Rowankind (3 Book Series) Page 2

  “If you are, then you will do everything in your power to make sure it never happens again. If it does, I will end you as I would end a mad dog. You have been warned.”

  “Thank you, my lady.”

  “You may change to wolf now and stay that way until I give permission to change back.”

  Freddie’s change began again. It was no easier than his change from wolf to man. I winced and tried not to feel too much sympathy. We were going into self-imposed exile to keep Freddie safe . . . or to keep the world safe from Freddie.

  2

  Letter

  I’M A WITCH.

  I have very good hearing. Magically good. I can hear someone sneaking up on me a mile away.

  This time it wasn’t the clip-clop of hooves, nor the soft tread of boots, but the rustle of a small animal running through winter-wet grass followed by the snick of claws on the flagstones of our front path.

  “We have a visitor,” I said.

  Corwen pushed his dish away and sat back in his chair, nostrils flaring. “Relax, it’s Aileen.”

  Corwen’s nose is a thing of beauty. All I could smell was the rabbit stew in my bowl.

  A snarl and a frightened yelp brought Corwen to his feet so fast that the crockery on the table rattled and his chair crashed onto the hard earthen floor.

  “That’s Freddie!” he said.

  I grabbed the latch and yanked the door back on its hinges, sucking a great gust of chill air into the cottage. Corwen raced into the yard ahead of me. A ginger fox bolted down the path, Freddie snapping at her heels. The fox hurled herself at Corwen. He scooped her up into his arms and whirled around to shelter her with his own body. Freddie skidded to a halt, but not fast enough to prevent him from slithering sideways and hitting Corwen in the back of the knees.

  Wolf, man, and fox landed in a tangle on the damp path.

  “Freddie, no!” I grabbed the broom by the door, fending the wolf away from his prey. “Leave the fox! Leave her. Leave!”

  Freddie suffered from selective deafness when he was in wolf form. Anything more complicated than a few basic words didn’t get through to any part of his brain that understood language.

  He was on his last warning. We couldn’t allow him to attack anyone else.

  The fox twisted free and fled into the cottage. She leaped onto the table and dropped flat between the remains of our dinner. It was then I noticed she carried a letter in her jaws.

  Corwen had rolled onto all fours and was staring Freddie down, eye to eye. “That’s no way to treat a visitor,” he said.

  I didn’t know how Corwen managed to keep his temper with Freddie. Surely, he could only take brotherly love so far. Freddie was a danger to himself and to all those around him.

  Freddie retreated, ears back, head down, looking repentant, though it was probably just for show. I didn’t trust him to stay that way. He’d shown signs of improving since the sprite incident. Then something like this happened, and we were back to the beginning again.

  “I should think so.” Corwen took it as an apology and stood, brushing off the backside of his breeches.

  They often had these one-sided conversations, Corwen inferring answers from Freddie’s stance or expression.

  Freddie’s long sojourn in wolf form worried Corwen half to death. Corwen rarely stayed a wolf for more than a few hours. It was too easy to get lost inside the beast. But we still hadn’t seen enough improvement in Freddie to seek dispensation from the Lady for him to turn back.

  I was beginning to think Freddie had already surrendered himself to the wolf. For Corwen’s sake, I hoped not. In the space of just over a year, Corwen had already lost an older brother and his father; he didn’t want to lose Freddie, too, troublesome as Freddie was.

  “Are you coming in or going out?” he said to Freddie, holding the door wide. “If you come in, you have to be polite to our visitor.”

  “Hurry up, one way or the other,” I said. “It’s freezing.”

  Freddie turned and slunk back down the path toward his favorite willow tree. He had a thick pelt to keep him warm, so Corwen shrugged and closed the door.

  The fox, whose name was Aileen Reynard when she was in human form, had dropped the letter on the table. She sat amidst the debris of our meal with her tail wrapped around her feet, trembling slightly.

  I pulled a blanket off our bed and held it up between her and Corwen. He looked the other way while she jumped down from the table and transformed into a skinny, ginger-haired girl, naked except for a small pouch tied around her neck. I draped the blanket over her shoulders and she drew it closer, shivering from the sudden loss of her fur coat.

  “Thank ’ee kindly, Missis. Yon wolf is in a bad mood today. He nearly had me.”

  “Sorry about Freddie,” Corwen said. “His manners are abominable. Come to the fire and warm yourself. Are you all right?”

  Aileen stuck her chin out and took a deep breath but made no move toward the hearth. “Aye. He only had a few hairs out of the end of my tail. Do you want me to wait for a reply?” She nodded to the letter lying on the table, crumpled and damp.

  Corwen tore it open and skimmed it.

  “Thank you, Aileen. No reply.” He gave her a coin which she dropped into the pouch with evident pleasure. I saw the glint of gold, a solid apology for Freddie’s behavior.

  “Right, then. I’ll be going, sir, if you’ll see me safe past the gate.”

  Corwen opened the door and shepherded Aileen past the willow tree where Freddie lay, curled nose to tail beneath its branches. He didn’t even flick one ear in Corwen’s direction. At the gate Aileen dropped to all fours beneath the blanket. A fox shot out and disappeared into the forest’s undergrowth.

  Corwen glanced at Freddie again. “No following, brother. Leave the fox-girl alone. She’s hardly more than a child. If you want some exercise, I’ll give you a run you won’t soon forget.”

  Freddie whimpered in the back of his throat.

  “Good. As long as we understand each other.”

  Corwen returned to the cottage and sat down at the table. Our meal was cold and congealed. He read the letter as I cleared away the bowls. He took a deep breath, put it down, and picked it up again. I recognized the handwriting. It was from Lily, his younger sister.

  I wanted to snatch the letter from him, but I could only wait until he was ready to tell me the contents.

  “Bad news from home?” I asked. “Your mother?”

  Corwen’s father had died in early December. He’d slipped away peacefully in his sleep after spending a year immobile and uncommunicative following an apoplectic attack. His death had hit Corwen’s mother hard, but my one-time maid Poppy had stepped up into the role of housekeeper and was doing a splendid job of looking after domestic arrangements at Denby House. Stephen Yeardley, her husband, was acting as estate steward until Freddie chose to reclaim his inheritance.

  If he ever did.

  “Not Mother. If there was a problem, Lily would have told me.” Corwen stared at the letter again. “It’s the rowankind at the mill. The Mysterium has accused two of them of practicing magic.”

  “Who?”

  “Jem Richards and Sam Hardcastle. I know them both. They’re good men. The Mysterium has had them arrested and taken to Sheffield.”

  “Did the Mysterium have grounds? Were they practicing magic?”

  “Not according to Lily, at least, not that she knows.”

  “God’s ballocks!” My command of the English language vanished, and I could only manage an obscenity from my seafaring days.

  “I couldn’t have put it better myself,” Corwen said.

  He ran a hand through his hair and read the letter again. He may have been more restrained in his language, but I was under no illusions; he felt this injustice as deeply as I did. All Great Britain’s magicals, ourselves included, were
in danger from the Mysterium, but the rowankind were innocents, their magic newly awakened. They didn’t deserve to be dragged away and hanged.

  It was less than two years ago that I’d first become involved in efforts to free the rowankind from two centuries of bondage. We’d succeeded, and thousands of rowankind had gained their birthright, the use of natural magic. They’d shrugged off their masters. Some had gone to Iaru, to live with the Fae. Others had chosen to remain and make their own lives in Britain. It had been, for the most part, a peaceful revolution. I’m not even sure that the Mysterium, so focused on prosecuting human witches, realized that the rowankind had magic—not at first anyway.

  Rowankind have weather magic. They can calm a storm, or call a wind, or cause water to flow uphill. They can bring gentle rain or whip up a gale.

  When the authorities noticed, I suppose their first reaction was fear, and that makes men either courageous or cowardly. The courageous reaction would have been to talk to the rowankind, find out their capabilities, ask what accommodations could be made for them to live peacefully alongside humanity. Unfortunately, the cowardly way prevailed. The Mysterium must have decided to strike first at what it perceived to be a threat.

  The rowankind were not, in fact, a threat. They hadn’t used their magical power against humanity. I was amazed and impressed. After two hundred years of bondage, they could be forgiven for a little righteous anger.

  Corwen turned the letter over. “Lily sent this on the sixteenth of January. It’s taken five days to reach us, but there may be something we can do if we act quickly.”

  “We’re going to Yorkshire, then.” I stood. “I’ll pack. But we can’t take Freddie. Dare we leave him here without supervision?”

  “One of us should stay with him,” Corwen said.

  “If you mean me, that won’t work.” I scowled. “You know Freddie would sooner tear out my throat than obey me.”

  “Could we ask David?”

  “To wolf-mind?”

  Corwen shrugged. “Will he?”

  “He might have a solution or a suggestion,” I said. “The Fae keep him busy, but they want a favor from us, so they might be willing to let him help.”

  “Can you call him?”

  I nodded.

  I have some wind and weather empathy, and can perform a few small magics, but my large talent is that of a summoner. I can call things and people to me as long as I have a connection with them. I can also summon spirits of the dead, something I don’t do lightly, at least, not anymore.

  I concentrated my thoughts and invited David to visit.

  Our cottage was in that liminal space, halfway between the real world and Iaru, the realm of the Fae. A glamour protected it from all but the most determined.

  Iaru and our world coexist in the same space, though maybe not the same time, since in Iaru it’s always summer. There are gates that link the two. A Fae like David could open new gates. Corwen and I, with permission from the Fae Council of Seven, could only pass through existing ones.

  I heard David coming and opened the cottage door as he walked up the garden path, glancing sideways at Freddie, still lying under the willow tree. Freddie’s ears and eyes tracked David’s approach, but otherwise he didn’t move.

  It was drizzling, but the dampness didn’t touch David—one of the benefits of being Fae.

  “David!” I hugged my little brother. He was now taller than me by a handspan. At sixteen he was no longer a gangling youth. Though we shared a mother, David was all Fae due to his father’s heritage. Fae matured quickly and then stayed young for centuries. They aged so slowly that I thought the elders I’d seen might have already been middle-aged when Jesus walked the earth.

  David hugged me back. He was warm and dry and smelled of summer.

  The rest of the Fae never hugged. They were too icy in their dealings with mere humans. David had grown up among humans, though, so I hoped he would never lose his warmth.

  David and Corwen shook hands. They were about the same height now, but Corwen had more muscle. David had a lithe elegance, however, emphasized by the immaculate calf-length robe he wore over soft trousers. The colors were all greens, from the shimmering emerald of the robe to a darker forest green for the trousers. He looked every inch the Fae prince that he was.

  “You wanted me,” he said.

  “Come into the cottage. Close the door. I’ll put the kettle on.”

  “Ah, tea. I miss that.”

  Food and drink in Iaru is magical, but they don’t have tea, and they don’t understand the ritual of tea-making and its social importance.

  “Well, we don’t have a china tea service, but we do have tea.”

  “Are you coming in, Freddie?” Corwen opened the door and called, but the brown wolf never moved.

  “Still sulking?” David asked.

  “I’m afraid it’s beyond sulking now.” Corwen closed the door. “I made the Lady a promise, but I admit I don’t know how to deal with him, and time is passing. We have things to do and promises to keep, as well you know. We hoped you could help us with Freddie.”

  David pressed his lips together. There was no magical solution to Freddie’s ailment.

  “We need to go back to Yorkshire right now,” Corwen said. “The Mysterium has taken two of the rowankind workers from Deverell’s Mill.”

  I passed Lily’s letter over to David.

  “Does my father know?” David asked.

  “I don’t know. I hope not,” I said. “The consequences could be dire if the Fae react. Please don’t say anything until we’ve had the opportunity to find out what’s happened and why.”

  “I won’t say anything unless I’m asked a direct question.”

  The Fae had given us a task. They demanded we deliver their warning to King George: look after the rowankind and treat them with respect or suffer the consequences. It was a ridiculous task for a pair of commoners with no access to the court. Unfortunately, when the Fae asked for something, they wouldn’t accept a refusal, even for the best of reasons.

  “We can’t take Freddie to Yorkshire,” Corwen said. “Can you look after him for us?”

  There was a low growl outside the door. Corwen opened it. Freddie stood on the threshold.

  “Yes, you do need looking after,” Corwen told him. “If only to protect others.”

  The growl subsided.

  “Come in if you’re coming, Freddie,” I said, reaching for my shawl. “You might have a fur coat on, but I don’t, and you’re letting the heat out.”

  But Freddie didn’t move.

  David looked at Freddie. “What if I put a barrier around the cottage and its environs?” He turned back to us. “Freddie won’t be able to leave, but more importantly, no one will be able to stumble into Freddie’s territory by accident. It won’t be a fence, simply an invisible barrier no outsider will be able to cross in either direction. There will still be game for Freddie to hunt.”

  “Can we cross it?” I asked.

  He nodded. “I’ll show you how to unpick the working at the edges and then how to remove it completely when you’re done with it.”

  Corwen nodded. “If that’s all right with Freddie. I won’t cage him unless he agrees.”

  Freddie had been looking from Corwen to David and back again as they spoke, following the conversation.

  David looked directly at Freddie. “What do you think?”

  Freddie yipped once, turned, and padded back to the willow.

  “It looks like he agrees,” I said. “At least he’s not snarling at any of us. That’s probably as good as we’ll get.”

  I pushed the door closed again.

  * * *

  My own magic works when I concentrate my thoughts and will something to happen. Back when I’d thought David was my half-rowankind little brother, I’d helped him to tame his powerfu
l fire magic by teaching him the way I did things. He’d obviously learned a lot from the Fae since Larien had taken him into Iaru, so I was curious to watch David’s magic at work now. Insulated from the January weather by my heavy woolen cloak, I followed him down the path. He collected his horse, grazing outside the garden fence, and with a light touch on the rein led him toward the path which ran through the Old Maizy Forest, entirely in the real world. Travelers could pass by within half a mile of our cottage and never know we were here, protected as we were by a glamour.

  Safely cottage-side of the path, David mounted his horse and pointed a finger at the ground. A flame sprang up. Startled, I gasped and stepped back, bumping into Corwen who steadied me and whispered, “There’s no heat.”

  He was right. The flame was an illusion.

  “Wait here,” David said, and touched his heels lightly to his horse’s sides. The animal leaped forward from a standing start into a gallop. Wherever they passed, a ten-foot-tall wall of cold flame blazed up. I watched David’s path through the winter-bare trees as he sped away from us, enclosing a sizable hunting ground for Freddie, and coming back to us from the opposite direction. He closed the circle with us inside it, whispered a word, and the flames died down, not even leaving scorch marks.

  He drew Corwen and me into the middle of the barrier. My head swam, and my skin itched all over as if a million ants were crawling across my body. He put his index finger first to my forehead and then to Corwen’s. I suddenly saw the shape of the spell and understood its working.

  Corwen nodded. “Got it.”

  David smiled and led us back out. “A normal human can’t push through the invisible barrier from the outside, and Freddie can’t push through from the inside. Since you two know what it is, and how to cross it, it should hardly disturb you. You might feel dizzy as you pass through, but the effect will quickly fade.”

  It was a small price to pay for knowing Freddie would be safe, and the world would be safe from Freddie.

  3

  Rowankind

  DAVID LEFT US to our packing. Corwen put on his coat and went outside to talk to Freddie. I opened the window a crack to listen. He explained why we had to go back to Yorkshire. I thought Freddie wasn’t paying attention, but when Corwen got to the part about the Mysterium taking the two rowankind, I heard a low growl.