Page 17 of The Moorwitch
But it is forward I now look, and I let a long, frosty breath curl from my lips.
There is civilization here, after all: a little village tucked into the moors, quaint as a picture. Whitewashed cob houses with smoking chimneys, a square lined with shops, pens bustling with sheep. I spy a few people moving about, no more than specks at this distance. The land between us and the village sweeps away at a slope; we are quite high above it, with a panoramic view of the moors on either side. North of the village spreads a forest, trees flowing around the bare hilltops and rock crags like a dark river.
“Blackswire,” says Lachlan. “A place of no note whatsoever, excepting that somewhere near it, the last door to Elfhame stands.”
“It’s socommon.”
“Appearances are deceiving,” says Lachlan. “For example, one might look atyouand see only a poor charity-school teacher.”
I glance at him, my lips tightening. “I am not ashamed of my position, Sir Faerie.”
“ButIlook at you,” he goes on, “and I see a woman who ought to be Weaving charmed lace for queens and battle cloaks for kings. As you shall, once your debt to me has been paid. The world is about to change in mighty ways, and Weavers of great skill will be needed as never before.”
Though I can’t fathom what he means by that, my cheeks warm a little. I have no desire to Weave royal lace or battle cloaks. I love teaching, and I love my students. Not that I expect him to understandthat. And I do not love the way he looks at me down the length of his nose, as if I am a pet whose leash he is proud to hold. To change the subject, I ask, “This is where the moorwitches were from, then?”
“Aye, many were from this region, and many came to it, for this is where they passed in and out of Elfhame to learn their craft. There were once doors to the World Below open all across these moors. Only one now remains functional.”
“Were you there then, during the time of the moorwitches?” I stare at him, suddenly wondering how grossly I’ve underestimated his age. After our travels, I’d begun to almost see him as human, or at least, not veryinhuman. But that sense of familiarity evaporates, leaving me feeling small and uncertain beside his vast history and experience.
“I remember them,” he says. “Wild, fearless women hungry for magic, leading their tribes like wolves with their pack. They came to us with offerings, with carved stone, with bears’ teeth, with bronze amulets and rare jewels, to pay for the knowledge we imparted.”
“What went wrong between your people and mine?” I ask. “Why did we stop visiting Elfhame and learning magic from the fae?”
The old stories I grew up hearing never spoke of this. The fae were rumored to have once walked our lands and shared their knowledge of magic with mortals, but the details of their vanishing are vague. The immortal folk seem to have faded like old ink into the pages of history.
He shifts, his gaze wandering. “Your world began to change, and my people would not change with it. The moorwitches faded into history, and a new breed of humans arose—ones who loved order and iron and their foreign gods, and there was not room for us. So we diminished and withdrew into the World Below.” His lip curls. “Like rats in a warren.”
I wait, but he seems determined to say nothing more on the matter. “So, where is the doorway, then?”
“Alas, I cannot take you any closer than this.”
He lifts a hand and prods the air, and a ripple of sparking light spreads at his touch. The glow shimmers across the hilltopinto the sky before fading again, with a soft sound like glass wind chimes. Lachlan inhales sharply, withdrawing his hand, his fingertip smoking slightly.
“A ward,” I breathe. “I’ve never seen one so large before. It must beenormous.”
“It surrounds the village, the countryside around it, and a few nearby estates. Several hundred thousand acres all told.”
My hand goes to my threadkit.
“I could not undo such a ward from the outside,” I say slowly. “My skills—”
“You needn’t undo it, Rose. At least, not yet. The ward is not for you.”
Before I can stop him, he grabs my wrist and lifts my hand toward the ward. I brace myself, stomach clenching as I expect the sharp sting—but it never comes. My hand passes easily through the air which denied his a moment ago.
“It’s only for fae,” he says.
I snatch my hand from his, rubbing my wrist where I can still feel the icy sting of his fingertips. “I don’t understand. If it is meant to guard the doorway, why keep out your own kind?”
His blue eyes glitter coldly at the rooftops of Blackswire. “As I told you before, not everyone in Elfhame would welcome my return.” He turns to look at me, his gaze softening. “Truly, I only wish to go home. I am weary and fading in this iron world.”
I stare at him as the wind rises over the moors and sweeps at my skirts. “Why did you leave?”
He ignores my query. “I’ll tell you where to find the door, but it will likely be hidden behind layers of spellwork. You will also be required to find the spell tounlockit. In the meantime, you will report back to me every three days. I want to know who you’ve spoken to, where you’ve gone, what you’ve seen.”
“Oh, is that all? You aren’t interested in what I had for breakfast or how many times I pricked my thumb with my needle? And how am Ito return to you every three days, on foot? Blackswire is at least a two-hour walk from here.”
“Ah.” He gives me a sly smile. “That is where the Telarii shall aid us, though it cost me your weight in gold. Come, little witch, and I will show you grand magic indeed.”