The Flight of Swans

by Sarah McGuire

  I saw him pull his kingship around him. “I hope one day I’ll have yours.”

  If I’d had every word known to man spread out before me and the freedom to speak whatever I chose, I still would have been mute before the Ri’s fierce kindness.

  And in that moment, my heart went out to him, all at once.

  But I didn’t move a step toward him. I didn’t dare, not with so few moons left before the curse was over.

  The Ri nodded once, as if satisfying himself that he’d said everything he needed to say. “Ionwyn!” he called. “The Lady Wyn is weary. Will you escort her back to her room? I will take Carrick to his playmates.”

  I kissed Carrick good-bye and watched as the Ri swung the boy up into his arms once again, my hands clasped together to keep them from shaking.

  What had happened?

  Years ago, I’d seen a just-hatched gosling peer into the face of a goose that wasn’t his parent—and it followed that goose from that day on. Was that what I’d done? Looked in the Ri’s face too long to take my heart back afterward?

  Had my heart somehow slipped away from me?

  Then I took myself firmly in hand: I was not a gosling. I was the Swan-Keeper, the only one able to reclaim my brothers from the Queen’s enchantment.

  And I would.

  Nothing—not Connach’s son, nor the Ri’s kindness—would stop me.

  Chapter 45

  As I healed, I reminded myself daily of my brothers, the nettle tunics I had to retrieve, and the final tunic I had to make. I’d lost the nettles I’d collected the night of the full moon. They rotted before I was strong enough to travel down to the river to check on them.

  But that didn’t mean I couldn’t harvest more.

  Here. In Fianna.

  A wild hope had begun to rise in me: What if my time bearing this burden alone was ending? I’d been granted shelter, and since the trial, I’d gained respect among the people of Fianna.

  Perhaps Carrick and I could spend this last year among friends and allies. I imagined the people of Fianna meeting my brothers on the moonlit nights, of Aiden telling our story to the Ri.

  For the first time, I considered telling Ionwyn our story. If I told her, I’d have her help retrieving the tunics—no more trying to sneak away to the cave.

  I had three weeks before the next full moon. So for several days, I turned our story over in my mind, deciding how to tell Ionwyn. I even practiced the pictures I’d draw in the dirt outside the castle.

  Finally, when I could hold it inside me no longer, I found Ionwyn.

  “Wyn!” she exclaimed when she saw me. “What is it? You’re shaking.”

  I was. If I could properly tell my story, everything would change. This was the turning point Ionwyn had told me about, earth and heaven changing places if only I could make her understand.

  So I led her to a grassy corner near the far edge of the wall. I’d already scraped some of the grass aside and smoothed the dirt beneath it, my own parchment ready to be written upon.

  I carefully knelt there and motioned her to sit beside me.

  One last time, I ran a trembling hand over the smoothed dirt as I sent a prayer into the air: Help me . . . help me . . .

  Finally, I looked at Ionwyn, then pointed to myself.

  “You’re going to tell me what happened, aren’t you?” she said.

  Yes.

  Then I began to draw what I’d rehearsed for days:

  First the figure of a man for Father. I’d decided not to draw a crown. I didn’t want Ionwyn to know that much. Then I drew my mother, my fingertip sure and steady through the dirt. Then five boys. Finally, I drew another boy and a small girl beside them. I pointed to the girl and then to me.

  Ionwyn looked up, tentative. “That’s you. You have six older brothers—”

  I nodded, then I smoothed out the woman.

  “—and your mother died?”

  Yes.

  She nodded, pleased with herself. “And then what?”

  I drew a woman beside the tallest son, then drew a bundle in her arms and pointed back at the castle.

  “Carrick!” said Ionwyn. “His mother?”

  I nodded.

  “He’s your nephew, then.”

  Yes.

  I drew a line across the dirt-Tanwen. Even that small reminder hurt.

  Ionwyn saw my wince. “She’s dead?”

  I nodded. Then I drew another woman beside Father: a new wife.

  I’d thought how to tell this next part—how to explain just what the Queen had done. I drew fine lines over my brothers: prison bars.

  Ionwyn shook her head, confused. So I brought my hands up as if gripping imaginary bars.

  “Your brothers were imprisoned?”

  Yes.

  “By whom?”

  I pointed to the Queen.

  Ionwyn nodded. “Go on.”

  I pointed to the Queen again, so Ionwyn would know who I mimicked. Then I stood just as she had, with her iron posture and scowl. I raised my arms, mouth open in a silent imprecation—the exact image of the Queen when she spoke the word that turned my brothers into swans.

  Ionwyn watched, wide-eyed. Before she could speak, I crouched and returned to the sketch of my brothers. I drew the change slowly, the way I saw it in my nightmares: I showed necks stretching, arms turning to wings, legs dwindling . . . Turn the story, Ryn. Turn it!

  She looked at the picture, then up at me. “Swans? What does that mean?”

  I pointed to the swans flying, then up at the sky.

  Please, please understand!

  Ionwyn reached a hand to touch the picture, as if that could pull her into the story. “She killed your brothers? All of them? Is that what your kin believe? That the souls of the dead fly away like birds?”

  I sat back on my heels, cursing my stupidity.

  Of course she’d think my brothers had died! Who would assume that men had been turned to swans? My story would be hard enough to explain—and believe—even if I could speak.

  I tried to draw the change one more time, tried to show Ionwyn the truth.

  Ionwyn watched me closely, but she didn’t understand. How could she?

  “She killed them. Is that it, Wyn?”

  There’d be no turning the story, no allies this last year. Just me, the Swan-Keeper.

  So I nodded. I let Ionwyn think my brothers had died.

  She leaned forward. “Is this woman nearby? Do you fear her still?”

  A stretch of ocean separated me from the Queen, but it couldn’t lessen my fear. Another thing I couldn’t explain to Ionwyn.

  No.

  “Good!” Ionwyn’s smile faltered, as though she sensed there was more.

  But she helped me stand and walked with me back to the castle. How I longed for the hackle and spindle! To have something to do with my hands, as if I could make my life as smooth and even as the nettle fiber I wanted to drag across the hackle’s spikes.

  I’d been a gosling all over again. There would be time—and words!—for explanation later. I should have been satisfied with a full belly for Carrick and me. I could safely complete the last tunic here.

  And I would.

  But first, I needed to retrieve the other tunics. The people of Fianna were used to me coming and going. They wouldn’t immediately pursue me as they had before.

  It would take only a day to find my cave and gather the tunics. I’d return on the second. Carrick would be safe till I returned.

  Chapter 46

  Hope makes your pulse jump, your breath come quick. But there’s steadiness in disappointment—a certainty of your place in life, even if you never wanted to be there.

  So it was easy to leave the next morning, striding across the fields between Castle Hill and the forest. My duty was clear: I’d retrieve the nettle tunics and bring them back to Fianna, where I’d make the sixth tunic. I wouldn’t share the truth of my brothers’ enchantment with anyone. And when my brothers were free, we would return to Lacharra.


  I’d be content with the gift of a people who were happy to have Carrick and me live among them. I’d never expected any help before—why was I so disappointed now?

  I swung my cudgel in a savage arc through the air, cutting the heads off weeds that grew beside my path.

  At least I’d see my swan-brothers after so many weeks! I’d stroke their sleek feathers and hear their trumpeting across the lake. I’d tickle Owain-the-hen beneath her wattle.

  I would hold the tunics in my hands again and know that the work of five years hadn’t been lost.

  And yet . . . I missed the castle. I missed Carrick.

  I shook away thoughts of Ionwyn and the Ri, focusing on the journey ahead. Now that I’d reached the forest, I worried whether I could find where the cave’s deer trail met the road. I’d been so anxious to find Carrick a month ago that I hadn’t looked about me, simply burst out into the road.

  My plan depended on finding that trail quickly.

  I walked through the day, keeping a sure and steady pace, eating my trail bread as I walked, and never stopping.

  But I overestimated my ability to find the trail. By nightfall, I knew I’d passed it.

  I also knew I’d never find it in the dark. I’d have to sleep in the forest, where a search party might find me—though I hoped there wouldn’t be one. The Ri’s honor was bound primarily to Carrick. So long as Carrick was safe, there’d be little reason to pursue me.

  I moved off the road and into the trees, using my cudgel to be sure there were no animal burrows in the brush.

  It had been years since I’d slept alone in the forest.

  The size and darkness pressed against me all over again. Every creak of a tree, every rustle, every call from one animal to another seemed foreign. I lay down, pulled Tanwen’s cloak around me, and prayed that sleep would come soon.

  * * *

  As soon as the sun rose, I retraced my steps. Two hours later, I found the trail curving off to my right. I darted down it, almost running. I’d lost so much time.

  Please let the tunics still be there!

  I heard the voices not long after.

  “Lady Wyn!”

  “Lass!”

  I turned, my heart sinking when I saw the Ri and Finn.

  I cursed missing the trail, cursed the muteness that kept me from explaining my errand, cursed whatever devilry had helped the Ri find me so quickly.

  Then I saw the horse-rod in the Ri’s hand as they walked toward me. Of course. If they’d left Fianna before dawn, they could have found the trail not long after I had. Finn’s tracking skill would have made sure of that.

  “Ionwyn told us you’d not returned late last night, and we’ve chased after you ever since!” Finn settled into the scolding the way a runner finds his stride. “What were you thinking, leaving your babe like that? And the Ri’s honor? What will chieftains and folk alike say if the one he shelters is lost in the forest?”

  I only grew more determined. My anger was like a stone inside me, and I held to it. It was time to fetch the tunics—nothing else mattered.

  I pointed down the trail toward the lake. It wasn’t a question, only an explanation: I will walk there.

  Finn grunted. “This isn’t the time for exploring, lass.”

  I glared at him, almost wishing he’d refuse to let me go farther. I’d use my cudgel and feel nothing but satisfaction if only I could land a single, good blow.

  Instead, I stalked down the trail, leaving them behind.

  The Ri leaped ahead and planted himself in the trail before me. “Why are you here, Lady Wyn?”

  Why am I here?

  What I would have given to be able to shout! I’m here because you wouldn’t let me go! Because there aren’t enough pictures and signs in the world to explain what has happened!

  I softened a little at the concern in the Ri’s eyes. Because it’s best that you don’t know.

  Then I pointed down the trail again. I WILL go there!

  The Ri didn’t blink, though his mouth compressed, just a little, as if he was holding back a flood of words.

  I hardened my heart to it.

  When he spoke, his voice was even. Calm. “Ionwyn told me your story, as much as she understood: you saw your six brothers slaughtered by your father’s wife, and you escaped that blood-feud with your brother’s son. You signed to her that you were safe, but Ionwyn said your eyes told a different story.” He made no effort to hide his irritation. “How do you expect me not to worry when you leave without protection?”

  This wasn’t about his honor, then.

  I wanted him to leave. I didn’t want him to see where I’d lived, to have any opportunity to understand the enchantment—or become convinced of my insanity.

  But I needed the nettle tunics. So I pressed my hand over my heart and pointed down the path. There’s something dear to me.

  “There’s naught but a lake down this trail,” said Finn.

  “There’s something else, isn’t there?” asked the Ri. “That’s why you kept trying to leave.”

  Yes!

  Finn raised his hands to the sky in mock entreaty. “If she wanted to come here, why didn’t she ask—?” He dropped his hands. “Ah. There’s the difficulty.”

  He finally understood. Before I could think better of it, I kissed him on the cheek.

  Finn slapped a rough hand over the spot, whether to press the kiss closer or keep it from settling, I couldn’t tell.

  The Ri chuckled at Finn’s discomfort, then grew serious once more. “Finn and I will walk wherever you wish to go. Lead on, Lady Wyn.”

  Lead on to everything I’d tried to hide for five years.

  I had no choice: I motioned them to follow me.

  * * *

  An hour later, we reached the lake, and I forgot my anxiety for a heartbeat. I’d missed the way the sunlight scattered on the water! I held a hand to my eyes to shield them from the glare and saw my swan-brothers at the far end of the lake, all six of them.

  But no Owain-the-hen.

  I had to be sure of the tunics before I greeted my brothers. I didn’t think I could face them, even as swans, until I knew all was well.

  I held up a finger to the Ri and Finn—Wait—then scampered up the boulders to the cave. I paused at the opening till my eyes adjusted, then slipped inside. The floor was covered with wild goat droppings. Torn and chewed bedding lay strewn around the cave.

  But the tunics still hung in their satchel from the outcropping, right next to the bag that held my brothers’ clothes. I dashed to it, dodging goat droppings as I went. A moment later, the satchel was mine. I rummaged through it to be sure of the spindle, the hackle, and all five tunics, then hugged it close, careful of the hackle’s spikes.

  Then I saw that the bag of clothes was knotted differently from how I usually closed it. I tugged it down, imagining my brothers here the last full moon: alone, scrabbling in the dark, empty cave to find their clothes. Find me.

  I couldn’t think of it. I’d have clothes for them this time, when they settled at the lake near the castle.

  A flash of dark in the entrance, a rush of feathers—

  Owain-the-hen launched herself at me.

  My arms were full, but Owain took no notice. She perched on top of the bags and pressed her head against my cheek, clucking and scolding as if she’d never forgive me.

  I dropped something to free a hand, scooped her closer to me . . . and cried silently, head bent over her feathery back.

  My brothers would want answers when they saw me next. But Owain-the-hen? She just wanted me. So I let her scold and I let myself cry for just a moment longer, soaking up the comfort she offered.

  The light streaming in from the cave entrance dimmed.

  Finn and the Ri stood in the entrance—two black shadows against the light.

  I shifted Owain-the-hen to my shoulder and swiped a sleeve across my eyes. Silly as it sounded, I felt better able to answer his questions.

  The outline of the Ri
moved as he looked around the cave. “Your refuge, Lady Wyn?”

  Refuge. Of course. He imagined me the lone survivor of a blood feud.

  And perhaps he saw it more clearly than most.

  I nodded slowly.

  Finn stepped into the cave, cursing when he trod in goat dung. The Ri followed him, moving more carefully, taking in all the details: scattered blankets, a basket overturned and slightly eaten . . .

  . . . the hen on my shoulder, pecking at me as if she was a mother smoothing her child’s hair.

  “I never,” muttered Finn.

  I raised an eyebrow, daring him to mention Owain. He turned his attention elsewhere.

  “I don’t understand,” said Finn, nodding toward the bag I clutched. “You came all this way—you left your babe—for bags?”

  I glared at Finn. If he thought I was going to reveal the things I valued most just because he asked, he’d be sorely disappointed.

  The Ri picked up the satchel I’d dropped, wincing when his hand closed around the hackle. I quickly gathered it from him, pulling out a few of the tunics and rearranging the contents so the hackle wouldn’t spear anyone.

  When I looked up, the Ri was fingering the sleeve of one of the tunics. “Is it made from nettles?”

  Suddenly, the cave seemed too small, my secret too big. I needed to go. I needed to leave now. I plucked the tunic from his hands and stuffed it back into the satchel.

  “How many shirts do you have?” he asked.

  Refusing to answer might make him even more curious. After a moment, I held up five fingers.

  “And you’ve already gathered nettles for one more shirt, haven’t you? Six shirts for the six dead brothers Ionwyn told me about. Am I right?”

  He thought the tunics were simply part of my mourning.

  Yes.

  “Ionwyn says you were the youngest of these siblings?”

  I smiled to hear such a common question—as if there wasn’t an enchantment or Hunters or a Queen we hid from.

  Yes.

  “You were! Aye, that makes many things clear—including why a lass would wield a cudgel so well.”

  He swept an arm toward the light at the cave entrance. “We’ll follow after you, Lady Wyn. Unless you have anything else you wish to take?”