Swift

by R. J. Anderson

  Then she lost consciousness altogether, and dropped into a bottomless shaft of oblivion.

  Ivy woke to a world of dusty golden light. Above her spread a ceiling braced by dark, square-cut beams, while around her rose walls of stone and mortar. A human building of some sort — a barn perhaps? But if so, how had Richard brought her in here? She’d always heard that faeries couldn’t enter human dwellings without permission.

  There was an itch between her shoulders, right where her wings ought to be. Ivy squirmed and reached behind her with one arm and then the other, trying to get at the irritation. She was on her third attempt before she realised she’d twisted her injured shoulder to its limits, and hadn’t felt any pain at all. Wondering, she lowered her hand and touched the place below her collarbone where the swift’s beak had pierced her. There was no tenderness there, either.

  So Richard had healed her again while she lay unconscious, and this time he’d succeeded. But it must have taken all his strength, because now he lay sprawled on the floor beside her, so deep in slumber that he didn’t even twitch when Ivy spoke his name.

  Well, let him sleep; he’d earned it. Ivy rose, brushing dust from her breeches. The building was old but in good repair, a low rectangle with a broad corridor along one side and the rest divided by wood and metal partitions. An earthy, pungent smell mingled with the scent of dried grass — animals? Ivy stepped out of the doorway, avoiding a heap of suspicious-looking muck in the middle of the corridor, and went to investigate.

  She expected she might find pigs or goats in the neighbouring pens, perhaps even a cow. But when she reached the last box a shaggy brown head lifted to greet her, ears pricked and nose quivering. Ivy held out her humansized hand, delighted when the horse lipped her palm. ‘Hello, you beauty,’ she whispered to it, rubbing the smooth arch of its neck. ‘What are you doing in here?’

  The horse gave a soft whinny and stamped one foot — but gingerly. And when Ivy leaned over the door she saw the problem at once: its left foreleg had been injured, and it couldn’t gallop until it was better. ‘Oh, what a shame,’ Ivy said, unlatching the door and slipping inside. Rubbing soothing circles over the horse’s chest, she crouched to examine the bandaged limb.

  Even through the wrappings it felt swollen and hot to the touch, and the horse shied away from her fingers, neighing protest. ‘It’s all right,’ Ivy murmured. She blew softly into the horse’s nostrils, soothing it, and smiled when it tucked its head down against her chest. ‘I can’t heal you, but when Richard wakes up, maybe-’

  A creak resonated through the barn, and Ivy froze as the outer door swung wide. Another horse came prancing in, an elegant dapple-grey with a haughty air that reminded her of Betony. And beside it walked a girl a little younger than Ivy, with a braid of dark hair swinging down her back.

  Hastily Ivy made herself invisible, but not quickly enough. The girl’s head turned, her pert features creasing in a frown. ‘Hello? Is someone there?’

  The brown horse chose that moment to sidle over and squeeze Ivy against the wall. An oof escaped her, and she shoved at its curving ribs, but it refused to budge. She flattened herself against the wood and tried to edge sideways, but something sharp sliced into her calf and she let out an involuntary yelp.

  ‘Right, whoever you are,’ said the girl sternly. ‘Come out of there.’ With a slap she sent the grey mare trotting into the neighbouring box, then strode towards them. ‘Budge over, Dodger.’ She shoved the brown horse and it danced sideways, leaving Ivy backed against the wall with blood spiralling down her leg.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ the girl demanded — but the moment her eyes met Ivy’s, her expression changed. ‘You’re a faery! No, wait, that’s not right.’ She cocked her helmeted head to one side, looking puzzled and awed at once. ‘What are you?’

  Gooseflesh prickled over Ivy’s skin. How could a human see through her invisibility glamour like that? She was still trying to think of something to say when a laconic voice spoke up:

  ‘She’s a piskey, of course. And she’s with me.’

  The girl whipped around, and Ivy took advantage of the distraction to make herself small and dart out into the corridor, taking refuge behind a nearby bucket. Once more, Richard had put himself between her and danger. But how were they going to get out of this?

  ‘Faery man?’ breathed the girl, unlatching her helmet and putting it aside. ‘Is it really you?’

  Without hesitation Richard stepped out of hiding to meet her. His clothes were still rumpled and muddy and there were bits of grass in his air, but his eyes were wickedly bright.

  ‘Hello, Molly Menadue,’ he said. ‘It’s good to see you again.’ ten

  The situation had changed so fast, so unexpectedly, that Ivy felt as though she were lost in some strange dream. This human girl had recognised Richard at a glance — even knew that he was a faery — and he didn’t appear to mind it at all. He’d even greeted her by name, as though she were an old friend. But how could that be?

  ‘You came back,’ the girl said. ‘I thought I’d never…it’s been so long…’ She flung her arms around Richard and hugged him exuberantly, then shoved him away and exclaimed, ‘You just disappeared! Without even a note!’

  ‘Something came up, and I had to go,’ he said, but his eyes had darkened, and Ivy could tell he wasn’t nearly as indifferent as he seemed. ‘There was no time to explain.’

  ‘You don’t know what it was like, coming in here and finding you gone.’ Molly sniffed. ‘It was horrible.’ She scrubbed at her eyes, then went on in a brisker tone, ‘But enough of that. You’re here now. So what brought you back? And what are you doing with…did you say she was a piskey?’

  ‘Her name is Ivy, and we’re travelling together,’ said Richard. ‘We got into a bit of trouble and needed somewhere to hide. This was the safest place I could think of.’

  ‘Safe from what?’

  Richard hesitated, and for a moment Ivy thought he was going to tell Molly their whole story. But all he said was, ‘That’s faery business — or rather, piskey business. But you needn’t worry, you’re in no danger.’

  Molly put her fists on her hips. ‘I don’t care about that,’ she said. ‘I’m just dying to hear what you’ve been up to. It’s been ages.’

  ‘It has,’ Richard agreed solemnly. ‘How old are you now? Eighteen? Twenty-two?’

  Molly broke into a reluctant smile. ‘Thirteen, silly. It hasn’t been that long.’

  Ivy couldn’t restrain her curiosity any longer. She stepped out into the corridor and grew to human size. ‘How do you know Richard?’ she asked the girl.

  ‘Richard?’ Molly frowned and glanced at the faery, who gave a tiny nod. ‘Oh. Well…he’s my faery godfather.’

  Richard made a spluttering noise, and Ivy was torn between disbelief and a mad desire to laugh. She was still wrestling with the impulse when Molly grinned at her, and after that it was hopeless: she had to smile back.

  ‘I was out riding Dodger last spring,’ Molly went on, gesturing to the brown horse, ‘and I saw a…a bird, falling out of the sky like it was hurt. So I went to see if I could help, and when I got there, I found him — Richard — lying in the grass.’

  She hadn’t been about to say bird, Ivy could tell. She’d started to say something else, but changed her mind. Why?

  ‘He tried to act like a human,’ Molly went on, ‘but I knew right away he was a faery, and I got so excited. I’d seen a couple of faeries before when I was at the shops in Truro, but they ignored me, and my mum got really angry at me for talking to strangers. But he didn’t seem to mind talking, even though it was mostly nonsense, and he looked so thin and ill that I felt sorry for him. So I invited him home.’

  ‘ Home in this case being the barn,’ said Richard. ‘Since we both agreed that her mother wouldn’t think much of the arrangement. And then she wrapped me up in blankets and fed me until I could hardly move, which probably saved my life.’

  Molly blushed, but she looked pleas
ed. Ivy turned to Richard and asked, ‘Why were you so weak? What happened to you?’

  ‘That’s another story,’ said Richard shortly. ‘Let Molly tell hers.’

  ‘He wouldn’t tell me either,’ Molly confided. ‘I think he likes being mysterious. But anyway, he stayed for a few days and we got to be friends, and I told him my mum wants me to be a teacher like her, but what I really want is to be an actress. And he turned out to know loads about theatre, and I did a speech for him and he told me I was really good, and a week later I tried out for our school musical and I got the lead. So that’s why I call him my faery godfather.’

  ‘Did you!’ said Richard, with a warmth in his tone Ivy had never heard before. ‘Well done, Molly. What did your parents say to that?’

  ‘I emailed the video to my dad, and he said I was brilliant. But my mum said I shouldn’t let it go to my head.’

  Richard’s lip curled. ‘Your mother suffers from a grievous lack of imagination. Never mind her, Molly. There’ll be more lead roles in your future.’

  Molly beamed at him. ‘I’ve got to head in for supper,’ she said. ‘But I’ll come back as soon as I can — and I’ll bring you something to eat, too.’ She looked from Richard to Ivy and back again. ‘You’re not going to run away again, are you? You’ll stay the night at least?’

  ‘We can’t stay long,’ said Richard, with unusual gentleness. ‘But yes. For now, we’ll stay.’

  The sun was slipping below the horizon, its last beams slanting across the fields. In the neighbouring boxes the two horses snorted and stamped, while Ivy and Richard lay on a makeshift bed of old blankets and sacking, waiting for Molly to return.

  Richard’s eyes were half-closed, with blue shadows beneath them, and the bones of his face stood out sharply in the fading light. Ivy wanted to say something about the way he’d carried her over miles of countryside to this place, and then poured the last of his strength into healing her a second time — if she’d owed him her life before, she owed him twice over now. But Richard hadn’t mentioned it, and Ivy had a feeling that he’d rather she didn’t either.

  ‘How far from the Delve are we?’ she asked. ‘Are we safe here?’

  ‘Not too far, but far enough that your people aren’t likely to find us,’ said Richard. ‘And besides, there’s some charm about this place that makes it difficult for magical folk to see — I’d never have found it myself that first time, if Molly hadn’t shown me the way. Some old protective spell set up by her grandmother, perhaps.’

  ‘You mean,’ said Ivy, propping herself on one elbow, ‘you think her grandmother was a faery?’

  ‘Or her great-grandmother, I suppose,’ Richard replied, gazing thoughtfully into the rafters. ‘It’s impossible to say. But there’s magic in Molly’s blood somewhere, if she’s been seeing faeries all her life. On her father’s side, probably — it doesn’t seem likely to be her mother’s.’

  ‘Where is her father, then?’ asked Ivy. ‘Doesn’t he live here?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ Richard said. ‘But his work takes him away for weeks at a time, so Molly doesn’t see much of him. I’ve never seen him at all.’ He sat up, brushing dirt from his dark jacket. ‘I think I could heal that leg of yours now.’

  ‘I’d rather you healed Dodger’s,’ said Ivy, getting up and leading the way. She opened the door to show Richard the horse’s bandaged leg, but the faery shook his head.

  ‘I don’t have your people’s way with animals,’ said Richard. ‘And my sorry experience with this one is that he’d as soon bite me as look at me. He can heal on his own, as far as I’m concerned.’

  Ivy wanted to protest, but she owed Richard too much to demand anything. She was about to close the door when a new thought occurred to her. ‘I cut my leg on something in here,’ she said. ‘Maybe that’s what happened to Dodger, too.’ She slipped inside the box, pushing away the horse’s inquiring muzzle, and crouched to examine the partition. At first she saw nothing unusual, but when she allowed her skin to glow a little brighter she caught the glint of some dull metal object protruding from the wood. She closed her fingers around it and felt the faint tingle that told her what it was: iron.

  ‘An old nail,’ said Richard. ‘Probably worked its way out over the years and no one noticed it. Tell Molly, when she comes back.’

  ‘Tell me what?’ asked Molly from the doorway, and Ivy pointed to the nail. The human girl gasped. ‘Is that how Dodger cut himself? We thought he did it outside, but we could never find where. Thank you!’

  Ivy went rigid with shock at the careless thanks. By the time she recovered, Molly had found a hammer and tugged the nail out. ‘You hurt yourself on it too, didn’t you?’ she said to Ivy as she held it up — a crude-looking thing, rusty with age. ‘That’s how I could see you.’

  ‘I…hadn’t thought of that,’ said Ivy. She’d been immune to iron when she lived in the Delve, but perhaps Richard’s healing spells had changed her more than she’d realised. Could he have made her part faery by accident? Ivy wasn’t sure she liked that idea at all.

  Molly tossed the nail into the wastebin and plopped down on an overturned bucket, crossing her ankles. ‘My mum’s in the study working on some project or other, so we should be all right for a while.’ She pulled out a cloth sack and began rummaging inside. ‘I found a packet of fairings-’

  ‘Fairings?’ asked Richard.

  ‘Ginger biscuits,’ said Ivy, helping herself to one.

  ‘And some sausages — sorry they’re cold. Oh, and pears.’ Molly made a face. ‘It’s not much of a meal, is it? Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t apologise,’ said Ivy. ‘It’s kind of you to bring us anything at all.’

  Molly looked at her curiously. ‘You’re nothing like I expected,’ she said. ‘I thought piskeys were little brown men, all full of wrinkles and mischief.’

  ‘That’s just local legend,’ Richard interrupted before Ivy could speak. ‘Piskey women don’t get out much, but they do exist. And magical folk don’t have wrinkles. Unless you know what to look for, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between a piskey of twenty and one who’s two hundred.’

  ‘Two hundred!’ exclaimed Ivy. ‘That’s ridiculous. The oldest piskey I know can’t be more than a hundred and ten. And she certainly does have wrinkles; all the older folk do.’

  Richard looked surprised. ‘My mistake, then,’ he said. ‘Perhaps faeries and piskeys are more different than I’d thought.’

  ‘Tell me about your people,’ said Molly, turning eagerly to Ivy. ‘I want to know more about them.’

  Ivy hesitated. She hadn’t meant to give away any secrets, and she had a feeling she’d already said more than she should. Not that it worried her where Richard was concerned; by now she felt almost sure she could trust him. But although she liked Molly, she didn’t know the human girl well enough to feel comfortable talking about the Delve in her presence.

  ‘Well,’ she said slowly, trying to think of an answer that was honest but harmless, ‘piskeys do enjoy a good prank, or at least the younger ones do. It’s a sort of game with our people, to play tricks on each other without being tricked ourselves. And if we can all laugh about it together, that’s the best of all.’

  Yet even as she spoke, Ivy had to admit that there wasn’t nearly as much laughter and fun in the Delve as there had been when she was a child. The older folk had a weary air about them, and some of the oldest — especially the older knockers — looked positively grim. Was it Betony’s strict rule that had sobered them? Or was it something more?

  ‘Go on,’ said Molly. ‘Where do you live? Richard told me once about some faeries who lived in a hollow oak tree. Is it something like that?’

  ‘No,’ said Ivy. ‘But it’s a safe place. A good place. And it’s…beautiful.’ And with that homesickness welled up in her, and she couldn’t speak any more. She had spent a night and a day out of the Delve now. Would she ever see her home, or her people, again?

  ‘I’m taking Ivy to visit a relative,�
� said Richard, filling in the silence. ‘Someone she hasn’t seen in a long time. Once that’s done, I’ll be on my way.’

  ‘Where?’ asked Molly.

  Richard shrugged. ‘I couldn’t tell you,’ he said. ‘I prefer to keep my options open.’ But a shadow crossed his face as he spoke, and for the first time it dawned on Ivy that he might not be a wanderer by choice — that he might not have anywhere to go.

  ‘I didn’t mean where are you going,’ said Molly reproachfully. ‘I know not to meddle in your business by now. I meant Ivy. Where are you taking her?’

  ‘Truro,’ said Richard. ‘There’s a dance and theatre school in the city where her relative’s been staying.’

  Ivy sat up with a start, the blood draining from her face. That was where her mother had been all these years? Surely he must be pranking her. She opened her mouth, but Molly spoke first:

  ‘Dance and theatre? Really? Can I come with you?’ She must have noticed Richard’s dubious look, for she went on quickly, ‘Mum lets me go to Truro on the bus sometimes, as long as I take my mobile and promise to call her when I’m coming home. And she likes it better when I’m out of the house anyway. She won’t say no if I tell her I’m going with friends. Please.’

  Richard glanced at Ivy, but she was too choked with hurt and anger to reply. So her mother had abandoned her family to go dancing after all — not with the faeries, but with the humans. No wonder Richard had kept this from her.

  But why was he telling her now? Did he think it was safe to reveal Marigold’s secret because Ivy had already committed herself, because she needed her mother’s help too badly to walk away? He was right about that, but she hated the thought that he’d manipulated her so easily — and that she’d been fool enough to let him.

  ‘You never told me what she was doing,’ she accused, when she could speak. ‘Did she ask you not to? Or was it your idea to keep me in the dark?’

  Richard’s jaw tightened, and she could see she’d offended him. But he said only, ‘I don’t think this is the time to discuss it.’ Turning to Molly, he continued, ‘I know we’re in your debt. But I don’t think it’s a good idea. As you can see, Ivy’s a little sensitive at the moment.’