The soft mattress after Adrian's run had left him stiff. He stood and stretched again, thankful that he even had the chance to exercise. Scavenger had not turned them into the Fey, and had promised to protect them, a promise that Adrian would hold him to.
His stomach rumbled. He had to get breakfast for himself and Coulter, and then decide what his next step would be. He opened the door at the far side of the room, and left the door open.
Scavenger sat at his table, several pastries on a small plate before him. In the one of the back rooms, he had built himself a clay oven. In order to bake, he had to be awake most of the night.
Adrian was obscurely touched. No one had thought of him as an individual in years. Not even Mend. She had felt sorry for him, felt attracted to him, but she had not treated him as a person with his own feelings, his own beliefs, and his own joys.
"Good morning," he said as he slid into a chair.
Scavenger grinned at him and pushed the plate of pastries forward. "Thought you might want real food. Can't tell you how long it took me to learn to cook. But I'm glad I did."
Adrian picked up one of the pastries. It was round and flat and soft. He took a bite. The center was still warm. "So am I," he said around the food.
He had never really talked with a Red Cap before. He had always avoided them as the Fey did. But he had done so for a different reason. He had avoided them because he was partially afraid of them. They never bathed, and worked with the dead, and seemed to be a bit dead themselves. The Fey avoided them because they had no magic, and so were not considered real Fey.
But here was a Red Cap who had stood up for himself, had killed because he hadn't wanted to die, and had created a life for himself away from the death and the stink. He had learned trades that most Fey believed beneath them, and had made himself comfortable.
"You live alone here?" Adrian asked.
Scavenger had two pastries on his plate. He fingered one of them. "Who would live with me?" he asked. "You're the first Islanders I've seen since I left Jahn, and the Fey — well, you know how they are."
Adrian did know. He knew very well.
"I hope you realize that you have a unique problem here," Scavenger said. "They're searching for you right now. They don't like it when people escape."
"Did they search for you?" Adrian asked.
Scavenger shrugged. "A little, probably. But I wasn't important. It would have taken them a long time to discover which Red Cap had killed Caseo, and then they would have sent out the searchers. I already had a place to hide by then, and a plan. You don't seem to have a plan."
"And they know who we are."
Scavenger took a bit from a pastry. "Islanders in Shadowlands are hard to miss."
Adrian smiled. The man had a wry sense of humor. He liked that.
He finished the pastry. It tasted wonderful, light and flaky and warm. Even the food tasted better outside of Shadowlands, as if the grayness had affected everything.
"Adrian?"
Coulter, crying for him.
"In here," Adrian said.
"Adrian!" Coulter's voice grew louder, more terrified. He was waking up.
"Better go to him," Scavenger said. "He has the Overs real bad."
Adrian didn't wait for a definition of the word. He had a hunch about what it meant. He pushed away from the roughly hewn table and went through the door.
Coulter was wrapped in a small ball, the pillow shoved against his face, his body as far away from the light as it could be. Adrian sat on the mattress and held a hand over the boy, but didn't touch him.
"Coulter?" he said. "It's me."
Coulter didn't move. Adrian put his hand on Coulter's back. Coulter started. Then Adrian gathered him close. "It's all right," Adrian said.
Coulter shook his head, the movement small and frightened against Adrian's chest. Adrian put a hand under Coulter's chin and brought his head up. "Coulter," he said. "This is what the world looks like. You lived in a created environment. It was fake, like a building is fake."
Coulter's eyes were wide. He wasn't saying anything. Adrian stuck a hand into the sunlight. Coulter jerked.
"Light comes from the sky, and sometimes water does too," Adrian said. "Then there is darkness like there was last night. That's how we determine days. We don't do it because the Domestics keep us on a schedule. We mimic the schedule of the outside world, of this world."
"The sounds," Coulter whispered. "I've never heard so many sounds."
The chirping birds, the rushing of the river, the wind in the trees. Even after his years in Shadowlands, Adrian knew what those sounds were. Coulter didn't.
The smells were probably equally terrifying. Shadowlands had a distinct odor, that of woodsmoke and slow-moving air. It didn't even have cooking smells because the Domestics made most of the food using their magic skills. Fey soldiers, apparently, never cooked while on a mission, and Rugar still considered the Fey on the battlefield.
"There are many other sounds as well," Adrian said. "I'll help you learn them. Once you know what they are, you won't be as frightened."
Coulter swallowed, clearly unbelieving, but willing to understand. "The squeaking?" he asked. "What's that?"
Adrian had to listen a moment before he even knew what Coulter meant by squeaking. "Chirping," he said. "Birds."
Coulter blinked at him, still confused. Adrian's heart pounded. This task would take a long time. The boy hadn't seen any creatures except Fey in all his years in Shadowlands.
"You mean like Gull Riders?" he asked finally.
Adrian nodded, trying to keep the pity out of his eyes. "Gull Riders are Fey who look like a bird called a gull. I'll show you some when I can."
"It's so bright here," Coulter said. "My eyes hurt."
"And they will for a while." The voice belonged to Scavenger. He was leaning against the door. He had a plate in one hand, a mug of water in the other. "From what Adrian said you were a baby when you came to Shadowlands. Your eyes learned about this stuff but you don't remember it. But that means you can get used to it again."
Like a baby. Adrian said nothing but smiled over Coulter's head at Scavenger. The little man was right. Babies went through this transition. They spent the first weeks of their life adjusting to the new environment.
Scavenger knelt on the mattress and extended the plate to Coulter. Coulter had to reach into the sunlight in order to get the food.
"What's that?" Coulter asked.
"A roll," Scavenger said. "I made it myself."
"You're a Domestic?"
Scavenger shook his head. "I'm a Red Cap."
"But Red Caps have no magic."
"People can make food without magic," Adrian said softly. "That's how Islanders have survived for generations."
"But Islanders have magic."
Scavenger suppressed a smile. Adrian was silently thankful that Coulter had said Islanders instead of referring to himself.
"Most of them don't," Adrian said. "And they take care of themselves just fine. Maybe when you're ready, you can ask Scavenger to teach you how to make rolls."
"We'll be gone before that," Coulter said.
Adrian patted him on the back, and pushed him away just a little. "Why don't you eat?" he said.
Coulter glanced at him, knowing that something had shifted, but not knowing what. Adrian wasn't going to tell him. Not yet.
Scavenger shook the plate a little. The pastry looked warm and tempting on the plate's rough brown surface.
"It won't hurt me?" Coulter asked.
Adrian wasn't certain if he was referring to the pastry or to the sunlight. "No," he said, "it won't."
Coulter gingerly extended his right hand, slowing the movement when it approached the light. Light had a different meaning for magical creatures. Adrian was just beginning to understand that. The light that Coulter had wrapped him in the day before had been a live thing, a wall between them and the rest of the Fey in that room. Perhaps Coulter expected the same thing from this
light.
"It's all right," Adrian said softly.
Coulter nodded, then plunged his hand into the stream of sunlight. He moved with such force he almost knocked the plate out of Scavenger's hand.
"Hey!" Scavenger said. "It's no barrier! It's sunlight."
As if Coulter would know the difference. He put his fingers on the plate. "It's warm," he said to Adrian.
"That happens sometimes when something's been in the sun," he said.
Coulter nodded and pulled the plate toward him. Then he moved away from Adrian, set the plate on his lap, and picked up the pastry. He picked at an edge with his fingernail, then pulled off a piece and bit it.
"It's good," he said with surprise.
Adrian grinned. The boy had to learn that some of these new things were enjoyable.
Coulter ate quickly, then took the water cup from Scavenger and drank. He looked up, again with surprise. "It's sweet."
"It's fresh," Scavenger said. "Unlike water in Shadowlands."
Coulter bent over his food again. Scavenger watched him for a moment, then sighed. "You know," he said to Adrian, "you'll have to keep him here for a while."
"I don't think we should," Adrian said. "We're not very far from Shadowlands. I'm not sure how safe we are."
"Safer than you'd be if you go out again. This boy has the Overs. If you take him into the woods again, then to the city, you'll rob him of his mind."
Coulter had stopped eating. He set the plate down. "The Overs?"
Scavenger nodded. "It happens to people who've spent a long time in Shadowlands. Mostly Fey saw it in prisoners before we came to Blue Isle. It means that you're used to seeing gray everywhere, that colors and scents and temperatures overstimulate you. It can drive some people insane."
"I don't think you need to tell the boy this," Adrian said. The last thing he wanted Coulter to know was the dangers of being away from Shadowlands.
"I think he needs to know. Then he won't feel so alone."
"I don't want to go crazy," Coulter said in a small voice.
"You won't," Scavenger said. "If you get used to things gradually."
Adrian crossed his arms. "I think you're just lonely. You want us to stay."
"You remember the boy's terror last night. It'll only get worse. He's never seen bugs or birds or fish. Everything will frighten him unless we introduce him to it in the right way."
"How come you're talking like I'm not here, then," Coulter said.
Scavenger looked at him. "Sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean that. I just want your — father? —"
Adrian nodded before Coulter could say anything.
"— to do the right thing." Scavenger picked up the dishes with shaking hands. "And, yes," he said without looking at Adrian. "I am lonely."
Scavenger managed to say the words without making Adrian pity him. The little man had an amazing amount of dignity for someone brought up with none.
Adrian glanced out the window. The leaves were blowing in the light breeze. The birds had stopped, but the rustling sounds moving vegetation continued. A fly floated in and landed on some crumbs beside Coulter.
He squeaked and moved away, backing into Adrian. "Souls," he muttered in Fey.
Scavenger shook his head. "No," he said. "Sometimes the beings in Fey lamps look that way, but no. That is a bug. A fly." Then he looked up at Adrian. "See?"
Adrian did see. But his responsibility to Coulter and his responsibility to himself left him torn. He had to take care of Coulter, but he also wanted to find Luke and see if his son was all right.
Coulter must have sensed the thought, because he clasped Adrian's hand hard. "Let's stay, please? I don't want to go crazy."
Scavenger was watching him.
"How far is Jahn from here?" Adrian asked.
"A day's hard walk," Scavenger said.
Coulter's grip tightened. "Don't leave me," he said.
"I won't," Adrian said, although he had been thinking about it, if only for a few days. Both of the boys needed him equally. But he could do less for Luke than he could for Coulter.
"They'll be looking for you," Scavenger said. "They'll watch all the ways into Jahn. They'll probably be watching all your friends and family, if you're that important to them."
"I'm not," Adrian said.
"But they kept you for years. You know more than they want the enemy to know," Scavenger said. "They'll look for you."
Coulter held on so tight he twisted the bones in Adrian's hand. "Don't go."
"I'm not going to," Adrian said and tried to keep the resignation out of his voice. He wouldn't leave. Not yet anyway. Maybe Coulter with his magic and his quick mind would get used to the strangeness of his new world faster than most. Maybe they'd be able to leave in a few days. "You really think they'd find me that easily?"
Scavenger nodded.
"Then why haven't they found you?"
"Because I know how to hide from them," Scavenger said. "I was doing it all my life."
"Can you teach us?" Adrian asked.
"If you're willing to listen," Scavenger said.
"We're willing," Coulter said. His grip on Adrian had loosened. The fly had left the crumbs and landed on Coulter's leg. He didn't brush it away. Adrian saw that as a good sign.
"We'll listen," Adrian said. "But if there's trouble, we'll leave."
"There hasn't been trouble here in years," Scavenger said. "I loathe trouble."
"So do I," Adrian said, wishing he had never seen the Fey in the first place. "So do I."
FIFTY-THREE
Gift pressed his back against the wall of his cabin. There was no mist in Shadowlands, nothing to hide in. His mother stood beside him, her hand on his shoulder. Even that didn't comfort him.
His grandfather was angry.
He had stood outside the house and asked for Gift to come out. Niche had brought Gift out against his will. He had stopped at the door when he saw his grandfather.
His grandfather had always looked bigger than the other Fey. Not that he was. Gift had seen other Fey who were taller, but his grandfather had presence — a way of looking at the world that made him scarier than anyone Gift had ever known.
He looked very scary now. His cape was draped over his shoulder, his shirt laces were undone, and his boots shone. His hair flowed loose around his face. Gift had never seen him this disheveled, but that wasn't what scared him.
It was his grandfather's eyes.
They flashed with a dark anger that coursed through Gift's dreams. A blackness surrounded his grandfather, a blackness Gift had always seen, but had always attributed to the cloak.
But not today.
"I haven't seen him," Gift said, knowing his grandfather would ask about Coulter again.
"I know that," his grandfather said. "But I want you to find him."
His mother's hand tightened on his shoulder. Her face was still gray with pain. Her wings weren't healing well and she had to work harder with his father away.
"I don't want Gift to leave Shadowlands," his mother said.
"I'm not talking about Gift leaving," his grandfather said. His gaze was still trained on Gift. It was as if his mother didn't even exist, as if only he and his grandfather were having the conversation.
"I don't know where he is," Gift said again, knowing what his grandfather was asking, but preferring to ignore it.
"You could though," his grandfather said.
Gift pushed against the building. The unfinished wood bit into his back. He couldn't move any farther away. "Mom doesn't want me to leave."
"You're not that dumb, boy," his grandfather snapped. "You know what I want."
"I can't ask for Visions," Gift whispered. His grandfather wanted to hurt Coulter. He knew that as clearly as he knew his own name.
"I'm not talking about a Vision. I'm asking you to look along your Link. He Enchants, right? And he Linked the two of you. Look through the Link and tell me what you see."
His mother's hand tightened on
his shoulder. Her fingers weren't very strong. "Perhaps we should go inside," she said.
"He can do as well out here," his grandfather said.
"But you might want privacy," she said.
Fey 02 - Changeling Page 54