King of the House Elves, page 20
Aira sighed, pleased. Now she had only to worry about herself and making it as quickly as she might to the cairn of Branghad.
Following Boroden down a tussocky slope, Aira stumbled and almost fell.
Boroden steadied her. ‘It’s high time we stop for a bite to eat.’
They settled on a fallen tree trunk and shared a meal of crusty cob rolls and hedgerow salad, followed by a chunk of the fruit cake that Isla had put by for Christmas. Aira tucked stray wisps of her fair hair under her cap to stop herself inadvertently chewing it as the wind blew it across her face. Food tasted so much better eaten outdoors and in good company after a long walk.
Behind them a row of oak people stretched out strong toes. It was a strange life for them, Aira mused, being sentinels of the same spot. Their only movement was to shift their limbs stiffly when the wind ruffled them. Aira was glad to see them. Like the rabbits that gambolled over the grass, they would not show themselves so boldly if humans were nearby, and that was a good sign.
A hole in the clouds allowed golden patches of sunlight to fall on the distant hills. The sunbeams moved until they threw a long sliver of gold on the grass, touching the tops of the trees and making their young leaves glow. Birds sung louder, mistaking the increase of light for the coming of morning. Over their heads a trio of black poplars held their boughs. Brownies called them whispering trees and they whispered gladly now. Aira tilted her head up to watch the leaves nodding to each other. Boroden put his arm about her shoulders to stop her toppling backwards off the tree trunk.
‘I wonder what they’re talking about? Look, those ones are keeping silent,’ she said, pointing to a patch of leaves that the wind did not ruffle.
She contentedly listened to the trees murmuring in words known only to themselves. Her feet dangled off the ground, the weight and pain taken from her injured leg. Boroden told her about Novgorad and his plans for his new kingdom.
Stopping had been a mistake and Aira followed Boroden limping, for the first time properly distressed about her leg. He heaved her onto his shoulders and jogged along with her. Slight though she was, she must have been a weight for Boroden who was slender. If he was tired, he was too polite to show it. Blackthorn carried their packs, the irritated twitches of her wing suggesting that she too was feeling her wound.
‘Stop!’ Aira cried.
‘What?’ Boroden suddenly became alert, looking about defensively as if expecting to be attacked.
Aira slid from his back and stumbled to pick something blue nestling amid the grass. ‘I’ve not seen a flower like this before. Normally I find only daisies and celandines at Isla’s cottage.’
‘A gentian,’ Boroden commented as they wandered on, Aira clutching the flower preciously. ‘My mother was named Gentian, because of her eyes of deepest blue,’ Boroden said.
‘Like yours.’ Aira held her breath, considering how to ask Boroden about Gentian. Boroden’s mother had been such a kind brownie that Aira had felt her to be like a mother to her too. ‘What happened to her?’
‘She was executed. They said she was cursed and a danger to the clan,’ Boroden replied curtly.
‘No! They couldn’t do that. She was the queen. She’d never hurt anyone.’ Aira’s voice raised squeakily with revulsion. She guessed that Gentian must be dead, but that…
‘I know.’ Boroden shrugged bitterly, seeming to forget that she was there. He never used to be like this. In fact, he had been the most cheerful and friendly bairn in the palace, always ready for jokes and laughter. Seeing how his experiences had changed him made Aira pity him. He did not want to discuss the painful parts of his past and Aira wanted to forget them too. She wished she had never asked him about what became of poor Gentian.
The pain in her leg increased and she lagged. An overgrown hedgerow of hawthorns offered their arms for her to sit on like servants waiting to take a coat. Aira wished she could settle comfortably upon one and sleep. If she did then her repose would be long and deep. Perhaps she would not wake up? That fear, and the desire not to lose sight of Boroden, kept her going.
Blackthorn fell back beside Aira, dipping her muzzle and blowing over the grass to attract Boroden’s attention. He looked over his shoulder and hastened back to them in an instant. He heaved Aira onto his back and set off, talking as freely as if no cloud had passed over his happiness.
As night drew on they were still far from the place where Boroden’s travelling companions would be waiting.
‘Following this path, it might be two days more going at a gentle pace before we reach the cairn. I think I should scout for a quicker route this evening,’ Boroden told Blackthorn, stopping by a sandy bank. He had cast wary glances at the earth a couple of times before, but now he scuffed his foot over the ground. Aira noticed the imprint of an oddly shaped paw before it vanished. Boroden continued as if he had seen and done nothing, but Aira sensed he was anxious. She shuddered to think what the creature was. It was at least the size of a brownie.
Boroden quickened his pace until Blackthorn spotted a dense cave of tree roots that made an ideal haven for them to spend the night. Aira rested whilst Boroden prepared a meal. After she had eaten, Aira felt stronger. She stole out to find Boroden and Blackthorn collecting nest material. Boroden paused as he emptied moss into Blackthorn’s saddle bag. They looked about them and whispered. Aira did not catch much of their conversation, except Boroden’s words uttered as a warning, ‘Blackthorn, there will be a clear sky tonight…’
Boroden shifted uneasily when he noticed Aira listening, evidently not wanting her to know what they discussed. Aira tried to forget it, tired of worries. Far more fun was to chatter to Boroden as they huddled by the timid flicker of the fire, which Boroden lit with his sword by catching a spark from the setting sun. They sang as the fire fell into embers.
‘I wish we had my cousins with us, for Harfan has brought his harp and Hëkitarka his fiddle,’ Boroden said as he led Aira to the nest inside their den.
The earth felt freezing even through Boroden’s hastily woven nest. Outside the night was blisteringly clear and at its darkest before the moon rose. Stars glimmered and prickled across the velvet mantle of the sky.
Boroden used the stars as a guide and he taught Aira their names. He was so clever. And generous and kind and funny. His gentle breeding seemed woven into every fibre of his being: in the way he carried his shoulders or turned his head, in the glint of his eyes, in his calming tone of voice. Aira smiled, glancing at his aquiline profile as he lay beside her. The thought of him momentarily eased the pain gnawing in her leg. She whimpered miserably as she moved her numb body, jarring her leg though she had been as careful as possible. In the morning the bandage would be changed. She dreaded that.
She caught the gleam of Boroden’s eyes upon her, full of concern. ‘Can’t you sleep either?’
‘Nay.’
She buried herself in the thick fur of his cloak, sleep curling about her.
Yet Boroden lay tense as if fear held him.
Aira drowsed, an eddying darkness fizzing before her that she knew was the effect of her wound. Vaguely she became aware of the moon sailing up, its light inching closer. A brisk wind tugged and creaked in the trees, making unearthly sounds.
Boroden’s whiskers twitched, tickling her forehead.
‘What is it?’
He hushed her. ‘I have to go out for a while.’
‘Why? No. Don’t leave me.’
Boroden looked rueful at the anxiety in her voice. Then he glanced outside in agitation. ‘Blackthorn will stay with you. Don’t leave the nest. Keep very quiet and still.’
Aira did not at all like this last warning. Something was out there. Something dangerous. If she had been strong enough she would have pleaded to go with Boroden and fight alongside him rather than be parted. Yet, every muscle in her body clamped and she could barely raise her head.
He slipped outside, leaving her his cloak and - she realised too late to protest - his sword. He must have sacrificed it thinking she might need to defend herself.
Was that a groan?
‘Don’t let that be Boroden hurt,’ she gasped, turning frightened eyes to Blackthorn. The pony pawed the ground, moving to peep outside. Aira dared not join her.
Time passed. She heard nothing more than the wind humming in the trees. On the verge of slumber, Aira jolted awake. A howl came from high upon the mountain side. Deep and throbbing, it reverberated through her. Boroden could do a talented imitation of a wolf howl, but only a monster could make such a sound.
Unable to utter the words, Aira looked questioningly at Blackthorn who was quivering, but the pony was too intent on peering outside to notice her.
The next sound came so close and unexpected that Aira stiffened like a corpse, burying her head under the cloak.
Pad, pad, pad. Sniffing. It stopped outside the entrance to their den. She sensed its presence, its gaze boring into her. Moments span by. The gale grew.
The creature must have gone, for she heard a crashing in the undergrowth. A thrashing that surely could not be the wind. Again, she heard a cry. This time definitely Boroden’s. Were they fighting?
No. Footsteps. Boroden returned, framed by the dawn light. Leaves clung in his hair and mud flecked his face. Upon beholding her, he gasped and fell to her side. What did she smell upon his clothes? The earthy scent of a wild beast?
Blackthorn nudged him affectionately with her muzzle as she trotted outside. ‘I’m going to breakfast on some fresh grass I saw in a clearing not far from here.’
Aira shivered. ‘I’m glad you’ve come, Boroden. I’m so cold.’
He took her hand, his gaze full of concern. ‘We need to get you to the clan as quickly as possible. There’s a physician, Fostolf, amongst them. If anyone can help you, he can.’
Blackthorn poked her head into the den. ‘Sire, there’s a human with a stout stick and dogs heading this way.’
Aira caught her breath. ‘I thought you must have taken us into faerie lands?’
Boroden shook his head. ‘The barrier between the human and faerie lands grows thin in wild places like this. Humans can get into our world easily here.’
Blackthorn let out a rueful snort. ‘I fear the man’s suspicions might have been aroused last night. We should go before his dogs find us.’
Boroden rolled his eyes, exasperated. ‘Great. The last thing I need is to contend with a prying human. Aira needs to reach the cairn of Branghad as quickly as possible. I know your wing is injured, Blackthorn, but I hope you can bear her thus far.’
‘What about you?’ Aira asked. ‘I don’t want to leave you. I’d worry.’
Boroden gave her a reassuring dip of his head. ‘I’m used to taking care of myself.’
‘I’ll carry the both of you as far as I may,’ Blackthorn said.
Boroden looked at the pony questioningly. An excited baying came close by. Closer than Aira expected.
‘Oh, please let’s just go,’ Aira pleaded.
Boroden bundled their possessions into a pack which he slung over Blackthorn’s back. He carried Aira gingerly to the pony and attempted to mount without jolting her.
A dog crashed through the bushes above them. Soil scattered down.
Boroden heaved Aira up before him. Blackthorn galloped away and clapped her wings, launching into the air. She snorted in horror as a dog leapt after her, almost catching her tail. A man shouted as he hacked his way through the thicket, crushing toadstool fairy rings under his boots.
‘May the fairies curse him,’ Boroden muttered under his breath.
They flew amongst the upper boughs of the forest to hide themselves, although this was taxing for Blackthorn who had to flap her wings heartily to stay aloft. Her panting calmed as she met a thermal and soared high over the mountain top.
‘Will it be far now?’ Aira asked, shivering despite being nestled in Boroden’s cloak.
‘Another valley to cross and then we’ll be there,’ Boroden answered distractedly, watching for signs of pursuit.
They followed a mountain stream, its gushing chatter and silvery winks glimpsed between the trees. Aira struggled to coax her heavy mind to think.
Blackthorn kept twitching her shoulder and Aira could tell from the wooden movement of her wing that it still ached. Should she ask to stop so the pony might rest? She tried to frame the words but the world began to blur.
The next Aira knew they had landed. Boroden bent over her, supporting her shoulders as he called her name. He sighed in relief as her eyes flickered open, but he looked shaken.
Blackthorn galloped back to the brownies. ‘They’ve seen us, Sire. They’re coming.’
Aira struggled into a sitting position, glancing about as if she woke from a bad dream. ‘Who? Humans?’
‘No,’ Boroden said, taking her up in his arms. She sensed desperation in his strides. He took an animal track, the trees and brambles merging into a tunnel over Aira’s head as she rested it against Boroden’s shoulder, trying to fight off her dizziness.
Ahead she heard rustling. Was it a dog? Then came voices. Not those of humans, but the banter of two brownies.
Chapter 23
Aira stared at the bright-eyed boy with dry leaves and twigs in his dishevelled hair. He froze upon beholding her and Boroden. Uttering a cry of glee, he made to charge over, but his companion, an older lad with golden hair, held him back.
‘Cousin, forgive me. I know you said to remain at Branghad no matter what, but you’ve been gone so long we worried, especially when we saw that mighty flash of light and the fire on the evening that you left us,’ the golden haired boy said. From the fact that he called Boroden his cousin, Aira guessed he was Harfan. If so, then the younger boy must be his brother, Hëkitarka.
‘It was my idea. Harfan always takes the blame but it was me,’ Hëkitarka said. He squeezed by his brother and ran to Boroden with open arms. He stopped, his whiskers quivering in curiosity as he and Aira eyed each other.
Harfan joined him, struck still as his eyes met Aira’s. ‘It’s a girl.’
Hëkitarka chuckled at his brother. ‘It’s Aira. Cousin B’s found her. Honestly, you don’t know much about introducing yourself to girls.’ He said to Aira in a suave tone, ‘I’m so delighted to see you, lovely lady. Gretchen said Boroden was looking for you. I’m Hëkitarka, Prince of Lutraudros. This is my brother, Harfan. Lutraudros is a fine place but it’s nicer here. For one thing there are more squirrels. Do you like roast squirrels? If so, I have caught some particularly plump ones for supper.’
‘Hëkitarka, won’t you stop rabbiting on about squirrels and do something!’ Boroden’s brows furrowed in anxiety. Aira shivered, perceiving that her injury was the cause for his concern.
‘Like what?’ Hëkitarka drew back. His eyes widened as he noticed Aira’s paleness and the blood-flecked bandage about her leg. ‘I’ll run back for Fostolf. I won’t be two ticks - I’m the fastest runner. You just hold on there, Aira, sweetie.’ Hëkitarka turned and paused at the sight of Harfan sprinting back up the slope to the cairn. ‘Ah. Looks like Harfan is already on his way to fetch Fostolf.’ He scarpered after his brother.
Boroden shifted his grip on Aira. ‘Hmm, well, I could have done with Hëkitarka staying to help me. It won’t be long now,’ he said, hurrying on with Aira. She supposed that his arms must be aching after carrying her for so long. Squeezing his shoulder, she wondered whether he would find time for her once he returned to his friends. She hoped he would.
They arrived at the camp and Aira saw gratefully that Harfan had already prepared an infirmary nest. Hëkitarka dashed over and belatedly helped Boroden to support Aira. He was joined by a Cù Sìth who fawned about Boroden wagging her plaited tail.
‘Misty, mind you manners,’ Boroden told the dog as she growled as she sniffed Aira’s unfamiliar scent.
Aira’s heart leapt as Gretchen gave a glad cry and rushed to meet her. Boroden set Aira down and she embraced Gretchen, leaning against her for support.
‘I’ve found her for you, but she’s hurt I’m afraid,’ Boroden told Gretchen.
‘Oh, bless you laddie. A thousand blessings on you and yours forever for this,’ Gretchen said, squeezing Boroden’s hand. He looked relieved at her words.
‘Aira, this is Captain Carnelian. He’s been making sure I’m taken care of. Well, stopping me from fretting myself sick mostly,’ Gretchen said, introducing a short brownie with hair greying about his ears. Aira rejoiced to see Boroden’s kindly tutor, well remembering him from her childhood in Velmoran. His enthralling lessons always seemed more like stories.
Carnelian greeted Aira with a warm smile. ‘God be thanked you’re here safe with us, lass.’
‘I’m so happy to be here too,’ Aira turned to Gretchen. ‘I remember Carnelian. I spent my first years with Boroden and his brothers.’
Aira was telling her more when a crabbed, stooping brownie with hair as white as cotton grass shuffled over to her. ‘I’m Fostolf, the physician. You need to rest, lass. I’ll look at that leg of yours.’
Aira found several brownies crowding eagerly to meet her. She became torn between Hëkitarka introducing the new faces and trying to speak to the physician about her wound. From the news that Quentillian imparted to Boroden, she gathered that others of the party had headed back to Lord Cameron’s castle looking for Boroden a day before.
The other brownies dispersed to prepare the evening meal whilst Fostolf bathed Aira’s wound. Gretchen, Carnelian, Harfan and Hëkitarka often came to her side. Aira noticed with a rush of fondness that Boroden’s main concern was making sure that she felt comfortable. He brushed away Quentillian’s attempts to engage him in his duties as leader, preferring to stay by her side.
‘It’s a nasty wound. Ogres often keep their nails jagged on purpose to maim their opponents,’ Fostolf said. Every movement as he worked to help her was done with such urgency that he reminded her of an overwound clockwork doll. ‘It’ll be a while before you’re healed and can walk again.’
