Bones of Faerie

Chapter 17

My arms felt empty without Rebecca to hold. I longed to call her back, but I forced the longing down and away. The time for that was gone.

Ashes. Dust. Bones cracked in the moonlight.

For a time I remained by Mom's side, holding her cool hand, watching her chest rise and fall. Allie mended the broken bones in Kate's hip and leg, then examined Matthew. I scanned the room and found Tallow lying against the wall where Father had thrown her. The cat was still, eyes open and staring, fur yet damp from her bath.

“Tallow,” I whispered. She didn't move. I remembered how I'd called her in the night once before. I'd been surprised when the old cat came to me then. Only now did I realize I must have called her with my magic, just like I'd called Allie. “Tallow,” I called again, louder, but the cat didn't stir. Maybe she didn't want to come back this time. Maybe if I kept calling she'd come whether she wanted to or not.

The healer can't decide alone. I took Tallow in my arms, scratched her behind the ears, and said nothing at all.

Matthew shifted to wolf as Allie healed him, then shifted back when she was through. He went to the kitchen to dress, and Allie stumbled over to me. Her eyes were shadowed with lack of sleep and something more. Her gaze flicked to Tallow, but she didn't cry. She simply found a piece of old cloth by Kate's loom and silently handed it to me.

I wrapped Tallow up and set her down in Kate's battered old armchair. “It's not a feather bed,” I whispered, my own eyes stinging, “but it'll have to do.” Later I would bury her.

In a thin voice Allie said, “I think I'd better rest. I think I pushed too hard.”

Kate tried to lead Allie to the stairs, but the girl shook her head. “Too far.” She curled up on the couch instead, looking over at me wearily. “Liza, was that …” She yawned, tried again. “Was that your father?”

I nodded. Allie scrunched up her face. “I don't understand,” she said. “So many things I don't…” But then she yawned again, and shut her eyes, and fell asleep. She seemed suddenly young, curled up there.

Kate brushed a lock of tangled red hair from her face. “That girl's a wonder,” she said.

Allie drew her arms around herself, called for Tallow, and began sobbing in her sleep. I swallowed hard, returned to Kate's mirror, and tried to call Caleb again.

The mirror filled with visions: of Caleb, of Mom, of myself on the road with Matthew and Allie. But those were all in the past. I couldn't find the present. Maybe Caleb also needed to be near glass or metal or water. Or maybe the failure was entirely my own. There was no way to know. In the end I returned to Mom's side and took her hand once more. I could see that her breathing had slowed, and I knew that cooling her fever hadn't been enough.

Kate, Matthew, and I stayed with Mom through the night, barely speaking. After a time, Matthew put his hand in mine. I held on as tightly as when he'd pulled me from the river, the night I'd left Franklin Falls. The townspeople came to visit us, alone and in pairs. At first they came to ask about Father's leaving, but once they knew Mom was there, they came to visit her as well. The adults murmured quiet, awkward words. The children were mostly silent, keeping their magic hidden still, just as Mom had taught them.

Jayce the blacksmith surprised me by laying a hand on my shoulder and saying in his husky voice, “We should have sent Ian packing years ago. Thank you, Liza, for finding the courage we lacked.”

No one seemed to regret Father's going. I tried, but I didn't regret it, either. Yet still I felt strange and empty inside. Like Father had left some cold, numb space behind, and I wasn't sure what to fill it with, or whether it could be filled.

When Allie woke the next morning she scrounged dried meat from Kate's kitchen and insisted we eat. I tried, but my stomach clenched after only a few bites, and I set the food aside.

Allie reached for Mom. I grabbed her hands in my own, stopping her, not wanting to stop her. Allie swallowed, nodded, and let her hands fall to her lap. Mom's chest continued to rise and fall. Nothing mattered but the next breath, and the next. “You shouldn't have gone,” I whispered, knowing Mom couldn't hear.

Kate said, “Grief is a complicated thing. She did what she thought needed to be done.”

“Alone,” I said. “Because she didn't trust me.” Even now, the words stung.

Kate stroked my hair. “She was scared, Liza. She wanted nothing more to do with magic, only I asked for her help. At first I only guessed she'd been to Faerie—a desperate guess, because I so badly needed someone who understood magic. Tara insisted she didn't really understand, but she knew more than she thought. She taught us about control and having watchers. She made sure the children never forgot they were human. But she was always terrified your father would find out. She thought she was protecting you by making sure you didn't know.”

I drew my arms around myself. In the end, she hadn't protected me from anything.

The door creaked open behind us. Kate stood and I waited, expecting more townsfolk.

“Daddy,” Allie squeaked. I turned then. Allie threw herself across the room so hard and fast she nearly knocked Samuel over. He held her as she burst into gulping sobs. There were circles under his eyes, and his hair stood on end, and he looked at Allie as if he didn't believe he really held her, as if he feared she'd disappear if he dared look away. I knew by that look that nothing mattered to him as much as the girl in his arms.

Had my father ever held me like that? I couldn't remember.

Beside him Caleb said slowly, “We thought you were dead. When we saw the rockslide and the light and the scraps that were all we could find of your backpacks.” Unlike Samuel, Caleb's face and voice held no expression. “We thought you were dead, and we thought your town should know.”

I stood and met his gaze, not caring what he saw. “My mother is dying.” My throat tightened around the words. “Can you save her?”

Caleb looked past me, and his face grew more impassive yet, like stone. He strode across the room to where Mom lay. I knelt by his side.

He ran his hands along her body, a series of short feather touches, none lingering too long.

“I couldn't heal her,” Allie said in a small voice. Samuel still held her. “I tried, but I couldn't—I mean not without…” Caleb turned to her. “You did well,” he said, and for an instant his expression softened. “I am glad you did not attempt more.”

“But you can heal her, can't you?” Allie asked. I didn't dare speak, for fear of his answer.

“By the powers that be I'm going to try.”

“Right, then.” Allie squared her shoulders, pulled away from her father, and moved to Caleb's side.

Caleb shook his head. “Not this time, Allison. This I have to do alone.”

“You'll go too far if I'm not here. You know you will.”

Caleb set his hands gently on Allie's shoulders. “You are as gifted a healer as any faerie-born I had the honor to teach Before,” he said. “But as your teacher I tell you that you are not ready for this.”

“At least let me be your watcher.”

Caleb cast an unreadable look my way. “Liza will watch.”

“But why—”

“Trust me, Allison.”

Allie drew a breath. “You'll make him be careful, won't you, Liza? You'll make sure he doesn't go too far?”

“I promise,” I said, but my thoughts were with Mom, hoping, not daring to hope, there was something Caleb could do.

“I'll stay, too,” Matthew said.

Caleb shook his head. “Only Liza.” There was something in his voice—I still didn't trust him, not completely. But whatever the risk, I would take it.

Matthew reached for my hand again. His grip felt cool in mine. “Call if you need me. I'll be right outside.” He squeezed my hand, then left. Kate and Samuel and Allie followed him, leaving me alone with Caleb and Mom.

Caleb brushed the hair back from Mom's forehead and gently traced the plated quia leaf she wore. Some thing slipped in his face, letting grief through. “You were right, Tara. I never should have forced you to leave. The mistake was mine. I know that now.”

Caleb turned to me, and his face hardened again, reminding me of the man who'd held me to a mirror. I didn't look away from him, though.

“Two things,” he said, his voice hard as his gaze. “First: an apology. I had no right to force visions on you, or to enter your thoughts to see where the visions led. There were other ways, and I should have remembered them. I ask that you forgive me.” I said nothing. What was done was done. Like the War—it remained there behind us, whatever words we spoke or didn't speak. After a long moment, Caleb went on. “Second: once I start this healing, you are not to stop me. No matter what happens. Do you understand?”

I understood far too well. I thought how I'd promised Allie, and shame burned my cheeks, but I remained silent.

Caleb nodded, taking my silence for the answer it was. “At least the fever's gone. That's a help.” He placed his hands on Mom's chest. For a moment, two moments, his expression remained calm. Then his face tightened as if in pain. Mom bolted upright, screaming.

My heart pounded so hard I thought it'd burst from my chest. Caleb forced Mom back to the pillows, light flowing like water from his hands. Light flowed over Mom's chest and abdomen, her arms and legs. Her screams gave way to whimpers as she fought Caleb. Her eyes opened wide, but whatever she saw, it wasn't us. She struggled on. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't look away. Caleb's fingers dug into Mom's shoulders. She lurched up again and heaved violently, spewing blood and vomit on her clothes and his. When she fell back to the pillows, I rolled her to her side, even as Caleb fell beside her. He pulled himself up with visible effort and put his hands to either side of her face. “Tara,” he whispered, and I couldn't tell whether the name was a call or a prayer.

Mom opened her eyes, and tears spilled down her cheeks. Caleb traced a track through them with one finger, then sighed and sank to the floor, his lips twisting into a smile.

Mom sat up and looked at me, her eyes clear and focused, seeing me at last. “Liza,” she whispered, as if in pain still. “Lizzy, my baby, my girl.” She pulled me into a fierce hug.

I thought of all she'd hidden, of all she hadn't trusted me to know. I thought of how I'd found her and how she hadn't wanted to be found. But I hugged her back, drawing shuddering breaths, clinging like a child.

It took me several heartbeats to realize how silent Caleb was, several more to draw away from Mom. I put a hand to his neck. The skin was warm but I felt no pulse.

“Caleb,” I called. No answer. I turned the word to a command. “Caleb. Kaylen.” Still nothing.

My throat went dry. I promised Allie, I thought again.

Mom reached out as if to shake him, then drew away, pain settling more deeply over her features. I'd been willing to accept what Caleb asked, but what about Mom? What about Allie?

Caleb's silver eyes were still open. I looked into them, seeing again how like mirrors they really were.

How far was too far? How long until you had no choice but to let someone go?

Caleb's eyes grew brighter, bright as metal, bright as moonlight. I didn't look away. I stared into those eyes, and as I stared I saw—

Caleb kneeling beneath a gray sky, sifting dark soil through his hands. Around him blackened trees rose like bones from the dead land.

I stood in that same land, saw those same trees. “Caleb,” I called. He didn't hear. I walked toward him, and my legs were lead, almost too heavy to lift. Cinders crunched beneath my feet. Above a pale sun shone, giving no heat.

My skin was pale, too. My clothes were washed of all color. I knew I was here in mind only, that back in Kate's house my body slumped motionless as Caleb's. I called his name again. I tried to walk faster but I couldn't. I could only take one step, and the next, and the next. I reached out to touch Caleb's shoulder. He looked up, and there was no surprise, no grief, no curiosity in his gaze.

“It is finished,” he said.

“Not yet.” I reached for his hand and pulled him to his feet. He neither helped nor hindered me. His weight was like a sack of grain. But when I turned and started walking again, he didn't ask me to let him go. He walked with me.

Our steps were slow, though, too slow. I felt the land dragging at my feet. I wanted to stop, to gather my strength, just for a moment or two. Dust blew through the air, blurring my sight. My legs were lead, heavier than lead. Without realizing it I fell to my knees. Caleb's hand slipped from my own. I stared down at the blackened earth, knowing I needed to stand but not remembering how. Amid the cinders I saw dark maple seeds, gray mulberries, black acorns. I clutched a small dark nut in one hand—perfectly round, it belonged to no species I knew. Dead, I thought. Dead and gone. I was the one who had gone too far, beyond any place where things grew.

Yet the seed was cool in my hand. I felt the green deep within the nut calling me, begging to be called. Seeds weren't like people. Even when they seemed to sleep for years and years, something living remained in them, awaiting the call of sun and rain. Father had warned me often enough of the dangers seeds held.

But Father was gone. And the green in the nut kept calling me, begging to be called.

I remembered the green vines that had twined around Karin's hands. I remembered the weeds around our house and how they fought me year after year. I remembered how corn and squash fought me, fought my town and all its harvesting.

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.