Fey 02 - Changeling Read online

  "'Lo," Gift said. He hadn't moved off the rug.

  "Any progress?" Grandpa Rugar said to Gift's mother, speaking as if Gift weren't even present.

  She shook her head just once, a quick uncomfortable movement.

  "This is so odd," Grandpa Rugar said. "Mixed children usually display sooner than this."

  "We don't use that phrase," his mother said tightly.

  "All of Shadowlands knows. He'll have to get used to it."

  Gift couldn't keep quiet any longer. "Get used to what?"

  "Your heritage, boy," Grandpa Rugar said. Then he crouched and held out his long slender hands. "Come here."

  Gift glanced at his mother. He wished he were littler and could run to her, and hide by her legs.

  She nodded toward Grandpa Rugar.

  Gift had no choice.

  He walked across the rug to his grandfather's outstretched hands. But when he got near them, he didn't touch them.

  "I don't bite, boy," Grandpa Rugar said.

  Gift still didn't say anything. Up close, Grandpa Rugar smelled of cinnamon and leather. His features were sharp and fierce, his eyes glittery.

  "The child should get out more," Grandpa Rugar said to Gift's mother. "He's too shy."

  "You had wanted him clear of the other children."

  "But not at the expense of his socialization."

  Gift stood perfectly still, unwilling to move closer, but hating this discussion. Already he had made a mistake, and he wasn't sure what the mistake was.

  "He's socialized fine, Rugar," his mother said. "If anything he's too precocious." Her voice strangled on the final word, as if she regretted speaking it.

  But Grandpa Rugar didn't seem to notice. "He seems shy to me."

  "You frighten him, I think."

  Gift clamped his teeth together. The last thing he wanted Grandpa Rugar to know was that Gift was frightened of him. "I'm not afraid, Grandpa," he said, although his voice sounded odd, even to him. To prove his words, he reached over and grabbed his grandfather's long hand with his short square one.

  The world exploded in color and light. Gift saw a Fey woman wearing a long white dress lying in the arms of a square man. The man had yellow hair and pale skin. The couple looked familiar, as if he had seen them before. The man was crying out in an unfamiliar language. The words sounded like Orma Lii. Orma Lii. His grandpa was beside them. He pulled a bottle of water from his tunic and poured it on the woman. She cried out as if in great pain.

  Gift knew her voice. His mother. And he had never seen her before. Part of her face had melted. Her dress covered her wings. But her hands looked wrong, and her chin.

  The yellow-haired man said, "Ne sneto. Ne sneto" over and over to the woman. She reached for him only to have Grandpa Rugar snatch her away. Grandpa carried her out of the room with the yellow-haired man running after him.

  Then Gift opened his eyes. He was lying on the floor, his head resting on his grandfather's booted legs. His mouth was open and drool ran down his cheek.

  He felt funny. His head felt as hollow as his mother's bones.

  His mother knelt over him. She was holding his hands, her eyes small with worry.

  "You'll be all right, child," Grandpa Rugar said. "Sit slowly."

  Grandpa Rugar supported Gift's back as he sat up. His heart was racing, and he found it hard to breathe. His mouth felt like someone had stuffed it with dried leaves.

  "Get him some water," Grandpa Rugar said to his mother. When she didn't move, he added, "He'll be fine. But he needs some water."

  She nodded, let go of Gift's hands, and stood. For a moment, it seemed as if she didn't know where the water was. Then she ran for the back room.

  "Now," Grandpa Rugar said. "Tell me what you Saw."

  "Saw?" Gift asked. How did Grandpa Rugar know?

  "You have the Vision, boy. It runs strong in my family, but it will be strongest in you. No Fey has Seen this young. But it is important to share what you Saw."

  It was hard to think. Gift wiped the drool off his face, hoping his mother would return before he had to answer. "Is this my power?" he asked.

  "Yes," Grandpa Rugar said, "and it's the one I had hoped for."

  "That was a Vision?" Gift's mother asked as she came back into the room. She was holding a mug, its sides beaded with water.

  "A powerful one," Grandpa Rugar said. "It knocked him flat."

  "How come it happened when I touched you?" Gift asked, remembering the burn of his fingers as they grabbed at his first Wisp.

  "Visions come that way sometimes," Grandpa Rugar said. "The first is usually triggered by an event, but only when the Sight is ready."

  "Children this young never come into that kind of power," Gift's mother said. "Jewel didn't get her Vision until she was an adult full-grown. He won't understand how to use it."

  "I'll teach him," Grandpa Rugar said. "But he needs to tell me what he Saw."

  Gift's mother handed him the mug. Gift drank. The water was cold and clear. It had come from the wooden pitcher, his favorite because it made all water sweet.

  The water made him feel a little better. "Is it all right that I got this Vision?" he asked.

  His mother didn't answer, but Grandpa Rugar did. "It's wonderful," he said.

  Gift looked at his mother for confirmation. Her smile was the tight, disapproving one. "Should I tell him what happened?" he asked softly, wishing he could speak to her alone.

  "I think it best," she said. "You'll need help with this."

  Grandpa Rugar's hand never left Gift's back. His palm was warm through the fine weave of Gift's shirt. "You'll need to leave us. Visions are for Leaders and Shamans only."

  "No!" Gift cried. He grabbed for his mother, almost dropping the mug. "No!"

  She put her arms around him, cradling him as if he were a baby. Then she rocked him back and forth, her warmth like a balm to him. Her wings rustled slightly. He clung to her, unwilling to let her go.

  "I think I better stay," she said to Grandpa Rugar. Gift felt the words rumble through her chest.

  "You will not say this to anyone."

  "There is much I've kept quiet for you," Gift's mother said.

  "All right. Gift, I need to know what you Saw."

  Gift clung tighter to his mother. She kissed the top of his head, smoothed his hair, and gently worked her hands under his, forcing him to let go.

  "Talk to your grandfather, honey. It's important."

  Gift leaned against his mother, his fist against his mouth. He looked over at his grandfather. Grandpa Rugar was still sitting as he had been when Gift woke out of his strange dream. There was a small dent on the side of his boot from Gift's head.

  "I was in a place I never been and there were all these yellow people," Gift said, the words coming out in a rush.

  "Yellow people?" his mother asked.

  Grandpa Rugar shushed her. "It's better to let him speak."

  "And one of them was sitting like you." Gift inclined his head toward his grandfather. "But he was holding Mommy, and she was hurt."

  His mother's body stiffened. He glanced up at her, but her face hadn't changed. She nodded to him to continue.

  "Only she didn't look like Mommy. Her face was funny and I couldn't see her wings. She was wearing a white dress. It looked like something hurt her head. The man was saying strange things to her. He looked scared. And you were there, Grandpa. You threw water on Mommy. Then she yelled. The other man kept talking to her, but you grabbed her from him and ran with her from the room. He ran after you."

  There was a silence when Gift finished. "That's all?" his grandfather asked.

  Gift nodded.

  "Very good. You remember a lot for your first Vision. Now, I'm going to ask you details and see if you can remember them. Were you in Shadowlands?"

  Gift shook his head. "Everything was bright."

  "What else was in the room?"

  "Lots of yellow people."

  "Furniture?"

  Gift shrugg
ed. "I just saw people."

  "What did these yellow people look like?"

  "They had yellow hair and their skin was really light."

  "Islanders," his mother whispered.

  "Shush, Niche, or I will not allow you here the next time." Grandpa Rugar spoke sharply to her without looking at her at all.

  "See?" Gift whispered. Grandpa Rugar was always mean to her.

  She squeezed Gift's arm, but said nothing.

  "Was I the only Fey there?"

  "Mommy."

  "Besides your mother?"

  "Infantry," Gift said. "But I don't know who."

  His grandfather leaned close, so close Gift could see the red lines in his eyes. "Now, this next part is hard. How did you know the Fey woman was your mother."

  "I just knew," Gift said. He didn't like explaining this. It was like trying to make sense from a dream.

  "Did she look like your mother?"

  "She was hurt."

  "But —." Grandpa Rugar sighed. "Let me try this way. Did you know she was your mother before you saw her?"

  Gift looked at him, amazed that Grandpa Rugar could understand. "Yes," he said.

  "Did she speak?"

  "She cried when you threw water on her."

  Grandpa Rugar frowned. The look was severe, and frightening. Gift leaned harder on his mother. She put one arm around him.

  "Were you there, Gift?"

  "Yes," he said. He looked at his mother. She was watching Grandpa Rugar. "I saw it all. I was just there."

  Grandpa Rugar gave Gift's mother one of those grown-up looks, the kind that proved children were bad. He frowned. "I know you were there, Gift, but did anyone see you or talk to you?"

  Gift shook his head.

  "Do you know where you were standing or how you got there?"

  "No."

  Grandpa Rugar leaned back as if Gift's answer explained everything. Gift didn't like it that Grandpa Rugar seemed to know more about Gift's Vision than Gift did.

  "Is that all?" Gift's mother asked. Her arms had tightened around Gift again.

  "For now," Grandpa Rugar said. "You did well, Gift."

  Gift smiled at the praise because he knew he was supposed to. But he didn't like it. The whole afternoon had been bad. He didn't want Grandpa Rugar here, and he hated the Vision. If that was going to be his power, he wanted it changed.

  To something with wings.

  "Will he be all right?" Gift's mother asked.

  Grandpa Rugar nodded. "If it happens again, send for me right away."

  "It'll happen again?" Gift asked. He hated it. He never wanted another.

  "All of your life, boy," Grandpa Rugar said. "It's not so bad. And when it goes away, you might even miss it."

  "I won't," Gift said.

  "Don't be so sure," Grandpa Rugar said.

  His words made Gift's mother even more tense. "Are you Blind?" she whispered.

  "Of course not," Grandpa Rugar said. "But I have watched too many lose their Vision. I know how painful it will be."

  He got to his feet, grabbed his cloak and swung it over his shoulders.

  "Rugar?" Gift's mother said. "About the Vision. What can I do?"

  He adjusted the cloak over his shoulders. "Do about what?"

  "The injury that Gift saw. I thought sometimes the point of Visions is to prevent something from happening."

  "It is," Grandpa Rugar said. "But you don't have to worry."

  "Gift said —"

  "I know what Gift said. I say you have nothing to worry over."

  Gift leaned forward. "Mommy was hurt."

  "No," Grandpa Rugar said. "You said that your mother was hurt, but that she didn't look like your mother, isn't that right?"

  "Yes," Gift said.

  "Then Niche here has nothing to worry about."

  Gift frowned. Another answer that made no sense. "Why not?"

  Grandpa Rugar looked at him. "Because she's not your real mother, boy," he said, and then let himself out of the cabin.

  Gift's mother made a soft moaning sound.

  "You're my mother, aren't you?" Gift asked.

  She didn't answer.

  "Aren't you?"

  She lifted her head, then kissed his cheek, her lips soft. "Yes, Gift."

  "So why isn't he worried about you?"

  She put her hand behind the back of his head and pulled him close, so close he couldn't see her face. "Because Visions are odd things. They don't always come true."

  "But you're worried."

  "Only about you, Gift." She rocked him as she spoke. "Only about you."

  NINE

  Burden was knee-deep in mud, pounding wooden nails into wooden slabs, trying to repair the wall of the Domicile. The spring rain was cool against his head, and his fingers hurt. He would have to get one of the Healers to pull the splinters from his skin when he was through.

  The Jahn settlement was a failure. Only his pride prevented him from returning to Shadowlands. Rugar would say that only Visionaries can start new colonies, and Rugar would be right.

  In the past three years, the Settlement had gone from a small camp filled with hope to a place full of frightened Fey. The buildings were badly constructed because most of the Domestics had chosen to stay in Shadowlands. Those who had come were younger Domestics, many with textile experience, and no experience on larger homey matters. The Islanders that Jewel had promised had helped early on, but the fights among the Islanders and the Fey had grown so severe that the Fey refused to work with the Islanders. Many Islanders carried poison onto the premises because they were afraid of Fey magic. Many Fey threatened magic because they were afraid of Islander poison.

  The truce was great in theory, but in practice it wasn't succeeding at all.

  Burden had managed to create a Shadowlands with weather and less protection. So far, no Fey had died out here, but it was only a matter of time.

  "Burden?"

  He sighed and let the entire piece of wood slide down. The hole still gaped in the side of the Domicile. He turned, his legs squinching in the mud.

  The only Weather Sprite to have left Shadowlands, Hanouk, stood behind him. She wore an untreated cloak, hood down. Water poured over her face. Her work with the elements had left her skin so tortured she looked four times older than she was. She had left Shadowlands because she hated the grayness, not because she had believed in Burden's cause. "Jewel has come to see you."

  "Her Highness wants to see how well the little experiment is working?" Burden wiped his muddy hands on his muddy pants. She would come to see him when he was like this. Not that it mattered. He hadn't ever mattered to her — he saw that now. Their long friendship, their shared experiences in the Infantry, meant nothing in the face of her lust for the Islander.

  Still, understanding didn't help Burden's bitterness. If Jewel had to mate with someone who lacked her talents, she should have chosen someone Fey.

  She should have chosen him.

  Hanouk ignored his sarcasm. "She is in my cabin. She shouldn't be in the elements."

  "I suppose not, now that the Black King's granddaughter is Queen of Blue Isle."

  He got up, the mud squishing around him.

  Hanouk waited until he stood beside her. "Jewel is with child. We do not want her birthing a mixed baby here." Then she turned and walked back to the path, her feet staying on top of the mud. Burden envied the Weather Sprites their uncanny control of all the elements.

  The pregnancy shook him. He had expected the first child — it was an obligation that she had to fulfill. He had been present when she made the agreement with the Islander. But a second child, so late in the marriage, couldn't be obligation.

  He shuddered, the betrayal as fresh as if it had occurred the day before.

  He slogged through the mud to the path. There was mud on the stones, but at least they kept him from sinking in the deep. The Islanders were smart. When they had designated this part of Jahn for a Fey settlement, they knew they were giving the Fey river b
ottom land. It was a flood plain that washed out every spring. Burden had initially said such things didn't matter; the Fey could work with any problem. He was right, of course, but what he hadn't foreseen — what he had lacked the Vision for — was the knowledge that the most magical Fey would remain with Rugar in Shadowlands. The Fey who moved to Jahn were the young, the rebellious, and the underappreciated.