Fairy Keeper

by Amy Bearce

  “Nell? How’re you doing, sweetie? Are you in shock?” His voice sounded calm and strong. Hearing him use the endearment for Nell didn’t seem as odd―or as upsetting―as it might have that morning.

  “Not in shock, you guys are the ones losing your mind,” Nell grumbled. The very mildness of her response alarmed both Sierra and Corbin.

  He stepped over to Nell and sat beside her, laying his hand on her forehead like his parents did for Sierra so many times.

  “No fever,” he murmured to himself, and then placed two fingers on the pulse in Nell’s neck.

  She jerked away, saying, “I told you, I’m fine.”

  Corbin dropped his hand limply to his side.

  Sierra smiled at him from across the fire. “We’re glad you’re okay, Corbin. We were worried.”

  She paused, seeing him glance over at the tired girl next to him. “Both of us were,” she added, feeling generous.

  They helped Nell into her bedroll, then Sierra quickly fell into her own and dropped into deep sleep, thankful to be alive.

  The next morning, she was slightly less thankful. Her entire body protested when she stretched. A rosy pink blushed across the pale dawn sky. She rolled over and saw Corbin asleep sitting up, his back propped against a gray boulder. She guessed he had been keeping watch, bless his heart, or trying to. Then Sierra’s gaze dropped. The white blonde of Nell’s hair spread across his legs like a blanket. She was fast asleep in her bedroll, but her head was pillowed on his legs, face tilted up to the sky. His hand curled against her cheek. In sleep, their tenderness was bared for anyone to see.

  Sierra looked away and took a deep breath. She counted to ten. For the first time, she wondered if Nell actually planned on making a life with him. Wanting him and wanting to keep him were two different things. No matter how Nell loved him―and she really might―it didn’t change the fact that she was an enforcer and he was so gentle. Surely she understood the problem. Their relationship wouldn’t work, and Sierra didn’t want him heartbroken. Corbin was crazy to even consider staying with Nell, but he’d never listen to Sierra anyway, so she’d save her breath.

  The fire glimmered, one tendril of gray smoke curling into the dawn sky. Well, she couldn’t do anything about her two teammates cozying up―she wasn’t sure she even wanted to anymore―but she could do something about an empty stomach. It looked like they’d need to take a day to let Nell recuperate, and they might as well have fresh meat while they waited.

  Sierra slid out of her sleeping roll with surprising stealth. Grabbing her bow and quiver of arrows that they greedily recycled after each use if possible, she slipped out of camp. The crackles and snaps of the underbrush were muffled against her soft boots. She focused on placing her feet carefully. Treading lightly was one skill she’d honed while watching Nell for the last week and a half.

  Long shadows reached through the trees like fingers, creating deep blue stripes across the forest floor. The air still smelled fresh with dew, and small white clouds formed with every breath. Sierra expanded her lungs to their fullest. Then she froze like a rabbit with a hawk overhead as she realized something. Her sleep was restful last night. No pinwheels of glowing colorful fairies chased her, at least none she could remember. Her hand flew to her keeper mark, fingers reaching toward the skin, but common sense forced it back down. If she had the same reaction, she couldn’t afford to collapse screaming in the middle of the forest.

  She pressed onward, to where she might get lucky enough to score a deer or an opossum that hadn’t retired for the night. She wouldn’t go too far. All her life, she’d heard stories about things in this forest, stories meant to frighten and even terrorize. But right now, only the black wings of a crow flashed through the dizzying trees. Just the whisper of the breeze scratched along the pine trees with a soft hiss. A branch crackled in the distance, but she didn’t tense a muscle. Dry branches broke a lot in old woods, especially after an earthquake like yesterday’s. The branches above were solidly connected, without any danger of falling on her if the wind shifted. A nest made of sticks was perched high in the tree right next to her. She had stolen eggs from nests before, and a fried egg would make a delicious addition to breakfast, but for now, she was unwilling to climb so far up without a partner.

  She did, however, reach a nice clearing deeper in the woods. A bush with berries the color of a bruise grew on the other side. They looked ripe, but one bite of the wrong berry and she’d never see Phoebe again. Their sweetness might bring game here, though. Sierra climbed three branches high into the gnarled pine overlooking the clearing. Her bow and arrow lay within reach as she sat on the thick wood, back against the scratchy bark, and she waited. Silence settled over the clearing, soft like a blanket. The morning sky grew brighter as the sun touched the tops of the trees, the sky deepening to a robin’s egg blue. Neck muscles she didn’t realize were tense relaxed one by one. It was so serene here.

  Sierra closed her eyes and dropped her head to her knees, the rough fabric of her sturdy homespun pants scraping against her cheek. Being alone was better than being with the lovebirds. Apparently, she was going to have to get used to seeing Nell in order to spend any time with Corbin. Maybe she wasn’t the worst person in the world for him. Maybe he could even offer her a way out of that line of work, which would be a wonderful thing.

  Watching them fall in love both panicked Sierra and made her yearn, an uncomfortable feeling like she was on a tipping boat. The girls her age in the village were experiencing first kisses behind the mill, and some were even being promised in marriage. But Sierra was not an ordinary fourteen-year-old, and she didn’t care about kisses anyway. She wasn’t curious about them at all. She scowled at the empty tree branches around her. Nope. Didn’t care one bit about a stupid kiss.

  She chewed on her bottom lip and gazed at the empty field.

  The idea of spending life with someone she could love and trust sounded great in theory, but she had never really thought it would work for her. Normally, she was fine with the idea of being alone forever, other than Corbin and Phoebe. Most people were pains in the neck anyway. But watching Nell and Corbin with hearts circling around their heads had made Sierra wonder, a bit, what it would be like to feel that way, too. Not now. But maybe someday.

  She pursed her lips and made a decision, one that brought stillness to her pounding heart. She would let Corbin be with Nell without a fuss. It was the right thing to do, a true act of friendship. The decision gave Sierra some peace, and she was able to settle into her hunter’s stance and stop thinking about her teammates back at the camp. Her mind emptied of anything, and she could finally focus only on this moment, attention soft but ready for game.

  After an hour, her bottom had gone numb, and her hands were clumsy with the cold. No deer, no squirrels, not even a mouse had wandered through the clearing. She slid and half-fell on her way out of the tree, still grasping the bow with the arrow in one hand. Then the clatter of hooves echoed through the trees.

  Sierra spun, readying her arrow. The white fluffy tail of a deer flew over the berry bush at the end of the meadow. She zeroed in on the whiteness, the small target that glowed compared to the deep green berry bush. Her arrow soared. She imagined Nell would be reluctantly impressed. There was a thud on the other side of the bush, and Sierra drew her knife as she ran, ready to put the animal out of its misery. It looked really big. One arrow wouldn’t have killed it.

  Then a scream filled the air, and Sierra was so forcibly reminded of Sam that she staggered to a halt in the empty clearing and frantically looked around for the unicorn. The scream came again, and she took a step back, slamming the knife back in her belt and bringing her bow up and scanning the perimeter. The sound was coming from behind the bush. It was the deer she had shot, but no deer had ever sounded like this. Its screams were nearly human. With trembling knees, Sierra snuck closer and closer to the bush, arrow nocked and ready. She didn’t want to get close to anything that sounded like that.

  She d
rew back the bowstring, pressing her hand against her cheek as she prepared to shoot, dragging in a slow breath through lungs that wheezed slightly with fear. The bush was too thick for her to peek through, so she sidestepped around it, keeping a wide berth from whatever was behind there. When she reached the other side, her eyes widened in both horror and amazement, and she dropped her hands uselessly to her sides. She’d shot a creature she’d only heard stories about. The bottom half was a deer, with the tail she saw flash over the bush. Brown fur, spotted with tiny white dots on the flank, ending in hooves. But the top half of the creature wasn’t a deer at all. It was human, with dark brown skin, all uncovered. And its big, brown eyes stared right into hers.

  ierra immediately corrected herself; this creature was not an it but a he. This was a faun, a creature of legend, and a young faun at that. Wavy brown hair brushed his shoulders, but there was no mistaking that square jaw line and strong brow for anything but a boy, one with one foot―hoof?―into adulthood. His chest was bare and thin, ribs showing, heaving as he lay panting in pain. His torso disappeared into fur, as if tucked into a tight-fitting pair of pants. The long winter coat of the deerskin covered anything private, but Sierra kept her eyes on his face just in case, mortified and undoubtedly beet-red.

  Oh, no. Horror flooded her. She had shot a magical creature, truly wounded him, one that had done no harm. None. Guilt crashed over her so heavily her breath caught. She held out her hands in the age-old gesture of peace, watching his eyes as she did so. She took one tentative, tiny step forward. He didn’t move. Good sign.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” she babbled, unable to say anything else.

  His intense gaze held her paralyzed for a moment; she couldn’t look away. It felt like some important message was hidden in the dark depths of his brown eyes.

  Sierra offered a hand, unsure of what else to do. He had no weapon, and her mind cast about for anything she could remember about fauns. Old songs and stories said fauns could cause trouble for travelers, but they also were equally likely to help. Magical in nature, they supposedly knew all of the forest creatures and plants. Sounded like someone to make friends with. Too bad she had shot him already.

  Still, the arrow was her mistake―such a stupid one, too―and she’d make it right. Phoebe was still top concern, but the faun needed help. Surely that wouldn’t be impossible.

  The same need Sierra had always had to make sure Sam the unicorn was safe filled her now. The compulsion she felt wasn’t the same intensity as with her fairies, but her calling as a keeper wouldn’t let her walk away from this magical creature either.

  Thank the heavens she didn’t have any of Jack’s unicorn horn arrow tips―one of those would have killed the faun. Sierra stepped closer, and he scooted back in the leaves, shrieking. The sound of shocked fear and pain screeched up and down her spine, like it did with Old Sam. She leaned sideways to get a glimpse of the faun’s back. The arrow shaft protruded, with part of the arrowhead buried in his back, near the bottom of the ribcage. The wound looked so painful she balled her hands into fists.

  She’d wounded him, in winter. She couldn’t leave him there, even if he wanted her to, but she wasn’t sure he would come with her. She needed to complete her journey to save Phoebe as quickly as possible, and yet Sierra wanted―no, needed―to help this poor creature. She’d simply have to manage both.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  He gazed steadily at her but did not answer. Then he touched his throat once and shook his head. Her heart pounded at this proof of intelligence. Okay, no speech, but he clearly understood her.

  “Let me help you, please.”

  No response.

  The sun was now high enough that Corbin and Nell would be wondering where Sierra was. It was time she got moving. She surely couldn’t carry him, but she couldn’t leave him, either. The faun’s eyes were the color of melted chocolate, darker than Corbin’s, and they would haunt her. The poor thing looked ill, even without the arrow wound. She could count his ribs; dark circles under his eyes spoke of exhaustion. He looked no older than Corbin, too, though far less healthy. Her hands trembled, and she lowered the bow. She couldn’t trust herself with it anymore.

  Sierra backed away from the creature, and he tried to stand. Tried but failed. She froze, breath stopped for a long moment, unsure of his plans. The faun waited, staring at her with eyes too calm, before he finally reached out a hand.

  Her stomach felt like it had floated into her throat, but she stepped closer, noticing how the fur of his deer legs curled a little, sort of like alpaca fur. Was it as soft as it looked? She kept her hands up and empty, and in three steps stood beside him. Blood seeped around the arrow, but it must have hit a rib instead of an organ, or there’d be a river of red instead of a trickle.

  Sierra breathed a sigh of thanks. Grabbing his hand, she began to pull him up, but he couldn’t lift himself fast enough. She hadn’t braced her feet well, and she tumbled into him as he pulled on her arms, causing a low grunt of obvious pain from him and a shocked gasp from her.

  The whirls of brown fur were as soft as they looked. He smelled… like Old Sam. She’d always thought the smell of Sam was his unique scent, sort of like rosemary mixed with summer rain. Maybe this was the scent of magical creatures. There were so few of them left at home. Untangling herself from the poor faun, she blushed a hot red but managed to stand and stammer again, “I’m so sorry!”

  Wearing a small smile, he shook his head and held out his hand once more.

  Why couldn’t the faun speak? The tales said nothing about that. Grabbing him much more firmly than last time, Sierra bypassed his hand and lifted under both his shoulders, using all her strength. His breathing was ragged as he staggered to his feet―hooves―but not a word came out between those delicate human lips. He finally straightened his back, and his gaze locked onto hers for a long moment, those eyes dark with secret knowledge she couldn’t reach.

  Her chest tightened, but she didn’t understand why. He was clearly not a threat to her, so why did she feel like prey that had been sighted by a predator? What else had the tales left out of the stories?

  After they took a few steps, it became clear he needed to lean on her. He was a solid weight against her left side, and Sierra hoped he couldn’t feel the racing of her pulse. Fear, exertion, and something else she couldn’t place made her a walking heart attack. His arm was slung across her shoulders, and she gingerly wrapped her arm around his waist, avoiding the arrow protruding a little higher up. His ribs rubbed against her wrist. She lowered her hand a bit until it rested along the soft fur of his hips. It kept her hand warm from the chilly air. They staggered but eventually made it to the clearing.

  For all Sierra’s worry and guilt, the looks on Corbin’s and Nell’s faces were hilarious. Twin sets of eyes bigger than dinner plates stared wildly at Sierra and the faun as they reached the glade. The faun was making a hoarse growling noise over and over. Walking with an arrow sticking out of your back had to hurt, even if you were a creature of legend and magic.

  Nell was the first to regain the power of speech. “What in the great green woods have you done, Sierra?”

  Corbin’s jaw still hung loose, making him look a bit dim-witted. Sierra smothered a smile, turning into the faun’s shoulder until she could control her face. What an inappropriate time to burst out laughing. About as proper as laughing about a rumbling stomach the night before she had to leave, in fact. As always, trying not to laugh made the pressure in her lungs build, and she was afraid she’d start braying any minute, scaring the poor faun and making Nell angry. Sierra would need help with the arrow and didn’t want to annoy someone whose help would no doubt be necessary. They had reached an understanding, and Sierra wanted to keep things even and smooth between them.

  She took a deep breath and smothered the crazy hysterical laughs attempting to fly out of her. The faun watched, eyes trained on her like a mouse watching a cat. Or a cat watching a mouse? She stiffened
, her arm around his furry waist becoming like rock. He smiled for a split-second, a flitter of a grin that made Sierra blink as his white teeth flashed at her. Did she imagine that? Then he moaned, a clear sound of pain. Her mirth at her friends’ shock and her own ridiculous predicament faded like morning mist in the blazing sun.

  “He’s shot,” Sierra explained, in case they had missed the arrow.

  Nell, obviously alarmed by the faun’s noises, said, “We need to get the arrow out of him, and we’ll need an herbal poultice for the wound.”

  She tried to hurry over to help the faun ease down onto the log but groaned as she stood.

  Corbin made her sit back down, saying, “I’ll help.”

  He eased the faun from Sierra’s side onto a log. The relief of having his weight off her was amazing, but Sierra sat down next to the creature to ensure he wouldn’t tip over into the fire.

  “I can make the poultice if you can keep him from falling,” Sierra said to Corbin. Years of pinches and scratches meant learning the best herbs for quick healing. She’d already seen some of what she would need during her trip this morning. Though she hated to leave the faun, she slipped out of their campsite with her herb knife and stopped at a nearby grouping of rocks. She rushed to slice through the stems and roots she needed, breathing deep the rich scent of valderium, the spicy tang of corindan, the sweetness of winter moss. She was thankful they grew here. Mashed together, these would help the faun heal.

  When Sierra returned, she tried to smile encouragingly at the poor creature sitting hunched on the log. She grabbed a bowl and mashed the herbs with the end of her knife, swirling them into a rough poultice.

  “Here,” she said, handing the bowl Corbin.

  She took a deep breath and sat down next to the faun. Before she could take another, Corbin had pulled a bandage as big as his hand out of his bag and spread the poultice across it.

  Nell said, “Corbin has to hold him steady so one of us can pull out the arrow. With only one arm, I don’t think I can do it, Sierra. You’ll have to.”