Bones of Faerie - Janni Lee Simner [63]
I clutched the nut tighter. I remembered how my town fought the corn and squash in turn, because we knew they would keep us alive. I remembered Matthew struggling to breathe as Caleb healed him. I remembered how tightly Allie had clutched the rope above her as she crossed the river.
I remembered how I'd called for Karin's help when the trees had attacked us. I remembered how I'd reached for Matthew's hand out of a dark river, because I knew without thought, without reason, that I, too, wanted to live.
I remembered Rebecca's cries. I remembered how my sister had come back at my call, clinging to shadow when nothing else remained. Most things wanted to grow, given a chance. I found the strength to stand and reached for Caleb's hand once more. The seed in my other hand shivered, green struggling to break free. Around us the gray land turned to silver, shimmering bright. Silver surrounded us, veined everywhere with green—
I blinked in the brightness, and all at once I was looking down at Caleb, and he was looking up at me, while Mom watched us both, tears drying on her cheeks. Caleb opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out. “I'm sorry,” I said. My voice was stiff, as if not used to speech. “I know I should have asked. Allie says you should always ask before calling someone back. Only I can see well enough Mom needs you here, and Allie, too, so I couldn't just let you go. And, well, you didn't seem to mind, not like Tallow.”
Caleb drew a long, uneven breath, then another, more steady. He sat up and solemnly lifted my chin. “Do not apologize, Liza. It was well done.”
I cried then. Not for Mom, not for Caleb, not even for myself. For the memory of a seed, shivering in my hand, not understanding it was in a place without life or color or hope.
I realized I held something. I looked down, unfolding my fingers as I did.
A small red-brown nut lay cupped in my palm, perfectly round, save for a small crack in its shell, thin as good nylon thread from Before.
Chapter 18
I had a sister once. She was a beautiful baby, long-limbed and graceful, eyes dark as shadows through mulberry trees.
A month after her birth I crept out before dawn. I followed the road, carrying an oil lamp in one hand. My breath frosted in front of me. Maples and sycamores whispered among themselves, but I didn't fear them. I listened, as Father had taught me always to listen. I knew I had magic enough to keep the trees at bay.
The hillside where Rebecca had died was a patchwork of blackberry and sumac. “Go away,” I whispered, and the bushes gently parted, letting me through.
I searched for a long time, but no bones remained, no sign that anything but brown roots had ever troubled the earth. Finally light touched the horizon, and I blew the lantern out. The sky was gray as old embers.
I opened my other hand and stared at the nut that lay in my palm. The crack in its shell remained small, but I felt the green within yearning, like the shadows of the dead had yearned, to be called.
I dug a hole in the dirt with my fingers and buried the nut there. “Grow,” I whispered to it. “Seek sun, seek water, seek air. ”
I waited, but nothing happened. Sometimes what we want or don't want doesn't matter in the end. Sometimes magic doesn't listen after all. I patted the dirt down and returned to the road. I heard Allie's footsteps even before I turned. “You should know better by now than to leave us behind,” she said. Her hand rested on a wolf's back; he'd been sniffing the ground as they walked. Allie drew her hand away, and the wolf sat, regarding me. I regarded him back, knowing his gray eyes. I would always know him, whatever form he took.
“I wasn't leaving,” I said.
Allie tugged on her braid. Samuel had patiently worked all the tangles out. “That's what Matthew thought, too, but I wasn't so sure. So Matthew said he'd go with me, and Dad agreed. Boys aren't always silly, you know.”
“I know.” I reached out to scratch Matthew behind the ears, then drew away, embarrassed.
Matthew's nose nudged my hand back into place. Allie