Keys and Curses (Shadow Book 2) (7 page)

He caught up and managed a chastened silence for a whole half minute. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said. “I really can’t seem to control what comes out of my mouth.”

Flower sighed, relented, patted him on the shoulder. After all, it wasn’t all his fault. “Don’t worry about it, I’m just a little stressed. I’m sorry I let them go and put a curse on you. It is one of the risks you run dealing with fairies. And to be honest, at least you’re not-” she hesitated, not wanting to offend him. “You know. A complete nutcase anymore. How’s the memory?”

“I remember much more.” His words were sober. “Our journey here. Some of the last few decades. But there are gaps.”

“So you still don’t remember who hurt you?”

“No.” His enthusiasm bounded back so suddenly it almost split the forest around them. “But I feel magnificent! Everything is suddenly so exciting!” He flung his arms out wide. “I am certain we will find these Freakin Fairies soon, and our king, and have magnificent adventures and-” He missed his step, hit his head on a low branch, bounced off and sprawled on his back on the path.

Mnemosyne help her. From madman to village idiot wasn’t that much of an improvement. She was going to have words with Coalfire Quicksilver next time she saw him, a lot of them. Flower closed her eyes and counted to ten. Calm. She had to stay calm. It was going to be a long, long journey.

Quicksilver Forest was a boneyard. The worst ravages of winter had left behind naked trees, thick carpets of rotting leaves, swollen streams and paths slick with black moss. Some long-forgotten fire still scarred swathes of trunks, leaving Ghost Figs and Flat Oaks to rise charred from the spindly, wet green bracken that choked the spaces between the trees. Thorn Lilies bristled along the path, already forming their first purple buds in anticipation of spring.

Flower looked hopefully at the sky at the sight of the buds, but already clouds were thickening to the east. Spring wasn’t going to come and warm them up just yet. She trod lightly on the leafy path, careful to neither slip nor make too much noise. The flat ground merged into a slope pocked with rocky outcrops that squeezed themselves into narrow passages and shallow caves. Sheer rock faces rose on either side of the path. This was ambush country, and they were sitting ducks for any paranoid fairy who cared to notice them. She silently willed Nikifor to keep a lid on any more outbursts.

She breathed easier when the slopes eased and the forest flattened out again, until an acrid stench made breathing unpleasant. She put a hand over her mouth. “What is that awful smell?”

“Quicksilver.” Nikifor kept walking.

“What? I thought that stuff was all underground!”

He pointed to the side of the path. “Strike Pin said sometimes it gets into underground streams and flows out above ground. Look there.”

Flower went closer. What she’d thought was the weak sunlight hitting water became thick, viscous silver oozing from the side of the path. The substance trickled into the eroded edges and flowed along like a stream. She followed it down until it overflowed the confines of the rut and became a criss-crossing maze of silver fingers exploring the path itself.

Nikifor stepped right across the spill, careful not to touch the liquid.

Flower followed his example and hurried away from the smell as fast as she could. Only when the air cleared did she slow down. “How do the fairies breathe that awful stuff underground?”

“You get used to it.” Nikifor’s fists opened and closed, a sure sign of agitation.

Flower glanced behind, but the path was empty. Maybe he was trying to suppress another outburst. She was wondering if she had anything to gag him with if he got too loud, when he stopped so suddenly she ran into him.

“Look.” He pointed upward. “What’s that?”

On a blackened tree trunk was a sigil etched in silver. Oh! She’d read about these. “It’s a pictogram. The Freakin Fairies use them to communicate between tribes.” She could barely suppress her delight. “Nikifor do you realise we may be the only non-fairies to see one of these in centuries? Even the accounts I read were third-hand.” She went closer and reached up to touch the hardened silver.

“What does it say?” Nikifor didn’t sound like he shared her delight at all.

She studied it, trying to recall the scratchy old texts she’d found buried in the library at Muse College all those years ago. All the fairy tribes used much the same set of figures, with different nuances, of course, inflections, flourishes, all of that. “Well, it says-” She stopped and studied it again. “It doesn’t make any sense. That top bit-”

“The bit that looks like a stick man with an axe in his head?”

“Yes that one, that means danger. But right underneath it here, this running stick man seems to say keep going.”

“Keep going into danger? Only a fairy could be so magnificently foolhardy!”

Flower winced. The echoes of Nikifor’s shout died away into a suddenly silent forest.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

A single frog whooped in the undergrowth.

Flower sighed and moved to the next tree, searching for more pictograms. “You know as well as I do fairies are always spoiling for a fight, but that message makes no sense at all, unless the danger sign was added on later. Look, here’s another-” she stopped. Really, this was getting ridiculous, even for Freakin Fairies.

Nikifor studied the hacked off ends of the trunk. “What does that one say?”

“It says someone lives up this tree.” Flower turned on her heel and strode on up the path, pointedly ignoring the pictograms that crowded almost every trunk now. Really, fairies were the most frustrating, ridiculous creatures, and what she was doing lost in their territory was completely beyond her. Maybe she should have just stayed home and beaten any Moon Troopers that came knocking over the head with the remains of her dignity.

Nikifor put a hand on her shoulder to halt her progress. “Look.”

Flower walked slowly to where the trees ended and the path continued into a village. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected. Smoking ruins, perhaps. Bodies.

The village that lay before them looked perfectly peaceful. Too peaceful; no smoke curled from the chimney holes. No voices called out. No children played in the grass. “Do you think this is the right one?”

“It has a feel of impending doom.” Nikifor’s answering whisper was loud enough to dislodge the single dead leaf that still clung to the tree he stood under.

Flower looked at him sidelong. “You think it’s inhabited, then.”

There was only one way to find out. She stepped out of the trees and strode into the village, Nikifor following at her heels. He might have been a madman or an idiot, but right then she was more than glad to have him at her back. Those houses could have been full of vampires or fetches or even bearflies, for all she knew.

The village was three times the size of that of the Quicksilvers. Small, sturdy huts marched in complex lines from a deep circular pit, where the wind stirred the cold ashes of a long-dead bonfire. A huge, badly dented copper cooking pot lay on its side nearby.

Flower motioned for silence. Nikifor nodded and pressed his lips together hard. Apparently quiet was going to be a tall order.

The door of the nearest hut opened under her fingers. Flower peered around it.

The single room was empty. Daylight gleamed through dusty windows on shelves of silver ornaments, a tunic edged in intricate silver patterns thrown carelessly over a chair, a table where a silver goblet lay on its side.

She tip-toed into the hut to look closer. By the goblet, a sticky substance stuck to the table. A few tiny ants ran around the edges.

Nikifor reached for something under the window. “There’s something written-” He knocked a vase and sent it crashing into a miniature silver statue of a bearfly, which in turn crashed into a pile of ceramic plates, which fell off the shelf and smashed on the stone floor.

Both muses froze where they were. The sound lasted only a second, but the echoes rolled right through the town.

“Nikifor!” she hissed. “Will you keep your great clumsy hands to yourself!”

“I’m sorry!” he backed away from the wreckage.

Flower went to the door and looked out. A few raindrops spattered from heavy clouds overhead. The roads were empty. “Come on.” She ventured out into the drizzle.

They went from hut to hut, peering inside, always with the same result. Empty rooms, empty dishes, discarded possessions.

“It’s as though everyone just up and left,” Flower said after the fourth hut.

“Perhaps not everyone.” Nikifor sounded uncharacteristically subdued. He grabbed her by the tunic and yanked her into the shadow of a door.

Flower peered out to see what had spooked him, then swore under her breath. “I really hate those things!” She shrank against the door frame.

A creature about the size of a boot loped down the stone road. It had leathery wings, a wickedly curved beak and talons and beady little eyes so red they glowed. Its scales were intense blue and shone brightly enough to emit a halo of light around its body.

“Fangs.” A frown knitted Nikifor’s brow.

“What?”

“I don’t know. She-”

“Remembering something?”

He shook his head.

Of course he was remembering something, but now was hardly the time. Flower watched the creature pause outside the hut they hid in and look from side to side. Its eyes burned at her. Then it continued on its way. “That my friend,” she said under her breath, “is a fetch.”

“I know,” Nikifor said. “I hate them!”

Flower clapped a hand over his mouth before his voice could rise any higher, but it was too late. The fetch turned its head, then loped back toward them. They retreated into the hut.

Inside was cool and dark and almost devoid of weapons, except for a silver-handled straw broom. Flower yanked it from the cobwebs holding it to the wall and thrust it at Nikifor. “Here.”

Nikifor seized the broom from her and brandished it in front of him. Outside, claws scratched on stone.

The door creaked open and the creature made an awkward lope into the hut. It looked from one to the other of them, hissed and stretched its wings out.

Nikifor raised the broom over his head and thumped it down. The creature moved aside. He raised the broom and thumped again.

“Oh for Shadow’s sake Nikifor just kill it!” Flower yelled.

The creature’s eyes fixed on her.

“It won’t stay still!” Nikifor thumped again.

The fetch ignored him and darted across the few feet of floor space between it and Flower.

Oh, really. Attack her would it? That was just lovely, after the morning she’d already had. Flower glared at the loathsome creature. “Alright you disgusting little ball of scales, bring it on.” She spread her hands wide.

It reared up at her, then sprang.

Flower raised a foot and booted it into the air. “Now Nikifor!” she yelled.

Nikifor squeezed his eyes shut, swung wildly with the broom and whacked the fetch into the opposite wall. It exploded into a green cloud of the foulest smelling vapour known to Shadow.

They both ran from the hut, gagging.

Flower gulped fresh air outside. “Where there are fetches, there are usually Moon Troopers not far away.” She hurried through the village, all thought of stealth gone. “We have to get out of here!”

“That was a magnificent kick!” Nikifor hurried after her.

“Focus, Nikifor!” Flower skidded to an abrupt halt at a road leading out of the village. The silver squiggle on the oak tree at the corner was clear enough to understand: there was a quicksilver mine ahead.

“What is it?” Nikifor almost ran into her.

“Maybe we should just have a look at the mine.” Flower started down the road, trying to look as brave as she’d managed to sound.

“Why do I feel such a course could lead us to a ghastly and imminent doom?”

“Because you’ve been cursed bombastic is why. Now shut up and walk.” Flower stormed ahead, buried in her own thoughts. She had an especial hatred for fetches, and seeing one here was no coincidence. It wasn’t hard to convince herself the Silver clan might not be so hard to find after all, but the implications were dire, so she tried not to think about them. Instead she kept an eye out for more fetches.