The Springborn

SABELLA

FEbrUARY 15, 1886

BETWEEN MIDNIGHT AND DAWN

M y father, dimly illuminated by cold moonlight, stops walking and holds up a hand to signal me to stop as well. He stands on tiptoe to peer through a knothole in the fence that encloses Rees Anthracite’s Number Four mine. The baby does not stir inside the sling as I wait, in spite of my vigorous shivering. I want to be motionless, but fear and winter will not allow for it.

The smallest sound of gravel shifting pulls my attention to the left.

Two shadowy forms crouch on the rocky hillside, silhouettes I recognize as Calder and his bird-legged friend. They are still as statues—until Calder nods in my direction. There is no time for me to question the boys’ presence because Father has swung open the gate and yanks my arm. I trail him as we pass the seated, slumped, and snoring watchman.

Moonlight glances off the cautionary sign marking the mouth of the new seam. Father reaches for the baby. “Give it here now, girl. I’ll take it down.”

“No. I’m going with you,” I insist, tightening my hold on the child.

“You will not. It isn’t safe.” Father glowers at me like a cruel dictator dealing with a troublesome peasant. I’ve seen this look before. There will be painful consequences if I rile him further, but I cannot hold my tongue.

“And yet you would leave a helpless infant there?”

His open hand smacks my cheek quick and hard. My skin burns. Shock steals my breath for a moment. I say nothing but stand up straighter, imagining myself as stately and strong as the buck I watched beside the stream last month.

“Give me the child now,” Father demands.

I shake my head and step backward. My arms wrap around the sling, forming a protective barrier between Father and the baby. “I will carry her.”

“Hey!” a deep voice echoes through the site. I look toward the sound but cannot see its source. The man adds, “The sign over there says ‘Trespassers will be shot.’ Do you not believe in signs, sir?”

“I work here,” Father blurts. “Forgot something and came back for it. I’ll be off home now.”

A crack of gunfire makes Father jump. He takes off running. For a moment, fear paralyzes me. Then, hearing footsteps approach, I duck into the hole carved into the hillside, the mine’s dark mouth. The baby wriggles against me and I feel sick, so sick. If she cries, I’ll be caught for certain. Taken into custody by the guards and dragged before the mine boss. My antlers will finally lead to my doom—and the baby’s, too, if they think her my devilish spawn.

I slink along the rock-walled corridor that leads to the depths of the mine. After a few yards, a darkness thick as tar surrounds me. Without a lantern, I cannot risk venturing any deeper. I crouch against the jagged wall and stroke the baby’s rounded back beneath my cloak. Silently, I pray for two miracles: first, that the watchman will feel more inclined to return to his nap than to spend time searching for trespassers, and second, that the baby will stay silent.

The glow of a lantern, a halo of pale golden light, moves toward us. I huddle down, arching my body over the baby, hoping my dark cloak will conceal us.

“I believe in signs,” Calder’s voice says. “And I’m good at imitating guards and shotgun fire.”

I lift my head. He’s standing in front of me, holding a small metal lantern aloft. Warm light skims over his face. As usual, he looks pleased with himself. This time, I cannot fault him for it.

“Come with me,” he says. Since the guard or Father might appear at any moment, I nod in acquiescence. He offers his hand, and I allow him to help me to my feet.

We keep silent until we’re well away from the coal yards. Calder leads me by the hand along the outskirts of town and into the woods—my woods. My other hand supports the baby in the sling. In the scant light of the moon and Calder’s little lantern, the familiar trees look like the enchanted trees of a fairy story. The scent of pines and hemlocks soothes my pattering heart. Calder’s firm grip makes me feel safer than I have felt in ages—which is an odd thing, considering how deeply I doubt his trustworthiness.

It doesn’t matter at the moment if I trust him, for I must do whatever it takes to protect the baby. “Where are we going?” I ask. “And where is your companion?”

“Robbie will appear imminently,” he says as we round a boulder. “As for our destination, I daresay we’re going home.”

I glance sidelong at him as we continue to walk. He’s smiling as if he has a hundred brilliant secrets to share—and no intention of giving them away for free.

The baby whines and stretches against the boundaries of the sling, and Calder scrutinizes the odd shape of my cloak.

“Either you’ve been eating exceptionally well, or you’ve been up to something,” he says wryly. My hackles rise. I yank my hand out of his.

“This is your fault,” I snap. “All of this trouble we’re in.”

“My fault?”

“Do not pretend you knew nothing of this baby. You tempted me with your talk of the basket. I think you knew what would come of opening it.”

“On my honor, I did not know the basket would give you a child. I never?—”

“What’s this? Quarreling, on such a fine, starlit night?” an unfamiliar voice says. I look up to see the dark outline of someone standing on an outcropping of rock. He drops to the ground beside me, landing squarely upon his bird feet, and performs a courtly bow. “Your servant, Robin Hallsey.”

“Enough of the dramatics, Robbie,” Calder says, walking away. “We mustn’t linger here.”

“Of course,” Robbie says. He and I fall into step, side by side. From a distance, his thin frame and short stature had led me to think he was a lad of no more than twelve. Now I see he is older, fifteen or sixteen perhaps. It is hard to pinpoint his heritage as he is veiled in shadow, but I would guess one of his parents hailed from a Far Eastern land. If he has parents. Perhaps bird-legged boys also spill out of baskets. Was he found in a basket, as I was? I want to ask him, but it seems a rude thing to ask a stranger. Besides, I can hardly think straight after all that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours.

“You are Sabella,” Robbie says, holding a pine branch out of the way to allow me passage. “Calder’s told me a lot about you.”

I duck through. “Your friend is quite good at talking.”

Robbie laughs. “That he is.”

I stumble and grab a tree to right myself. The baby wriggles and whimpers, so I extract her from the sling and hold her against my shoulder. “Hush now,” I whisper.

“Ah, the baby,” Robbie says with delight. “The wee miracle. I overheard you and your father talking before you went into the mine. My ears are that good. Could I carry her? I promise not to drop her. Babies are fond of me. I have a way with them, I’ve been told.”

Now that he has offered to help, I realize that my neck and shoulders pulse with pain from hours of wearing the makeshift sling. I swear the child has gained weight since I bound her to me back at home. “Well…”

Robbie clasps his hands as if in prayer. “Please?”

Something in his earnest face convinces me to trust him. I stop, and Robbie stops. Calder looks over his shoulder, groans with annoyance, and then halts as well. He waits for us, lantern raised, impatience written large on his face.

The baby cries as I pass her to Robbie, but stops when he kisses her forehead. He cradles her—and she fills his arms. She has definitely grown since the evening began. Wonders never cease—not even when you wish they would.

“We cannot keep stopping,” Calder says. “Someone might see us.” He leads the way across a meadow carpeted by patchy snow and dead leaves, and then into woods.

Beside me, Robbie whistles softly to the baby, trilling like an especially musical bird. She giggles and coos in reply.

My body warms as we walk, in spite of the coldness of the air. We journey farther west than I have ever ventured. Although the path we tread is new to me, it seems well traveled. There are footprints and talon prints, and someone has cleared away fallen branches. We walk and we walk, between boulders, over streams.

Now and then, I catch sight of the moon through the treetops. It inches through the heavens as if it has no reason to hurry, not a care in the universe. Calder continues to lead with confident strides. My flesh and my spirit are weary and worn. Again and again, I stumble over roots, sticks, and my own feet.

The journey grows foggy around the edges, like a dream. When I awaken, will I regret leaving Mother? Who will care for her in my absence? I glance at the baby in Robbie’s arms and remember that Mother made me leave as much as Father did. The child is helpless and blameless; I did what was right—for the baby and for me. Still, a dull ache pools in my chest. Homesickness for a place I ought not to miss.

After a while, as dawn begins to coax color into the woods, Robbie announces, “Her name is Sparrow.”

I open my mouth to ask him why he’s chosen this name, but what I see over Calder’s shoulder renders me speechless. In the middle of this wilderness, almost blending into its surroundings, there stands a high stone wall set with a thick-looking, weather-stained, wooden door.

Calder pulls a skeleton key from his jacket pocket and inserts it in the keyhole. He pushes the door open, then wraps an arm around my shoulders. His touch drives the chill from my bones like he is the sun itself. I ought to scold him for being so familiar, but I am too tired and too flustered for speeches. Intertwined with my embarrassment, there is something I have never felt before and do not wish to feel now: a flutter of attraction.

Clearly oblivious to my discomfiture, he grins and says, “Welcome home, Sabella.”