Faerie Winter

understand?”

Faerie folk cannot lie. Something relaxed in me, a fear I hadn’t been aware of. “I understand.” I held my shoulders a little less tightly as I told Karin all that had happened, starting with Johnny, and Kyle, and the burned children who’d died of Ethan’s magic—at Elin’s command.

When I told Karin about the leaf, she stopped me, wanting to know, as the Lady had, how I’d come by it.

“Oak and ash,” Karin whispered when I told her that Mom had given it to me, and that Caleb had given it to Mom. “Kaylen, you are a fool.” She pronounced Caleb’s true name differently than Mom did, weaving a sound like wind through leaves into it.

I lifted an ash branch from the ground, discarded it, and picked up a longer branch. As a weapon it wasn’t much, but it felt better to have something in my hand. “His foolishness may have saved Kyle’s life.”

“I know.” Karin stroked the leaves around her wrist, as if drawing comfort from them. We veered toward the river, following a narrow track between the trees and the frozen water. I used the branch as a staff, taking some of the weight from my ankle, though already the pain there was fading.

Something green poked through the snow, bright against the whiteness. Spring, I thought, but it wasn’t a plant. I reached down and took a faded plastic frog in my hand. My fingers tightened around it. I remembered a row of plastic frogs, lined up at the edge of a tub.

Karin tilted her head, a question.

“Kyle’s been here.” For the first time since meeting the Lady’s eyes, I felt something other than gray despair. “He made it this far.”

Chapter 10

The ice near the river’s shore was cracked, as if Kyle had run over it so swiftly it hadn’t—quite—given way beneath his weight. I listened to the water trickling beneath it. If that ice was almost too thin for a five-year-old, it would be far too thin for me. I slipped the frog into my pocket and followed the river downstream, seeking a better crossing.

Karin touched my arm and pointed upward. A hawk circled above the bluffs—Elin? Did that mean Kyle was nearby, too? Or did it mean we were already too late?

The ice remained thin, but—there. A row of rocks jutted out of the half-frozen water. I followed the stepping stones across, careful of my balance on the slick rocks. Karin followed more gracefully, as if ice were a small matter to her. On the other side she leaned down and shoved her hands into the snow. Yellow Bermuda grass pushed through it to wrap around her arms. Karin closed her eyes, listening to something I couldn’t hear. “He passed this way,” she said.

The grasses sighed wearily and retreated back into the snow. “They’re not dead,” I said. “Not completely, not around you.”

“They are not dead.” Karin sounded as tired as the grasses had. “But they are dying. Tell me, Liza, do you believe that spring will come?”

Why ask me? I was no plant mage. “The adults in my town believe it.” They believed in spite of the gray trees and the gray skies, the failed crops and the too-long winter.

“So it is with the human adults in my town as well.” Karin held a hand out to the falling snow as we walked on. Snowflakes melted against her skin. “Yet I have never heard the trees so quiet. They yearn for darkness, and some have given way to it. Others slip into sleep, accepting that they may never wake. I am told this is the way of your world. It is not the way of mine. I have never known a forest that was not green. What do you believe?”

On the far side of the river, the bare trees were shadows through the snow. Nothing more can grow out of such death. And so the worlds wind down, and tragedy runs its course. “Does it matter what I believe?” If the world was winding down, it would do so no matter what I believed. A scrap of cloth lay on the ground ahead of me. Kyle’s bloodstained bandage. I picked it up. Did I dare believe he might be all right? If I couldn’t believe in spring, could I believe that much?

“Even if you had not called me, Liza, I’d have sought you out soon enough. What thin hope I have for spring is bound up as much in your magic as in my own.” Karin took the bandage in her hands and ran her fingers over the torn weaving, as if she could mend it. “And so I am reminded once more that those things that are going to happen will happen, though we cannot always see the path.” She laughed softly to herself; at what, I didn’t know. “But there will be time to discuss this later.”

I wrapped the bandage around my staff as we moved closer to the bluffs, picking our way among rocks to find a narrow track near the base of those cliffs. The snow was letting up. I saw a faint streak of blood against the white limestone, and another, higher up. Kyle had climbed these stones.

A winged shadow flew over us. I crouched, staff in hand, tensed to fight.

The hawk didn’t attack. She landed on an outcrop above us and glared down at Karin and me. I backed away, eyes on her sharp talons, gauging whether it’d be better to fight or to run.

Karin stepped forward, though. “Elianna.” She pronounced the name as strangely as she had Kaylen’s. “It has been many years, but surely you know me.” Karin held out her arm.

The hawk screeched and lifted her wings. There was blood on her talons—Kyle’s blood. Anger chased my fear away. I moved to Karin’s side as the hawk tilted her head.

I was suddenly aware of what a very pretty bird she was. I reached for her sharp beak.

“No!” Karin stepped between us. “Liza is my student and under my protection.”

The hawk’s yellow eyes flashed silver in the light. All at once she wasn’t pretty—she was deadly. She screamed and flew at Karin, talons outstretched.

I had her name now. “Elianna!” I didn’t call her to me. I called her to herself, as once I’d called Matthew from wolf back to boy.

The bird shimmered with light, feathers melting, talons drawing back into skin—it was a faerie girl who knocked Karin to the ground. Karin grabbed Elin’s shoulders, pulling the girl to her feet as she stood. Snow landed on Elin’s bare skin and in her tangled hair. She lashed out at Karin’s face, as if expecting talons at the ends of her hands.

Karin grabbed those hands in her own. “Elianna.”

“I do not know you.” So fierce, Elin’s voice. Karin flinched. I clutched my staff, alert for any movement, any attempt by Elin to do either of us harm. Karin released Elin’s hands, removed her pack, and drew a wool blanket from within. The girl pulled it around her shoulders, but the anger didn’t leave her eyes. Silver light flowed over gray wool, and the blanket shaped itself into a rough dress, frayed at the hem and the sleeves.

Elin hardly seemed to notice. Her gaze was entirely on Karin. “I do not know who you are, or how you have come to wear my mother’s face. I know only this: Karinna the Fierce would never consent to teach any human. My mother died fighting the human Uprising. She died bravely and well, and I’ll not have you insulting her memory.”

Mother? Karin was Elin’s mother? Elin was the Lady’s granddaughter; it only made sense—but Elin looked too young to have lived Before.

Faerie folk lived longer than humans. I knew that.

“I did not think to see you again, either.” How did Karin hold her voice so steady? “I do not blame you for being angry with me. We have much to discuss.”

“No. I don’t believe we do.” Elin stalked past us toward the river, head held high, feet bare. I thought Karin would run after her, but she only watched her go.

Snow blew into my face. “I could call her back.”

Karin shook her head. “She makes her choices freely as well. I’ll not decide them for her.” She closed her eyes and rested her head on her hands, and I felt as if I were witnessing something terribly private.

I silently kept guard as Elin followed the river upstream, away from us. At last Karin looked up once more. “Come. Let us find Kyle.” She tied her pack closed and pulled it onto her shoulders. “I fear there will be some climbing involved.”