“Yes, I do believe so.” Ágota grins at me. “It will bring you great things.”
“Truly?” The idea excites me. “Are we almost there? We’ve been traveling for such a long time.”
“It’s been only a week, Erjy.” She playfully brushes the feather over my nose.
Batting it away, I say, “Well, we would travel much faster if we did not have to deal with all the fair folk along the way.”
Ágota widens her eyes and wags the feather in my face. “Respecting the fair folk is the proper way to live through life.”
“Humans do not pay attention to them. They just do as they want.”
“And see what that gets them? Famine. Wars. Plagues.”
“Do the fair folk really do all that?”
Ágota shrugs one shoulder. “Mama says that they can nudge events in certain directions. I would rather not get cursed by The White Woman of the Wood.”
“Could you not undo it?”
“Perhaps. I don’t know for certain since I wield witch magic, not fey magic.”
“Is it really different?” I give her a doubtful look. I cannot imagine my sister being thwarted now that she has our mother’s magic within her.
“I assume it is,” Ágota replies. “I cannot be sure, so I will not risk it. Besides, Mama said to always re
spect the fair folk. If not for her dealings with The White Woman of the Wood, we would never have been able to enter Styria. So we best follow Mama’s example.”
Frustrated, I trudge onward on sore feet. The sky is slowly darkening on the horizon, and I hope we can camp for the night soon. We still have a roasted rabbit and some bread we purchased in a village, and my stomach aches at the thought of food.
The feather in Ágota’s fingers abruptly flattens and points to the west. I widen my eyes in understanding.
Danger is nearby.
“Hide, Erjy,” Ágota orders, sprawling onto the ground.
I mimic her, flattening my body beside hers. The tall grass and wildflowers obscure us from view.
“What is it?” I whisper.
Ágota covers my mouth with her hand. As she shakes her head, I remember that she is as lost as I am without her magic. The pounding of horse hooves echoes around us. Deep voices steadily become louder. The tromp of many feet reveals the approach of a great number of men. Ágota pulls me close and wraps her arms around me. The grass closes over our heads, casting shifting shadows on my skin.
I listen to the clop of hooves, the steady patter of footsteps, and horses whinnying. My body tenses, preparing to flee if they approach where we are hiding. I feel Ágota trembling behind my back. Is it from fear or anger? She cannot use her powers to better hide us since she has to defer to the fey. I frown at the thought, but do not dare to speak.
To my dismay, instead of passing through the meadow, the men come to a stop in obedience to the barked order of their leader. I am fearful they are searching for us. Had they seen us from afar? The cacophony continues nearby. With a shudder, I realize they are setting up camp.
Ágota lifts the black feather and it still points to the west, unwavering in its warning. The men are a danger to us, so we must remain hidden. The feather is never wrong. I have witnessed how men can be with women. My mother had her share of amorous suitors that refused to be rebuffed. If not for her magic, I dread to consider what they would have done to her. I recoil at the thought of what these men might try to do to Ágota, and perhaps even me.
I roll onto my back and crane my head to gaze at my sister’s face. Her head is cocked, obviously listening. She sees my questioning look and pats my cheek soothingly. Laying her head down beside mine, she sighs, surrendering to our situation.
Reluctantly, I curl into her body, accepting we are trapped until we can sneak away under the cover of night. Small insects swirl around our heads and the stalks scratch my skin as I struggle to remain absolutely still and not ruffle the grass. I am hungry, but I do not dare speak aloud. Instead, I lay next to my sister, listening to the noise of a camp being erected. I wish The White Woman of the Wood would come and punish the interlopers on her land. But the fey are fickle, so I soon lose hope.
As the hours pass, I watch the sky slowly turn from blue to vibrant colors to finally black. The stench of fires, food cooking, urine, and unwashed bodies wafts on the night breeze. Laughter, arguments, and conversation blot out the natural sounds of the night. A few times, men wander close to where we lay. Ágota covers me protectively with her body, but the soldiers return to their camp without spotting us. It is terrible to feel so vulnerable.
The night deepens as the stars blink to life in a great swath of glittering specks. The ripe moon appears over the trees as the breeze turns cold. Ágota covers me with her skirt, attempting to warm me. I wonder how much longer we must wait before we escape. I am hungry, tired, and thirsty.
The men start singing rousing songs about battles and women. Their words slur together as they grow increasingly inebriated. Shivering with cold, I press against my sister’s chest, listening to her beating heart. Her arms hold me tight, her fingers stroking my hair. My thoughts drift to the night several men came to our cottage and forcibly kissed my mother. She had attempted to appeal to their decency, but in the end, she had been forced to defend herself. I will never forget their screams when she transformed them into wild boar and sent them scampering into the forest.
Certainly, Ágota could do the same if any of these men attempted to accost us. But what The White Woman of the Wood would do if my sister used her magic to defend us? A terrible thought follows. Perhaps my sister is incapable of using her magic here since she made an agreement with the fey.