Spinning Thorns

by Anna Sheehan

  Junco turned and fled from the room, no doubt unwilling to be seen amidst this company when he was supposed to be hightailing it back to Fortress Frost. I muttered a spell to try and make myself invisible, as did half the people in the sitting room. Unfortunately, most of the members of the club weren’t very powerful, and shadow spells, illusions, and misdirection of attention weren’t effective when two dozen trained soldiers in full armour, wielding clubs and crossbows, came storming into a known hideout at high noon. No doubt they’d known that when they came bursting in.

  I could have escaped. I should have escaped, frankly. It wasn’t as if anyone at the club had ever treated me with any special friendship. I tried to slip out the sitting room and toward the kitchen, but I heard more soldiers at that end of the house, and a few screams from someone I thought was the alchemist, an old man who mostly brewed potions to make small explosions for stage plays and poison rats. Real heart of the criminal world, him. A loud pop made me think that maybe he had a little more fire power than they’d bargained for when they grabbed at his wizened frame.

  I was debating finding a window when I saw the whore grabbed from behind by a scarred soldier, who pushed her up against the wall. She was particularly fetching today, all dark hair and red lips. His intentions, when I saw him grappling with her clothes, were obvious. The whore did the only thing she could think of and let go of her glamour. Suddenly he found himself holding a misshapen, mousy-haired wretch with a cleft palate and a crumpled nose. He looked ill, and took out his frustration with his club on her face. The whore moaned, and a crunch told me the soldier had joined the ranks of men who had broken her nose at one time or another. It was a terrible sound.

  I lost my temper. My only coherent thought was that could have been my sister. I rushed forward, snarling with every animal instinct of a fox faerie, and launched myself at the man, biting at his throat. He started, surprised by my assault, and dropped his club. Unfortunately, he gathered his wits fairly quickly and pulled out a blade. At the first cut of my flesh on my hip I twisted in his arms, bringing my knee into his groin. Unfortunately, he had armour there, and I bruised myself, but I also hurt him enough that he let go of my shoulder. I twisted, snarling with the pain, and elbowed him in the throat. He fell to the ground, choking, but probably able to recover. I reached down and pulled the blade from his hand.

  I don’t know if I meant to kill him with it or not. I had killed men before, always in defence of myself or my family, usually with their own weapons, and always in cases of extreme rage. The Nameless have poor impulse control. But before I’d even half decided, I was distracted by the face of the whore.

  She still wore no glamour, blood streamed from her battered nose, and her face held the lines of hardship, but that did not disturb me. It was the look of sheer terror on her face. Her attacker was disabled, so it wasn’t due to him. The cold air breathed over the top of my head, and I realized my foe had torn down my hood during the assault. There I was, faerie and Nameless for all to see. So far, only the whore had the opportunity to notice.

  I’d seen that look before. A cross between disgust and horror. Then her expression changed to pure confusion, and I could guess what she was thinking. She couldn’t decide whether or not to start screaming about me. She had a valid point; as far as popular opinion went, I was a thousand times more terrifying than any soldier, or any witch. If she’d suddenly announced me as a Nameless, all the soldiers would instantly abandon the other members of the club and make a beeline for me. Yet I had also just saved her, and the whore had a naturally generous heart. I could see her deciding whether or not to sacrifice me. Then her eyes opened wide as they focused on something over my head, and the decision was made. ‘Behind you!’ she squawked, her voice lisping without her glamour. I whirled and spied another soldier, red and white in Lyndarian livery this time, coming behind me with a club.

  I ducked and twirled, hooking my leg around my assailant’s ankle. He tripped and fell onto his recovering comrade. I grabbed the whore’s shoulder, pushing her toward the guarded door. ‘Medusa,’ I hissed at her.

  ‘What?’ The hurt in her eyes would have been comical if I knew she hadn’t been as insulted and harassed as I before she’d learned enough magic to conceal her face.

  ‘Glamour,’ I clarified. ‘Make a glamour, a gorgon, some of them might think it’s real.’ I didn’t have time to explain further, as another half dozen soldiers in assorted livery came streaming into the room from the hallway, some of them smoking from a tiny bomb the alchemist must have secreted about his person.

  With sudden understanding the whore’s eyes opened wide, and then turned an unpleasant shade of yellow. They grew large in her head, and her mousy hair began to move and writhe in the form of dozens of snakes, and her face … I was surprised to note she did not change her face much. She must have had utter hatred for her natural form. I found myself wishing that I could whip up a glamour that my own innate power wouldn’t burn off in a few hours. I could have created an illusion on a human, but on myself it wouldn’t last. It wouldn’t have mattered much; my darkness would still have bled through.

  The whore dashed away from me, roaring with false ferocity, and I lifted my hood and made to follow her. As I raised my leg, someone grabbed it. One of the soldiers I’d felled had grabbed hold of my ankle. I was unable to maintain my balance and fell, catching myself with my arms. I rolled, twisting my captor’s wrist, and kicked my heel at his face. I missed his nose, which I’d been aiming at, and caught him instead in the forehead. He blinked, stunned, but unless I’d managed to concuss him, he probably wasn’t hurt.

  I didn’t have time to check, however, as the whore had frightened the men at the door, and they were finding convenient excuses for getting out of her way. Some of them braved it out and threatened her with clubs, but she was hissing away some spell, and it seemed to disconcert them. The others had decided I was less of a threat, and determined to come at me instead.

  They were on me in a second, before I’d even had a chance to get up. I clawed and bit and kicked with all the skills a lifetime of being hunted had taught me, but six strong men, when I was already forced onto the floor, were a bit much even for me. My arms were brought behind my back. I pulled and strained, but with a final and awful sounding click, a pair of iron manacles were slapped around my wrists.

  I was moderately fortunate, there. The more earthen fae aren’t as susceptible to iron poisoning as the more airy spirits. I’ve been told that iron poisoning isn’t as prevalent a problem among the fae as it was in my great-grandparents’ time – there has been a lot of interbreeding with humans. Most who do spinning magic can actually use the properties of iron to heighten their work, using the inherent forces inimical to magic to channel and strengthen our spells through the iron spindle. It makes them harder to undo. I’d even been stabbed by iron on a regular basis, and while it does make me nauseated, I haven’t died from it yet. But there isn’t a single faerie, earthen or otherwise, who actually likes having the stuff bound around them. It did not burn at a touch or instantly make me lose all my magic or stop my heart or do any of the other myriad things that iron poisoning could do to a particularly sensitive faerie. What it did do was make me feel heavy and very tired. I think if I’d been glowing, my light would have dimmed a bit. But I was in shadow, so no one noticed.

  Most of the soldiers continued to pursue other members of the club. One of them dragged me by my bonds to the hallway, where the alchemist and the witch were similarly bound. I thanked my stars that my hood hadn’t been tossed down in my struggle this time. ‘Over there!’ the man said, throwing me against the wall. ‘And any mumbling or spell chanting and I’ll pierce you through.’ He loaded his crossbow meaningfully and leaned against the wall.

  ‘Caught you too, eh?’ the witch muttered.

  ‘My own fault. I wasted time with the whore.’

  ‘She get out?’ the witch asked.

  ‘Think so,’ I said. ‘Didn’t have time to
look.’

  ‘I said no talking!’ our guard snapped. The witch and I both frowned at him. ‘And don’t look at me with those evil eyes!’

  I rolled my evil eyes and considered the iron that lashed my hands around my back. My magic wasn’t strong enough to rid myself of them without a spindle. It was really a curse needing tools, sometimes. I looked at our guard. ‘What are you going to do with us?’ I asked.

  The man shook his head and blinked at me. Was he drunk, or trying to place me? Oh, hell, he wasn’t one of the market guards, was he? We really had to leave Lyndaron and find some other city, we were getting too well known here. Was I in shadow? I couldn’t tell.

  ‘The boy asked a question,’ the witch asked, rattling her chains. ‘What are you going to do with us?’

  ‘Prison!’ the guard spat. ‘What did you think? Foul beasts that you are. If I had my way, I’d see you all executed on the spot.’ He fingered his crossbow. ‘We are given permission to kill, should there be excessive resistance,’ he said pointedly. He glared at me again. ‘So don’t try anything.’

  I glanced over at the alchemist, who seemed about to pass out. I opened my mouth to give words of comfort, as I would have to the kit, but I realized that I had none to give. I sighed and looked back at our homicidal captor. His companions were up the stairs and in the basement and still chasing the few of us that had escaped down the snow crusted streets. This man was watching us alone. And as I stared at the man, he yawned.

  I caught my breath. Yes! I did know this man. He’d chased me and my sister before in the market place. My Sleep was slowly trickling through the tendrils of my hatred, and was about to touch this man. I wished I had some way to control it, but I had no idea how, and no tools to experiment. If it took long enough for his companions to get back to us, we could get up and sneak out from under his sleeping nose. We’d still be chained, but at least we’d be away from that crossbow.

  A violent shudder from the alchemist caused me to look over at him. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘My heart’s not good, lad,’ he wheezed, more loudly than before.

  ‘I said no talking!’ With a crack the crossbow shot its bolt. It is possible that our captor had aimed for the spot between the two of us, and was too addled by the Sleep to get it right. Whatever he meant to do, the bolt pierced my shoulder, effectively pinning me to the wall with a thud. I let out a brief second of an agonized scream, followed by a stream of curses which had both the witch and the alchemist staring at me in bewilderment. Half the curses had been faerie ones. I hissed and tried to pull myself from the wall. The pain shot through me in a thousand lightning bolts, and I gave up that idea. Panting with the pain, I glared at the soldier, who gaped at me, his eyes dull. Then, as if he was the one who had been shot, he sank to his knees and fell into an unwakeable Sleep.

  ‘Serves you right, you currish, hell-witted hedge pig, may you dream of cramps and bone-gnawing starvation, and chew your own murderous arm off in your sleep!’ I growled. The witch whistled, impressed. ‘Oh, shut up,’ I snapped, glaring at her. I listened. The kitchen seemed quiet. I glanced toward the door. ‘Get out of here while you still can.’

  ‘But you, lad,’ the alchemist said, his voice wavering. I think he’d realized that bolt might just as easily have gone through him.

  The look I gave him made him back up a step, his chains clanking.

  ‘He’s off for it, Ed,’ the witch muttered, hoisting herself to her feet. ‘And he knows it, too.’

  ‘I said to shut your mouth,’ I growled at her.

  The alchemist wasn’t hearing that, though. With his old hands, which were in truth younger than mine, he tried to pull the bolt from the wall. It felt like he’d stabbed me with a red hot poker. I think I screamed as my vision went black around the edges, and I definitely let loose with another round of insults.

  ‘Off with you!’ someone grunted through my stream of vitriol. ‘I’ll take care of him.’ The sounds of clanking chains indicated that the witch and the alchemist had obeyed.

  I blinked to clear my head, and was blinded by white light. ‘Get the marrow out of here, Winnowinn! This isn’t your fight, remember? You’re only banished to your fastness.’

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ Junco said, echoing my tone exactly. He blew on my wound and a sudden blessed coolness numbed my entire left arm, including my screaming shoulder. I couldn’t hold back a sigh of relief. He pulled the bolt from me with a sudden twist, and I was loose from the wall. I felt nothing but icy numbness from the wound.

  I took a deep breath. ‘Why didn’t you fly out from the Observatory?’

  ‘I did,’ he muttered, examining my wound. ‘Have you ever heard a Nameless faerie scream before? It isn’t a pleasant sound.’

  ‘No, it’s not,’ I growled. ‘And yes, I think I might have heard the sound once or twice.’

  ‘Oh, seven hells, this isn’t going to be pretty,’ Junco muttered.

  ‘Neither are you,’ I taunted, my teeth chattering with the cold.

  He glared at me and slapped my arm. I groaned through my teeth. Heat and pain flooded back through my body. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘You’ll freeze to death if I keep that in place.’

  I gritted my teeth. At least the bolt wasn’t inside me any more, but it was possible I’d bleed to death before I managed to close the wound. Particularly without a spindle. Oh, why did I have to waste my only spindle on revenge? Why hadn’t I taken the time to make a new one? ‘Why are you helping me? You don’t even like me.’

  ‘I may not like you, but if they catch you here, they’ll kill you.’ This was true.

  ‘Why not let me die?’ I snarled.

  ‘Why not let you live?’ he retorted. ‘Far more heinous a punishment, yes? This is going to hurt.’

  ‘It already hurts!’ I snapped. I’d been pierced by crossbows before, and it always hurt.

  Holding his hand to his lips Junco blew again, this time forming a long icicle which he wielded like a wand. I didn’t know much about ice magic, so I had no idea what he was about to do. Good thing, because if I’d known I’d have tried to stop him. With a deft twist, Junco grabbed me around the neck, bending my head to the ground so that I couldn’t run from him. And without ceremony, he forced the icicle deep into my wound.

  I screamed with the icy pain of it. Junco would have been able to hold on to anybody else, but I was a faerie, and had been Nameless for most of my existence. I twisted out of his grip and whipped him in the face with the chain of my manacles. Junco hissed, backing up. ‘Good Light, man, keep that stuff off me!’ he shouted. He lowered his hand, revealing a nasty red welt on his cheek. Obviously, Junco was more sensitive to iron than myself.

  ‘Not when arrogant ice faeries are trying to kill me!’ I yelled back.

  ‘Trying to save your worthless life! I can’t believe you let yourself get caught in the first place. Couldn’t you just spin your way out the wall or something?’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I’m no fool. I can spot someone’s gift a mile away. Don’t you have a spindle?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then you’re going to need some help with the shackles, aren’t you? Now don’t move.’

  I pulled away. ‘When you nearly slaughtered me the last time? I don’t think so!’

  ‘How’s your shoulder?’

  I blinked. The pain had lessened, though my shoulder felt very cold. I glanced down. The place where the wound had been was filled with ice, that leaked the occasional drop of meltwater to join the bloodstains on my shirt. ‘What did you do?’ I asked.

  ‘Patch job. I told you it wasn’t going to be pretty. It should heal up in a day or so. Keep yourself warm. If you get too cold you’ll just freeze solid.’

  ‘Thanks for imbedding ice in me in the winter.’

  ‘Best I could do,’ Junco said. ‘Better than bleeding to death. Now do you want the manacles off or not?’

  I smiled, showing all my teeth. ‘Yes, please,’ I said, falsely congen
ial.

  Another spell that wasn’t pretty; Junco, muttering at the inelegance of the magic, forced ice into the lock until it clicked and broke. The iron bands fell with a clink at my feet. ‘There,’ Junco said. ‘Now get the hells out of here, and don’t come back!’

  ‘No fear!’ I snapped, jumping to leave. At the door I stopped. I grunted, hating myself before I’d even turned around. I glared at him, my eyes narrowed. ‘Junco Winnowinn,’ I said, giving him his full name. ‘I suppose I am in your debt.’

  Junco glared at me in turn. ‘Pay it back by trying not to be an ass all the time,’ he said. ‘You can start by saying thanks.’

  ‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ I said, and I turned to go again. ‘Thanks,’ I whispered, without turning around. He didn’t reply. I didn’t really want him to. I slipped out the club through the kitchen.

  Of course, it couldn’t be that easy.

  ‘There’s one of them!’ someone shouted.

  Faerie Light, why did there have to be more of them? Six guards, all with crossbows, waited at the end of the alley. The alchemist was held by one of them, but the witch seemed to have slipped past them. I was all out of magic. I held up my hands to surrender, but those crossbows looked serious. I couldn’t take another shot, not if I expected to live. One of the bows snapped loose, a loose trigger or a warning shot, and the bolt pierced the snow between my feet. I closed my eyes, knowing that the moment they removed my hood I’d probably be killed anyway.

  A burst of white fire flared up between me and my attackers, and a small hand pressed a pad of goat’s hair into my palm. I wasted no time staring at the fibre. With a deft twist I spun a crude shield. Four crossbow bolts whizzed past me out of the fire. A fifth, aiming straight for my stomach, hit the goat’s hair shield and burst into real orange fire, hissing as the ashes landed in the snow. ‘Thanks,’ I said to the kit.