by Valerie Mars
“Will those even help? I wasn’t sure, with your…” I give him jazz hands, “…gifts.”
He grins, loosing a small puff of air through his nose. “My gifts,” he says, shaking his hands, “are better off used very little tonight. Those will help just fine, thank you.” I dip into a curtsy, but every muscle in my body regrets it on my way back up. I wince, causing Bash to chortle.
“Wait, will I need to learn how to do that?” Who knows what sort of weird customs I’ll have to learn to appease the fae in charge of portals.
“No, no,” he says, waving away my concern. “This is an elected council. They aren’t like the storybooks you and Kai go on about.” It kind of hurts to hear an epic like The Lord of the Rings demoted to a storybook, but I’ll let it pass since he’s done me a solid all day. Literally.
“Phew. I don’t think they’d want someone like me around the capital, anyway.”
“On the contrary. I think you’ll be of great interest. I can’t recall the last time there was a human in the realm.”
“Then why are you guys so worried about fae smelling me if they aren’t likely to recognize it, anyway?”
“Well, discuss that over brushing out Pebbles, shall we?”
He pulls a brush and comb out from his rucksack, and we head over to Pebbles, my bow-legged gait making the short walk feel like a journey. Pebbles doesn’t budge an inch to greet us from his quest for tasty greens. He stays glued to the forest floor, snatching up overgrown dandelions like a shop vacuum.
Bash flashes a hair tool in each hand. “Body or mane?”
“Mane, if I can reach it.” I’ve always wanted to braid a horse’s mane.
“Eh, whatever you can reach is the worst of it, anyway.” He passes me the comb. I stare up at him expectantly. For answers. Because I’ve been waiting all day, you goober.
Copper brows raise, like he’s surprised by my insistence. “Right. Well…” he starts while brushing Pebbles’ neck. “Humans are cut from a different cloth than fae. You’ve been forged from the stars, same as your meteorite. You’re always going to smell a little different to us, and that’s without accounting for the stain modern civilization leaves.”
“Modernity in particular?”
“I assume the iron smell was less potent centuries ago. Back before the years of television and Slurpees existed to seep into you. Back when homes were made of wattle and daub. We can smell you’re different, just as you know that shoes don’t come scented like a bouquet.”
I click my heels together. The boots fit surprisingly well for being pilfered from a courtesan’s closet. And what strange world have I landed in where Slurpees beat out Mr. Darcy in predominant pop trivia?
On second thought, it may not be so different from home.
“Anyway, those modern marvels leave their mark on humans and fae alike. Even Kai’s brief stay will have him smelling a bit off for some time.” He collects his thoughts, indecision battling his features. Don’t hold the good shit from me now, Bash. His face relaxes, and I know a victor has emerged. “There exists a faction of fae you might have overheard earlier,” he states.
“Techies?”
“Right. Techies are fae who choose to live with human technology.”
“Wouldn’t that weaken them?” Kai clarified that his hand would have healed already were it not for his time in my city—that this overnight miracle I witnessed was in fact slow for him. I’d kill just to heal a zit the way Kai’s hand is progressing.
“Oh, it’ll do more than that. Fae who live side by side with iron-based technology sacrifice their health for it. Their skin yellows, their hair thins, and eventually, their organs give out. What they gain in convenience is ultimately paid in mortality.”
“What makes them do it?”
He shakes his head, pulling little horse hair tumbleweeds from the brush. “I couldn’t say. I suppose each may have their own reasons. Many reject our society in search of a better life. Some are born into it and don’t know better until it’s too late. Those early enough in their lives sometimes leave the Techie settlements, rejoining us. We call them ‘Separatists.’” He leans down to reach Pebbles’ belly, unruly hair concealing his eyes. “In summary, there’s a bloody history between Techies and the rest of us, one that our fellow travelers needn’t be reminded of when near you. There are some who would harm such a fae.”
I can’t focus on the knots in the mane anymore. Sorry, Pebbles. “Bash, is your realm about to go to war? Is that why everyone’s rushing to the capital, why Kai was surprised to see you?”
His movements halt beneath the horse. “I think we might be. That’s why we’re taking this so seriously. You don’t belong in a conflict.” The hairs on my back prickle beneath the cloak. I don’t want to know what magical pre-modern warfare looks like. Or any warfare, to be honest. Especially not up close and personal.
“Probably not,” I say, returning to the mane. We linger in silence a few ticks before Bash straightens and peers into the distance behind us. I strain with my human ears, but hear nothing. “Kai?”
“Ryland.” Booooo. “With dinner, I believe.”
Noses like a bloodhound, ears like a bat. Fae seem built as natural predators, and it’s starting to feel very unfair that they get all that plus magic while we’re slumming it with Slurpees and require reading glasses upon turning forty. Then again, they’ve probably never experienced the power of a good meme.
“Do you guys have memes?”
“Is that a pest?” I mean, sometimes.
Leaves crunch underfoot, finally signaling Ryland’s approach to my useless human ears. “It’s an electronic inside joke that people share over the internet.”
“Sounds convoluted,” Bash comments, the two of us retreating from the horses to see what Ryland brought.
“You’d be surprised how simple they get.”
“I’d expect nothing less coming from humans,” Ryland voices from thirty yards away. There’s a noticeable lack of breeze with his statement, meaning he’s actually raising his voice. He’s serious about preserving power.
“Just because you can hear from there doesn’t mean you’re invited to join from there,” I shout back. It’s an impotent shout that cracks halfway through, but it’s not like I needed to shout to be heard, anyway. In fact, I hope it hurts his sensitive ears somehow.
“Shall I take dinner with me, given the questionable status of my invitation?”
Depends on if it’s some back-country fae squirrel or not, to be honest. But maybe back-country fae squirrel tastes like chicken. I’m just not sure I want to know what the carcasses swaying from his hands are.
He sees me squinting and freezes in place, a smirk forming on his lips. “Well?”
I am a creature of comfort, so it takes little effort to overcome my pride and tell him what he wishes to hear. I’ve done worse for food.
“Please share your bounty with us…Sir Everhart.” The smirk blossoms as he resumes his advance toward camp. We all meet near the firewood, where he rests the meat. I’m relieved to see it’s two plucked fowl, so we’re probably closer to tasting like chicken than faerie squirrel. Unless faerie squirrel indeed tastes like chicken.
Bash bounces on his heels when he sees the birds. “Ptarmigan! I think you’ll enjoy these, Mal-gal.” He turns to Ryland. “Truly an Autumn fae with those arrows, eh?”
Ryland’s frosted slate eyes soften a smidge. “And that’s without wind guidance.”
Bash frowns with approval and nods.
“You use wind for hunting, too?” I wish I could silence my curiosity.
“They’re crafty, the Autumn.”
“I can, but I prefer the challenge of being unguided,” Ryland answers while lowering the quiver from his back. He rolls his shoulders once free. “Wind can nudge an arrow into the proper trajectory should the archer fail or target shift.”
“That isn’t really fair, is it?”
A single silver brow arches in rare amusement. “For you?
Absolutely not, but other fae are leagues from being defenseless. Even Bash has his tricks,” he half-smiles.
“And what I lack I make up for in swordplay,” he flexes. One ticket to the gun show, please. Bash catches me staring and flashes a giant grin, flexing harder. Great, now I’m stuck with two smug men.
I tear my eyes away from the man meat, inspecting dinner instead. They look like raw rotisserie chicken. I’m kind of excited now. The hunter downs a flask of water before retrieving grooming tools from his bag and heading over to Brigit.
This leaves Bash and I to prepare dinner, I presume. He doesn’t skip a beat, launching into building a fire. Fire fae must end up cooking a lot, anyway. Are his powers controlled enough to toast a marshmallow to golden perfection, or can he only burn them?
“Bash, do fae have marshmallows?”
He squats down to arrange the fire pit. “We do.”
A squeal escapes me.
He looks up from the pit. “What?”
“Do you have s’mores?”
“…No? That’s another new word.”
A zing of excitement courses through my nerves. “We’re making them if they don’t send me home the first night back. I think you’ll like them.”
“I’d like making them with you, at the very least,” he says to the wood he’s arranged. It still makes my heart skip a little, which is oh-too silly given my place on this world’s food chain.
“It’s a date,” I beam with fake confidence. And nowwww to retreat. I can feel the blood taking over my face already. “I’m going to go check on Pebbles,” I announce, slinking off.
He chuckles without making any effort to conceal it.
I kind of regret mucking it up with the impulsive marshmallow thing, because I’d much rather watch Bash start a fire than loop myself into another interaction with Eversmart.
I can see his lips moving as I approach, talking to Brigit while he gives her nose some love. The affection looks alien on his form, and I wish I could get near him without his fae senses picking up on me. It’s nice to see he doesn’t mistreat all creatures, though. Just me.
His ears twitch as I painfully crunch over leaves, and he slips into combing her mane. I arrive and stand back awkwardly, having no intention to approach Bash’s giant horse without supervision.
As if it’ll protect me from his scrutiny, I pocket my hands inside the cloak and hug it around myself. He doesn’t even have to look my way for me to feel his loathing seething outward. But he obviously cares for this horse. “Her name is Brigit?”
“Yes,” he says, separating strands of her mane.
I wait for him to continue. He doesn’t, and silence prevails.
Here we go again with the tit for tat. “Why did you name her Brigit?”
“I didn’t,” he replies.
“Who did?”
“My mother.”
“Like Kai’s father named his horse?”
“No.” I have to stop asking questions answerable in monosyllables.
“Why did your mother name her Brigit?”
“It was her horse.”
“Ah.” Well, that was fun. “Thank you for dinner,” I close before walking away. He doesn’t reply.
I rigidly putter about the tree we’re camping under, stepping over and around its massive jutting roots. It’s like being a child again, when two hundred-year-old trees felt like castles. This one must be ancient. I silently thank it for its shelter, hoping it also fends off predators with its big tree energy somehow.
No, I’m not a hippie. Sentient trees happen more often than not in fictional worlds. Ents, Mother Willow, the big tree from Avatar…maybe this tree will help us sleep or not get eaten by bears tonight. Sentient or not, the tree makes a better conversation partner than Ryland Everhart.
I return from my detour to find Bash stuffing the birds onto two sticks, the fire burning at a healthy size. Normally lighting a fire under the tree canopy wouldn’t seem like a great idea, but the lowest branches above us aren’t for another two stories at minimum. The fire illuminates our camp, making the shade beneath the tree less sinister.
I find a mossy patch of earth and slowly ease my bruised bottom before the fire. While it’s impossible to catch a chill with Bash at your back all day, the fire feels undeniably good on my toes. I watch him season the ptarmigan with salt he pulled from somewhere, then he sets the spears between two y-shaped branches positioned across the fire.
I don’t think Liam’s dad and his cashmere tie know how to do that.
Fuck that guy.
Bash settles onto the ground next to me. “Kai will be here shortly.”
Moments later, my ears pick up on hoof falls. By the time Kai and Barry enter sight, Ryland has made his way to the fire. He methodically stuffs what I assume are fresh herbs into the cavities of the birds, a consideration for which I am grateful.
I wave from my seat, barely able to separate Kai from the darkness atop his shadowy horse. The sun is setting, and the tree cover only exaggerates the shadows. They come to a stop before the fire and Kai dismounts effortlessly. He unstraps his bag from Barry’s flank, then gives him a pat on the rump. Requiring no further guidance, Barry walks himself over to join the mare and stallion in grazing. Lacking experience with both fae and horses, I can’t decide if that’s normal horse behavior or supernatural horse training. If the latter, can I get a fae to come train my daycare’s pet rabbit how to not poop all over the carpet, at least? Sometimes the kids think they’re chocolates. That’s never a fun letter home.
“How was town?” Ryland’s quick to ask, arms crossed over his chest.
“Different. The shops and inns are busy as expected, but it’s the congestion of the physician’s office and dispensary which draw concern.”
The right side of Ryland’s jaw tightens at his words. “Then it’s as they say.”
“Possibly. One such patient arrived as I was there. They quickly entered care, but scent alone told me what I needed to know.”
“And?”
“Iron. Unmistakably.”
Bash rises from beside me to rotate the spits. “I didn’t want to believe it. Figured the council’s Shadows were misled or misleading. So this is really happening,” he states.
Kai grimaces, eyes heavy. “The healer I spoke with said a third of his staff has already left for the capital, while a quarter are still deciding.” He pulls a small wheel of cheese from his bag, setting it to the side. “They want to be able to help their patients better, but also know abandoning them now will only intensify the burden of those who stay. The man I spoke to was primarily Underfae. He’s rightfully worried.”
“Anything of symptoms or clusters?” Bash asks.
“It’s mostly the young and old that are affected. As far as symptoms go, it’s what one would expect: yellowed skin and irises, swollen stomachs…it runs the gamut.”
Bash curses beneath his breath as Ryland sighs before speaking. “Let’s leave before sunup and take watches through the night. I’ll take last.”
“Second,” Bash says, looking to Kai. “You take first. You’re still healing.”
Kai begins to protest, but it isn’t effective when he’s saying it while pulling more salve and bandages from his bag. He turns to me. “You won’t like this…”
“Like what?”
“I think you’d be safer riding with Ryland tomorrow. As we near the—” My not so inner groaning interrupts, and his thin lips purse into a little frown that has me immediately regretting my display of contempt. Kai’s too sweet to deserve my ire.
“I’m sorry. Please continue.”
“As we near the capital, it would serve to have you near the one of us most respected or feared. In both cases, that’s Ryland Everhart. The striking image of his father, your cloak paired with his image are your best camouflage.”
“Especially as the clothes you wear begin to reek of human,” Ryland adds. “It’s a shame this couldn’t have been the day trip Bash and I took not long a
go,” he punctuates with an icy glare in my direction.
Pfft. Like he wouldn’t be white knuckling the steering wheel at ten and two, fifteen below the speed limit on a straightaway if he found himself on Earth all of a sudden.
“Tell me, Sir Everhart. Is it humans you really hate, or do you have mommy issues?” I ask with a tilted smile.
Stormy eyes weigh down on me, his expression the epitome of unflappable control, but his hands dig ever so slightly into his arms. I narrow my eyes in victory, because apparently pissing someone off who already hates me is all I have now.
We’re at a standoff, staring at each other in mutual disgust. Kai and Bash are speaking, but their words don’t register. Something about the intensity of Ryland’s stance tells me he isn’t used to being spoken to this way.
He makes his move, but it’s something I only realize in hindsight as he’s retreating from the fire. A gust of sustained wind hits my face, directing a torrent of campfire smoke into my eyes and throat. I move, but it follows; relentless. I’m drowning on dry land. My lungs burn, but I hold out from coughing as long as I can stand. But when I finally do, it’s already over. His back disappears into the forest and the fire returns to its lazy westward drift.
My eyes are tearing as I work the pollutant from my lungs, the effect of it intense despite my brief exposure. Kai crouches beside me.
“I hope you like smoked meat,” he says while pressing water into my hands. I snort in amusement, but it sends me into a sneezing fit. I’m a disgusting mess of snot and ash and tears by the end of it, and I wonder if this makes me more iron-y or less iron-y.
“Oil and water, you two,” Bash comments from above.
I shamelessly gargle some water and expel it into the fire. It hits the logs with a hiss. After wiping my mouth, I cap the bottle.
“No,” I say. “Iron and fae.”
11
Mallory
Unlike me, the ptarmigan isn’t overly smoky. Instead, it took on the herbs Ryland contributed beautifully, making every bite pure bliss. Every single one of the thousands of taste buds I possess are little traitors. I do my best to consume it nonchalantly, like it isn’t the best roasted ptarmigan I’ve had in the woods this year. Or ever.
