by Anne Bishop
Ashk had ordered the footmen to put the boxes of books in the library. After her reluctant guests had gone to bed, she and Morag had gone back to the library and opened the boxes.
Women’s names stamped on the books’ covers below the titles. All women. And only one copy of each work. But as the two of them opened the boxes, wiping away stray tears now and then, they’d realized the bookseller had tried to gather up as many as he could to save them from being confiscated by the magistrate’s guards and burned.
Only one precious copy of each work. There might be others, tucked away in gentry libraries throughout Sylvalan. If, somehow, the spread of the Black Coats’ poisoned words could be stopped, perhaps other copies would escape the fire. But if they were lost, the stories those women had shaped out of words and heart would exist only in that room where she and Ashk had sat, both of them wondering if those writers would find some comfort in knowing their stories were still in the world.
As they descended toward the village, Morag noticed the other things. Scattered houses surrounded by pastureland where cows, horses, and sheep grazed. Other houses with large plots of plowed land full of the bright green of young plants.
Did the humans in this village divide their skills and the goods this way? Did some raise the cattle for the milk, meat, and leather while others raised sheep for wool and meat, and still others did the spinning and weaving to supply the cloth for the clothes they’d all wear?
Whatever curiosity she had about the humans who lived here vanished when she looked to her right and saw the stream that tumbled down the hills to feed a tiny lake. The mouth of the lake dropped in a series of small waterfalls before the stream reclaimed the water and finished making its way down to the sea. But it was the odd gathering of stones on one side of the waterfall that captured Morag’s attention as well as the attention of Mihail and his men. She reined in to take a longer look at the same time Mihail halted the wagon.
Ashk, who had been riding a little ahead of them, looked back and grinned, then rode back to join them. “Those are fish stairs.”
Morag gave Ashk a stare of her own.
Ashk’s grin widened. “Fish stairs,” she repeated. “While the salmon are fine leapers, especially when they have the incentive to return to their home stream to spawn, only the strongest were managing to get back up the falls and return to the stream. At some point, someone argued that, while it was a fine thing for the best leapers to get back to the spawning grounds to breed, if they found some way for the second-best leapers to make it back to the spawning grounds, there would be more fish to catch and eat and sell. And a salmon doesn’t have to be the best leaper in the world to taste good. So they built the stairs — and the fish have shown abundant gratitude ever since.”
“It’s a marvelous idea,” Mihail said. “It’s a wonder I’ve never seen the likes of it before.”
“All it takes to build one is muscle and desire — or a connection with earth and water,” Ashk said.
Morag watched Mihail’s face change from open curiosity to shuttered tension. What had there been in Ashk’s last comment that he heard as a threat?
They rode silently down into the village, and as they passed the oddly clustered houses and shops, Morag noticed the number of villagers who came to their doors to study the strangers — and then follow them down to the harbor. Mihail and his men noticed, but Ashk, who usually paid attention to everything, ignored the growing crowd.
By the time they reached the harbor, Mihail was so tense, it was almost unbearable to be near him. There was already a crowd of hard-eyed men near the long pier where one of the larger ships was moored.
Morag shifted in her saddle. Those men glanced at her, then averted their eyes. She suspected that meant they recognized who she was. Good. Perhaps they would think twice about causing any trouble while the Gatherer rode in their midst.
Aman stepped forward and placed one hand on the cart horse’s reins. “I can take him for you now,” he told Mihail.
After murmuring his thanks, Mihail climbed down from the cart, his eyes on his ship — and on the two boys standing at the bow waving to him. He lifted his hand to return the greeting, but Morag saw worry in his eyes.
Mihail turned to Ashk, who had dismounted and was now studying him calmly. “Lady Ashk,” he said, giving her a small bow as any merchant would when addressing a baron’s wife. “I thank you for your hospitality, but now it is time for us to continue on our journey.”
The only warning was a sudden gust of wind a moment before one of the men shouted, “Captain!”
Morag looked toward the sea. Felt her breath catch.
The wave rose out of the water. Rose and rose until it was twice the height of the merchant ship’s tallest mast — and headed straight for Mihail’s ship.
“NO!” he cried. He tried to turn, to run to his ship, but men roughly grabbed him and his two men, preventing them from going anywhere.
Morag started to turn toward them, not sure of what she intended, when Ashk gripped her arm.
Feeling ill from her own restrained fury, Morag watched the wave, heard the frightened cries of the two boys and the other men on the ship.
And she saw the young woman suddenly appear on deck. She looked toward the docks, looked directly at Mihail, then lifted her hands as she turned to face the wave.
It kept coming toward the ship, but slower now. Slower.
The woman faced it, her hair blowing in the wind, her hands raised.
The wave stopped, a deadly curve of water foaming white at its crest.
Morag wondered if she was the only one who heard Mihail whisper, “Jenny.” She couldn’t tell how long the woman and the wave faced each other before the wave slowly, quietly sank back into the sea, leaving nothing more than ripples to gently rock the boats.
The woman lowered her arms. Sank to the deck as the crew and the two boys rushed to her side.
Ashk snarled, “A witch is part of your cargo? You neglected to mention that.”
Now Morag gripped Ashk’s arm, unsure what the other woman intended. She knew Ashk had no objections to witches, so something else must have sparked that temper.
“She isn’t cargo,” Mihail snapped with more heat than prudence.
“But she is a powerful witch,” another voice said.
Everyone turned to the dark-cloaked woman as she pushed the hood off so that her white hair gleamed in the sun.
“Cordell,” Ashk murmured, shaking off Morag’s restraining hand.
“What difference does it make that she’s a witch?” Mihail said, his voice full of anger and desperation. “She does no harm with her gifts, no matter what the Black Coats say.”
Cordell started to reply, but her attention was caught by something happening on the ship.
Morag watched the woman, Jenny, shake off the hands helping her, then march to the other side of the ship, where she disappeared over the side. A few moments later, she strode along the pier and shoved her way through the crowd until she was standing a step ahead of Mihail, facing Cordell, who had a little smile playing on her lips.
“How dare you break the creed we live by?” Jenny shouted.
“Jennyfer,” Mihail said softly, warningly.
“And what creed is that?” Cordell asked politely.
“Do no harm,” Jenny snapped.
“We cannot always live by that creed,” Cordell said. “Not if we would protect what we love.”
“That may be so, but we did nothing to deserve that.” Jenny flung out one arm, her hand pointing to the harbor. Afountain of water burst out of the harbor, then spilled back down, creating more ripples to rock the boats. She didn’t notice what she’d done any more than she noticed the villagers’ sudden wariness as they watched her. “We came here to deliver goods to an inland baron. While my brother made the delivery, the rest of us stayed on the ship so that we wouldn’t soil your precious village. Well, the delivery is made, and you have no right to hold us here.”
; “Brother?” Ashk said quietly, studying him carefully.
Mihail jerked free of the men holding him. He took a step forward so that he stood side by side with Jenny. His hand brushed hers. Held on.
“Yes, I’m her brother. And proud to be so.”
Cordell looked toward the ship. “And the boys? Are they yours?” She shook her head. “No, you’re too young for them to be yours.”
“They’re my — our — older brother’s sons,” Mihail said reluctantly.
Cordell pursed her lips as she watched Jennyfer. “You connect with the sea.”
“I love the sea,” Jenny said.
Cordell nodded. “I felt the song of your power in the tides, but when you didn’t leave the ship and make yourself known to the villagers …I apologize for any fright I gave you and the others on the ship. If you hadn’t stopped the wave before it reached the ship, I would have. It was meant to draw you out, to find out how you would react.”
“Now you know,” Jenny said, anger still simmering in her voice.
“Now I know.” Cordell gestured toward the cart. “The cart isn’t elegant, but it will do. Come with me. Let the boys come, too. No harm will come to them.” Her lips curved in an amused smile. “As I will it.”
“We should get back to the ship,” Mihail said.
“You have to wait for the tide in any case, so you may as well take a look at our ‘precious village.’”
Judging by the carefully blank looks on Mihail’s and Jenny’s faces, Morag wasn’t certain they would have to wait for the tide, but she couldn’t see how they’d be able to reach their ship or get out of the harbor safely unless she was willing to gather the souls of half the village to give them a fighting chance. And she would never be able to justify taking so many lives — especially, she realized, when the shadows were no longer flickering on Mihail’s face.
“Ashk,” she said softly.
Ashk shook her head. “It’s out of our hands now.”
They waited for Mihail’s men to return to the ship and escort the boys to their uncle. When the boys were introduced to Ashk, they bowed with great dignity, then spoiled the effect by grinning at her and asking if Evan had gotten the horse he’d wanted.
“Yes, he did,” Ashk replied with sour amusement before mounting her horse.
Morag mounted her dark horse while Cordell was carefully helped into the driver’s seat beside the village man who took the reins. Mihail, Jenny, and the boys climbed into the back. The crowd moved aside to let the cart pass.
Thinking this would be a tense and futile tour, Morag got her next lesson about dealing with children in the human world.
“Uncle Mihail,” one of the boys said excitedly. “We saw little selkies.”
“We did!” said the other. “They were swimming around the ship.”
“We wanted to go down to the pier so we could talk to them better, but Jenny wouldn’t let us.” He gave his aunt a dark look. “We wouldn’t have hurt anything.”
“We pointed out the ship’s name, Sweet Selkie, that was written on the stern and told them how we got to name your ship.”
“And they got to swim in the harbor. We didn’t get to swim in the harbor.” Wounded, mutinous looks at both aunt and uncle.
Morag noticed how hard Ashk was pressing her lips together in an effort to keep a straight face. She noticed the way Jenny and Mihail just rolled their eyes, as if they’d heard this complaint at every port. And she noticed the slight shaking in the driver’s shoulders, and wondered how long the man would be able to suppress his laughter.
“And they don’t have to go to school and have lessons,” one of the boys said.
“Oh, but they do,” Cordell said, turning in the seat. Her eyes danced with laughter, but she kept her expression admirably serious. “For how else can a young selkie grow up to be a good selkie?”
The boys’ mouths fell open. “They do?”
“Of course. If they don’t learn their numbers, how can they report to the fishermen to tell them how big a school of fish is? If they don’t know compass bearings, how can they tell where the fish are? And don’t they need to learn what kinds of fish are good to eat and which should be avoided? And what is safe and what can harm them? And while it’s the bards who create the songs, if the little ones don’t learn to sing them, how will they remember who they are and where they came from? No, there’s much a little selkie has to learn.”
That managed to silence the boys for a noticeable few seconds. Then, “But they still get to swim in the harbor when the lessons are done.”
Cordell nodded. “There is truth in what you say, but not all of us can be selkies.”
Before the boys could reply, Cordell began pointing out things in the village. The women in this family baked the finest bread. The men in that family tanned leather. This family did spinning and weaving. That family had skilled seamtresses and tailors. Someone else made candles. Another was the blacksmith.
Clusters of neat cottages that continued to tug at Morag. The village just didn’t look quite …right…somehow, and yet she was certain if it was in a different place, she would know why it also looked familiar.
Then she realized Ashk was watching her as well as watching Mihail and his family’s reaction to the village.
At the edge of the village, on a little rise of its own, they stopped at a sprawling stone building. Cordell climbed out of the cart and waved at them to join her as she walked to the wrought-iron gates.
Following behind the rest of them, Morag walked through the wide passageway to a lovely but neglected courtyard. The house surrounded it except for the passageway leading to the street and an archway in one back corner. Doors on each side, opening into the courtyard.
Cordell led them through the archway. Another courtyard. More doors. And a couple of arched gates leading out to the stables and the back gardens.
A comfortable place, Morag thought. Which made her wonder why no one lived there.
Cordell didn’t take them into the house itself. When they’d seen the courtyards and had a glimpse of the grounds, she led them back to the cart.
“What do you think of it?” Cordell asked, looking at Jenny as they rode back to the harbor.
“It’s lovely,” Jenny replied. “A grand and sprawling home with room and more for a lively family.” She hesitated. “But no one lives there.”
“No,” Cordell said quietly. “No one lives there anymore. It needs loving hands — and laughter and songs filling its courtyards again.” She paused. “Would it suit you and yours?”
Jenny stared at her.
“Baron Padrick wrote to me and mine about a merchant captain who was looking for a safe harbor for his family’s ships … and his family.” Cordell looked pointedly at Mihail, then at Ashk, who nodded. “Even in this part of Sylvalan, we’ve heard bits of things about these Black Coats. Enough to understand why you’d have cause to worry, and why you’d want another place to go if you need to run. Well, I’m a Crone now, and while I don’t expect to be journeying with the Gatherer for some years yet” — she shot an amused and knowing look at Morag — “I’d feel easier if there was another of the Mother’s Daughters here who felt a kinship with the sea.”
“Aren’t there any other witches around here?” Jenny asked cautiously.
“There are. But not every witch whose branch is water feels comfortable with the moods of the sea. There are those who are more attuned to the rivers and streams, to the ponds and the lakes. Not that they can’t command water wherever it is, but we all follow our hearts to the right places. My own daughter, like my mother, may the Great Mother hold them both gently, had the gift of earth, and she was happy in the Old Place where she lived. But the brooks and streams … I had little to offer them, nor did they have what I needed. For me, it was the sea. I think it’s much the same with you.”
Jenny nodded.
“So. If you want it, you have a place to live and a safe harbor for your ships.” Cordell hesitated, actu
ally seemed uncomfortable for a moment. “The only question is, will you be comfortable with your neighbors?”
Morag felt the tension rise again. But not from Jenny or Mihail. It was the driver who tensed.
“I am not the only witch in my family,” Jenny said slowly. “I think the question is whether or not our new neighbors could accept a family like ours.”
“No,” Cordell said in an odd voice. “That’s not the question.”
The crowd was still at the harbor, waiting. When they heard the cart, they turned to face it.
A jolt went through Morag, and she understood why the village looked different. Some of the villagers still looked human. But more — many more now that they’d dropped the glamour — had the pointed ears and feral quality of the Fae that gave even a plain face a kind of beauty.
“They’re Fae,” Mihail whispered.
Morag looked at Ashk, who returned the look calmly.
She knew all along. Of course she knew. Just as she knew that if the people here had perceived Mihail and his ship as a threat, he and his people would have never left the harbor alive.
“Yes,” Cordell said quietly. “They are Fae. The Old Place is Ronat Isle, the largest island, and many make their home there — as I do. But there have been humans and Fae who have made this harbor their home for generations. Over time, they built a village together. And they made families together until it’s impossible to say, ‘This family is Fae, and this one is human.’ We don’t bother with such things here. This is our home, and we are its people. The question is, is a Daughter of the House of Gaian willing to walk among them as friend and neighbor?”
Jenny stared at the villagers. They stared back at her. She glanced at Mihail, but he lowered his eyes and kept his expression carefully neutral. Even the boys knew enough to keep silent.
It was Jenny’s decision. Morag knew that as well as Mihail and the villagers did. They wanted her and her affinity to the sea, but they would welcome any family she brought with her.
Jenny took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Her smile was a little self-conscious as she said, “If some of my new neighbors would be willing to lend a hand to clean up a couple of rooms, the boys and I can settle in while Mihail and Sweet Selkie go back to fetch some of the others.” She bit her lip, and her face paled a little.
