Nada's Escape

40- Streets.

As we return from the meadow the streets seem still and abandoned. In this part of the village paint peels back from front doors and plants look strangled and overgrown in their beds. I pick my way around deep grooves in the road from water, wincing every time a sharp rock catches my sole. Even in the silence of twilight the Narnia-style streetlamps flicker low, as if also in pain. Finley steps in front of me, halting, and in the soft dusk light gazes at me.

"You were amazing back there," he praises, eyes shining. His sincerity sparks a fluttering in my stomach and my eyes widen in surprise, pinning me to the spot. The fluttering makes me feel bubbly in the way only Summer Bay girls truly are and an insane thought to blurt "You're amazing!" flashes across my tongue. I fight it off with a forced cough, turning away.

God, Huntsmen! I curse inwardly, you never know where you are with them. Constantly dancing around being enthralled or sympathetic to the point of weakness so I can never find a stance from which to hit them.

"They do like you," Finley protests placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Given enough time you could probably convince them of anything. There's a reason that you were given the mark."

"There's a reason," a small, tinny voice snarks and I whirl, searching the deserted streets for Finley's mocker.

"Who's there?" I demand, seeing no one. They're probably hiding in one of the front yards.

"Who's there?" The voice echoes incredulously. I narrow my eyes at the lamp.

"So that's where you're coming from," I mutter, thinking of the glowing butterfly I may have seen the other night.

"That's impossible..." I hear Finley breath, "Feyflies can't speak, they're not even sentient. Could there be a speaker hidden up there? Here I'll give you a boost." He moves past me to stand by the lamp, hands interlocked and low. I don't understand why there would be a speaker up there.

Had the feyfly spoken to me before? No... but had it been singing under the house? Curiosity fills me and I step onto Finley's hands, wondering why I am trusting Huntsmen and heights so much today.

Through the frosted glass the glow is diffuse, coming from a single point up by the top of the lamp. Balancing, I find a latch on the wrought iron frame and swing open one of the frosted panels. My eyes just level with the opening, I catch sight of wings of pure gold thread, drops of golden topaz shining between the strands. A single ruby drop like blood winks at me from the centre of the wings as they drop, launching the butterfly from the edge of the lamp. As it flutters to the entrance I try to catch sight of its eye-gems but its darting movement shows me only wing.

"No don't let it-" Finley protests, but it's already fluttered its way into the night air.

"Stupid Huntsmen." The butterfly's tinny voice sneers from the air.

"Can we agree that it was definitely the butterfly?" I ask, as I lower myself to eye level again. Out of habit, I keep my gaze on his blue T-shirt.

"Yep, feyfly. You were right." Finley replies, shaking his head as if to clear it. "Shall we keep going?" I nod, wishing Amy were here to bounce ideas off. She would probably know something or other about feyflies, as she does about most things.

The feyflies in the rest of the lamps are silent, though it seems to me that their glow brightens as we approach. Maybe they always do that, I think. It's not until we reach the flat expanse of common ground that we see another person.

A dusky-skinned woman leads a boy who looks four or five out from the academy's portico. Though the woman ignores us the boy's head of dark hair swivels curiously towards us. He breaks away to run over to us, fisting his hands before Finley.

"Can you teach me the rapier? I want learn but Mum says it's too sharp for me." The little boy chatters brightly. I frown, somehow more confused that he can speak than the feyfly. Finley squats down to talk to him.

"What are you going to fight?" I blurt out derisively. The boy's eyes flick to me and I am surprised by their blueness.

"Fey monsters, of course. I'm not a baby you know." He answers, a frown lightly puckering the smooth skin of his forehead. I glare at him, the first really young Huntsman I've come across. He scares me more than even the council, though I can't pinpoint why. Perhaps it's because he's too young to know the difference between right and wrong?

His mother places a hand with finely trimmed nails onto his shoulder and stares into me with depthless cocoa eyes. She's young, definitely younger than my own mother, and I would wager that she won't be finding wrinkles or grey hairs anytime soon.

"Thank you for your help." She whispers firmly. I blink, what help? The woman gathers up her son and walks him across to a side street, seeming to have forgotten about us. I watch, unable to move for several seconds as I think over the woman's odd words. Then I shrug, she's probably just enthralled.