Swift

  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.

  ‘It’s beautiful anyway,’ Cicely said. She ran a hand over the moss-covered stones. ‘Everything out here’s soft, and smells so good. I wish…’

  ‘What?’ asked Ivy, with a distracted glance over her shoulder. The place where her wings should have been had just tingled, as though someone were watching her. But the only thing behind her was the fire, and the benches on the other side were empty.

  ‘I wish we could do this all the time.’

  Ivy gave a short laugh. ‘Do you have any idea how much work goes into a Lighting? Collecting enough wood to burn all night, and setting up the tables, and—’

  ‘I don’t mean that.’ Cicely tugged a loose thread on her skirt. ‘I mean…being here. Up above. The boys get to do it when they’re old enough, so why can’t we?’ But before Ivy could answer she made a face and said, ‘I know. Because of the spriggans.’

  Gooseflesh rippled over Ivy’s skin. Had someone pranked her little sister into thinking spriggans weren’t real? Who would do such a terrible thing? ‘Cicely,’ she said, fighting to stay calm, ‘you know what happened to our mother.’

  ‘I know she disappeared,’ said Cicely. ‘And all they ever found was her shawl. But have you ever seen a spriggan? Has anybody? How do we know they took her, and not… something else?’

  ‘Like what? Giants?’ Ivy frowned. ‘Those are just stories, Cicely.’

  ‘No, not that. I mean that maybe…’ Her eyes slid to the doorway, and the darkness beyond. ‘Maybe she didn’t want to be with us any more.’

  Ivy choked. ‘No,’ she said fiercely, when she could speak again. ‘There is no way she would ever have left us like that. And spriggans are real, whether anyone’s seen one lately or not. Who put these ridiculous ideas into your head?’

  ‘He didn’t mean to,’ said Cicely, shrinking back. ‘I overheard him and Mattock talking, when they thought I was asleep—’

  Mica again. Fury scorched through Ivy, and she leaped to her feet. Where was he? Her eyes raked the crowd until she spotted him by the far wall, one arm braced not-quite-casually against the stone as he coaxed one of the older girls to dance.

  ‘Stay here,’ she told her sister flatly, and stalked to confront him.

  ‘I need to talk to you right now,’ Ivy said as she stepped between Mica and his would-be partner, who gave a nervous titter. ‘Shall we go somewhere private, or do you want me to shout at you in front of everyone?’

  For an instant Mica looked startled. Then his expression hardened. ‘If that’s what you want,’ he said, and with that he seized Ivy’s arm and pulled her out the door.

  ‘Are you mad?’ exclaimed Ivy, twisting back towards the light. ‘We’re not supposed to leave the Engine House!’

  ‘You’re safe enough with me,’ said Mica. He marched her down the path nearly to the bottom of the slope, then let her go. ‘All right, we’re private. What is it now?’

  ‘You!’ Ivy shoved him as hard as she could, too angry to care that he barely moved. ‘How dare you tell Cicely that our mother left us on purpose? How could you be so stupid?’

  ‘I didn’t tell her that!’

  ‘Maybe not, but you said it where she could hear you. Or are you going to deny that as well?’

  Mica folded his arms and looked away.

  ‘You disgust me,’ said Ivy. ‘You never think about other people at all, do you? You get some slurry-brained idea in your head and you have to blather it to Mattock, no matter who else might be listening. And if spilling dross about our mother wasn’t bad enough—’

  ‘I wasn’t spilling—’

  ‘Now Cicely thinks there’s no reason to stay in the Delve, because spriggans don’t even exist!’

  That struck a vein, if nothing else did. Mica paled, and now he looked worried – even frightened. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll talk to Cicely and set her straight. First thing tomorrow.’

  ‘Good,’ said Ivy grimly.

  ‘But I’m not going to lie to her, either.’

  ‘Nobody asked you to lie!’ Which was a good thing, because most piskeys could only tell a direct untruth if they were joking, and this was no laughing matter. ‘I’m asking you to stop being so careless, and take some responsibility for a change!’

  ‘Responsibility?’ Mica snorted, colour flooding back into his face. ‘That’s a fine speech from someone who showed up late, dressed in dirt and patches—’

  ‘I wouldn’t have been late if you hadn’t chucked a live adder through the door! What was I supposed to do, walk off and leave it there?’

  ‘Adder?’ Mica’s shock was convincing, as was the look of dawning fury that followed it.

  But Ivy wasn’t about to be distracted. ‘And I wasn’t the only one who ended up late. Cicely missed the start of the wakefire, because of you. So don’t—’ She broke off, startled, as her brother shoved past her. ‘Where are you going? Mica!’

  But her brother was already sprinting up the path, bellowing, ‘Keeve, you little spriggan! I’ll wring your neck!’ And before Ivy could call out again, he vanished inside the Engine House.

  Ivy stared after him, appalled. He’d left her alone at the foot of the slope, well outside the circle of the Joan’s protective spells. How could even Mica be so reckless?

  Still, the night seemed peaceful enough. Surely there was no need to call for help – that would only give her fellow piskeys more excuse to pity her. All she had to do was walk up the slope. It wasn’t that far.

  Yet she’d only taken a step when her spine prickled with the same uncomfortable feeling she’d had in the Engine House, the sense of being watched by someone just out of sight. Her stomach knotted as she remembered how her mother had disappeared, so swiftly and silently that no one even noticed she was gone until it was too late…

  Ivy blew out an exasperated breath. This was ridiculous. She wasn’t weak or helpless; she’d faced down an adder and won. There probably weren’t any spriggans lurking on the hillside, but even if there were a thousand, she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her panic. She squared her shoulders and started up the path again.

  ‘Ivy,’ said a voice behind her.

  She stiffened, then relaxed. So Mica hadn’t left her alone after all. There was another piskey out here, probably one of the wood-gatherers or water-carriers for the Lighting, and they could walk back to the Engine House together. She turned, ready to greet him and explain – but the words died on her lips.

  It was too big to be a piskey and too small to be human, a spidery figure wrapped in dark clothing. It wore a hood, no doubt ashamed of its hideous features, but no shadow could hide the sickly pallor of its skin, or the hunger in those glittering eyes.

  Spriggan.

  two

  If Ivy had wings, she might have been tempted to risk everything on a dash for the Engine House. But though she was quick on her feet, she wasn’t sure she could outrun a spriggan. Especially since he’d crept up behind her so stealthily that she’d never even heard him coming – if he could do that, there was no telling what else he could do.

  She took a step backward, feeling the dirt crumble beneath her bare feet. All at once she was acutely aware of the hairs standing up on her forearms and the nape of her neck, the boom-boom-boom of her heartbeat, the stench of her own cold sweat. ‘How—’ Her voice wavered. ‘How do you know m
y name?’

  The spriggan moved closer, teeth gleaming in the shadows of his hood. ‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘I didn’t even have to tell you not to scream. I think we’re going to get along very well.’

  The amusement in his tone made Ivy feel sick. She could smell him now, a sharp dry scent like fir needles, and all her instincts screamed at her to turn invisible. But what good would that do? He’d still be able to hear her, and probably smell her as well. She retreated another step, groping with her toes for a loose stone, a clod of earth, a bit of gravel. Anything she could kick that might hurt him, distract him, buy her a few precious seconds to escape—

  ‘Ivy!’ came a shout from up the slope, and the spriggan hissed a curse and darted away. Sagging with relief, Ivy turned to face Mattock as he sprinted down to her, his hair shining copper in the light of their shared glow.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he exclaimed. ‘When Mica came back without you, I knew something was wrong. But I didn’t expect to find you all the way down here!’ He seized her by the shoulders and gave her a shake. ‘What were you thinking?’

  She’d nearly been captured by a spriggan, and he was giving her a lecture? Indignant, Ivy cuffed him across the head. Then she jabbed a finger emphatically in the direction the spriggan had gone.

  But the slope was empty, its clumps of heather and bracken undisturbed. The only sign of life was a single tiny bird, fluttering towards the horizon.

  ‘I know what I saw,’ Ivy insisted as she and Mattock walked back to the Engine House. ‘It was a spriggan, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Well,’ said Mattock, rubbing his ear where she’d clipped him, ‘if you’re that convinced, I suppose you’d better tell the Joan. But I wouldn’t mention it to anyone else.’

  ‘But if there’s one spriggan out there, there could be more,’ she said. ‘We have to warn the others—’

  ‘They’re safe enough inside the Engine House,’ said Mattock. ‘I’ll keep watch if it makes you feel better, but no spriggan’s going to take on a hundred piskeys at once.’ He quickened his stride as they reached the doorway, where Mica was leaning with a sour expression on his face. ‘Did you find Keeve?’

  ‘No,’ said Mica. ‘But when I do, I’m going to give him the thrashing of his life.’ His gaze shifted to Ivy. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘You left her down in the valley,’ said Mattock before Ivy could answer. ‘You’re lucky I was the one who found her, or you’d be explaining yourself to the Joan right now.’

  ‘Left her?’ Mica said. ‘She’s got legs, hasn’t she? If she didn’t have enough wits to follow me up the hill, that’s not my fault.’ He straightened up, gave Ivy a contemptuous glance, and strode inside.

  ‘I hate him,’ said Ivy flatly.

  Mattock put a hand on her shoulder. ‘He’s half-drunk, and angry at Keeve for pranking him. In a few hours he’ll think better of it.’

  ‘And I’ll still hate him then.’ She shook him off. ‘I’m going to find Cicely.’

  Ivy found her little sister sitting by the droll-teller’s feet with the other children, listening raptly as he spun a tale about a tribe of piskeys who could magically leap from one place to another at will. Ivy had heard the story before and dismissed it as wishful thinking, like the legends that claimed her piskey ancestors had power to heal every kind of injury and disease, or that they could transform their bodies into any shape they wished. Surely, if her people had been able to do such wonderful things in the past, they’d still be able to do them now.

  But the spriggan had come out of nowhere, and Ivy was beginning to wonder if there might be some truth to the old legends after all. Maybe piskeys couldn’t transport themselves from place to place with a thought, but what if spriggans could? It would explain how Marigold had vanished so quickly, and why they’d never found any trace of her but her shawl…

  Suppressing a shudder at how close she’d come to sharing her mother’s fate, Ivy sat down next to Cicely. She couldn’t tell her sister what had happened, not yet: Cicely was in no danger at the moment, and it would be cruel to steal away her joy in her first Lighting. But if Mica didn’t talk to Cicely soon, or if he couldn’t convince her to take the threat of spriggans seriously, then Ivy would have no choice but to tell her. A few nightmares were a small price to pay for Cicely’s safety.

  She glanced across the Engine House to where the Joan sat with her consort, Gossan – the Jack O’Lantern by title, though unlike his wife he wasn’t the sort to stand on ceremony. By rights Ivy ought to tell her story to him as well, for he was the leader of the hunters, and it would be his duty to direct the search if they decided to track the spriggan down. But right now he was engrossed in conversation with Keeve’s father Hew, while Betony was hearing a dispute between two of the women who’d done the cooking, and it would be difficult to talk to either of them without being overheard.

  Maybe Mattock was right. Maybe Ivy should hold her peace until tomorrow, when she could talk to the Joan in private. After all, the spriggan was gone, and what were the chances of anyone finding him now?

  ‘Now then,’ said the droll-teller, sitting back with his bony hands on his knees. ‘What would you like to hear about next?’

  ‘Giants!’ piped up one eager listener, and ‘Gnomes!’ shouted another. Ivy, who was interested in neither, was about to get up and leave when Cicely called out, ‘Faeries!’

  ‘Ah, I can’t refuse a pretty lass,’ the droll-teller said. ‘Faeries it is.’ Some of the boys groaned, and he gave a chuckle. ‘No worry, lads, there’s something for you in this story as well. Let me tell you of the last great battle between the piskeys and the faery folk, many years ago…’

  He went on to tell a story that even Ivy hadn’t heard before, about a time when the piskey clans of Cornwall – or Kernow, in the old speech – had banded together to defend their territory against an invading army of faeries. The fight had been long and bitter, with terrible magics wielded on both sides, but in the end the piskeys had won and the faeries had retreated to their own lands.

  ‘And after that day,’ he finished, ‘they never dared march upon our borders again. Once or twice a troop of them came sneaking across the Tamar, claiming some patch of woodland as their wyld and pretending they’d always lived there. But they soon thought better of it once a few of our boys paid them a visit, and now there’s hardly a faery to be found from Launceston to Land’s End.’

  Which was probably for the best, Ivy thought. Faeries might not be as vicious as spriggans, but they were far too cunning and ruthless to be trusted. Still, she couldn’t blame Cicely for being curious about them, because they were said to be eternally young and beautiful, with graceful bodies and wings clear as crystal, and as a child Ivy had often longed to see a faery herself.

  ‘Where’s Mica?’ asked Cicely, as the droll-teller wandered off in search of a drink. ‘He said he’d play jump-stones with me – oh, there he is.’ She moved to get up, but Ivy caught her arm.

  ‘He’s in a foul mood right now,’ she said. ‘I’d leave him alone, if I were you. Why don’t we play a game instead?’

  As usual, the Lighting ended with the first rosy glimmer of dawn. The last of the piskey-wine was poured out on the ashes of the wakefire, and the tables and benches whisked into storage. The Joan pronounced her blessing on the company, and with that all the revellers – yawning musicians and sore-footed dancers, pranksters and victims, knockers and hunters, aunties and maidens – headed back into the Delve for some well-earned sleep.

  ‘I’m telling you, it was a spriggan,’ Ivy said, as Mica laid the slumbering Cicely in her alcove. ‘If Matt hadn’t shown up when he did…’

  ‘And I’m telling you it was Keeve, hiding in the gorse-bushes with a tablecloth over his head,’ said Mica. He sat down on the edge of his bed and started pulling off his boots. ‘He did the same thing last year, remember? Jumped up behind the droll-teller and made everyone scream.’ He flopped onto the mattress. ‘I should have throttled him t
hen.’

  ‘It wasn’t Keeve,’ said Ivy. Keeve’s eyes were black and bright with boyish mischief, nothing like the slate-grey stare that had so chilled her. ‘And I know what a tablecloth looks like. Why can’t you believe—’

  But Mica’s eyes were closed, and a snore was bubbling up between his lips. He wasn’t pretending, either. Mica could drop off into a deep slumber in an instant, and Ivy, who often struggled to sleep, found it one of the most infuriating things about him.

  Meanwhile, the adder’s body still lay in the middle of the cavern, its blood pooling on the granite. And though Ivy realised now that Mica wasn’t to blame, she resented him for not even offering to clean up the mess.

  Flint wouldn’t be any help either, even if she’d had the courage to ask him. He’d left the Lighting early and his thunder-axe was gone from its place by the door, which meant he’d already slept as much as he needed to before heading off to the diggings again.

  Resigned, Ivy crouched by the snake’s limp body, pulled the sack over its mangled head and started shoving the rest of it back in. She’d stick it in the cold-hole for now, and give it to Keeve once they all woke up – along with a good piece of her mind. Maybe then he’d think better of switching sacks on his fellow hunters, especially without making sure the snake was properly dead first.

  The cavern was still quiet when Ivy woke several hours later, the only light her own glow reflected in its copper-tiled walls. It had taken her father years to refine all that metal and hammer it into shape, but he’d worked every spare moment until it was done. He’d also polished the floor to bring out every fleck and ripple in the granite, and as if that weren’t enough, he’d begun inlaying the stone with silver all around the edges.

  He’d only finished half the cavern when Marigold disappeared. A few chiselled swirls continued where the silver left off, but they’d never been filled, and in the end Ivy had dragged an old trunk over those forlorn two paces of stone so she wouldn’t have to look at them.