Chapter 3

I ran down the stairs, and turned to the back of the house, where the kitchen was located. My sudden entry startled Anre, our cook, taking a moment for herself, her feet up at the table. “Miss Siorin,” she scolded, dropping her feet to the ground. “You know your father does not like you back here.”

The kitchen was the only place in the house that had remained unchanged, under Anre’s demanding eye. The pots still shone with polish, the floor was swept and mopped so clean we could eat off its bricks, and the table was scrubbed. The fire here was always bright and well attended, and always held something cooking over it. It smelled of drying herbs, savoury food, and beeswax.

I would live in the kitchen, if my father would let me, sleep before the warmth of the fire, in the place where my happy memories rose easiest, and I could pretend that the grimness of the rest of the house did not exist. In the kitchen, I was a child again, not a woman on the edge of an uncertain future.

“He is at Gretha’s,” I replied, and went through the kitchen to the accounting room. The household coins were kept in a small purse in the middle drawer. I opened it, and took the purse out, tying it to my belt before returning to the kitchen. I put a couple of apples, and a chunk of bread into my bag. “My mother is sending me to Isyl,” I told Anre when she raised her eyebrows at the pilfering.

“You’ll need to eat more than that on the journey, then,” she tsked. She wrapped some scones and dried fruit into a cloth and added a carrot. “For the troll.”

“Thank you.”

“I don’t have to warn you...”

“No. I’ll not stray from the road, backtrack my steps, nor walk through any mushroom rings.”

“Good lass,” she told me warmly. “And don’t forget, the road has its own dangers, of the non-magical kind.”

“Never,” I promised. She spoke of the dangers of men, something each village lass was cautioned of from childhood. There was no safety in life for us until we married – we were prey to the Fae or the Fairy Brethren, and we were prey to men’s desires. “I have my dagger and will take my bow and arrows. I’ll ride through the night and be back tomorrow evening or the morning after at the latest.”

“It is probably the wisest thing,” she replied, “to fetch Isyl. This household needs her intervention.”

“Yes,” I agreed, and brushed a kiss over her cheek. “I will see you soon.”

The stables were warm and scented with hay and horse. Like the kitchens, the stables held shadows of my childhood in that they remained well tended and upkept, except now Coryfe was the only horse, where once there had been four. My father’s wealth had dwindled during the years as, disheartened by the lack of an heir, he had lost interest in his businesses, and, as the horses passed, he had not replaced them.

The stable was tended by one of the neighbour’s young lads, who had since gone home for his evening meal and so I saddled Coryfe myself. I slung my quiver holding my arrows and unstrung bow over my shoulder before leading him out to the side yard, closing the gate behind us and startling a maid from the house next door and her lover. I laughed at their efforts to cover up as I rode Coryfe out onto the street, his metal shod hooves loud on the stones.

The village was, as most villages were, haphazardly laid out, with people having built their houses where they wanted, and the road weaving between. Most houses followed the same techniques passed down from generation to generation, the bottom storey formed of bricks, and the upper storey of wood. The windows all held the little panes of glass manufactured at the local kiln and held in place by lines of lead.

As time had passed, the dirt road had been replaced by cobblestone, and the occurrence of a few winters where Changed Beasts had come into the village in search of food had resulted in the villagers combining together to have lamp posts put up in the main streets of the village, and the lamp-lighter employed to light them. The fall of light discouraged Changed Beasts and mischievous behaviour in general.

The evening was darkening, and the wise people were in their houses, their doors shut to the mischief of night. The lamp-lighter was making his rounds, with his ladder and fire striker, and a handful of apprentices smoked a pipe in a side alley, away from their master’s gaze, but otherwise, the streets were empty of pedestrians.

The village faded into a few isolated farmhouses, and we rode out from under the comforting fall of the lamp light, until the moon and stars provided the only illumination. In the shifting shadows cast across the road, many times I thought I saw something move, or the glint of an eye, but I did not pause. It could have been rats, or cats, or other feral creatures, but one never knew if it were one of the brethren looking to cause mischief for mankind.

I passed the mill and crossed the river on the stone bridge, throwing the carrot over the side as tribute to the troll that lived below, and I kept Coryfe at a steady walk. Although the road to Isyl’s village was well maintained, I did not want to risk Coryfe by forcing him to travel at speed in the dark, and I did not want to be forced to retrace my steps due to an injury or thrown shoe.

The fields were silver in the moonlight, a striking contrast to the dark shadow of the forest on the horizon. The forests had once spread across most of the land, but our ancestors had slowly cleared it, creating pastures for growing and fields for cattle, and peace of mind. The Fae and brethren dwelt in the forests, and they were strange places of magic and peril.

If mankind did not have need for the wood of trees, I suspected we would clear all forest from the land where we could. The Fae held some of the forests tightly, and man would not dare take axe to wood in such places. Enchanted Forests, where the trees were likely to retaliate a blow, and even going within was a punishable trespass.

We rode for quite some time before the road took us through the local forest. This forest was well known and oft travelled, and yet still, never completely safe. I felt the tension build within me as we approached and knew Coryfe sensed it in me.

Coryfe snorted unhappily.

“Yes, I smell it too,” I agreed. Magic was sharp and metallic on the air.

The trees framed the road, their tangled boughs meshing overhead, heavy leaves blocking most of the moonlight. I drew Coryfe to a stop and listened intently. There was no Fae music, which would indicate a courtly night ride or a hunt through the forest. There was no howling, which would indicate a Changed Beast in the trees.

“It might be benign,” I told Coryfe. “Just a forest fairy passing by; a sprite or an imp.”

I encouraged him to proceed. It was either forward, or back. Retracing my steps at this time of the day would be unwise, it was a thing that many fairy creatures took as invitation to meddle. I did not want to find myself spell-blighted.

The magic smell grew stronger the further we went along the road, and the light poorer, speckling across the road worn into the undergrowth by the passage of mankind’s carts and carriages. It had rained recently, and puddles gathered where the wheels had worn deeper, reflecting the moon and stars. Shadows moved ominously, and the undergrowth rustled with movement.

“A little help, please,” a man spoke from within the trees.