The Dell was rich with spring grasses and the ponies cropped hungrily while Skye washed in the nearby stream bed, before lifting her face to the midday sun. She had disliked the densely wooded copse, where branches caught at her skirts from the sides of the disappearing track, kept at bay only by the dim light that shone from the jewel lashed to Trader's walking stick. The ponies had rolled their eyes and whinnied nervously at the dark branches waving at the edge of the trail and no matter how many times Trader urged her to keep close, she lagged further and further behind. It was a relief when the two of them finally broke through the bracken with the ponies into the warm and sunny river valley the fossikers fondly called the Dell. Shaking the icy water from her hands, Skye rose and trudged back to where Trader had a cook fire crackling in the blackened crescent of rocks before the lean to. She spread her damp traveling cloak across a bush to dry and pulled her lace shawl close. It was the same fine Elfin Lace shawl she had meant to dazzle all with at the World's Fair. Now the frost flower design tipped lavender and purple from the crystalline waters that spilled from the Teardrop Lake into the Lavender Rill served only to warm her shoulders around the campfire. The campsite beyond was all but invisible, hidden by tall bushes bright with new leaf edging the meadow.
Various fossikers had camped here in the protected river valley over the winter and a footpath to the spring and privy were evident as well as fishing spots along the stream. Trader's lean to looked sturdy to Skye, if a little worse for wear. The heavy oiled canvas stretched over the notched wood frame was soiled and threadbare, from having been broken down and moved in haste so many times, she guessed. Tucked beneath the awning, bedrolls lined the sloping wall as well as pack sacks and pantry bags, ready to be caught up and carried off at a moment's notice, should Northland soldiers appear. From the amount of truck piled against the canvas, Skye judged the band of fossikers to be larger than she had first imagined.
"It's a nice spot," she admitted, approaching the fire where Trader sat on a bare log. Water boiled in a battered kettle where he was now adding birch bark and honey for tea.
"It's home," Trader eyed her with an amused grin. "To us filthy fossikers."
"Come off it," Skye protested, sitting beside him. She smoothed her torn and dirty skirt around her ankles. "I cannot help what I hear."
"Nor I," Trader admitted. From an open pantry sack, he pulled out strips of dried jerky and a rind of cheese. "You hungry?"
Skye nodded, taking the cheese and knife he offered, plus the bit of planking the boys obviously used for a cutting board. Trader pulled the kettle off the fire and poured the tea into mismatched mead cups.
"How long have you been out here?" Skye ventured as he handed her a cup. He was younger than she had first thought, Skye realized. No older than her brother Garth or maybe just scrawny for his age. She blew across the rim of the cup to cool the steaming tea. "Living like this."
"Off and on," Trader said. "When need be. It was easier before the guard started hunting us like wild game."
"Conscripts?" Skye asked, slicing cheese and he nodded. "They came and took my brother, you know. Warren was the best sledder in all of the lands."
"No doubt." Trader bit off a piece of jerky before offering the rest to Skye. "Soldiers slinking around are always after me and my mates. We have to look sharp." He nodded toward the unused bedrolls. "Some of us are not so lucky."
"Were they taken by the Guard?"
"Who knows," Trader sighed. "Boys come and go. Everyone wants to be a fossiker until they find nothing to trade and it turns cold outside. Then the family farm they ran away from and Mother's stew pot looks good again."
"What about you?" Skye asked softly.
"I'm always here." Trader shrugged, chewing a rind of cheese. "I got no where to go."
"But you get by," Skye conjectured. "With stealing and thievery?"
"Finds," Trader corrected her, waggling a finger. "I know where to find things. And what to look for--that's the difference. There's brisk trade in fossiks the glacier leaves behind, if you know the right folk looking."
"Fossiks like that magic rock atop your walking stick?" Skye asked, sipping tea.
"No." Trader gave her a sharp surprised look. "That's mine unchallenged."
"Unchallenged?" Skye smiled, seeing she had hit a nerve.
"At least for now," he mumbled, looking away.
"Well have you ever found fossiks?" She persisted. "Real ones?"
He smiled slyly. "I do discover the odd crystal now and again. Once I found a jeweled beetle inside a piece of amber. Traded it for leather boots and this new jerkin." He said, showing her his leather jersey, laced at the top. About to go on, he caught himself. "There's better trade in the truck the soldiers leave behind, lately."
"Weaponry?" Skye ventured. "Uniforms?" She looked at him with dawning horror. "Do you scavenge from the dead?"
Trader shook his dark head. "Mostly it's just camp stuff the Guard leaves behind when different units move on. Tools and broken bits, dishes and bedding. That's where this kettle came from, and the mead cups." He started laughing. "Once we came across a raiding party of Lowlanders and raided them back while they slept. It was all food. We had beans with bacon ends for days, black bread and mustard, gallons and gallons of hard cider." He looked around. "It's all gone now."
"The cheese too," Skye laid the knife across the barren plank.
Trader sucked on his lip. "There's nothing more. We ate all else."
Skye dumped out one of her twig baskets. "I've no apples left," she said, picking though the empty sacks. "And the ponies ate all the grain." Worriedly, she looked to Trader. "What now? There's a little coin in Mother's change purse but it's not Northland silver."
"We'll meet up with the others at dusk under the bridge," Trader assured her, "after the soldiers are off the road. Clayton and Skylar will bring all of our barter." His eyes drifted toward Sierra's bundle beyond the baskets. "We'll need all sorts of truck to trade if we expect to reach the Borderlands."
"We? What is your sudden interest?" Skye asked, emptying her other basket. It held naught but a clean blouse and pantaloons, her show apron and hair ribbons, drinking cup and few odd comforts. Nothing to sell. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion as she followed his gaze to her mother's bundle of garments. "Besides, the Trading Post closes at nightfall."
"What I have for barter will naught be seen by the likes of them at the Trading Post," Trader boasted. "There's an old witch owns a green house up in the hills, fond of herbs and twigs, the odd dried thing. She'll give us Northland Silver for what I've got."
"What is it?" Skye asked, curious.
Trader shrugged. "Dunno. Clayton's bringing it from our stash in the rocks. It looks like a medicine bag or portent bag. We found it all frozen, lost along the military road."
"I've only ever seen a portent bag once," Skye said, remembering Esmeralde's possibles bag. "My mother's friend had one at the World's Fair last year."
Trader brightened. "So you know what they look like! Mayhap we will get a better price." He turned to her.
"I'll pool whatever trade I get to venture with you and your brother up to the Borderlands."
"Why us?" Skye asked. "What about your boys?"
"They will be fine with Clayton," Trader answered easily. "He'll not let things run amiss."
"Ours is a fool's errand," Skye confessed. "Truthfully. We do not know how to get to the border. We've never been north of Bainbridge."
"I know the Borderlands well," Trader revealed. "I was born in the back streets of Bordertown. From here it would be a long walk but only two days' ride on your ponies." He lowered his voice. "I would see you to the Burnt Caves if that's where you would go."
"I thought no one ever came back from there," Skye argued with growing suspicion. "And besides, my mother told me where to go once I reach Bordertown."
"You need me," Trader insisted.
Skye shook her head. "I need no one I can not trust."
Trader watched her silently. "You're going to have to lose the skirt, first thing," he said finally. "You can't hike the mountain passes or sled in a dress."
"Well I guess I mislaid my mountaineering outfit," Skye shot back angrily, repacking her basket.
"You'll not make it alone," Trader said. He got up. "Think on it."
"I will not agree until I hear your reason," Skye said finally. "What is up there? Some fabled treasure fossik to steal from the Crystal Caves?"
"There's something I need to know." Trader stirred the dying fire with a stick and looked up at her with glittering eyes. "You're not the only one missing relatives."
Skye caught her breath. "Trader, I didn't mean to offend."
Trader held up his hand. "None taken."
"You just seem--" she faltered.
"Shifty?" Trader interrupted. "Crafty? Untrustworthy? I'll tell you what, little miss, I have been running my entire life," he said harshly. "And I can tell you this: Nothing is as it seems."
"Big words coming from a little boy," Skye retorted.
Trader's voice grew cold and quiet. "Is that all you think I am, a boy?"
Unable to back down, Skye nodded, her eyes widening with fear.
"Because that is what I want you to think, silly girl" he growled, advancing. "I make it look that way."
Skye began to tremble. "Trader, I didn't mean to make you so mad."
He glared at her. "Ever hear of hiding in plain sight?"
Skye nodded, stepping back. "Yes, my mother told tales." Although short and slight, Trader was quicker than she, Skye knew, and would catch her easily if she tried to flee, encumbered by her skirts. Wildly she searched for a stick, something to defend herself with. "There was a group called the twelve."
"And what could they do?" Trader hissed, baiting her.
"Pass unseen," Skye whispered.
"What else?" He grabbed her arm.
"Hide in plain sight," Skye began to cry. "Trader, what are you doing?"
"Hiding in plain sight." Letting her go, Trader loosened the laces at the top of his jerkin to let her see.
"You're a girl!" Skye gasped.
"Just a girl," Trader laughed.. "So what are you scared of?"
"But you seem so," Wiping her eyes, Skye search for words. "Mean and menacing."
Trader nodded soberly. "That's my disguise. That's how I hide."
"And you boss those big boys around." Skye gave a weak laugh. "Oh that is just so precious."
"The world isn't ruled by men," Trader said solemnly.
"It just looks that way," Skye agreed. "How many times has my mother told me that?" She gave Trader an intent look. "Do any of the boys know?"
"No, and they can never." She said frankly. "Now you know my deepest secret." She let out a sigh. "Or one of them anyway. If I betray you, you in turn can ruin me."
"So why did you tell me?" Skye wanted to know.
"You said you needed to trust," Trader reminded her. "Trust me now?"
"Alright," Skye agreed. "But I don't understand one thing. Why in all the lands would you want to pass as a boy?"
"It wasn't so bad before the soldiers came," Trader joked. "I always hated skirts and dresses."
"No really," Skye prodded.
"Hiding as a boy was the only way I escape imprisonment in the Burnt Caves with the likes of your mother," Trader admitted.
"Who was after you?" Skye said. "Are they still?"
"Oh yes," Trader assured her. "But who they are I am not sure," Trader paused. "All I know is that they are evil. Pure evil And they don't look for boys. But now come along the conscripts. Who do look for boys." Trader rolled her eyes. "Mayhap it is time to become a girl again."
Skye laughed. "A girl in breeches though."
"There's breeches enough left behind in those bedrolls that neither one of us ever has to wear skirts again." Trader assured her. "Now your mother. She was one of the twelve, was she not?"
"I think so," Skye breathed. "I don't really know. Her name was Sierra Blue."
"Sierra Blue," Trader ruminated. "What was her talent?"
"When we were young, she told us tales from the days of old," Skye said. "Like fairy tales. She called them her yarns. But her magic lay in crystal dyed garments." Skye blinked back tears. "Listen to me, I am speaking as if she is dead."
"She is just in trouble," Trader said gently. "Mayhap the magic part of her is dead and we need to help her get it back. Let's see her sack."
Skye reached for Sierra's bundle. "Do you think there is something in here that can help her?"
"Or us," Trader said nonchalantly. "We all need our magic."
"Your name is not really Trader, is it?" Skye asked as Trader untied the knot at the top of the bundle and unwrapped it slowly.
"Nope," Trader said. "Some call me Turncoat. Some call me Traitor." She pulled out Sierra's traveling cloak and settled it around her shoulders. "This will do nicely." She flashed Skye a brilliant smile. "Some call me Traces of Teal."
"Teal ..." Skye searched her memory. "I know that name. She was one of the twelve."
"Some say she disappeared as Tasman fled," Trader prompted.
"You do know your yarns!" Skye realized.
"I should," Trader snorted. "Teal was my grandmother. It is traces of her I seek although some wish me dead. Thus I hide." She pulled several potluck hats from the bundle. "Are these real?" She asked.
"What do you think?" Skye asked sarcastically
"Just checking." Trader gave a low whistle. "The old hags who barter with me for fossiks will know how to dispose of these, I ken," she said. "I've never seen a pink one, only blues and greens."
"Blues and greens are for calm and confidence in the face of danger," Skye said. "My father had one. Pinks and grays allow the wearer to pass unseen." She paused. "Do these witches have Northland silver?"
"Plenty." Trader assured her. "We will see them tonight. What's this?"
At the bottom of the bundle, she pulled out a market bag and a felted knapsack.
"That's one of those bottomless bags, for marketing," Skye explained matter of factly, "and the knapsack is one of those shepherd's use, along the same lines. It never gets heavy or wet with weather no matter how it rains on the highland trails."
"No I mean this," Trader said, showing her a dented silver box that looked to have no lid.
"That is what was hurting my neck!" Skye exclaimed. "I was using the bundle as a pillow last night and this little thing kept giving me a crick."
"What is it?" Trader asked, turning the tiny box over and over in her hands, looking for a seam line.
"I don't know," Skye said. "It must have been my mother's."
"But you have never before seen it?"
"No. But look," Skye ran her hand over the smooth surface. There's no way in. Is it as good as a fossik?"
"It's better than a fossik" Trader grinned. "If it was your mother's, it's yours unchallenged." She shook the box and they both heard the rattle.
"There's aught somewhat within," Skye warned.
"We should leave it be," Trader agreed.
"Will your witches know how to break the seal?" Skye wanted to know.
"Mayhap," Trader set the box down gingerly. "Get your ponies. Let's pack up this truck and go."
Trader trying to ride Shep was a comical sight, but they made it through the foothills of the small river valley and up to the trestle bridge leading across the Runne to Bainbridge before dark. Both girls wore riding breeches culled from the bedrolls in the lean to underneath their traveling cloaks and they had a pack bag stuffed with Sierra's remaining garments. The silver box Skye carried inside the pocket of her cloak, while their few pooled coins hung in a change purse around Trader's neck hidden beneath her jerkin. As darkness fell, they led the ponies down the steep bank to the sandy apron under the bridge to find themselves alone at the river's edge.
"Late as usual," Trader grumbled. "And they have all of our grub and my barter." She squatted on the ground and glanced up at the rising moon. "It should not have taken them this long. The high rocks are not as far as the Dell."
"But we rode," Skye pointed out.
"Hadn't thought of that," Trader admitted, shivering. Afraid to light a fire, they put up their hoods and huddled in their traveling cloaks. High overhead, the nailed boots of the odd foot traveler rang out or a cart rumbled across, sending a hail of frozen dirt through the trestles, but but otherwise the bridge was silent.
It was not long before they heard the boys begin to arrive, pushing and bumping and shushing each other with loud whispers as they clambered down the bank.
"Clayton," the voice of young Ross rang out. "They ain't down here. It's just them strange ponies that like to chase people."
"Shhh!" Skylar hissed. "Before you get us caught."
Garth came into the pool of moonlight and caught up the ponies' reins without noticing Trader or Skye. "Something's fishy," he murmured.
Trader looked to Skye who grinned and pointed at their cloaks, and then put a finger to her lips and motioned Trader to back away. Trader understood immediately. The traveling cloaks were allowing them to pass unseen.
Down the bank clambered Clayton and a few other boys Skye did not recognize from the camp in the high rocks, Skye guessed, several with pack sacks.
"What now Clayton?" Skyler asked as Trader and Skye circled the group.
"We wait," Clayton said, shrugging out of his pack sack.
"They've been here," Garth said, tying the pack sacks onto the ponies. "They can't be far."
"Maybe the Guard took em," Skylar said.
"Or them witches," Ross began to whimper.
"Nobody took anybody," Clayton said, helping Garth secure the straps. "Now shush."
"Trader likes swapping truck with them witches," Ross told Garth, "And I'm scared of them witches."
Nailed boots rang out on the bridge above and torch lights shone down over the bank. "Hey!" A man's voice rang out. "Who's down there?"
"Shards," Clayton swore softly. "It's the guard."
Skye looked at Trader in alarm. Trader put up her hand and then motioned to Skye to open Sierra's bundle of garments.
"Scramble?" Ross asked in a small voice.
"Softly, like eggs scramble," Clayton reminded him, as Skye ferreted through Sierra's garments without a word. Trader pointed out the pink Potluck hat and Skye understood immediately.
"Scatter?" Skylar said. "Like sap buckets in the spring come sugaring season," Clayton confirmed. "Don't worry boys we will all meet up again. You know where."
Before Garth's eyes they melted into the grasses along the banks leaving Garth with the ponies and pack sacks. "Oh wonderful," he said, hearing the call of men's voices over the side of the trestle bridge as the lights got closer.
Suddenly a potluck hat clamped over his head and Skye's voice hissed in his ear. "Put on the hat and ride," she said.