Four
Once Bryony had rounded out the grip and bound it with hide and twisted gut, her new knife fit so comfortably in her hand that it might have grown there. Alone in her room, she practiced slashing, stabbing, and even throwing the blade, with a sack of dry grass for a target. Soon she felt ready to try it on a real quarry, but Thorn was never far away when they went hunting, and Bryony dared not risk anyone finding out about her visit to the House, not yet. She would just have to wait for a chance to hunt alone.
As autumn faded into winter, however, Thorn became increasingly reluctant to go outdoors. Not because of Old Wormwood-there had been no sign of him in weeks-but if the weather was not too cold for hunting, it was too damp, or else too windy. Now most of their lessons took place inside the Oak, as Thorn taught Bryony how to tan hides using the brains of the animals they killed. It was a messy, smelly business, and though Bryony had no doubt the knowledge would be useful, it seemed a poor substitute for fresh air and freedom.
By the time the first flakes of snow drifted from the sky, Bryony had lost all interest in tanning, rendering tallow, and the other mundane tasks Thorn was teaching her. She felt restless, ready for a new challenge; more and more her thoughts turned to the House, and the odd creatures who lived in it.
Of course there was no real reason for her to go back there, not now that she had her knife. And yet she was tempted, for the House was so enticingly different from the Oak. The furnishings, the carpets, the draperies-they had all complemented one another in a way that she found strangely satisfying, like a well-cooked meal for her senses. And then of course there were the humans, who had done it all.
How was it that her people knew so little about humans? Before the Sundering took their magical powers, the faeries had freely explored the world beyond the Oak, and made note of everything they learned. The library was full of their observations about every creature imaginable, including the most dangerous predators. How had humans escaped their notice?
Unless-the thought came to her slowly but with the force of a revelation-there were books about humans somewhere in the Oak, and people had just forgotten where to find them?
There had been a time, long before Bryony was born, when the library had bustled with activity. The well- worn seats of the chairs that ringed the central table, the creased spines and ragged pages of the books upon the shelves, bore witness to an enthusiasm for learning that was now almost unknown among the Oakenfolk. There was even a tall bookcase designed to show off the latest additions to the collection-but now it held nothing but dust, for there were no authors in the Oak these days, any more than there were painters or musicians. Somehow the faeries’ creativity, like their passion for scholarship, had died.
The Oak’s Librarian was also responsible for the archives and storerooms, so Bryony was not surprised to find her desk empty. Most likely Campion was with the Gatherers, making sure her records of the Oak’s winter stores were accurate, or else polishing up the lanterns and other ancient decorations for the Midwinter Feast. Bryony picked up the mallet and rapped the brass gong upon the desk, sending a deep metallic note reverberating through the room and into the corridor.
When Campion appeared a few moments later she looked harried, with a streak of dirt across one cheek and her hair in disarray. “You wanted something?” she said.
“I’m looking for books about humans,” said Bryony.
Campion looked wary. “Did the Queen send you?”
“No,” said Bryony. “I just wanted to find out more about them.”
The Librarian relaxed visibly. Stepping behind the desk, she took down her catalog and began turning pages. “Well, I do have a few volumes in a special collection,” she said. “If you had a particular subject in mind…”
“Special collection? Why aren’t they on the main shelves?”
Again that shrewd look from Campion, as though she was trying to decide what to make of Bryony’s request. “Because they’re…special,” she said. “And rare. I can’t give them to just anyone.”
“Look,” said Bryony, exasperated, “I thought helping people find books was supposed to be your duty, but if you want me to bargain, I will. I have a nice piece of squirrel fur, freshly tanned and just the right size for a bedspread. You can have that, if you like. But then I’ll want to see all the books you’ve got, not just one or two.”
Campion blinked, as though taken aback by the handsome offer-or perhaps just by Bryony’s boldness. With a furtive glance at the door she said, “Well…all right. But,” she added as she led Bryony toward the back of the library, “this stays between us. You’re a Hunter, so I suppose you have good reason to know, but I don’t think the Queen would be pleased if everyone started reading them.”
At the back of the library, almost invisible in the shadows between the shelves, stood a narrow door. Campion unlocked this with one of the keys at her belt, and let Bryony into a closet where a single chair sat beside a tall case bulging with books. “There,” she said.
“Which ones?” asked Bryony.
“All of them,” said Campion with a touch of impatience. “There’s a lamp and a tinderbox on the top shelf. Keep the door closed while you’re reading, and let me know when you’ve had enough. I’m going back to the storeroom.” And with that she disappeared, leaving Bryony staring up at the shelf and wondering where to begin.
It seemed she had found something to do over the winter after all.
After that, Bryony visited the secret closet as often as she could. Campion became accustomed to her presence in the library, and even began leaving the key for her as a matter of course. By Midwinter, Bryony had read every book on the shelves, some of them twice over.
One thing at least had become plain: The Oakenfolk’s attitude to humans had changed drastically since these books had been written. It seemed that before the Sundering, faeries had not only been well informed about the habits of human beings, they took a keen interest in them. Naturally the Oakenfolk would have been bolder when they still had all their magic, but even so, Bryony was amazed, for the books seemed to cover every possible aspect of human life and society.
Among other things, she learned that human beings did not have magic after all. All the marvels she had seen in the House were the work of clever minds and skillful hands, nothing more. Furthermore, humans did not eat faeries, or hunt them for sport-in fact few of them even believed in her people’s existence. All they knew of faeries were ridiculous tales, which Bryony read with mingled amusement and disgust: stories where men tricked faeries into becoming their mates, or where human children were stolen away and replaced by hideous changelings. There was even one about a faery hiring a human midwife to help her give birth-how absurd, when everyone knew that faeries hatched from eggs, and that the Mother would have to die before her egg-daughter could be born!
She also read that human men and women sometimes swore vows to each other, becoming mates for life. This might be why the pair in the House had felt no need to bargain, and had seen nothing unusual about thanking each other. Still, it seemed strange to Bryony that anyone would commit themselves to another person so completely. Surely it was better to be free, and not in debt to anyone?
Learning about humans was fascinating, yet the more Bryony read about them, the more mystified she became. Sundering or not, it didn’t seem to make sense-if her fellow faeries had once been so interested in humans, why were they so ignorant and fearful of them now?
For weeks the Oakenwyld lay brown and barren, while the faeries’ winter stores grew ever more scant and fresh meat harder to come by. Each night Bryony puzzled over the books until her head ached, but she came no closer to answering her question. She considered asking Campion what she thought, but it would be hard to do that without explaining her visit to the House, and she was not sure she could trust the older faery with the secret. Eventually she gave up, handed in the key, and went back to studying the habits of crows instead.
At last spring arrived, heralded first by a scattering of snowdrops, then by the crocuses that raised their golden and purple heads at the base of the Oak. The animals crept out of their winter homes, and the air lightened with bird-song. When the sun came out, Bryony was quick to follow, reveling in the chance to stretch her wings. She had shot a vole and was skinning it by the Queen’s Gate when Thorn stamped up and said:
“I’ve no more to teach you.”
Bryony looked up sharply. “What?”
“I said, I’ve no more to teach you.” Thorn shook back her dark hair with a brusque movement of her head. “You know the work as well as I do now, and the Oak only needs one Hunter, so as far as I’m concerned, you may
