Swift

  Any one of those ideas was terrifying, let alone all of them together. And yet to trust herself completely to a stranger, to climb onto his back and let him take her wherever he pleased, was even more unthinkable. Either way she’d be taking an enormous risk – but better to choose her own path than to have someone else choose it for her.

  And besides, if she could do this, she wouldn’t only have a chance of finding her mother, she’d have wings as well…

  ‘Yes,’ said Ivy, lifting her chin. ‘Whatever it takes, I’m ready.’

  five

  The good thing about sneaking out through the Earthenbore was that it gave Ivy plenty of places to hide. Smaller tunnels branched off in every direction, so she could always duck into a side corridor if she heard someone coming.

  The unfortunate thing was that Ivy couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t get caught anyway. Turning invisible would keep her from being seen, but it couldn’t mask her scent, or prevent her bumping into someone by accident. And since she couldn’t see unless she glowed at least a little, it would be pointless turning invisible unless she wanted to grope her way through the tunnels with no light at all.

  But right now it was early afternoon, the time when the older knockers taught the younger men to refine and work metal, and piskey-wives did their washing and sewing while their daughters looked after the Delve’s small menagerie of livestock, and all the youngest children were at lessons. As long as Ivy didn’t stay away from home too long, there was no reason anyone should notice her missing.

  She followed the passage to its final branch, as far from the Delve as she could go while still remaining underground, and began climbing the slope to the surface. Soon the scent of sun-baked earth wafted towards her, and the blackness around her began to lighten. Ivy crept forwards until the ceiling became so low she had to stoop, and then go on hands and knees. At last the tunnel ended in a latticework of brilliant green foliage, with a sliver of sky above it so blue it hurt to look at. She winced and turned her face away.

  All her instincts told her to go back, that she wasn’t prepared for this. To leave the earth’s cool embrace and step out into that blazing emptiness, unarmed and unaccompanied, was more than any piskey she knew had ever done. Even Mica had been guided by two seasoned hunters on his first daylight trip, and he’d come back with a headache so fierce he’d spent the rest of the day in bed.

  But if Ivy didn’t go out there, she’d never learn to fly.

  Keeping her head low to avoid the prickly overhang, Ivy crawled out of the tunnel. Only when the underbrush stopped rustling and she felt the sun’s heat on her black curls did she sit up and slowly crack her eyelids open.

  She’d only seen this landscape before at night, when its colours were soft and soothing. Now it shone with a hectic, fevered intensity that made her exhausted just looking at it. How would she ever spot a single bird at this rate, let alone get close enough to study it? She could barely see. If an enemy crept up on her, she wouldn’t know until it was far too late.

  Yet Ivy wasn’t about to give up. Learning to climb hadn’t been easy either, and she’d had to start small, scaling the walls of an abandoned stope. And even once that ceased to be a challenge, climbing the Great Shaft had been a terrifying prospect. But Ivy would never forget the thrill when she pulled herself up onto the concrete lip at the top, and leaned out through the bars to feel the rain falling on her upturned face. Fresh air had never tasted so sweet.

  She was stronger than anyone knew. She could do this. Ivy squinted, shielded her eyes with one hand, and began edging down the hillside one step at a time.

  Some time later Ivy sat cross-legged in the shade of a holly bush, gazing into the sky. Her head throbbed, and sweat trickled down her spine. But her eyes had adjusted to the sunlight now, so she no longer feared that anyone would sneak up on her unnoticed. And she’d already spotted several kinds of birds.

  Some had been solitary, winging past with smooth, masterful strokes; others had arrived in clusters, dipping and soaring in patterns intricate as any six-hand reel. She’d seen birds as big as Mica and birds smaller than Flint’s fiddle, birds with long beaks and stubby ones, birds pale as the spriggan’s hair and others dark as her own. But though she’d listened intently to their chirps and cries, none had stirred any answering call in her heart.

  Maybe she was just too distracted to concentrate. A few minutes ago a horse and rider had come plunging out of the wood – both of them tiny with distance, but still the sight sent a stab of envy into Ivy’s heart. Even though she’d only seen them in pictures, the love of horses was in her piskey blood, and she longed to leap to her feet and run after it.

  But a horse couldn’t take her to Truro and back again before anyone knew she was missing – not like her own wings could. And that was why Ivy had to stay focused until she found the right bird, and learned how to take its shape. So that even if the spriggan turned out to be lying, at least she’d have gained something from meeting him.

  Time passed, and more birds with it. But still none of them seemed right to Ivy. She told herself to stop being fussy and choose the next bird that came along, but the moment she saw it – a ragged black creature with a scrap of carrion in its beak – her soul rebelled. No matter how badly she wanted to see her mother, she couldn’t shape a bird like that.

  The shadows were growing longer now, the sun slipping towards the horizon. If Ivy didn’t get home soon, Cicely would wonder where she’d gone. Disappointed, she got to her feet and began climbing back up the hill. But at least now she knew she could visit the upper world without getting caught by spriggans or blundering into some unforeseen disaster, so perhaps tomorrow…

  Something dark flashed across her vision, and instinctively she whirled to follow it. A little bird with wings like a bent bow, body tampering smoothly to a two-pronged fork of a tail. It swooped over the valley, moving so fast that Ivy’s eyes barely had time to focus before it was out of sight.

  Swee-ree, swee-ree, swee-ree, came its song from the distance, a piercing call that plucked at Ivy’s heart. ‘Wait!’ she cried. ‘Come back!’

  And to her amazement, it did. Rounding the treetops, it soared towards her and flew a circle above her head, bright eyes watching her all the while. She’d heard that piskeys had a special rapport with animals, but she’d thought that was something only hunters did. She’d never guessed that she could do it, too.

  ‘What are you?’ she asked, her voice soft with wonder. The bird didn’t answer, of course, but it dipped a little lower. And then a second bird of the same kind came flashing across the hillside to join it, and the two of them chased each other in dizzying spirals across the sky.

  It was like magic, and music, and dancing, all at once. And as Ivy’s heart soared with them she knew, as surely as she knew her own name, that this was the bird she wanted to be.

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked the faery that night, tearing a piece off the loaf Ivy had brought him. ‘Small, forked tail, dark all over? And it stayed aloft the whole time, without coming to land?’

  Ivy nodded. She’d stayed as long as she dared studying the little birds, so late that she’d nearly bumped into Mica and Mattock coming back from their trip to Redruth. A quick invisibility spell had protected her, but she still felt sick every time she thought about how close she’d come to being caught. ‘So what kind of bird is it?’ she asked. ‘Does it have a name?’

  ‘It’s a swift. They’re not resident birds. They winter in Africa and stay here only four or five months of the year. You’re certain that’s the one?’

  ‘Why do you keep asking me that?’ asked Ivy. ‘I thought you’d be pleased. If I fly then so do you, remember?’

  ‘Believe me,’ said the prisoner, ‘I haven’t forgotten for an instant.’ He chewed another mouthful before going on, ‘It’s just a bit unusual. I’ve never met anyone who shaped a swift before. So are you ready for the next step?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Ivy.

  ‘Then tell me. Wh
at do swifts eat?’

  ‘I’m…not sure. Insects?’

  ‘Well, you’d better find out, because you’re going to be eating it yourself.’ His gaze held hers, relentless. ‘How does a swift drink? Where does it sleep? How long can it fly, how high, how far? What predators does it fear, and how does it avoid them? How does it behave around other swifts?’

  She had no answers for any of those. ‘Why does any of that matter?’ she asked. ‘All I want to do is fly.’

  ‘Because,’ he said, ‘swifts are communal birds. If you don’t behave like a proper swift the other swifts will sense it, and instead of welcoming you into their midst, they’ll attack. Predators will notice too, and come after you because you’re easy prey. At best you could be driven miles off course, or end up injured and never reach your destination. Do you want to take that chance?’

  Ivy blew out a frustrated breath. ‘But I don’t know how to find out all of that,’ she said. ‘I can’t spend all day chasing swifts around the countryside—’

  ‘Then find out as much as you can. But there’s no way you’re going to be able to turn yourself into a swift until you know a lot more about them than you do right now.’

  It wasn’t what she’d wanted to hear. But he had no reason to lie about it, especially with his own freedom at stake. So she nodded, and held out her hand for the water bottle.

  ‘You’re going already?’

  ‘Why not? What else do we have to talk about?’

  His mouth flattened. ‘What indeed.’ He handed her the bottle and turned away.

  ‘Richard…’ began Ivy, then faltered as he shot her an incredulous look. ‘You mean that isn’t your name?’

  The prisoner started to laugh, a dry and horrible laughter like bones clattering down a mineshaft. ‘I am justly served with mine own treachery,’ he gasped.

  Disturbed, Ivy started to back away, but he held up a hand. ‘No, don’t run. I’m not angry with you. Richard…’ He rolled the two syllables around in his mouth. ‘Why not? It’s as good a name as any.’

  But not his usual name, obviously. ‘So what do the other faeries call you, then?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Richard will do.’ He stretched his arms above his head and yawned. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to sleep.’

  Ivy’s gaze travelled across the back of the cavern, taking in the rough-hewn floor without so much as a heap of straw to soften it, the chain that restricted the prisoner’s movements to no more than two small steps in any direction, the iron band clamped around his ankle. Not to mention the acrid stench from the corner – if it was unpleasant now, in another day or two it would be unbearable.

  Yet she didn’t dare do anything more to help him, not yet. Bringing him food and water was risky enough.

  ‘Good night, Richard,’ Ivy said quietly, and left.

  ‘You’re awfully brown,’ said Cicely in a tone that was half puzzlement, half admiration. ‘Have you been rubbing something into your skin?’

  Ivy looked up from the water-channel, the wash-cloth still in her hand. ‘I…no, I haven’t,’ she said, too flustered to think of a better answer. She’d returned from her second trip to the surface in plenty of time, and taken care to brush off her clothes and comb her wind-blown curls. But she’d never realised what all that sunlight had done to her complexion. ‘Why would I want to do that?’

  Cicely blushed. ‘I…I thought you might be trying to make yourself look pretty. Not that you aren’t – I mean, I know you don’t usually fuss about that sort of thing, but you’ve been away from the cavern a lot these last few days and Jenny said – I mean, I was wondering—’

  ‘Jenny said what, exactly?’ Ivy dropped the cloth and put her hands on her hips. ‘And when did the two of you start talking about me behind my back?’

  ‘It wasn’t like that!’ said Cicely, indignant now. ‘I was feeding the chickens when Jenny came to get some eggs, and she asked me where you were and I said you were at home, and she said you weren’t because she’d knocked and got no answer, and then she said she hadn’t seen Mattock either and maybe…’

  So Jenny thought she and Mattock were sweethearts, sneaking away together. Well, Ivy couldn’t blame her for that, even though the idea was laughable – not only because Matt was Mica’s best friend and Mica would probably thump him for even considering it, but what piskey-boy would want a mate with no wings?

  ‘I’m not prettying myself up for Matt, if that’s what you’re asking,’ Ivy said. ‘I’ve been…working on something.’

  Cicely’s face lit with excitement. ‘Is it a surprise? Will I get to see it when it’s done?’

  For one wild moment Ivy was tempted to tell her the truth. Keeping secrets was a lonely business, and Marigold was Cicely’s mother too. But then she’d have to explain about her night-time visits to Richard, and that was too much dangerous knowledge for any ten-year-old to carry.

  No, it was too soon. Better to leave it until she’d learned to fly, until she’d found Marigold. There would be plenty of time to share the good news with Cicely and Mica then.

  ‘Maybe,’ she said, smiling at her sister. ‘Wait and see.’

  ‘I’m ready,’ Ivy told Richard as she dropped to the floor of his cell. ‘And I’ve brought your supper.’

  Richard’s lips moved, but only a croak came out. He had to take a long draught from Ivy’s water bottle before he could speak. ‘Lovely,’ he rasped, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. ‘I trust you’ve been enjoying plenty of sunshine on my behalf.’

  Ivy took a loaf from her pack and set it down beside him, along with a hunk of cheese she’d saved from her own supper. ‘Ask me what I know about swifts,’ she said. ‘Anything you like.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for it,’ said Richard. ‘Why don’t you ask me some of the things you don’t know?’

  That was better than Ivy had expected. In truth she knew the answers to fewer than half of the questions he’d originally asked her, but she couldn’t think how to learn more on short notice. ‘Do they ever land?’ she asked. She’d watched a swift skimming over a river to scoop up water with its beak, and seen another snatching insects from the air in mid-flight. But though there were plenty of trees and shrubs nearby, they hadn’t stopped to perch on any of them.

  ‘Only to nest,’ he said. ‘They eat, drink, mate and even sleep in flight. Have you seen their legs?’

  ‘They’re short.’

  ‘Yes. Far too short to allow them to land safely on the ground, or even in a tree. They only perch on vertical surfaces – rock faces and such. And they build their nests under the eaves of barns and houses – the higher, the better.’ He broke off a piece of cheese, popped it into his mouth and said around it, ‘Anything else you want to know?’

  ‘I’m not sure about predators,’ Ivy admitted. ‘I saw a few bigger birds that looked dangerous, but they didn’t seem fast enough.’

  ‘Most of them aren’t. But watch out for the hobby – it’s a kind of small falcon that can dive very quickly. That’s about the only thing that can catch a swift.’

  Ivy waited for more, but he only tore off another chunk of bread and kept eating. ‘So,’ she said, ‘what now?’

  Richard swallowed with an effort. ‘Picture,’ he said, ‘a swift in your mind. Every detail, from beak to tail-feathers. Don’t let any other thoughts come in.’

  The moment he said that, it was impossible not to be distracted. All Ivy could think about was Cicely’s quizzical expression as she said, You’re awfully brown…

  ‘You’ve lost it already, haven’t you?’

  ‘Don’t talk to me,’ she said irritably.

  ‘You’re going to have to do this with every kind of noise and distraction around. You might as well start learning now.’

  Ivy scowled, trying to marshal her scattered thoughts. Meanwhile Richard, blast him, started whistling – no, not so much whistling as trilling, a persistent chirrup-noise she’d never heard before. What bird sang like that?
>
  And now the swift-image was gone again. She groaned, and screwed her eyes shut for another attempt. Mentally she traced and retraced every line of the swift’s small body, right down to the tiny patch of white feathers beneath its chin – until Richard exclaimed aloud and Ivy opened her eyes to find a perfect illusion of a swift flashing around the cavern.

  She threw up her hands, and the glamour vanished. ‘That’s not what I meant to do!’

  ‘No,’ said Richard, ‘but it’s not a bad start.’ He ran a finger thoughtfully across his split lip. ‘Maybe if you create the illusion first, and focus on that…’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘Then you will yourself into its form.’

  That didn’t sound so hard. Ivy brushed a curl back from her forehead, conjured the swift-image again, and silently commanded her body to take its shape. Harder and harder she concentrated, until her skin began to tingle. It was working! She could feel her muscles shifting, her bones beginning to shrink…

  But when she opened her eyes, she was still in piskey-form. She’d made herself as small as a swift, but she hadn’t taken its shape. ‘Ugh!’ said Ivy, changing back to her usual size. ‘Why isn’t it working?’

  ‘I was afraid of this,’ said Richard. ‘Without being able to show you how I take bird-shape, it’s impossible to teach you how to do it. Did your mother ever have to explain to you the steps that go into creating a glamour? Of course not. You watched her a few times, and you knew.’

  It was true. Magic was a matter of instinct rather than learning, for piskeys and all magical folk. But Ivy could see where this was leading, and she didn’t like it. ‘So you’re saying that unless I take the iron off your ankle and let you go, I’ll never be able to fly.’