Bones of Faerie

  I'd seen as much of the War as he had, now. And I did understand, maybe for the first time. “Magic is a tool, like a knife or a bow. We can learn how to wield it.” I thought of Cam, and I knew no tool is ever fully safe, but we could learn to use this one. We had to learn, if we were going to survive.

  Father spat, and I knew doing even that much while I held him took great effort. His knife felt heavy in my hand. “That's your mother talking, Liza, not you. I should have known your mother was magic-cursed the moment she came to this town, knowing no one, playing at innocence. But she had me fooled well enough, right until she bore that monster. Then I knew. She knew, too, or else why would she have gone? She should have done us a favor and gone sooner.”

  I listened, frozen by the quiet hate in his words, wondering who held whom.

  “But you, Liza. You're not like her. You know what needs doing, and you're not afraid to do it.” He still couldn't move, but his gaze flicked to the blade. His voice took on a strange, hard pity. “Give me the knife, Liza. I swear to you there won't be any pain.”

  That pity told me, more than any anger, that he'd never understand. Still I tried one more time. “Magic can heal. I've seen it.”

  “Magic kills,” Father said.

  “No,” Allie squeaked from behind him. “Liza's right. Look….” She dropped the branch and reached for his injured arm. I saw silver light and knew bones were knitting back together.

  Father jerked away as if burned, my hold on him lost. He whirled and grabbed Allie by her shirt. I flung myself between them, even as Tallow yowled and leaped at Father's face. The cat's claws dug into his skin. Father cursed as he fought to pull Tallow away one-handed. He grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and hurled her across the room. She gave a single startled mew, then hit the wall with a thud and fell motionless to the ground. In her sling on the floor, Rebecca began to cry.

  Father froze at the sound. We all did. For an endless moment Father stared at the sling, Rebecca's shadow face just visible within its folds. Then, rage in every step, he stalked to where she lay.

  Something crossed his face—regret, sorrow, maybe love. It quickly faded, replaced by something fiercer. He looked toward where Mom lay, her eyes closed, her skin flushed with fever.

  “You couldn't let her go, could you, Tara?”

  Mom shuddered at his words but didn't open her eyes.

  “We'll put an end to this right now.” Father reached for Rebecca's sling. She screamed, an animal sound I'd never heard from any human child. I dropped Father's knife and threw myself over my sister, not caring that she was only shadow, knowing only that I wouldn't let him touch her ever again.

  “Liza,” he said, “this needs to be done.”

  I looked up at him, clutching Rebecca in my arms. So cold—but I could handle the cold. I could handle lots of things.

  “This is some witchery of your mother's, nothing more. Let her go.”

  I shook my head. “Mom didn't call Rebecca back. I did.” I stood, still holding Rebecca, and faced him. He was taller than me, but not as tall as I'd remembered. “This is my magic,” I told him. “Only mine.”

  Father's face twisted for a moment into something like grief. Then it was gone, and he lunged for the knife I'd left on the floor. I kicked it out of his reach. Allie grabbed the knife, even as Rebecca's screams quieted to gulping sobs.

  “Father,” I said.

  His face held no grief now, only rage. He stood, glaring all the while. My anger rose to meet his. So many years I'd tried to be good enough, to be strong enough. They meant nothing to him, nothing at all. Ashes and dust. That was all the War had left any of us.

  “Go,” I told him, feeling power and command grow within me. If I could call things to me, I could also send them away. I could send Father away, as far away as I wanted. He stumbled back, his injured arm held to one side, his face growing pale.

  “Go.” As far as the place I'd called Allie back from, that was how far I could send him. For the first time I saw fear cross Father's face. It felt good, having him be the one who was afraid. A few more words, a bit more magic, and he would never trouble me again. “Go.” Father's hand moved to his chest, as at some pain.

  “Liza,” Matthew whispered. He still lay on the floor, wincing at pain of his own. He didn't try to stop me, but he looked afraid as well. Afraid of me.

  You're not like him, Matthew had said, but what if I was? What if we all were? I thought of trees grinding flesh into dust. I thought of fire falling from a hot blue sky. People—faerie or human—had commanded the trees, and the fire as well.

  I thought of Father's blade at Matthew's throat. I thought of bones on a hillside. If I killed him, he wouldn't be able to harm anyone ever again. Killing him only made sense.

  The War had likely made sense, too, once, if it came down to that.

  Rebecca felt so cold in my arms. I fought not to shiver. Father was a sensible man. If he had been in my place, I'd have already been dead.

  “Go.” My voice shook, but there was power behind my words. “Walk away from this town. Go as far and as fast as you can, and never trouble those who live here again.”

  The fear in Father's eyes gave way to anger once more. His whole body trembled as he struggled against my command. “I saved this town. Every person in it would have died if not for me.”

  “You saved us,” I agreed. “But that was before. The War is over. Go. ”

  Father met my steady gaze with his own. “This town will die without me. Wait and see.”

  He stalked away without another word, across the room and out the door. I followed to the doorway. Townsfolk coming in from the fields stopped by their houses and watched him leave. Not one of them tried to stop him.

  But they hadn't tried to stop any of the things he'd done, either.

  I kept staring until Father disappeared from view, beyond the town and into the forest. “Go away,” I whispered, feeling very young. “Go away, go away, go away.”

  The shadow in my arms sobbed on. I turned back to see Allie carefully setting Father's knife down by the woodpile. She looked around her, from Kate to Matthew to Tallow, as if not sure what to do next. She started toward Matthew, but he shook his head. “Gram first. Ribs heal, even without magic.” Allie nodded and moved to Kate's side.

  “Rebecca.” Mom sat up slowly, painfully. She looked at me, her eyes suddenly clear. Rebecca fell silent. Mom held out her arms like a child waiting for a gift.

  I brushed a finger along Rebecca's cold cheek. What magic would she have had, had she grown? I'd never know. I unwrapped the sling and held my sister close, not caring how deep the cold burned. “I'm sorry,” I told her. “I'd bring you back if I could.” But some things really were beyond magic's power to heal. I knelt by Mom's side and placed the shadow into her arms.

  Rebecca gurgled, all sign of tears gone. A sad smile crossed Mom's face. “Rebecca,” she whispered. She stroked the baby's shadow hair and sang,

  “I my loving vigil keeping

  All through the night.”

  The shadow sank deep into Mom's arms, past skin and bone. I heard a sound like a baby's laughter, and then Rebecca was gone, leaving only Mom's singing as she drew her arms around herself. After a time the singing stopped, too, and Mom sank back to the pillows. When I felt her forehead, it was cool.

  She reached out and gripped my hands in her own. “All may yet be well,” she whispered, and then she shut her eyes once more.

  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.