Something had presented itself. Her last coin had gone to purchase a loaf—stale but edible—from a baker a village or two back. In passing, she’d heard talk.
“Them Pelagirs, you wanta watch yersel’ up there,” the baker said in his gruff, deep voice to the customer after her—a man with the look (and smell) of a trapper about him. “Dangerous parts.”
But the trapper had laughed. “S’alright for them as knows ’em. I’m off to get me a Firebird. Heard tell there’s a few of ’em not too deep in.”
“Can’t say as I know anything ’bout that,” answered the baker, cautious-like. “Wouldn’t think it worth the danger, meself.”
“Ain’t much that could kill me,” said the trapper cheerfully, and tipped what there was of his hat. “And for that kind o’ money, I’m game to try. Good day to ye.”
That kind of money?
Firebirds.
Not for nothing was Rosia a peddler’s daughter. She knew well what a Firebird would fetch. A single feather would be enough . . .
“ ’Scuse me,” she said, turning back to the baker. “Are we near the Pelagirs here?”
“Aye, but you don’t wanta go up that way,” the baker replied. “Nasty place. Be lucky to come out alive.”
Clutching the last piece of food she was likely to see in a while, with her pockets empty of coin and her packs empty of goods, Rosia knew she would be lucky to come out of the week alive. Her fingers tightened on the loaf. “Please, could you tell me the way?”
The baker had done so, if reluctantly, and now here she stood on the very edge. Hesitating.
It was the pain in her stomach that decided her. She took a step, and another—and then with a great rush of desperate energy, she plunged deep into the forest and didn’t look back.
* * *
* * *
She did not, of course, stumble over a Firebird feather just lying there under the trees. Nothing so easy could come of so risky a venture.
But nor was she disappointed of her aim.
Mouthfuls of her precious bread sustained her for a day or two’s wandering under the thick boughs, bolstered here and there with handfuls of berries, or an occasional mushroom. Ma and Pa had known a bit about foraging, learned during the leaner times. Rosia kept her wits about her, listened and watched for the dangers the villagers had been eager to warn each other about. Wild beasts of all kinds, they said. Some of them . . . different. Not as they should be.
The stories used words like magic. There used to be a lot of it, out in the Hills, and some of it lingered still.
Rosia was no careless child, not after a lifetime of wandering the roads with Ma and Pa. Even so, when the wild beasts of the Pelagirs found her, they caught her unawares.
She’d paused to gather a mushroom, a fat specimen with a broad cap. It was the sort with the meaty texture, one Pa had taught her to look out for, and her empty stomach growled in anticipation of sinking her teeth into it.
There had been nothing to warn her; no snap of a twig, no soft footfalls, no snarling menace. Just a sudden rush of movement, a loud rustling, as something leaped from the depths of a thicket; and then Rosia was down in the earth, the wind knocked out of her, and a weight on her chest pinned her where she lay.
A low, awful growling reverberated around the clearing.
The beast was some sort of feline, though larger than any Rosia had seen before. Its sleek coat was dappled with spots, and jaunty tufts adorned the tips of its ears. There was nothing jaunty about those eyes, though: topaz-gold, and fierce. The cat had bared every one of its ivory teeth; Rosia had no trouble imagining just how easily they would rip through her.
* * *
* * *
:You probably blundered into her territory,: Lilan said, carelessly interrupting Rosia’s story. :She may have had one or two young still lingering in the lair.:
“Don’t stop me,” Rosia begged. “We’re getting to the hard part.”
:I am sorry, my Chosen. I am listening.:
* * *
* * *
Several agonizing moments passed. Rosia, her eyes squeezed shut to block out the sight of her imminent destruction, held her breath, expecting every second to be torn to pieces.
But then the weight lifted off her chest, and the growling stopped. Faintly, Rosia heard the soft sounds of a large feline padding away.
She opened her eyes.
The cat had vanished into the undergrowth. Rosia was alone and—cautiously, she flexed her limbs and ran a hand over her torso—unharmed.
She sat up—and froze, for she was not alone after all.
It wasn’t the cat. Another person watched her, half-hidden behind the gnarled trunk of a great, old evergreen tree. Shadows hid the details, but Rosia was almost certain the person was a girl, and not that much older than she was herself.
“She wasn’t going to eat you,” the girl said. “She just wanted you to leave. But there’s plenty out here that will hurt you.” She lifted one skinny arm and pointed. “The road is that way.”
Her voice was cracked and dusty and . . . thin, as though it hadn’t been used in a long time. Nonetheless, Rosia heard the words plainly enough.
“Wait,” she said, when the girl began to slip away. “How do you know all that?”
“She told me,” said the girl, and she withdrew.
Rosia sat in stunned silence for a moment, thinking that over. The cat had talked to this girl?
“Wait!” she called again, but no reply came.
Hastily, Rosia scrambled to her feet and took off after the girl who could talk to the beasts of the Pelagirs.
* * *
* * *
:Animal Mindspeech,: Lilan offered wisely. :You run into it, now and then.:
“Lilan,” protested Rosia.
:Sorry.:
* * *
* * *
The girl with the Animal Mindspeech lived in the Pelagirs entirely, Rosia discovered, for she had a dwelling there.
It wasn’t much. She had doubtless built it herself, out of fallen boughs and branches and the like. So cunningly was it tucked between two craggy old trees, and camouflaged by the undergrowth, that Rosia would have walked straight past without noticing it at all. She was just in time to witness her quarry disappearing into a gap between the branches—and when she followed, she found a little arched entryway there.
“Hello?” she called.
No one answered her. But a fiery glow emanating from somewhere within intrigued her sufficiently to forget whatever manners Ma had tried to teach her, and she went inside. “Hello—” she called again. “I just want to thank you, and—and to ask you—”