R. Anderson - Swift

‘I doubt it, unless she can see through rock.’ He jerked his head at the ceiling-high wall of rubble behind him. ‘She hasn’t bothered to look at me once since I woke up in here. And it seems she’s not planning to give me any food or water either, unless I start talking.’

Ivy was silent, troubled by the revelation. Did Betony really mean to starve the spriggan — or faery — until he confessed to killing Keeve? But what if he hadn’t?

‘I don’t know what you’ve heard about faeries,’ said the prisoner, ‘but if there’s one thing my people honour, it’s a bargain. Help me now, and I’ll do you a favour in return.’

‘Like you did for my mother?’ Ivy asked, moving a little closer. After all, he could hardly overpower her with only one working hand. ‘What exactly did you promise her, anyway?’

‘To tell you that she was alive, and wanted to see you,’ he said. ‘And if you were willing, to bring you back to Truro with me.’

Ivy had no idea how far away the city of Truro was. But she’d never heard Mica or any of the other hunters mention it, so it must be out of their usual range — at least a day’s journey on foot, if not more. How could she possibly travel so far from the Delve without anyone noticing that she was gone?

And yet, if her mother was truly alive…how could she not go?

She was still wrestling with the question when she noticed the stranger extending his injured arm towards her, wincing all the while. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

‘I told you. Help me, and I’ll help you. Just do as I say.’ He hesitated, then added with obvious reluctance, ‘Please.’

Ivy sighed. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Take my hand, and slide your other hand under my elbow.’

Suppressing her distaste, Ivy reached out and took his limp, white fingers in her own. She had half-expected to find his skin cold and slimy, as a spriggan’s ought to be — but his hand was warm, even feverish, in her grip. Gingerly she slipped her other hand beneath his swollen joint, feeling the dislocation. ‘What now?’ she asked.

‘Hold my elbow steady,’ said the prisoner between his teeth, ‘and pull my wrist towards you. Not too fast, but — aaaaah! ’ There was a sickening pop beneath Ivy’s palm and he staggered against her, gasping. But when he lifted his head again, the relief on his face was close to ecstasy.

‘You have my profound gratitude,’ he breathed, flexing his arm. ‘So does this mean we have a bargain?’

Ivy’s thoughts and feelings were in a tangle, and she had no idea how to reply. Had she really just helped one of her people’s oldest enemies? What would happen to her, if anyone found out? She sat down heavily on an outcropping. When she’d left the cavern looking for answers about her mother, she’d never imagined it would turn out like this. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

‘Yes, you do.’ He dragged his chain across the floor and crouched beside her. ‘It’s perfectly simple. You get me out of here, and I take you to Marigold.’

He made it sound so easy. ‘But how would we get there? And when would we leave?’

‘As soon as you like, or near enough. As for how…’ He tapped a finger against his teeth. ‘It would be easiest to travel by magic, but you’ve never been to Truro before, so that won’t work. And you haven’t got wings, so…’ He shrugged. ‘I’ll just have to carry you on my back.’

‘ Carry me?’ asked Ivy, in baffled outrage. ‘I can walk perfectly well, in case you hadn’t noticed! What kind of-’

‘Of course you can walk. But you can’t fly, which is more to the point.’

‘And you expect me to believe that you can?’ Faery or not, he had no more wings than she did. Was the stranger mad after all, or did he really think she was that stupid? Disgusted, Ivy pushed herself to her feet. ‘I’ve had enough of this. I’m going to bed.’

‘Wait.’ His voice sharpened. ‘You can’t leave me here.’

‘I don’t see why not,’ Ivy said. ‘You’ve had your fun, and got your arm fixed into the bargain. What else do you need me for? Wait a few days, and you should be thin enough to slip out of that manacle and fly out of here.’ She made a cynical flapping motion and turned away.

‘You really don’t know what I’m talking about.’ He sounded incredulous. ‘I knew piskeys were different, but I had no idea… Ivy, listen to me!’

Annoyed as she was, his desperation brought her up short. She stopped, waiting.

‘I know I don’t have wings any more than you do,’ he said. ‘Not in this form. But I can change shape — all male faeries can. And if I turn myself into a bird, and you make yourself small enough, I can fly you to Truro and back again before anyone knows you’re gone.’

‘That’s ridic-’ Ivy started, but the word dissolved on her tongue as she remembered the little bird she’d seen flying away, right after the spriggan had disappeared. Was it possible? Could that have been him?

She wanted to believe. Not only that magic could turn a wingless faery into a bird, but that everything else the stranger had told her was true as well. That Marigold was alive and longing to see her, and that one short flight over the countryside would bring them together again.

And that was exactly why Ivy couldn’t listen to the spriggan any longer. Because if she did, she might end up making the worst mistake of her life.

‘I have to go,’ she blurted, and fled.

‘ I shall despair. There is no creature loves me; And if I die, no soul shall pity me… ’

Wearily Ivy raised her head from the pillow, the stranger’s parting words still echoing in her mind. She’d had to listen to him all the way up the shaft last night, gabbling about villainy and murder and vengeance, and guilt had stabbed her as she realised he was already tumbling back into madness. Even without the agony of a dislocated elbow, being locked up in the pitch dark with an iron band around his ankle must be unbearable for a creature used to fresh air and sunlight, and if that weren’t cruel enough, he was dying of hunger and thirst as well…

Ivy kicked back the bedcovers and pulled open the curtains of her alcove, grimacing at the dirty smears her fingers left behind. She’d been so tired when she got back to the cavern, she’d fallen into bed without washing or changing her clothes. Had Mica and Cicely noticed? What would she tell them, if they asked where she had been?

She hopped down onto the rug and glanced in both directions. All the beds were empty, and the door to their father’s bedchamber stood open; bowls and spoons littered the table, and Cicely had forgotten to put the cream back in the cold-hole. It was mid-morning, and they’d all left hours ago — what must they have thought when they woke up and found Ivy still asleep?

She heated water for a bath and scrubbed herself clean, then tidied up the dining table and made the bed Mica had left in disarray. It irked her that he never did it himself, but if she didn’t look after it Cicely would, so there was no point leaving it. After that she’d sweep the floor and make some bread, and finish curing the skin from Keeve’s adder, and then…

Ivy collapsed into a chair, fingers worrying at her black curls. It was no use trying to distract herself, or pretend that her conversation with the spriggan hadn’t happened. What if Marigold really had sent him? Could Ivy let him starve and miss what might well be her only chance to find her mother, simply because she was afraid of being taken in?

Yet she had to find a way to protect herself, before she agreed to anything. Faeries might consider a bargain sacred, but if the old stories were true, they also had a knack for finding loopholes in nearly any bargain they made. And the last thing Ivy wanted was to risk her life for this stranger, only to end up betrayed…