Swift

by R. J. Anderson

  Ivy’s nose wrinkled in revulsion. It was horrible to think of being caught and eaten, but to be tricked into living with a spriggan as your husband was even worse. She was wondering how such a dreadful tale could end happily when Mattock spoke up from the back of the crowd:

  ‘But then the knockers would come home and find the spriggans there. Wouldn’t they?’

  ‘They would, indeed,’ said the droll-teller. ‘Tired as they were, they’d pick up their hammers and their thunder-axes and fight. Sometimes they lost the battle, though more often they won, because a good knocker is braver and stronger than three spriggans put together. But even once all the spriggans had been killed, their evil spells were so strong that the knockers’ wives and daughters didn’t recognise their own menfolk any more. Instead they’d weep and wail over the ugly spriggans — and they’d accuse the knockers of being spriggans instead!’

  The girl beside Ivy whimpered and buried her face in her hands. Ivy didn’t feel like crying, but she did feel a little queasy. She was glad when Mattock raised his voice again: ‘But the spell would wear off in a few days, isn’t that right?’

  By then the droll-teller seemed to realise he’d gone too far. He patted the weeping child and said, ‘Yes, surely it would. No magic lasts forever, after all. But it wasn’t long before some of the piskeys decided they’d had enough, and that it was time to make a new home for themselves deep in the rock and earth, where their enemies were too cowardly to follow. And that’s how the Delve came to be.’

  He smiled and sat back, as though this was the happy ending. But Ivy wasn’t satisfied yet. ‘What about the other piskeys?’ she asked. ‘The ones who didn’t go to the Delve?’

  ‘The spriggans went on attacking them,’ said the droll-teller, ‘just as before. But now those other piskeys only won the battle sometimes, and before long they hardly won at all. They were too proud to ask the folk in the Delve for help, you see. So they fought alone, and most of them died. But once our people heard of a piskey village coming to grief, we sent our bravest fighters to rescue the women and children and offer them a safe home with us. So the Delve grew and the other clans of piskeys became smaller, until we were the only piskeys left.’

  On the far side of the circle Mica sat up eagerly, as though he could hardly wait to become a hunter and fight spriggans. Mattock looked solemn and a little troubled. Keeve, meanwhile, appeared to have fallen asleep — but that was no great surprise, since the droll-teller was his grandfather and he must have heard all these tales a hundred times.

  The droll-teller launched into another tale, but by now Ivy was too tired to enjoy it. She searched the crowd for her mother, but there was no sign of her. And now her father had gone missing as well, for his chair was empty and his fiddle propped idle against the wall.

  ‘Mica,’ she whispered, leaning across to her brother. ‘I’m going back to the cavern.’

  ‘What for? It’s not nearly daybreak yet.’

  ‘I want to make sure Cicely’s all right.’ And their mother too, though Ivy didn’t say it. Surely something unusual must have happened, to keep Marigold away from the Lighting so long.

  ‘Well, you can’t go now,’ said Mica. ‘Not by yourself. You’ll just have to wait for the rest of us.’

  Much as it galled Ivy, he was right. The closest entrance to the Earthenbore was well down the slope, too far for any woman or child to go alone. And it was no use asking Mica or Mattock to go with her; they hadn’t even got their hunter’s knives yet, let alone learned to use them. Sighing, Ivy leaned her elbow on a jutting stone and dropped her head against it. She was slipping into a doze when a cry from the other side of the Engine House shocked her awake. Was that her father shouting?

  Mica was on his feet and running, pushing through the crowd. The music had stopped and all the dancers stood frozen, staring at the doorway. There stood Flint, his hair dishevelled and his face a mask of anguish, cradling a bundle of fabric against his chest. He stumbled forward and dropped to his knees.

  Ivy scrambled over the green and flung herself down beside him. ‘Dad, what is it? What’s wrong?’ Then she saw the cloth that her father was holding. It was, unmistakably, her mother’s shawl — but now the pink roses were splotched with ugly gouts of red, and one corner was in tatters.

  ‘Stand back,’ commanded Betony, and the crowd parted to let the Joan through. She swept Ivy and Mica aside and stooped over her brother. Then she straightened, her expression grim.

  ‘The Lighting is over,’ she said. ‘Everyone into the Delve. Now.’

  At once the piskeys scattered, abandoning half-finished plates and cups of wine, gaming boards, musical instruments, and even shoes and jackets in their haste. Shouts of ‘Hurry!’ and ‘Watch out!’ rang through the night, as the knockers snatched up their thunder-axes and the hunters drew their knives. Mica grabbed Ivy’s arm and hauled her towards the doorway, but she struggled against his hold, crying, ‘Dad!’

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ snapped Mica, giving her a shove. ‘The Joan will look after him. Move!’

  Ivy stumbled out onto the hillside, tears burning her eyes. ‘Mum,’ she sobbed, but there was no answer — and though her gorge rose at the thought, she knew why.

  Her mother had been taken by the spriggans. one

  Five years later

  Ivy stood poised on her toes like a dancer, but there was no merriment in her face as she pulled the iron poker from its slot by the hearth and raised it high. A few paces away, a black adder twice her length squirmed across the cavern floor, blood oozing from the gash on the back of its head that should have killed it — but unfortunately, hadn’t.

  Why hadn’t Mica cut the snake’s head off before he brought it down from the surface? He’d been hunting for four years now; he should have known better than to assume the adder was dead. But he’d been in such a hurry to get to tonight’s Lighting, he’d merely stuffed his catch into a bag, tossed it through the cavern door and left. And worse, he hadn’t even tied the sack properly, so now Ivy had to finish off the snake herself.

  There was no use shouting for help. Not that her neighbours wouldn’t be willing — they’d always been glad to lend a hand whenever Ivy could swallow her pride long enough to ask for it. But by now even the last stragglers had left their caverns and were hurrying towards the surface. In fact, if this wretched snake hadn’t poked its head out as Ivy was getting dressed, she and Cicely would be running right along with them.

  ‘Oh, Ivy, hurry!’ Her little sister crouched at the edge of her bed-alcove, only her head poking between the curtains. ‘We’re already late!’

  ‘Stay where you are, Cicely,’ warned Ivy, edging closer to the snake. ‘I’ll be done in a minute.’

  Mind calm and hands steady, that was the way. She mustn’t think about what would happen if the snake bit her; she just had to strike as quickly as she could. The wedge-shaped head turned towards her, tongue flickering out to taste the air And with one savage two-handed blow, Ivy smashed the poker down.

  The adder’s body whipped into a frenzy, tail lashing around so fast it nearly knocked Ivy off her feet. She leaped backwards, holding the poker ready for another strike. But gradually its convulsions subsided, and Ivy let out her breath. The snake was dead.

  ‘You can come out now,’ she said to Cicely, dropping the poker with a clang onto the polished granite. The floor was a mess and the adder meat would spoil if she left it sitting, but there was no time to fret about that now. ‘Let me finish getting dressed, and we’ll go.’

  ‘It’s no use,’ moaned Cicely, knuckling her eyes. ‘We’ll never get through all those tunnels in time.’

  ‘We’re not going through the tunnels,’ Ivy said, pulling up her breeches. The dress she’d been working on for months still lay across the foot of her bed, but she could hardly climb in that. ‘I know a faster way. Come on.’

  ‘ Please hurry!’ Cicely hovered next to Ivy, her dappled wings fluttering with agitation. ‘They’ll be lighting the wakefi
re any minute, and Jenny says it’s the best part!’

  Ivy dug her fingers into the next handhold, hauling herself up the side of the Great Shaft with stubborn will. She didn’t pause to explain that she was already climbing as fast as she could; excuses were for the lazy, or so Aunt Betony always said.

  Though if it hadn’t been for Mica’s carelessness, she’d have got Cicely to her first Lighting in plenty of time and found her a good seat into the bargain… But if dwelling on what should have happened made any difference, Ivy would have sprouted wings long ago. She set her jaw and kept climbing.

  ‘Oh, it’s not fair,’ wailed Cicely, as sounds of music and laughter drifted down from above. ‘Ivy, let me go ahead, I don’t need a light, there’s plenty of room-’

  ‘You can’t fly the Shaft blind,’ said Ivy firmly. True, compared to the piskeys’ own neat tunnels the Great Shaft was enormous. But there was a cap of concrete and metal over the top, and if Cicely didn’t see it coming she’d knock herself senseless. ‘When you’ve got your own glow, you can go ahead if you want. But right now, you stay with me.’

  Cicely whimpered, but made no further protest. Ivy reached for a grip and pulled herself up again, her muscles trembling with the effort. By rights she shouldn’t be climbing the Great Shaft at all, and if anyone found out she’d be in serious trouble. It would have been safer to go through the tunnels — but that would have taken twice as long, even if she and Cicely were running. And besides, it gave Ivy a private thrill to know that she alone, of all the piskeys in the Delve, could climb like this.

  At last her groping fingers brushed wood, slimy and rough with age. She had reached the old ladder. Ivy hooked one arm over the bottom rung and gazed up at the half-rotted wood and rusted metal before her, chewing her lip in consideration. Once this ladder had carried human miners down the shaft to their day’s work. Then the tin mine had closed, and its shafts were caged off to keep careless humans from falling in. Now and then some idle passer-by shoved a stick or a stone between the bars and let it drop, but apart from that no one had touched this ladder in well over a century. She’d have to make herself human size to climb it, but would it hold her weight?

  Well, she’d soon find out. Ivy took a deep breath and willed herself to grow.

  It would have been easier if she’d practised first. The shift in size threw her off balance, and she grabbed the next rung just in time. But she had no time to waste on panic. The moment her body stopped tingling she was on the move, scrambling for the top of the shaft. ‘We’re nearly there,’ she gasped to Cicely. ‘It’s not too-’

  ‘All hail Joan the Wad!’ came a muffled shout from above them, and the top of the shaft flared with golden light. Cicely’s face crumpled. ‘We missed it.’

  Guilt and frustration tumbled like rocks in Ivy’s stomach. She’d done her best, but it hadn’t been good enough. There’d be another Lighting at midwinter, but what consolation was that to Cicely now? And as usual Mica was to blame but he’d never admit it, and Cicely would never dream of reproaching him. Not the older brother who brought her berries and bits of honeycomb, and gave her piskey-back rides around the cavern. In Cicely’s eyes, Mica could do no wrong.

  ‘Well,’ said Ivy, and then she couldn’t think of anything else to say. She reached for the next rung, and continued climbing towards the surface.

  ‘People of the Delve, be welcome,’ Betony declared, with a disapproving glance at Ivy and Cicely as they crept to a seat at the back of the crowd. She took the copper bowl from Nettle’s hands and raised it high, so that everyone around the wakefire could see it.

  ‘This is the draught of harmony,’ she declared. ‘Let us drink and be one in heart, proud of our heritage and true to our ancient ways, so that enemies can never divide us. A blessing on the Delve, and a curse on faeries and spriggans!’

  ‘A curse on the spriggans!’ the others chorused — and Ivy loudest of all. The very mention of those filthy creatures made her burn inside, an old ember of rage and bitterness that would never go out. First they had taken her mother from her, and if that weren’t bad enough, they had stolen her father as well.

  Or at least they might as well have. After Marigold disappeared Flint had spent days blindly wandering about the countryside, until the Joan took away his hunting privileges and confined him to the Delve for his own safety. Since then he had done little but work in the mine, hammering away night and day with his thunder-axe. He seldom spoke, and never laughed; he ate the food Ivy cooked for him without seeming to taste it, and slept poorly when he slept at all. He still came to every Lighting, but only long enough to replenish his glow. And he never played his fiddle any more.

  ‘Curse them,’ Ivy whispered, but Cicely remained silent, her eyes on her lap. Guilt pricked Ivy again, and she gave her sister an apologetic squeeze before reaching for the copper bowl now making its way around the circle. The draught inside was clear as spring water, sparkling lights dancing across its surface; Ivy tipped the bowl and drank a mouthful before helping Cicely to do the same.

  ‘Oh, it’s wonderful,’ breathed her little sister, surfacing with flushed cheeks and wide brown eyes. ‘I had no idea piskey-wine was so nice. Can I-’

  ‘Not until you’re older,’ said Ivy, and handed the bowl on. Cicely’s lower lip jutted, but she seemed a little less gloomy as the drink passed from one piskey to another and finally made its way back to Betony, who poured the dregs hissing into the fire.

  ‘And now,’ the Joan proclaimed, ‘let us eat!’

  At once Ivy and Cicely jumped up, following the other piskeys towards the long tables. All Ivy’s favourite dishes were here tonight — from pasties stuffed with rabbit and chopped roots, to roasted woodlice with wild garlic, right down to the thick slabs of saffron cake waiting on a platter at the far end. And to drink there was spring water and chilled mint tea, as well as several bottles of the sparkling piskey-wine — though it would be another year before Ivy was old enough to drink more than a small cup of it, and Cicely was too young to have any more at all. But that scarcely mattered with so many other good things to enjoy.

  As they ate, Ivy glanced at Cicely and was relieved to see her sister’s mood improving with every bite. Soon she was chattering to Jenny and giggling at the faces Keeve made at her across the table, and Ivy’s own spirits began to rise as she realised she hadn’t entirely spoiled her sister’s first Lighting after all.

  But then she glimpsed Mica strolling by with plate in hand, and her smile faded. There he was, relaxed and dressed in his Lighting best — and here Ivy sat with her breeches and her bare grimy feet. The old aunties gave her pitying looks over their shoulders, and she could practically hear what they were thinking: What a shame young Ivy can’t take proper care of herself, especially when her brother and sister look so fine. But she’s always been sickly, and with no mother…

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Cicely around a mouthful of saffron cake. ‘You look like you’ve eaten gravel.’

  ‘Never mind,’ said Ivy. ‘It’s nothing you need to worry about.’

  ‘One-two-three-four!’ called the crowder, and the musicians struck up a lively tune that twanged Ivy’s muscles and tugged at her bones. As a child, she’d been too shy and short of breath to dance in public. Even when all the other children were skipping about, she’d hung back and pretended she didn’t care. But Marigold had seen through her diffidence, and as soon as they got home she’d held Ivy’s hands and skipped around the cavern with her until the two of them collapsed in a giggling heap on the floor.

  Marigold hadn’t worried so much about Ivy’s health in those days; she’d told Ivy that her lungs were just a little slower to grow than the rest of her, and they’d soon come right. And she’d promised Ivy that one day she’d be able to dance just as well as any piskey in the Delve, if not better.

  Well, now Ivy could. But not to this tune. This was a flying dance, where the males tossed the females high in the air and stepped to one side as their partners fluttere
d down, and Ivy could not have taken part even if someone had asked her. She walked over to Cicely, who was watching the dancers with the same wistful longing, and sat down by her side.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘Don’t you want to dance?’

  ‘I don’t have a partner,’ said Cicely glumly. ‘And it’s already started.’

  Ivy jumped up and thrust out both her hands. ‘Then dance with me,’ she said.

  ‘Me and you? But you’re-’

  ‘Stronger than I look,’ said Ivy, grabbing her little sister under both arms and heaving her into the air. Cicely let out a giggle, her moth-wings fluttering as she drifted back to earth — only to have Ivy whirl her around and toss her up again. Lifting her sister wasn’t nearly as easy as she pretended; Cicely was on the sturdy side, and Ivy’s muscles already ached from climbing up the shaft. But it was worth the effort to see those brown eyes sparkle, and hear Cicely’s squeals of delight.

  No sooner had the Flying Dance ended than another merry reel took its place, and Ivy and Cicely kept dancing. The two of them whirled arm in arm beside the bonfire, Cicely stumbling over her own feet with laughter, until Ivy was winded and panting.

  ‘I’m done,’ she gasped, waving a hand. ‘I’ve got to sit down.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Cicely, collapsing beside Ivy with a happy sigh. Then she sat up again and said, ‘Is that the moon? I thought it was supposed to be round.’

  Well, at least she wasn’t terrified. Ivy had seen more than a few piskey-girls shriek and hide their faces at their first glimpse of the night sky. ‘It is, sometimes,’ said Ivy.