Bones of Faerie

Chapter 4

When Father taught me to hunt he said, “Never show fear. Animals and plants can sense fear in your every move. They can smell fear with your every breath.”

I'd asked him whether that was because of the War, but he'd only laughed softly. “No, Liza. That much has always been true. Difference now is that hunter and hunted look much the same. You can never be sure which is which, not until the hunt is through.” Plants hadn't been among the hunters Before, but Father didn't need to say that.

I didn't feel like much of a hunter: not when I reached the river and followed it at a run, not hours later when Kate's salve had worn off and my throbbing back forced me to a walk, not now as the sun dipped below the horizon. Tallow trotted along beside me, unafraid. She'd followed as I fled, and though I'd tried to send her home, in truth I was glad of her company. The cat had ridden on my shoulders much of the day, until they'd grown too sore. I'd taught her to ride there years ago, when she was a kitten.

I kept to the center of the path, barely out of reach of the ragweed along its edges, but it wasn't the ragweed that worried me most. Father had taught me well—I knew I was being followed. My pursuer had been with me the past mile, maybe longer. Ferns and brambles rustled as they shied away from distant footfalls. Ash and redbud and oak whispered softly as those footfalls passed by. And I felt something watching me from within the deepening shadows, felt it with a certainty that made cold sweat trickle down my neck.

Don't venture out alone into the dark, or the darkness will swallow you whole. Even when the sun shone, a tree could take a grown man down if it had taste enough for blood. When the sun set, shadows gathered around the trees and around the other plants, too, not always, but often enough. Not just the ordinary shadows that gather everywhere as the sun gets low—these were darker, with a slow thickness like tree sap, and they didn't go away once the sun set. Even in the dark, shadow vines crept along the ground and shadow branches slashed at the air. Those tree shadows cut deeper than ordinary branches and brambles. Jayce still walked with a limp because a pokeweed shadow had cut him to the bone when he stayed out too late on a hunt.

Yet I thought what hunted me now was human. Someone from my town, sent to find me. I thought—but couldn't be sure. I shivered in the fading light. If plants and animals could smell fear, mine left them an easy trail. A few wild grapevines crept tentatively toward the path. If I called them the way Cam had called, would they sense my magic and come to me? I walked faster, beyond their reach.

Something moved among the trees, closer than before. Tallow's ears perked forward. The something rustled through the brush, veering toward the river. Toward me. Its steps were faster, more sure than they'd been before.

I ran once more. The rustling thing ran, too, matching my pace. The path between forest and river narrowed. If only I could leap above water and wood into the evening sky, the way the airplanes did Before—but I could merely run harder as the water grew near.

Mom sang stories from Before sometimes, faerie songs from a time when only a very few people knew the faerie folk were real. In some of those songs running water stopped magic, just as cold iron did. Iron hadn't helped the airplanes—magic brought them down long ago. But water was different. If the water flowed swiftly enough, neither plants nor magic could get a hold in its depths. I turned and ran off the trail, through a small hickory grove, and down the rocky bank into the river. I gasped as icy water washed over my boots and soaked through my wool socks, but kept moving into deeper water. Mud sucked at my feet and I stumbled, struggling to right myself against the current.

Even as I did, the water around me went abruptly still. That water had risen nearly to my waist. It soaked through my clothes and chilled my skin. I stumbled again and stared. The air had gone very quiet. Near the far shore the river flowed on, but around me nothing moved. Even my pursuer was silent. Tallow stared at me from the near bank, silent as well.

A flash of light drew my gaze downward. The water around me began to shine like a giant mirror. I fled that magic the only way I could, by shutting my eyes and diving beneath the surface. Perhaps if I didn't look, the magic would pass me by and seek someone else to root in instead.

Or I could stay beneath the surface. I could let myself drown and hope the magic died with me—but even as I thought that, I burst into the air, coughing and gasping for breath. My boots were heavy with water, and my wet clothes clung to my cold skin. The river around me had stopped glowing. I swam for shore and as I did the current started up again, pulling at my clothes and dragging me down. I swam harder, then stood and staggered on. Another few steps and I'd be on land.

A rock slipped beneath me and I fell into a hole of deeper water. I reached out blindly even as my head went under. My arms and legs ached with weariness. I really was about to drown, whether I wanted to or not.

Someone grasped my wrists, hard.

That firm grip was enough for me to find solid footing and break through the surface once more. I clambered, splashing onto the bank, gulping air. Behind me the river murmured quietly, just a river, nothing more.

“Liza.”

I looked up. “Matthew.” His hair was coming loose, and a dead maple leaf had gotten caught in it.

“You nearly drowned.” Matthew's voice shook. Sweat trickled down his face in spite of the chilly air. “Are you all right?”

Kate must have sent him after me. She ought to have known better than to send anyone. I stood, shivering. Tallow had moved out of range of my splashing. She licked the mud from her fur.

Twilight cast shadows on Matthew's pale face. He ran his hand over his hair, found the leaf, and drew it free. “I brought you food,” he said as he threw the leaf into the water. “Dry clothes. Flint and steel for a fire.”

“No.” My teeth chattered. My feet were ice, my fingertips tingling. “You need—to go. To get—away— from me.”

“Liza.” Matthew's voice was low but firm, a little like his grandmother's. “I'm going to gather wood for a fire. You'll feel better once you're warm. Okay?”

Nothing could make this okay, but Matthew reached into the backpack beside him, pulled out a blanket, and draped it over my shoulders. Next he drew out a clay jug filled with oil and used a spark from his flint to light the wick within. I drew closer to that small circle of light.

Matthew took out a torch next, lit it from the lamp, and slung a nylon bag for gathering wood over his shoulder. He left me the lamp and retreated into the forest, his torch flickering among the trees. The night shifted from gray to black, and the moon rose as he searched the ground for dead wood.

Didn't he know better than to gather firewood alone at night? Didn't he know better than to risk his life for a magic-cursed girl?

But maybe Kate hadn't told him about my magic. I'd have to tell him as soon as he returned. Matthew didn't deserve to suffer from whatever harm my magic might bring.

Matthew gripped the branch he used to stir the fire. By the orange firelight, I could see his fear, the fear Father taught me always to hide. It showed in the hunch of his shoulders and the way the branch trembled in his hand. Between us embers cracked and popped, the green at the heart of even fallen wood slow to burn. Tallow was curled beside the fire, asleep. At the edges of the path, branches bent away from the flames, fearing their heat. I scanned the dark leaves for tree shadows but saw none.

Something howled in the night. The cat opened her eyes and raised one ear. Wild dogs, I thought. Trees and their shadows weren't the only danger here.

Matthew lifted a metal mug from the fire, holding it carefully by the leather-wrapped handle. “Here. You need to get something warm into you.”

Wearing dry clothes, wrapped in Matthew's blanket, I'd finally stopped shivering. Steam rose from the mug, the scent of mint and lemon balm mixing with that of smoke and wet wool. Some night creature screamed and fell silent in a flurry of leaves. The wild dogs howled again, a little closer. Matthew set the mug down at my feet and poked the fire with his branch. Sparks leaped into the air, turned to ash, and softly fell. Matthew looked at me as if unsure whether to speak.

I looked away. “You need to go,” I said.

Matthew laughed uneasily. “And venture out alone into the dark? What would your father say?” I think he meant it as a joke, but I saw nothing funny about it. A moth flew toward the fire and through the flames. It flew out again with the veins in its gray wings glowing orange. Moths were drawn to light and always took some away with them when they found it.

I stood and pulled the blanket around me like a cloak, ignoring the pain that stiffened my back. “Cast out the magic born among you,” I said slowly, “before it can turn on its parents.”

Matthew took a small metal pot from his pack and silently filled it with water from a plastic bottle. Tallow stretched and sniffed the air. Matthew lifted his head, as if whatever Tallow smelled, he smelled, too.

“You know what happened to my sister.” The wind picked up with a mournful sound like a baby's cry.

Matthew's frightened look hardened into something else. His eyes narrowed as he set the pot on the fire. “What your father did. He had no right.” Matthew's voice was low and fierce. His lips drew back from his teeth.

“He had every right. And now it's happening to me.”

“I know.” Matthew took cornmeal from a leather pouch and added it to the pot. He lifted his head, and his gray eyes seemed to reflect distant light—not firelight, more like the moon rising through the trees.

I looked away from him, down to the bubbling pot. Light reflected off its metal surface, and as I watched, the metal grew bright—just like the water and the mirror behind Kate's loom. I tried to turn away, but my gaze was held fast, and in the brightness I saw—

Myself, fleeing the town I'd known all my life, while behind me Kate called, “Wait—”

A pale young man walking through a forest, not alone this time but with a dark-haired young woman— my age—smiling by his side. Sun turned the leaves green-gold and made the air around them shimmer—

A land of steel and glass, of towers and sharp angles. A sky the color of dried blood. Shadows reaching like grasping branches for the towers. The towers shuddered and crumbled to dust, while beyond them a broad river flowed swiftly on, its waters muddy and deep—

Mom gazing at me through water, through a curving wall of silver light. Mom whispering, “Lizzy, my baby, my girl. Stay hidden, Liza; stay safe—”

I stared at her sad eyes, reached for her hand—

—and screamed as hot metal burned me. Matthew yanked my arm from the heated pot, even as I fought to reach for that heat—for my mother—once more.

“Mom!” I cried, but he didn't let go. Blisters rose on my fingers. I felt pain, but it seemed a distant thing, less real than the images I'd seen.

Matthew held me until I stopped struggling and sank wearily beside the fire. He pressed a cool cloth against my burned fingers. The metal pot reflected orange firelight, nothing more. Mom was gone.

Cornmeal boiled over into the fire, but Matthew didn't move to pull the pot away. Tallow butted my knee with her head, and I absently shoved her back. “What did you see?” Matthew asked.

I didn't want to put the images into words. That would make them more real—or less. “Nothing,” I said.

Matthew shook his head, dismissing my answer. “Gram thought you saw something in her mirror, even though she couldn't see it for herself. I couldn't see anything, either, but only someone in the grip of magic would reach toward a fire as if she didn't know it was there.”

“How would you know?” My blisters throbbed. My back still ached. How badly would I have been burned if Matthew hadn't pulled me away?

In the woods the howling grew louder. Matthew hesitated, then said, “You're not the only person I've known with magic.”

“Yes, but all the others are dead.” The words came out before I could stop them. My sister. His brother. An unnamed baby with a bird's sharp claws. Other babies, born to other women, one every few years since the War.

Matthew's gaze was sharp, nothing like the smiling boy I knew back home. “When Cam died I swore he'd be the last. I swore no one else would die for magic if I could help it.”

“Well, you failed, then, didn't you?” My voice came out harsher than I'd expected. Father had no choice, I thought. He was protecting us all. I turned away from Matthew.

Even as I did, something brown and furred leaped out of the night, knocking me to the ground. I fumbled for my knife and slashed upward, ignoring pain as blisters burst. Teeth snapped, ripping wool and leather. Howls and yips rang all around. My knife struck deep, and blood splattered my face. I struggled for breath as I pulled the knife away, looking up into the bloodshot yellow eyes of a wild dog. Claws slashed at my cheek. I rolled away, back throbbing, arms protecting my neck, bracing for the bite of teeth against skin.

Instead the creature whined, deep in its throat. Abruptly it turned and ran, tail between its legs. Other dogs ran after it, a whole pack. What could scare a pack of wild dogs?

I heard panting behind me and felt hot breath on my arms. Clutching my knife, I stood and turned.

I saw—not a dog, not quite. Its eyes were too bright, its teeth too sharp, its fur as much silver as gray. The creature snarled as it watched the pack retreat. Its lips were drawn back, its ears and tail erect. Blood dripped from a hind leg. Dark gray markings around the eyes and nose gave the creature a strange look, too intelligent for a dog. A word came to mind—wolf, though I'd never seen one save in Kate's old books. I backed away, getting the fire between myself and the creature. Tallow hissed and retreated beneath Matthew's pack. With my free hand I drew a burning branch from the flames.

The wolf growled. For a moment I was sure it would attack. But then it shuddered, and silver light flowed over its gray fur. It shook off the light like Tallow might shake off water. Tail and teeth drew inward. Fur retreated from arms and chest and legs. The creature's eyes lost their bright wildness as it stood on two legs, leaving behind—

“Matthew?” My voice sounded far away, like someone else's voice. He was naked, shivering in the firelight, blood dripping from a ragged wound in his right calf. He stretched uncomfortably, as if uncertain how to wear his own skin.

“You—” Words stuck in my throat. Matthew ran a hand through loose hair that suddenly resembled fine fur.

He didn't seem to notice his lack of clothes. I couldn't stop noticing, though, seeing far more than I should have. Matthew looked down at his bleeding leg, then up at me. He seemed small and scared compared to the wolf he'd been.

Magic. I'd never heard of magic like this. I should have helped him. I should have offered him a blanket, cut cloth to bind his wound. I should at least have thanked him for saving my life. Yet I could only stare. How could Matthew possibly be a wolf?

Matthew looked at the knife I held, blood dripping from the blade. He reached forward, and I handed him the knife, wondering why anyone with teeth and claws would need such a weapon. My blistered fingers stung. Liquid oozed where the blisters had burst.

Matthew wiped the blood off with the blanket I'd dropped near the fire, then held the knife into the flames to cleanse it further. He reached for the blanket again and cut off several long strips of wool. He dampened the first strip with water and used it to clean the gash in his leg. The other strips he turned into bandages that he wrapped around his wound.

Matthew looked around the fire and found his clothes scattered nearby. They weren't torn, which made no sense. I turned away as he pulled on wool socks and underwear, feeling a flush crawl up my cheeks.

“Thank you, Liza.” A fully clothed and booted Matthew returned my knife to me. His own knife now hung from his belt. It must have been with his clothes. He scanned the ground, picked up a strip of leather, and tied his hair back.

He looked so ordinary, just the same quiet boy I'd always known. No, not boy—I looked down at my knife as my face grew hotter. I touched my cheek and was surprised to feel dried blood there. Matthew took the corn-meal from the fire and set the pot down on the ground, limping a little as he did. Tallow crept out from her hiding place and moved closer to the flames, licking dog blood from her fur. Matthew crouched near the fire. I found myself putting distance between us once more. “How long?” I asked, my voice strange and thin.

“Two years.” Matthew spoke softly but without shame.

“Ever since …” My voice trailed off.

Matthew rubbed at his scarred wrist. “When Cam called the brambles—they grabbed me just like they grabbed Mom and Dad. I should have died with them.

The thorns dug in so deep—I couldn't possibly have gotten away. Only then …” Matthew hunched over. I looked away, into the flames.

“I didn't even understand what had happened, not right away. I just knew that I was free and that I had to run. I didn't realize I'd changed until later, when I was human again.” Matthew jammed both hands into his jacket pockets. “I almost didn't remember I was human, that first time.”

He wasn't a coward. He'd run because he'd had no choice. I'd had no idea. No one had. “You kept this hidden for two years,” I said, not sure whether hiding was the right thing to do. Yet I'd tried to hide, too, at first.

“I didn't hide from everyone,” Matthew said.

“Who knew?” There was no one I'd trust enough to speak to of magic, not if I had a choice.

Matthew sighed and didn't answer. “The dogs will be back, Liza. They won't be so easily scared next time. We need to move.” He stood and began shoving gear into his pack.

I thought of his sharp claws and teeth. How could I know he would always remember he was human, even now? What if next time he turned those teeth and claws on me? I didn't speak aloud, but still Matthew glanced sharply up, as if he'd read my thoughts. I hoped there wasn't any magic for that, or else we'd all go mad.

“Liza.” He drew a deep breath. “The War is over. It's been over for almost twenty years. Magic can be controlled, no matter what your father says.”

Like Cam controlled it? Like the faerie folk controlled it? “Magic kills, Matthew.”

“Not always.” There was real anger in those words, the first anger I'd ever heard from him. Something began building in Matthew, making the hairs on his neck stand on end. He stepped forward, lips drawing back from his teeth, fur sprouting on the backs of his hands. But before I could step back—before I could run—he clenched those hands into fists and stepped away again. He drew a deep breath and the fur receded, making him look almost human once more.

Almost. There was something in his gray eyes—too bright, too wild. Matthew looked down at his hands, then up at me, asking me without words to understand.

What I understood was that he couldn't go back home any more than I could. Neither of us could be sure we wouldn't do harm. Better to stay far from our town and those who lived there.

The dogs started howling again. I handed Matthew supplies, ignoring my stinging, blistered fingers as I did: the firewood bag and food pouch, the mug and bowl and what remained of our blanket. The pot I left behind; it was too hot to pack, and maybe the cornmeal would distract the dogs. Matthew zipped the pack closed even as Tallow leaped to my shoulders, hiding her nose in my hair.

The howls grew louder. Matthew pulled the pack over his shoulders, grabbed the torch in one hand, and quickly lit it in the fire. “Come on,” he said, and together we fled, the howling close behind.