‘You need to know what I heard, after they… drowned you. The Peppergill man was shouting at them – a lot of folk were shouting about what had been done. None of them were happy. They didn’t, as far as I can tell, let anyone know what they planned. Only that idiot boy and he’s all regret now.’ She shakes her head. ‘That little shit Loic told Master Peppergill that witches are patient, they play a long game. Like all cancerous growths they lie in wait, hibernate for a long time before doing ill to their host. That you’d show your true colours eventually and he was doing the village a kindness by destroying you sooner rather than later. But, Mehrab, you need to know that you have friends in that village.’
I grunt.
The shadow half terrifies me, but this evening’s work has taken care of one problem at least. The god-hounds will not report back to Lodellan, and I doubt anyone will be looking for them. Nobodies, embarrassments to the church, sent on the road to get them out of the way. They’ll not be missed by their superiors or the world in general.
‘What happens next?’ asks Fenna.
‘Back to the cottage, rest a few days before we travel now that the god-brothers are no longer likely to try and burn us. Then southwest, I think, towards one of the bigger harbours, take ship somewhere. Away from here. Somewhere Rhea’sbaby can grow safely.’ But what if that child, so linked to this land, this forest, can’t thrive elsewhere? Or do we stay? Is it safe? What are the odds of other god-hounds following? Am I being overly cautious, uprooting us all? For the moment, I have enough problems to contend with.
‘Rhea’s baby?’
‘Oh. Oh, you couldn’t have known. Yes, a little girl. Something else to discuss once we’ve eaten, bathed, made plans.’ How will I tell them about the green woman? The mari-morgan? Will I tell them at all? Later. Later. A decision for later. I’m starving and so very tired. Not so long ago dead. And in those days of rest, I must work out what to do about the huntsman and his wish-hounds, about the two children who lie in a deathly slumber in a barrow in the depths of the forest.
‘Tomorrow, Fenna, all the answers tomorrow. I need to rest, as do you. We’ll be safe within the bounds of the holding for a few days at least,’ I say as we round the bend where the cottage lies. A few days’ rest.I hope.
‘But where is your holding? Your cottage? I thought…’
‘Shrouded. Tomorrow, Fenna, tomorrow, I’m done with questions.’
And behind us, I hear the thud of hoofbeats again. It makes my heart hammer, but there are the two elms and I urge the geldings at the space between them, tug at Rosie’s rein so she keeps up. The sudden baying of the wish-hounds is horribly loud – then we’re through the veil, over the ward-line and the next sound to be heard is whimpers from the wish-hounds as they try to pull up in time before the enchanted boundary, and the scream of frustration coming from their master.
I wheel the horses about, and smile at the sight of the cringing hounds and the rearing horse and its raging rider. Safe for now. Safe for now. The huntsman takes off into the trees, the dogs trailing behind. I turn back and dismount, help Fenna down.
In front of us: the cottage, lights ablaze, the door thrown open and Rhea and Tieve rushing out, shouting my name.
34
My relief at seeing them is short-lived.
Their shouting takes on an edge of hysteria and fear that makes me look back over my shoulder, certain the shadow half has circled back, found a way through the veil. But no. There’s nothing out there beyond the ward-line, nothing but darkness. There are, however, two weeping girls rushing towards us, stumbling over their words and sobs and steps. It irks me that they’re so unhinged. I prop an elbow under Fenna’s shoulder though she grumbles she’s perfectly fine. Except she’s not, she’s worn out and I can tell.
‘What is it?’ I ask, trying to keep the impatience out of my tone.
‘The baby,’ Rhea yells. ‘The baby is gone.’
Oh. The words don’t make sense. My mind can’t take it in; it’s had quite enough these past few days, thank you very much. No more, no more. Then the loss hits me and I feel as if my chest makes a hollow sound when Rhea leans against me, shuddering. I thought the little one would stay, was not so weak as my poor babies. I was so sure she would live, that this one would survive.Perhaps if I’d been here, perhaps if I’d not died myself, I might have kept her alive. Guilt adds its weight to my heart. I wrap my free arm around her. ‘Oh. Oh, Rhea. I’m so sorry.’
Then, to my utter confusion, she says: ‘We have to go after him.’
‘What?’ I gently push her away so I can see her face. Angry. Enraged. Not grieving, or not so much as the fury.
‘That boy! That shitty boy took my daughter!’ And as she shouts, flames snap in her palms.
‘What boy?’ ‘The one she let in!’ A howl and a finger pointed at Tieve, whose wailing reaches a pitch to hurt the ears.
‘Tieve. Who was it?’
‘Orin! It was just Orin Alderson. He’s my friend.’ She sniffles. ‘I thought he was my friend.’
Gods help me. Faolan’s boy. A deep breath to calm myself; a wave of relief: kidnapping is an easier problem to solve than death. ‘Right, you lot. Inside, all of you. Stop yelling.’
Rhea looks fit to defy me, to charge off into the night. I grasp her shoulder tightly enough to let her know I mean business. ‘Inside. It’s too dangerous to go now. We need to plan. No point everyone rushing off to die when I’m expending so much energy to keep you all alive. Tieve, stop howling. You’re not in trouble.’ Not yet. ‘Now help me get the horses settled first. Many hands make light work.’
***
In the warmth of the cottage I set about restoring order or some semblance of it. I send Fenna to the bathroom for a good and fulsome wash. I send Tieve up to my room to pull an old warmnavy serge dress from my clothing chest; it’s from my younger days but will fit the half-starved older woman better now. I make Rhea set the table for a meal, send her down to the cellar to retrieve cheeses and salted meats, preserved fruits. There’s a rabbit stew on the hob that she must have made earlier, and a loaf of bread, a day old. I saw it into slices, and when Tieve returns I instruct her to sit by the open fire and make toast. I deliver the dress and a fresh towel to the bathroom.
Rhea finishes her tasks and comes to stand in front of me as I relax, briefly blissful, on the sofa. I need a bath too, although less desperately than Fenna, having spent entirely too much time in water, and then in dirt. Mostly, I can smell horse and my own sweat. I pat the seat beside me. ‘Sit, Rhea.’
