Still, a peregrine’s night-vision could spot details that even a piskey’s couldn’t. Ivy scanned the glowing trails of animal spoor that dotted the landscape, watched a rabbit dash for its burrow and mice scurrying away from the tread of invisible feet . . .
Her instincts jangled, bird and piskey alike. Betony paced the heath a stone’s throw from Gossan and Mattock, and Ivy could feel those cold eyes on her even if she couldn’t see them. If she flew too close to the battling Jacks, her aunt would fell her with a single firebolt.
But she couldn’t fly off and leave Mattock. Mustering all her courage, Ivy dropped from the sky and landed by the brook in piskey-shape. If Betony threw fire at her, at least she’d have water to douse it with. She swept her gaze over the spot where she knew her aunt was standing and raised her chin in defiance.
The darkness shirred as Betony made herself visible. She’d lost weight since their last confrontation, and her skin looked waxy and sallow; there were deep creases around her mouth and eyes, and even the patterns on her moth-wings seemed less vibrant. But she still had the strong-boned beauty that made Ivy feel plain and feeble by contrast, and she’d lost none of her haughtiness or her effortless air of command.
“Your so-called Joan is here, Mattock,” she announced, crisp as the night breeze. “How brave of her to come and watch you die.”
Matt, still wrestling with Gossan, didn’t answer her directly. But his eyes flicked to Ivy’s, and his clenched jaw opened in a roar. With a burst of strength he shoved the older Jack away and dove for his fallen knife.
Ivy tensed with anxiety as Mattock rolled over, leaping up just as Gossan slashed the air where he had been. The two Jacks circled each other, boots crunching on the stony path, and when Gossan lunged again, Mattock was ready for him. He swept his knife down and their blades connected—with a flash of green light and a shockwave that made them both stagger.
But a hunter’s knife was plain steel, not magical. How could that be?
Matt’s eyes went round with astonishment. “You filthy cheat,” he breathed, but Gossan only shrugged. He shifted his grip—
And his knife transformed to a thunder-axe.
Matt ducked Gossan’s first swing and leaped away from the second. But the path was rocky, and his boots skidded out from under him. He stumbled and fell, dropping the knife, and Gossan brought the pickaxe down on his outstretched hand.
Mattock screamed.
Ivy shrieked at the same moment, a raw chord of grief and horror. She leaped over the brook and flung herself in front of Matt’s crumpled body, crying, “Stop! Stop hurting him!”
Gossan hesitated, his thunder-axe poised to strike. Then slowly he lowered it and stepped back. Ivy knelt beside Mattock, gripping his shoulder. “It’s all right,” she choked. “I’m here.”
Mattock whispered her name, but it was more groan than word. His hand lay bleeding on the gravel, fingers crushed beyond recognition. Gritting his teeth, he tried to sit up—then his eyes rolled and he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
“The Jack’s down!” a shout rang out in the distance. “Protect the Joan!”
Gossan whirled, raising his thunder-axe, as Dodger galloped from the trees with a cluster of piskey warriors on his back. Feldspar leaped off to tackle the sling-wielding guard, and the two of them tumbled away as Dodger came to a snorting halt. The other piskeys poured off the pony like a rockslide and rushed toward Ivy.
“Stop!” Betony commanded. “One step closer, and you’ll regret it.”
Ivy’s followers ground to a halt, gripping their weapons and eyeing the Joan warily. Gossan murmured, “Careful, love,” but Betony ignored him. She stalked to Ivy, who knelt with Matt’s head in her lap, and grabbed her by the hair.
“You stupid, ignorant child,” she hissed, as Ivy cried out in pain. “What do you know of being a leader? You have no power to protect yourself, let alone the fools who follow you. You’re as weak and pathetic as your mother.” Then she shoved Ivy’s head away and clapped her hands together.
Light kindled between Betony’s palms, swelling into a crackling sphere of fire. Ivy flinched away from its heat, but she wouldn’t let go of Mattock. His eyes were closed, but his pulse still throbbed against her fingers. If she could muster the strength to leap, and take him away with her . . .
Yet she couldn’t leave Gem and the others to fight Betony alone. She only hoped they’d remember that they could leap, too.
“You see?” said Betony, lifting the fireball for the men to see. “This is the power of a true Joan, not some trickery with petrol and matches. You have despised your heritage and dishonored your families to follow a powerless, half-faery child.”
Petrol and matches. The words struck like cold darts into Ivy. How did her aunt know what Mica had done at the wakefire? Had one of her followers betrayed her?
“That’s dross!” yelled Quartz, his young voice hoarse with outrage. “We all saw Ivy do it! You’re the—” But Hew gripped his shoulder and spoke over him.
“There’s more of us than you here, and you can’t fight the lot of us at once. Stand back and let Ivy go, or you’ll be the one to regret it.”
Desperately Ivy pressed her trembling hands together. If she didn’t make fire now, she never would. But though her whole body shook with the effort, her fingers stayed numb. She couldn’t conjure a single spark.
Betony pursed her lips as though considering, then thrust one flaming hand at Ivy. Heat scorched her cheek, and with a cry Ivy jerked away. “Lay down your weapons and surrender,” the Joan said coolly, “or I’ll burn her to ashes.”
The men paled and shuffled backward. Ivy bowed her head, sick with helplessness and shame. Yet they could still survive this, if her people trusted her even a little. Would they give Ivy the chance to save herself and Mattock? Or had they lost even that much hope?
“You know what to do, boys,” said Hew grimly. “Ivy-maid, we haven’t forgotten all you taught us. Don’t you forget, either.”
Relief swept over Ivy. One quick thought, and they’d all be safe with the other piskeys. Where they’d go after that was anyone’s guess, but at least her people would be free.
“Dad!” Elvar’s voice wobbled with panic. “I can’t do it!”
Ivy’s eyes flew open. The boy’s outline blurred, but he wasn’t disappearing. Nor were any of the others, though they stood with clenched fists and faces screwed up in concentration.
She’d seen this before, when the faery who called herself Gillian Menadue had tried to leap out of the Delve. Ivy had supposed it was something in the surrounding rock that had stopped her, like the iron piskeys used so freely. But why was it happening here, aboveground?
“Fools,” said Betony in a pitying tone. “You know nothing of a true Joan’s power. My presence is a ward against all such faery tricks.” She opened her hands and flames ran down her arms like water, enveloping her body in a corona of fire. “There is no escape. Surrender, or your so-called Joan will die!”
The piskey-men exchanged looks, their shoulders sagging. Then one by one, they laid their weapons down.
“No,” Ivy whispered, her eyes welling with tears, as Gossan’s soldiers swarmed out of the wood to seize the piskeys. Eight of her most loyal followers, every one of them a husband or father or son to the women waiting at the broken tree, and there was nothing she could do to save them. Or herself.
“A wise decision,” Betony told the men. “You have saved your false Joan and crippled Jack, for what little joy that may bring you.” She nodded at Gossan. “Take them back to the Delve.”
“Wait,” blurted Ivy. “You promised to spare my life, but what about theirs? Swear you won’t hurt them!”
Betony shrugged, and the fire around her body winked out. “I will make no such promise,” she said, “least of all to you. If you truly cared for your followers you would never have deceived them or put their lives in danger.”
With a last contemptuous glance she turned away, then paused and spok
e over her shoulder. “You have seven days to repent of your treachery and bring all my people back to the Delve. If you do not…” She swept her arm toward the prisoners. “These men will be executed.”
By the time Betony, Gossan, and the others left, it was fully dark, and a thin, icy rain was falling. Ivy huddled close to Mattock, trying to share her warmth with him until she could leap again.
He’d stirred once, but only to mumble something inaudible before sinking back into unconsciousness. His brow felt clammy and sweat darkened his russet hair. Ivy rubbed her face on her coat sleeve, struggling to make sense of what had just happened.
It wasn’t hard to guess why Betony had left Matt behind: he was unconscious and too heavy to carry back to the Delve. But why hadn’t she killed Ivy when she had the chance? Or at least taken her captive with the others?
Because I’m no threat to her, Ivy thought bitterly. I can’t make fire, so challenging her would be suicide. She’s captured all our best fighters except Mica, and he . . .
The possibility sickened her, but she had to face it. Mica surely would have been here if he’d had any choice in the matter, so he was probably wounded or dead. And the old uncles, like Agate and Copper, were likely dead too.
She’d failed the men who’d followed her and betrayed their trust in the worst possible way. All Ivy could do now was bring the grim news to their families, who had every reason to hate her for it. So why would Betony arrest her? Shutting Ivy up in some quiet cell would be a kindness, compared to the reckoning she was about to face.
But she couldn’t avoid it any longer, or Matt would die. Struggling upright, Ivy grabbed him under the armpits and willed them both to the broken tree.
It was the hardest leap she’d ever taken. Her magic felt thick as pouring treacle, and the journey as slow. But when the fog cleared, she was surrounded by anxious piskeys.
“Mattock!” Fern rushed to him—then froze, horrified, at the sight of her son’s mangled hand. “Broch!” she shrieked.
The crowd parted, and the faery man strode through, bending over Mattock and kindling a glow-spell for better light. “What happened?” he asked Ivy, as Thorn came puffing up to join them.
“Gossan had a thunder-axe,” Ivy said.
Broch knelt, probing Mattock’s hand with his fingertips. When he sat back, his lean face was troubled. “His injury is severe. We need to get him warm.”
“The house?” asked Thorn, but Ivy shook her head.
“Betony put a ward around it and the barn. It’ll be days before we can get through.”
“So we’re trapped here?” demanded Daisy, clutching Thrift. “But it’s freezing! What about the children?”
Broch raised his brows at Ivy, as though she knew the answer. But how could she? Apart from the farmstead, there was only one place she could think of . . .
Oh, no.
“We can’t do that,” she pleaded with him. “It’s too risky.”
“Perhaps,” Broch replied. “But for Mattock’s sake, I would take that risk. If he stays here, he will die.”
Ivy bit her lip, fear and longing warring inside her. Then she said hoarsely, “Go.”
Broch laid his hand on Matt’s forehead, and the piskey shrank to the size of a mouse. In a flash Broch changed to rook-shape, snatched up the tiny form, and flapped away.
Distraught, Fern started to follow, but Thorn caught her. “Broch will take care of him,” she said firmly. “And we’ve got other things to worry about right now.” She planted her hands on her hips and gazed around at the women. “Right. Gather your things and let’s go.”
“What about our men?” Teasel demanded. “We can’t just march off without—”
A snort interrupted her, and they all turned to find Dodger trotting up the bridle path. Cicely sat astride his shoulders, red-faced and defiant, while behind her clung Mica and Copper, with two piskey uncles dozing between them.
“Mica!” Ivy rushed over. “Where have you been?”
“Following Matt’s orders like a gormless fool, that’s where.” Her brother helped the older men down from the pony, then slid off and dropped to the ground. “Agate and Pyrite couldn’t keep up, so he told me and Copper to stick with them and make sure you and Cicely were safe.” His lip curled. “Should have known he was just trying to get me out of the way.”
“But what about Quartz?” Moss peered anxiously down the darkened path. “He went with Hew and the others. Where are they?”
Mica opened his mouth, but Cicely spoke first. “We looked everywhere, but we couldn’t find them.” She gazed down at Ivy from the horse’s back, cold-eyed as a giantess. “Do you know where they are?”
Ivy was exhausted, and she couldn’t stop shivering. She wanted nothing more than to creep into a dark hole and cry. But the women were all looking at her, expecting an answer, and they deserved to know the truth. No matter how much they might hate her for it.
“They were captured,” Ivy said thickly. “Betony took them back to the Delve.”
By the time they found shelter in a derelict shed, it was past midnight. Thorn gathered wood and lit a fire with grim efficiency, while the other piskeys wrapped themselves in blankets and curled up to sleep. But the roof was half missing, and the floor littered with rusty metal and broken concrete. It was not a comfortable place to stay.
Ivy sat apart from the others, hugging her knees. When she told them what had happened to Mattock and the other men, the piskey-women had wept and clung to one another for comfort. But since then they’d been silent, and no one would look at her. Not even Mica and Cicely.
She felt so weary her bones ached, but there was no use trying to sleep. Her mind kept churning over the events of that night, wondering what she could have done to change them. But no matter how Ivy tried to imagine a different outcome, it always turned out the same. Betony was too powerful and Gossan had grown too ruthless for her to stop them.
Still, she’d never forget the shock on Quartz’s face, or the looks of dismay from the older men, when Betony spoke of petrol and matches. If they’d counted on Ivy defeating her aunt in some spectacular duel of fire, they knew better now.
Yet they’d still surrendered, to save Ivy’s life. She buried her head in her arms, wishing she could crumble into dust and blow away.
Delirious with grief, she’d lost track of time when a hand touched her arm. She jolted upright to find Broch standing in front of her, regarding her soberly.
“Mattock’s awake,” he said. “He’s asking for you.”
In the dead of night the hole beneath the hillside looked forbidding, the fallen trees like great spiders eager to devour her. But the door opened instantly to Ivy’s touch, bathing her in comforting golden light. She climbed the stairs with Broch close behind her and stepped into the spriggan barrow.
Only a few days ago it had been a place of ancient mystery, walls lost in shadow and floor shrouded in sand. Now glow-spells bobbed cheerily about the ceiling, shedding light into every crevice, and the stones were scrubbed clean: even the egg-shaped divots that once cradled the sleeping children had vanished. Instead, thick rugs piled with blankets lay scattered about, and a boy sat in the middle of each like a gawky hatchling in its nest. When they saw Ivy, they all jumped up and bowed.
“Please don’t,” begged Ivy. But the spriggan boys only looked puzzled, so she hurried on.
Mattock lay on a pallet in one of the side chambers, his bandaged hand resting on his chest. The mud on his hair and clothes had vanished, no doubt thanks to Martin’s cleaning spells, and when he saw Ivy his face brightened.
“No, don’t,” she urged, as he struggled to sit up. She dropped to her knees beside him and gripped his good hand. “I’m so sorry, Matt.”
“You did all you could. Don’t blame yourself.” He glanced about the chamber. “Where are we?”
Ivy cast a questioning look at Broch, but the faery man only shrugged. It seemed he was leaving it up to her. “It’s a place I found with Martin a while
ago,” she said. “How do you feel?”
Matt shifted restlessly. “The pain’s better, but I can’t move my fingers.”
Ivy bowed her head, grieving for him. Broch had warned her that Mattock’s finger bones had been shattered, practically to dust in places, and the nerves and blood vessels too damaged for even magic to repair. He’d made Matt comfortable for the moment, but the fingers would have to be amputated, and he’d never grip anything with his right hand again.
“Ivy?” Matt’s voice broke into her thoughts.
“I’m glad you’re alive,” she replied, forcing a smile. “I was afraid for you.”
“Broch told me what happened to Hew and the others. I’m sorry.”
“Matt, you’ve nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one who made a mess of everything.”
“But I kept you in the dark, and I shouldn’t have. I should have told you as soon as I knew Gossan and Betony were coming. I just . . .” He swallowed. “I couldn’t stop thinking about Jenny.”
Ivy sank back on her heels, feeling numb. “You told Gem, didn’t you? That I couldn’t make fire.”
“And Hew. But nobody else, I swear! And they understood, once I explained what happened at the Lighting. They didn’t blame you, Ivy. They just wanted to help.”
He was talking faster now, almost babbling with agitation. His cheeks were pale, and his forehead glistened with sweat. Broch moved quickly to Matt, laying a hand on his brow. “He has a fever. We need to act quickly, before the infection spreads.”
Ivy knew what that meant, and it nauseated her. But they had no choice. “Matt,” she said gently. “Broch can’t heal your fingers. They have to go.”
His eyes went wide as a frightened child’s. “Ivy?”
“I know, but I’ll be here. Thorn’s looking after our people, they’re safe. I won’t leave you.” She brushed back his hair. “Please, Matt. It’s the only way.”
Mattock took a deep breath. Then he gave a shaky nod.
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