The Flight of Swans

by Sarah McGuire

  Nettles!

  I drew Tanwen in the dirt on the floor. Then I drew Hunters approaching. Finally, I drew nettles between Tanwen and the Hunters, then covered her with my hand.

  Hidden. Safe.

  “You don’t know for certain that they could hide me.”

  I do. I pointed to myself. They’d hidden me. The chief Hunter himself said that I’d disappeared.

  She hesitated.

  I wished I had words! I wished I could write. I wanted Tanwen to know how much Aiden needed her. How much I did.

  But all I could do was stand and hold my hand out to her.

  One breath, in and out. Another.

  Finally, Tanwen put her hand in mine.

  Chapter 29

  Before the twenty-fifth full moon

  By the end of the third day of walking, we stood at Cadair Tor, a turret of weathered granite atop the low mountains that bordered Fawryn Moor. Both Tanwen and I had to shield our eyes from the glare of the setting sun. Even Owain-the-hen, perched on my shoulder, hid her head under her wing.

  “There.” Tanwen pointed to a dark line stretching diagonally across the moor. “That’s one of the old barrow roads the ancients traveled to bury their dead.” I remembered the chieftain who’d become the Hunt-Lord, how he’d been called to the Otherworld before he could take his family and captains to the barrow. “Even now, the Hunt respects that road. So the Queen’s hound-men respect it as well, for tracking you is their own twisted Hunt. If I understand aright, there’s another barrow road beyond this one. If we can cross that road, you’ll be safe—at least for a while.”

  I glared at her.

  “We will be safe,” she amended.

  That night we didn’t build a fire. There was little fuel for it on the moor, but even if there had been, we wouldn’t have used it. The Hunters would be able to see us creeping along like insects if they stood on the mountains. There was no need to draw further attention with a fire.

  We crossed the second barrow road after four days and kept walking beyond that. We needed to find a lake for my brothers—and nettles. Passing beyond the barrow roads offered us protection for at least a year. Nettles would shield us after that.

  * * *

  We traveled a week till we found a town where I could buy clothes and other supplies for Tanwen. She remained hidden while I went into the town. I didn’t dare risk having her with me: her red hair was too memorable if someone came searching for her.

  After another week’s travel, we’d found a hiding place among the ruins of the ancients who built their fortresses on great mounds. The ruins sat at the top of a tree-covered hill near the sea. The west side of the hill sloped down to a rocky beach and the sea beyond. On clear days, we could see the shores of Eyre like a gray cloud on the horizon. The east side of the hill sheltered a lake that would, in turn, shelter my swan-brothers.

  I’d heard tales that stinging nettles loved old stone, and they were right: nettles grew throughout the ruins and crept in long swaths down the hill. Tanwen and I cleared the nettles out of a ruined foundation and built a small shelter against the tilting remains of a wall. I knew my brothers would help us build a sturdier home before winter.

  But first, my brothers needed to know that Tanwen was here. I wondered if their swan selves would guess the miracle, for Tanwen watched them for hours once they reached the lake.

  Finally, the night of the full moon, Tanwen and I awaited the transformation. The roar of the sea filled our lives now, and I’d thought I’d heard the wind that heralded my brothers’ change at least twice only to discover I’d been mistaken.

  Tanwen squeezed my hand till it hurt. “How much longer, Ryn? I don’t know if I can—”

  And then the wind caught us, blowing down from the hilltop, making the nettles bow and dance, catching my swan-brothers and—

  “Ryn? Ryn!” That was Aiden. “Where are we?”

  “. . . clothes are here . . . ,” said someone. “She’s fine.”

  I tugged on Tanwen’s hand: Say something!

  Yet the only sound was the scuffling and murmuring of my brothers as they dressed.

  “Aiden.” Tanwen’s voice broke, and I felt her pulse pounding in her fingertips.

  Silence, then. Not a word, not even a twitch from my shadowy brothers.

  Then I heard footsteps. Slow. Wary.

  Aiden emerged from the dim by the lake’s edge, carrying a branch like a weapon. He stiffened when he saw the figure beside me, drawing the branch back to deliver a blow.

  “It’s me, Aiden.” Tanwen released my hand and stepped toward him.

  He turned to me, unbelieving.

  I nodded.

  He covered the distance between them in two strides. Tanwen reached up, pushed his hair out of his eyes, and smiled up at him. Then Aiden crushed her close, as if that could make up for all the time they’d been apart.

  My other brothers crowded around them. Gavyn touched Tanwen’s shoulder, just to be sure it was her. Owain grinned, and Cadan brushed at his eyes.

  But Aiden and Tanwen didn’t notice any of it. After a moment, Mael said, “Lead on, Ryn-girl. Let’s give them a little while to themselves.”

  Declan nodded and shooed Gavyn and Owain toward us. I led them up the hill, on a path we’d cleared through the nettles, to the fire and food Tanwen and I had prepared.

  How we celebrated when Aiden and Tanwen joined us! The Kingstone was passed from hand to hand as we pieced together all that had happened since the enchantment was begun. After spending time among the Hunters, Tanwen could finally tell my brothers who the wolf men were and how the Queen called them here when they were not required at the Hunt. I tried not to look smug as she confirmed that nettles did somehow thwart them and that she believed they limited the Queen’s power too.

  I knew that it must be easier for my brothers to understand—and believe—the details of the enchantment when it was explained with words rather than signs, when Tanwen could answer their questions directly. But I still savored the moment when they realized that I’d been right all along about the nettles and the Hunters.

  I grinned when Tanwen scolded Aiden for throwing away the spindle, hackle, and fiber—the things that would save him!—nearly a year ago. But Aiden wasn’t anywhere near crestfallen. I think he would have borne a beating with a smile just to have Tanwen near again.

  To their credit, my brothers apologized in grand style, exclaiming over the work I’d completed. Then Declan told every embarrassing story he could remember of all of them just to make Tanwen and me laugh.

  And laugh we did—my hand pressed over my mouth so no sound would escape—till Owain-the-hen flapped down from her perch and wandered out into the night so she could find a little peace.

  Chapter 30

  Thirty-eighth full moon

  Tanwen had waited for my swan-brothers to change on eleven different moons, according to Gavyn’s timekeeper, but I would have thought this was the first. She’d grown thinner the past year. Owain-the-hen supplied eggs and the weirs provided fish, but we still walked the knife-edge of hunger. I saw it in the hollows in Tanwen’s cheeks.

  Yet her eyes burned bright. I’d grown used to hearing human voices only once a month. To have Tanwen fill the days with speech and song, to have a companion, was a gift as valuable as food.

  She nervously smoothed her hair back from her face, and her hand slid to her belly. She had news for Aiden, and I prayed he wouldn’t be a fool about it.

  I clutched her arm the moment I heard the wind, and she grew silent.

  The wind tore at us, and my swan-brothers batted their wings at it until they weren’t wings at all.

  “Tanwen?” called Aiden. “Tanwen!”

  “I’m here! We both are!”

  Ever since that first night, Aiden called to her first. She was the wife he thought he’d lost. I knew that, in the half-second when he first changed back to a man, he always feared that he’d lost her again.

  I heard a few chuckles in
the dark. “Hurry, brother! Don’t keep her waiting.”

  “If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll take a dip in the lake first,” said Tanwen.

  “What?” called Aiden through a chorus of everyone else’s laughter. “You haven’t objected before!”

  “You’d come to your wife after a month, unwashed?” Tanwen called. I saw her nervousness in the way she bounced on her toes, but there was laughter in her voice too.

  “Unwashed? I spend my life in that lake!”

  The rest of my brothers guffawed.

  “Never fear, my lady!” That was Mael. “We’ll give him a dunking for you.”

  A tree toppling would have made less noise as they threw Aiden back into the lake. And he must have taken as many of them with him as he could. Finally, they splashed up out of the lake, dressed, and joined us, shaking the water from their hair. Owain caught me up in a hug, and I traveled from him to Gavyn, to Mael, to Declan, to Cadan, to . . .

  Aiden. But Tanwen had already taken his hand and led him from the moonlight and into the forest.

  Something inside me twisted to see them go. What would it be like to have someone call for me the way Aiden called for Tanwen? For someone to be happy just to have me near?

  Cadan must have seen me watch them. “He missed her so, Ryn. But don’t you worry: I’ll always call for you.”

  I smiled up at him and patted his cheek. It wasn’t a brother I hoped would call for me, but it helped ease my loneliness, nonetheless.

  Cadan winked, then announced, “Let them go! But I won’t hold the food for them.”

  We’d hardly settled around the fire and the fish before we heard Aiden’s exclamation. Mael jumped to his feet, but I pulled him back.

  “They could be in danger, Ryn!” he protested.

  I shook my head.

  Mael peered at me. “What do you know?”

  I shrugged with exaggerated innocence. He’d have to wait his turn with the rest of my brothers.

  When Aiden and Tanwen joined us a few minutes later, I studied Aiden’s dumbstruck expression, anxious to see how he’d taken the news.

  But Tanwen nodded to me, smiling so wide that I grinned back.

  “I heard a shout,” said Mael.

  Aiden spoke slowly. “There’s going to be a baby.”

  A moment of silence, then my brothers leaped up, hugging Tanwen close and slapping Aiden on the shoulder.

  “When will the newest member of the House of Cynwrig arrive?” asked Mael when the chaos had calmed.

  “About five months, I think,” said Tanwen. “It’s hard to know without a midwife.”

  Aiden looked at our improvised house, grieved. “This is a poor place to birth a child.”

  “Hush!” she chided and pulled him down to sit beside her. “I’ll do what must be done—and Ryn will be here.”

  Aiden pulled her close and handed her some food, but the worried look didn’t leave his eyes. Our own mother had died giving birth to Owain and me.

  “It’ll be a challenge,” said Gavyn. “There’s a great deal that can go wrong that we must prepare for.”

  Everyone fell into stunned silence.

  What Gavyn said was true: childbirth was dangerous enough in a castle with midwives and maids to assist. And I knew the way Gavyn helped was to look at the worst and describe it so he could begin to fix it.

  But still!

  “No!” blurted Gavyn. “I meant—”

  I’d set the most recent nettle tunic near the fire so that my brothers could try it on for size. Before Gavyn could speak another word, I held up the tunic and pointed at Gavyn.

  He seemed relieved by the change of subject. “My tunic?”

  I nodded. Then I made a cutting motion with my hand, as if snipping off a sleeve. Then I pointed to him.

  “You’ll cut my sleeves off . . .” Then he looked up at me. “But why?”

  I widened my eyes and pointed to Tanwen. Think!

  “Any more comments about childbirth,” said Owain, “and your tunic will be missing a sleeve.”

  I flapped an arm.

  “. . . and you’ll be left with a wing for an arm,” completed Owain.

  More silence as Gavyn stared up at me. “I suppose I deserved that.”

  Tanwen snorted a laugh.

  Aiden guffawed.

  And then everyone was laughing, even Gavyn, who didn’t breathe a word about childbirth after that.

  Aiden pulled me aside the next morning, just before the sun came up. “You’ll look after Tanwen, won’t you? This is almost as bad as the Hunters, for there’s nothing I can do.”

  Yes.

  I would protect Tanwen and this new member of the House of Cynwrig.

  Chapter 31

  Forty-fourth full moon

  Carrick ap Cynwrig was delivered the day before the forty-fourth full moon of our enchantment, while a winter storm tore at the coast and beat against the house my brothers had built from the ruin’s stones. The savage storm comforted Tanwen and me, a reminder that the Great Hunt traveled the barrow roads far from us on the other side of the Veil.

  And a good thing it was too! For little Carrick bellowed fit to match the storm when he was born. The fire blazing in the hearth seemed to leap up in surprise that the little man could make such a great noise.

  When Tanwen and Carrick lay drowsing afterward in the firelight, I hid my face in my hands and silently wept every bit of fear I’d held inside me the last five months.

  By the time Aiden and my brothers ran up the snowy path the next night, I felt only joy. Aiden sat beside Tanwen all night and couldn’t seem to decide whether to watch her or little Carrick’s every movement. Mael praised the little man’s hearty cries, while Owain and Gavyn observed the festivities with shy smiles.

  Declan sang Carrick the songs we’d heard as children.

  I think I missed my voice most when my brothers and Tanwen joined in. I’d found a way to speak to those closest to me with signs and pictures. But Carrick should be sung to and murmured over and blanketed with the soft voices of those who loved him.

  And I could do none of that.

  Chapter 32

  A sound pulled me from my sleep.

  I lay still, listening in the darkness.

  A rustle as Tanwen turned in her sleep. Then a moan. She was dreaming again.

  A prickle of fear raced along my skin, as if Tanwen’s fear was contagious. I could sense it, even in the dark. And I knew, somehow, that she was dreaming about the Hunters.

  I lay still under the blankets and forced my breath to grow even again: in and out, in and out. We are safe here. The barrow roads and nettles have shielded us for over two years. We’re safe.

  Another moan from Tanwen.

  I threw back my blanket and crawled over to her. Even in her sleep, she was careful of the bundle near her: Carrick, or Little One, as I signed him. He squirmed in his swaddling, disturbed by Tanwen’s distress.

  I felt around until I found the pile of nettle tunics I’d knit in the past year and a half. The knitting needles had been one of Tanwen’s contributions to the nettle tunics: she’d carved two pairs from small branches. Aiden’s tunic lay on top. I plucked it up, shook it open, then gently draped it over Tanwen.

  Tanwen pulled in a shuddering breath, then stilled. I sat back on my heels, ready to wake her if the dream touched her again. It didn’t. Tanwen’s chest rose and fell in a regular rhythm.

  But Carrick remained restless. He’d managed to pull an arm free from the swaddling, and he waved it as if fighting off nightmares of his own.

  I reached for the nettle cloak Tanwen had knit me.

  “It’ll protect you, Ryn,” she’d said. “A nettle-cloak will keep the Hunters at bay.”

  I felt the truth of it every time I pulled the cloak across my shoulders. Then I gathered Carrick up, tucking him close, his head under my chin.

  He quieted immediately, and I smiled.

  I stepped lightly out of our hut. That night, I nee
ded to see the nettles that surrounded us. I needed to stand in the middle of the plants that guarded us from the Hunters.

  I followed the narrow path through the nettles, not minding how they caught at my clothing. Finally, I reached the wall that had completely collapsed. I sat on a massive, moss-covered cornerstone that rested against a young tree. It was my favorite place to sit: the ancient cornerstone tilted to a comfortable angle by the upstart tree.

  I sat with my back against the tree and rearranged Carrick’s swaddling before settling him against my chest. He stirred, then his breathing grew even once again. I pulled the edge of the cloak over him.

  Tanwen had been dreaming more and more often throughout the summer—and they were not good dreams.

  I looked over the nettles that stood, silver-edged, in the moonlight. We were safe here, safe in the nettles that protected us from the Queen and her Hunters. Tanwen’s dreams were only dreams. Fear wasn’t the same as a warning.

  We were safe.

  Yet I sat on the fallen cornerstone for the rest of the night, flinching at every sound. I didn’t sleep till nearly dawn.

  * * *

  “Ryn?”

  Carrick’s weight on my chest lightened, and I pulled him even closer to me.

  “Let me have him, Ryn! He’s safe,” said Tanwen. “Were you here all night?”

  I nodded, squinting up at her in the morning light.

  “Why?” Tanwen cuddled Carrick close.

  I waited till she looked at me: Dreams.

  For a moment, I thought she’d pretend and ask about my dreams. Then she sobered. “I woke you?”

  Yes.

  “I’ve been dreaming of the Hunt,” Tanwen said. “I can see them clearly now.”

  She watched the sunrise. “I didn’t know how to describe what I saw before when I traveled with them, but I think I can now. Because of these dreams. They’re here only because the Queen has pulled them here, and it’s like being caught between two tides. They don’t belong to this world. It’s only her will—and it’s such a powerful hunger!—that keeps them here. The Hunters are balanced on a knife’s edge, belonging neither to this world nor to the Otherworld. It means that the slightest thing”—she shook her head—“no, the right thing can send them off the path they walk. I think that’s why the nettles are so powerful. No Otherworlder would mind nettles. But they mean something to the Queen, and so they stop the Hunters as well.”