Tabitha opened her eyes in alarm and put her hands up to her face. Yes – it was wet. How could that be possible? Nervously, she put out a tongue to taste the water and flinched as she realised that it tasted of salt. She looked wildly around the tent, but there was nowhere that the water could have come from. Should she tell Lysander? Or the sprites? Or would all of them think her quite mad?
She must have spent too long fretting over her lessons, Tabitha told herself firmly. Shaking off the strange, salty remnants of her daydream, she returned her attention to the book on her lap and tried to distract herself from how unnerved she was.
Tabitha had only really been reading the Compendium quite sporadically to begin with and had more or less abandoned it altogether since she had met Lysander. But she ought to return to it, Tabitha told herself. It was important. She thought back to when she had first met Lysander, to the pain of being treated so cruelly by the villagers and the havoc that had been caused by the fae there. She really ought to devote more time to learning what she could about the fae from its pages, just in case they did stumble across another similar scene in future. But where to start?
She opened the heavy book at the back, running her eyes over the index. In some ways, Tabitha wished that she had brought a proper book of stories with her. She had always enjoyed reading those so much more than factual books. But she supposed that she should be grateful to have picked a book that would be helpful; that was more important, really, than a book she could lose herself in. If only she could persuade herself to concentrate on it.
As her eyes skimmed unseeingly over the lengthy index, an idea suddenly dawned on her. Tabitha turned quickly to the previous page and ran her finger down the entries under S. Sure enough, there was the word she was looking for. She glanced quickly around the tent to make sure she was alone, and when she was sure that she wasn't being watched, she hefted through the heavy pages of the book to find the entry under Sprites. Somehow she felt that Ani, Bellat and Corida would not be happy to see her looking them up. But she was alone, in the small warm space with a warm light from the afternoon sun giving the interior a dim light. Just enough to read by.
Lysander was so mistrustful of the sprites, Tabitha thought as she flicked through the book, but if she could find some information on them in here, then maybe she could convince him that they were to be trusted after all. She stopped on the correct page, and carefully smoothed her hands across its surface. Tabitha read the entry slowly:
Sprites
Sprites are faeries whose magical powers are often associated with natural places and objects. Depending on which place or object the sprite is associated with, they may be known as tree sprites, river sprites, sea sprites, et cetera. Sprites are often brightly coloured, are usually winged, and tend to resemble the insects and flowers native to their homes.
One of the most common types of faery, sprites tend to travel in groups and are often an indicator that there are other faeries in the area. They love to inhabit areas shared with other faeries, as this provides opportunity for them to exercise their mischievous natures.
Sprites are mostly playful, but they can also be obnoxious and can bite if provoked. In general, however, a sprite will not remain with you long enough for you to provoke it, as they are quickly bored, easily distracted, and the concept of loyalty is unknown to them. This is particularly the case in the variety of sprites known as water sprites (see entry below).
Tabitha re-read the entry in disbelief, and then hurriedly skimmed through the other sub-categories of sprites to find the one she was looking for:
Water sprites
Note: Sprites in this category include both sea sprites and river sprites.
These are the most playful and the most fickle of the sprites, easily excitable but quick to anger. It is thought that this is due to being influenced by the water these faeries inhabit.
As with the other types of sprite, caution is advised when approaching these faeries. You may be lucky and find a playmate for the afternoon, but a water sprite is as likely to trick you as it is to play with you, depending on what it thinks will provide the most entertainment. There has been more than one drowning that is likely due to an accident involving an overenthusiastic sprite.
Tabitha slowly lowered the book. Her friends could not be tricksters, surely. They had shown her nothing but kindness and loyalty – they had kept her fed when she was hungry, played with her in the river when she was bored, and been willing listeners when she was lonely. The Compendium must be wrong.
Unbidden, the memory of the brook horse surfaced. The sprites had said it was their friend, but Tabitha certainly hadn't enjoyed her encounter with it. But the brook horse had been harmless, Tabitha told herself. It had just been a joke. The sprites had not intended to hurt her. And who even knew how accurate this book was? There was nothing to say that the author wasn't mistaken in this case. Did she really believe that the author knew everything about Faerie? That they had actually met any of these creatures? No, this was just a book of old fairytales.
Still, Tabitha thought ruefully, she wasn't sure that this information was going to help her case with Lysander. He would certainly read more into what the Compendium said than was warranted and might become even more vocal in his complaints about her choice of travelling companions. Tabitha thought it best that he didn't read what the book had to say about sprites for now.
Troubled, Tabitha snapped the book shut and secreted it back in the safety of her pack.
22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The evening was already drawing in. So much darkness already, Tabitha thought, as the days grew shorter and shorter. Time was tiptoeing past them and they were still no closer to finding the Iron City; but now that she was with Lysander Tabitha found that she didn't actually mind quite so much. In fact, she thought as she tramped along the riverside, now that she was learning how to light a fire, she was finding that she didn't really mind at all.
A quiet voice at the back of Tabitha's mind told her sternly that this diversion, while fascinating, was slowing her progress towards the city. They walked more slowly during the daytime as Tabitha chattered away to Lysander, or to the sprites whenever they stopped sulking with her, and dawdled for longer over lunch so that she could practise drawing out the shapes and voicing the sounds that Lysander was helping her to perfect. Tabitha was eager to stop earlier in the evenings when she could legitimately spend time practising lighting the fire, and in spite of her resolution to return to it, she spent less and less time reading the Compendium.
But she was finally starting to enjoy herself, Tabitha would think sullenly whenever it crossed her mind that perhaps she ought to be hurrying more quickly towards the Iron City. She was learning skills that no one at home had ever even heard of – that would help her to fight off the fae who had attacked her village. And Tabitha was sure now that Lysander must be able to help her find the Iron City. She would ask him just as soon as she'd made a little more progress with her magic. She just wanted to learn a little more, she told herself, to have just a little more time learning from him before she returned her focus to locating the Iron City.
So for now, Tabitha allowed herself to be distracted.
That evening she was ambling peacefully along the riverside without any sense of rush or bother. In spite of the cold, she had walked out barefoot, enjoying the feeling of the grass and soft banks underfoot. She still missed the time she would spend with the river at home, and when Lysander had returned with rabbits he had caught to roast for their supper, Tabitha had offered to go looking for mushrooms. She had already filled a rough cloth pack with giant puffballs she had spotted by the river earlier in the day and returned for now. They looked funny in the twilight, the last of the sun lighting them up brightly in the grasses so that they looked like giant glowing orbs all along the riverside.
Tabitha had already picked more than enough, since they were light to carry and would provide good sustenance for a few days. The
sprites might even like them, she thought, since they had been growing so close to the river. She really ought to head back...
But it was so peaceful, with the last of the sun filling the sky and the water with pinks and oranges, so Tabitha allowed herself to wander a little longer, eventually depositing the mushrooms in a heap beside her and allowing herself to sit with her feet in the river for a moment. Just briefly, she flinched as the cold water bit into her feet and ankles. But she kept her feet in the water anyway, needing to feel the river there. For as long as she could bear it, Tabitha splashed her feet about in the water, hoping that the movement would provide adequate warmth. But it didn't, and eventually she had no choice but to withdraw her feet.
Reluctantly, she rubbed them dry on the hem of her cloak, trying to massage some warmth back into them. They were a painful red colour, and Tabitha ruefully thought that she ought to find another way of getting her river fix before they progressed any further into autumn. Before long it would be too much of a risk to let herself get so cold.
Tabitha had been sitting on the riverbank for a few minutes, trying unsuccessfully to rub the warmth back into her feet, when suddenly she felt a shiver run down her spine. She stared at the water, which blinked unspeakingly back at her. But Tabitha was sure it was trying to tell her something. An uncomfortable feeling was creeping over her, the sense that things were not quite as they should be. Squaring her shoulders, Tabitha slowly moved around so that she could see what was behind her.
But there was nothing. Her shoulders slumped. Perhaps she was becoming overanxious. Spending so much time thinking about these new magical ways must have affected her ability to think critically. Tabitha forced herself up onto her frozen feet, collected up the mushrooms again, and began to walk slowly back towards where Lysander and the sprites would be waiting for her at the camp. But she had only walked a few steps when she made out the shape of something else farther along the riverbank.
Tabitha stopped. The half-light was making it difficult to see. She took a few more tentative steps, and then relaxed.
A horse was grazing by the river. It was a beautiful animal; its black coat had a blueish tinge to it, with white markings that looked like stars dappled across its back and a startlingly white mane. Tabitha's breath was quite taken away.
“Hello...” she murmured quietly.
She moved forwards very slowly, not wanting to frighten the horse away, but it held its ground and whickered softly. It was familiar, somehow, Tabitha thought as she slowly closed the gap between them. As she approached, it occurred to her that this was because it reminded her of the brook horse. Then she realised that the horse was smiling at her.
But Tabitha simply smiled back.
“Hello,” she said dreamily. “I don't think we've met before.”
The horse didn't speak to her, but fluttered its long, white eyelashes, and dipped its head in greeting.
“Are you a friend of the water sprites?” she asked.
“Of course,” the horse replied. “They are old friends of mine.”
The horse's voice was dreamier, more soporific than the brook horse Tabitha had met before. It made her think of soft fabrics and dozing on cool evenings and the dew on the morning grass. She found herself wandering right up to it, and longing to run her hand through its mane. It looked so soft – surely no normal horse had ever had a mane so soft and flowing.
“Would you like to ride on my back?” the horse asked her.
Tabitha hesitated, forcing herself to keep her hand by her side. Her interactions with the fair folk – perhaps with the exception of Ani, Bellat, and Corida – had not been positive so far.
“It's such a long time since I've had a friend to play with,” the horse sighed.
Tabitha knew that the horse would throw her into the water; but there was something so sad about this horse. The brook horse she had met before had just made her nervous – she had immediately sensed the trickery about it, its gleeful mirth at wanting to fool her. But this horse just seemed lonely, and it was so beautiful. Tabitha found herself feeling sorry for it.
For just a moment, Tabitha thought about what she had read about the sprites yesterday, and she hesitated. But no – she trusted the sprites. And the brook horse had been annoying, but harmless. Besides, it wouldn't be so bad to be back in the river. She would be expecting it this time.
“I would love to,” Tabitha said. “My feet are aching after walking so far barefoot.”
The horse whickered with pleasure, and turned aside so that Tabitha could climb onto its back. She ran a hand softly across its flank, and shivered with pleasure. The horse was as wonderful to touch as it was to look at; even the hair on its back was achingly soft, softer than any material Tabitha had felt before. She was overcome by a sense of calm and wellness, and as she eased herself carefully onto the horse's back, being careful to keep hold of the mushrooms she had collected, she thought how much more comfortable this horse was than the other brook horse.
“Are you quite comfortable?” it asked her.
“Yes,” Tabitha said dreamily, “very.”
“Why not take hold of my mane?” the horse asked. “It will be easier for you to stay on my back if you do.”
Tabitha thought how much more gentle this horse was than the other brook horse.
“Thank you,” she said, and her voice sounded distant, like an echo.
Giving into the temptation, she ran her hand through the horse's luxurious white mane, and it was incredibly silky, even softer than the hair on its back. She combed her fingers through the soft strands of hair, and marvelled that it didn't tangle at all.
“I could fall asleep here,” she murmured, her voice still sounding very far away.
“You can sleep if you want to,” the horse purred, and its voice was pressing. Somehow it sounded much closer than Tabitha's own. “Rest your head on my neck.”
Tabitha did as she was told. It was like being back in bed, like she had never left home at all. The horse smelled familiar – like the river, she realised, and her grandmother's kitchen. She leant further forward, until she was right up against the horse's neck.
The horse began walking again, and the bump of her head against its neck should have been uncomfortable, except that it felt like her head was being cushioned. The roll of the horse's gait made her feel as though she was being rocked to sleep, and Tabitha gave in to the movement, her limbs growing heavy and her eyes struggling to stay open. The mushrooms spilled from her lap, the white flesh breaking apart with the impact and littering the ground behind them like snow, but Tabitha barely noticed. They were walking slowly along the riverbank, back in the direction of the camp. She could afford to sleep. She had been pushing herself hard for such a long time now.
As they walked, the horse slowly inched closer to the water, until the splash of the cold water on Tabitha's feet stirred her from her dreamlike state. She couldn't help feeling a little disappointed. So this horse was just like the other brook horse, then.
The horse continued wandering slowly deeper into the water. It was up to Tabitha's knees now. But somehow she didn't feel the cold so much as she had before. The horse walked deeper into the river, and a distant part of Tabitha's mind began to feel alarmed. It wasn't shaking her off its back, just walking deeper and deeper into the river...
As part of Tabitha's mind began screaming, suddenly she was submerged fully underwater. Razor-sharp teeth sunk into the side of her leg, dragging her further down under the water. She wanted to scream, but she seemed to have lost the ability to function. The teeth were tearing into her flesh, the jaws holding her in a vicelike grip. Tabitha had never known pain like it.
She began writhing around in the water. She was still unable to speak or think coherently, the dreamlike state she had been in still clouding her mind, and the sheer pain overwhelming everything else around her. The river was muddy from where the horse had kicked up the sediment on the riverbed, and Tabitha couldn't see a thing. She thought mise
rably of her father, of being out on the water with him, that salt spray in her face. Was that her last truly happy memory of the river? Tabitha remembered again what it had felt like when the river mermaid had dragged her from the bank at her home... from her river... the river that she had sailed with her father... and suddenly that was enough to shake Tabitha out of her dreamlike state. She was panicking, still, but somewhere in amongst the confused thoughts and the fright there was also anger.
How dare these creatures use the river against her.
The river was hers; she was the river witch...
The moment that she thought those words, something Tabitha didn't quite understand happened to her. Without her telling or willing it to, without the thought so much as even crossing her mind, the river water suddenly withdrew, roaring back from her and leaving her in a crumpled heap on the exposed riverbed. The brook horse was dragged back with it, snapping and raging and kicking out its hooves. Did it even still look like a horse? Confused, Tabitha looked around for her grandmother – but of course, she wasn't there. What had made the water retreat?
Her panic overrode the anger, but the water stayed well back from her, keeping the horse from hurting her any further. Tabitha was frozen with shock. Vague memories of making tiny boats out of twigs with her grandmother, of swimming with her mother, and of sailing on the endless silver river with her father floated around Tabitha's mind, and then she was quickly forced back to the present again as she began retching. She brought up water and bile, the taste bitter in her mouth.
The River Witch Page 17
