Faerie Winter - Janni Lee Simner [47]
“I would not go so far as to say this world winds down.” Karin drew a winged maple seed from her pocket. “Take it.”
I held it by the stem, wary of the fire maple seeds held, but it was cold, as all seeds were this winter. “It’s dead.”
“Is it?” Karin smiled, a little sadly. “Look closer.”
I stared at the seed as hard as I could, but I saw only brown. I closed my eyes and reached for it with my magic, just as I had with so many seeds this winter, but nothing reached back. “They’re all dead.” I fought to keep the despair from my voice.
Karin took the glowing orange stone in her hand. It cast its light onto the seed, giving it a faint tint that reminded me of autumn. The color wasn’t real, though. Only the brown within the seed was real.
“Look at the shadow,” Karin said.
The orange light cast a faint maple seed shadow onto the floor. I stared at that, but it was an ordinary shadow, no more alive than the shadows cast by sun and candles. Karin moved the light directly overhead, and the shadow disappeared.
I looked at her, not understanding, not wanting to admit I didn’t understand.
Karin nodded, as if I’d done nothing unexpected. “Keep trying.” She moved the light about. I watched as the shadow shifted on the floor, as it disappeared, reappeared, and disappeared again. Outside, trees creaked as the wind blew through them, but I didn’t look away from that moving patch of darkness, seeing again and again the moment when it disappeared entirely.
My eyes grew weary. I blinked, trying to keep my focus. For just a moment, the shadow seemed to cling to the seed before it disappeared. I forced my eyes to stay firmly open the next time, but I didn’t see it again.
I softened my focus instead. There—a hint of inky darkness, clinging to the seed. The shadow cast by Karin’s light shifted about, but the darker shadow held fast to the seed, so close—so much a part of the seed—that I wasn’t sure how I saw it at all. I drew the seed nearer to my face. I wasn’t imagining it.
Karin set her stone down beside her. I squinted to see in the dimness. The seed’s shadow held even without light.
“So you see,” Karin said. “All things that live and grow have shadows, from the smallest seed to your people and mine.”
I looked at Karin, keeping my focus soft. I looked at Kyle, tangled in his blanket. I looked at my own hands. I saw no shadows there.
Karin brushed a strand of hair from her face. “We can work on human shadows later, if you like. Those will be harder, for my magic is only with plants, much as Kyle’s is only with animals. I cannot see human or faerie shadows, though I can guide you toward them. Only a summoner can perceive the shadows in all things—and if the price of greater strength is lesser subtlety, well, it’s strength we’re going to need to call back spring.”
“I can’t call anything back. I keep trying, and I always fail.” I let the seed slip from my fingers. It twirled toward the floor, shadow clinging to it still.
Karin caught it in her cupped hands. “Try again, only this time, call to the shadow, not the seed.”
I kept my soft sideways focus on the shadow. I felt—not growth, not life, but a sort of lingering sleepy existence that told me sleep and death were not the same thing after all.
I reached for that. “Come here,” I whispered.
The seed shuddered in Karin’s hands. A pale white root shot out from it, and a brown stem followed. Something arced between me and the seed, a thin thread shivering with the faint will to grow. Two brown leaves pushed through the seed coat—and then with a sigh the small plant fell limp, and the thread dissolved to shadowy dust. The dust drifted off, leaving no shadow clinging to the dead plant Karin held.
I sighed. “I’m sorry.”
Karin laughed at that. “Liza, those two leaves are more than I’ve been able to call all winter.” She let the seed fall from her hands and touched the vine around her wrist. “My power is much diminished, in this season of dying trees. Even the leaves I wear cling to life only because I did not allow them to slip into sleep when autumn came,