Bones of Faerie

Chapter 15

The visions didn't come.

Hesitantly I stepped into the water, my eyes on the flames beneath its surface. The water didn't burn. It flowed over my boots, warm but not hot. Light reflected from the sun above the water and the flames below. I took another step, and in the lake's light I saw—but then flames erupted near my elbow, and the vision vanished. I jerked my arm back, ignoring the stench of charred wool. Rebecca cried softly. Mom stumbled, trying to pull free of my grasp. I tightened my grip and looked into the lake once more. Somehow I knew that this water—that any water—was different from metal or glass, harder to see in and harder to control. I looked into the lake and pictured Kate's mirror: its gold frame, its silvered glass. I pictured my own perfect reflection staring back at me. The water grew brighter. I stared into the brightness and saw—

Mom—the young woman who became Mom— kneeling in a green forest beside a blue lake, playing a flute. Caleb walked up behind her, and Karin as well, and they added their voices to the music—

Mom's hand tightened in mine, and I knew that we saw together once more.

Saw Mom running amid a ragged stream of refugees, fleeing a city that burned and crumbled behind her—

Mom at the edge of our town, her eyes cast downward as Father and Jayce tried to turn her away. But Kate stood there, too, saying, “She's little more than a child. For pity's sake, let her stay—”

Father, holding Mom close, whispering, “I will keep you safe.” They were both older, but not a lot older—

Water rose past my waist. I clung to Mom's hand. Kate's mirror, I thought. I held my gaze steady, and I saw—

Mom and Kate staring at the ruins of a burned house while Kate whispered, “Cam's not the only one, Tara. I need your help—”

Mom and Kate watching as Matthew growled and shifted in his sleep, as Stefan and Emma's son called corn husks through the air to his outstretched hand, as Jayce's granddaughter set dry wood aflame at a glance. “Stay hidden,” Mom warned each of them in turn. “Stay safe—”

Mom frowning as Father led me out to hunt with bow and arrow, but turning away when Kyle, Brianna's youngest, tugged on her sleeve. “I can talk to ants,” the boy said. “Want to see?”

Mom's frown deepened. She put a finger to her lips. “Don't tell,” she said.

“Course not,” Kyle answered. “We don't tell anyone but you and Kate. Every kid knows that—”

Every kid but me. While Father had taught me to hunt, Mom had taught the other children how to hide their magic. And when she left, she'd spoken to Kate— but not me. Never me.

Mom's hand slipped from my grasp. I grabbed it again. “Not this time,” I said. “You're not leaving me this time.” I held on as water soaked through my sweater. The vision nearly slid away, but somehow I caught it once more and saw—

Kate standing at the foot of Mom's bed, her expression fierce. “Let it go,” Kate said. “Even if you could find your way back to Faerie, even if anyone survived there— and you know how unlikely that is, given the weapons we used—they wouldn't welcome you.”

Mom sat up in bed. Her face was drawn and pale, her hair unbrushed. “They won't turn the children away, not once they know about their magic. Don't you see, Kate? Rebecca won't be the last, any more than Cam was. The children aren't safe here anymore. We have to find someplace else for them.”

“What about your other daughter?” Kate demanded. “Will you leave her here to wonder where you've gone?”

Mom shut her eyes. “You know I can't tell Liza. If she let anything slip to Ian—no. He'd kill them all. I just give thanks she doesn't have any magic of her own. We could never keep that from Ian. I'm protecting her, too.”

Kate's mouth twisted into an angry frown. “If you want to protect her, take her with you. Take her away from him.”

Mom shook her head and turned away. Instead I saw—

Father walking down the stairs, a bundle in his arms. I watched from my room, silent as a shadow, knowing there was nothing I could do—

Water rose around me. The weight of the sling dug into my neck. An icy hand touched my cheek. I had to do something—

I ran after Father, into the hall, down the stairs. But even as I ran I knew I was too late—

“You're late, Liza.” Father turned to me, belt in hand. I wanted to make him go away, like I'd made the trees go away, but words stuck in my throat. I was weak, just like he said. Too weak to fight him, too weak to run. The belt came down on my back. I fell to my knees, fighting not to cry out. If I cried out I would drown, and if I drowned I would never find—

Find what? Father's belt broke skin as I struggled to think. The sling grew heavier, filling with water. They were all depending on me, trusting me—

I stood, forcing my head above water.

Father froze with his belt in midair. I walked past him, away from him: across the room and out the door. My back ached, but I wasn't so weak that I couldn't do what needed to be done. I walked through the town, slow as if moving through water, but I walked. I opened Kate's door, crossed her living room, and drew her wall hangings aside. The mirror stood there. I kept walking, toward the silvered glass—

Dizziness overtook me. There was a sound like water crashing to shore, and a moment's darkness—

And then I stepped out of Kate's mirror, coughing up water, my hair and clothes dripping, Rebecca wailing in her sling. Kate looked up from her loom, her eyes wide with astonishment. My hand, still half in the mirror, clutched Mom's. I tried to pull her after me, but Mom pulled back, away. For an instant I saw dark waters, and I knew Mom sought their depths. “Not this time,” I said again. Then, louder, “Mom. Tara. Come here.” Mom stumbled through the glass, shivering violently. Matthew stepped after her, then Allie and Tallow.

Mom's smile was bitter. “You're not going to let me go, are you?”

“No.”

She sighed and crumpled to the floor, even as Kate rushed to her side. Rebecca's cries slowed to gulping sobs.

“Tara,” Kate said.

Mom looked up. “You told me I was a fool,” she whispered to Kate, and shut her eyes.

Kate knelt by Mom's side. If she felt any pain in her knees, she ignored it. She checked Mom's pulse and breathing, examined the burn marks, and laid a hand on her forehead. “Matthew,” she said, her face tight, “a bucket of cold water and some towels.”

Matthew dropped the pack and ran from the room. I clutched Mom's hand. Her skin was so hot.

“I'm a healer,” Allie said. “I can help.”

Kate nodded. “Tell me all her symptoms. Except for the fever. I've figured that out.”

Allie told Kate everything. Kate blinked once when Allie described her magical probing, but she kept listening. The way she looked at Mom made my stomach twist.

Matthew returned with the water. Kate dipped a towel into the bucket and pressed it against Mom's forehead. “This is important,” she said. “I need to know exactly where you've been.”

Allie looked up. “It was the air, wasn't it? I knew there was something in the air. I could feel it.”

“Where?” Kate asked, tension clear in her voice.

“Faerie,” I said.

“How long?”

“We don't know how long for Mom.”

“And for the rest of you?”

“An hour,” I said. “Maybe two.”

Kate nodded. The tension eased a little, but then she lifted her hands from the towel and buried her face in them. “I don't suppose you're familiar with the term ‘radiation poisoning’? No, of course not.” She stood, leaving the towel on Mom's forehead. “I want all of you out of those clothes and scrubbed down, every square inch of skin, every last bit of ash. Especially the baby.” The sling covered Rebecca's face. As Kate spoke she reached out and drew it back. She froze. “Rebecca?” she whispered.

“I was too late.” My voice was flat.

Kate pressed her lips together. “We were all too late, one way or another.” She pulled me into a swift hug, held Matthew a moment as well. “Seeing both of you back safely is already more than I'd hoped for. Now out of those clothes. The effects of radiation have a lot to do with the length of exposure, and your clothes can hold particles you can't see.”

“I'm always too late.” I didn't release Mom's hand.

“Liza.” The anger in Kate's voice startled me. “Don't you dare go blaming yourself for this.” She drew me roughly to my feet and turned me to face her. “This began before you were born. You did all anyone could expect and more. Now get out of those things. You can wash in the kitchen. I'll stay with your mother, and when you're through we'll wash her, too.”

I sighed, brushing a stray hair from Mom's face, even as Kate hugged Matthew again, then Allie. “I'm sorry,” I told Mom, then stood and followed Matthew and Allie from the room.

The well was working again. Allie and I filled buckets and carried them in. Outside the sun was low, and the chill air raised goose bumps beneath my wet sweater and jacket. Soon oaks and maples and sycamores would shiver with cold, shaking winter snows from their green leaves.

Matthew met us in the kitchen with soap and towels and changes of clothes from upstairs. I bent to pull off my boots, then hesitated. I glanced uncomfortably at Matthew. He glanced uncomfortably back, and his neck flushed red.

“Come on,” Allie said. She already had her jacket and boots off and was tugging on her socks.

“Um,” I said, even as I thought how I'd seen Matthew without clothes before, how it shouldn't matter.

“I'll go see if Gram needs any help,” Matthew said quickly. “I'll come back when you're through.”

Allie rolled her eyes as he left. “Boys are silly, you know that?”

I didn't answer.

We scrubbed down hard with the cold water, shivering all the while. It took both of us to wash Tallow. When we finished, the old cat shook herself and stalked indignantly away. We put our ash-coated clothes into a plastic bin and changed into clean ones. Matthew had also brought a blanket for a new sling. When I wrapped Rebecca in it she looked up at me and smiled, a quiet baby smile that was free of tears. My heart tightened in my chest. She would never be more than shadow.

Allie rolled her pants and sleeves up. Our feet were bare. We'd have to find or make new boots later. I hesitated, then hung Caleb's disk around my neck once more. Allie tried to braid her tangled hair, but quickly gave up and let it fall loose like mine.

“Maybe things will be all right after all,” she said hopefully, and followed me toward the kitchen doorway.

From the living room I heard Kate's voice.

“I've never wished so hard for a perfectly ordinary emergency room, or a phone that could dial nine-one-one. But I doubt even that would help her.” Kate sounded tired and old. “Truth is, Matthew, there's not much any of us can do. Keep her comfortable. Give her what we can for the pain.”

“Liza,” Allie breathed. She grabbed my hand so tightly my fingers hurt.

“Before it would have been different,” Kate said. “There was always something more we could try Before.”

My stomach knotted. I crept forward and peered through the doorway. Kate had propped Mom up on some pillows. The ash had been scrubbed from her skin, and beneath the blankets she wore only a loose nightshirt. Matthew slowly poured water from a cup down her throat. Mom didn't move, not even to take the cup from his hands.

“I can call her back.” My words were high and strange. “As often as I have to.”

“That won't make her well,” Allie said. She kept holding my hand.

I looked down at Rebecca. The baby breathed softly in her new sling, as if asleep. “I don't care. I'll do it anyway.”

Matthew looked up and saw us. He handed the cup to Kate and headed toward the kitchen, his shoulders hunched. He didn't speak as he walked past us toward the buckets and soap.

“I hate this,” Allie said. “Hate it, hate it, hate it!” And then, “I wish Caleb were here. He'd know what to do. He'd know how to heal this, or whether it really was too late. He'd know.”

I bit back a sharp retort. I wished Caleb were here, too.

“How far apart do you think our towns are, Liza? Maybe we can get him. Maybe if we leave right away—”

“A day apart,” I said, remembering the map and thinking how we'd have to get there and back both.

“Oh,” Allie said in a small voice, and I knew that was too far. “It's not fair!” she shouted. Kate looked toward us. “I wish Caleb wasn't so far away. I wish you could just call and make him come!”

“Allie!” My heart started pounding. “Maybe I can.”

I bolted across the living room, knowing better than to hope, hoping anyway.

“What is it, child?” Kate asked, but I ran past her, to the mirror.

Swiftly I untied the sling and set it down beside me. In the glass my hair was streaked pale, but I didn't care. I grabbed Caleb's quarter in both hands as I looked into the mirror. “Caleb!” He was too far away to call by voice alone, but maybe in visions I could find him. Mom had seen me, after all, through glass and through water.

Maybe Caleb would see me, too. Maybe the time we saved, if he answered my call, would be enough.

The mirror turned to silver, my reflection fading into the brightness. I kept staring, kept calling until I saw—

Caleb and Karin walking through our ruined city, the Arch growing small behind them, grief clear enough on both their faces. Karin leaned on Caleb as if she'd been hurt, though there was no wound that I could see—

Caleb guiding Allie's hands over a goat's wounded leg. Allie laughing as the leg mended. Caleb smiling, a different smile than Before, older and sadder, for all that his face remained young—

I pushed through the visions. They were in the past, and I needed the present. “Caleb!”

Samuel and Caleb hunched over a late-afternoon fire. A small pot sat on the coals. Samuel stared silently into the distance, while Caleb's face was grim and hard as stone.

They weren't in Washville. Of course they weren't. They'd gone out looking for Allie.

“Caleb!” I called, even as I wondered—why hadn't Father gone looking for me?

Caleb reached out to pour something into the pot.

His glance caught on its metal surface, and his hand froze in midair. He looked right at me and opened his mouth as if to speak—

I heard footsteps behind me. Caleb faded away, and in the bright mirror I saw—

Father approaching one slow step at a time. With a sick lurch I knew this was no vision. I watched him, knowing better, always knowing better than to run.

Father's hand came down on my shoulder. He turned me firmly about.

“Liza,” he said, and his voice was hard as metal that refused to give way, “where have you been?”