Swift (19 page)

‘All right,’ Ivy said. ‘It’s a bargain.’

By the time the two girls had run up the hill to the bus stop Ivy was flushed and short of breath, but not nearly as winded as usual. Perhaps the sunlight and fresh air was doing her some good. ‘Do I look human enough?’ Ivy asked Molly as the bus rumbled towards them. ‘You don’t think anyone will notice that I’m not?’

‘I’m sure they won’t,’ Molly said. ‘You’re the right size for a human, and you’re wearing my clothes.’ She pulled a handful of coins out of her pocket and began counting them. ‘I don’t even know why I made such a fuss when my mum came up the drive. I could have just introduced you as a friend from school, and she’d never have known the difference.’

The bus slowed to a stop, its door hissing open. Molly galloped up the steps and Ivy followed, trying to imitate her confidence. They dropped into their seats and the bus started off again, bumping along the hedge-lined road.

At first they passed only scattered cottages and the occasional abandoned mine, but soon after the houses grew taller and closer together, and bigger buildings crept in among them. The lane broadened to a roadway teeming with vehicles, and for a time Ivy was mesmerised by all the different shapes and colours speeding past. Then they circled into a turn and the route narrowed again, buildings of stone and plaster closing in on both sides. Some of them bore large signs with names that Ivy was still trying to decipher – what was an
Optician
, for instance? – when Molly said triumphantly, ‘See, we’re nearly there. Told you it wouldn’t take long.’

Ivy’s hand curled tight around the metal bar beside her. Soon she would look into her mother’s face for the first time in five years. Would she see the gentle, loving woman she remembered, or a cold-eyed stranger? Had Marigold summoned Ivy to apologise for the hurt she’d caused, or only to justify herself?

She still hoped that everything would make sense to her, once she’d heard what her mother had to say. But though Richard had said it was no dark secret, Ivy still couldn’t imagine what Marigold would be doing at a dance school. Perhaps she was tidying up the place by night in exchange for food and lodging, as piskeys of old times had done for humans who showed them courtesy. But that didn’t explain why she’d left the Delve in the first place, or stayed away so long without a single word…

‘Here we are,’ announced Molly, jumping up as the bus jolted to a stop. Breathing deeply to calm her jittering nerves, Ivy pulled herself to her feet and followed. They stepped off into an open, stone-paved area surrounded by buildings, where humans sat on benches or strolled past carrying brightly coloured bags. In the near distance three tall, pointed towers rose above the rooftops, grey against the cloud-feathered sky. Some sort of fortress, perhaps?

‘This way,’ said Molly. ‘Come on.’ She set off at a brisk pace, and Ivy hurried after her. At any other time she would have paused to gaze at all the new things around her – this was her first visit to a human city, after all. But right now her every step whispered
Mother, Mother, Mother
, and she could think of nothing else.

They turned left at the first corner they came to, onto a street lined with handsome grey stone buildings and vehicles parked along both sides. They walked along the gently rising pavement for some time before they reached another corner. Molly led her across the road to a doorway tucked between two shops, with a sign above it that read RISING STAR DANCE & THEATRE ACADEMY. Music floated down from the windows on the upper floor – a fast, pounding tune that made Ivy’s feet itch to dance. She pushed the door open, and Molly followed her in.

They walked into a narrow entry room papered in cream and purple, with a desk taking up most of the right side and a staircase rising steeply to the left. The woman at the desk looked up and smiled. ‘Hello, girls,’ she said. ‘What can I do for you today?’

Ivy stood paralysed, unable to think of an answer. How could she explain that she was here to look for a missing piskey who might or might not call herself Marigold? But Molly stepped in quickly to rescue her. ‘We’re interested in your dance classes,’ she said. ‘Could we go upstairs and have a look?’

The woman hesitated, her eyes flicking past Ivy and Molly as though searching for a parent behind them. But when Molly clasped her hands beneath her chin and gave her an imploring look, her expression softened. ‘Go on, then,’ she said. ‘As long as you don’t disturb the class. And if you’ve got any questions, come and talk to me.’

Ivy’s legs felt shaky and her pulse beat raggedly in her throat, but she couldn’t wait any longer. Eyes on the staircase, she stepped past Molly and began to climb. Three, four, five steps she rose, and with every one the music became louder. Soon she could hear the thumps and creaks as the students moved across the floor.

‘Five, six, seven, eight!’ called a clear voice. ‘Kick, and
turn –
well done, Meg, you’ve got it now!’

On the fifteenth step the staircase ended, opening onto a room lined with mirrors on one side and windows on the other. Music boomed from a pair of boxes set high into each corner, and in the middle of the floor a group of girls were dancing. But Ivy had only an instant to take it all in before her gaze fell on the woman leading the class, and her mind emptied with shock.

It was her mother.

Marigold wore fitted black clothing and soft slippers, with her brown-gold hair knotted atop her head. Her wings had vanished – hidden by glamour maybe, or perhaps they had simply disappeared when she grew to human size. She was still slender, but now there was a strength to her body and a rosy glow to her skin that Ivy had never seen before. And though five years had passed, she looked younger than ever – no older than Molly’s mother in fact, though Ivy knew enough of Marigold’s history to guess that she must be at least fifty. How could that be?

‘Go on, Ivy,’ Molly whispered, poking her in the back. ‘You’re blocking the way. Ivy!’

The music was so loud, it seemed impossible that anyone could have heard. But Marigold stopped dancing, turned – and froze, her wide eyes fixed on Ivy. For a timeless moment the two of them stared at each other, as one by one the students began to falter and glance around in confusion. Then Marigold blinked as though waking from a dream, stepped quickly to the oldest of the girls, and whispered a few words in her ear. The girl moved to the front of the class, calling her fellow students to attention – and as the others went back to dancing, Marigold hurried over and seized Ivy’s hand.

‘Come,’ she whispered. ‘This way.’

Blood pounding in her ears, Ivy obeyed. She was only dimly aware of Molly giving her a grinning thumbs-up as Marigold led her into an adjoining room. She shut the door, turned swiftly – and then at last Ivy was where she had longed to be, in her mother’s arms.

‘Oh, my brave, beautiful girl,’ Marigold murmured, stroking her hair. ‘I can’t believe you’re here. What you must have gone through, to come all this way…and how big you’ve grown!’

Ivy pressed her face against her mother’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of her skin. She had always smelled sweet, like the sachets of dried herbs and petals she scattered among her clothes. But now the fragrance was richer and more subtle, like a living plant instead of a dead one. ‘I thought the spriggans had taken you,’ Ivy said, her voice thick with emotion. ‘I thought I’d never see you again.’

‘I know you did,’ said Marigold, clasping her tighter, as though afraid Ivy would vanish if she let go. ‘And I am so sorry, my darling.’

The old grief ached in Ivy’s chest, and she pulled back. ‘Then why did you do it?’ Ivy asked, searching her mother’s face. ‘How could you run away, leave us all thinking you were dead, for…this?’

‘You think I left the Delve so I could teach human girls how to dance?’ Marigold’s brow creased in dismay. ‘Oh, no, no, dearest. I would never have done that to you. I only came here because I had nowhere else to go.’

‘How could that be?’ asked Ivy. ‘You had the Delve. You had us.’

Marigold sighed. She drew up a chair for Ivy, then sat down across from her. ‘I was very ill when I lived in the Delve,’ she said. ‘More ill than I ever allowed you or anyone else to see. So I couldn’t have stayed with you much longer, even if—’ She swallowed, touching her throat as though it hurt her. ‘Even if other things hadn’t happened.’

Ivy could guess what those
other things
might be, but it didn’t make her feel any better about it. ‘You mean the fight between you and Dad,’ she said flatly.

Marigold recoiled. ‘How do you know about that? You should never—’ Then she stopped and went on in a calmer tone, ‘Flint told you about it, I suppose.’

‘Mica overheard it,’ said Ivy. ‘He told me you wanted to take me and Cicely with you, but Dad said no.’

The tension went out of Marigold’s face. ‘Ah,’ she said softly. ‘I should have guessed. Poor Mica.’ She bowed her head and went on, ‘Yes, your father and I fought, and we parted on unhappy terms. I couldn’t convince him to leave the Delve with me, and he wouldn’t let any of you children go either. But he knew that I had to leave, and that there was nothing he could do to save me.’

‘Why? If you were sick, then Yarrow could have—’

‘I was dying,’ Marigold interrupted. ‘I was coughing up blood, and Yarrow had done as much as she could for me already.’ She closed her eyes. ‘I was terrified of being caught by the spriggans, and I knew nothing about the outside world. But I had to get out of the Delve.’

‘Why?’ Ivy asked, baffled. ‘What was so bad about the Delve?’

‘So many things,’ Marigold murmured. ‘More than I ever realised, until it was too late. I’d seen Betony’s only child die stillborn, and it took so long for me to have children at all… I think part of me knew all along that something wasn’t right. But when you were born without wings, so weak and tiny, and I saw you struggling to breathe…I couldn’t deny the truth any more.’

She still wasn’t making sense to Ivy. ‘You mean there’s a curse on the mine, or on our people? Something the spriggans did?’

‘Not magic,’ Marigold said soberly. ‘Poison.’

Ivy caught her breath. ‘But where? Who would—’

‘It could be in the air, or the water, or perhaps in the rock itself; I don’t know enough about such things to tell, and I never had the chance to search it out. But every piskey in the Delve is dying of it, whether they realise it or not.’ Her lips thinned. ‘I tried to warn them – your father first, and then Betony. But they refused to believe.’

Poison.
Ivy could hardly fathom it, and yet she couldn’t deny the possibility. It would explain why Richard had found it so difficult to heal her, and why she felt stronger now than she ever had living underground. And when she remembered her father’s coughing, his yellowed teeth and shaking hands – surely that was no ordinary sickness.

Yet she could understand why Aunt Betony had been sceptical, too. There were parts of Marigold’s story that didn’t seem to add up. ‘But why would you be sicker than anyone else?’ Ivy asked. ‘Why not the knockers, who work in the mine every day?’

‘The knockers have some immunity,’ Marigold replied, ‘built up from centuries of working underground. And they and the hunters can go outside whenever they please, which helps to strengthen their resistance. But the women are more susceptible. Especially the faery-born ones…like me.’

Ivy’s stomach turned cold. Her mother, a faery? ‘That’s not possible,’ she said faintly. ‘You were born in the Delve – you’ve lived there all your life—’

Marigold gave her a sad smile. ‘I know. I found it hard to believe at first, too.’ Her eyes became distant as she went on, ‘My mother died giving birth to me, and I never knew her. I only knew that the other children in the Delve were brown and sturdy, where I was pale and fragile-looking and often found it hard to breathe. Aster, the healer before Yarrow, made me potions to help me grow stronger, and I learned to use glamour to make my thin, glassy wings look more like a piskey’s should. But I never understood why I was different, until I left the Delve and began meeting others of my kind.’

She took Ivy’s hand, folding it between her own. ‘One of the first strangers to show me kindness was a faery who had escaped the destruction of Thistledown Wyld, my ancestral home. She had seen my father killed in battle, and my mother taken prisoner with the rest of the women. Her captors didn’t realise that she was already expecting a child.’

‘The spriggans, you mean,’ said Ivy a little wildly. Surely only spriggans would do such a terrible thing. ‘They attacked your village, and then our people rescued you—’

‘Spriggans!’ Marigold gave a bitter laugh. ‘There haven’t been spriggans in Kernow for decades, or at least not enough of them to matter.’ She shook her head. ‘No, Ivy. It was piskeys who destroyed my home and took my mother captive. And if they hadn’t gone underground where no one could reach them…’ Her expression turned hard. ‘Then my people – my
true
people – would have wiped them out long ago.’

‘No!’ Ivy pulled away from her mother and scrambled to her feet. ‘That’s a lie! Our ancestors fought against the faeries, but only to stop them invading our land. If we went around attacking peaceful folk and stealing their wives and daughters – if we were no better than the spriggans – how could we live with ourselves? How could we forget something as horrible as that?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Marigold, and now she sounded weary. ‘Like you, I only know the legends as they are, not how they came to be. But I know I was not the only faery woman to be captured and brought to the Delve. Just one of the few who lived long enough to marry and bear children.’ She looked down at her pale, ringless fingers. ‘There are many kinds of deception, Ivy. Sometimes the most powerful lies are the ones we tell ourselves, because the truth is too ugly to bear.’