Chapter 2
A human was groaning in pain somewhere close to me.
They were making a terrible fuss; the sound was like an injured cow.
I wished they would stop. There was some kind of problem with my head, and I needed to focus on it.
I opened my mouth to tell them to be quiet when I realised the moaning was coming from me.
This feeling in my head was… pain? It was different from the sympathetic agony I was used to sensing from the dying, sharper and more debilitating.
I could barely focus my thoughts. They seemed blurred and slow.
I reached up a hand and felt a new bump on the back of my head.
It was sore, sending fresh waves of discomfort through me when I poked at it.
I prodded it again, just to confirm I wasn’t imagining it.
I groaned again, without meaning to. No, it was definitely real.
How strange, I had never injured myself before.
I cracked open my eyes and looked up. The sky was a very bright, very pale blue overhead, painted with long streaks of white clouds.
Mid-morning at the very earliest. I must have been unconscious for a while.
I tried to sit up, but my legs weren’t working the way they ought to and as I raised my head the throbbing got worse.
“Oh,” came a voice from my left and a figure appeared above me.
It was definitely human and seemed strangely familiar.
Coppery hair framed a face covered in a truly astonishing number of freckles that made the grey-green eyes now looking down at me seem even brighter by comparison.
I frowned and the face tilted to one side.
“You’re awake, then? I thought you might be about to die.
” The woman didn’t seem particularly bothered by the idea.
“Here.” She shoved out a hand. I inspected it, noticing the skin on the back of her arms was just as freckled as her face, then knocked it aside and sat up, making a great effort to ignore the pain in my head.
My vision blurred and I swayed, suddenly unable to make the world stay still around me.
I pushed through the vertigo and forced my vision to sharpen.
I inspected my surroundings. I was in a small forest clearing, the ground covered in grass and studded with daisies. I couldn’t see my dogs anywhere, though that wasn’t unusual; they were prone to wandering. As I looked around, I spotted another woman, lying dead between meandering tree roots.
My memories slotted into place: the trapped soul, the two other women, the magic.
I snapped back to the freckled woman, still kneeling beside me.
I struggled to my feet, clutching onto the tree trunk to stay steady, and looked for the third human, the dying one.
She was lying near where I had seen her last night, still and pale.
The freckled woman grabbed for my arm, but I threw her off and stomped over to the side of the glade, eager to do my duty and then leave.
Or I tried to. I managed the first stride, but with my second I felt my foot land on something incredibly sharp.
I wobbled and fell, clutching my injured foot.
I inspected the sole, finding a scrape in the soft flesh, and looked around for the cause.
It must be an enchanted dagger, a knife of obsidian, something powerful that should not be left lying around.
There was a rather angular stone beside me, but I had never been hurt by something so paltry before.
“What is this?” I said aloud, massaging my foot. The freckled woman looked over at me, her face blank with confusion.
“Well, if you will insist on walking about barefoot, what do you expect?” Her tone was unsympathetic and more than a little rude.
I glared at her; humans were usually more polite when they addressed me. I still didn’t understand what had happened to my sole. I always went barefoot.
A mystery for later. Now I wanted to leave.
I hauled myself up again and set off for the dying woman, walking more tentatively this time.
There was still something not quite right; my balance seemed off, and I was taking shorter steps than usual.
It seemed to take an age to reach her side, and my muscles felt stiff and sore.
I bent down next to the third woman, no more than a girl really, reaching out to touch her cheek.
It was warm and smooth, strange for someone on the brink of death. I listened but I couldn’t hear her heartbeat, nor sense the condition of her spirit. Her chest was still and she wasn’t breathing. I slid my hand under her chin, feeling for a pulse.
“Don’t touch her,” said the freckled one behind me. I ignored her again. There was no pulse that I could feel. I pressed my finger a little deeper, wanting to check I was not mistaken.
Something grabbed my arm and yanked me away.
“I said, don’t touch my sister.” She had grabbed my wrist, holding it in an iron grip. I tried to shake her off, but all my writhing had no effect. I turned to look at her properly for the first time.
She was tall, towering over me, and I was taller than most humans.
I could see the muscles wrapping around her arms like ivy.
Tall and strong as she was, she shouldn’t have been able to pull me around like that.
Something was wrong. I replayed my memories; the girl had been dying, brutally injured, I was sure of that.
Now she was healed and not quite dead. It didn’t make any sense.
“Who are you?” asked the woman, still holding my arm. I summoned up all the dignity I had and glared at her.
“I am Mallt Y Nos, Mallt of the Night. The Nightshade. I am the Shepherd of the Dead and Dying. I have been easing souls to Annwn since your grandmother’s grandmother was a girl. I am darkness, I am endless. Now, would you kindly let go of my arm!”
Her mouth fell open, and she stared at me. Then she let go of my arm and laughed. Peals of laughter echoed off the trees as the freckled woman bent almost in half, leaning on her knees and wheezing.
“You, the Nightshade, I can’t, I can’t.” She broke off into further laughter. I rubbed my arm where she had gripped it, trying to soothe the circulation back.
“I am Mallt Nightshade,” I said, unhappily aware that my voice was a little reedier than normal. She looked up at me again then snorted.
“You should be careful taking her name like that, a chit like you. The real Mallt is not to be trifled with. My word, and I thought I’d never laugh again.”
“I am the real Mallt,” I insisted. She straightened up and looked at me, her eyes skimming up and down, levity vanished. I wondered if it had been more a release of stress than real mirth.
“Mallt of the Night is ancient and beautiful, a goddess of dark mercy,” she said, eyes stony.
“She is said to be tall and slender as a young sapling, surrounded always by the Cwn Annwn, the hounds of hell. No disrespect to you, whoever you are, but you look like half the starved farm girls in Britain. You couldn’t walk two steps across the clearing without tripping.
How would you run from mountain to moor to guide the souls of the dead? ”
“Firstly, I don’t usually trip,” I said, ignoring the rest of her insulting talk. “Secondly, the dogs were around here somewhere, they’ve probably just wandered off.”
I pursed my lips to call them to me with my customary whistle, high and clear.
It didn’t come out as loud as usual. I waited for the dogs to appear from the shadows and bound towards me, but there was nothing, and the freckled woman rolled her eyes and turned back to her sister.
I followed her, looking around for my companions. At the woman’s feet lay a pile of fur.
“Dormath!” I yelped, falling to my knees. He rolled over and yipped at me, looking sleepy but otherwise unharmed. I felt a little of the panic subside, but where were the others?
“What have you done to the rest of them? There should be more,” I hissed, turning back to her. I rarely got angry but when I did fae lords had been known to turn tail and run. This woman didn’t so much as flinch from my fury.
“I haven’t done anything to your stupid dogs. This one was here when I woke up. I haven’t even touched him.” She leaned over, peering at Dormath. “What breed is he? He looks big enough to be a wolf, but I’ve never seen one with that colouring. Pale fur, red ears, almost like…”
“I told you, he’s one of the Cwn Annwn, my hunting hounds.”
The woman glanced up at me again. “I could almost believe he was. But how can you be Mallt? You don’t look like much, you’re not even that tall.”
“I am tall,” I said, “you’re just a giant. Not a real giant, I mean, although you could be. You’re just taller than most humans. And I’m not human, can’t you tell? Doesn’t my face glow with ineffable beauty?”
The woman pressed her lips together, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. She shook her head.
“No. I mean, not that you’re not, I mean I wouldn’t say ineffable.” She seemed to be floundering a little. “But I’m not that tall. I’m big for a woman but I’m not nearly a giant. Half the men in my tribe are taller than me. You’re just short.”
I sighed. “Look, pointed ears.” I tucked my hair back to show her. “Humans have sweet little round ears, no?”
She leaned forward. Her brows furrowed, like two ginger caterpillars inching together across her face.
“You have rounded ears,” she said, almost apologetically.
I frowned, reaching up to touch my ears.
The slanted points at the top had gone, rounded down.
They felt wrong. This was why I couldn’t hear that woman’s heartbeat.
I could barely hear anything. Mysteries began to slot into place: my hearing was weakened, my sight, too.
I couldn’t walk on sharp stones without pain, my strides seemed shorter.
I looked back at the freckled woman. I held out my arms, noting with horror how my tunic hung loosely where once it had fitted tightly.