The Truth of Things Unseen

Hiding in a Bush

The Lady Fentallion, Miradel of Erin, was hiding in a bush.

She crouched in the darkness. Two men were picking around her campsite, poking at her oilcloth, knocking over her bottles. She pulled her hood down low over her face to hide the brightness.

"It was here, walking 'tween the trees," said one, a big fat man with a soft fat voice. "I saw it, all glowing with moonlight. It were picking up branches and walking around, just drifting from place to place like a ghost or something. It sort of glided, like it wasn't even walking."

The other man was smaller with sharp, mousy features and a hooked nose. Fire's still hot," he said. "Something’s been here anyhow, Fae or no."

"If you catch a fae, it’ll grant ye a wish." the fat man said. "Cross it with silver and it has to do what you say. You know it's true, Rinler"

Rinler snorted with derision. "You ain’t got no silver."

"Salt then. We got a jar at the camp," said the fat man, hopefully.

"Fae girl, you say. I don’t reckon I’ll need no salt to get my wishes."

Fen shrank back further, and tugged her cloak down more tightly over her face. If she moved even a muscle, she was done. She could see every blackhead on Rinler's nose, every small stain on his shirt. She heard every crunching step the fat man took. She heard her own heart pounding in her ears and willed it to be still.

"I bet she's still here nearby," said Rinler, pushing his thin black hair away from his angular forehead. "Probably watching us right now. Hear that little Fae? We don't want much from you, just a few wishes granted. Come out now. No one's going to cut you."

I am a stone, she hummed to herself. I am a rock. I am the smallest mouse. There is no Fentallion here. One sound and they would have her, but even so they would find her soon anyway. It was only a matter of moments.

Without thinking, the globe of fire popped into existence between her palms. She guided it out and away from her, not straight, never go straight to them, go around the back of them. She steered the globe through the trees, bobbing and weaving between the trunks, then turned it, wobbling out into the open space.

"Look," cried the fat man, mouth hanging open. "I told you there was summat."

"It's certainly something," said Rinler. "Give me your cloak, we could try to catch it."

"I ain't giving you my cloak," said the fat man. "Look, it's going back down the path. Should we try to follow it? See where it goes?"

Follow it, follow it, away from me, over the valley, over the sea.

"Watch it, said Rinler. Keep your eye on it, but keep a watch out for tricks too, Something made the fire."

Fen frowned with concentration. The globe swung around, splashing illusory fire down into the undergrowth. Small blue flames kindled, but none of them were real.

"It’s beautiful," said the fat man. "It ain’t dangerous, look. Just a pretty splashy light with blue bits. Makes me want to touch it."

She sent the globe bobbing back and away, curving round and round them, up high, then down again. Like fishing. Follow me little men. Dance after the pretty light. Down and away now.

She frowned with concentration, feeling the heat of the illusion, barely under her control. It swung towards the men, and as it did, Rinler spun around, and the hem of his cloak brushed against it.

And just like that, the magic was real. The cloak was blazing and the fire was up, up into Rinler’s hair, and he was screaming. The fat man was shouting and patting Rinlers head, and then the cloak was off, down on the floor, full ablaze, lighting the little clearing up white and silver as the dry leaves blazed around it and the heather curled up in spirals like the smoke.

"Find it!" yelled Rinler between howls.

She felt the magic go out of her into the world, and felt, rather than heard, the cry of outrage, like a thousand ghosts, as the brittle world snapped around her. She felt the righteousness of a fractured world swing back around and strike her in the face, and right in the midst of it was Rinler.

It all happened so quickly. Rinler had his arm wrapped around her neck, dragging her out, and she was clawing at him and trying to bite, but her fingernails trailed uselessly over his sleeves, and her kicking feet trailed uselessly over the forest floor. She watched them struggling and worming, as though from a thousand thousand miles away, and she smelt the sharpness of his breath, very close, and heard the hiss of it in her ear.

"Try to burn us, would you?"

There were fingers at her neck, and her cloak was ripped away. Her brightness filled the clearing, lighting the undersides of the leaves. The fat man covered his eyes, mute and pointing at her.

"Well Fuck," said Rinler, very close. "What have we here?"

She was spitting and snarling and trying to get at them, but Rinler's arm was like iron around her neck. She pressed her hands together, and tried to make another ball. He smacked her around the ear, once, twice, again, again. She felt her body go limp and the globe puffed out.

"Rope", he said.

The fat man took a knife and cut her tent down. Tamberlyn's rope was wrapped around her arms, looped back on itself, wrapped again, twisted back behind her. Elbows almost touching between her shoulder blades.

"What do we do Rin?" the fat man muttered, panic rising in his gentle voice.

She felt the weight of the magic looping back around. Something equivalent. She had cast real magic and she would lose something equivalent. The righteous heat of justice forced itself back, through the world, through Rinler.

"Make up the fire," he said.

The shadows intensified around the edges of things and the Lennel men, suddenly there in the shadows beneath the trees, pressed and swayed. Layonidel's men, the lost army, condemned to the shade forever, lurching and heaving as Rinler held her and the smoke and the light danced as the fat man threw branches onto the fire.

"Knife," said Rinler.

She felt the sharpness pressed into her back, cutting down, and her dress fell away, and her brightness filled the clearing. He scooped up a branch, full ablaze at one end, and she felt the heat of it and the smoke in her eyes.

And then he pressed it into her side.

The pain made her eyes roll back into her head. There were no words, just a long drawn out wail that was not even her own, someone else screaming and screaming a thousand million miles away, up in the night sky on the other side of the stars.

And again.

The embers crunched into her naked skin, and the brightness there was dimmed, becoming red and yellow-gold. The fat man was throwing more dry sticks on the fire, twigs that flared up. She smelled her own skin roasting, like bacon, burned black, crisping, snapping, the embers rolling down her side like red rain.

She screamed again, and the sound of it, not even human, dragged itself out of her, scoring and scratching at her throat like briars pulled out of her windpipe as he ground the brand into her skin and dragged it across her stomach and down across her hip.

He wrapped her hair around his fist, making a good knot of it, and began pulling her towards the fire. She twisted behind him. Her hands, tight bound, found nothing to hold, only dry twigs. Her heels bumped over stones.

The fire was blazing up high. She pictured him, swinging her round, pressing her in, her bare feet kicking into the coals, him hissing in her ear as the flames crackled up her legs.

Through the smoke, through her tears, crouching in a tree above, she thought she saw another thing. A boy with a painted face, black and white squares and a ragtag cloak that billowed. He was weeping, tears streaked his paint and dripped down his cheeks.

And then there was an arrow.

It took Rinler through the shoulder joint. The black fletchings stuck out the front, and the silver point of it showed at the back of him through his shirt. He dropped her, and she scrabbled back away from the blaze, the stars turning above her, white legs kicking in the leaves, sending them fountaining up, drifting over the blaze.

And there was another arrow.

It took the fat man through the knee. He went down, crying, rolling on his back, over onto his face, knee locked, bent, pressing his bloody fingers to the tip of it, wrapping his hand around the shaft.

Rinler had his sword out now, gripped in his left hand, crouching, turning, hunting for the archer, squinting into the night. The third arrow took him at the base of the back. His legs folded up beneath him.

"Fucker," he gurgled. "Dirty shitting coward fucker."

Then, striding into the clearing was a figure in black, her cloak billowing behind her, her bow levelled. She snatched up a bottle of water, smashed the top on a rock, then tipped the whole thing over Fen. The bright embers burning into her flesh flashed out. Steam billowed from a thousand little sparks. The Lennel men, watching at the edge of things, swayed silently. She felt their eyes upon her, accusing.

Rinler was crawling now, dragging his legs behind him, "Fucker, fucker, I'll fucking kill you, I'll fucking fuck, my fucking back."

She stepped up and shot him through the calf, through the flesh, right down into the soil, pinning him to the ground. He kept on trying to drag himself away, but he was fixed like a bug. He kept on scratching as though he were still moving, seeing only the tiny piece of ground in front of his eyes.

The fat man began sobbing, a child with a skinned knee, a wordless cry, then a long ragged breath, then another drawn out wail. The archer shot him through the mouth. The cry was cut off, and a heartbeat later, Fen heard blood splatter across the leaves behind him.

The girl turned, and swaggered back across the glade to where Rinler lay pinned.

"You want to burn him?" she said in a voice like honey, a sweet, kind, good voice. Fen realised the archer was talking to her. She shook her head.

"Are you sure now? Last chance."

Fen shook her head again, trembling. She suddenly felt very weak and cold."

"Fucking fucking fucmmmmm..." Rinler cut off as the arrow pierced his windpipe, lancing deep down into the soil beneath. Choking, gurgling, coughing sounds, and his fingers scratched over and over at the soil, over and over, and then were still.

Then the archer girl was wrapping a cloak around her, pulling her up, leading her down and away from the blood and the fire, and she was stumbling along behind, arms twisted behind her wrapped in Tamberlyn's rope, dragging her feet, stumbling, almost falling.

She felt a sudden panic that she was forgetting something. Her oilcloth, her pack with her cheese and her glass bottles. She tried to tell the girl that she had left her important things but her words were not real words, they were just animal sounds somewhere off and away from herself, somewhere in the night.

The stars were very bright, and then they were dim, and then they were nothing at all. And neither was she.