Bones of Faerie

Chapter 11

The hawk screeched again and fell silent. Pebbles rained down on my back. Somewhere, a wolf howled. A cat tongue licked my face.

I saw nothing but cold white light.

“Liza?” a voice whimpered below me. A hand reached for my own. I took it and squeezed hard. “Liza, I can't see.”

“I'm here,” I told Allie.

Teeth tugged at my sleeve, way too large for a cat. Tallow hissed and leaped to my back. The teeth let go. I heard an anxious whine.

“What's that?” Allie's voice was a child's voice, frightened at a bump in the dark.

I was frightened, too, but I didn't let her know that. “Matthew?” I whispered, reaching out my free hand.

The whining stopped and a damp nose shoved itself into my hand. No teeth this time, just skin and fur and the faint scent of fear. I moved my hand slowly up his nose, between his ears. His coat was rough at the surface, but softer beneath. I moved my hand to Matthew's back as I turned to stand by his side. Tallow hissed again and scrabbled up to my shoulders. With my other hand I urged Allie to her feet.

The wolf started forward but stopped when I didn't follow. “Can you see?” I asked him. No answer. No sound at all, save for soft panting. Tallow's claws dug through my sweater.

What choice did I have but to trust him and his magic? When he started forward again, I walked with him. Only Allie hesitated. “What about Matthew?” she asked, her hand still clutching mine.

“He's—here,” I told her, realizing she didn't know. Even as I spoke I wondered how much of this wild creature really was Matthew and how much was something else.

Cold light pulsed against my eyes as we walked.

Allie's hand trembled in my own. Tallow's claws dug deeper. Only Matthew remained steady. I felt the rise and fall of his shoulders beneath my hand. Around us the trees whispered to one another. Farther off some animal wailed a childlike cry. Wind brushed my cheek.

“My eyes hurt,” Allie said.

“Then close them.” I kept my own eyes open, though. I saw a whisper of darkness against the light and strained to see better. In the distance I could just make out ash and cypress trees, their trunks tangled with ivy. Beyond the trees stood something darker and smoother. A metal arch, taller than any tree; it only seemed dark compared to the whiteness all around me. I quickened my pace, though according to Samuel's map we shouldn't be anywhere near the Arch.

The earth beneath the Arch trembled. A poison ivy vine swung overhead, and I ducked. I released my hold on Matthew's back and pulled Allie near. My knife was in my hand before I knew I'd drawn it.

Yet I felt no breeze as the vine passed by. I heard no sound. I felt no shaking beneath my feet, in spite of the trembling I'd seen. I looked up slowly.

The scene before me rippled like water. The trees faded, replaced by mounds of stone and twisted steel. The Arch rose above them, brighter now, smoke clinging like mist about its base. From somewhere beyond, a flock of metal birds flew toward the Arch, though the sound they made reminded me more of roaring water than of birds.

Airplanes, I thought. I knew then that what I saw wasn't real but only some reflection of the past; knew, too, that not all the airplanes had been brought down by magic after all. I shut my eyes but the vision remained.

Matthew woofed quietly, a question in the sound. I sheathed my knife and reached for his back while the airplanes flew at the Arch one by one, disappearing as their wings made contact with its bright surface.

“What's wrong?” Allie asked, and I knew neither she nor Matthew saw.

“Nothing,” I whispered. “Nothing real.” My heart pounded. The visions looked real enough. Matthew started forward again, and I followed, even as the scene shifted once more.

The Arch disappeared. I saw tall buildings, towers of glass and steel. From below, oaks stretched shadow branches toward the buildings. From above, hawks dropped stones that glowed with faerie light. Orange and white explosions lit the air. The buildings collapsed like a child's kindling towers.

My legs felt weak, as if they, too, might give way. I knew well enough I was seeing the War. I stumbled as a shower of glass tinkled to my feet, even as I told myself this wasn't real. I saw—

The road—a road of black stone—shuddering to life, shaking cars into ruins like a dog might shake off water.

Allie's grip on my hand tightened. Warmth flowed toward the faded knife scars on my palm. No, not warmth—gentler cold. I focused on that cold. I focused on the feel of Matthew's fur beneath my other hand. Slowly, the visions faded. I saw a gray outline beside me and realized it was a wolf, ears cocked forward, sniffing the air. I kept walking, and color bled through the brightness: green leaves, blue sky. All at once the white light was gone. I saw clearly the gray wolf beneath my hand. I looked back and saw Allie step through a wall of white light, not releasing my other hand as she did. The wall of light stretched to the sky, as tall as the buildings in my vision. The stones must have created it when they exploded. Had the faerie folk used stones and light like that to make our soldiers lose their way during the War?

Tallow's yellow tail lashed to and fro from my shoulders. Matthew's ears perked back. As I drew my fingers from his fur he turned to look at me, blinking. Matthew hadn't been able to see, either, I realized. He'd led us through by smell, not sight. I reached hesitantly toward him, but then Tallow hissed and I drew back. Matthew backed away, too, head lowered, ears flattening, a low growl rising in his throat. Allie glanced at him and silently moved to my side. The sun brightened. Silver light flowed over Matthew's gray fur. I waited for the boy to emerge from the wolf, for someone I could thank with human words. The light receded, but the wolf remained. He pawed the ground and whined.

“He's hurt!” Allie cried, even as I saw the blood on his hind leg. The gash had barely clotted, as if wild dogs had attacked us only moments before. Allie released my hand and darted forward.

“Wait!” I called, but she knelt and put hands to the wound.

The wolf whined again, with fear or with pain, but Allie's hands remained steady. “Oh!” she said. “Oh, but”— she shook her head—“healing first. Questions later.”

Her tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth as she focused on the wound. Light flowed from her hands over his leg. The wolf stretched his head around toward Allie, panting a little, his teeth so close—but he didn't hurt her.

I remembered how Matthew had scratched the air, threatening to kill, while Caleb had healed him. Beneath his easy smile, Matthew was as capable of anger as I was. He just controlled it better.

Allie's light faded. Old blood flaked away from an old wound. Allie leaned back on her heels, brown eyes thoughtful. “I didn't know you were a shifter, Matthew.”

The wolf put weight on his leg, gingerly at first, then more steadily. He turned and nudged Allie's hands. She laughed. “You have a wet nose!”

He lifted his head, turning his gaze back to me. We regarded each other in silence. Finally I stepped forward, crouching in front of him. “Thank you,” I whispered, wondering whether the words had any meaning to a wolf.

He nuzzled my chest with his nose. Tallow hissed and leaped from my shoulders. I ignored her and moved my hands to rest on Matthew's back. So soft, I thought. How could wild magic feel so soft?

“I only ever knew one shifter.” Allie took Tallow in her arms, stroking the trembling cat. “But he was an owl. I think wolves are much nicer.”

I looked into Matthew's eyes. Wild eyes, yet with an edge of fear behind them. “The other shifter you knew— what happened to him?”

“He flew away. Karin was his teacher. She said if only he'd come back, she'd have reminded him about being human. But I don't think Adam wanted reminding. I think he liked to fly too much.” The wall of light behind us made Allie's face seem very pale. We needed to move on, to put space between ourselves and that magic.

Yet I kept staring at Matthew. “Have you forgotten, too?” I asked.

Allie shook her head, hair falling from her braid into her face. “No. Matthew's still there. I could tell when I healed him.”

“Then why can't he change back?”

“I don't know,” Allie said. “Maybe it was that light. My hands are all itchy from it, like they're looking for something to heal. Maybe the light did something to Matthew's magic, too, made it stronger.” She shook her head and shoved her hands into her pockets. “I don't know. This is closer to Karin's magic than mine or Caleb's. Things answer when Karin talks to them. We should bring him back to her….” But Allie glanced at the glowing wall, then at me. We both knew we couldn't go back that way.

Something moved within the bright light. Some shadow—I blinked and it was gone. Perhaps it was only another vision. Perhaps not.

“We have to go on,” I said, standing. Allie nodded. She reached for my hand and squeezed it, hard. Matthew sniffed at the trail as if he'd understood. “I'm sorry,” I told him. Maybe he'd change back on his own. Or maybe Mom would know what to do. She knew about Matthew's magic, after all.

Knew and hadn't told me. I pushed the thought aside. Caleb's disk felt cold against my skin, another question. I ignored them both and started walking. Allie and Tallow followed me. Matthew followed them. We left the faerie light behind, save for a few glowing pebbles in the path. Even those disappeared after a time, but the cold lingered as the sun grew higher. My breath frosted in front of me again. Maybe that wasn't so strange, though. It was autumn, and in autumn the weather changed swiftly.

The path sloped uphill, leading us to the top of the bluff. Near sundown we came to a rusted car—there still were a few left along the roads—and camped there for the night. The seats were gone. The faint scent of car oil lingered in the chilly air, a scent from Before. Sometimes I tried to imagine a world where that smell was stronger than leaf mold and tree sap, but I always failed.

Allie and I spread blankets on the car's floor and strung our tarp over the empty windows. The glass was gone, of course, and the tires were cracked and dry. A short distance off, a fallen house lay half-buried beneath a gooseberry bush. I scavenged the exposed wood and built a fire near the car.

Allie fanned the flames as Tallow curled up in her lap. Matthew paced the borders of our camp. I watched him as I put water on the fire to boil. Every so often he'd stop and sniff the air. I wondered what he smelled.

I found some brown grasses by the old house and I twisted them between my fingers, making twine as I waited for the water to boil. The grasses were truly dead—they didn't moan as I worked them.

When the water bubbled I poured some cornmeal in, along with scraps of goat jerky. Matthew trotted to the fire, sniffed the pot curiously, and turned from it. I offered him a piece of jerky, but he nudged my hand away. His ears perked forward. He lifted his head, then whirled and bounded into the trees.

“Matthew!” Allie stood, dumping Tallow to the ground. I held up a hand, stopping her. In the distance, vines snapped and groaned. I heard a flurry of leaves, then silence. Allie looked at me, her eyes huge, but a few moments later Matthew trotted back to our fire, a rabbit dangling from his teeth. Blood stained the creature's white fur. Tallow took one look and bolted beneath the car.

Matthew dropped the rabbit at my feet, pride clear enough in the way he held his head and tail up high. As a human he'd never been much of a hunter.

Allie giggled nervously. “It's a gift.”

I knew that, and I bowed my head to acknowledge it. “Thank you,” I told the wolf. I took my knife and skinned the kill. Father had taught me how to skin game as soon as I was old enough to hold a knife, guiding my trembling hands with his steady ones, helping me to find the places between skin and muscle, sinew and bone.

I put some meat into the pot and offered Matthew the rest. He stalked a short way off to tear at the carcass. He wuffled happily as he ate, tail thumping the ground, saliva dripping from his teeth. By the firelight his eyes were bright. I thought of the boy Allie had known, the one who liked to fly. What if Matthew liked being a wolf more than being a boy? The snapping of bones between his teeth echoed the crackling and popping of the fire.

I took the pot from the flames and handed Allie a spoon. Much of our cookware was gone with Matthew's pack, so we shared from the pot instead. Allie's eyes kept darting to Matthew.

After dinner she spent a long time crouched by the old car, spoon in hand, urging Tallow to lick it clean, but the cat refused to come out. Matthew moved closer to the fire and slept, his breathing deep and satisfied.

“Which watch do I take?” Allie asked that night.

I started to say she was too young to take any watch, but she just looked at me, and I knew she was right. There was no one left to keep watch but us.

“I'll go first,” I told her. From his place beside the fire Matthew watched us, head between his paws. Would he understand if we asked him to take a turn? There was no way to know.

Allie eyed me suspiciously. “You won't forget to wake me, will you? I'm still your healer, and I say you need sleep, too. I can help, no matter what Dad and Caleb say. You can trust me, you know.”

“I know.” I tousled her hair, like Mom had mine when I was little. I'd keep watch through the darkest part of the night, then wake her when the moon was high.

Allie finally coaxed Tallow out and took the cat inside the car with her. She handed a blanket out to me. I smiled a little, pulling the blanket around my shoulders as I climbed onto the car's hood to watch.

After a time Matthew climbed up beside me. He sighed, a sound as much human as wolf, and laid his head on my knee. I rested my hand behind his ears, and together we watched the moon rise, its light making the earth and car and trees all glow as if by magic.

By dawn frost coated the ground and made the dirt crunch beneath our feet. The trees were sleepy and slow, their branches barely moving in spite of the morning breeze. As we set out the path sloped downhill, leaving the bluff. Tallow rode on my shoulders, turning every so often to hiss at Matthew, who walked by Allie's side. Allie kept up a steady stream of chatter with the wolf, talking about her dad, about some fight she'd had with Kimi, about her training as a healer. “What I really wanted was to talk to animals,” she confided. “I keep hoping. Karin says magic isn't always only one thing or another.”

A bit later I heard her say, “Come on, Matthew, try it. One bark for yes, two barks for no.” Matthew growled, as if barking on command was beneath his dignity. I couldn't help it—I laughed.

The sun rose, melting the frost. To the east, a glimmer of sun off water told us a river drew near. On Samuel's map, the river was called the Meramec. I went from shoving my hands into my pockets to tying my jacket around my waist in a matter of hours.

Midmorning the land opened out. Abruptly our path met a new road, broader than any I'd ever known, heading east. Thick slabs of black rock poked through the dirt, shimmering in the sun. According to Samuel's directions, this was I-44, and it would take us most of the way to the Arch. In the distance I heard running water.

We walked three abreast on that road, making a course for the river. Cinnamon-barked birches and pale gray cottonwoods lined our way. The birches launched clusters of tiny winged seeds into the breeze, but the road was so wide they drifted to the ground on either side of us. Birch seeds were too small to do any real harm, anyway, so long as you brushed them off before they could root in your skin.

We topped a rise and saw the Meramec River below. For a few hundred yards we descended toward the water, and then, all at once at the water's edge, the road ended.

It continued on the river's other side, but a couple hundred yards of running water lay between us and the far bank. On our side, a few broken steel beams hinted at the bridge that had once spanned the distance. In the murky water around the beams, cattails splashed as they slapped at water striders. As far as I could tell the fuzzy brown stalks never hit the insects—it seemed more a game than anything else. A short way downstream, two tall metal poles stood across from each other, one on either bank. A pair of guide ropes was strung between them, one near the water, one several feet above. The ropes glinted in the sun, and when I drew closer I saw that they were metal as well, dozens of thin strands twisted into steel cord by someone from Before, more tightly than anyone could manage now. A mix of knot-work and metalwork bound the cords to the poles. I gripped the lower one—it felt strong and warm to the touch. It would hold our weight.

Matthew nosed at the shore. Allie looked from the ropes to the water and from the water to me. Her chatter fell silent, and her eyes went wide. “Maybe there's another bridge.” Her voice was high and strange. “Check the map.”

I shook my head. “The road ends here.”

“Just check.” The girl's voice cracked as she spoke.

I dug the map from my pack. The next crossing was at least a day's walk away, and there was no sign of a road to lead us from here to there.

“Too far,” Allie said, but she looked up at me as if hoping for some other answer.

“There might not be a bridge there anymore, either,” I said.

Allie nodded, looking unhappy. “What about Matthew? And Tallow?”

Tallow remained firmly seated on my shoulders, but Matthew poked a paw at the river. All at once he leaped in, swimming across in a splash of paws and wet fur. The current took him downstream a little. Once on land he trotted back upstream, put his nose to the ground, and looked at us across the water.

Watching him, Allie sighed. “Wish I was a wolf.”

I looked at her, afraid to ask my next question. “You can swim, can't you?” Everyone could swim in Franklin Falls. Father and Kate had made sure of it.

Allie drew her arms around herself. “Don't know. Never tried.”

She'd never been beyond the Wall. Of course she hadn't tried. I looked back the way we'd come. In the near distance, a small patch of road faded into shadow, sun no longer reflecting off its surface.

The sky was clear, no clouds blocking the sun. There shouldn't have been any shadows. Goose bumps prickled between my shoulders. As I watched the shadow crept forward, then drew back, as if uncertain.

It had followed me after all. If Allie hadn't been with me, I might have been glad I'd drawn it away from Washville. Instead I knew only that I had to get Allie across the river, where running water might protect her. “I'll go first,” I said. “To test the ropes. But you have to follow as soon as I reach the other side, okay?”

Allie's braid had fallen over her shoulder. She shoved it into her mouth and nodded again. I didn't waste any more time. I made sure Tallow was secure on my shoulders and my pack secure on my back, then grabbed hold of the upper rope and stepped onto the lower one.

The lower rope swayed a bit under my weight. I quickly shifted my balance and inched sideways across the river, moving first my right arm and leg, then my left. The upper rope dug into my palms, the lower into the soles of my boots, but the ropes were strong, sagging only a little beneath me. Halfway across water flowed over my boots, just for a few steps. Sooner than I had expected, I was on the other side. A wet wolf nose nudged my hands as I stepped onto land once more. Tallow hissed, leaped from my shoulders, and fled to the shelter of a dead log. I took off my pack, tugged my waterlogged boots from my feet, and turned back to Allie.

“Ready?” I called.

Allie didn't move. Her feet seemed firmly planted on the ground.

“It's all right,” I said. “The ropes are fine.”

Allie tugged at the straps of her pack and chewed on the end of her braid. She stepped toward the ropes, then stopped, shaking her head. A cold wind picked up, blowing over the water. Instinctively I looked back to the road. Allie looked, too, and we both saw the shadow, only a stone's throw away from her now, flowing like a small dark puddle toward the river.

Matthew threw back his head and howled. The shadow halted, cowering like a frightened pup.

Allie scrambled onto the ropes. Her legs shook, making the lower rope sway. She had to stretch to reach the upper rope, which she clutched so hard her fingers turned white. She stood there, trembling, staring at me. Behind her the shadow moved forward again, but she didn't see.

I bit back the urge to yell, to scream, to tell her that we didn't have time. Instead I thought of Father, teaching me how to shoot an arrow. “Steady,” I told Allie. “Steady and slow.” I forced the doubts from my voice. “You can do this.”

Allie inched out over the water, one slow, sliding step at a time. “Good,” I told her. The wind picked up, making both ropes sway. “You're doing well.”

The ropes sagged as she reached the middle. Her boots touched the water. She bit her lip and kept moving. I smiled, but she didn't smile back.

“That's it. Keep going. Just keep—”

Something green and slimy snaked out of the water, grabbing her ankle. Allie's hands lost their grip. She screamed and tumbled into the river, her pack falling from her back as she did.

I leaped in as Allie grabbed for the ropes and missed them. Her hair trailed in the water as she disappeared beneath the surface. Running water was supposed to stop magic, I thought wildly, plants and magic both. It was a rule, not one of Father's, but still a rule. Yet I knew better. Water hadn't stopped my visions, after all. Rules weren't promises, whatever we wanted to think.

I swam harder, fighting the current and diving beneath the water where Allie had fallen. I slashed at the green thing with my knife, slicing it in two. The upper half released its grip on Allie, but the lower half snaked out and wrapped itself around my wrist. My wrist went numb. I struggled to hang on to the knife.

I came up above the surface, sputtering for air. Treading water, I tore the thing free with my other hand. It came away with a soft squishing sound. It looked a little like a vine and a little like a wriggling green snake. I flung it from me and sheathed my knife as Allie floated to the surface a few feet away.

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.