by Lish McBride
“I’ll think of something. We’re pretty good at winging it.”
Lock closed his eyes and gently smacked the back of his head against the wall. He hates when I wing it.
Kelpies are nocturnal. It’s not that they’re always asleep during the day; it’s just that hunting is better at night. It’s harder to look closely at the adorable pony in the dark. Humans have poor night vision compared with a lot of things out in the evening, and by the time they notice the jagged teeth, the seaweed mane, it’s too late. If they notice at all. Also, from what I know about kelpies, I’m pretty sure they hate morning people, except as a breakfast food.
*
BIANCA AND EZRA joined us and we met Alistair at Androscoggin Riverlands. The kelpies had moved farther inland, munching their way through the buffet that was the marshland by the river.
Lock was worried about that. “This many kelpies converging here, it’s going to trip up the local ecosystem. We need to get them back to their habitat.”
“Yeah,” I said, stepping delicately around some rotting wood. “So they can ruin that ecosystem.”
“That’s not nice, Ava.” Sylvie tromped behind us, her knitting bag clutched to her chest.
“Nice or not, it’s true. They came over from Scotland—whether they hitched a ride on a freighter or whether some dumbass smuggled them over, no one knows. But they’re invasive, Sylvie. There’s nothing out here that eats kelpies.” Lock caught Sylvie as she stumbled over something and helped her right herself. “The only thing keeping us from being neck deep in killer sea ponies is their low birthrate and territorial fights. The biggest danger to a kelpie is another kelpie. Until now. Whatever is going on, it’s bringing them together. And honestly, that’s not good.”
“Did my sweaters make them herd like this? Would the runes change their behavior?” Sylvie asked. “Is this my fault?”
“No, Sylvie,” I said firmly, stopping as I startled a frog. “While your sweaters have made it easier for them to gather on land, you didn’t make them gather in the first place. Something is scaring them. That’s our guess, anyway.”
We found Alistair waiting on the trail, looking like he engaged in clandestine meetings in the woods every day. I guess he probably did. Ezra was complaining about the walk, the bugs, the temperature, and whatever else he felt like complaining about. He is, at heart, a woodland creature, but only when he’s in fox form. In human form he prefers a more lounge-ready atmosphere.
“You sound like the summer people,” Sylvie chastised Ezra. She held out her hand. Being a bright and sensible creature, she had brought a single whoopie pie with her, which she immediately shoved into Ezra’s hands when the whining hit peak levels. His eyes glinted in the moonlight. He flung one arm around Sylvie and picked her up, swinging her around. She let out an “eep!” and lost her knitting bag. Ezra gave her a big kiss on the cheek.
“You have brought me manna from heaven, and for that I am eternally grateful.” He finally let Sylvie find her feet. I handed her the discarded knitting bag. He doesn’t do it often, but when Ezra does thank someone, he does it properly.
As we walked over to where the kelpies were feasting, Sylvie explained the cardigan thing to Alistair. I wasn’t really listening to what she said, letting her excited words flow over me and occasionally smiling at her wild hand gestures. Sylvie gets very excited about new ideas. Sometimes her brain spins so fast, I feel like the hamster wheel might become unhinged and fly out of her skull.
The moon was fat and bright, so the thoughtful expression on Alistair’s face was easy to catch. I wondered how much of it was aimed at the sweaters and how much was for Sylvie herself. Alistair didn’t waste good resources. He wasn’t going to run around telling humans about us for recruiting purposes, but he certainly wasn’t above taking advantage of a human who was already aware. Not to mention that Sylvie seemed to take it all in stride. Heck, she reveled in it, enjoying the new information and possibilities. I wondered if Sylvie was going to get recruited away from Cade at some point. Something to worry about later, when we weren’t almost in range of the aforementioned killer sea ponies.
Again, we approached openly. There were fewer of them this time. Only the ponies with cardigans were on land. Their foals were conspicuously absent. Bianca was there to throw a veil so we could escape if the kelpies turned on us, but we hoped it wouldn’t come to that. We stopped about fifteen yards away, giving them time and space to come to us. I was cool with talking to them, but that didn’t mean I wanted to crowd them or offer myself up as an appetizer. The gray female stepped forward, flanked by the same green-black male as before. She took the lead. Since we didn’t normally see them in groups, and no one was stupid enough to get close to them during mating season, no one knew which gender, if any, was dominant with them. I couldn’t really base any findings off this group since they were acting abnormally to begin with, but it did seem like they were deferring to the female gray as their leader.
“We told you that we would speak no more. Why are you here?” Even though her tone was ominous, my ear focused on the soft sound of the sea trapped in a shell, and I smelled the salt and brine of it all. That detail helped me snap out of it. The river is freshwater. I shouldn’t smell brine. Even knowing that, I wanted to strip down and dive into the water, followed by a long nap on the sand. But it was late at night, the water was frigid, and I would most likely be eaten. I had to remind myself that this would be the outcome. That’s one reason kelpies are so dangerous. A few words and you’ll happily walk right into their open maws.
“So my associates told me, but we’ve brought you something—something we think you’ll like more than a meal.” Alistair’s tone was polite and cordial, but a sharp breeze swept through the meadow, bringing the smell of the river. Maybe it was natural, but I thought it was most likely Alistair letting off a little nervous energy, and perhaps combating some of the kelpie-induced sensory overload.
The gray kelpie snorted in obvious disbelief. “And what do you think we would find so precious?”
Sylvie stepped forward and held up a half-finished cardigan. “He thought you might like this.”
I hadn’t been aware of how much the herd was moving until they stilled. All their bottomless black eyes focused on Sylvie and her sweater. I’m not an expert at reading pony faces, but I’ve seen naked longing before, and that’s what was there in their eyes. They wanted that sweater bad.
“I think I have your attention.” Alistair’s tone was desert dry.
“How did you get that?” the gray kelpie asked Sylvie.
I couldn’t tell in the moonlight, but I think Sylvie blushed. “I made it. It’s hard to tell in the light, but I probably made yours, too.” She frowned. “The witch could have asked another knitter, but as far as I know, I’m the sole source.” She put the sweater back in the bag. “That’s why each one takes so long.”
I caught the slight frown on Alistair’s face when she said that, and I was pretty sure I knew why. If Sylvie, a human with very little connection to our world, was the sole source of something that was clearly benefiting the kelpies, why hadn’t the witch sought more help? What exactly was the witch’s angle here, anyway? That bothered me. Yes, there are altruistic souls in the world, people like Sylvie who just want to help. But I didn’t know this witch and I am not a trusting person. I very much wanted to track that witch down and ask him or her a few pointed questions.
One of the ponies in the back, another green-black male, but with a white starburst pattern on his forehead, pushed his way forward. “If you make them, does that mean you can fix them, too?”
“That depends on what needs fixing,” Sylvie said.
At once, the ponies rushed her, which meant we all sprang into defense mode. I flicked my hands out, ringing us in fire. Lock and Ezra leapt in front of Sylvie while Bianca threw a veil over her, making it look as if she’d vanished. Thunder rumbled above our heads where no clouds had been, courtesy of Alistair.
Sylvie
dropped her bag and threw up her hands. “Wait, wait. Calm down!”
At the same time, the ponies were casting their heads about wildly, indignant cries becoming an unintelligible mass of noise.
“I think they’re just trying to show me the things that need fixing!” Sylvie shouted. She pushed Lock and Ezra aside. I dropped the wall of fire right before she walked through it. It didn’t all go out right away, and I had to do some quick stomping. It had been a fairly dry summer. Sylvie marched up to the kelpies and tried to get them to line up, quickly becoming frustrated when they wouldn’t listen to her.
“They can’t hear or see you,” Alistair said. “Bianca, drop the veil.”
Bianca hesitated. “Are you sure? They could be clamoring for a Sylvie-course meal.”
Alistair put a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s see how it plays out. I’d like you to be somewhat careful with your person, however, Sylvie.”
She nodded, not looking at him. Bianca dropped the veil, and the ponies stopped shouting. They surged forward again, only to be halted by Sylvie’s imperious “Stop!” She clasped her hands in front of her. “Thank you, that’s much better. I can’t see if you’re all trampling me.” She pointed at the kelpie with the starburst. “You, what’s your name?”
“Fitz,” the kelpie said, drawing himself up to his full height. I doubted Fitz was his actual name. Kelpies belonged to the fae, and as such got weird about giving out their names. They believed that knowing someone’s true name can give you power over them. And for certain practitioners, it was a definite possibility.
“Nice to meet you, Fitz. Now, how about you stand here, and the rest of you that need help line up behind him? I can only do one thing at a time, but I promise I’ll try and get to you all.”
I groaned. She had to deliver now. Fae put a lot of stock in promises.
She waved her hand at me. “Ava, stop being so negative. Ezra, Lock, fists down, please. Does anyone have a flashlight?” Lock, being the always-prepared Boy Scout type, had a small one in his jacket pocket. He held it while Sylvie examined the first sweater. There was a tear, only about an inch long, but it was dangerously close to one of the runes.
Sylvie crouched down to get a better look at it. “I can fix this. You might want to take it off, though. I don’t want to stab you with the darning needle. It’s not sharp, but no one likes to be jabbed.”
I’d never seen a kelpie shift, or even heard much about it. People who had witnessed a kelpie in human form didn’t generally live to share details about the experience. A pulsing green mist enveloped the pony, surprising Sylvie and making her fall back on her butt. When the mist faded, a thin young man stood where the pony had been. I would have assumed that their coloring would transfer, but if I hadn’t seen the change, I couldn’t have guessed this man was Fitz. His skin was pale and his hair was a thick, curly black. His eyes had changed shape, but the pupil and iris were the same bottomless black as before. He was naked except for the now-oversize cardigan. He quickly unbuttoned it and presented it reverently to Sylvie. Kelpies are much easier to read in human form. We were all still getting suspicious looks, but the one Fitz threw Sylvie was one of polite devotion.
She stared openly back at Fitz. I’m not sure she’d known about the kelpies’ shifting ability. I cleared my throat, and Sylvie blinked, snapping back into reality. She considered the sweater, turning the garment in her hands. “I wonder if that witch has a spell that can make the sweater adjust with you,” she said almost to herself. Placing the sweater on her lap, Sylvie dug through her bag. She pulled out a pouch that held her darning kit—I only knew this because she’d made the pouch herself out of some Doctor Who fabric she’d bought on the Internet. She hadn’t stopped talking about it for weeks.
Fitz sat cross-legged in front of Sylvie, his hands on his knees, his attention on her as she worked. Though the temperature had dropped and it was fairly chilly out, it didn’t seem to bother Fitz that he was buck naked in a field. I wondered if the fae run warmer than humans.
Sylvie had Lock adjust the light so it was directly on the tear. She threaded her needle with darning yarn and went to work. Sylvie worked quickly but carefully, wanting to make sure the stitches would hold. She tied off the yarn and handed the cardigan back to Fitz. “Be gentle with it if you can. I’m not sure how it tore in the first place. My aunt said the witch put something on them to keep that from happening. They’re not indestructible, but it should take a lot to do that kind of damage.” She slid the darning needle back into its place. “That’s what I was told, anyway.”
Fitz held his cardigan delicately, his black eyes wide. “You are a maker of miracles.” I hadn’t noticed it before, but there was a slight Scottish burr to his words. He’d definitely emigrated. We all tensed as he leaned in and grabbed Sylvie’s hand and pressed her knuckles to his lips. “You do not know how much this means to us.”
Sylvie extracted her hand politely, as if people kissed her like that all the time. “I don’t mind. It’s been fun.”
Fitz turned his attention to Alistair. “You wanted to know what has drawn us together? There is something in the water. Something … bad.”
An explosion of silver sparkles off to my left made me turn just in time to see the gray mare shift, her change coming much faster than Fitz’s had. She was dwarfed by her sweater and had to push up the sleeves while she walked. She looked much like Fitz, only her skin was a pearlescent white, and her long black hair tumbled down to her waist. Even with the moonlight washing out most of the color, I could tell that in the sun her lips would have been a deep and pouty red. Right now, those lips were curled in a snarl.
“Fitz! What do you think you’re doing?” She stomped her foot like a bratty child. “No one said you could talk to them. We agreed!”
Fitz leapt to his feet. “Gwenant—”
She stomped again and started tearing into him in another language. It wasn’t one that I recognized. A lot of rolling r’s and gentle “th” sounds that I wasn’t familiar with. Gwenant was waving her arms now, her voice growing louder with each arm wave and hand flip.
Fitz was growling right back at her, though his language sounded different from hers. Was it just the way he spoke, or was he actually yelling at her in a language other than the one she was using? He kept pointing at Sylvie and waving the cardigan.
Sylvie grabbed onto my shoulder. “I think she’s speaking Welsh! That is so cool,” she whispered, her voice full of glee.
“Is he speaking Welsh, too?” It was funny—I couldn’t understand a word, but I could tell from the tone and some of the body language what was going on. Fitz was carefully breaking down his logic to her, and Gwenant’s arms were crossed as she looked to the stars for patience. It looked so ridiculously human that I wanted to laugh. But I didn’t. Because you don’t laugh at creatures that can eat you, not even if they’re having naked hissy fits in a marsh.
“No, that sounds more like Scottish Gaelic.”
“Then how can they understand each other?” I asked.
Sylvie considered this. “Scotland and Wales aren’t that far apart, and it would make sense that they would learn neighboring languages. You see that a lot in other countries, especially if the country is small and close to those other countries. It would be necessary for them to learn it for trade.”
“We don’t do that here,” I said.
“Well, America is large, and so many of us don’t worry about it. I expect if you or I lived close to the southern border, we’d learn Spanish. But to be honest, I think the way we approach languages is a bit backward. We should learn them early and be more diligent—”
I cut off her lecture. Gwenant’s arm gestures were calmer now, but she was still not buying Fitz’s arguments. “How do you even know what they’re speaking?”
Sylvie gave a quick half shrug. “I really want to visit that area someday. The cultures, the languages, the history. Fascinating.”
After a final command, Gwenant crossed her arms. F
itz gave her a curt nod and put on his cardigan. Personally, I thought the idea of putting a cold, somewhat soggy sweater on while standing out in the crisp night air sounded hellish, but Fitz didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he looked relieved to have it back on.
“We will help you,” Gwenant said, and from the way she spit the words out, I could tell she wasn’t happy about it. “In exchange, the girl will fix our sweaters and our foals will be put at the top of the list.”
Fitz held out a hand and helped Sylvie up. “But what if I can’t fix them?” Sylvie asked. “I haven’t seen all the sweaters yet. I don’t know what kinds of repairs are even necessary.”
Gwenant’s face grew thunderous. “Are you trying to trick us, puny creature?” Fitz scowled at her but didn’t say anything.
Alistair stepped up, putting himself to the side but ahead of Sylvie, not quite blocking her but making his position clear. “She is merely putting down some ground rules. If she doesn’t, you will run roughshod all over her.” He stared down at the petite kelpie, his face a mask. “Kelpies have a certain reputation for keen dealing, so I don’t think the comment was off base. We want to make sure everything is clear. We will hear your terms and then negotiate. Ezra, in my car there is a blanket. Fetch it, please.”
Ezra didn’t much care for the word fetch but didn’t argue for once. I think the way Gwenant and Alistair were staring at each other, their eyes shrewd, their faces blank, was giving him the willies.
“Lock, can you convince some of the plants to move? We need a circle, something big enough for Ava to make a bonfire. Which means we’ll also need wood. It’s only going to get colder, and not all of us are comfortable.” Alistair smiled blandly at the kelpies.
Lock and I went about our tasks quickly. Alistair wasn’t just thinking of our well-being. A pleasant, crackling bonfire would be a consistent reminder to the kelpies of what I could do. If that didn’t work, I could always go over my peryton story again with more graphic detail.