouth felt dry, but she had to stay calm or she’d never get the words out. “We were ready to fight like true piskeys, but we weren’t prepared for treachery, and that’s how Gossan and Betony defeated us. It wasn’t because Mattock and the other men weren’t strong enough. It was because they were too honorable to stoop to such cruel, deceitful tricks.”
A few of the women looked up, nodding. But Copper and the other men sat with jaws clenched and arms folded, watching the rabbit roasting slowly over the fire.
“But we have something our enemies don’t,” Ivy continued. “We have allies. Other magical folk with their own strengths to offer, who want peace as much as we do.” She gestured to Thorn and Broch. “And we could make even more new friends if we’re willing to ask for help, instead of thinking we can fight Betony all by ourselves.”
“Mam?” whispered Thrift, but Daisy hushed her. Mica shifted restlessly on his haunches, and Daffodil, Copper’s wife, gave a feeble cough. But nobody spoke.
“I banished one of those friends,” Ivy went on, “because you were too afraid to trust him. But he’s chosen not to hold that against us. He helped Broch heal Mattock—”
Fern’s head jerked up, eyes red and disbelieving.
“—and now he’s offering us a place to live. A safe, warm place that no one else knows about, where we can stay for the next few days while we decide what to do.”
“Is that so.” Mica sat back, his lip curling. “How lucky for us. And what kind of payment does your friend want in return?”
“Only kindness,” Ivy told him. “He wants us to swear we won’t hurt him, or . . . or anyone under his protection. And that we won’t tell other piskeys about this secret place, or show them where to find it, unless he agrees.”
It was a huge gamble, telling Ivy’s followers about the barrow. But as Martin had pointed out, it was their best chance to prove that spriggans weren’t the selfish, greedy monsters of piskey legend. And that wouldn’t just help the piskeys, it would help Martin’s people too.
Mica gave a bitter laugh. “Let’s be honest,” he said, standing up. “You talk about friends, but what you’re really asking is for us to put ourselves at the mercy of a spriggan. Or if you cared to tell the whole truth, instead of just the part you think we’re ready for . . .”
She knew that look in her brother’s eyes, and it never meant anything good. “Mica—”
“You want to march us straight to the lair of your spriggan lover and a horde of other spriggans as well!”
The bottom dropped out of Ivy’s stomach. She stumbled back as the piskeys leaped to their feet, staring at her in accusation. “Other spriggans? You said he was the last of his kind!”
Ivy’s thoughts raced, tripping over one another in panic. How had Mica known about the children? The only person she’d told was Molly, and she’d never betray Ivy that way. “I. . . I thought he was,” she stammered. “And so did he. We didn’t find the others until—”
Mica cut her off with a gesture. “We’ve heard enough. No more excuses.” He turned to the others. “Now you know why she wouldn’t make up her mind about Mattock. Her heart’s not with us, it’s with that spriggan. And now he wants to lure us into his trap too.”
Daisy and Clover clutched their children protectively, while Teasel turned the spit Mica had forgotten, her mouth a troubled line. Only Fern kept her gaze on Ivy, but it was so full of bewildered hurt that Ivy couldn’t bear it. Hot with shame, she looked away.
“Our men are trapped in the Delve now,” Mica said harshly, “because Ivy couldn’t stop Betony when she had the chance. Now she wants us to go hide in some filthy spriggan’s den and abandon them?” He shook his head. “I won’t do it. And neither should you.”
“That’s right!” Copper thumped the floor with the haft of his thunder-axe. “We’re piskeys, not rabbits. We oughter stand up and fight!”
“I never said we’d abandon them!” Ivy was trembling, but she was also furious. What was her brother doing? Matt had sworn Mica believed in her, but there was no sign of that now. “I only said we needed time to rest and think!”
“We don’t have time,” Mica retorted. “And we’ve done too much thinking already. We need to take action now, or eight good men will end up swinging from Betony’s gallows. And your spriggan boy can’t help us, no matter what pretty lies he’s told you.”
He spun back toward the other piskeys, spreading his arms. “Do I have to say it? Ivy’s my sister and I’ve done my best to support her, but she’s not fit to be Joan. And even if Matt’s not addled by spriggan charms like she is, he can’t fight Gossan with one hand. So I say we stop waiting for Ivy to prove she knows what it means to be a piskey, and look to someone who’s already proved it.” He gestured to the back of the circle. “Yarrow.”
The young healer rose, stepping past the fire. Her cheeks were pale, but she met Ivy’s eyes without flinching. “I never wanted this,” she said quietly. “Neither did Mica. But you’ve left us no choice.”
“So you’re offering to be his Joan?” demanded Ivy, incredulous. “What good will that do? You can’t stand up to Betony either. You can’t even make fire!”
“Not yet,” Yarrow said, a tremor in her voice, “but neither can you. And the whole Delve knows it.”
Her words fell on Ivy like a thunder-axe. She stared at the healer, too aghast to speak.
“A true wakefire is kindled by magic, and that’s what they hoped for when they came to your Lighting. But all you gave them was a burning pile of wood, and as soon as they went back underground, they knew it.” Yarrow’s chin came up. “Our people believed in you, but you’ve done nothing but deceive them. You’re no more fit to be Joan than I am.”
Ivy could feel the other piskeys’ eyes on her, knew they were waiting for an answer. But what could she say? Even if she told them what Mica had done to the wakefire, she was still guilty of letting them think she’d lit it by magic.
“You’re right,” Ivy said at last. “I’m sorry.” Then she walked to the other end of the ruined shed and sat down, defeated.
“So,” said Mica, triumphant. “You’ve heard it all, and you know what your choices are. Who’s with me and Yarrow?”
The piskeys hesitated, shuffling their feet. Nobody answered until a determined young voice said, “I am,” and Cicely walked through the doorway, changing to piskey size as she went.
No, no, no, Ivy’s heart wailed. All at once it was painfully clear how Mica had found out about the spriggans. It wouldn’t be the first time Cicely had fooled Ivy by turning invisible, and it wouldn’t have been hard for her to eavesdrop on Ivy’s conversation with Molly . . . or her private talks with Thorn and Broch, either.
Ivy had been so caught up in her own troubles, she hadn’t paid much attention to Cicely. But Mica had.
The other piskeys turned to one another, whispering. Little by little their voices rose, until they were all talking loudly at once:
“—the children—”
“—too dangerous—”
“I’m no coward, you’re the—”
“—bewitched her, plain as plain—”
“—put his head in the noose yourself!”
But soon the noise died down as one piskey after another moved away, lining up behind Mica. Putting their last hopes in him, and not in Ivy.
Ivy pressed her forehead to her knees, heartsick. She knew Mica too well to think he could hold their people together, even with Yarrow’s help. Even if they managed to get into the Delve without being caught, they’d never come out again. But there was nothing she could do.
“So,” Mica said brusquely, “we’re done. Let’s go.”
Gravel crunched as her brother and his followers marched off, and Dodger clopped placidly after them. Dreading what she was about to find, Ivy looked up.
Fern still sat by the fire, which was no surprise: she was desperate to see Mattock again, spriggans or no spr
iggans. But she wasn’t alone. Daisy and Clover with their little ones, the old aunties, Moss and even Teasel—nearly all the women and children had stayed except for Cicely and Copper’s wife Daffodil, whose cough still echoed faintly in the distance.
Numb with disbelief, Ivy climbed to her feet. She wanted to ask the women why they’d stayed, but she was afraid to test the fragile, precious trust they’d placed in her. The long walk to the barrow would be trial enough.
“I promise you,” she told them fervently, “I’ll do everything I can to get your men back from Betony. And I know Matt will, too.”
There was an uncomfortable pause. Then Thrift’s small voice said, “Mam, I’m hungry.”
Mica and his followers had taken the roasted rabbit, and with no hunters left, Ivy couldn’t replace it. She hurried to the pile of baggage in the corner, searching for the pack she’d brought from the cottage. But the food she’d packed into it was gone, and she found nothing but a handful of dirty wrappers.
Across the shed Thorn sighed and lifted her head from Broch’s shoulder. “Give us an hour or so,” she said gruffly. “We’ll see what we can do.”
After a late breakfast of roasted squirrel and an icy wash in the brook, Ivy and her small band of followers set off. It would have been easy for her and Broch to leap to the barrow, but neither Thorn nor any of the others had been there yet, so they had no choice but to take the long way.
Fortunately, the women didn’t object to turning human size for the journey, and both Daisy and Moss had a knack for invisibility charms that would keep them doubly safe. Broch carried Thrift piskey-back and Clover’s two boys trotted after him, while Ivy followed with the rest and Thorn marched doggedly in the rear.
Neither of the faeries had spoken out when Mica challenged her, but Ivy didn’t blame them: she knew as well as they did that it would only have made matters worse. She had no doubt of their loyalty, in any case. They’d proven themselves staunch as any Cornish piskey . . . and though it hurt to recall it, truer than Ivy’s own brother and sister.
They plodded along all day, skirting human towns and roadways, following Ivy’s inborn direction-sense on the slow westward march. In the afternoon it began to rain, but the drizzle was mercifully light, and the brisk walk helped keep them warm. Still, the aunties were breathing heavily and the children stumbling with exhaustion by the time they crested the last hill and found Martin waiting for them at the bottom.
Ivy longed to hurtle down the slope into his arms. But her followers had chosen to believe she’d made this choice wisely, not dazzled by some spriggan love-charm, and she wouldn’t give them any reason to doubt it. She led them down to the fallen trees, and stepped up to Martin.
“You’ve offered us refuge,” she said formally, “and we’re grateful. My people and I vow to do no harm to you or to those under your protection, and never reveal the secret of this place to anyone, even our own flesh and blood.” She turned to the women behind her. “Do you all swear to keep this promise?”
“Ayes, we swear,” said Teasel, and a soft chorus of voices agreed. Martin studied them, expressionless, then turned and led them into the hill.
When they came up the stairs, Mattock was waiting, and Fern burst into tears of relief. She hugged him tight, scolding him—then caught sight of his half hand and fell into stunned silence.
“I know, Mother,” Mattock said. “It’s a change, and it’ll take getting used to. But it’s not the end.”
Fern smiled wanly, but she still looked shaken, and Ivy knew what she and the other women were thinking. A Jack who couldn’t lead his people into battle was useless as a Joan who couldn’t wield fire.
As Matt greeted the rest of the piskeys and handed them blankets to get warm, Ivy realized the rest of the chamber was empty. Had the spriggan children hidden out of shyness? Or had Martin ordered them to stay away?
Ivy would have asked him, he’d disappeared as well. So she helped Mattock get all the piskeys settled, then found a spot at the back of the cavern and sat down with a weary sigh.
She must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew a warm bowl was being pressed into her hands, and the smell of fish teased her nostrils. Hazily Ivy looked around to find the cavern full of the spriggan children, serving supper.
The smallest ones were the boldest: they thrust out their baskets of crusty bread with pride and scampered off to get more. The older children moved more warily, gripping their bowls of fish stew with both hands and avoiding the piskeys’ eyes. And Dagger looked positively disgusted: he shoved the bowl at Mattock so hard it slopped over, and stalked off without even offering him a spoon.
But it was good stew, thick and savory. The fish was fresh, the bread only a little stale. When all the piskeys had eaten, the spriggan children silently collected the bowls and took them away. Teasel coughed and sniffed, and when Ivy got up in concern to check on her, she found the older woman weeping.
“I thought they’d be monsters,” she whispered. “Like the old tales said. I only came because I was afeard for Daisy and Clover and their little ones.” Her fingers plucked at her muddy skirts. “I knew if Hew was here, he’d fight all the spriggans in the world to save them, and he’d want me to fight too. But. . .” She met Ivy’s eyes with her red, brimming ones. “They’re only children.”
Ivy put a hand over Teasel’s. There was no need to say anything more. They sat side by side in the twilit warmth of the cavern, until the older woman’s skin-glow faded and she drooped against Ivy’s shoulder, fast asleep.
Ivy paced the storeroom, teeth worrying at her lower lip. Martin lounged on a pile of flour sacks in the corner, eating an apple left over from breakfast, while Mattock stood awkwardly by the door, waiting for Ivy to explain why she’d called for them.
“This is a disaster,” Ivy burst out. “I’m not blaming you, Martin—you and the children have been wonderful. But I can’t ask all these piskey-women to stay here without trying to do something to save their men. And we’ve only got five days before Betony executes them.” She gestured helplessly. “What am I going to do?”
“Well, you can’t stop her all by yourself,” said Martin, making the core vanish with a twirl of his fingers. “I’d do my best to help if it were just me, but . . .”
“Of course,” said Ivy. “You have to protect the children.” And how much help could Martin give her anyway? Even if he could find the courage to go back into the Delve, he’d be no more a match for Gossan than she was for Betony. “I just need advice. If you have any.”
Martin sat up, fingers drumming on his crossed leg. “Well,” he said after a moment, “there are only two options I can think of. One is to find a spell that will stop Betony’s fire. The other is to raise an army.”
“An army of what?” Ivy asked in frustration. “Birds? Animals? You’ve seen my followers, Martin. I can’t ask old aunties and mothers with little children to fight Betony.”
Martin raised his brows at her. “Ivy, I know you grew up in the Delve, and you still think of yourself as a piskey. But your father died months ago, your mother left, and your brother and sister turned against you. And with only one exception I know of”—he nodded politely at Mattock—“you’ve done far more for your people than they’ve ever done for you. Why are you asking yourself to fight Betony?”
Ivy felt like a fist had clenched around her heart. She looked desperately at Mattock. But his eyes were lowered, and he didn’t seem to have any more answer than she did.
“You’re right about my family,” Ivy said at last. “And my people aren’t perfect, either. But if I start thinking about how much they owe me, or what they do and don’t deserve—” She shook her head. “That may be how faeries do things, but it’s not the piskey way. And I don’t want it to be mine, either.”
Martin narrowed his eyes, and for a moment Ivy feared she’d insulted him. But then he leaned back with a shrug. “It boots not to resist both wind and tide,” he quoted. “As usual, you’ll do whatever you think
is right. No matter what anyone else thinks.”
“It’s not just that.” Ivy dropped onto a barrel, head in hands. “Those men gave themselves up to save me. How can I walk away and leave them to die?”
“A noble sentiment,” said Martin. “But I don’t think you’ll be honoring their sacrifice if you run back to the Delve and get yourself killed as well.” He looked at Mattock. “Shouldn’t you be trying to talk sense into her? Isn’t that what the Jack’s supposed to do?”
“I—” Mattock began, but the creak of the door interrupted him. Thorn came marching into the storeroom, towing her husband behind her.
With all that had happened lately Ivy had forgotten Broch’s promise to sell Martin’s treasure, but clearly neither of them had. Where Martin had found a full suit of modern clothing, Ivy couldn’t guess. But in a tailored jacket and dark trousers, with hair trimmed to match the neatness of his beard, Broch looked almost human.
“Do any of you know how to tie one of these?” Thorn demanded, waving a crumpled silk necktie. “Broch’s got to be in London by midday, and I’m ready to chuck the blighted thing into the fire.”
Shaking his head in amusement, Martin unfolded himself and rose. He whisked the tie from Thorn’s hand and spelled it smooth with a gesture, then draped it around his own neck and knotted it loosely with a few deft twists. “What a deformed thief this fashion is,” he quipped, handing it back to her. “But that should do it.”
That made two Shakespeare quotes in as many minutes. Martin was too good an actor to betray it, but he clearly had strong feelings about something.
“Hmph,” said Thorn, as she looped the tie around Broch’s neck and tugged it into place. “Well, I’m no expert like Wink, but it looks all right.” She eyed him sidelong. “How long is this business going to take?”
Torch Page 13