The footsteps are coming closer. These are the longest seconds of my life – my recent life – then the incomer paces past, towards where the corridor continues spiralling down into lower chambers. As soon as they’re dim echoes, I’m up on my tiptoes, moving as quickly as I can, picking my way back through the piles of wish-hounds, and to the path that slopes upward. I wish I knew how to destroy them, but they’re already dead things, aren’t they? Concentrate, Mehrab.
What might I have found if I’d gone deeper into the barrow? A burial chamber fit for a forest queen or king, where once royal bones and grave goods lay? Long forgotten, long deserted, and found by whatever sleeps there now?
Outside, I spring across the clearing, duck beneath the trees, unhitch Rosie and lead her away so she’s less likely to be heard. My heart stutters when I see something large and red on the other side of the clearing, between the trees, unclear, and I drag Rosie along. Only when we’re a quarter of a league away do I dare mount, and urge her back the way we came.
It’s a long time before I stop listening hard for any sound of pursuit.
***
By the time the cottage is in sight, or rather the place where the cottage should be in sight, it’s late afternoon. I can discern the waver in the air, that spot between where the veil is thinnest and easiest to pass. That’s not all I notice: a lump of trembling and weeping blue fabric is crumpled on the path. The lump raises its head at the sound of Rosie’s approach.
A tear-streaked face suddenly looks like it’s found hope again.
‘Tieve. Are you all right?’
‘I thought you were gone, Mistress Mehrab! You said I could come to you, but I thought the forest had swallowed you.’ She rises, dashing tears from her eyes and rubbing a fist over her nose. She gestures towards the absence of a cottage. ‘Where is it? Where’s your home?’
It was lucky she didn’t try to push her way closer or the enchantment would have sent her astray, deeper into the woods. ‘What’s happened, Tieve?’
‘Ari found the little charm doll you gave me. It burned her palms and she threw it on the fire. And then… andthena mark appeared on her forehead, a circle, and she really did scream!’ I think of the oil I used on the slumbering children in the barrow; presumably Matthias has one too. ‘She only left me alone because of that – and Ma came home and kicked her out. And her father… Mr Hadderholm’s dead.’ The child starts crying again.
Poor Anselm. Poor man. So little harm in him, he deserved better.
I look at the sky – it’s heading into the early dark of autumn. The paths won’t be safe for either of us very soon, and if Ari or whatever’s in her place has found the little protection I gave Tieve, then the girl will likely be in greater danger. I reach down to Tieve and she doesn’t hesitate to take my hand; I pull her up in front of me.
‘Close your eyes,’ I say, then I hook the hood of her blue woollen cape over her face to make doubly sure. I aim the horse at the thin space and urge her forward. In seconds, my home is in front of us: cottage, barn, fields, gardens, pond. A quick glance behind shows the outside world, the forest, but wavy and uncertain, as if seen underwater. The barrier remains intact. We can see out, but no one can see in.
I pull her hood back and help Tieve slide to the ground. She looks around in wonderment, distracted only when the front door opens and Rhea appears, the baby swaddled at her chest.
‘Tieve, this is Rhea. Rhea, this is Tieve, she’ll be staying with us a little while.’
28
In the sitting room, Tieve’s playing with the baby – who’s already lost that typical wizened and shocked look they carry for a few weeks after birth. She – still nameless – is stretching her limbs, exploring the edges of her basket; she’ll need a new one of those soon. Tieve, bless her, has never questioned the little one’s slight green hue, nor the flowers in her hair; just says how sweet she smells. I reassured Rhea the growth spurt was normal for a child such as hers, even though I don’t truly know; none of mine lived and I’ve no experience to base my promises on, only the memory of hybrid children in old tales, growing quickly, needing to be able to defend themselves against humans as soon as possible.
Rhea’s in the kitchen, cutting up vegetables and a chicken for soup. I offered to do it but she said she’s happy to be moving around unencumbered again. I suspect she’s thinking I look exhausted and old, and though the idea offends me, I can’t say she’s wrong on at least one count. Her eyes on my face as I told her about the barrow, the children… It’s a relief to sit on the sofa after riding Rosie for long hours. Tieve’s devoured twoslices of plum cake and keeps sneaking glances at the activity in the kitchen; I’m still not hungry although I’m on my third dandelion tea, my third red clover tonic against the hot flushes. Tieve’s remarkably serene now she’s safe, despite her bad news – the initial bit and what follows.
‘How did Ari get into your house?’
‘One of my brothers let her in – he was going out, and she pushed her way in. He kept going and she… I’d… I’d been playing with the charm dolly. I know I should have kept her hidden, but I like her so much. Ari said I shouldn’t be talking to you, and then she saw the dolly, and swore and threw it in the fire like I told you.’ Tieve barely takes a breath. ‘But she squeaked because it burned her hands, and then she screamed because of the…’ she trails off because I’m nodding, although I don’t tell her what I did in that barrow. ‘And so I ran here.’
‘That was wise, Tieve. You can’t trust Ari now.’ Or what-ever’s masquerading as her. ‘I think it’s best you stay here for a little while.’
She doesn’t argue.
‘I’ll get word to your mother.’
The girl shrugs. ‘I doubt she’ll notice.’
I choose my words carefully. ‘Your mother cares for you, Tieve, or she’d never have forbidden Ari from seeing you, and I know a frightened woman when I meet one. Your mother was afraid for you, she’s just not very good at expressing it so it sounds like anger. She’s not angry at you, but you’re the person in front of her at the time and, sadly, most people look for a target without thinking. Perhaps one day you can talk to her about it.’
She gives me a doubtful look, and I don’t push it becausesome people are simply awful whether they’re worried or not and I don’t have the energy to ponder Tieve’s mother any longer.
‘But tell me what happened to Anselm?’
‘They found him this morning – out on the green. He looked like he’d been dragged back and forth across the earth, and trampled, too.’ Her voice drops low. ‘But no one heard anything last night.’
‘Had he left the bakery?’
