Sprite

The baying of the dogs didn’t start until well after dawn. By that time, Norah, Roselle, and the two changelings were already deep into the forest.

Patrick quickly took the lead, surprising all of them. He was a city boy, the same as Roselle and Lou. Only Norah had grown up outside of Datro, but except for her two trips through the forest in the company of her father or grandfather, she had never been on her own either. She had no idea where they were.

“This way.” Patrick leaned forward, hands practically touching the ground as he pushed through a dense stand of bushes, somehow finding the one path with enough room to squeeze through. It was a tight fit. “Hurry. The dogs won’t venture into the forest, but the men will. We have to keep moving.”

Scratched, scared and tired, Norah followed blindly, glad in the end that someone had taken charge. Her grand plan ended at the forest. She hadn’t thought it through past that point. Somehow, she had imagined that one of the so-called forest sprites would find them and guide them to freedom.

The baying seemed fainter. Was Patrick right? “Are they turning back?” she asked hopefully.

Patrick listened. “They’re calling off the dogs,” he replied, a note of relief in his voice. “They’ll continue on foot or by horseback now. Dogs don’t like the forest,” he added. “Or they like it too well. Once they’re let loose, they tend to disappear.”

Roselle shivered and glanced around apprehensively.

“We’ll wait here and move out when it’s dark,” Patrick said, straightening up as best he could in the cramped space. His hips clicked. They crouched in the middle of the gnarled bushes, and Norah finally realized that her boots were wet. The ground underneath them was soggy! Patrick noticed her expression and snapped, “A little water won’t hurt you!”

Norah glared indignantly. Just because he was a boy, Patrick thought he knew everything. He—Norah took a good look at Patrick. Just what was his mutation, anyway? He seemed to know how to navigate through the woods even though he’d never been in them before. She wanted to ask him, but just then Lou yawned, and stumbled against her. “We need to sit,” she complained, and Patrick, with Roselle’s help pulled down some of the inner branches, both making their little hideaway more spacious and giving them a dry place to sit while they waited for night to fall.

When night came, Patrick led them unerringly out of the bushes through increasingly tangled woods. Norah could see, but neither Roselle nor Lou could. Even when Norah took their hands, they continued to trip and fall. “Slow down, Patrick!” she called in a loud whisper. It occurred to her that his eyesight was as unusual as her own, and must be part of his mutation. He stopped, and had Lou climb on his back, before he bent forward, his hips giving that distinctive click again, and on hands and feet continued forward. Norah grabbed Roselle’s arm and guided her in Patrick’s wake.

After three days of plodding ever deeper into the forest, saved only by Roselle’s pocketfuls of midnight snacks, Patrick announced that they could rest for a day or two. The three girls threw themselves gratefully down on the ground, exhausted beyond rational thought. Patrick chuckled, and went to gather firewood.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Norah asked softly without opening her eyes.

“There’s no one around,” Patrick said confidently. Then with his former surliness, he added, “No one. Where are the changelings? Where are the hidden villages?”

Norah couldn’t answer. She wondered the same thing herself.

Over the next several days, it became apparent that finding a changeling village was not going to be easy. Patrick had returned to his pessimistic self, although he continued to lead them deeper into the forest. Sooner or later, they hoped, a changeling or perhaps one of the fabled sprites would come across them and they would be saved. In the meantime, food was becoming a problem. “We’ll camp here and go hunting,” Patrick said. He had picked a spot along the banks of a small stream. The water was deep and ran fast.

Lou and Roselle washed in the cold water, taking the time while Patrick was off hunting to rinse out their increasingly ripe clothes. Norah, who had packed a few changes of clothing in advance, took her bag and moved upstream for a little privacy. Roselle gave her a long look.

Norah didn’t mind the cold. The stream wasn’t wide enough for her to swim in, but she knelt down and grabbed a couple of fish for their supper, before hastily dressing, and cutting off the webbing that had appeared on her hands and legs. She carried the fish back to their camp, earning a rare smile from Lou. She laid her catch next to the fire. Patrick frowned. Roselle seemed on the verge of saying something, but she closed her mouth and smiled faintly.

“How did you get those?” Patrick asked, scrambling to his feet so he could walk around Norah.

Norah immediately realized her mistake. She had no sharpened sticks, no string, nothing with which to catch fish. She reddened. “I just—scooped them up,” she said, and Patrick frowned even more.

“Impossible,” he said flatly. “I tried. If I couldn’t do it, then you shouldn’t have been able to.”

Roselle looked from Patrick to Norah with interest. “Come on, Lou. Let’s find something to cook the fish on,” she said, reaching out her hand for the little girl’s. She didn’t seem to mind Lou’s six-fingered grasp. “You’re not the only one with hidden talents,” she flung back over her shoulder at Patrick.

“What did she mean by that?” Patrick asked suspiciously.

Norah shrugged. “I’m good at catching fish?”

Down by the stream, Roselle let out a peal of laughter.

“The truth,” Patrick demanded. “Who are you people? Why are you helping us? Why are you even here? You’re not mutants.”

Roselle had found several wide leaves to wrap around the fish so that they could put them on the coals. “Who says we’re not mutants?” she challenged.

“You’re not a mutant,” Patrick muttered, looking her up and down. “Where’s your flaw?”

Roselle caught Norah’s eye, and Norah shook her head ever so slightly.

Patrick noticed the movement. “You’re a mutant?” he asked incredulously.

“Why do you think she knew how to contact Datro’s Sprite?” Roselle scoffed. “You think a normal human being would have been able to do it? Norah’s a changeling,” she continued, much to Norah’s horror. “We both are.”

Norah stared at Roselle. Where was she going with this? Roselle was no mutant. She caught Lou’s glance, and the child positively beamed at her. Norah sighed. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you,” she admitted. “My grandfather doesn’t know about me. Nobody except Roselle knows.”

“That’s right,” Roselle agreed cheerfully. “Norah didn’t want anyone in Datro to find out she can call fish to her bare hands. How do you think she got Datro’s Sprite to come to her?” Roselle winked at Norah. “Oh, and she can see in the dark, too.”

Norah’s mouth hung open. She closed it with a snap. Roselle hadn’t given away her secret. In the end, it might make things harder unless she planned to keep her webbing hidden forever, but Norah wasn’t ready to reveal that truth about herself yet. Her mutation was so vastly different from any others she had seen. A part of her feared that even the changelings would think she was different. A lump formed in her throat as she thought about what she had given up. She could never go home now. What if, when they found the forest changelings, they didn’t want her either? No, she was relieved that Roselle hadn’t told the truth about her mutation. She gave her friend a weak grin.

Patrick regarded Norah quietly. “You should have told us,” he finally said.

“Why? Then maybe you wouldn’t have sold her out to save your own skin?” Roselle asked hotly. She hadn’t forgotten who had told the factory supervisors about her and Norah. “You’re just lucky Norah is a forgiving person. I might not have come along if I realized she meant to save you, too,” she lied glibly. “Lou, now Lou is a loyal friend. She deserved to be saved.” She put her arm around the younger girl and drew her close.

“Don’t forget Patrick got us through the fields and into the forest,” Norah reminded her. “He didn’t know about my, about our, he didn’t know us,” she amended.

“It explains a lot,” Patrick remarked. He ignored Roselle’s rant about his earlier betrayal. “About her.” His eyes swiveled to Roselle. “So what’s your flaw?”

Roselle smiled. “I never said I had a flaw. My mutation, if you must know, is my brain.” Her eyes sparkled. “I can read your thoughts!”

Patrick backed up quickly, and even Lou looked up at Roselle in wonder. Only Norah had no reaction.

Roselle laughed. “You’re so gullible!” she said. “I may not have something like the rest of you,” she included Norah in her statement, “but I’m one of you by my own choice, so stop dwelling on it. My boyfriend is a changeling. Will. He came back for me, and now I’m going to him. I’m going to spend the rest of my life with Will in a changeling village, so yes, I’m a changeling too.”

Things changed between them after that. In some ways, they were easier with each other. Patrick wasn’t so distrustful. He listened to Roselle’s ramblings about Will, and the life they were going to have together once they found him.

Norah missed the water. Every time they crossed a stream or skirted a tree-shrouded lake, she wanted to swim. No one understood the aching need she felt to immerse herself in water. Not even Roselle. She sometimes thought that when they finally found Will and the hidden villages, maybe then she could leave, find a woodland lake or river where she could truly be herself. Roselle had Will, but Norah had no one. If she had the water, it wouldn’t be so bad.