Words Like Coins

First came drought. Then rats. Now it’s pecksies. Jami spoke into the darkness of the bedroom.

And that’s why you’re afraid to get out of the bed to get a drink of water? Mirrifen asked. Her sister-in-law’s restless tossing in the bed they now shared had wakened the older woman.

No, Jami said, with a strangled laugh. It’s why I’m afraid to get out of bed and go to the backhouse. She shivered. I can hear rats squeaking in the kitchen. Where rats go, pecksies follow.

I’ve never even seen a pecksie.

Well, I have! Lots of them, when I was little. And I saw one today. It was under the front steps, staring at me with its horrid yellow eyes. But when I crouched down to see it, it was gone!

Mirrifen sighed. I’ll light a lamp, and go with you.

Swinging her feet out of the bed and onto the floor in the dark still put a shiver up her spine. Mirrifen wasn’t sure she believed in pecksies but she did, emphatically, believe in rats. She tiptoed out to the banked fire in the kitchen hearth and lit the lamp from its embers. The moving flame painted shifting rat-shadows in every corner. The night before last, Jami had stepped on a rat when she got out of bed for water. Jami’s feet were already swollen from her pregnancy. A rat bite could have crippled her. Mirrifen hurried back to the bedroom. Come on. I’ll walk you to the backhouse.

Mirrifen, you are too good to me, Jami apologized.

Privately, Mirrifen agreed, but she only grumbled, Why Drake and Edric had to take the dog with them, I don’t know.

To protect them when they camp! All sorts of men are on the roads looking for work. I wish they’d all stayed home. I’d feel safer. Jami sighed as she touched her stretched belly. I wish I could have one solid night’s sleep. Did your hedge-witch ever teach you how to make a sleep charm? If you could make one for me—

No, dear heart, I couldn’t. They moved slowly through the darkened house. My training only included simple things. Sleep charms are complicated. They have to be precisely keyed to the user. Even so, they’re dangerous. Witch Chorly once knew a foolish hedge-witch who tried to make a sleep charm for herself; she finished it, fell asleep and starved to death before she ever awoke.

Jami shuddered. A pleasant tale to sleep on!

The kitchen door slapped shut behind them. Overhead, the light of the waxing moon watered the parched fields. Mirrifen inspected the outhouse to make sure no rats lurked inside, and then gave Jami the lantern. Mirrifen waited outside. The clear, starry sky offered no hope of rain. By this time of year, the crops usually stood tall in the fields. Without them, the wide plains of Tilth stretched endlessly to a distant, dark horizon.

No one could recall a worse drought. Thrice the men had planted; thrice the seeds had sprouted and withered. With no hope of a crop, the two brothers had left them, going off in hopes of finding paying work. They needed to be able to buy more seed grain in the hopes that next spring would be kinder. Mirrifen reflected sourly that their husbands would probably have to go all the way to Buck to find work.

Jami emerged from the backhouse. As they shuffled back toward the farmhouse, Jami spoke her darkest fear. What if they never come back?

They’ll come back. Mirrifen spoke with false confidence. Where else would they go? They both grew up on this farm: it’s all they know.

Maybe away from it, they might find easier ways to live than farming. And prettier girls. Ones that haven’t been pregnant forever.

You’re being silly. Drake is very excited about the baby. And your ‘forever' is nearly over. The full moon will bring your baby. Mirrifen stepped barefoot on a pebble and winced.

Is that something the hedge-witch taught you?

Mirrifen snorted. No. What Chorly taught me was how much water to mix with her rum. And I learned six different places to hide from her when she was drunk. My apprenticeship was the most worthless thing my father ever bought. Chorly should have taught Mirrifen a hedge-witch’s skills, how to make potions and balms, how to sing spells and how to construct charms to protect crops from deer or make hens lay more eggs. Instead, the hedge-witch had treated her like a servant and taught her only the most trivial charms and tinctures. Mirrifen’s apprenticeship had been spent cleaning the old witch’s ramshackle hut and soothing her disgruntled customers. The old woman had drunk herself to death before she had completed Mirrifen’s training. Chorly’s creditors had turned Mirrifen out of the tumble-down cottage. She couldn’t flee back to her father’s house, for her brothers had filled it with wives and children. She had thought herself too old to wed, until her brother’s wife had told her of a farmer seeking a wife for his younger brother. Don’t have to be pretty, just willing to work hard, and put up with a man who’s nice enough but not too bright.

Edric was exactly as described. Nice enough, and kind, with the open face and wondering mind of a boy. Being his wife and helping on the farm had been the best year of her life, until the drought descended.

A pecksie! Jami shrieked, jostling her.

Where? Mirrifen demanded, but when Jami pointed, she saw only the swaying silhouette of a tuft of grass. It’s just a shadow, dear. Let’s go back to bed.

Rats bring pecksies, you know. They hunt rats. My mother always said, ‘Keep a clean house, for if you draw rats, pecksies will follow.'

Something rustled behind them. Mirrifen refused to look back. Come. We’d best sleep now if we are to rise early tomorrow.

But when the morning came, Mirrifen rose alone, slipping quietly from Jami’s bed. Since the men had left, she had demanded Mirrifen sleep next to her. Jami was barely nineteen, and sometimes it seemed that her pregnancy had made her more childish than womanly. The blankets mounded over her belly. It couldn’t be much longer. Mirrifen longed for the birth as much as she dreaded it. She’d never attended a birth, and the closest midwife was a half-day’s walk away. Eda, let all go well, she prayed and drew the door closed.

The rat invaders had left their mark on the kitchen. Pelleted droppings and smears of filth marked the rat trails along the base of the walls. Mirrifen seized the broom and swept the droppings out the door. She stingily damped a rag with clean water and erased the rat tracks. Jami was almost irrational about rats now.

Not that Mirrifen blamed her. The creatures besieged them. No door could be shut tightly enough to keep them out. The ravenous rats gnawed through pantry doors and chewed open flour sacks. They ate the potted preserves, wax seals and all. In the attic, they scampered along the rafters to get at the hanging hams and bacon sides, spoiling what they didn’t eat. They attacked the sleeping chickens on their roosts and stole the eggs.

Every morning, Mirrifen discovered fresh outrages. And every morning, she struggled to conceal from Jami how precarious their situation was becoming. When the men had left, Drake had quietly told her the stored food should sustain them through the summer. And by fall, Edric and I will be back, with a pocket full of coins and sacks of seed grain.

Brave words. She shook her head and let her work routine absorb her. She woke the fire and fed it. She set a pot of water to boil, filled the tea kettle and put it on the fire. She now stored the porridge grain in a big clay pot on the kitchen table, with the chairs pulled away from it. She’d weighted the pot cover with a rock. The rats hadn’t gotten into it, but they’d left their ugly traces on the table. Grimacing, she scrubbed them away with the last of the water in the bucket. She left the porridge simmering while she went to her chores.

She counted the chickens as they emerged from the coop. They’d all survived the night, but there were only crushed shells and smeared yolk on the straw inside the nesting boxes. She stood, fists clenched. How had the rats got in? She’d find their hole later today.

She milked both cows, and gave each a measure of grain and a drink from the covered bucket outside the stall before she turned them out to find whatever grazing they could in the dusty pasture. Every day they gave less milk, poor creatures.

The well in the yard had a good tight cover. She unpegged the wooden hatch in the top and swung it open. Dark and the cool of water greeted her. She scowled to see that the edge of the hatch had been gnawed. The rats could smell the water. If they chewed through and drowned in the well, all the water would be spoiled. What could she do to stop them? Nothing. Not unless she sat on top of the well all night and guarded it. With a sinking heart, she knew that was exactly what she would have to do. The creek had gone dry weeks ago. The well was their last source of water. It had to be protected.

The bucket dropped endlessly before she heard the small splash. She jogged the rope up and down until the bucket tipped and took in water. Drake had promised to put up a proper windlass for the bucket, but for now, it was hand-over-hand to haul it up. Every day, its trip was longer as the water receded. Her straining fingers nearly lost their grip when a small gray face suddenly peered at her from the other side of the well cap. Its staring eyes were the color of verdigris. The hands it lifted seemed disproportionately long. The creature cupped them, begging and bared pointed teeth as she mouthed the foreign word. Please. Please.

Mirrifen set the dripping bucket down. As she stepped back in astonishment, the small creature collapsed.

Cautiously Mirrifen took two steps around the well cap. The pecksie lay where she had fallen. Yes, unmistakably a ‘she' now, for her pregnant belly protruded from her bony frame. Mirrifen stared. A real pecksie. Witch Chorly had never bothered to teach her the spells against them. Not enough of them to worry about now, the sour old woman had declared. Keep your mind to practical matters. Go chop some kindling. Pecksies! Pesties, I say. Just be glad they’re gone.

Her knowledge of pecksies was small. They dressed in leaves, fur and feathers, and would thieve anything they could carry. They detested cats, and some pecksies had webbed feet. They were reputed to be dangerous, but she couldn’t recall why. The little creature collapsed by the well didn’t look dangerous. Her bark cloth garments contrasted oddly with silvery gray skin. She was half the size of a cat, and thin. She was curled around her pregnant belly and knobs of spine jutted out from her back. Her bare feet were long and narrow. A fine gold chain showed at the nape of her neck.

As if she felt Mirrifen’s scrutiny, the pecksie slowly turned her face up. Her chapped lips parted and a small tongue licked uselessly at them. Eyes green as a cat’s opened to slits. The pecksie stared up at her, pleading silently. Then her eyes closed again.

Mirrifen didn’t pause to think. She dipped a finger in the milk bucket and held it to the pecksie’s lips. A drop fell, wetting them, and the pecksie gaped after it, shuddering. Mirrifen dripped milk into the small mouth. Funny little mouth, with a split upper lip like a kitten’s. At the third drop, the pecksie blindly seized Mirrifen’s fingertip in her mouth and suckled at it. At a hint of pointed teeth, Mirrifen jerked her hand away. The pecksie’s eyes fluttered opened. Mirrifen spoke to her. I’ll tip the bucket and you can dip up some with your hands.

The pecksie pulled herself to a sitting position, her belly in her lap. She leaned into the tipped bucket, scooping up handful after handful of milk and slurping it down. When Mirrifen took the bucket away, the creature’s diminutive chin was dripping. She ran a red tongue around her mouth. Thank-you, she rasped. She closed her eyes tightly. Her words were oddly accented. I thank you. I am bound now. Still, I thank.

That’s all I can do for you, I’m afraid, Mirrifen replied. Can you walk?

The little woman shook her head wordlessly. She stretched out one swollen leg. A crusted slash ran the length of it. The flesh around it was puffy. Rat, she grimaced.

Sorry, Mirrifen said.

The little woman stared at her. Slowly, she curled up and closed her eyes.

Mirrifen rose. She secured the hatch to the well, took up the water and milk buckets and carried them into the kitchen. The lid on the porridge was dancing wildly. She hooked it off the fire, stirred in milk, and covered it again. She went to the door of Jami’s room and eased it open. Jami still slept, curled protectively around her belly. Just as the pecksie had been.

Mirrifen hurried through the house and back to the well. The pecksie still lay there. On the roof, a crow cawed, protesting his prior claim on the carcass. Mirrifen took off her apron, knelt and picked up the pecksie in a fold of the fabric. Silently, she carried her back to the house and into her own bedroom.

She emptied a small chest of the coffers and bags that held the beads, special twines, feathers and carved rods of a hedge-witch. Silly of her to cling to those fragments of a future now passed. She lined the chest with her shawl and set it on the floor. The pecksie revived enough to lift her head and look about doubtfully as Mirrifen set her in it. Then she lay back with her injured leg stretched out straight and closed her eyes. The open collar of her tunic revealed a small charm around her neck. Mirrifen peered at it. She couldn’t read it all, but made out the symbol for birth. So. Pecksies used charms, too. She toyed with an idea, then dared herself.

Moving slowly, Mirrifen hovered her hand over the pecksie’s leg. After a moment, her palm detected the heat of an infection. It had reached the pecksie’s knee. As Mirrifen moved her hand, she sensed fever building in the little woman.

The paraphernalia scattered on the bed beckoned her. Mirrifen surrendered to the impulse. She had never made a fever charm for so small a person. Did she even remember which beads and what order the spindles and rods went in? She carved the beads smaller and separated yarn to get cord of the right weight. A charm had to be precisely tuned to the person it would serve. When she was finished, a fever charm slightly bigger than her thumbnail dangled over the pecksie’s makeshift bed. Mirrifen sat watching her sleep. After a few moments, the lines in her brow loosened and she lapsed into deeper rest.

Mirrifen! Are you here? Mirrifen!

Jami sounded alarmed. Mirrifen leaped up and hurried to the kitchen. Absorbed in her charm making, she’d forgotten not only Jami but the simmering porridge. I’m here, Jami!

Oh, Mirrifen! I worried when I couldn’t find you. You weren’t at the cow shed or the chicken house and—

There’s no need to be frightened. I’m right here.

That’s not it. Look. Just look at the milk bucket.

What?

Don’t you see those silvery smears on the edge? That’s pecksie dust! A pecksie has touched our milk bucket!

When she touched it, her fingertip came away smudged silver-gray, like the pecksie’s skin. Wash it off! Wash it off! Jami wailed.

Why? she asked as wiped her hands on her apron. Is it poisonous?

Who can know? They’re such dirty, wicked little things! Jami’s arms clasped her belly to shield her unborn child. I saw one by the chicken shed. It sneered at me, and vanished.

Mirrifen took a breath. Jami, sit down. I’ll get your breakfast. As Jamie sank into her chair, Mirrifen asked, How do you know so much about pecksies? I thought they were rare and kept to wild places. She set a bowlful of steaming porridge in front of Jami.

Jami took up her spoon and stirred the boiled grain thoughtfully. When I was little, there were lots of pecksies near our house. My father’s land was between a spur of the forest and a sunny little stream, so they had to cross our field to get to water. My mother knew how to use them, so we had them in the house, too. She never realized the danger.

Mirrifen poured water from the kettle over the tea herbs in the pot. How do you ‘use' a pecksie?

Oh, it’s easy enough. She had to be tricky to snare them, because they know how it works. If a pecksie accepts a favor from you, the pecksie has to do what you ask it. They’re bound. Once you have one pecksie, the rest of its clan come around. And a clever woman can trick them into bondage as well.

I see, Mirrifen said softly. The pecksie’s rueful words carried a deeper meaning now.

Jami was caught up in her telling. There’s a lot they can’t do, because they’re small. They can’t sweep, and one almost drowned in our washing tub. But they can fetch eggs and dust, tend the fire, do the sewing, bring vegetables from the garden, weed, and keep rats away. And if you treat them well, they’re good natured about it—or so we thought. Jami scowled, remembering. Perhaps all that time they were hiding their resentment. Is there tea yet?

Mirrifen poured for both of them. What happened?

They killed my little brothers. Jami’s calm voice thickened.

How? Mirrifen asked in horror when her silence stretched.

Jami took a breath. Oh, smothered them, I suppose. Tears clouded her voice. They were only babies. My mother told the pecksies to watch the baby at night, not to rouse him and to rock him if he woke. So my mother could get some sleep.

Mirrifen nodded.

Well, one morning, Grag was dead in his cradle. Just dead. Well, everyone knows such things do happen. We mourned him and buried him. Two years later, Mother had another boy. Dwin. He was a fine fat boy. One night she told the pecksies to watch him sleep and call her if he woke. Before dawn, she woke up to all the pecksies standing in a ring around his cradle, squeaking and crying in that horrid way they have. My mother snatched Dwin up, but it was too late. He was dead.

Mirrifen felt cold. She dared not let Jami know that she’d brought an injured pecksie into the house. She had to get rid of it fast. What did your mother do?

She didn’t hesitate. All those pecksies had eaten our food and taken favors, so she could command them all. ‘Go away!' she shouted at them. ‘All of you! Go away forever!' And they went. I watched them stream out of the house, wailing and squeaking as they walked down the road and off into the distance.

That’s all she did? Mirrifen held her teacup firmly in her trembling hands.

That’s all she needed do, Jami said vindictively. It meant death for all of them. She knew that. Words bind pecksies. I once heard an old pecksie say that you should spend words like coins. You can’t just say, ‘wash the dishes' or they’ll wash the dishes all day long. You have to say, ‘wash the dirty dishes until they’re clean, wipe the dishes until they’re dry, and then put them in the cupboard.' They do exactly what you say. So when my mother told them ‘Go away!' they had to go and keep going. Forever. Because no one ever gets to ‘away', do they? They had to keep walking until they dropped dead in their tracks. My mother knew that. She had learned it from her mother.

A chill squeezed Mirrifen’s heart. And after that?

After that, my parents never let a pecksie into the house again. We got cats to keep the rats down. And my parents had three more children, all girls, to my father’s sorrow, but they survived because there were no pecksies near their beds. Nasty, vindictive wretches. Jami took a long drink from her cooling tea. When she set her cup down, she looked directly at Mirrifen. My father always blamed the pecksies for my mother’s death.

What?

He found her in the barn, at the bottom of the hay loft ladder. Her neck was broken. She was covered all over in pecksie dust. Jami’s voice deepened. They probably swarmed her and knocked her off the ladder.

I see, Mirrifen said faintly.

After breakfast, she set a chair outside in the shade, brought Jami her yarn and needles and slipped quickly away to her own room. The pecksie was gone. She’d taken the little charm against infection. Well. Perhaps it was all solved and for the best. She wondered if pecksies were as treacherous as Jami believed, and hoped she would never find out.

The day passed slowly, as every day had since the men had left. Time was measured in what she could not do; no weeds to pull, no vegetables to harvest, no fruit to thin on the parched trees. Idleness today in exchange for want later; a bad bargain all around. She couldn’t find any hole in the chicken coop, but when she cleaned it out, three rats boiled up from under the soiled straw. She swept them out with her broom and shut the door tight.

Twice she thought she’d glimpsed the pecksie, but each time, when she turned, nothing was there. She blamed it on Jami’s horrid tale and her own imagination and tried to stay busy.

After the evening meal, she washed the dishes and watered the withered kitchen garden with the used wash water. She drew one bucket of water and gave the poor cows their second drink of the day before shutting them in their stall. She shooed the chickens into the cleaned coop and shut their door tightly. Finally, she broke her news to Jami.

I have to sit up tonight by the well and keep the rats away.

Jami argued, she wept, and then she argued again. I can’t sleep alone in that empty house, with rats rustling in the corners. And pecksies. You saw the pecksie dust on the bucket.

Well, you can’t stay awake outside with me, either. Jami, be sensible. Neither of us have any choice in this.

Jami surrendered, but not with grace. Mirrifen ascribed her sulk to her pregnancy and tried not to mind it. It was hard. After all, she was the one who had to spend the night outside with a club and a lantern. She took a blanket against the night chill and went to take up her vigil.

The moon had grown one slice closer to full. Its thin light was watery, and the lantern’s shifting glow denied it existed at all. Jamie sat down on the lid of the well and waited. Night cooled and thickened around her. She pulled the blanket around her shoulders. The night song of insects in the dry fields rose into a chorus. Her eyes grew heavy. Jami blew out her candle in the bedroom, completing the darkness. Outside the circle of her lamplight, creatures moved or perhaps her eyes played tricks on her. Her club rested across her lap. She tapped it with her fingernails, playing a rhythm. She knuckled her eyes and then vigorously scratched her head, trying to stay awake. She sang softly to herself, old songs. Wasn’t there a third verse to that song? How had it begun?

She jolted awake.

She didn’t remember reclining. The club that had been under her hand had been moved. Crouched at the edge of the well lid, staring at her with lambent green eyes, was the pecksie. One of her long-fingered hands rested on the club. Her silvery gray skin gleamed in the moonlight. What do you do now? the creature asked her.

Mirrifen sat up cautiously. She gathered her feet under her, ready to flee. I’m guarding the well. The rats have been trying to gnaw through the cover. But if they do and fall in the well, they’ll drown and foul the water.

Not that! the pecksie exclaimed with disdain. You not guard. You sleep! But what you do now? You say, Go away! to pecksie? You send me to death?

No! Mirrifen exclaimed in dismay. That part of Jami’s story had horrified her. She shifted her weight and the pecksie backed to the edge of the lamplight, dragging the club with her. It was too big for her to wield; she was obviously taking it out of Mirrifen’s reach. I would never do that. Well, not unless you did something evil to me first.

Pecksies don’t kill babies.

But they do eavesdrop.

The pecksie tilted her head at Mirrifen, frowning.

Pecksies listen in when others are talking, Mirrifen clarified.

She shrugged one shoulder. People talk and if pecksie is near, then a pecksie hears. And knows to be afraid.

Well, you don’t need to fear me. Not unless you do me an injury.

The pecksie frowned at her. You gave me milk. I know I am bound.

You said that. Not me. I didn’t know that you would be bound by a simple favor. I didn’t intend to do that.

And this? The pecksie held up her hand. Mirrifen’s fever charm dangled from it. Why you do this?

It was Mirrifen’s turn to shrug. I saw you were hurt. Once I wanted to be a hedge-witch, to make charms like that. So I made one for you.

Dangerous. It was wrong. I had to fix the beads. See. Yellow, then green. The pecksie tossed the little charm at her. By reflex, Mirrifen caught it. She studied it by lantern light and saw the change the pecksie had made.

It was working when I left you.

Worked. Just not as good as it could. Lucky for me, it not do harm. Hedge-witch has to be careful. Precise. Still. It worked. Worked better after I fix it.

Mirrifen examined the revised charm. How did you know how to fix it?

The pecksie folded her lips, then said briefly, I know things. And again, I am bound.

How do I unbind you? Mirrifen asked.

The pecksie stared. When she decided she had understood Mirrifen’s words, she spoke. You can’t. I took favor. I am bound.

I didn’t mean to bind you.

I bound self when I took milk. Didn’t have to. Could have died. Thoughtfully she rested a hand on her belly. Perhaps she thought of her unborn child.

May I have my club back? In case rats come?

Rats already came.

What?

The pecksie gestured around at the darkness. Mirrifen lifted the lamp to expand the circle of light. She gasped.

Over a dozen dead rats littered the dusty ground around the well. Small arrows, no thicker than twigs, stood up from them. Pecksie hunters moved silently among them. Small black knives winked in the lantern’s light as they skinned and butchered. Good hunting here, the pecksie observed. Last night, I scout. Tonight, we hunt. Better.

Better for me, also. Mirrifen’s eyes roamed the peculiar scene. She had not heard even a squeak during the slaughter. Even now, they butchered in silence. They are so quiet.

We are pecksies, the pecksie said with pride. We hunt in dark, in silence. No words needed. Words are like coins. To spend carefully, as they are needed only. Not to scatter like humans do. She looked aside and said carefully. The rat blood is not enough. My folk need water.

I will give you some. To thank you for guarding the well against the rats.

We did not guard well. We hunted. I alone ask for water.

Mirrifen was unlatching the well hatch. What about the others?

If you give water to me, I give to them, the pecksie admitted reluctantly.

Mirrifen had begun to lower the bucket into the well. When she heard the splash, she speculated aloud, If I give water only to you, only you are bound. The others receive the water from you, not me.

As you say, the pecksie grudgingly replied.

So shall it be. I have no desire to bind pecksies. But even as she spoke, she wondered if she were foolish. If she withheld the water and forced them to beg for it, could she not bind all of them? And command all of them? They could do more than kill rats.

Or would they swarm her and take the water she taunted them with? Jami said they were vicious. She believed that pecksies had killed her mother.

She set the dripping bucket down before the pecksie. I give this to you, pecksie.

Thank you. I am bound, she replied formally. Then she turned to the rat butchers and twittered like a bat squeaking. They left off their butchering to mob the water. Some steadied the bucket while others hung head-down, drinking. And drinking. They emerged panting as if sating their thirsts had almost exhausted them. Mirrifen knew better than to offer to help. Instead she studied them. She imagined the long-fingered hands clutching at her, the sharp little teeth biting, dozens of them dragging her down. Yes. They could do that. Would they have? The pregnant pecksie presiding over the water didn’t seem spiteful and vicious. But then, she was bound, and at Mirrifen’s mercy. Perhaps she chose to present a fair face.

When the bucket was empty, it was smeared all over with silvery pecksie dust. The pecksie bowed and gravely asked, May I have another bucket of water, mistress?

You may.

Mirrifen was still lowering the bucket when the pecksie spoke. You thought about saying ‘no' to me. To make all beg water and bind all to you. But you didn’t. Why?

Mirrifen presented the dripping bucket to the pecksie. She decided not to share all her thoughts. Counting her words like coins, she replied, I’ve been bound that way. I promised to serve a hedge-witch in exchange for being taught the trade. I kept her house and tended her garden and even rubbed her smelly old feet. I kept my word but she didn’t keep hers. I ended up half-taught, my years wasted. Such a binding breeds hate.

The pecksie nodded slowly. A good answer. She cocked her head. Then, you never command me?

I might, Mirrifen said slowly.

The pecksie narrowed her green eyes. To what? To kill rats? To guard well?

You already kill rats. You will guard the well, because you want clean water. I don’t need to command you to do that.

The pecksie nodded approvingly. That is well said. No need to spend words to bind pecksie. So. You not bind pecksie?

Mirrifen cleared her throat. Time to make Jami safe. You must never harm Jami’s baby. She recalled Jami’s words, that pecksies counted words as precisely as a miser counted coins. This pecksie could still command other pecksies to do what she could not. She revised her dictum. You must never allow harm to come to her baby.

The pecksie stared up at her. In the lamplight, her silvery face turned stony. So. You bind me. She turned away from Mirrifen. She spoke to the night. Almost I like you. Almost I think you are careful, deserve to be taught. But you believe stupid, cruel story. You throw words like stones. You insult pecksie. But I am bound. I obey. Not to harm the child, nor allow harm to come to it. The pecksie shook her head. Careless words are dangerous. To all. She walked off. Mirrifen held up her lantern and watched her go. The hunters had all vanished, carrying their prey with them. Night was fading. The edge of an early summer dawn touched the horizon. Mirrifen went back to the farmhouse.

A few hours later, Mirrifen rose to do the morning chores. Jami slept on. There were fewer signs of rats in the house. Outside by the well, smudges of pecksie dust and smears of rat blood on the dry ground were the only signs of last night’s visits.

She began to see signs of pecksies. The tracks of small bare feet on the dusty path. A smudge of silver near the cow’s water bucket. A fall of dust made her glance up. A pecksie slept, careless as a cat, on the rafter of the cow’s stall. Inside the chicken coop, she found all the hens alive and gathered half a dozen eggs. A silvery smear on one nesting box made her wonder if there had been seven eggs. When she spotted another pecksie sleeping soundly under the front steps, she hurried up them without stopping. The rats were gone, but now they were infested with pecksies. It unnerved her but it would do worse to Jami if she saw one.

Mirrifen scrambled eggs with milk and cut up the last of the week’s bread. She had a steaming breakfast on the table when Jami emerged rubbing her eyes. She looked awful. Before Mirrifen could speak, she said, I had nightmares all night. I dreamed pecksies stole my baby. I dreamed they’d attacked you by the well and killed you. I awoke near dawn, but I was too great a coward to get out of bed and see if you were all right. I just lay there, trembling and wondering if the pecksies would kill me next.

I’m sorry you had such bad dreams. But as you see, I’m fine. Sit down and eat.

I wish the men would come back. Drake would drive the pecksies away. I wish you’d had more hedge-witch training. Then you could make a charm to keep rats from the well and pecksies from the house.

Mirrifen bowed her head to that comment, trying not to feel rebuked. I wish I knew how to make such charms. We’ll just have to think of another way to deal with rats and pecksies.

Jami suggested fearfully, Perhaps we could try my mother’s trick. Leave food and water out for them, then bind them and send them away. They’d probably come for water.

I don’t think we need to do that, dear. I’ll sleep beside you tonight, not out by the well.

Why?

Mirrifen gathered her courage. Yesterday, it had been hard to tell Jami that she must guard the well at night. It was even harder to tell her why she didn’t need to do it anymore. She divulged the whole truth, of the injured pecksie and the binding with milk and finally of her command to the pecksie. Jamie flushed and then grew pale with fury.

How could you? she demanded when Mirrifen paused. How could you bring a pecksie into this house after what I told you?

It was before you told me. I’ve made things right. I bound her not to do your baby any harm.

You should send her away! Jami’s voice shook. Withhold the water until they beg, then give it, bind them, and send them away! It’s the only safe thing to do.

I don’t think that’s right. Mirrifen tried to speak calmly. She and Jami seldom quarreled. The pecksie doesn’t seem dangerous to me. She seems, well, not that different from you and me, Jami. She’s pregnant. I think she may be a pecksie hedge-witch. She said—

You promised Drake you’d take care of me. You promised! And now you’re letting pecksies into the house. How could you be so false? She leaped to her feet and rushed from the room, leaving her food half-eaten on the table. The bedroom door slammed. As she sighed in resignation, she heard a piercing shriek. The door was flung open so hard it bounded off the wall. Jami burst into the kitchen. Pecksies! Pecksies were in my room last night! I didn’t dream it, I didn’t! Look, go and look!

Mirrifen hurried to the bedroom and peered in. The room was empty. But on the floor in the corner, there was a bloody smudge by the silvery outlines of small feet. It just killed a rat there, she said.

And that? There? Jami pointed accusingly at a smear of silvery tracks that ascended and crossed the bedclothes. Her finger swung again. And there? Silver smeared the windowsill. What was it doing here? What did it want? Jami’s voice rose to the edge of hysteria. Mirrifen suspected that a pecksie had pursued a rat across the bed. She tried to sound comforting.

I don’t know. But I’ll find out how they got in and block it off. And I won’t sleep tonight. I’ll keep watch over you.

The younger woman was torn between accepting her protection and displaying her anger at Mirrifen for bringing a pecksie into the house. Jami spent the rest of the day penduluming between the two reactions. Mirrifen devoted her hours to tightening the room against rats. In a corner, behind Jami’s hope chest, the floor had sagged away from the wall, leaving a gap wide enough for a rat to slither through. The pecksie had obviously come through the open window. She found an old plank in the barn to mend the gap. As she came back to the house, she saw a pecksie clinging to the windowsill, peering into the bedroom. When she walked toward it, the pecksie sidled away quickly into the tall dry grass. The grasses didn’t even sway after it.

That night, Mirrifen shut the door and the window tightly, and sat by the bed on a straight-backed chair. Long before midnight, her back and her head ached. She yawned and promised herself that tomorrow, after her chores, she’d take a long nap. A long nap, all by herself, stretched out in her own bed.

A tap on her knee woke her. She looked around at the darkness, momentarily bewildered. Pale moonlight cut between the thin curtains to slice the bed. Jami breathed evenly and deeply. Another tap on her knee brought her gaze down. The pecksie stood at her feet, looking up at her. Two more pecksies sat on the window sill. Three perched like birds on the footboard of the bed. All the pecksies stared at Jami intently. Mirrifen’s pecksie spoke. Mistress, may I have a bucket of water?

The door to the room was still shut. How did you get in here? Mirrifen’s voice shook slightly.

By a way no rat could come. You bound me. ‘Let no harm come to her child.' I must keep watch, to be sure it is so. These others serve me in that geas. Yours was the binding. How I fulfill it cannot concern you.

Mistress, may I have a bucket of water?

I can keep watch over her myself, Mirrifen asserted shakily.

The pecksie shook her head sadly. You spend your words in lies. You didn’t guard. You slept. I am bound. Guard her I must.

Mirrifen rose stiffly from the chair. She crept from the room, the pecksie following. She motioned frantically for the others to follow but they did not take their gazes from Jami. She glanced at her pecksie beseechingly. The little woman shook her head stubbornly. You spent the words, and this is what they bought you. Mirrifen felt like a traitor as she left Jami sleeping under the pecksies' watchful eyes. Her pecksie waited impatiently while she lit a lantern to give her courage.

Around the well, the silent slaughter of the night before had been repeated. The archers on the well cap were unstringing their bows as the butchers moved out to the skewered rats. It seemed to her that there were far more pecksies tonight. Don’t you fear that you’ll run out of rats? she asked.

Drought will bring rats here. The well and your stored grain draw them. The pecksie gave her a sideways look. But for us, rats would have eaten all grain. You should not be stingy if we take an egg sometimes.

Mirrifen bit back a retort and lifted the well hatch. The bucket’s rope played out longer than it ever had. She said quietly, If the drought lasts much longer, the well will go dry.

The pecksie didn’t look at her. You waste words on what you can’t change.

Mirrifen drew the bucket up slowly. Every bucket of water she gave to the pecksie was one less bucket for Jamie and her. Mirrifen braced her courage and asked the question. If I told you to leave our farm and take the other pecksies with you, you would have to do it.

The pecksie didn’t answer the question. Instead she said, You bound me to see that no harm comes to the child. To fulfill that, I must be where the child is. She stared off into the darkness. Or the child must be where I am.

A chill went up Mirrifen’s back. As she brought the brimming bucket to the surface, the pecksie said in a flat voice, Thank you for the water, mistress. I am bound.

In less than a heartbeat, pecksies surrounded the bucket. The pecksie’s fluting voice was stern, and they formed an orderly line. The water was rationed, each creature drinking for only a few seconds before another took his place. Nonetheless, Mirrifen drew four buckets of water before the horde was satisfied. The hatch thudded shut. The pecksie hunters dispersed. Her pecksie was the last to leave, walking not into the fields, but toward the house.

Slowly Mirrifen followed her. The house was silent. Inside the darkened bedroom, she sat down on the hard chair. She saw no pecksies, but knew they were there. The pecksie had said rats couldn’t get into the room but there seemed no way to keep pecksies out.

She awakened late the next morning to Jami shaking her shoulder. You slept! You promised to guard me, and then you slept!

Sunlight flooded the room. The morning chores awaited and her head pounded from weariness. I did my best. Please, Jami. Don’t be angry. Nothing bad happened.

Is this ‘nothing bad'? What is this thing?

Jami’s thrust a hedge-witch charm at her. The amulet was smeared with silver but with a lurch of her heart, Mirrifen recognized beads and spindles from her own supplies. I found it on top of me, right on my belly. The baby woke me, squirming inside me. He’s never moved like that before! She stared at Mirrifen and demanded, Did you make this? What is it?

Mirrifen shook her head as she reluctantly struggled to interpret the beads and knots. It might be about something turning…

Oh, you don’t know! It could mean anything! Anything! Jami was trembling, her eyes welling tears. Look around this room! Pecksie dust everywhere! They could have slit our throats as we slept.

But they didn’t. I bound her not to let harm come to your child. She can’t hurt you without doing the child an injury. We’ve nothing to fear from them. Let me fetch some eggs for your breakfast. You’ll feel better when you’ve eaten.

I’ll ‘feel better' when you get rid of those pecksies. You know what you have to do, Mirrifen! Just do it! Why are you choosing them over me?

If I sent her away, she’d have to take your baby with her. Mirrifen held the words back, unspent. She dared not reveal the double-edged geas she had put on the pecksie.

I have to go let the chickens out.

As Mirrifen hurried from the room, Jami flung the charm after her. You can’t even say what kind of magic she did to me! she shrieked.

As she fled to her chores, she saw signs of pecksies everywhere. Footprints in the dust. Silver smears at the bottoms of the doors. Two thin pecksies were grubbing in the old kitchen garden. Her planted rows, shriveled as they were, remained intact. What were they finding in the untended part of the plot? Would they steal the little that remained of her garden?

One of the cows had gone dry and the other gave only a little milk. She gave each of the bony creatures a drink of water and turned them loose in the pasture. Two pecksies slept in the cows, empty manger. Two wakeful ones regarded her with fearless agate eyes from the shade of the chicken house. The chicken house yielded four eggs, and two empty silvery shells, sucked dry. She crushed them and scattered it for the chickens to peck. She couldn’t bear to tell Jami that the pecksies had taken the eggs, too. Why on earth had she helped the little creature?

The kitchen was mercifully free of rat droppings. At least the pecksies were doing some good. She heated water and wiped pecksie dust from the table and chairs. She thinned the milk with water and boiled oats in it and cooked the eggs in their shells. She set the meal out on the table and called Jami.

She didn’t come.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed. Her hands were on her belly and her eyes were very big. I think the baby wants to be born today, she said breathlessly. She bent over suddenly, gasping.

I’ll go for the midwife right away!

And leave me alone, at the mercy of your pecksies? No! No, you can’t go! Mirrifen, you brought them here. If you won’t send them away, at least stay and protect me.

There followed the longest day that Mirrifen had ever known. All morning, Jami labored unevenly. At noon, her pains eased, and she drowsed off. But the moment that Mirrifen rose, Jami roused. Don’t go! You can’t leave me helpless here!

But, Jami, the midwife is—

Look! Look at them! They’re just waiting for you to leave! Jami’s shaking hand pointed toward the window. As Mirrifen turned, the clustered pecksies on the outside sill leaped and fled. Silvery imprints where their faces had pressed the glass remained. Cold rose in Mirrifen’s heart.

I won’t leave the house. I promise. I need some water from the kitchen.

The soft patter of fleeing feet preceded her down the hallway. Silvery handprints marred the walls. As she entered the kitchen, pecksies scattered into an open cupboard, behind the propped broom, and out the open door. Mirrifen snatched up the bucket and the dipper, slammed the door shut, seized the broom for a weapon, and then gasped to find no pecksie crouched behind it. She darted briefly into her own room. Her charm building supplies were scattered across her bed. She bundled them into her apron. Teeth gritted and arms laden, she hurried to Jami’s bedroom and shut the door behind her. Jami had drowsed off again.

The pecksies had returned to their perch outside the window. Mirrifen shook her fist, and they fled like scalded cats. One remained, staring with jade eyes. What you do? the pecksie hedge-witch demanded as Mirrifen spilled her apron’s contents the foot of Jami’s bed. Mirrifen swished the thin curtains closed.

I’ll protect you, she promised the sleeping woman. With trembling hands, she sorted beads and spindles, rods for framework, various yarns and threads, and bits of feather and tufts of hair. She stole a glance at the pecksie crouched on the window sill, estimating her size and weight, memorizing the color of her eyes and hair. She didn’t know the charm symbol for ‘pecksie.' No matter. She knew ‘person' and ‘small' and the warding words that prevented creatures from passing through. Those would work well enough. She worked quickly but carefully, surprised at how her fingers remembered the correct knots and how to bind a feather in place. The finished charm was the size of a dinner plate. A final time she checked every knot, the placement of every bead. Yes. It would serve. She lifted it aloft as she spun to face the window, and was delighted to see dismay contort the pecksie’s face. She squalled like a trodden-upon cat as she tumbled to the ground. Mirrifen grinned, triumphant. She fastened the charm to the headboard of the Jami’s bed.

Jami gave a sharp cry as a contraction jolted her from sleep. Mirrifen hastened to take her hands and gripped them firmly until the pain passed. You’ll be all right now, she assured Jami. Look up. I’ve made a charm to keep pecksies from entering the room. You’re safe now, dear.

Oh, thank you, Jami whispered. Then she curled forward as her muscles tensed again. For two hours, her pains continued, growing in intensity and occurring closer together. Soon now, Mirrifen kept telling her. Soon your baby will be here. But contraction after contraction passed, and no child entered the world. Jami began to wail wordlessly with each pain; the sound set Mirrifen’s teeth on edge.

As Jami panted between her pains, Mirrifen heard the scuff of small feet and a squeaking like bats outside the window. She kept the broom close to hand, in case the charm failed, but it held strong. No pecksie entered, though she heard their squeaking conversation outside. Slow hours passed, and Mirrifen held Jami’s hands and told her that everything was fine.

Slowly she grew to know that she lied.

The long summer evening passed and the full moon that should have brought the baby shone through the curtain crack. Its light silhouetted crouched pecksies on the sill. Mirrifen ignored them. She gave Jami sips of water and wiped her sweating face. Jami’s wails began to weaken with each succeeding pain.

Then, between Jami’s moans, Mirrifen heard a scratching, as if a cat sought to enter. The pecksie spoke through the glass. You must let us through, she said. There was an odd note to her words, beyond desperation. You bind me two ways. Let us through. The child is in danger. Your charm is wrong! Open the way. Let us pass.

No. Mirrifen spoke the word in a harsh whisper. _Go away. Almost she spoke the words; she bit them back. She did not need to send the pecksie to her death. Her charm was keeping her at bay. Mirrifen fixed her eyes on Jami. The laboring woman was beyond caring for anything outside the limits of her own flesh. Mirrifen damped a corner of the bed sheet and wiped sweat from Jami’s face. Her eyes were closed. She moaned softly, exhausted. Her belly rippled and then stilled. Jami drew a hoarse breath.

Let me in. The pecksie’s voice was louder. You bound me. I must see that no harm comes to the child, but you will not let us through! She will die with the child inside her, and the child will die, too, if you do not let us through. You bound me. I cannot let him come to harm. Let us through.

No! And then, as the possible meaning of the words sank into Mirrifen’s mind NO! she shouted. In a lower voice she added, I will never let you in.

Jami stirred. She opened her eyes. Water? she begged.

Not too much, Mirrifen cautioned, and held the dipper to her bitten lips.

She took a sip, and then gave a long caw of pain. When it passed, she whispered, Oh, this can’t be right. I’ve no strength left. The baby should be here by now.

First babies always take a long time, she said, hating the lie. Jamie would die, painfully, the child dying within her.

Help me, Jami said piteously.

I don’t know what to do, Mirrifen replied helplessly.

Drake. Oh, Drake, I’m so sorry, Jami said. Her voice brimmed with sorrow, and resignation. I’m so sorry, dear.

You can’t give up. You have to keep pushing, Jami. You have to.

I can’t, the young woman said quietly. I can’t. Her head lolled to one side and her eyes closed.

With a crash, glass shards scattered across the floor. The missile that had broken the window skidded to a stop by her foot. Mirrifen looked down. A charm. Familiar beads glittered alluringly on the framework. The web of threads drew her eyes into its wandering spiral that ended in a lock of dark hair. Her own, she knew. A sleep charm keyed to her. She could not look away. She fell to her knees beside Jami’s bed, overcome by drowsiness. She pushed at the charm with a lax hand, trying to put it out of sight. Her fingers would not close to grip it. She managed to pull the edge of the blanket partially over it. It took all her will to look away from it.

On the window sill, pecksies crowded, poised to enter the room as soon as she slept. But her charm held them back, beyond the broken glass. Mirrifen’s eyes sagged shut and her heavy head wobbled on her neck. She bit her lip hard and forced her eyes open. In that blink of darkness, a pecksie archer had appeared on the window sill. Slowly and steadily, he drew back his arrow and took careful aim at Jami.

No! she begged. No! Please.

The arrow flew. Mirrifen heard the solid thud of its impact. A tiny rattling, of unstrung beads falling from a broken string, followed it. He’d shot, not Jami, but her warding charm. As its power failed, an avalanche of pecksies cascaded into the room, squeaking to one another. Mirrifen clutched at the blankets to stay upright. She had to protect Jami. She tried to grasp the sleep charm and throw it out the window. Her fingers wouldn’t grip.

Then, hand over hand, the pecksie hedge-witch came up over the edge of Jami’s bed. She carried a glittering black knife. In her other hand, she clutched the small charm that Jami had earlier discarded. She knelt between Jami’s sprawled legs. She did not stir. Despite her terror, Mirrifen’s eyes were closing. The pecksie met her gaze. There was no compassion there, no mercy at all. Only determination. You bound me, and so I must do this. You charged me. ‘Let no harm come to the child.' You chose this. She set the charm on Jami’s belly.

Then her long-fingered hand seized the fold of blanket and turned it back to bare the sleep charm. As Mirrifen sank to the floor, the pecksie said, You should have spent your words more carefully.

Daylight washed through the shattered window and glittered on the broken glass on the silvery floor. Mirrifen blinked. She must have overslept. It was time to get up. Time to water the cows, time to feed the chickens. Time to make breakfast for Jami…

Jami! Mirrifen sat bolt upright.

The pecksie sitting on Jami’s bed opened her small hand. A cascade of charm beads fell from it, to rattle and roll on the floor. She flicked away the lock of Mirrifen’s hair.

What did you do? Oh, what did I do? Even with the charm destroyed, she felt she was surfacing from deep black water. Everything seemed too bright.

A very pale Jami lay still on the bed. A baby, firmly swaddled, rested against her side. The baby’s eyes were closed, but as Mirrifen watched, his lips puckered, pursed for a moment and then relaxed. Oh, Jami, Mirrifen sighed in sorrow. Then her heart leapt as Jami’s lids fluttered and opened. She smiled weakly at Mirrifen.

He’s just like his father. All he wants to do is eat.

That’s good. That’s so good, Mirrifen managed to say. Jami’s eyes were already sagging shut. Even her lips were pale.

She will live.

Mirrifen startled at the pecksie’s voice. Thank you, she said faintly. Groggily she got to her feet. She looked questioningly at the pecksie.

You believe stupid stories. ‘Pecksies kill babies.' Ha! This pecksie save her baby. Save her, too. The little woman gave Mirrifen a dark look. And not just because you say, ‘no harm to child,' and dead mother is harm to child. I save because pecksies not filthy, wicked things. Now you go milk cow, get eggs, cook. She needs food, rich food. So does pecksie.

As Mirrifen walked toward the kitchen, the pecksie waddled along at her side. What did you do? Mirrifen asked.

Broke your stupid ‘no pass' charm that kept baby inside her. Turned baby. Cut mother, just a little. Helped baby out.

Cut her. Mirrifen shivered. Will she be all right?

Sore. Weak. Better than dead. Feed her, rest her. She be better. She already less stupid.

Less stupid?

Knows pecksies saved her. Saved baby. The little woman shrugged. Less stupid about pecksies.

Thank you. Mirrifen met the pecksie’s eyes. I’m sorry I bound you. I’d undo it if I could.

I took milk. The pecksie shrugged. Bound myself. She sat down on the kitchen floor with a sigh. And you? the pecksie asked her. Are you less stupid?

It was my fault, wasn’t it? When I made a charm that said small people could not pass, I kept the baby from being born. I should have been more careful.

The pecksie nodded grimly. You less stupid now. She cocked her head at Mirrifen. Do chores. I stay here.

Mirrifen paused at the door. You’re a hedge-witch, aren’t you?

The pecksie considered it. Stupid words. Pecksie not a hedge, not a witch. Pecksie a charm-maker.

She could not bring herself to ask. I always wanted to be a charm-maker.

The pecksie narrowed her green eyes. Will you bind me to teach you?

Mirrifen shook her head. No. Never again. Words are too dangerous to bind anyone with them.

I teach, then. A small smile of approval bent her cat’s mouth. You learning already.