Dragonswood

by Janet Lee Carey

  “This should help,” she said. Garth slipped it into the saddlebag. Food for the journey? How long would the man be gone? Garth bid me hold Horace’s collar as he rode off. The old dog howled and strained, wanting desperately to go with his master. I felt the same, yet had to restrain myself as much as I restrained the forlorn hound.

  FOUR DAYS PASSED with no sign of Garth. I helped Cackle with his daily chores, feeding the pigs and chickens, and walking the dogs two at a time. Garth’s favored hound came along. Horace was older and quieter than the rest and did not require a leash. The first day out, the freckled pointers were not well-mannered. Tails wagging, they tugged their tethers and pulled me off my feet. I allowed this but once, before shouting and taking a firmer hand.

  Returning the dogs, I went out a second time alone, but for faithful Horace. After a goodly walk, I took out Grandfather’s small parcel and undid the string. I’d expected a letter, but unfolded a small painting I’d done when I was a child. A picture of DunGarrow Castle all colorful and bright. My name was at the bottom in a child’s hand, and by it one word Grandfather must have written just for me. Remember.

  A chill came reading that one word. He must have known about me from the start. I thought of all the stories he’d told me of the fey—his way of providing me with my family history. He’d learned some tales firsthand from the fey folk he met crossing the sea. They’d come from all manner of places in the world in search of safety and freedom in Rosalind’s refuge. I knew he’d cherished his meetings with the fey folk on their voyage to Wilde Island.

  Grandfather had offered what he could, arming me with knowledge of my father’s people while honoring Mother’s secret. Along with the little painting, he also sent a lady’s handkerchief. The rose-pink cloth was smooth and sparkled in the sunlight. I’d never seen anything so fine.

  His one word whispered through me. Remember. Perhaps he’d longed to tell me the truth about myself. But it was Mother’s news to tell. He had to respect that. “She waited much too long,” I said to the child’s painting, the handkerchief.

  I tucked his gifts away. On the path I listened for any whispering voices in my deaf ear. All was silence from the fey world since I’d learned who I was. Did they still want me to come north? If so, why not call me now? But part of me wasn’t disappointed. I knew I could not go quite yet. In my heart I was waiting for Garth’s return.

  While I’d been away south with Garth, Poppy had washed our old leper robes. In the evening we cut them to make new short cloaks for Meg and Poppy, and a little cloak and smock for Alice. All were green, for we had no dye. We took pleasure sewing together by the fire. Mother and I had done some stitchery for the tailor to make some extra market money, but Meg was the better seamstress.

  We settled in the three stuffed chairs by the hearth, warm, dry, and barefoot with the golden flames so near us. Poppy was in the chair Garth liked to sit in to read with her eyes on my ink drawing.

  I felt myself blushing. I should have taken it down.

  Poppy said, “It’s a good likeness of him.”

  “Do you think so? I didn’t quite capture his—” Ease, charm, complexity, stubbornness, secretiveness…

  “His what?” Meg’s eyebrow lifted.

  “His… expression.”

  “He would be difficult to draw,” Poppy agreed. “Garth Huntsman keeps very much to himself.”

  “Yes,” I said, relieved. “That’s it.” Can we talk of something else now?

  “And did he keep to himself on the road?” Meg inquired.

  I threw my garment piece at her. Meg laughed and tossed it back.

  Poppy snipped the clean cloth spread over her knees. “It’s almost a shame to cut them up.”

  I was surprised. “I thought you hated your leper robe.”

  “I did, but this big cowl”—she held it up—“hid my face. I found it a relief.”

  “I don’t understand.” She’d been angry with me the whole time we’d hidden out as lepers, though not as vocal about it as Meg.

  “No one saw my face while we were on the road. I’m tired of men only liking me for my looks. Even my father cared for me only because of what I might win him.”

  “A noblemen for a son-in-law,” Meg said with a nod. Lord Bainbridge had a handsome castle and vast farmlands. People did not marry below their station; still, the wheelwright had noticed how the lord’s eldest son, young Richard Bainbridge, had eyed his beautiful daughter.

  “Father hated me when I was a child. It was only later when I grew up and he saw the woman I was becoming did he—”

  “He didn’t hate you, Poppy,” Meg said.

  “He did! I felt it all my life. He hated me because Mother died the night I was born.”

  “That wasn’t your fault.” I wasn’t sure Poppy believed me, if she even heard me at all.

  “I prayed nightly for my father to have a change of heart, that he might love me.” She teared up a little, and clipped threads, searching for composure.

  I knew the kind of prayer she meant. So many years I’d prayed for my stepfather when I was young, begging the man would grow in faith, drink less, or if he must drink, that the ale would not work to loosen his rage. Lips bruised and swollen, I’d beg. I spoke of those old prayers as we three stitched together. Eyes fixed on my sewing, I confessed my deep disappointment when I’d heard no answer from God.

  Meg asked, “Do you doubt God?”

  The fire’s light and shadow wavered around us. Even with all that had happened I felt something holy in the world. Perhaps we are all too small-minded to glimpse creation, even our little corner of it. “I doubt my understanding of God,” I said at last.

  Meg crossed herself and gave me a look of deep concern. Tom’s health was better. Alice was with her again. Was her faith stronger than mine, or was it that her happiness was close at hand? I was glad for her. I still had my questions.

  “Does prayer ever work to change a man’s heart?” Poppy asked “My father changed his opinion of me, but not in the way I’d hoped. When I showed signs of becoming a woman, he became suddenly attentive. Still, he did not like me for myself.”

  I thought she might cry more, but she sat with a straight spine, squinting with concentration as she snipped. “I liked all the attention at first, the way the boys and men stared at me when I went to mass or shopped at market. I’d been lonely before that time, except when we’d played together—you and Meg and me,” she added. “But soon enough I was tired of all the glaring. Eyes followed me everywhere.”

  We’d been good enough friends for me to know she’d grown tired of men’s reactions to her, but she’d not talked so openly of it before. I was surprised by how much it had bothered her. Meg seemed surprised too. She’d stopped sewing to listen.

  I wanted to ask if Poppy minded the way Garth had watched her sometimes. He’d seemed less intent on her since we’d come home with Alice, but then, he’d only been home a few hours before he left. I decided not to ask, feeling closer to Poppy now than I’d felt in a long time. “Someday you’ll find the right man to marry,” I said, hoping the right man wouldn’t be Garth.

  “How will that change anything?” she asked.

  Meg huffed. “It will change everything. Your husband will not want other men ogling at you all the time. He’ll protect you.” She smiled to herself, thinking of Tom, I supposed.

  “There,” I said. “Your new cloak.” I stood, holding it up for her. “And see, I’ve kept the cowl as large as you like it.”

  Poppy smiled and jumped up to try it on.

  In the morning, Alice wore her new green smock when she followed me outside to feed the chickens.

  “Me,” she said, holding out her hands. I gave her a little feed. She threw it in a wide arc. Hens cackled and scampered over. “Oh, you’re very good at it,” I said.

  “Me,” she said with her hands out again. When the chore was done, Alice shouted, “Catch me!” as she ran for the maples. I chased her to a leaf pile out beyond the
kennels.

  “I’ve got you!” I tickled her sides, then swung her round and round. Meg stepped outside to watch. Dusting flour from her apron, she crossed her freckled arms and laughed. Tom joined her. He wasn’t strong enough to swing his Alice around just yet, so he took Alice’s small hand in his larger one, and went looking for Tupkin.

  When I was three did my fey father spy me laughing?

  Did he hear my laughter, long to pick me up, hold me, and smell my hair?

  Am I not his daughter?

  I WAS ELBOW-DEEP in dishwater and peering out the kitchen window when Garth rode in. Before the huntsman could leave the saddle, Horace bolted through the door, barking. Tom followed the old dog out. The door was left open, so I overheard the men conversing in the yard.

  Garth dismounted and patted Horace, the dog’s tail whipping his legs. “Cackle’s good with the hens,” he said. “But I could use another man about the place. There’s much to watch over here.”

  Walking Goodfellow toward the stable, he asked if Tom and his small family might stay on more permanently. “I know you’re a weaver by trade, but if this sort of occupation suits you—”

  Tom interrupted to happily accept the offer. I scrubbed and dried the pot, keeping busy so I would not rush outside. When Goodfellow was back in his stall, the two men hastened to the kennels. The excited hounds howled and jumped up and down when Garth freed them. In a mass of wagging tails they followed Garth and Tom over to the pigsty. The animals all seemed joyful at their master’s return, and though I was still at my work, I too felt a gentle warmth glowing outward from my heart as if Garth lit a candle there.

  I’d set a warmed platter on the sideboard, as I had every meal since Garth left in case he returned hungry. It was all I could do to keep myself from running outside with his grub. The pot was clean, but I scrubbed harder so as not to make a fool of myself.

  Leech Aisling stepped up and peered out at Tom, who’d squatted down to pet one of the dogs. “My work is done here.”

  I nodded. “You have done a fine job with him, Mistress Aisling.”

  “Poppy was a great help.” Before she left the room, she glanced at Poppy, who’d come in to dry the dishes.

  “What was that look for?”

  “I’m to ask you something,” said Poppy.

  “Well, what is it?”

  “Mistress Aisling says I have the gift of healing.”

  I nodded, knowing it was so.

  Poppy put up the dry bowl and took a wet spoon from the cutlery pile. “Aisling asked me to come live with her at her smallholding. She’s been looking for a new apprentice since the former one ran off to marry without her leave. And she promised to teach me all manner of things a healer needs to know,” she concluded.

  I pulled my hands from the suds and turned to my friend, water dribbling down my arms. “Is that… what you want, Poppy?”

  She did not look at me, but watched the dancing dust in the window light between us. “She is very kind, and I like the work, Tess.”

  “Look at me. Say yeah or nay. Tell me if it is what you want.”

  A blush pinked her pale neck. “I want it.”

  It had been my dream to earn my own way in the world without the need of a man, not hers. Earn my way through my art, not handling leeches or tending wounds. Poppy had always doctored me, and she’d helped heal Tom. She had the healer’s touch, only she’d been unschooled. This was a good choice for her.

  Suddenly I wanted her to stay. Not to leave me. “You should go with her.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “It’s what we’ve wanted, isn’t it? A safe place for you to live far out of the witch hunter’s sight?”

  “And we can still visit,” Poppy said. “Mistress Aisling’s smallholding is but a day’s ride from here.” Her face shone.

  “Aye, it’s not too far away.” I hugged her, my wet arms staining her kirtle, but it would dry again and I did not care.

  “Don’t cry, Tess,” she whispered.

  “I’m happy for you. Go and tell Aisling your news.”

  Poppy dropped her towel. Treading on it in her nervous excitement, she left me with the sudsy water that was barely warm now.

  The next day Meg filled Aisling’s basket with cheese, bread, and onions. She kissed Aisling and Poppy on the cheek for healing her Tom. I hugged Poppy tight. My arms were dry this time, so I held her long. I did not know when I would see her again.

  Poppy and Aisling were mounted on Seagull, who was large enough to carry both with little trouble if they rode slowly and let the horse rest when she needed to. Behind us the hunting dogs yowled for their master to let them out. Garth paid them no mind, leading Seagull out beyond the gate. There he paused, his hand moving up a little as if he might speak. Then he turned as they rode on. A small furry shadow followed Seagull: Tupkin trotting down the path with his tail up. I think the cat was glad to leave a house where he’d never been welcome.

  Back in the lodge, I sat awhile looking out the window, then went out to hoe the garden. One friend gone, and the one remaining was full content now Tom was well and little Alice was back in her arms. The two I’d betrayed were settling in at last.

  THAT AFTERNOON GARTH was outside more than in, touring the grounds with Tom to show the man his new duties. At mealtime he was pensive, and taking down a rushlight when darkness flooded in, he excused himself to read alone by the fireside. I walked down the hallway more than once, but he did not call me into the library as he’d once done.

  Next day he made ready to quit the king’s lodge again, filling a bag with a bit of food, and his water skin at the well. I went outside before he left. Garth would not say where he was going, or when he would be back.

  “Might I go along?” I asked, trying not to blush.

  Garth did not look me in the eye. “I have my duties,” he said crisply.

  I watched him go off alone on foot, without even Horace for company, slipping between the rowan trees and out of my vision.

  I am not wanted here.

  Back in the kitchen, Meg said she’d like to cook now that Tom was better. Even that duty was taken from me.

  I retreated to the shadowed corridor.

  You let your guard down, let yourself be duped into thinking he might love you. You are half fey. You’ve known that since the day before you returned with Alice. It’s time to go.

  The room I’d shared with Poppy was empty. Her bed was neatly made.

  I shouldn’t vanish without a word. I should write to him at least. I sat on the bed trying to think of what I might say. No words came. I’ll take parchment with me on a walk, write a letter in the woods, then leave it here for him before I go.

  Before I could change my mind I went to the library where we’d talked so many times together, took a quill, an ink block, and parchment from the desk. In the kitchen I packed my writing supplies, water pouch, and food into a rucksack. Circling back to my room I paused to finger Grandfather’s handkerchief a moment before folding it and slipping it into the pack along with my traveling knife. I’d be back only long enough to drop off a letter, then on my way again.

  The pewter sky foretold snow. Gusting wind blew my hood off as I stepped out the back door through the garden. No one called or tried to stop me. They’d seen me go out to walk the hounds often enough. This time I passed the howling dogs cooped up in the kennels to leap over the back fence. My noisy landing startled the blackbirds from the holly. For a moment I could not move, surrounded by a sudden wild flurry of black wings.

  Chapter Twenty

  IT SEEMED A day of birds, for even more accompanied my walk. Passing a pond, I saw a bright kingfisher dive in beak first and bob up with a minnow. A mile deeper into Dragonswood, gulls screamed overhead, crossing the sky like torn strips of white sailcloth as they winged toward the coast. Hearing their cry made me think of my grandfather sailing warm waters somewhere across the world. Perhaps his ship would cross paths with Prince Arden’s on his way home from the c
rusades.

  It was chill outside. The air had the scent of coming snow. I came to a sunlit spot. First sit here to write the good-bye letter. Garth’s quill, ink block, and parchment were tucked in the rucksack. But I needed some water to add to the black dust I’d scratch from the block. I’d crossed a little stream earlier. I was making my way toward the stream when I spied a moving figure through the trees. He was some distance from me, but I knew Garth’s singular stride, the way he threw each long leg out in movements both casual and quick.

  Where was he off to? I wondered again why he’d been so firm about going off alone. Was he already missing Poppy? Perhaps the food he’d packed was meant for Mistress Aisling’s table. I saw his steps took him north toward the leech’s house. We can still visit, Poppy had said, Mistress Aisling’s smallholding is but a day’s ride from here. Her eyes had sparkled when she’d said it.

  I shouldn’t follow; still, I crept behind, curious.

  A soft snow fell and the brisk wind made the going cold. I thanked Saint Scolastica it was not yet snowing hard. I can step quietly as a deer if I have a mind to. By this, and the noisy wind whistling through the branches, I shadowed Garth undetected. After an hour or more the path narrowed to a deer trail thick with brambles. Up ahead, Garth used a stick to beat the brambles back. I could not do the same, since whacking sounds would give me away.

  My cloak snagged in the evil thorns. I had to stop numerous times to free it. My hands were scratched, my fingers pricked.

  I followed until Garth disappeared into a dark cave on the far side of a steep gully; smoke curled from the entrance.

  I caught the smell of herbs on it, fennel and another bitter smell I could not name. Crouching, I waited outside, peering intently at the dark opening, as a cat will watch a mouse hole. A deep growl brought me to a run. I clambered down to the base of the gully and up the other side to the mouth of the cave, where I peered out from behind a rock.

  Twenty paces from me, Garth looked straight up into the face of a dragon.