Haven 3 Shadow Magic (Haven Series 3) (2 page)

And so it was that he managed to pluck a year-old child from a sour-smelling cradle. The mother’s name was Beatrice Hoot, and she had a pack of seven older children to worry about. Stealing the babe, little Timmy Hoot, was likely the easiest job Piskin had ever bothered with. Wanting to make it quick—and since he was only half-hearted in the task at best—he simply launched the child out the nearest window. It fell like a stone into the Berrywine that flowed under the shack and floated away with all the other refuse.

Sighing with resignation, Piskin transformed into a vague semblance of the child he’d disposed of and winced in distaste as he pulled the stained bedclothes up to his neck.

Soon after, Beatrice Hoot slapped open the door and marched up, staring down at Piskin. So sour was her expression, Piskin felt sure at first that she had witnessed his abduction.

“Quiet today, ain’t you Timmy?” she asked.

She dug at the foot of the bed and lifted aloft a stone ward. Piskin sucked in his breath at the sight of it, but realized almost instantly that the ward was a false one. It had been drilled through, and had no power. He almost snorted, but managed to hold back the un-babe like sound. Not all the River Folk were so wise yet!

Seeing that the ward was still there, Beatrice’s face softened and she tucked it back into place. She gathered up Piskin to her breast. “There now, little Timmy, time for some lunch.”

Piskin opened his mouth and smiled. At least, this was something.

His shock was unimaginable when a cold nasty substance was rammed into his open mouth on a hard spoon. He choked and sputtered. Fish-paste? What’s more, it was
cold
fish-paste!

He spit it out, and she cuffed him. The second spoonful came, and he choked it down.

The door creaked open.

“Mama?” asked a boy at the door.

“What? Can’t you see mama’s busy? Go work the nets, boy.”

“That’s just it, mama! I’ve caught something special.”

Beatrice cocked her head to look, as did Piskin.

The boy held aloft a dripping baby. “Look what came up in the net! It’s brother Timmy! He must have fallen out the window.”

After a stunned moment they both shared, Piskin felt Beatrice’s fingers squeeze like iron bands into his flesh.

By the time Piskin had escaped that foul shack, Beatrice Hoot’s fingers bled and his head had many lumps and bruises. He barely made it out with his life. Still spitting fish-paste, he was forced to leap out into the river itself and float away with the rest of the local waste.

When at last he managed to drag himself onto the shore like a half-drowned alley cat, he hung his head and fumed.

Not long after, when twilight came to the land, a flittering wisp came to whisper him a tale. He batted at her, not in the mood for gossip. But she was excited and insistent. Finally, heaving a sigh, he listened to her news.

As he listened, hearing of the great battle at the merling stronghold, hearing of the Wee One who had stolen Lavatis from Oberon himself, he was impressed. There, he thought, was a kinsman who knew what he was about!

But, as the tale turned dark and full of woe, he learned that this fellow had wielded the Blue Jewel poorly, and had been devoured by the very Rainbow he had summoned. Lastly, he learned another of the Wee Folk had stolen the Jewel yet again. The entire story could scarcely be believed.

As he questioned the wisp, one final detail changed everything for Piskin. That detail was the name of the Wee One who had wielded the Jewel. The name was that of
Dando
.

Piskin bounced a foot into the air. The wisp backed away, her wings buzzing. Piskin breathed through clenched teeth. Something was up. Something big. Some
conspiracy
had brushed by him and he had been too thick, just as Dando had said, to even notice it. A conspiracy, perhaps, of impossible proportions.

He learned the name of the second Wee One, the barbaric one who now purportedly possessed the Jewel:
Tomkin
.

There were great plans afoot up in the north, in the marshes where dead things thrived. Piskin knew in an instant that all his misfortune was wrapped up in this tale somehow.  He had been a dupe, a fool, the ignoramus of the story. He swore to himself by the silver light of the Moon that he would get to the bottom of all this. And when he did, there would be repayment.

He turned north and headed up the riverbank with great, determined strides. Each bounding step carried him further than any human had ever managed to leap.

Chapter Three

The Elf in the Wood

Mari Bowen never got the calico dress she had wanted for her birthday. She had, however, escaped the elf in the woods with her soul and her life, and she accounted this as an even better birthday gift.

After moping about her birthday disappointments, she considered telling her mother about the elf she’d met under the ash trees. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that telling mother would be a bad idea. Her parents were already rattled with gossipy stories about a giant killing a farmer up near the border of the Deepwood. And, of course, there were many claims of changeling children being discovered all over Riverton.

Mari thought that probably not all the stories were true, but she felt sure that
some
of them had to be. After having met an elf herself, she knew such creatures were real, and they were dangerous.

The elf. She couldn’t stop thinking about him—that was the real truth. She had danced with him, he had touched her, and she had felt things awaken in her she had never known were there.

Oh certainly, she was not entirely innocent. She had known some boys. She had been kissed and chased. But the elf was different. She had felt real desire with him. She had wanted to give her virginity to him—he who was not even a man.

She was no fool. She knew that she had been in mortal danger. Quite possibly her encounter could have ended when her heart exploded in her chest, like that of a horse ridden to ground by a drunk rider who wields his whip with abandon. But maybe, just maybe, it would have ended differently. She might have lain with the elf sweetly, under the spreading branches of the silent ash trees.

Mari sighed. Her household chores seemed more stiflingly dull than usual. She felt like slumping over her broom. She tired at the very thought of churning milk. Morning dragged, turning into an eternity of folding bed sheets, hauling water and stacking firewood.

By the time she was freed for lunch, she had already made up her mind. She would head up the hill—but not to go into the forest. Elves liked the cover of trees too much. She would be safer in the open fields.

She went to her dresser and after a few quick glances about to make sure none of her siblings watched, she had pulled out the ash leaf ward she had found when she had first met the elf. She secreted it under her shawl and hurried out into the sunlight. She affixed the ward around her neck with a loop of braided yarn. The leaf fluttered against her chest and she felt braver knowing it was there.

When she found the spot where she had first met the elf, she stood in her father’s field aghast. She put her hands to her face and stared in open-mouthed disbelief. Every stalk of the field was blackened and curled with blight. She had not a moment’s doubt where this curse had come from.

Mari called to the elf, her anger growing. She knew how hard Father had worked to grow that grain. The elf had spoiled it, just for spite. Just because she had resisted him. She marched to the edge of the woods, and she called him. She demanded that he come forth.

There was no response. The slight breeze that ruffled her dress and her hair, but carried no music with it. She felt a pang of regret, even through her anger. Would she ever see her elf again? Had he found another girl to accost, at the next farm perhaps? For some reason she could not quite understand, this thought upset her. It caused her pain.

She called out again, stepping into the green cool gloom under the trees. There was no response.

She finally did what she knew she should not do. She called the elf by his true name. She walked deeper into the wood and called his true name, over and over.

“You?” said a soft voice from behind her. She turned, and saw him. Some of her anger evaporated. It was hard to stay angry with one who was so beautiful to gaze upon.

“Yes, me.”

“Why do you shout my name as a bird might sing of worms in the Earth?” asked the elf, walking around her. He was clearly vexed. His manner was anything but seductive this time.

Mari turned to keep facing him. She held her ward tightly. She pointed to her father’s blackened field. “You did this, didn’t you?”

Half his mouth smirked. “You summoned me from my home to file a complaint, girl?”

“Why did you wreck our crops?”

The elf shrugged. “I owe you no explanations. My folk do as they will here. Our Pact is broken, remember?”

“You and I made a bargain. We danced. Both halves of the bargain were completed. You had no cause for spite.”

The elf finally looked troubled. She knew that bargains and wagers were important points of honor for his folk.

“What will we eat when the snows come and there is nothing for the mill?” she said, scolding him as her mother might. She put her hands on her hips. “Had you thought of that?”

“Hardly,” he said, “but you have a point concerning idle malice after a bargain is complete.”

He gazed at her, bemused at her manner. He smiled. He began to circle her again, slowly.

She turned her head to watch him. “What are you thinking?” she asked.

“I’m thinking that you didn’t come here to complain about a blighted field. I’m thinking that you came here to dance with me again.”

Mari crossed her arms. “I came here to see if you still haunted these woods,” she admitted, “but all such thoughts were driven from my mind when I found the sorry mess you made.”

The elf had stepped behind her. Suddenly, his face and breath were at her shoulder, whispering hotly into her ear. “Let us make a new bargain,” he said.

“What bargain?”

“I will repair your father’s fields. The grain will wave yellow and pure again in the breezes. All you need to do is put aside that dirty leaf you wear.”

She rolled her eyes and turned to him, shaking her head. She pushed her face almost into his, teasingly. “Not likely. Try again!”

He stepped back from her, surprised. She was glad to see him look surprised for a change. She felt a touch of pride, she had faced one of the Fair Folk and she could plainly see he was not her master.

“You intrigue me, child,” he said, smiling anew, “I will offer you a fair bargain, something I’ve never done with one of your kind. Let us just dance together. That’s all, just dance. And neither shall owe the other anything when the dance is done.”

“With my ward on?”

“Naturally.”

“And at a normal pace?”

He chuckled. “It will be most gentle and slow, I assure you. Stately, even.”

And so she agreed and Puck did play his pipes, and they did dance together under the ash trees. Mari felt her heart quicken at his gentle touch. She had danced before, of course. But the thumping tread of boot-wearing farm boys was nothing like this.

The elf was gentle and seemed to be enjoying her company just for what it was. Neither of them had further designs, she felt. He played sweet music that did not intoxicate her mind, but simply made her happy with its clear sounds. They danced together, for the joy of it. His touch was light and kind, but it did not make her burn. She could still think. She could still decide.

After they had danced to many songs, the elf finally stopped. Twilight had begun to fall over the land.

“Milady,” he said, “I must take my leave of thee. It has been sweet, but time is pressing.”

Mari felt a pang. She knew that he meant that it was the twilight hour, the time when his kind could most freely move about. He would seek out another to dance with. She knew this, as that was the way of his people.

“I have another bargain to suggest,” she said quietly, coming to a decision. “I wish to lay with you. And neither shall owe the other anything when we are finished.”

The elf looked very surprised indeed, and she was glad to see his expression. Perhaps no other had freely made such an offer to him. He recovered quickly, however, and began to circle her again. This time she let him step behind her, without turning to face him.

“Such unions are forbidden, for your people and for mine.”

“I thought the Fair Folk did as they pleased.”

“That’s true,” he said, and he stood still. He blinked at her, uncertain. It made her heart glad to see he felt conflicted.

She began to step around him, while he stood in thought.

“You will wear the ward?” he asked.

“Naturally.”

He laughed, noticing her circling and the reversal of roles. It was clear to them both that he was now the hunted.

“And we will proceed at a normal pace?” he asked, eyes sparkling as he repeated the question she had asked earlier.

“It will be gentle and slow,” she said laughing in return.