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.