by S H Cooper
I wait for Mother to start screaming and crying and pulling at her hair like the upset ladies in Joseph’s stories always seem to do. She doesn’t, though. Her shoulders stiffen and she raises her chin. As the men draw closer, she lifts the edge of her dress and walks to meet them in small steps. Loleck and the others, even Drake, bow their heads respectfully to her. Loleck’s lips are moving, he’s saying something, and Mother moves past him with barely a glance. She briefly touches Drake’s forearm as she comes to stand beside Father.
While Loleck continues to speak, she plucks a handkerchief from her sleeve and gently dabs Father’s forehead. Her back is to me and I cannot see her face. She waits for Loleck to stop talking before straightening. The men are looking to her expectantly, the same way I’ve seen them look at Father, and I’m shocked. They are waiting for her instruction. Mother takes Loleck’s offered arm to lead them the rest of the way to the house.
Never once does she dissolve into tears or stumble. She doesn’t even lean on Loleck for support, even though I think he keeps expecting her to. She carries herself like a queen at court.
For a moment, she seems as much a brave soldier as my father has ever been.
I duck quickly out of the window and go to my room before they come inside. I don’t want to see Drake and I don’t think I can handle seeing Father like that again. Not yet. My door has stayed shut the whole time, like I’m still asleep behind it, and new pinpricks of guilt rush up my back. Once inside, I lean heavily against the door and bite my knuckles to keep from crying out. Voices and footsteps fill the common room and drift passed as they head to my parents’ room.
I hear Dr. Willis, distinct with his thick northern accent, murmuring as they go. I assume he’s talking to Mother. He’s saying something about being prepared and that he’ll do his best. He doesn’t sound hopeful.
Suddenly my room is like a cage and I am a trapped beast, pacing and still biting my knuckle.
They’re wrong, I think heatedly. He’s going to be ok. He’s Patrick McThomas, High Captain of the Moorsden Knights!
A spark of anger has ignited in my belly. The more I hear the doubt and quiet grief already in the voices outside my door, the stronger it becomes, until its flames are licking at my sadness and guilt. I picture Drake and his angry face as he looked at me. It only makes the fire inside me burn higher.
It’s not my fault! I want to throw open my door and scream at him. I didn’t do this!
My footsteps are becoming quicker and more agitated. It hadn’t been my arrows that pierced Father. I had not wielded the bow!
But you were there when you shouldn’t have been, the same dark voice that sounds like Drake hissed in my mind. He protected you. If you had stayed home, he could have taken cover.
I cannot argue against that and the fire begins to dull. But only for a moment. I can’t deny that I did have a part to play in Father’s injury. I should have been home, I should have been helping Mother with the morning chores. I should have been where I truly belong. But I hadn’t been, and I can’t change that.
All I can do now is try to make up for it.
While the adults and my brothers gather around Father’s bedside, preparing for the worst, I throw open my window and climb out for the second time that day.
Let them believe what they will, I think as I hike up my skirt and run as fast as I can toward the road. I’m going to find a way to help Father!
Chapter Four
It’s impossible to sneak back through the field, but I quickly discover it’s not necessary. Almost the entire village is out and reeling from the attack. It’s all anyone is talking about. If it had been a normal day, I’m sure I would have been stopped half a dozen times and asked what I was doing running around on my own. Now, though, I’m barely given a second glance. I’m just one of the many lasses lost in the confusion.
Still, I keep to the edge of the crowd as much as I can. I walk with my head down and a purposeful stride in my step. I want to seem as unapproachable as possible, but it also makes it so I don’t have to look at the field. Father made it home, but many others hadn’t. Names are being called, some hopefully in search, some with heartbreaking sorrow after they’ve been found.
We won, didn’t we? We beat back the invaders. Where are the celebrations, then? Where is the glory? I thought I’d known what it was to be in battle. I’ve been raised on fireside stories, some of real fights told by Father, some made up by Joseph, and none mentioned this part.
I’m glad I’m not stopping at the field. There are too many people, too much noise, too much pain. I know I can’t handle any more right now. I have a task and I can’t let myself be distracted from it. Soon, the forest will be crawling with knights doing what I’m doing: looking for clues. They’ll close it off and I won’t be able to search myself. If I have any hope of finding anything that might help Father, I’ll have to be quick.
The closer I get to the trees, though, the smaller and less sure my footsteps become. Even in daylight, it seems dark and forbidding. Shadows stretch and dance across the ground and I imagine Joseph’s monsters reaching down from the branches to grab at me.
I am a McThomas, I remind myself, and we’re not scared of anything.
But it isn’t Father I picture as I ball my hands into fists at my sides: it’s Mother. The defiant way she held herself, the lift of her chin. I try to stand as she did when she went out to meet the men carrying Father, and I cross into the Burl Forest.
It isn’t long before commotion from the field fades into the background. It’s much quieter here, and my own breathing seems too loud. It’s easy to see where the attackers crossed through. They carelessly trampled the ground, leaving broken twigs and bent bushes to mark their passing. I crouch beside a crushed patch of wildflowers and inspect them with a frown. The white petals are flattened into a boot shape, but it doesn’t tell me anything except that someone in a boot had stepped on it.
My slow, careful search around the wildflowers is just as useful. I circle and circle, combing through underbrush for anything that looks meaningful, but whoever these men were, they were careful.
It seems they’ve left nothing but tracks.
I plop down against a tree with a dismayed sigh and bury my face in my hands.
“What am I even looking for?” I groan aloud.
“I’ve been wondering that myself.”
The voice, high and reedy, comes from overhead. I scramble to my feet again and whirl around to look up into the tree branches. Joseph’s monsters suddenly seem all too real. As I back away, never once taking my eyes from where the voice had been, I stoop to pick up a stick. It’s small, but feels sturdy enough in my grasp, and I clutch it tight in both hands.
“What’re you planning to do with that, then?”
There’s a note of amusement in the voice now, and it’s coming from over my shoulder. I cry out and spin, only to be met with empty forest.
“Who’s there?” My voice is shaky despite how I try to control it.
“You’re gonna hit me if I come out, is that it?”
Again, it’s behind me, and I turn, swinging my stick as I do. It swishes through the open air.
“Ah, so you’re the ‘hit first, ask questions later’ type. How very human of you.”
“Show yourself, coward!” I’m almost shouting as I move in a slow circle. I keep my stick up in front of me.
“Is not wanting to get a good smack cowardly now? We’ll have to agree to disagree, lass.”
The voice flits about quickly while it speaks. Above me, behind me, at my feet. My eyes dart around for signs of movement, but I see nothing. My grip tightens on my stick and I swing it a few, cautionary times.
There’s a sigh. “You look like a right fool. Alright, if you stop doing...whatever it is you think you’re doing, I’ll come out, aye? I just want to talk.”
I stay in a defensive wide stance, but nod.
The air shimmers mere inches from my face and I’m staring down my nos
e at a tiny, grinning woman with dark, bark-like skin.
I shriek and swing my stick. She darts easily up and away and hovers above me, her hands on her hips and her translucent wings buzzing with irritation.
“You said you’d stop that!”
“You’re a-a fae!” I gape.
Joseph has told me stories of her kind: mischievous, magical folk who cause trouble as often as not. But they’re only supposed to be stories!
“And you’re a-a human!” She mocks my surprise and slaps her hands to her cheeks. “Now that that’s established, can we get back to business?”
“You’re not real,” I stutter.
She sighs and rubs her forehead. “Please stop embarrassing yourself.”
I gaze up at her, my mouth hanging open. She’s not exactly as Joseph had described her kind. She’s not ugly or speaking only in rhyme. Instead, she has delicate features surrounded by bouncy, mossy hair, and she moves gracefully through the air. But she does have the wings and the tree skin, just like he always said.
“You’re a fae,” I finally say again.
“Aye,” she replies as if she’s speaking to a very young child. “We’ve covered that already.”
“But everyone says you’re just old wives’ tales!”
“Well, everyone’s wrong then, aren’t they? Now can I come down or are you going to keep trying to swat me?”
I glance quickly around us, suddenly aware of how alone I am. If Joseph, who hasn’t been quite accurate so far, is to be believed, the odds of her using some kind of wicked trickery on me are as good as not. I briefly wonder how long it would take the people in the field to get to me if I scream. I shift my weight nervously between my feet and twist the stick in my hands.
“Alright,” I say at last. “But if you try anything funny —”
“I’m sure you’ll squash me like a housefly,” she finishes for me. She doesn’t seem concerned.
I watch her warily as her comes to hover in front of me, her arms crossed over her chest. She returns my stare steadily. Her nose wrinkles as she looks me up and down slowly.
“You’re the lass who saw my signal,” she says. “How fortunate for me. Saves me the trouble of having to search for you.”
“Your signal?” My eyes go wide. “The reflection I saw from the woods! That was you?”
“Aye.”
The fae reaches for a small sheath at her waist that I hadn’t noticed before and pulls out a tiny dagger. Its blade is no longer than my thumbnail and is made of a gleaming, polished steel. When she holds it up to catch a ray of sun, the light bounces off in flashes of glittering gold.
“I hoped to warn the men. I didn’t expect it to be a girl who raised the call. Especially not you. You’re the McThomas lass, aren’t you?”
I’m taken back by her knowing my name and am immediately on guard again. “How do you know who I am?”
“I don’t. Not rightly, anyway. I only know that the man who led this attack was after your da, and that he was very interested in the child Patrick McThomas was willing to risk his life to save.”
I drop my stick and lunge at the fae, desperately trying to grab her out of the air. She flies easily out of reach and sputters indignantly.
“And just what do you think you’re doing?”
“You know who hurt my father! You’re what I was looking for! I need you to come with me. If the second captain is still at my house, you can talk to him. Maybe you can even help Dr. Willis! Fae are magic, aren’t you?”
While my words pour out, she shakes her head. “You don’t understand, girl. What you need is to leave.”
“Why would I leave? My father needs me, he —”
“Can’t be helped by anything your Dr. Willis or any other human can offer. Besides, it’s not your father who’s in danger now. At least for the time being. It’s you.”
I hesitate, unsure of what she means. Is that some kind of threat? She doesn’t look like she means to harm me. Still, I frown and take a few steps back. She reads my unease and throws her hands up with a roll of her eyes.
“It’s not me you need to be worried about! I can’t explain everything right now, there’s no time. There will be men, bad men, coming here soon. All of them will be looking for Patrick McThomas’ daughter. Rewards are being promised for your capture as we speak.”
I shake my head, but she presses on, flying so close I have to cross my eyes to look at her.
“Your father has a powerful enemy. I followed him here. I thought he only meant to lead an attack against some knights, another human war, but this is different. He used something, a poison he shouldn’t have had, and now he’s put out a call for you. I don’t know why or what he wants with you, but I know it can’t be good. Nothing he does ever is. You have to listen to me. If you want to save your father and your village, you have to go. Now!”
She has me pinned with my back against a tree and stares at me with all the intensity her tiny body can muster.
“You’re not making sense,” I say weakly.
I’m confused and a little frightened by her words. The forest feels as though it’s pressing in on us, more ominous and threatening than ever before.
The fae drags a hand down her face and flits about in agitation. “Didn’t you hear me? There’s no time for sense! I don’t even have all the answers yet! All I know for sure is that he wants you and he won’t stop until he has you. You won’t be much good to your father then.”
“Who is he?” I whisper.
She comes to an abrupt halt in front of me again, her face stony and serious. “Meverick Conan,” she says. The name comes out like a curse. “Wherever he goes, there’s nothing but pain and blood left in his wake.”
“Why would he want me? He’s already hurt Father.”
“I don’t know yet, but I mean to find out.” Her voice takes on a pleading note. “If you come with me, I think I can help you find a cure for your father. Like I said, what ails him now is nothing any of your folk will have ever seen. You have to trust me, lass.”
“Mary,” I respond softly. “My name is Mary.”
She inclines her head. “I’m Torren, and I’m trying to help you. If you leave, Conan will focus on finding you instead of finishing what he started here. If I’ve learned anything about him, it’s that he’s very single minded.”
I study her again and she meets my gaze with her own steadfast one. Her oak-dark eyes are clear and bright and unblinking. She doesn’t even flinch when I extend a hand and offer her my palm to stand on. I lower her so we are eye level with one another.
“Why would you help me?” I ask. I’m still suspicious, but her offer of finding a cure has pierced through my guard.
“Because I know firsthand what Meverick Conan is capable of. This is the first time in a hundred years he’s ventured from his kingdom. He’s planning something. Something big. And he needs you for it. If I can spoil his plan by keeping you away from him and restore your father, then I will do so happily, but I can’t unless you —”
“I’ll do it,” I say quickly.
It’s foolish, I know. She has told me nothing except a name belonging to someone who would be impossibly old and made vague mention of some kind of poison. Surely it’s nothing Dr. Willis hasn’t seen. He’s been tending to our village since my parents were young! But she seems convinced it’s something beyond even him and, as I look at her, I see no sign that she’s lying. Fae are supposed to be liars and tricksters, but I don’t know what she could hope to gain from misleading me.
I push my fear deep down into the pit of my stomach and swallow hard. My thoughts are only of my father’s ashen face and the way he said my nickname, of the way my mother waited to finish leading him home. I can’t risk losing what could be my only chance at making things right.
“Whatever it is, I’ll do it. Just...promise me you’ll tell me what I need to do for Father.”
She smiles and it is a sad, grim expression.
“Pack your things, Mary
McThomas. We leave tonight.”
Chapter Five
My head is spinning. My mouth has gone dry. I don’t know exactly what I’ve agreed to, but there’s no backing out now. Torren has made that clear.
“It’s the only way to help your da,” she says. “It will keep Meverick’s attention off of your village and away from your family.”
“Where are we going?” I think to ask.
I don’t know anything other than Moorsden. I can walk those streets in my sleep. The village center with its market stalls of food and household goods, down Trades Way to the butcher, smithy, or cobbler, out to the public house and inn, further still to the docks. All surrounded by homes and farms. I know most, maybe even all, of the families who live here, and they know me.
Father is the only one in my family who’s ever left. He’s been as far as the capital, Dularney, some months ride to the south, and to every town and village within fifty leagues of Moorsden. He’d told me all their names when I was younger and I used to repeat them to myself until I had them memorized: Lowin, Green Rock, Eirnondale, Gladfife. I had always promised myself I’d find a way to visit all of them.
Now my stomach jumps and twists at the thought of leaving my village, and it is not with excitement.
“Far away,” Torren replies. “To the north and west. It’s the only place I know that might have the cure you need.”
“Might?” She had sounded so sure before, but I catch that hint of uncertainty.
She just shrugs. “I can’t promise anything.”
I tug anxiously at the end of my braid and look down at my feet. When I look up again, a hundred questions dancing on the tip of my tongue, Torren is gone.
“McThomas?”
I jump at the sound of my name and turn to face the boy who had spoken. Erik Loleck, the second captain’s son, stands at the edge of the clearing. He’s got his bow hooked over his shoulder. I understand why Torren has vanished. She doesn’t want to be found out by other people. I can only hope he hasn’t scared her off for good. My fear quickly turns to frustrated and embarrassed anger.