Fairy Keeper (20 page)

Sierra slid out of her sleeping roll with surprising stealth. Grabbing her bow and quiver of arrows that they greedily recycled after each use if possible, she slipped out of camp. The crackles and snaps of the underbrush were muffled against her soft boots. She focused on placing her feet carefully. Treading lightly was one skill she’d honed while watching Nell for the last week and a half.

Long shadows reached through the trees like fingers, creating deep blue stripes across the forest floor. The air still smelled fresh with dew, and small white clouds formed with every breath. Sierra expanded her lungs to their fullest. Then she froze like a rabbit with a hawk overhead as she realized something. Her sleep was restful last night. No pinwheels of glowing colorful fairies chased her, at least none she could remember. Her hand flew to her keeper mark, fingers reaching toward the skin, but common sense forced it back down. If she had the same reaction, she couldn’t afford to collapse screaming in the middle of the forest.

She pressed onward, to where she might get lucky enough to score a deer or an opossum that hadn’t retired for the night. She wouldn’t go too far. All her life, she’d heard stories about things in this forest, stories meant to frighten and even terrorize. But right now, only the black wings of a crow flashed through the dizzying trees. Just the whisper of the breeze scratched along the pine trees with a soft hiss. A branch crackled in the distance, but she didn’t tense a muscle. Dry branches broke a lot in old woods, especially after an earthquake like yesterday’s. The branches above were solidly connected, without any danger of falling on her if the wind shifted. A nest made of sticks was perched high in the tree right next to her. She had stolen eggs from nests before, and a fried egg would make a delicious addition to breakfast, but for now, she was unwilling to climb so far up without a partner.

She did, however, reach a nice clearing deeper in the woods. A bush with berries the color of a bruise grew on the other side. They looked ripe, but one bite of the wrong berry and she’d never see Phoebe again. Their sweetness might bring game here, though. Sierra climbed three branches high into the gnarled pine overlooking the clearing. Her bow and arrow lay within reach as she sat on the thick wood, back against the scratchy bark, and she waited. Silence settled over the clearing, soft like a blanket. The morning sky grew brighter as the sun touched the tops of the trees, the sky deepening to a robin’s egg blue. Neck muscles she didn’t realize were tense relaxed one by one. It was so serene here.

Sierra closed her eyes and dropped her head to her knees, the rough fabric of her sturdy homespun pants scraping against her cheek. Being alone was better than being with the lovebirds. Apparently, she was going to have to get used to seeing Nell in order to spend any time with Corbin. Maybe she wasn’t the worst person in the world for him. Maybe he could even offer her a way out of that line of work, which would be a wonderful thing.

Watching them fall in love both panicked Sierra and made her yearn, an uncomfortable feeling like she was on a tipping boat. The girls her age in the village were experiencing first kisses behind the mill, and some were even being promised in marriage. But Sierra was not an ordinary fourteen-year-old, and she didn’t care about kisses anyway. She wasn’t curious about them at all. She scowled at the empty tree branches around her. Nope. Didn’t care one bit about a stupid kiss.

She chewed on her bottom lip and gazed at the empty field.

The idea of spending life with someone she could love and trust sounded great in theory, but she had never really thought it would work for her. Normally, she was fine with the idea of being alone forever, other than Corbin and Phoebe. Most people were pains in the neck anyway. But watching Nell and Corbin with hearts circling around their heads had made Sierra wonder, a bit, what it would be like to feel that way, too. Not now. But maybe someday.

She pursed her lips and made a decision, one that brought stillness to her pounding heart. She would let Corbin be with Nell without a fuss. It was the right thing to do, a true act of friendship. The decision gave Sierra some peace, and she was able to settle into her hunter’s stance and stop thinking about her teammates back at the camp. Her mind emptied of anything, and she could finally focus only on this moment, attention soft but ready for game.

After an hour, her bottom had gone numb, and her hands were clumsy with the cold. No deer, no squirrels, not even a mouse had wandered through the clearing. She slid and half-fell on her way out of the tree, still grasping the bow with the arrow in one hand. Then the clatter of hooves echoed through the trees.

Sierra spun, readying her arrow. The white fluffy tail of a deer flew over the berry bush at the end of the meadow. She zeroed in on the whiteness, the small target that glowed compared to the deep green berry bush. Her arrow soared. She imagined Nell would be reluctantly impressed. There was a thud on the other side of the bush, and Sierra drew her knife as she ran, ready to put the animal out of its misery. It looked really big. One arrow wouldn’t have killed it.

Then a scream filled the air, and Sierra was so forcibly reminded of Sam that she staggered to a halt in the empty clearing and frantically looked around for the unicorn. The scream came again, and she took a step back, slamming the knife back in her belt and bringing her bow up and scanning the perimeter. The sound was coming from behind the bush. It was the deer she had shot, but no deer had ever sounded like this. Its screams were nearly human. With trembling knees, Sierra snuck closer and closer to the bush, arrow nocked and ready. She didn’t want to get close to anything that sounded like that.

She drew back the bowstring, pressing her hand against her cheek as she prepared to shoot, dragging in a slow breath through lungs that wheezed slightly with fear. The bush was too thick for her to peek through, so she sidestepped around it, keeping a wide berth from whatever was behind there. When she reached the other side, her eyes widened in both horror and amazement, and she dropped her hands uselessly to her sides. She’d shot a creature she’d only heard stories about. The bottom half was a deer, with the tail she saw flash over the bush. Brown fur, spotted with tiny white dots on the flank, ending in hooves. But the top half of the creature wasn’t a deer at all. It was human, with dark brown skin, all uncovered. And its big, brown eyes stared right into hers.

ierra immediately corrected herself; this creature was not an
it
but a
he
. This was a faun, a creature of legend, and a young faun at that. Wavy brown hair brushed his shoulders, but there was no mistaking that square jaw line and strong brow for anything but a boy, one with one foot―hoof?―into adulthood. His chest was bare and thin, ribs showing, heaving as he lay panting in pain. His torso disappeared into fur, as if tucked into a tight-fitting pair of pants. The long winter coat of the deerskin covered anything private, but Sierra kept her eyes on his face just in case, mortified and undoubtedly beet-red.

Oh,
no
. Horror flooded her. She had shot a magical creature, truly wounded him, one that had done no harm. None. Guilt crashed over her so heavily her breath caught. She held out her hands in the age-old gesture of peace, watching his eyes as she did so. She took one tentative, tiny step forward. He didn’t move. Good sign.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” she babbled, unable to say anything else.

His intense gaze held her paralyzed for a moment; she couldn’t look away. It felt like some important message was hidden in the dark depths of his brown eyes.

Sierra offered a hand, unsure of what else to do. He had no weapon, and her mind cast about for anything she could remember about fauns. Old songs and stories said fauns could cause trouble for travelers, but they also were equally likely to help. Magical in nature, they supposedly knew all of the forest creatures and plants. Sounded like someone to make friends with. Too bad she had shot him already.

Still, the arrow was her mistake―such a stupid one, too―and she’d make it right. Phoebe was still top concern, but the faun needed help. Surely that wouldn’t be impossible.

The same need Sierra had always had to make sure Sam the unicorn was safe filled her now. The compulsion she felt wasn’t the same intensity as with her fairies, but her calling as a keeper wouldn’t let her walk away from this magical creature either.

Thank the heavens she didn’t have any of Jack’s unicorn horn arrow tips―one of those would have killed the faun. Sierra stepped closer, and he scooted back in the leaves, shrieking. The sound of shocked fear and pain screeched up and down her spine, like it did with Old Sam. She leaned sideways to get a glimpse of the faun’s back. The arrow shaft protruded, with part of the arrowhead buried in his back, near the bottom of the ribcage. The wound looked so painful she balled her hands into fists.

She’d wounded him, in winter. She couldn’t leave him there, even if he wanted her to, but she wasn’t sure he would come with her. She needed to complete her journey to save Phoebe as quickly as possible, and yet Sierra wanted―no, needed―to help this poor creature. She’d simply have to manage both.

“Who are you?” she asked.

He gazed steadily at her but did not answer. Then he touched his throat once and shook his head. Her heart pounded at this proof of intelligence. Okay, no speech, but he clearly understood her.

“Let me help you, please.”

No response.

The sun was now high enough that Corbin and Nell would be wondering where Sierra was. It was time she got moving. She surely couldn’t carry him, but she couldn’t leave him, either. The faun’s eyes were the color of melted chocolate, darker than Corbin’s, and they would haunt her. The poor thing looked ill, even without the arrow wound. She could count his ribs; dark circles under his eyes spoke of exhaustion. He looked no older than Corbin, too, though far less healthy. Her hands trembled, and she lowered the bow. She couldn’t trust herself with it anymore.

Sierra backed away from the creature, and he tried to stand. Tried but failed. She froze, breath stopped for a long moment, unsure of his plans. The faun waited, staring at her with eyes too calm, before he finally reached out a hand.

Her stomach felt like it had floated into her throat, but she stepped closer, noticing how the fur of his deer legs curled a little, sort of like alpaca fur. Was it as soft as it looked? She kept her hands up and empty, and in three steps stood beside him. Blood seeped around the arrow, but it must have hit a rib instead of an organ, or there’d be a river of red instead of a trickle.

Sierra breathed a sigh of thanks. Grabbing his hand, she began to pull him up, but he couldn’t lift himself fast enough. She hadn’t braced her feet well, and she tumbled into him as he pulled on her arms, causing a low grunt of obvious pain from him and a shocked gasp from her.

The whirls of brown fur were as soft as they looked. He smelled… like Old Sam. She’d always thought the smell of Sam was his unique scent, sort of like rosemary mixed with summer rain. Maybe this was the scent of magical creatures. There were so few of them left at home. Untangling herself from the poor faun, she blushed a hot red but managed to stand and stammer again, “I’m so sorry!”