Bones of Faerie - Janni Lee Simner [39]
I swam to her, grabbed her around the chest, and kicked hard for shore. Allie coughed, too weakly to get up any water, and fell limp in my hold.
When we reached the bank, Matthew grabbed the back of Allie's shirt with his teeth and dragged her to shore. I stumbled after her, coughing and shaking.
Matthew nudged Allie with his nose. She didn't move. He whined, deep in his throat.
My heart pounded. I couldn't seem to get enough air. I rolled Allie over.
Her eyes were wide, unblinking. River water froze against my skin. I bent over her, pumping her chest, breathing air into her lungs the way Brianna the midwife had taught me. Allie didn't move. Her skin was clammy and far too cold.
“Come on, Allie.” I pumped harder, the numbness in my wrist fading as I did. “Allie!” I called. My throat tightened around her name. “Allie!” My voice grew strange and deep, turning the words to a command. Light flashed at the edges of my sight. “Allison!”
She started coughing, heaving up water. I stopped pumping. Abruptly Allie sat up, hair dripping, blinking water out of her eyes. She threw her arms around my neck, shivering and gulping mouthfuls of air, clinging to me as if she would never let go. I held her until her shuddering slowed. She looked up at me then, not with fear, not with anger, but with wonder.
“You called me back,” she said.
Chapter 12
I built a fire for her in the middle of the road, scavenging what wood I could, repeating over and over, “I'm sorry, so sorry, I'm sorry….”
Allie huddled by the flames with a blanket around her shoulders and Tallow curled in her lap. Matthew stretched out beside her. Wolf and cat both smelled of damp fur. For once they didn't seem to mind each other. “You called me,” Allie said. There was awe in her voice. “I didn't know anyone could call so far.”
I heard, didn't hear. “If Brianna hadn't taught me— how to pump the air back—I'm sorry—”
“It wasn't the pumping.” Allie stroked Tallow's fur. I looked at them, looked away. “Listen, Liza.” Allie's voice was low, not a child's voice. “You don't understand. I drowned there, and I died.” I shook my head, but Allie went on, “No, I did. I'm a healer. I know when things are over, when there's nothing left to do. It's like falling through dark water and realizing you're too far down to ever get back out again. So dark—but I wasn't even angry, because I was too far down, though I was awfully sad. And then …” Allie looked up at me. Matthew laid his paw on her ankle, as if for comfort. “Then you called me, Liza. And I had to listen. It was a long way out, but you kept calling, so I came. I was scared, I was tired, but I came.”
The fire crackled and popped, but I felt as cold as Allie looked. I couldn't have called her back. No one could do that. Because if I could have called her, I also could have called—I also should have called…
I felt colder still. I turned from Allie and the fire back to the river. The sun was high, the water bright. Across that water, at the end of the road, a dark shadow lay puddled in the light. It flowed toward me, then stopped, as if an invisible wall rose out of the river. A sound started up: a low, frightened cry.
A baby's cry.
Matthew moved to my side. His ears went back. He regarded the shadow across the water and squeaked softly, as if asking some question. The shadow just kept crying.
“Who is she?” Allie whispered. “Did you—did you call her, too?”
“I didn't call anyone.” But the shadow kept crying, the sort of short choking sobs babies make when they know something's wrong but they can't tell you what. I wanted to run, to hide—but I knew I couldn't escape that sound any more than I could escape the memory of bones on a moonlit hillside.
I felt Allie's hand on my shoulder and flinched as if burned. “You can't leave her there,” Allie said.
“Go away,” I told her.
“She's just a baby, she doesn't understand—”
“Go away !”
Allie scuttled backward as I turned, her eyes wide,