R. Anderson - Swift

There was an itch between her shoulders, right where her wings ought to be. Ivy squirmed and reached behind her with one arm and then the other, trying to get at the irritation. She was on her third attempt before she realised she’d twisted her injured shoulder to its limits, and hadn’t felt any pain at all. Wondering, she lowered her hand and touched the place below her collarbone where the swift’s beak had pierced her. There was no tenderness there, either.

So Richard had healed her again while she lay unconscious, and this time he’d succeeded. But it must have taken all his strength, because now he lay sprawled on the floor beside her, so deep in slumber that he didn’t even twitch when Ivy spoke his name.

Well, let him sleep; he’d earned it. Ivy rose, brushing dust from her breeches. The building was old but in good repair, a low rectangle with a broad corridor along one side and the rest divided by wood and metal partitions. An earthy, pungent smell mingled with the scent of dried grass — animals? Ivy stepped out of the doorway, avoiding a heap of suspicious-looking muck in the middle of the corridor, and went to investigate.

She expected she might find pigs or goats in the neighbouring pens, perhaps even a cow. But when she reached the last box a shaggy brown head lifted to greet her, ears pricked and nose quivering. Ivy held out her humansized hand, delighted when the horse lipped her palm. ‘Hello, you beauty,’ she whispered to it, rubbing the smooth arch of its neck. ‘What are you doing in here?’

The horse gave a soft whinny and stamped one foot — but gingerly. And when Ivy leaned over the door she saw the problem at once: its left foreleg had been injured, and it couldn’t gallop until it was better. ‘Oh, what a shame,’ Ivy said, unlatching the door and slipping inside. Rubbing soothing circles over the horse’s chest, she crouched to examine the bandaged limb.

Even through the wrappings it felt swollen and hot to the touch, and the horse shied away from her fingers, neighing protest. ‘It’s all right,’ Ivy murmured. She blew softly into the horse’s nostrils, soothing it, and smiled when it tucked its head down against her chest. ‘I can’t heal you, but when Richard wakes up, maybe-’

A creak resonated through the barn, and Ivy froze as the outer door swung wide. Another horse came prancing in, an elegant dapple-grey with a haughty air that reminded her of Betony. And beside it walked a girl a little younger than Ivy, with a braid of dark hair swinging down her back.

Hastily Ivy made herself invisible, but not quickly enough. The girl’s head turned, her pert features creasing in a frown. ‘Hello? Is someone there?’

The brown horse chose that moment to sidle over and squeeze Ivy against the wall. An oof escaped her, and she shoved at its curving ribs, but it refused to budge. She flattened herself against the wood and tried to edge sideways, but something sharp sliced into her calf and she let out an involuntary yelp.

‘Right, whoever you are,’ said the girl sternly. ‘Come out of there.’ With a slap she sent the grey mare trotting into the neighbouring box, then strode towards them. ‘Budge over, Dodger.’ She shoved the brown horse and it danced sideways, leaving Ivy backed against the wall with blood spiralling down her leg.

‘What are you doing here?’ the girl demanded — but the moment her eyes met Ivy’s, her expression changed. ‘You’re a faery! No, wait, that’s not right.’ She cocked her helmeted head to one side, looking puzzled and awed at once. ‘What are you?’

Gooseflesh prickled over Ivy’s skin. How could a human see through her invisibility glamour like that? She was still trying to think of something to say when a laconic voice spoke up:

‘She’s a piskey, of course. And she’s with me.’

The girl whipped around, and Ivy took advantage of the distraction to make herself small and dart out into the corridor, taking refuge behind a nearby bucket. Once more, Richard had put himself between her and danger. But how were they going to get out of this?

‘Faery man?’ breathed the girl, unlatching her helmet and putting it aside. ‘Is it really you?’

Without hesitation Richard stepped out of hiding to meet her. His clothes were still rumpled and muddy and there were bits of grass in his air, but his eyes were wickedly bright.

‘Hello, Molly Menadue,’ he said. ‘It’s good to see you again.’ ten

The situation had changed so fast, so unexpectedly, that Ivy felt as though she were lost in some strange dream. This human girl had recognised Richard at a glance — even knew that he was a faery — and he didn’t appear to mind it at all. He’d even greeted her by name, as though she were an old friend. But how could that be?

‘You came back,’ the girl said. ‘I thought I’d never…it’s been so long…’ She flung her arms around Richard and hugged him exuberantly, then shoved him away and exclaimed, ‘You just disappeared! Without even a note!’

‘Something came up, and I had to go,’ he said, but his eyes had darkened, and Ivy could tell he wasn’t nearly as indifferent as he seemed. ‘There was no time to explain.’

‘You don’t know what it was like, coming in here and finding you gone.’ Molly sniffed. ‘It was horrible.’ She scrubbed at her eyes, then went on in a brisker tone, ‘But enough of that. You’re here now. So what brought you back? And what are you doing with…did you say she was a piskey?’

‘Her name is Ivy, and we’re travelling together,’ said Richard. ‘We got into a bit of trouble and needed somewhere to hide. This was the safest place I could think of.’

‘Safe from what?’

Richard hesitated, and for a moment Ivy thought he was going to tell Molly their whole story. But all he said was, ‘That’s faery business — or rather, piskey business. But you needn’t worry, you’re in no danger.’

Molly put her fists on her hips. ‘I don’t care about that,’ she said. ‘I’m just dying to hear what you’ve been up to. It’s been ages.’

‘It has,’ Richard agreed solemnly. ‘How old are you now? Eighteen? Twenty-two?’

Molly broke into a reluctant smile. ‘Thirteen, silly. It hasn’t been that long.’

Ivy couldn’t restrain her curiosity any longer. She stepped out into the corridor and grew to human size. ‘How do you know Richard?’ she asked the girl.

‘Richard?’ Molly frowned and glanced at the faery, who gave a tiny nod. ‘Oh. Well…he’s my faery godfather.’

Richard made a spluttering noise, and Ivy was torn between disbelief and a mad desire to laugh. She was still wrestling with the impulse when Molly grinned at her, and after that it was hopeless: she had to smile back.

‘I was out riding Dodger last spring,’ Molly went on, gesturing to the brown horse, ‘and I saw a…a bird, falling out of the sky like it was hurt. So I went to see if I could help, and when I got there, I found him — Richard — lying in the grass.’

She hadn’t been about to say bird, Ivy could tell. She’d started to say something else, but changed her mind. Why?

‘He tried to act like a human,’ Molly went on, ‘but I knew right away he was a faery, and I got so excited. I’d seen a couple of faeries before when I was at the shops in Truro, but they ignored me, and my mum got really angry at me for talking to strangers. But he didn’t seem to mind talking, even though it was mostly nonsense, and he looked so thin and ill that I felt sorry for him. So I invited him home.’

‘ Home in this case being the barn,’ said Richard. ‘Since we both agreed that her mother wouldn’t think much of the arrangement. And then she wrapped me up in blankets and fed me until I could hardly move, which probably saved my life.’