Faerie Winter

door shut again.

I would have followed, but that would have meant leaving Kyle alone. I took off his sweater and sat beside him, picking the remaining moss from beneath his bandages and rewrapping the bandages over his wounds, which were a less angry shade of red, the puffiness around them gone. He’d lost the bandage around his hand in the night, but the scabs there were thicker now and seemed to be holding this time.

I put his sweater on again, still backward, to protect his back, and he crawled into my lap. There was no sign of fever in his eyes, and his skin remained cool. He was as ready to travel as could be hoped for. He was shaking, though, and not with cold. “Mean bird,” he muttered. “Mean, mean bird.”

“I won’t let Elin hurt you.” I was surprised I could speak the words aloud. None of our promises were a surety of safety, but magic wasn’t concerned with that, only with whether we meant what we said.

I couldn’t tell if Kyle had heard me. “Go ’way,” he whispered under his breath. “Go ’way, stupid bird.”

The oath is protection. Scant protection, perhaps, but hadn’t I just vowed to do all I could? I drew Kyle close. If the oath could protect me, it could protect him, too. “Before we go, I have some words I need for you to repeat. Can you do that?”

Kyle looked up at me. “I’m hungry.”

How long had it been since he’d last eaten? I pulled the dried blueberries from my pocket and handed them to him. Kyle sniffed them skeptically, then tasted one.

A startled grin crossed his face. He grabbed the rest of the berries and shoved them all into his mouth at once. Blue stained his lips and tongue. He held out his hand. “More.”

I didn’t have any more. I handed him a strip of jerky instead. Kyle gave me a suspicious look but took the meat and ate it, too. Karin’s water skin was in the trailer, beside her pack. Kyle drank deeply when I handed it to him. Then he looked up at me.

“I want you to repeat what I say, Kyle, okay?” I waited until Kyle nodded, and then I spoke the oath, one line at a time.

Kyle bit his lip and repeated the words, his expression growing serious as he did. He added a couple of things at the end: a promise to try not to be mean, another promise not to send ants into his brother’s pants ever again. Only then did he nod at me, as if satisfied.

I tore the last of my jerky in half and handed Kyle the larger piece. He chewed it solemnly. The door creaked open, and Karin stepped inside, her jacket wrapped around a bundle in her arms.

I nudged Kyle from my lap to put myself between him and what Karin held. She crouched down, set the bundle on the floor, and unwrapped the shivering creature she held, a red-tailed hawk who stared at us through baleful yellow eyes. Elin—I watched warily as Karin looked her over. Feathers had been torn from her left wing, and blood streaked both it and her chest. Hawks were day creatures. Elin would have been at a disadvantage if she’d met other wild animals at night.

The hawk lifted her head and screeched. The sound echoed through the trailer as she swiveled her head to fix her gaze on Kyle.

“I don’t have it, stupid bird!” Kyle scrambled to his feet on the couch behind me even as Karin grabbed Elin in the jacket once more.

Pursue the animal speaker. Destroy him, and bring the leaf he bears back to me. Do not return until you have it. The Lady had changed Elin and sent her out again. She must have. “I have the leaf,” I told her. If she wanted to fight someone for it, she could fight me.

The hawk shivered in Karin’s arms. “Liza, can you hand me the stones?”

I didn’t move. “Elin made Ethan burn his own people. She thought it was some sort of test.”

“My mother’s tests are harsh indeed.” Karin looked troubled, and I remembered that she’d talked of passing the Lady’s tests in my visions, too.

Being troubled wouldn’t protect Kyle or me if Elin decided to attack. “She can’t stay with us.”

Holding the bird awkwardly with one arm, Karin knelt to pick up the nearer orange stone herself. She looked up at me, asking me to understand—understand what?

“You can’t ask this of me.” I remembered how Kyle smiled as his hand grew slick with the blood that Elin had demanded to see. “Of us.”

“I ask only that you not interfere.” Karin tucked the stone into the jacket. Elin made a soft meeping sound as her shivering eased. Had she been out in the storm looking for Kyle all night? Surely no one, hawk or human, could survive so long in the ice and the cold.

Elin wasn’t human. Fey folk were harder to hurt—and harder to heal—than humans were. “She can’t be trusted.” Behind me I felt Kyle clutching my coat.

“No,” Karin agreed. She gave me a searching look. “I ask much of you by even bringing her here. I know that, and I take full responsibility for it. Yet I cannot leave her.” Her voice dropped. “I have left her too often before.”

The trailer door remained open. Beyond it, the black sky was giving way to gray. Soon the sun would rise. We needed to leave this place. “If she turns her glamour and her magic on us, or forces us to turn our magic on ourselves? What then?”

“She hardly has the strength to—” Karin stopped mid-sentence. When she spoke again, her voice was cold. “If she harms either of you in any way, I will see to stopping her myself, though it mean her life. You have my word.”

Elin gave a strangled squawk. She struggled in Karin’s arms, pushing free of the jacket, and tried to launch into the air. Her injured wing failed her, and instead she landed on the trailer floor. She lifted her head to glare at Kyle and me.

“She says she doesn’t understand why you put humans ahead of your own people,” Kyle whispered. “She says you should kill us all. She says—no!” Kyle pushed past me and ran at Elin. “Go away!” he screamed. “Away ’way ’way!”

I grabbed Kyle. He fought me, but I didn’t let go. I wouldn’t let Elin hurt him.

Elin wasn’t trying to hurt him, though. She was backing away, talons scraping metal, left wing dragging.

Kyle wriggled out of my arms. “Go away, stupid bird!” He clenched his small fists and advanced on Elin. She backed into the corner and hunkered down there, trembling.

I yelled the bird away. I drew a soft breath. Karin’s eyes widened, and I knew she’d figured it out as well.

A slow smile crossed my face. Kyle wasn’t helpless after all.

Elin looked up at him, her yellow eyes fierce. Kyle’s hands went slack. His steps grew slow and dreamlike. “Pretty bird?” He sounded uncertain.

I grabbed him. Karin grabbed Elin. “They’re both under my protection,” she hissed at the bird.

Elin squawked her protest. Kyle went rigid in my arms, the glamour’s brief hold on him lost. “Go away!”

Elin fought her mother again, though there was nowhere left to go. A talon tore Karin’s sweater, drawing blood, but she scarcely seemed to notice.

“That’s enough, Kyle,” I said. I didn’t want Elin hurting Karin, and it was clear enough Karin wasn’t going to let her daughter go.

Kyle stuck out his tongue at the hawk. “Told you I could yell her away.”

I thought of how he’d asked—no, told—the ants to leave the Store. I squeezed him tightly before I set him down. “Good job, Kyle.”

Elin stopped fighting and trembled in Karin’s arms. Karin stroked the hawk’s feathers. “It is not unknown for animal speaking to move beyond ordinary speech into commands—it is much like plant speaking that way—though usually command comes when the speaker is older.”

Kyle glared at Elin as he leaned against me. “He didn’t even need her name,” I said.

“It is only people who require names. Animals and plants do not use them. Still, to be able to speak to the animal even in one who has been changed or shifted—one who has a name when in another form—takes considerable power. Kyle is in a fair amount of danger.”

I drew him close. “He’s in less danger, if he has that much power.”