All around me, gaping, stood women and men around steaming buckets of water, laundry in their hands. Or so I thought. It was hard to make out the details with only my spirit vision. Everything was blurry and smeared in my vision except what was lit by the torch. We all stared at each other for a moment and then one woman bustled out from behind a covered wagon, a girl on her hip.
“Allie. You’ve brought us more children,” the Loremistress said.
“Yes,” I said, having trouble keeping my eyes from growing impossibly wide. She was beautiful, seen with my second sight, like what I imagined a queen would look like. “But what – ?”
“We put the rocks back in the old circle,” the Loremistress said, pointing to where I stood. “We thought you might need that, though it means one of us must make music at all times.
There was someone making music. A lone fiddle sang a winsome tune and when I looked, the boy playing it winked at me like it was our little secret. The fiddle was a lightning-blue but the boy’s image moved so quickly that it gave me a headache. I tried not to look too carefully. I was blind here without the blindfold. I’d forgotten how tough that was.
“Oh,” I said stunned, fumbling for my cage latch and opening it as I set it on the ground.
“Well, don’t think you’re the only one who knows how the Shining Ones work,” the Loremistress said. “We had ancestors, too. And we’ve seen a lot more magic than you ever have.”
She might be surprised. But I didn’t say so.
Instead, I coaxed the children out of the cage, helping teary-eyed toddlers, and terrified older children find the warm arms of the Travelers.
“This is all from the Faewald,” I said when they’d all been fed and properly dressed and put to bed.
I reached for Petyr. Should I bring the boy to his mother or leave him here? It didn’t feel right to bring him back to that horrible town. But it also didn’t feel right to keep him from Heldra. With a sigh, I hefted him up into my back.
“I know his mother,” I said to the Loremistress. “I’ll bring him home.”
She nodded and the wrinkles around her eyes crinkled as she smiled at me. “The ones you brought before are ... haunted. But I’m glad you brought them. Children are resilient. They can heal. They will be well again someday.”
“And the children of Skundton? Did my mother bring them to you?” I asked, worry filling me.
“Not yet,” the Loremistress said, her spirit eyes full of worry. “But we will watch for more refugees.”
I nodded, but all I could think of was my mother wandering through the night with my mad father and a gaggle of scared children. And then that worried thought morphed into Scouvrel saying that he had once been one of these children stolen from the mortal world. I couldn’t help but wonder what he’d be like if someone had stolen him back and brought him somewhere safe like this.
By the time we said our goodbyes and wrapped Petyr up for the journey home, he was nodding off to sleep. The Loremistress helped me tie him to my back with a long length of cloth, so while he was heavy and exhausting, I could carry him.
It was a long hike home through the cold and snow. I stumbled many times, barely catching myself in time to keep the little boy on my back safe. I was growing weary. I needed real sleep. At least Petyr was protected behind my back, his little head pillowed on my hard shoulder and cupped by the carefully wound fabric the Loremistress had tied him up in.
I grew more and more grateful for the tall fish-eye boots Scouvrel had given me and the fur-lined jacket as the blowing snow whipped around us. What had possessed him to be so generous with me? Was he taking our strange Fae marriage seriously? Even though he’d admitted he was still deceiving me? He was as puzzling as the rest of the Faewald. And he was a puzzle I’d have to solve later. I needed to get Petyr to his mother and get her and the town children safe. And then I needed to trap my sister. I could do this. My plan was working. I just needed to focus and keep working at it.
All would be well. I just couldn’t stop pressing on.
I let the heat of that determination keep me warm inside against the cold of the night. I was so caught up in my thoughts that I didn’t notice the smell of smoke in the air until I climbed over the rise and saw the Chanter house in the distance.
Oh, sweet stars! No!
My heart was in my throat as I scrambled up the rise between the trees, my lungs aching as I turned my hike into a run, taking care not to knock Petyr’s legs against the nearby trees. I stopped under the tree where my magical items were hidden, grabbing my pack and bow and moving the key and mirror to the pack again. At least it was intact.
The house was ablaze – the fire strange and eerie in my spirit vision – there one minute and then gone the next – and it had burned the house to cinders. No human could be alive in what was left of it. Around the house, soldiers stood, staring at the fire, long poles in hand. They must be keeping the fire focused on the house so it didn’t spread. Or maybe they were making sure that the job was complete before they left.
Fury filled me with an equal measure of fear. Where were my parents? Had they made it out alive?
Don’t panic, Allie. Don’t panic.
I was breathing too quickly, and it was making me light-headed. I didn’t want to wonder why I didn’t see my parents huddled with the soldiers in the snow. I didn’t want to think about why I didn’t see the Chanters either.
They weren’t here. Or they were dead. And they hadn’t made it to the Travelers, either.
Don’t panic. Think it through.
Numbly, I turned from the fire. It was going to be a heavy, awkward walk to town with the pack on my front and the boy on my back. And once I was there, I would need to sneak past the guards to the very heart of Sir Eckelmeyer’s power, but there was nothing else I could do.
I fought against the anxiety that made my throat dry and my tongue feel fat.
Carefully, I slipped back into the woods, keeping to the narrow rabbit trails between the trees. It was difficult work as I felt my way blindly through the dark, frustration filling me as what should have taken an hour at most took three times that long as I tried to sneak silently through the world despite my blindness, with only the torch to help. I chose a place to enter town that wouldn’t be guarded, slipping between a fence and the back of a shed. I remembered this route from when I was a child – a great place to hide in big games of Hide and Seek. A place locals would know about but all these new people would ignore.
And now the hard part.
I waited at the edge of a space between the bakery and the house belonging to the Tanners. The street was brightly lit, and I’d already watched one patrol go by in a blurry haze. I held my breath and waited for the next one to go by before sticking my head out. I knew there were things I wasn’t seeing. Just like I knew that I had to get to the house across the street.
There was nothing for it. Sometimes you just have to be brave.
I darted through the street to the other side and clung to the wall of the house, my back pressed against it, hoping there would be no cry of warning. After long minutes, I let out a breath and eased my way down the side of the house to the back door. I tried the handle and it was unlocked.
I opened it quickly and stepped inside, shutting it behind me before anyone could object.
Goodie Thatcher stared at me in shock in the process of still taking off her outdoor clothing.
“Goodie Thatcher,” I said by way of greeting.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
She looked furious. “Allie! I – ”
I turned slightly to show her the sleeping boy on my back. “I have your grandson.”
There was a strangled cry from a nearby room and Heldra ran out from the doorway, wrapping her arms around her son – and me in the process.
“Petyr, oh my Petyr!”
He woke and began to cry, and it was long minutes before we got him untangled and in his mother’s arms and hurried away to the bedroom. Long minutes before
Goodie Thatcher put the kettle on the hearth and gestured irritably to me to sit. Long minutes before she sat, too, and spoke in her usual aggravating tone.
“Your parents left in the night with the Chanters,” she said grimly. “And Heldra’s other children. And my Jal.” That was her husband. Everyone always forgot about poor Jal Thatcher. “It was before the soldiers went looking for them and before I saw smoke in the direction of the cottage, so they escaped that at least.”
“Were they hurt?” I asked.
“No. They had most of the children from the town in tow. Quite a thing heading out in the snow with crying babes and shivering children. You’d better not have sent them to nothing girl. You’d better know what you’re doing. You’re the reason my Heldra’s been thrown from her family home. They blame her for your escape. And Olen didn’t stop them. Said he didn’t know whether Heldra was to blame. Didn’t know! The trouble you cause, Allie Hunter.”
She shook her head with frustration, but it was Heldra’s voice that stopped her.
“Mother.” Just that. Just a name and Goodie Thatcher melted, resting her face into her hands and breaking down in sobs.
I’d been fine until that moment. But watching the woman I’d long thought of as an enemy crack – watching her sob in defeat. Hearing from her lips how soldiers had burned my family out and run Heldra from her home ... it was like a tether that had tied me to this place sprang free.
Heldra sat down beside me and poured the tea. In my spirit vision, I couldn’t see her face properly, but she seemed ... settled somehow.
“Thank you, Allie Hunter. For my boy. For everything.”
“Of course,” I said.
“Not of course,” she said and there was iron in those words. That was something I’d never heard from Heldra before. “No one else did it. No one else could. But you brought my boy back from the dead. I’ll never forget that.”
She took my hand and pressed a cloth into it. “I stole this back. For you.”
I gasped. My blindfold!
Grateful, I pulled it on over my eyes and breathed a long sigh of relief when my vision flooded back. Heldra’s eyes were red like she’d been crying for a long time and so were Goodie Thatcher’s.
“You need to go, too, Heldra,” I said.
She nodded, her eyes glancing back to the bedroom.
“You and Petyr,” I insisted. “You need to go right now while you can still catch up with my mother. She can take you to safety. She knows the way.”
Goodie Thatcher clucked her tongue. “Your mother doesn’t know much, Allie.”
“The Fae army will be bigger than I anticipated.”
Goodie Thatcher cursed. “I’m sticking here. This is my land. This is my town. I may be old and done, but I’m not yet giving up.”
“What about Olen?” I asked. “What does he say?”
Heldra looked away and her mother cursed again.
“It will be a massacre,” I insisted. “No one should stay.”
“Are you leaving?” Goodie Thatcher challenged me.
“I won’t rest until every child is safe and the Fae army is stopped,” I said grimly. “Because they won’t stop at Skundton. If they break through the barrier and attack, they’ll pour all over our lands and out to the sea and no one will be safe. I can’t allow that. There needs to be somewhere that the children can be safe.”
The other women were nodding.
“I’ll leave right away,” Heldra said quietly, beginning to gather a cloak and boots.
“I’ll help you get the boy ready,” her mother said. “Do you have somewhere to be for the rest of the night, Hunter?”
I shook my head.
“Then drink your tea,” Goodie Thatcher said, not unkindly. “You look like you’re going to fall over. Every bed in this house is full, but you’re welcome to sleep by the fire if you like. I’ve never liked you or yours, but any enemy of my enemies is welcome to my hearth.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
My sleep was troubled and not just because I was sleeping on the earthen floor of Goodie Thatcher’s kitchen. Despite desperately needing sleep, my heart was too troubled for it.
I woke with a start in the night not sure if the idea had woken me or a dream had woken me with the idea hot on its heels.
The sword.
Each time I’d used it, it had taken me right where I needed to be – almost too easily. Could that be part of its magic? If so, then I needed to use it now – while I still could. While the invasion still hadn’t begun. Scouvrel told me to go and look for my sister’s hideaway on the Hawkside Cliffs. Could the sword take me there?
I climbed wearily to my feet, swaying slightly and gathered my pack, my torch, and my other things. I could use a strong cup of tea and something to eat. Instead, I inhaled the scent of Goodie Thatcher’s garlic strung along the kitchen rafters, grabbed one of her sticky buns from a basket on the table and drew my sword as quietly as I could.
It made the sound of rusty metal scraping against other rusty metal. I grimaced – after all, I’d probably just woken Goodie Thatcher in the bedroom – took a bite from my stolen sticky bun, and slashed the sword through the air, hoping I was right and that it would take me straight to Hulanna’s secret room before I lost my chance.
The air ripped in front of me, letting in a bright glow and I stepped through the rip, pulling down my blindfold, my heart pounding in my chest.
The room I stepped into was exactly what I would have expected from Hulanna. I froze immediately, listening, trying to disturb nothing until I knew for sure that I was alone. Carefully, I drew my foot from the rip and let it close behind me.
If a windstorm had ripped through this room, it could not have looked more chaotic – which was entirely what I would have expected from Hulanna.
A wide bed so covered in pillows and down-filled mattresses in a tangle of colors filled one side of the room. The table beside it held a collection of used teacups and plates. Clothing – gorgeous dresses, necklaces, tiaras, capes, cloaks, and gloves, were strewn over a dressing table and one side of the bed. A wardrobe door stood open with more clothing thrown haphazardly over it. The wardrobe was so stuffed that she wouldn’t have been able to hang the clothes within even if she’d wanted to.
A long table ran the length of the room, pushed up under a pair of broad windows. Above it, a dozen hanging lanterns containing sulky glowing creatures. The table was covered with books and papers stacked so high that one mountain seemed to collapse into another. Random objects littered the mess – a looking glass, a device I’d seen in a book once for measuring ship movements, a vial of something red, and another of something green. A stuffed lizard. Two stuffed owls. More bright feathers than I could match to birds, more shells than you’d expect on a beach, and a collection of eyes that looked far too human floating in a glowing jar.
Ugh.
It was night.
Which made this all the more dangerous as anyone could walk in this room.
I waited one more heartbeat, but when no one came, I took a bite of the sticky bun and moved to the table. Ignore the dresses, Allie. And the weird items. What do you see?
What had Scouvrel hoped I’d see?
I sheathed the sword and let my eyes wander over the papers on the desk. A map of Skundton with arrows running from the stone circle to the center of town and down the North Road. Well, that was easy. Just like invading Skundton would be easy for a Fae army.
What else?
There was a book bound in leather and large.
Curious, I opened it, almost dropping the sticky bun when it flared a bright blue. The pages glowed, words dancing into place out of nowhere and pictures pouring in with them.
Eternal Life or Immortality is not so simple as we had hoped. While we can turn any human Fae and add them to our number by means both magical and horrifying, none of us are truly immortal. For, with each passing day we feel ourselves unwind. While some are able to gather up their threads and tangle them
up, weaving themselves back together, some are lost to us in months or days.
Even those with the ability to pull their souls back together find that they are just as twisted as the tatters that are left, inclined in this new state to every kind of twisted imagining and selfish evil. Even the best of us are destined to grow worse as the years go by – or perhaps better. Because those so twisted no longer see the world the same way. They are no longer concerned by small villainies, treasuring their tricks and ploys, delighting in the actions that lie where their words can’t, enjoying revenges and slaughters as if they were banquets and balls.
Well, that couldn’t be truer, I supposed.
I was about to look at the other papers when the words faded and new ones appeared.
A way out had been theorized, but the chance of success is narrow. Only with the right ingredient can we hope to succeed – two halves of one living whole. Light and dark. Devoted and forsaking. Earth and sky. But twins are not found often, and never in such opposites.
I shivered.
They wanted us for more than the prophecy of the Sooth. They wanted us for the words of this book. This book that my sister had.
Beside the book was a list of people. People I knew. People from Skundton. My parents’ names had stars beside them and so did Olen and Heldra.
Had my sister made that list?
It couldn’t be for anything good.
I glanced back at the book.
The Oolag. That’s what the humans call the two linked souls – the solution to our problem. But they only come once in a century – if at all.
The words faded.
Wait. There had to be more.
Frantically, I flipped the pages but there was nothing on any of them. Just empty pages.
I stopped flipping and more words appeared.
This book tells you the story you need to read, not the story you want to read.
So, what story had it been telling Hulanna?
On the pages beside the book, another note caught my eye.
“Dearest of Temporary Loves,
Fae Nightmare Page 13