Wild Magic. Tamora Pierce

could imagine. If something happens to me, take the ponies to the Riders. Tell Buri or Sarge what happened—’

      Daine saw how she might repay some of what she owed this woman for taking her in. ‘I’ll go.’

      ‘Out of the question.’

      She retrieved her crossbow and quiver from the packs. ‘Don’t be silly. It’s only a few hundred yards out. How much trouble can I get into? Besides, I know about bogs. And I can find lost animals.’ If she waited, the K’mir would find a good reason to keep her back. She saw a game trail leading into the reeds and took it. ‘I’ll yell for Tahoi if I get stuck,’ she called.

      ‘Daine!’ There was no answer. ‘When I was that age, I listened to my elders,’ Onua muttered, conveniently forgetting she had done no such thing. She grabbed Cloud’s rein as the pony tried to follow her mistress. ‘No, you stay here. And don’t try to argue.’ She tied the mare’s rein into a string for the first time since they’d left the fair, and settled down to wait.

      The trail took Daine to a pond. She skirted it, always making for the spot where the monsters had left the wood. A grouse darted out of the brush. Following it, she walked a trail that lay on firm ground to reach the trees at the marsh’s edge. There she sat on a rock, wondering what to do next. If the bird was alive, it had come down somewhere nearby to hide from the Stormwings.

      It was nice, this green wilderness. The scents of growing things filled her nostrils; the sounds of animals and plants waking from their winter sleep filled her ears. What had the badger said, in her dream? If you listen hard and long, you can hear any of us, call any of us, that you want.

      Surely listening wouldn’t bring on the madness. She wasn’t trying to be an animal; she just wanted to hear them. Definitely she’d taken advice from worse people than badgers in her time.

      Besides, if the hawk was alive and hurt, it might be thrashing or crying its pain. She’d hear it, if she listened.

      She’d have to be very quiet, then.

      She settled herself and slowed her breathing. Her blouse itched; she eased it. A burn throbbed on a finger; she put it out of her mind.

      A breeze fanned the tips of the reeds, making them sigh.

      Two plops ahead: a pair of mating frogs. She had no interest in that.

      A rustle to her left, some feet behind: a pair of nesting ducks. Didn’t people think of anything else?

      A gritty noise at her side was a grass snake, coming up to sun. It was nice on the rock, the warmth just perfect on her face and on the snake.

      There – left, closer to the trees. She frowned. It didn’t sound like a bird – like the hawks and falcons back home. She felt dizzy and befuddled, almost like the time she had swiped a drink of her mother’s home-brewed mead.

      That yip was a fox, who had found a black bird. A large one.

      Daine headed in his direction. The fox yipped again when she almost made a wrong turn. She found him next to a large, hollow log. The hawk had concealed itself inside.

      ‘Thank you,’ she said. The fox grinned at her and vanished into the reeds while Daine looked at her new patient. ‘Clever lad, to think of hiding there,’ she murmured. (And since when did hawks ever think of concealing themselves?) ‘Come on out – they’re gone.’ She put her hands into the log’s opening, praying she wasn’t about to get slashed.

      The bird waddled forwards, easing himself onto her palms. Moving very slowly, she lifted him out and placed him on top of his hiding place.

      He stared at her, beak open as he panted. One outspread wing seemed broken in two places, maybe even three. Her hair prickled at the back of her neck. Anyone less familiar with hawks might have taken this bird for one: she could not. He was too big, and hawks were not solid black. His colour was dull, like velvet—there was no gloss to his feathers at all. He wasn’t wrong as those Stormwings were wrong, but he was not right, either.

      She cut reeds for splints. ‘I’m from Onua—Onua Chamtong of the K’miri Raadeh,’ she told him. ‘You recognize the name?’ She didn’t expect an answer, but she knew a kind voice was something any hurt creature responded to. ‘I have to splint that wing. It’s broken.’ She cursed herself for not having bandages of any kind, and cut strips out of a petticoat.

      ‘It’ll hurt,’ she warned. ‘Try not to peck me, or we’ll never get you fixed.’ Ignoring his gaze, she gently spread the wing. The hawk cried out only once. That was another strange thing, she thought; other birds had savaged her for less pain than she was giving this one. She secured the outspread limb onto its reed framework, feeling him shake under her hands. ‘You’re being a fine, brave lad,’ she crooned, securing the last cotton ties. ‘Your ma’d be fair proud of you – wherever she is. Whatever she is.’

      Repairs made, she slung the crossbow on her back. ‘I’ve got to carry you,’ she explained. ‘Try to keep still.’ When she gathered him up, taking care not to bump the wing, he trembled but didn’t bite or slash. ‘You’re the oddest bird I’ve met in my life,’ she murmured as she followed the trail back to the road. ‘Heavy too.’ She was sweating by the time she found Onua. ‘His wing’s busted.’

      ‘Horse Lords be praised, you found him!’ The relief on the K’mir’s face was scary, as if he were a friend or something, Daine thought. Onua lifted the hawk from Daine’s arms, examining him with delicate fingers. Somehow Daine wasn’t surprised to see that he was as calm with Onua as he’d been with her.

      ‘If we move the packs onto one of the gentler ponies, he can ride on them,’ Onua suggested. ‘We have to get well away before we camp.’ Daine nodded and shifted the packs to a mild-mannered chestnut gelding. On the road, the bird rode quietly, panting without making any other sound.

      They left the marshy valley and entered the wood, moving on after dark. Onua lit the way ahead with her magic. They had walked for hours before she took them off the road, onto a small path.

      Here she lit a torch and gave it to Daine. ‘Farther up there’s an open shed for drying wood. It’s big enough to shelter us and the ponies.’ She dug out the materials she used to work her magic. ‘Get a fire going. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ She went back to the road, a bag of powder in her hand. Tahoi started to follow: she ordered him to go with Daine.

      ‘I think she wants to hide our trail,’ Daine told the dog. She led the pack pony, and the others followed obediently. ‘But why? The monster – what’s her name? Zhaneh Bitterclaws – can she see in the dark? Apart from revenge, why follow us?’ She glanced at the hawk. Meeting his eyes directly still made her head spin. ‘Not for you, surely.’

      The bird shuddered.

      The shed was big, with three walls to keep out the wind. Moreover, it had a fire pit inside, and a well outside. With relief she freed the ponies, watered them, and fed them grain from the extra stores.

      Tahoi had brought in three rabbits that afternoon. As soon as the fire was going, Daine skinned and gutted them. Two went on the spit for her and Onua; Tahoi got half of the third. Cutting strips from the remaining half, she offered it to her patient. He turned his head away.

      Perhaps he hadn’t got the scent. Daine waved it in front of him. Again he turned his head aside.

      She sniffed the meat: it was no different from what Tahoi crunched so happily nearby. She laid it on the pack in front of the bird, having moved his travel arrangements to the floor of the shed. The hawk picked the morsel up in his beak and threw it away.

      Getting the rejected meat, she offered it to Tahoi. The dog ate it and returned to his bones. Planting her hands on her hips, Daine scowled at the bird. She’d heard of captive animals refusing to eat, but such a thing had never happened to her.

      ‘There’s many a hawk would be happy for a nice bit of rabbit,’ she told him, not even realizing