Winter Queen

  The fairy was dead. How was that possible? She’d claimed immortality. And now Nelay had killed her only chance at saving her father. She dropped to her knees and cradled her head in her hands.

  A sudden slither and rush of movement brought Nelay’s head up and her spear around, but too slowly to stop the cobra from clamping onto her hand with the force of a hammer.

  She screamed and brought her spear around to swing at the snake, but as quickly as it had struck, the cobra shot away. Nelay dropped her spear and cradled her throbbing hand to her chest, staring at the twin puncture wounds.

  She collapsed, defeat and fear and hopelessness washing over her. She looked up to see the snake watching her from just out of reach, its tongue flicking in and out. Nelay picked up her spear with her left hand and growled, “You sack of stringy meat, come get me.”

  The snake rose up, its hood flaring and growing wider and wider before Nelay’s eyes. Gasping, she stumbled back. The hood split in two, spreading to the side of its head before fanning into wings. The body shortened, while the tail split into legs. The snake’s pointed head flattened and lightened, hair sprouting in thick coils. Cloth fluttered from a dress made of scales. Within seconds, the snake had transformed into Siseth.

  Nelay stared at the fairy’s broken body—there were two of them now. One dead, one alive. A hysterical giggle bubbled up in her throat. She swallowed it down. “How . . .”

  “I said I was immortal, not that I couldn’t be killed,” Siseth replied, the haughtiness gone from her tone. She flew closer, but more slowly this time.

  With a deep throb, Nelay remembered the burning pain in her hand. The snake bite was just to the side of the valley between her thumb and finger. Her eyes grew heavy and her lungs felt tight—she couldn’t seem to draw a breath. “Am I going to die?”

  The fairy was even closer now, staring at Nelay’s wound in apparent fascination. “It would take much more than one bite to kill you.”

  Nelay hefted her spear. “Are you trying to scare me?”

  The fairy darted. Nelay tried to swat at it again, but she was too slow. She only had time to see it crouching on her hand, the tiny, clawed fingers spearing her wound before pain blazed up her arm.

  Nelay screamed and everything went white.

  She came to on the ground, bits of gravel embedded into abrasions on her cheek. She must have scraped it when she collapsed.

  She glanced at her hand. Gasping, she saw the fairy crouched on her skin, slowly withdrawing her clawed fingers from Nelay’s flesh. There was blood everywhere. Crying out, Nelay jerked her hand back.

  The fairy toppled, rolling on the ground until she came to a jumbled stop and shook out her wings indignantly. Nelay snatched her spear and held it before her, but the fairy only cocked her head to the side.

  Suddenly Nelay realized she was gripping her spear with her bitten hand. Refusing to let go of her spear, she inspected the wound. The puncture marks were still there, but the swelling and pain were gone.

  She looked back at the blood on the ground. “I don’t understand.”

  Siseth stood and brushed the dust from her scale dress. “I removed the venom. You will be fine. I cannot say the same for your father.”

  Nelay had completely forgotten him. She started running. By the time she reached him, she was out of breath and the world spun around her. She collapsed beside the thorny bush he lay under. “Father?”

  There was no answer. His breathing had gone deep and heavy, the kind of heaviness that comes with death. “Father!” Nelay reached into the bush, ignoring the thorns hooking into her skin. She gripped him under the arms and pulled him free.

  Nelay’s hands fluttered over his body, but she didn’t know where to touch him—how to help him.

  “It is your father’s time to die,” Siseth said dispassionately, the beats of her wings smooth and even. “Even now, the shadows reach for him.”

  In the burning sun, Nelay felt cold. She thought of the baby her mother had perhaps given birth to by now. Her mother. Her brother. How would they survive the grief? “There must be something you can do.”

  “My price is steep.”

  Nelay thought she knew what the fairy was asking for—her mother had warned her that they were tricksy and cruel. But without Father to provide for them, they might all starve. “I’ll die in his place.”

  The fairy’s shivered. “Oh, that isn’t my price, girl child.”

  Nelay worked her jaw. “Then what do you want?”

  “I will come to you someday and ask for something. You will give it to me.”

  Nelay had heard stories of bargains made with fairies. “I won’t give you my children.”

  “Children!” The fairy’s wings trembled and Nelay realized she was laughing silently. “By the balance, what would I do with a human infant? No, I will ask some favor. And you will have no choice but to do it. Do you accept my bargain?”

  Nelay glanced at her father’s raw wound, his ashen face. Listened to the breathing of the dying. Grief scoured her from the inside out. Could even the fairy’s magic save one so far gone? “Only if he lives.”

  The fairy made a sound of displeasure. “Clever, to ask for that.” She fluttered over to the wounded leg, drew back her hand, and plunged in her claws. Nelay winced. As the fairy withdrew her claws, blood and viscous fluid oozed out, seeping into the starving ground.

  The fairy flared her wings. “I don’t have enough influence for the flower, but there are some favors I can call in. This will cost me, and therefore you.”

  Nelay didn’t understand what Siseth meant. Before she could ask, the fairy flew away. “Wait,” Nelay cried. “Where are you going? What flower?”

  But the snake fairy was gone. Nelay touched her father’s cold skin.

  She heard a soft rustling and turned to see a fairy with shifting, rippling wings like turquoise water. The fairy ignored Nelay as she flitted over the ground and landed in a depression in the shade. She rested both hands on the ground. Curious, Nelay leaned forward.

  The fairy collapsed suddenly, slumping over to the side. Nelay reached out to touch her—to help her, then hesitated. With her filmy dress and dewy skin, this fairy seemed so much more delicate than the snake fairy. Would the mere pressure of Nelay’s fingers hurt her?

  Thoughts of helping the fairy vanished as Nelay heard the gurgle of water. Her gaze locked on the depression the fairy had touched. Was it her imagination, or was the ground damp? Then Nelay saw the shine of water and lunged forward, prepared to dig it out before it could disappear. But there was already a puddle of water deep enough for her to sink her hands into. She lay flat on her stomach and sucked it up. The water was cold and clear and sweet. Her belly ached with the chill, and a dull nausea touched her.

  Then she remembered her father and felt shame at not thinking of him first. She hauled the water skins over her head and dunked both into the water, the cold delicious against her hot, dry skin. She drank more while they filled.

  When the last of the bubbles seeped from the water skins, she capped one and crawled to her father. She parted his cracked lips and poured a trickle of water into his mouth, but he didn’t swallow. She felt her panic rising, cresting and threatening to drown her from the inside out, but then his throat worked. She poured more water into his mouth. Over the next hour, he drank two water skins, coming around enough to drink the last one mostly by himself, though he never opened his eyes.

  Nelay went back to the pool. It was little more than damp earth now, and she had to dig to get more water, but she was used to that. She filled both water skins again and drank until she thought she would burst.

  Then she turned back to the water fairy. The tiny creature’s chest still rose and fell, but otherwise she hadn’t moved. The snake fairy had transformed from a snake, so perhaps this fairy needed water.

  As gently as she could, Nelay picked up the fairy. Her body filled most of Nelay’s hand, and her wings were larger than they had appeared, cascading ove
r Nelay’s fingers and covering most of her wrist. They rippled like water and felt wet.

  Nelay eased the fairy into the puddle. For a moment, nothing happened, and Nelay began to panic, but then the fairy shifted. After another moment, she moaned. Her eyes struggled open and she looked at Nelay and then at herself cupped in Nelay’s hand. She closed her eyes, then opened them again and murmured something.

  “What?” Nelay was mesmerized by the fairy’s wings and hair, which flowed like a fountain.

  “So that’s why she helped you. What did you promise her?” Her voice flowed softly, but Nelay sensed it could turn to a torrent in a second.

  “That I would give her a service.”

  The fairy’s gaze turned inward. “Well, perhaps it’s time things changed.”

  With a splash of water, she spread her wings and zipped away. Nelay watched her go, and when she turned back, it was as if she could still feel the weight of the fairy’s body in her hands. And though the wings had felt wet, the places where they’d touched Nelay’s wrists were dry.

  Half smiling in wonder, Nelay turned to check on her father. Another fairy hovered over him, dragging a leaf over his raw wound. Nelay crawled to his side. The fairy had dark green wings and a sharp scent, like something herbal. She motioned to Nelay’s pouch, the one she’d put the snake meat in earlier. “Open it.”

  Nelay held it open, and the fairy took hold of the flesh of her own arm and pulled. Her skin stretched away from her body in an oval shape about the size of a gourd seed. As Nelay gaped, the fairy dropped the seed into the pouch. The fairy pulled a seed from her other arm. Now the fairy seemed somehow smaller. After the fifth seed, Nelay was positive the fairy was shrinking. “How,” she squeaked and had to clear her throat and try again. “How . . .” She couldn’t manage to get more out.

  The fairy looked at her curiously and then huffed. “It will grow back. All I have to do is rest in the soil with good sunlight and water.”

  Nelay nodded as if that made perfect sense.

  The fairy flicked out her wings and took to the air. “Plant those in the shade where you live, and keep the soil moist. I’ll make sure they grow. Take the leaves, bake them in oil, strain it three times, and pour the oil over his wound every day.” She fluttered away without another word.

  Seconds later, Asat came lumbering into view, a fairy with enormous ears and large, blocky teeth perched on the donkey’s head. “She’ll do whatever you ask now,” said the fairy. “Get her something to drink. That water won’t last.” The fairy flew away.

  Nelay hurried to the water hole and dug even deeper, so deep that the donkey had to crouch down on his knees to drink. And Nelay knew that was the last of the water.

  She turned back to her father. He smelled of stringent herbs—like the shrinking fairy—but his color was better, his breathing lighter. Nelay wrapped his leg to keep the leaves on, knelt beside him, and shook his shoulder.

  He opened bleary eyes and squinted up at her. “Nelay?” He glanced around as if looking for someone. “Did you get Benvi?”

  It took her a moment to understand what he meant. He thought she’d already fetched their neighbor and come back for him. “No, Father. I found water and our donkey. I’m going to take you home.”

  He blinked at her in amazement. “I feel better—much better.” He patted himself as if to make sure his words were true.

  His words sang through her. Grinning, she braced herself behind him and pushed. “Come on, I need to get you back on Asat.”

  Her father sucked in a breath when he moved his leg. “Burns,” he muttered.

  With Nelay pushing, and him pulling, they finally managed to get him in onto the donkey’s back. He promptly sprawled out over Asat’s mane, but he seemed more aware this time.

  Her muscles groaning in protest, Nelay led Asat across the valley, skirting the last few table mountains between her and home. The heat and light leached from the sky, leaving her with shadows as cold as day old ashes.

  Shivering, she stumbled around rocks and bushes that reared in front of her in the dark. She stubbed her sandaled toe twice, but she was too tired to even curse under her breath. Four times, she had to backtrack to find another way through. Once, Asat ran into her back, sending her sprawling. For a moment, Nelay lay there, looking at the star-strewn sky and wanting nothing more than to close her eyes.

  “Nelay?” her father said.

  Tired to the bone, she pushed herself up, the grit on the ground scraping against her palms.

  Just as the sky started to lighten, she saw lights. She was delirious with exhaustion. She couldn’t get her tired mind to connect those lights with home, but she knew they meant help. She passed the scraggly wheat stalks that scratched at her robes. She wove through her family’s grove of barren fruit trees, the branches creaking in the breeze. Then she plowed through the brittle herb garden, the smell of crushed spices releasing with each step.

  Shivering with the cold, she stared at the wooden door that was bleached to a uniform gray with faded, cracked flowers carved into the surface. She wondered what to do. “Mother?” she finally called.

  The door opened, and she saw her mother’s shadowed face. “Nelay!” Her mother scooped Nelay’s frozen body against her warm one, her enormous belly pressing hard against her.

  “Father,” Nelay managed. “He’s on Asat.”

  Her mother put her down quickly and ran to the donkey’s side. “Denar!”

  “Mandana,” came his weak reply.

  Her mother cried out in relief as she half supported, half carried him into the house. She laid him down on their mud-brick platform covered with sheepskins. She unwrapped his foot as he groaned in pain, her face blanching at the sight of raw flesh. “Cursed snakes. Why hasn’t the drought chased them away like everything else?”

  Nelay was too exhausted to answer. She glanced around and realized someone was missing. “Panar?”

  “He went for Benvi,” her mother said as she went to the shelf on the wall.

  Nelay remembered the seeds in her pouch—seeds made of fairy flesh. Carrying the pitcher of water they always kept on the table, she stumbled into the side yard next to the garden.

  The seeds were small. Nelay knew to plant a seed twice as deep as it was long. She poured the water and pushed her finger into the mud, then dropped the seed inside the hole and pushed the sticky mud back over it. She put the pitcher down and sat back on her haunches, too tired to get back up and climb into the bed she shared with Panar.

  That’s when she saw Siseth watching her from the rocks around their well. When Nelay met her glinting gaze, the fairy smiled, showing her fangs and black mouth. Then she spread her wings and darted away.

  Nelay watched her go, knowing she would one day pay dearly for the fairy’s aid.

  Nelay woke to the door flying open. She sat up and saw Panar standing at the doorway, his black hair bathed in torchlight. “I brought Benvi!” he said.

  Mother struggled up from the chair, her enormous abdomen preceding the rest of her. She gestured to the bed, where Father struggled to sit up. “Nelay brought him home.”

  As if he didn’t believe her, Panar ran to the bed. “Father,” he whispered. Then his gaze shifted to her. His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed to slits. “But how? The donkey was gone.”

  Benvi stepped into the room, four of his sons behind him. “The child brought him home?”

  All eyes turned to Nelay.

  “I found water. Asat was there, drinking.”

  Benvi crossed the room in two of his giant strides. He stared at Father’s raw foot. “It’s not infected?” he said in disbelief.

  His face a mask of tight control, Father uttered, “Not yet.”

  The two men clasped forearms. “What kind of snake?” Benvi asked.

  “Black mamba,” Father replied.

  Benvi gasped. “But no one survives a bite from a mamba.”

  Father shook his head as if he didn’t believe it himself. “I know.” r />
  All the adults exchanged glances, but Mother’s gaze was fixed suspiciously on Nelay. Benvi ordered his sons to take the donkeys and go after the sheep—Panar was to show them where they were. No one had any illusions about the animals surviving, but their hides would probably be salvageable.

  Tears choking her, Nelay slipped out while they were still arranging everything. She stumbled to a halt when she noticed the seeds she’d planted last night were ready for harvesting. She dropped to her knees as if her legs had been cut out from under her. Hesitantly, she reached out to touch the puffy flowers, touching their feather-soft tips with her fingers.

  Her mother stood beside her, breathing hard. “I don’t remember these being here. Must be some sort of weed.”

  Nelay didn’t answer as she dug her nail into the base of the leaves and snapped them off. “If you bake them with oil, it helps keep the rot out of the wound.”

  Her mother fanned her red face with her headscarf. “How do you know that?”

  Nelay forced herself to meet her mother’s gaze. “Nanu told me.” Nanu was Benvi’s wife.

  “You didn’t learn it from them, did you?” Mother’s voice was strained.

  “No. I promise I didn’t.”

  Grimacing in pain, her mother massaged her stomach. “You remember what I’ve always taught you?”

  Nelay couldn’t meet her mother’s gaze and was glad she seemed distracted. “When men and goddesses mix, men always lose,” Nelay repeated. But wasn’t her father alive because she had approached the fairies?

  She tentatively reached out and placed the leaves in her mother’s hand. “How do we lose?”

  Her mother closed her eyes as if counting. After a long time, she answered, “If they use their power contrary to its purpose, they go against nature, upsetting the balance. In order to right itself, the balance takes it back. So if they grant you rain one year, the balance will give you a drought the next. If a fairy heals your fig tree, your pomegranate will die.”