“I said, don’t touch my sister.” She had grabbed my wrist, holding it in an iron grip. I tried to shake her off, but all my writhing had no effect. I turned to look at her properly for the first time.
She was tall, towering over me, and I was taller than most humans. I could see the muscles wrapping around her arms like ivy. Tall and strong as she was, she shouldn’t have been able to pull me around like that. Something was wrong. I replayed my memories; the girl had been dying, brutally injured, I was sure of that. Now she was healed and not quite dead. It didn’t make any sense.
“Who are you?” asked the woman, still holding my arm. I summoned up all the dignity I had and glared at her.
“I am Mallt Y Nos, Mallt of the Night. The Nightshade. I am the Shepherd of the Dead and Dying. I have been easing souls to Annwn since your grandmother’s grandmother was a girl. Iam darkness, I am endless. Now, would you kindly let go of my arm!”
Her mouth fell open, and she stared at me. Then she let go of my arm and laughed. Peals of laughter echoed off the trees as the freckled woman bent almost in half, leaning on her knees and wheezing.
“You, the Nightshade, I can’t, I can’t.” She broke off into further laughter. I rubbed my arm where she had gripped it, trying to soothe the circulation back.
“I am Mallt Nightshade,” I said, unhappily aware that my voice was a little reedier than normal. She looked up at me again then snorted.
“You should be careful taking her name like that, a chit like you. The real Mallt is not to be trifled with. My word, and I thought I’d never laugh again.”
“I am the real Mallt,” I insisted. She straightened up and looked at me, her eyes skimming up and down, levity vanished. I wondered if it had been more a release of stress than real mirth.
“Mallt of the Night is ancient and beautiful, a goddess of dark mercy,” she said, eyes stony. “She is said to be tall and slender as a young sapling, surrounded always by the Cwn Annwn, the hounds of hell. No disrespect to you, whoever you are, but you look like half the starved farm girls in Britain. You couldn’t walk two steps across the clearing without tripping. How would you run from mountain to moor to guide the souls of the dead?”
“Firstly, I don’t usually trip,” I said, ignoring the rest of her insulting talk. “Secondly, the dogs were around here somewhere, they’ve probably just wandered off.”
I pursed my lips to call them to me with my customary whistle, high and clear. It didn’t come out as loud as usual. I waited for the dogs to appear from the shadows and bound towards me, but there was nothing, and the freckled woman rolled her eyes and turned back to her sister. I followed her, looking around for my companions. At the woman’s feet lay a pile of fur.
“Dormath!” I yelped, falling to my knees. He rolled over and yipped at me, looking sleepy but otherwise unharmed. I felt a little of the panic subside, but where were the others?
“What have you done to the rest of them? There should be more,” I hissed, turning back to her. I rarely got angry but when I did fae lords had been known to turn tail and run. This woman didn’t so much as flinch from my fury.
“I haven’t done anything to your stupid dogs. This one was here when I woke up. I haven’t even touched him.” She leaned over, peering at Dormath. “What breed is he? He looks big enough to be a wolf, but I’ve never seen one with that colouring. Pale fur, red ears, almost like…”
“I told you, he’s one of the Cwn Annwn, my hunting hounds.”
The woman glanced up at me again. “I could almost believe he was. But how can you be Mallt? You don’t look like much, you’re not even that tall.”
“I am tall,” I said, “you’re just a giant. Not a real giant, I mean, although you could be. You’re just taller than most humans. And I’m not human, can’t you tell? Doesn’t my face glow with ineffable beauty?”
The woman pressed her lips together, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. She shook her head.
“No. I mean, not that you’re not, I mean I wouldn’t say ineffable.” She seemed to be floundering a little. “But I’m not that tall. I’m big for a woman but I’m not nearly a giant. Half the men in my tribe are taller than me. You’re just short.”
I sighed. “Look, pointed ears.” I tucked my hair back to show her. “Humans have sweet little round ears, no?”
She leaned forward. Her brows furrowed, like two ginger caterpillars inching together across her face.
“You have rounded ears,” she said, almost apologetically.
I frowned, reaching up to touch my ears. The slanted points at the top had gone, rounded down. They felt wrong. This was why I couldn’t hear that woman’s heartbeat. I could barely hear anything. Mysteries began to slot into place: my hearingwas weakened, my sight, too. I couldn’t walk on sharp stones without pain, my strides seemed shorter.
I looked back at the freckled woman. I held out my arms, noting with horror how my tunic hung loosely where once it had fitted tightly.
“Something’s happened to me, I’m not me any more.” She nodded at me, still baffled by my reaction.
“What happened last night? I came to help. There was some kind of magic in the air.”
She looked uncomfortable, shifting from one foot to the other.
“Magic is forbidden to all but the druids. It would not be appropriate for a daughter of my house to…” She caught my eye and swallowed. “Yes, I was trying to help my sister. She was very grievously injured in the battle. I thought to heal her. My mother said it was a waste of time, that I should take poison with her rather than risk capture.”
A healing spell shouldn’t have had any effect on me, I thought, and from the glimpse I had caught of the injuries the night before it would have had to be incredibly strong to save her.
