by J. Conrad
I turned and fled, running toward the den where I kept my meager belongings. As I ran, I began to sob. What was wrong with me? Why was I reacting like this? Yet asking myself those questions didn’t make me feel any more logical. There was no doubt I had been betrayed yet again, but why did it hurt so much? This was a different kind of pain—sharp and unexpected, with an aspect I didn’t understand.
I crashed through the bushes and pushed my way through overhanging vines from the gnarled, old trees until I reached the entrance of our den and stopped. This hurt too. I guess it wasn’t “ours” any longer. Another thought made me feel even worse. Trystan could have easily caught up to me if he wanted. He was so fast I couldn’t outrun him. But glancing back, Trystan hadn’t followed.
I crawled through the tunnel and entered the den, picking up my bag and stuffing my clothes inside. Near the pillow I had made was the river stone. I don’t care if I ever see it again, I thought, but an odd pang in my heart made me grab it anyway. I shoved it in the pocket of my trousers. I didn’t need any added weight in the bag.
Wiping my eyes with my sleeve, I emerged in the winter sunlight and scanned for Trystan. There was still no sign of him. Did I want him to come after me? No, I couldn’t trust someone with so many secrets. And if something sounded too good to be true, it probably was—not that sleeping in a den for the rest of my life was too good to be true. But the idea that Trystan felt bonded to me when we were children and waited for me all these years? Absurd. Not even the fairy tales Mother used to read to me were that ridiculous.
I struck out on the trail that led out of the wolves’ territory and would eventually take me within the Kingdom of Hennion. I would have to camp during the night, but if I walked all day tomorrow I might make it to Lyntref, and I might be able to barter a night at the inn by working. I had been soft and fragile three months ago, but now my body was lean and muscular. I could handle almost any work they required. And if I couldn’t get a bed for the night, I’d find a stable to sleep in.
As I reached the outskirts of Rhedyn Town, I stopped near a maple tree and placed my hand on it, leaning against it. I felt its solidity, the life force flowing from the ground into the roots, through the trunk and into the bare branches. It was slumbering, yet still very much alive. The maple was so real and vivid to me, just like Trystan and all the memories we had made together in Dunkrist.
It wasn’t too late. I could turn around and go back, and even if Trystan did leave, I could stay in the den and live off the land. I knew how to survive now. But what kind of life would it be when Trystan wasn’t in it, and when I had learned that the bond I felt was a lie? I had been behaving like a naive little girl, thinking I could trust him because he wasn’t a deceptive human, he was an animal. Well, it was time for me to grow up.
As I crossed into King Odswin’s lands, I found myself deep in thought. I had to start over, alone again. I had to think beyond a night at the inn or scraping up some work in town. My pondering became so involved that although I watched the terrain and navigated in the correct direction, I didn’t hear the voices until it was too late.
A glowing, blue net dropped over my body and I screamed. I wildly thrashed my arms, clawing at the strange device with my fingers, but my movement seemed only to make the net tighten its hold. I turned to see two hooded figures—exactly like the men who kidnapped Mother. Their trousers, tunics and hoods were all black, and the fabric shadowed their faces.
As I reached for the knife at my belt, the man nearest me raised a wooden staff and knocked me on the head with it. My legs crumpled beneath me and my vision went dark.
Chapter 10
Iwoke up slowly. A throbbing headache made me not want to move, though I couldn’t feel the rest of my body anyway. Was I dead? An odd, floating, disconnected sensation consumed my being and I tried to find my hands. Wiggling my fingers, I thought I felt a floor. It was a dusty, wooden floor, and I realized that the dust was getting into my nose because I could smell it faintly.
I became aware of my legs somewhere at the other end of me. Something was off because I couldn’t feel my feet. Maybe they were asleep. I struggled to make my eyelids open and I fluttered them a few times. Light hit my dilated pupils and I groaned, the pain in my head exploding. I closed my eyes again and tried to drag my hand to my face, a motion which I slowly achieved. After a moment of wincing during which I tried to make my vision adjust, I was able to keep my eyes partially open. I put my palms on the floor and heaved myself to a sitting position.
A little, octagonal window was the only source of light and the early winter sun poked through in a sickly beam. The room itself was relatively small and contained wooden crates, furniture covered in dust covers, extra dishes, the odd pot, and random knick-knacks. I knew this place. I had been here many times, though I had never lingered long. This was the attic of my own home, at Blaenwood.
As my last memories flooded my mind in a frantic rush, I put my hands to my head and rocked myself back and forth to calm my nerves. My heart began pounding, my stomach soaring and diving like a bird of prey chasing its quarry. Gwyneth. She must have sent the men to come get me. If she was a Calek, then they worked for her kind.
I examined my own body and searched the nearby space for my possessions. My small bag of clothes remained, but my bow and arrow and knife were gone. I don’t know why I cared, but I patted at the side of my trousers to see if the river stone was still there. My hand found its smooth roundness—the stone was nestled at the bottom of the pocket. I exhaled. The gift seemed even more special now.
Rising to my feet cautiously, the dizziness threatened to knock me over. I took careful steps until I reached the door. There was no bar or hook available and I couldn’t push it open. I knew this door was bolted from the outside. I turned to survey the tiny window, but it was too small to squeeze my body through. And even if I somehow managed it, I was at the very summit of Blaenwood on the third story. There was nothing to grab onto outside, only a sheer drop, and probably not enough fabric on hand to make a rope. I would have to do a thorough inspection once I got my bearings to see exactly what materials could be found in the crates.
I swallowed, noticing how my mouth and throat were parched. My dry, swollen tongue seemed to get in the way of my teeth. How long had I been out? How long had it been since I’d eaten or drunk anything? I had to get out of here.
Scanning the room, I noticed a silver pitcher not far from the door. I leaned down to pick it up and it was heavy. My hands started shaking with a desperate hope. Sniffing the contents, I caught only the faint, metallic scent of the vessel. There appeared to be clean water inside. Would Gwyneth poison me? She would, but it seemed silly to kill me here and have a dead body in the house, when the men could have simply killed me in the woods. I was so thirsty that the cool, metal edge of the pitcher wound up at my trembling lips anyway. I tilted it back and started gulping down the water so fast I almost choked. Coughing and sputtering, I forced myself to stop when I had drunk about half. I didn’t know how long I would be trapped in here.
The only good thing about being so dehydrated was that I didn’t have to pee. That was one less thing to worry about while I figured out what to do. I heard the clomp, clomp, clomp of footsteps ascending the stairs and I backed away from the door. Next came the “snick” of a latch pin and a board being pushed up, the sound of wood scraping wood. The door creaked open slowly, until Gwyneth and I faced each other.
“And there she is, my little runaway. Oh honey, whatever were you thinking?” she asked.
I didn’t answer, just glared at her. The patronizing smirk on her face made my stomach turn. I noticed that she was holding a small bag in her hand.
“I brought you some food.” She tossed the sack on the floor and it made a faint thud, disturbing the dust. “You’re going to wish you’d never been born.”
“What makes you think I don’t wish that already?” I said.
Gwyneth laughed. “This is only the beginning. I wish
you a pleasant stay in your new room.” She smiled, giving a mock curtsy as she backed out of the room and slammed the door. I heard the scrape of the bolt coming down and the latch slipping into place.
Despite every fiber of my dignity protesting otherwise, I reached down and picked up the bag Gwyneth had left for me. Inside were chicken bones and a heel of bread with a bite taken out of it. Scraps.
“Don’t eat too fast,” I heard her call from the staircase. “I’m not sure when I shall be afflicted with another wave of kindness to feed you.”
I didn’t answer, removing the bread and devouring it standing up. There were bits of meat left on the bones and I ate that too. I even ate the gristly parts I normally wouldn’t have touched. I pushed the bones and the bag through the crack under the door. My stomach felt just as hollow as before I had eaten.
I rummaged around the room to see what resources were available. There were three wooden crates, all of them nailed shut. There was a brass pot, which I decided I would use as a privy. I took the dust cover off the large piece of furniture to reveal a couch with a back. This would be my bed. Other various things had been placed along the wall of the attic: a lantern which contained no oil, a silver set which had belonged to my mother, a dented tea kettle. Gwyneth must not have realized the silver set was here, as naturally it contained knives. I removed a large one from the box to pry the crates open.
After working for a few minutes on each crate, I had the lids off. Two contained sets of dishes. The third contained some old sheets. They were moth-eaten, and I doubted they would hold up if I cut them to make a rope, so I just shut the crate. I sighed. Sitting down on the couch, I ran my fingers through my hair, finding the bloody place where I had been struck. There honestly didn’t seem to be a lot of blood, but there was a large knot. I took my fingers away and saw they were pink.
Walking over to the small window, I inspected it more closely. It would be easy to knock the glass out of the frame, as well as remove the metal pieces between the glass plates. I might have to work on it awhile, but I could do it. However, doing so wouldn’t change the size of the opening or the distance to the ground. But I had to get out of here. I couldn’t allow myself to rot up here while she slowly starved me to death.
I thought of Trystan and the tightness behind my eyes reminded me of what had happened between us. Despite how he had hurt me, I wished I was with him. We had once been safe inside our little den within the holly thicket, but Trystan was gone now. It had probably been days since he departed to fulfill his mysterious duty.
There had to be a way to bring help—any help. Our house was in the middle of nowhere. Town was on the other side of the forest. Taking the handle of the large knife, I knocked the glass out of one of the frames of the small, octagonal window. I watched it fall and strike part of the roof about fifty feet down and shatter. This made noise of course, but I didn’t care. I did the same with all the other plates of glass until there was only an empty frame.
The wind rushed in, blasting my face with a chilly mist. If it got too cold in here, I could stuff the dust cover inside the window and tie part of it to the frame to keep it from blowing away. At least, since warm air rises, the attic wasn’t the worst place to be in the winter.
Just as I was casting about for what to do next, I heard voices from the second floor. I crept over to the door and pressed my ear against the space between the frame. I couldn’t hear very well, so I dropped to the floor and put my head near the crack under the door. The people speaking sounded like they were getting closer.
“You weren’t expecting this?” a woman’s voice said. “Well, that’s a shame. Hand her over before it’s too late.”
Was that Eiriana? Had she truly come to help like she promised?
“You,” Gwyneth said, so low as to be nearly inaudible. “I don’t know how you got in, but you are to leave at once.”
“Don’t be silly,” Eiriana said. “I have as much a right to be here as you. What have you done with her?”
“I merely put her away for the time being,” Gwyneth said. “Your arrival changes nothing.”
“You’re the ultimate paradox: a magical being who wants to be human. For no matter how you may look on the outside, inside you’re still a rotting, vile thing. Calek scum,” said Eiriana.
I heard a strange, guttural noise and the shuffling of feet. I wondered if Gwyneth had flashed her ugly, demonic face and attacked Eiriana or lunged at her.
“It won’t work, you know. The girl has no shifter abilities at all, and seemingly no capacity for magic,” Eiriana said.
“Then what do you want her for?” Gwyneth asked, her tone low and thick. It was strange hearing her so rattled. She always had the upper hand with me, but the Fae woman unsettled her—maybe even frightened her.
“She is my granddaughter. And since she’s of no use to you, why not give her to me?”
“Over three moons it took you to return for her. You’re kidding yourself if you think I believe you care about the girl because she’s your own blood. You have a plan for her, something I knew when you showed up at my wedding. And I’ve prepared since then,” said Gwyneth.
I heard a scraping noise, like a small piece of furniture being pushed across the floor, but I couldn’t guess what made the sound.
“Leave,” Gwyneth said.
Eiriana clicked her tongue. “That is your preparation? An iron blade? To think that I put on my best human face for this.”
“This isn’t a common iron blade. It’s cold iron, enchanted under the Fall Rites. And if you don’t leave my sight, a stab wound will be the least of your worries. I banish you from Blaenwood!” She then uttered words in another language, which I assumed to be a spell she was casting. A long silence followed, broken by Gwyneth’s words in the common tongue. “And I’ll be taking care of the windows too, and the rest of the house, should you get any ideas about creeping back in.”
Eiriana snorted. “You irksome old hag, there are forms I can assume which nothing and no one can keep out.”
“Yes, make your idle threats,” Gwyneth said, her voice quivering. “Take the form of a dragonfly and I’ll trap you in an iron jar. Take the form of mist and I’ll catch you with an iron bellows. Henceforth, Blaenwood will be a death trap to you.”
“What are you going to do, keep her locked away until midsummer only to find that her blood is worthless for your needs?” Eiriana said. “The cruelty without reason—that’s what makes you forever a Calek. You will never be human.”
Gwyneth’s growl was like a war cry, and I pictured her baring her teeth like an animal. I heard a hard thud—perhaps she slammed the iron sword against the floor. She might have swung at Eiriana and missed. Or maybe she had struck Eiriana and the Fae woman had fallen. Gwyneth grunted, mumbling something inaudible, followed by thud, thud, thud… thud. Was she repeatedly pounding the floor with the heavy blade? Or was she taking Eiriana’s head and slamming it against the wall? I had no way of knowing.
“Rot in the banal and die, you Fae bitch! A plague upon you and your kind!” Gwyneth said. The blade clattered to the floor. She breathed heavily, exhausted from the exertion. I no longer heard Eiriana. Was she dead?
I stayed stomach-to-floor for some time, listening to the ensuing silence. With no new information to be gleaned, I gave up and went back to the couch. I stared blankly at the small, octagonal window, feeling the cold draft. I played the women’s words over in my mind. So Eiriana was my grandmother, and Gwyneth was indeed a Calek. A chill inched itself up my spine as I realized that Gwyneth’s marriage to my father had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with me. She wanted to use me in some kind of ritual—but my blood might be “useless” because I wasn’t able to shift. So, a Calek needed Fae blood in a midsummer rite to change herself into a human—but since I was only one quarter Fae, my blood might not be strong enough. Gwyneth wanted to try anyway.
But if Gwyneth needed a Fae, why didn’t she just use Eiriana for the ritual? Rubbing m
y arms as I shuddered, I thought that pure Fae were much too powerful. Trystan had told me they are ageless and possess great power. I guess what my stepmother needed was a watered-down substitute, someone she could control. My mother, a half-Fae, was gone, so that left me.
Thinking of Eiriana’s immortality made me realize she must still be alive. She could have shifted into a bird or even mist, like Gwyneth said. Eiriana’s escape would explain my stepmother’s tantrum with the sword. Take the form of a dragonfly... I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around my legs. I might not be able to turn into a dragonfly and escape through the tiny window, but I could call someone who could. I could call Cirros, the falcon.
It took several days of whistling shrill bird calls before the bird of prey appeared at the tiny open window. It had been over three months since I’d worked with him, and I was surprised that he came at all.
Cirros, I’m overjoyed to see you! I placed my arm near the window and allowed the beautiful bird to walk along it toward my elbow. He was so large he could barely fit through the spaces between the metal frame where the glass pieces used to be. My heavy coat sleeves protected my arm from his talons. I touched his soft feathers of brown, gold and white, and peered into his intelligent, amber eyes.
You summoned me, he thought. I noticed that since I had practiced so much thought-speak with Trystan in his wolf form, Cirros’ words were very clear in my mind, almost as though he had spoken aloud.
Yes, thank you for coming. I desperately need your help.
He tilted his head in short, jerky motions the way birds often do, regarding me with his golden-brown eyes.
I’m being held captive in this room. Can you fly to Tinsford and find my father, and—I stopped. Father couldn’t talk to animals. I could affix a message to the falcon’s leg, but I had nothing to write with and no paper. I started over. Cirros, do you know of any other humans who understand animals?
He cocked his head, blinking once before he answered. Not in this world. They are found in the Fae Realm.