The River Witch

by Helena Rookwood

  “I would be delighted to accept your help,” she said, and stuck out a hand again. Lysander shook it, and gave her another dazzling smile.

  Tabitha offered him a more nervous smile in return, although her faery friends stomped off into a huddle by the lake.

  “Thank you,” she said cautiously. “You don't know how difficult it's been so far. Honestly, I know they're not being the easiest right now, but I couldn't have made it this far without the sprites.”

  Uneasily, Lysander felt the stirrings of some deep-buried caring instinct.

  “And I'm so looking forward to having someone else to travel with,” she said, settling into a nervous chatter. “I've spent so much time thinking how strange it is to be alone – of course, you must be used to it, but when I think of people having adventures, somehow I never think of them being on their own.”

  She clutched the book she was holding to her chest, drawing Lysander's attention to it. A Compendium of Faerie. A weighty, hardback book, bound in a beautiful blue leather, the colouring on the letters faded but the imprint still legible. An interesting choice for someone who claimed not to be responsible for the fae who seemed to be flocking to her – it wasn't exactly light reading to heft about with her as she walked. So why had she brought it with her, if she genuinely had not anticipated meeting the fae? In any case, Lysander would be interested to take a look at it himself. There might be some useful information in there that the Iron City could benefit from.

  Tabitha was still talking.

  “Perhaps it's because I've never really been on my own before,” she was musing. “It's funny, I always thought I liked being by myself – I'm quite used to taking myself off for the day, but somehow with the river there I never really felt that I was on my own...”

  Lysander looked blankly at her.

  “Oh, but you're probably not really interested in any of this,” she blushed again, as though she was only just realising what she was saying.

  “I am,” he assured her, “but I think we ought to put a bit of distance between us and the village, if they really were as angry with you as you say.”

  “Of course!”

  Tabitha hastily gathered up her belongings and went over to cajole the sprites into moving. Lysander watched her. In truth, he was caught quite off-guard by her sincerity, her willingness to trust him. Not to mention that she trusted the faeries she was with. He found that most confusing of all. The apparently genuine friendship between Tabitha and her companions threw into question everything he had ever been told about the fae. But perhaps it was something about Tabitha. There was something strangely compelling about her, that drew out an instinct to help.

  To Lysander's dismay, he realised that what he was feeling was the first stirrings of friendship – that he liked this girl he had been sent after.

  More uneasy than ever, Lysander hurried her and her companions away from the village. He had no choice but to steal the hagstone, he told himself firmly, if she still had it with her. But he could afford to wait.

  Let him see what this girl was truly like.

  16

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Back at the edge of the lake, a girl with startling red hair and freckled skin was sat hunched up in the spot which had recently been vacated by Tabitha and her companions. She gazed seriously out across the water, considering what she ought to do now. It was complicated.

  As instructed, Moll had closely tracked Lysander after he'd left the Iron City. She had been surprised that Magnus had asked her to follow her friend; but for Lysander's sake she had agreed to do it. There were plenty of thieves in the Iron City who were jealous enough of his position within the Court to simply attempt to slit his throat and then return home crying of his treachery, no matter whether that turned out to be the case or not. She wondered whether Magnus was aware of this, and whether that was why he had asked her to carry out this responsibility. He would be hoping that Lysander could be proved innocent, after all; he was the best and the brightest of all their thieves. And as Lysander's closest friend in the city, Moll had a vested interest in proving him to be innocent, if she possibly could.

  So she had followed him, keeping her distance while making sure she didn't let him out of her sight. They had worked together many times before, which fortunately gave Moll the advantage in trying to anticipate Lysander's movements. If he got a little way ahead of her, she found that she could quickly catch him up again, and as soon as it became evident that he was simply following the river, she stopped worrying about whether she would lose him and hung back a little further. But Moll needn't have worried much about being discovered anyway; Lysander wasn't expecting to be followed, and so he made for an easy quarry. Moll was quite enjoying herself, to tell the truth, being out on the road without any real stress or difficulty. She wasn't expecting Lysander's loyalty to truly be in question. But then she had seen what had happened when he'd found the girl.

  Moll had watched from the crest of the mound on the other side of the lake as Lysander had made his way carefully over to where the girl was sitting, his knives drawn. She hadn't even really been paying attention; she knew that he was preparing to kill the girl, and then she could head back to the city and let them know that of course, her friend Lysander had done exactly as he'd been instructed.

  Only he hadn't.

  Moll remained stationary at the edge of the lake, staring out across the glassy water. She didn't know how to process all that she had seen today. To begin with, there had been the fae.

  She'd had to stifle a cry when she saw them attack. She hadn't noticed them when they were clinging to the girl's side – but suddenly they were flying at Lysander, and she'd felt her stomach drop. Her instinct was to rush to her friend's aid, and she'd sat with her hand gripping the handle of her own knife, but fortunately the girl had interrupted the fight before Moll had needed to intervene. As the instinct to fight subsided, it had been replaced with overwhelming disbelief. It wasn't possible – how could it be possible that the fae were awake? And that the girl Lysander had been sent after should have some sort of control over them?

  And then there was Lysander to consider.

  Moll had stared, wide-eyed, as Lysander had engaged the girl in conversation. Even from across the lake, Moll could feel the waves of Lysander's legendary charm rolling off him as he attempted to win over the girl. But why, she thought? Was he attracted to her? Moll didn't think so; it didn't look like that to her, anyway. But then why didn't Lysander just kill the girl and her faery companions and have done with it? Heart pounding, Moll had been staggered to see Lysander help the girl to pack up her bags and then set off alongside her, faeries in tow. This was not at all what she had expected to have to deal with. She had given no thought at all to what she would do if Magnus' suspicions had been correct.

  Or were they?

  Moll could feel the damp seeping up into her, the sun not bringing any warmth as it rose higher into the sky. It was uncomfortable, but Moll was used to being uncomfortable, and she needed time to think. She pulled at the grass by her side, tossing it into the water and watching it disturb the surface. There were so many unknown variables in this – the fae, the girl's relationship with them, Lysander's accompanying them on their way.

  But perhaps Lysander had been equally as thrown, Moll considered eventually. Perhaps he had been as alarmed by the fae as she had been, and thought that he ought to find out more before taking action. Lysander was a trusted thief of the Iron Court, she reasoned, who had far more experience in these matters than she did. And she owed him more than her life; she could give him a few more days until she could establish exactly what was going on.

  Her limbs set from the cold and the damp, Moll got stiffly to her feet. Yes, she decided, she would keep back for now, and wait and see what Lysander was going to do. He was her friend, and so she would trust him. For now.

  But even so, Moll drew out her knives and began carefully sharpening the blades. Just in case.

  17
>
  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Tabitha strode along the riverbank, her head held high and the cold wind nipping colour into her cheeks. It was amazing, she thought, how different you could feel in the space of just a few days. In spite of the low temperature, her buoyant stride was keeping her warm, and she was enjoying the clean clothing she now wore. In that sense at least she had gained something from her unfortunate encounter in the village. She certainly was feeling better for it.

  Tabitha risked a sideways glance over to her new companion. He had made a significant difference to how she felt too. She had been nervous of him at first, only really agreeing to travel with him because she didn't see that she had any other option. And after such a disappointment with Mica and the other villagers, she was reluctant to ask him just yet if he had heard of the Iron City. But although she was unwilling to disclose her true purpose for leaving her home immediately, she was hopeful that if Lysander did demonstrate himself to be trustworthy, then perhaps he might be able to help her find out where the city was. And her instinct was to trust him. He had quickly proved himself to be a welcome companion.

  He was quiet as they walked, but even just Lysander's presence was strangely reassuring. Everything about him radiated openness and honesty. How could she not trust him, she thought as she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. There was something golden about him, so shiningly good.

  Tabitha smiled contently and picked up her step, stomping over the sodden ground. Leaves were beginning to carpet the floor and their sweet, rotting smell was everywhere now, but Tabitha didn't mind it. She kicked at the leaves as she walked, watching them flutter up into the wind before settling back to the ground, or being whipped away to fall like tiny sailboats on the river which ran alongside them.

  At the request of the sprites, the group had continued to follow Tabitha's previous system of using the river as a guide. They needed it, the sprites had insisted, to survive. And Tabitha had agreed in order to try and alleviate some of their recent bad mood. They had not been happy about Lysander joining their party, despite Tabitha's best attempts to persuade them that she would be able to learn from him. Still, she continued to try her best to make amends, assuring them that of course she would continue to put the sprites first, it was just that she needed Lysander's help if ever she was going to find the place where her mother lived. She was being careful, she insisted. She hadn't even told him where she was trying to go.

  The sprites had muttered again about his wearing a glamour, but when Tabitha had looked this up in the Compendium, it had transpired that a glamour was a kind of faery magic, which involved being able to create the illusion that something – or someone – looked different to what it actually was. Onlookers would see whatever the faery wanted them to see, or could not see whatever the faery wished to conceal.

  “You're being silly now,” Tabitha said crossly, snapping the book shut. “How can he be using faery magic? He's human.”

  The sprites had been unable to come up with an explanation, but they had remained sullen, and continued to insist that he was somehow wearing a glamour.

  “We like you, Tab,” Ani had whispered plaintively in her ear. “We don't want him to hurt you.”

  “And he will,” Corida had added darkly. “We see it in his soul.”

  “He's not a creature of the river,” Bellat had grumbled again, but the other two had slapped him for saying it after Tabitha had complained that wasn't a fair reason to dislike him. Tabitha had then scolded them for hurting each other, but that had just caused them all to go into a sulk, and now they trooped along far behind Tabitha and Lysander, muttering darkly to one another.

  But in spite of the discord that Lysander's arrival had introduced between her and the sprites, Tabitha nevertheless was beginning to feel more optimistic. She had been truthful in what she had said to him: she had been surprised how lonely she felt on her travels, and thought now that perhaps she had felt lonely ever since the river had stopped talking to her. She certainly didn't have any other real friends in the village – her grandmother and the fisherfolk she fished alongside didn't quite count. And while she appreciated their company, something about the sprites had remained alien to her.

  Lysander, on the other hand, was a charming, funny travelling companion, who knew all about how to live off the land and who had been more than willing to share his wealth of knowledge with her. Tabitha was enjoying having him here, and was beginning to wonder whether this was what it meant to have a friend. Maybe this was what it was like for Brigit and her friends, Tabitha mused. Maybe she had missed out on something by not trying harder with them. But then that would have meant making friends with Brigit, Tabitha thought dispiritedly. She snuck another look at Lysander. She couldn't imagine a friendship with Brigit being anything like what it was like to travel with him

  Yes, Tabitha thought cheerfully, things had definitely taken a turn for the better.

  They continued walking onwards alongside the river, and as it grew later in the day the light grew more golden, the shadows longer. The dark and bright streaks across the landscape made it look very dramatic, flat though it was.

  “Is all of Bretan like this?” Tabitha asked appreciatively.

  “No!” Lysander laughed. “Not at all.”

  Tabitha blushed, feeling foolish.

  “Is it like this where you're from?” Lysander asked gently, looking a bit guilty for having scoffed at her.

  “I suppose not,” Tabitha sniffed, “but it's been more or less the same as this since I left.”

  “So what's it like where you're from?” Lysander pressed.

  “The river is different,” Tabitha relented. “It's saltwater, not fresh, and it's much wider. It's not far along it to the sea from where my village is.”

  She paused, preparing to give an abbreviated version of the story she had told Mica and the other villagers. She must not be too fanciful in describing the river and the sea, she told herself sternly. Unlike the villagers, Lysander was a traveller; she was sure he would have seen it all before.

  “The river is at the centre of everything for us, so that it sometimes feels like the water is more important than the land. The river is what I feel like I ought to talk about when I try and explain what my village is like.”

  Lysander smiled and nodded encouragingly.

  “Even when you're on land, the river is seeping into it anyway. Everything is wet, always.

  My – my father taught me how to fish,” Tabitha tried tentatively, assessing how it felt to mention him to someone else. To her surprise, it didn't hurt too much saying it to Lysander. “He and my grandmother raised me for most of my childhood, as my mother died when I was very young. Then he died about a year ago, and so it was just me and my grandmother.”

  “You look upset,” Lysander said. “I didn't mean to upset you. I hope you're not too worried about your grandmother.”

  “No!” Tabitha shook her head, unable to keep a smile from her face. “If you'd ever met her, you would know not to worry. She's the strongest and the most powerful person I know. Along with the sprites, I have her to thank for having survived out here at all. She taught me everything I know and love about the land – about the river. She taught me which mushrooms to pick, how to read the river, what plants could be used to help with stomach ache or cuts and bruises. She made me what I am, and she would be horrified if she thought I was worrying about her.”

  Tabitha turned redder still, suddenly conscious that she had been gushing.

  “But what about you?” she gabbled. “You haven't told me anything about where you're from. What was your home like? Do you have family there?”

  “Oh, I've been all over!” Lysander laughed. “So there isn't any one place to speak of, really. You asked a moment ago whether all of Bretan is like this; well, nothing could be further from the truth. I've lived in the mountains, where the land rises up into the sky, where there are waterfalls – rivers that tumble from the mountaintops back down to th
e earth. I've lived on moors covered with purple heather, hills that are made of crumbling white chalk, and atop cliffs made of hard black rock which can withstand even the pounding of the sea.”

  Tabitha's eyes were wide.

  “But in spite of this, everywhere I've been people are much the same,” Lysander continued. “Everywhere I go, people want to hear stories about other places – but they're too frightened to go and see them themselves. Everywhere, people have the same concerns – from getting enough food to eat, to petty rivalries, to romantic antics. But everyone thinks that the problems affecting them are unique, that no one else could possibly understand.” He shrugged. “You soon begin to realise how easy it is to have seen everything.”

  Tabitha was humbled into silence. She stared silently down at her feet as she walked, and thought of how long she had been walking without having seen any sign of the kinds of places Lysander had described to her. She wondered how far away those places must be. You must be able to see land in the sky from a very long way away, and she couldn't see so much of a hint of anything like it in the distance. And what about the people he'd described, she thought, and she felt oddly ashamed. Was she just the same as all the rest of them? She certainly hadn't had any desire whatsoever to leave her village. Her grandmother had coerced her into leaving, and even then she hadn't been happy about it. And Tabitha knew that she would race back there in a heartbeat if she thought that it was the right thing to do.

  She looked up glumly, and saw Lysander giving her a funny look.

  “You're the exception, Tabitha,” he said, looking thoughtful. “I thought I had seen everything, and then I met you. You're something new. I think.”