Page 38 of The Guardians of Dreamdark (Windwitch #1)

“Ye going to tell the Magruwen who ye are?” Calypso asked Magpie as they flew above the treetops.

Magpie snorted. “Who I am? I’m flummoxed if I know that myself! Some skinful of secrets is what. But you were in on it all along, neh?” She fixed him with a glare. “For shame, blackbird! You owe me a hundred years of secrets!”

“The imp made me swear!” he protested. “Just doing my part, trying to grow ye up right. Besides, I only know what Snoshti told me.”

“Which was what?”

“Not the half of it, I reckon. I know my old dad, Dizzy, blessed ye himself here in Dreamdark when ye were wee. He gave ye a thief’s iron nerves and fast fingers!

And all those creatures who came to see ye were sure ye’d grow up some kind of special.

I tell ye, the creatures might’ve had no magic to lose, but they had to watch the faeries dither theirs away, and we all suffer for it, neh?

When the imps started telling how there’d be a faerie born to take things back to how they used to be, the creatures were mad keen on it and kept their eyes peeled for ye. ”

“Take things back...?” Magpie repeated. “How am I supposed to do that? There’s no turning back time! The world’s different now. There’s humans...”

“Ach,” Calypso croaked. “Don’t get in a frazzle. Just think on the next thing to do. The Magruwen, now, what’re ye going to tell him? He weren’t quite itching to help, as I recall.”

A flush came to Magpie’s cheeks as she imagined actually speaking any of the words that might tell the Djinn King the truth of her. You didn’t mean to, but you dreamed me up to save the world, Lord . Ha!

“Hoy there,” called Mingus from the rear of the flock. “Looks like we’re being followed!”

“Followed?” called Magpie, turning to look back.

“He dipped into the canopy just now, but he’s on us, I ken. ’Tis a small falcon.”

“Falcon, indeed!” Magpie declared. “It’s that lad. Let him come.” With a twinkle in her eye, she added, “Let’s give that skin a good test. Come on!” She doubled her speed, zinging so fast forward the wind unworked her braid in no time and had her hair streaming loose behind her.

The crows sighed and groused. “Don’t she know we’re no spring chicks?” Bertram grumbled, but the birds picked up their pace behind her.

And farther back, so did Talon. When Magpie sped up, he followed suit and found with a thrill that the faster he flew, the smoother he glided and the easier it was to stay aloft.

He hadn’t soared like this since early sprouthood when his father, keen to accustom his small son to the rush of flight, had carried him in his arms.

Those times were like little jewels he kept wrapped in velvet in his memory.

Sprouthood had veered after that into darker times, when the other sprouts had lined up on the ramparts, gathered their courage, spread their wings, and leapt.

Some had soared on the first try. Others had faltered and fallen into the waiting arms of uncles and aunts, to be carried up and encouraged to try again.

He alone had never stood there and leapt.

Not until today, leaving Nettle and Orion behind with their mouths hanging open.

He smiled and flew on.

It wasn’t how it had been in those young days in his father’s arms, though.

He could still remember the feeling of swimming in sky, the way the air swirled and eddied around you, tangling itself in your hair, filling your mouth.

The weavework of his falcon skin was like a glove, muting that sensation, so when a cool whisper of pure air hit his neck, he knew something was wrong.

He remembered the lass’s djinncraft knife pressed to his throat, and he swore.

“Bilge!” he cursed, trying to see the hole. “Skive!” But he had no more luck seeing his own throat than was to be expected, and he couldn’t pause to feel it with his fingers without dashing himself out of the sky. “Skiving blast!” he muttered, and he began to slow.

The crows and the lass were growing smaller in the distance, and the air hitting Talon’s throat was more than a whisper now; it was a steady flow. His perfect falcon skin was unraveling.

He knew he should turn aside and head back home before it gave out altogether and dropped him from the sky like a piece of windfall fruit.

Where was the lass going, anyway? There was nothing down in southeastern Dreamdark but some recent Black Annis sightings and a whole lot of hedge imp warrens.

It would be a long walk from here back to Rathersting Castle, long enough to catch him out after dark, and there were far worse things than the Black Annis abroad in the night these days.

He knew he should turn aside.

But he didn’t.

Talon Rathersting whooped, and all the years of longing, all the nights of standing on the ramparts wishing, poured into his arms and uncommon wings, and he surged forward and began to bridge the distance between himself and the crows.

Within moments, he knew they weren’t headed for southeast Dreamdark at all, but beyond.

Beyond. He caught a glimpse of the southern hedge, and on the far side of it an immense roof, a tower, and land rolling away to the south in a vast patchwork.

The human world.

The crows had scattered and disappeared into the forest just short of the hedge.

Talon approached with caution, landing on an oak branch from which he could peer over and up the tidy lawn and gardens to the human place.

For a moment, he forgot Magpie and the crows and stared at the gargantuan brick structure, its dozen chimneys, and the massive cattle grazing in the distance.

“Slap the slowpoke!” Magpie cried, suddenly dropping down from overhead and giving him a light cuff to the back of the neck.

Talon nearly jumped out of his skin. Her hair was loose and wild over her shoulders, her eyes sparkled, and she was smiling.

“A game we play,” she told him as a couple of crows fluttered round on the branch.

“I’d smack you harder, but you didn’t know the rules. So you get one pass.”

“Nice flying,” one of the birds said jovially. “But hoy, have a care for your skin, neh?”

“Aye,” agreed Magpie. “You’re undone.”

Talon parted the skin and it slid aside, revealing his face, neck, and shoulders. He examined the hole and found it to be as big now as his fist. “A djinncraft knife will do that,” he muttered.

“Ach! Did I do that?” Magpie cried, dismayed. “I’m sorry! I’d never want to wreck a thing like that.”

“I can mend it later,” he said, stepping the rest of the way out of the skin and folding it away into his pocket. He looked back out through the hedge. “The Magruwen’s here?”

“Aye, down a well over in the garden.”

“What is this place?” Talon asked.

“Just a school for human lasses to learn their books.”

“Humans can read?”

Magpie nodded. “Sure. They even write their own books. It’s funny about mannies.

They’re no eejits. The things they can build, like bridges and ships?

And they carve statues you’d swear could start breathing.

But...they are eejits! All the killing!

They’d as soon kill as look at one another half the time.

But then I’ve seen ’em sleeping all scooched on one side of the bed so not to wake a little kitty.

I can’t figure ’em. Ach, there’s one now. ”

Talon spun to see, and he stared, transfixed. “That?” he asked, surprised.

“What, you’ve never seen one?” Magpie asked.

“Nay,” he answered, craning his neck for a clear view of the human lass. She had yellow hair braided back and wore a white frock and shiny shoes. “Doesn’t look like a killer,” he observed, “and she’s not so big as I thought.”

“She’s a real small one. Pretty, too. They’re not all, you know.

Mannies can be devious ugly. And the smell?

Devils got nothing on an unwashed human!

” They watched the lass for a moment in silence.

She sat herself daintily on a patch of grass and began spinning the wheels of a little toy she’d brought with her.

“First one I ever saw wasn’t pretty at all,” Magpie said.

“He was a great, gnarled, evil-eyed brute with a matted black beard and all reeking of brew...” She realized Talon wasn’t listening.

He was still staring at the human lass, but he’d squinted his eyes and now he stood and leapt nimbly to a higher branch for a clearer view.

She followed him on wing. “What is it?”

He was still squinting. “That thing she’s got,” he said, not breaking his gaze from the lass.

“The toy?”

“It’s no toy. I know it well.”

“What do you mean?” Magpie squinted at it too.

“It’s my granny’s surrey, from the castle. I haven’t seen it since I was wee. How the skiffle did that come here?”

“I can guess how ,” Magpie said, her voice hard, “but not why. That meat wouldn’t dare go back down the well!”

“Who?” Talon asked.

“Crows!” Magpie called, and they all fluttered round. “It seems that gobslotch of a scavenger is in the neighborhood.”

“Ach!” Pup puffed up. “That irkmeat?”

“The one who escaped the dungeon?” Talon asked.

Magpie nodded. “Talon, he’s vermin, but he’s cunning vermin. He was in service to the Blackbringer, though sure not of his own free will. His master sent him to the Magruwen for something; he said it was a turnip—”

“A turnip?”

“Aye, of all the blither! We need to find out what the Blackbringer was really after. Let’s find that scavenger, crows.”

“Now?” asked Pigeon, scratching his head. “What about the Magruwen?”

Magpie chewed her lip and said slowly, “He’s not going to just offer to help us. I got to convince him, and I want to know as much as I can know first. I got a feeling this thing the Blackbringer’s after is important.”

“All right, ’Pie.” Calypso sighed. “But I want ye to wait here and have a rest whilst we search.”

Magpie rolled her eyes. “Feather—”

“Feather, nothing,” he said sternly. “Rest.” He turned to Talon. “Lad, ye’ll see to it?”