Kayla opened her eyes, and found herself looking at an unfamiliar ceiling that appeared to be a blue tarpaulin on a very rough wooden frame, with irregular glimmers of sunlight on the other side. The wall beside her was ancient-looking grey stone, but it halted well short of the ceiling, the rest of it cobbled-together rough branches with considerable gaps.
Whatever she was lying on was somewhat concave in the centre, not the hardest bed she’d ever had but not what she’d personally have chosen. Why was her t-shirt missing?
Oh, right. The snake-haired faeling who had decided to spit on her. Everything rapidly grew fuzzy in her head after that—there was a vague recollection of JC trying to help her and then everything went black.
“You’re safe. You’re in my bed.” She recognized Callie’s soft voice and faint accent, the volume pitched low enough to exclude any eavesdroppers beyond the ragged curtain across the sole doorway. “How do you feel?”
“Confused, but otherwise, fine.” Kayla rolled carefully onto her side, and found Callie sitting on the floor, leaning back against the stone wall.
“No headache, no blurry vision, no ringing in your ears?”
“Right. None of those.”
“Good. Then I got all the toxin out of your body.”
“What happened?”
Callie sighed. “Lou can spit venom when she chooses to. Normally she uses it on chickens and pigeons. I got there soon after, to find JC distracting them by talking to them, and Zach hovering but not attacking. I cleaned the toxin out of your body. But we need to talk.”
“Okay, shoot.” Kayla sat up, carefully. The bed was a simple wooden frame raised only a few inches off the floor, lashed together with wisp silk that was looking rather frayed; she wasn’t sure what had been used as the surface to lie on, but there was a ragged blanket, and under that a mattress of sorts, wisp silk stuffed with what she suspected was dried grass. The large red bag Nora had given Callie rested against one wall, near a second silk mattress, this one lying on the ground. It seemed improbable that this was a dedicated infirmary, so quite likely it was Callie’s own room.
“When I heal someone, I absorb everything from their body that is out of place into myself, and then push it outwards to Sly, who burns it off. In the process, I become aware of everything that transfers.”
“Uh-huh. I think humans have more that goes wrong than faelings do, from what I’ve seen.”
“Yes. I’m not sure of the full extent, because my experience and therefore my evidence is scanty. However, I think you’re going to find that scars are going to fade. Possibly some age-related gradual deterioration will reset itself as well, I honestly don’t know.”
“Oh, don’t you dare tell me that you’ve just undone major surgery. I really don’t want to go through that again. Even if I could find a way to.” Once had been quite enough, and she’d been much younger and more physically resilient at the time. And how on earth could she possibly explain? Everything felt normal, and nothing had undone the effects of her hormones, since her t-shirt was missing and a glance down established that her sports bra still fit properly.
Callie smiled. “Nothing like that. I’m quite sure that your body and brain would not allow it. What I do is correct what’s wrong, and it would not be a correction to mess about with a surgery that was a correction in itself. However, your hormone levels are another matter entirely. It’s possible that I’ve just disrupted the balance of the meds I assume you’re taking. Your body might start producing more estrogen and progesterone on its own than it has so far. You might eventually not need supplementation at all.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” It had been a relief, post-surgery, to no longer need testosterone blockers, but she’d accepted that she’d be on both estrogen and progesterone for life.
“I wouldn’t joke about this. The impressions I got were... well, I’m not used to analysis like this, but I can generally tell if something feels like it’s out of balance. I believe your body and brain are geared towards female hormones, but were unable to produce enough on their own. I think that might no longer be the case. Keep an eye on your own reactions. If you feel strange at all, tell me. You might also want to discuss it with Nora, since she’ll be able to arrange for bloodwork back in the real world to see what’s going on.”
“Right, gotcha. I’ll talk to her about it, and keep you posted. That would be... very weird, but possibly kinda cool.”
“Accidental side effects on repairing a primary condition.”
“I assume Des came to get you once Zach identified multiple threats? I’m just as glad Zach didn’t end up fighting multiple opponents. He’s strong and fast and tough, but I’d like to keep my friends intact, and the others... they don’t deserve to be thumped.”
“Even though they attacked you?”
Kayla rolled her eyes. “Yes, even though one of them attacked me. I don’t blame victims for being messed up. I’m not going to run to them for a hug next time I see them, I’m going to be cautious, but I’m not going to hold a grudge, either. I did listen when you said that everyone here is dealing with mental health issues. I didn’t live through years of hanging out in the trans community while I was transitioning without meeting people dealing with anything from depression and anxiety, to battles with self-harm, to PTSD after being physically or sexually assaulted. Plus a whole lot of autistic folks, like that cute squirrel. I’m not an expert, far from it, but I do have some sympathy with the kinds of stuff your own brain can make you do and the tricks it can play.”
“Thank you for that. That group can be aggressive but they aren’t bad people. Do you remember Nisha? Tall, blue skin, four arms?”
“She was avoiding getting involved. A bit paranoid, understandably, but she did take a chance and have a cookie. I sort of got the impression she was trying to de-escalate things.”
“She might have been. She can get caught up in the mood when she’s with the others, especially on a bad day. We all have those, and it gets expressed in many ways. But she carried you here, and I think it’s likely that her telling the others that she would not fight made them think twice about an all-out attack. I’m not going to give you her story, that’s up to her, but I’ll tell you this much. Zach is a dragon and he took the guardian path, not the other one. Nisha’s a guardian-type too. She got here in the next group after mine, with four others.”
Identifying fae types certainly was useful for offering clues to behaviour and priorities, although in this case, it was only a hint and it was going to take more. “Where are the others?”
Callie shrugged. “That’s the question, hm? I’m not going to tell you something cliché like, figure her out and half the island will trust you. If anything, a lot of faelings are cautious around any of that group. But her own crew respect her. So.” Her tone changed, less quiet, more brisk. “Would you like to come meet a few more faelings? Five house fae in all, not counting JC, and we had guests when we came in, quite likely we still do.”
“How are they going to feel about my presence? I don’t want anyone feeling uncomfortable in their own sanctuary.”
“The rules are very clear. Anyone is welcome here who treats everyone else with respect. The house fae have a very powerful drive towards having a residence to care for. A residence needs people in it other than other house fae. And they can be rather frightening when they’re angry and in the residence they’ve claimed. You’re here at their invitation and mine. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“I guess I’ll take your word for it, since you’re the one who’ll be doing extra work putting me back together otherwise—did I thank you properly yet for doing that once already?”
Callie chuckled. “You woke up disoriented. It’s all right.”
“Sorry. Thank you. I deeply appreciate the rescue and the care afterwards.”
“You’re very welcome.” Callie stood up, and offered a hand to help Kayla get up from the low bed. “Come meet more of the people you want to help.”
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Beyond the tattered grey curtain they were outside, but nearby was a much larger structure.
Kayla looked at the stone walls. “This looks like it’s been here for hundreds of years.”
“There are a number of places that have what look like old ruins. They’re all unique. House fae have different inclinations—some are brilliant at cooking and cleaning, but anything involving a residence can turn up, and now and then that manifests as a talent for construction and repair. I don’t know how much time has passed in the real world, but kidnapped faelings have had many years here to use anything that can be found, stolen, salvaged, or improvised to turn two, on opposite sides, into more substantial shelters. They aren’t fancy, but they do what they need to do.”
Kayla eyed the roof of the larger structure, which looked like it might have a mixture of tarp and plastic sheets and wisp silk under wood that appeared to be branches rather than cut lumber, with an occasional exception. Bits were nailed, tied, glued, obviously using whatever came to hand.
“I think my friends worked out the timing from Isabel’s journal, at least roughly,” Kayla said quietly. “Local time, it’s been something like twenty years, give or take. But out in the real world, all this crap started less than two years ago. Possibly much less, maybe about a year. As near as JC could work out, most of the time—ha, no pun intended—they’ve had the island running at thirty-two times normal speed. At points they dropped it for periods down to sixteen. At the moment we’re keeping it at thirty-two, which is going to make some things complicated but means we get everyone home that much faster.”
“A year,” Callie said flatly, gesturing around the corner of the larger structure.
“Yeah. For real. While Des and the others have been here for over three weeks, it was literally less than eighteen hours in the real world.” Kayla laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I think you remember a lot. It won’t be easy, but Riley’s talking about calling in every medium in her family and then some to help. One of the things they do is help faelings and their families adjust. Although I doubt anyone has the qualifications for the amount of therapy the lot of you could probably use.”
“If twenty years is a year to two years, then the five or so I’ve been here has been... three to six months for my family.”
“Sounds about right.”
Callie said nothing for a moment. “I miss them so much it hurts. But I’m not sure... I’m not the person they remember.”
“You’d be surprised how people can cope with that when it means they get loved ones back after the nauseating unbearable world-wrenching terror of realizing that someone you love is just gone without a trace. Among other things.”
“I... yes. I’ll think about that later.” Callie reached for another ragged curtain door, this time a faded orange-brown, and drew it aside. “After you.”
The room within was larger than Kayla had expected.
There was a large fireplace at one end. Someone clever appeared to have used stones and clay to construct an oven of sorts that took up a third of the space to one side. The other two-thirds remained open, with a metal bar across it a short way above the fire, embedded into the oven on one side and into the stones of the fireplace on the other, and a metal grate similarly embedded just above it. A battered stock-pot with a pair of metal handles hung from the bar, wire having been used to rig it for suspension.
Zach was sprawled on the bare ground right in front of the fire, presumably soaking up the heat. Kayla’s grey t-shirt was draped over a rough frame nearby, the darkness of it making it quite clear that it was wet.
At the other end Kayla saw... well, she couldn’t quite call them beds, since to her that implied some sort of actual furniture. These were just wisp-silk bags filled a couple of inches deep with whatever they’d been able to find, each with a blanket over it that had seen better days, directly on the dirt floor. Six of them, against the walls, each had a box or basket between it and the stone wall, maybe holding someone’s possessions; four more were in the middle. A shape in two of the central ones suggested that a couple of someones were taking a nap, and there were figures as well in two of the beds against the walls.
In between was what clearly passed for living and working space. Storage shelves for food and what passed for dishes had been built from whatever they could find, which was mostly stone and rough wood. Someone had come up with some sort of translucent yellowish glue and someone had found a way to make rather coarse-looking cordage, but the fraying bits of wisp silk stood out brightly despite their condition. There were work surfaces, but those included the only actual flat plank she’d yet seen along with slate-like stone. More towards the opposite wall, three or four very rough wooden stools stood among small piles of dried grass; Des was perched on one, close to three other faelings, and there was a pair leaning against the wall.
JC was working at one of the slate counters with two others. One figure stood taller than her, skin a soft brown and short curly hair much the same colour, so impossibly slim that Kayla couldn’t even begin to guess at a sex and yet there was no impression of poor health or fragility; those calf-length trousers were close-fitting and a variegated brown, and the sleeveless top matched them. The other was a little shorter than JC, and from behind Kayla could only see hip-length wavy golden hair and a loose-fitting dress or robe of deep rich green that brushed against the dirt floor.
No humanitarian organization stepping in to provide even tragically-inadequate resources. Worse than any palaeolithic culture by far, since these were regular twenty-first century people who lacked the skills a culture like that would have evolved or the diversity of resources—or the motivation, possibly, since all they had was survival.
It was unexpectedly grim, considering the beauty of the island.
One of the pair of red foxes sitting with Des looked up from a bowl of food, nudged her twin, and both set the bowls down and bounced to their feet.
“Hi!” said the one in the black dress with the halter top. “You’re Theo’s friend Kayla, right?”
“Um, yes,” Kayla said. “You know Theo?” Not that it would be much of a surprise.
“Excuse me,” someone murmured behind Kayla, and she stepped farther from the door before glancing behind her; she saw no one, but there was now a sort of person-shaped shadow that was just setting an armload of wood on the floor next to the fire, and she was pretty sure that hadn’t been there before. The shadow looked distinctly feminine, with quite appealing curves and long loose hair, though Kayla couldn’t tell whether there were clothes involved or not, since she could make out only a general shape without details. Possibly that wasn’t true for Zach, who shifted position to make it easier for her to reach.
“We heard about the whole new group,” the fox was saying, “but we didn’t actually meet most of them for real until they went to get Gord. He ran away. We chased him.”
“That was fun,” her sister, in the shoulder-baring short-sleeved dress, said brightly. “He was trying to get back to the main house but we figured they didn’t want that so we just got him all confused and lost.”
“We didn’t let him fall into a lake with a really grumpy water fae who would have drowned him,” the first added.
The shadow-figure added one more branch to the fire, and in the brief flare Kayla caught just a glimpse of a woman with skin and hair all of the same shade-black; it was hard to tell what was clothing when it was the same colour, but Kayla thought she saw a cropped close-fitting top that resembled a sports bra, and leggings but they might have been shorts or even a snug skirt. As the fire settled back to normal, Kayla could once again see only a shadow, who straightened and paused to give Des a quick affectionate ear-scritch, eliciting a happy purr, before joining JC and the other two.
“That too. Eventually he just sort of fell over and curled into a ball under a tree, and then Suzi tied him up and Alison threw him in the wagon and Theo thanked us and gave us more treats. They’re very nice.”
“Never quite sure who you can trust not to be playing mean games,” the first said darkly. “Some people have nothing better to do, I guess. But we liked Theo and all. And we didn’t know until just now that we’d sorta met your friend Erica already too.”
“We were picking raspberries,” the second said. “The two of us and Vester. That’s Vester over there.” She gestured in the approximate direction of Des and a man with the head of a grey fox. “And there was a green fae there. Sometimes green fae will chase you off even if you’re just looking for something to eat and I don’t think picking berries hurts the plant, right? But she just smiled at us and kept collecting berries into a bag made out of wisp silk, and she even helped us a couple of times when the prickly things were scratching our arms up. We didn’t know she was from the new group, it’s hard to keep track of green fae.”
“So now we’ve met all seven!” the first concluded cheerfully. “And they’re all very nice, and they say you’re nice, so I think we can take their word for it. Besides, cookies!”
“That’s enough,” a tall grey lady said. “Let her breathe. Or perhaps get a word in edgewise.” Her voice suggested amusement, not anger, but the twin foxes immediately scurried back to where they’d left their bowls, Des, and the other fox.
The grey lady struck Kayla as rather regal, or at least very much someone who would always take charge of chaos.
That smile was friendly, though.
“Welcome to our home, Kayla. I’m glad you’re awake. I’m Jo.”
“Thanks.” Kayla looked around. “Impressive improv, and that’s coming from an artist who specializes in repurposing junk, but as living conditions... don’t take it personally, but would you be offended if we try for some improvements?”
Jo laughed. “We’re already having the best meal that any of us have ever had on this island. We’re not going to turn down any kind of help.”
“Good. Although even that is short-term.”
“What’s long-term?”
Kayla was aware of the three foxes listening intently, the trio with JC, the two leaning against the wall, Jo herself... for all she knew, the four motionless in the beds were awake enough to hear.
“That depends on what you want. Each of you, not collectively.”
“Yes? And you don’t need to just stand here,” Jo said. “The comfort we can offer is limited, but make yourself at home. Your t-shirt is clean and safe to handle, but it will unfortunately take time to dry. We’re not all dressed, we don’t care whether you are.”