Page 59 of The Guardians of Dreamdark
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Again came a soft touch like the flutter of wings as Magpie visioned the glyphs Snoshti had taught her, holding Rathersting Castle clear in her mind. When she opened her eyes, she found herself in Nettle’s room, and she released her held breath with relief.
It was quiet under the drum of rain. Bertram was asleep in the rocking chair with his peg leg propped up on the bed. She thought at first he was the only one in the room, but then she saw the Rathersting lad in the window. He was sitting looking out and hadn’t heard her arrive. She remembered their last meeting, how she hadn’t had time to explain to him about Skuldraig, and a flush of shame rose on her cheeks. How ungrateful he must think her! She held still, knowing as soon as she was noticed the questions would begin, and she couldn’t begin to imagine how she would answer them.
Then Snoshti glimmered in beside her and silence was no longer an issue. “Well done, pet!” cried the imp. Instantly Bertram leapt awake and Talon swung round in the window. His eyes were full of suspicion.
“What happened?” he demanded. “Where did you go?”
Calypso hopped in. “My ’Pie!” he cried, sweeping her up in his wings. “Heard ye had a bit of a vanish!” He held her face with his feathertips and looked into her eyes. “How are ye, pet?”
Though his voice was jovial, Magpie knew what he was asking. “I’m fine now, feather,” she said, meeting his searching stare.
“Does me good to see a gleam in yer eye. But ye look awful tired.”
“Aye, exhausted, since you mention it. Feel like I haven’t slept in ten years.”
“Bet ye’re hungry, too, Mags,” said Pup from the doorway as the rest of the crows crowded in.
She put her hands over her belly and realized she was. “About to start gawping like a baby bird!”
“There’s biscuits and pumpkin soup left from lunch, full of ginger to bring your strength up,” offered Orchidspike, elbowing her way through the throng of black feathers. “Back in bed and rest, lass, from...wherever you’ve been. I’ll fetch you some.”
“Nay, Lady,” said Talon. “Let me.” As he passed Magpie, his hard eyes seemed to ask,Who are you?
Magpie allowed herself to be fussed back into bed. Orchidspike bent to examine her wings, and Magpie’s elaborate braid caught her eye. “Whose handiwork is this, now?” she asked.
“Er,” said Magpie, “Snoshti did it, neh, Snosh?”
But Snoshti seemed to have vanished. The crows set to clamoring about it. “Another sneaking imp vanishes!” groused Swig.
“Another?” asked Magpie.
“Aye, that scavenger was in the dungeon, but he disappeared from his locked cell.”
“They left himalone?” Magpie cried. “Jacksmoke! I need to talk to him! I need to know what”—she glanced furtively at Orchidspike—“what his master sent him down the well forreally.”
But Orchidspike wasn’t listening to Magpie. The scent of the nightspink in her braid had caught the healer’s notice, and as the crows complained of imps, she quietly removed a blossom and held it to her nose. A curious look came into her old eyes. She sniffed it again, then tucked it into her apron. She stood. “It’s time we get on with the healing, lass. ’Twill be no quick job of work. I’ll see how Talon’s coming on with that food.” She bustled out.
In the corridor she took the silver-white flower out of her pocket and held it to her nose again.
“What’s that?” Talon asked, coming back with a tray.
“’Twas braided into the lass’s hair,” she said in a peculiar voice and held it out to him.
He sniffed it. “Sure I never smelled that before,” he said.
“Nor I,” Orchidspike replied, and Talon frowned. Orchidspike was the finest herbalist in Dreamdark. She knew everything that grew, and where, and what it could be used for. There simply wasn’t a flower in the forest she hadn’t smelled. “Wherever it was she went with that imp, it wasn’t in Dreamdark, that I know. Nor anywhere near.”
“Then where—?”
“I don’t know, my lad, but I’d like to. Come. We’ll begin soon.”
As Magpie ate, Orchidspike and Talon made ready for the healing. A wheel was set up by the fire and loaded with a wide bobbin of spidersilk, while a balm of angelica, hyssop, and clove was set out to simmer in a copper basin.
“The silk is a binding for the spells,” Orchidspike explained as she purified her knitting needles in the balm. “I vision a glyph into every stitch, and the silk knits them together into a whole. It takes a few days for the glyphs to bond and transmute to living tissue. Then the silk threads melt away, leaving behind only wings, real as they ever were.”
“Does that mean I won’t be able to fly for a few days?”
