Gazing into the distance, the stranger offered, “There are sights, unbelievable mysteries I could show you. I’ll be back this way before winter. Come with me; we could travel….”
She smiled. “Maybe.”
Late that night, the man listened to the gurgles of the spring. It bubbled, forcing water over the edge, spilling it onto the soil. The water, cold and pure, soaked into fallow fields.
As he stared into the distance—seeing the pass, that narrow fissure that wouldn’t again fill with snow for many months—he listened to the spring and waited.
Come morning, he began his day—waiting. Each morning that followed, he began his day—waiting. In the years he’d spent in the hollow, he’d learned the art of waiting, understood it in a way he’d not understood the other long-ago mysteries he’d studied.
He waited as his daughter spent all of her time with the stranger.
He waited as his beloved child rushed about, seeing imaginary flaws in the peace of the hollow.
The stranger spoke much, his mouth brimming with fanciful tales of the world’s wonders, things found beyond the two mountains, lessons learned away from the hollow.
By autumn, the stranger became restless.
When the frosts came, they all three gazed toward the pass.
And the stranger announced that he would leave, that she should leave. He told her foolish tales, and the man’s daughter laughed—a sound rushing and out of season, a sound not of winter’s coming but of flowing springs.
The man gazed at his daughter, hearing that awful sound, that rushing-racing sound. And he told her, “Step inside now.”
Softly, she whispered, “Yes, Father.”
Then the man turned to the stranger and offered, “You could stay…. It’s peaceful here.”
The stranger snorted.
Once more the man invited, “New faces are welcome in the hollow.”
The stranger started to step around the man, calling to the man’s daughter.
The man blocked his way. “I’ve been to the places you spin your tales of. There’s no peace there. You don’t mention the ugly parts.”
The stranger shrugged.
The man held the stranger’s gaze and offered, “My daughter has no need of what’s out there, but you could stay. Bide with us awhile.”
The stranger shook his head. “She’ll be fine. We’ll have great adventures.”
Sadly, the man watched the stranger’s darting gaze, watched him look everywhere and see nothing. He didn’t pause to contemplate the beauty that filled the hollow; he sought only to take a creature of beauty from the hollow, to destroy the peace that the man had found for his daughter, to capture and remove rather than stay and wonder.
“I want to show you something.” The man led the stranger to a well fed by the spring. The water was low now, barely a whisper deep in the earth.
The stranger started, “I don’t unders—”
The man shoved him into the hole, that deep earthen hollow between damp walls.
The stranger bellowed, spewing curses and demands, clutching at slick walls.
And the man turned away from the well to face the townsmen who were approaching them.
They nodded their heads at him, silent as was their way.
“I waited, you know.” The man spoke in no particular direction. “I waited, but still I had to act.”
One townsman answered, “Wait until the snows fall; then, you can decide if he is able to learn.”
The man glanced back at the spring. “He’s staying in the hollow. Whether he stays in the well…”
“No need to decide tonight,” they murmured. “Dinner is liable to be cold if you try to decide now.”
“You’re right: I should wait. Thank you.” The man smiled. “I thought I understood more.”
The eldest man quirked his mouth. “Waiting’s not so easy as that.”
Then the others turned and strolled down the road, and the man and the elder listened to the stranger hollering from inside the well.
When the noise finally ceased, the elder smiled and ambled off in the direction the others had gone.
The man squatted at the mouth of the spring. “You can wait here awhile; we have time.”
As the man looked down at him, the stranger had begun to curse again.
The man shook his head and turned away: they both had much to learn.
FLESH
FOR
COMFORT
YOU COULD HAVE ALL, GO ANYWHERE.” A little yellow-skinned creature popped from behind the undergrowth and stepped out in front of Tanya’s feet. His tufted ears brushed her shin as he tilted his head and widened his eyes. The first time she’d seen him out here in the woods, she’d screamed. No one came, of course, and she’d hightailed it out of the thick tangle of trees.
Today, Tanya stepped over him without slowing her pace. “Go away.”
The creature scampered alongside her, darting in an erratic path between her feet. “You thought about let us fix?”
“No.”
“You have!” His buttercup skin scrunched in deep wrinkles; his lips puffed out like fresh red currants. “Plenty reasons.”
Tanya stopped at a clutch of blackberries. The thorny branches bowed over rotten planks that hid an old well. A couple generations ago, she’d have had to draw water out of there. Thankfully, these days her family had running water. They might be poor, but they weren’t mountain-poor.
The creature collided with her, wrapping his spindly arms around her legs. He wasn’t skittish like most of the wildlife out here, and she wondered how much of that came from being able to speak to her. He was small enough that she could kick him away, but being small didn’t make a thing harmless. Raccoons, possums, and copperheads weren’t that big, but a sensible girl knew better than to strike out at them.
She glanced down at the creature clinging to her and said, “Go away.”
He stepped back, jammed a bony finger in his ear, and after a little growl, pulled the finger out and began licking it.
Uncharitably, she thought he looked a bit like her Uncle Mickey just then—and Mickey was thought a “good catch.” Tanya sighed. She hitched her bucket to her belt and began picking berries.
“Make you more pretty if you let … take away squishy parts and make you glow.” The creature’s slick fingers caressed her calf. “So pretty.”
Fat, rounded berries plunked into the bucket.
He laid sallow hands over the curve of her stomach. “Make you glow. Then they want you like animals want water in much-sun.”
Tanya stared at his skeletal hands, his fingers like dying branches. She’d tried all the diets in the magazines; she’d tried the tips for better skin. She wasn’t the heaviest girl in town, but she wasn’t as thin or as pretty as some. If she had money, maybe it wouldn’t matter so much, but money wasn’t going to happen. That left looking good. Unfortunately, her body wasn’t good enough. She needed it to be, needed to get away from this smudge of a town. Living and dying in this backwater, growing up to be a baby factory to someone who thought here was enough, it just wasn’t an option—except it was her only option unless she did something drastic.
She looked into his eyes—brilliant blue pupils surrounded by a sea of black. “Does it hurt?”
He tilted his head until his angular ear almost rested on his shoulder. “Not so-so-bad.”
For several heartbeats, the only sound was his fingernails scratching on the rough denim of her pants. She lifted her hand and grasped the largest berry she saw. Gently, she plucked the plump fruit and held it, sliding her thumb over it in silence.
He rested his cheek against her hip. “Make all better. You see.”
Tanya popped the blackberry into her mouth and sucked, squeezing every drop of juice from it before she swallowed. If she were prettier, she’d find someone willing to trade flesh for comfort. Then she could get to a city and have beautiful things and sexy clothes.
“I want more than this
life.” She nodded her head.
His little eyes glinted in the sun; his plump lips curved in a wicked smile. “You can have.”
Tanya pulled her gaze from him and resumed filling the bucket, pausing to slip berries between her lips. This wasn’t going to be her forever.
“I’ll do it,” she said. “Tonight.”
“Openopenopen.” Tiny fingers dragged over the metal screen.
Trembling just a bit, Tanya went to the window and shoved the screen out.
Puckered yellow hands snatched the falling screen from the air and set it aside. “Ready?”
Tanya nodded.
Six of the creatures came in through the open window. Two were as big as the one in the meadow. The other four were tinier—their wraithlike limbs and loose skin made them seem fragile. They huddled around her, pressing their damp fingers against her skin.
One of the little ones giggled, “Mmmm, lots squishy.”
Tanya backed up until she bumped into her mattress. As she tried to go around the edge of it, she tumbled back. “It won’t hurt, right?”
The others jumped at the giggling one, flicking their hands at him until he backed away; then they turned to her, stroking her arms and face reassuringly as they leaned over her on the mattress. “So pretty…”
The creature from the meadow trailed his long fingers over her face and murmured, “Want to stay here? Or want more pretty?”
“I want out of here.”
“Want to glow? Be strong?” His fingernails scraped along her collarbone and danced down her sternum.
“Yes.”
As one, they smiled, flashing their jagged teeth. Then they fell upon her, tearing bites of skin and meat from her hips and belly, ripping away pounds of fat. If this was not so-so-much hurt, she wasn’t sure she’d survive what the creature thought was truly painful. They were literally eating her alive. The sounds of tearing and slurping added horror to the pain, and Tanya opened her mouth to scream. The nearest one sealed his lips to hers, sucking the scream from her throat, swallowing it down.
It was only minutes before her vision was gone, and she wasn’t sure if she was dying or blacking out from the pain. Either way, she gave herself over to the blessed escape from the sound and feeling of being consumed.
The next thing she knew was the creepily soothing sensation of rhythmic scraping. She opened her eyes to see them licking her bloody flesh with sandpaper tongues. Her skin began to glow golden in the dark room as the jagged rips sealed shut.
She whimpered, trying to sit upright as they licked her face with those awful tongues, but her body hurt too much. The pain receded until it became ache rather than agony. They continued to lick.
“Less squishy.”
“Squishiness’ll grow back. All return. We help.”
“We keep pretty.”
Then, all but the first creature were jumping out her window, smacking their lips like salivating dogs.
He stood waiting. With a self-satisfied smile, he pointed to the cracked mirror over her bureau. “Pretty.”
Slowly, Tanya got off the bed and walked to the mirror. Her skin was flawless, cheekbones outlined by soft shadows. She looked down at her body, hips rounded but not thick. She slid her hands over her skin: nerves tingled like she’d never felt before.
Mouth hanging open, Tanya gazed at the last creature. She fisted her hands and swallowed loudly. “I want to stay like this.”
He grinned. “No worry. Just let us fix when not pretty.”
Tanya turned back to the mirror, gazing at the sort of face that would attract the attention she needed. She glanced down at a body she hadn’t been able to have until now. She pushed down the memories of the screams she hadn’t been able to stop and the blood they’d licked away. The pain was horrible, but it was worth it.
She looked at the creature. “Yes,” she agreed. “I want you to come back.”
THE
SLEEPING GIRL
AND THE
SUMMER KING
WHEN THE SUMMONS CAME THAT YEAR, Aisling did not resist. In silence, she went to the door.
But Donnchadh, the Summer King, appeared. He clutched her hand. “Stay inside.”
“I can’t.” Aisling glanced out the frost-etched window. Outside, clouds of snow swirled like ethereal dervishes. It was time for Winter to reign, time for Summer to fade.
“You could try … just a few moments more.” He cupped her face, his touch like midsummer sun. “Your sisters fair did not go so eagerly. Bide with me awhile longer.”
Aisling glanced toward the door. The pressure to heed the summons grew like a weight in her lungs, making it difficult to focus on anything else. “It’s time. I need to go.”
“So you’ll abandon me?” He trailed a finger across her cheek. In his eyes were lush forests where they’d wandered along hidden paths.
“I will see you when I wake, Donnchadh.” She opened the door, feeling the release of the tension as she did so. It was harder every year to deny him.
For the first time, Donnchadh stepped in front of her. He leaned down and gently kissed her closed lips.
“Donnchadh?”
He sighed, his breath warm as the last rays of summer drifting over her, and stepped away. “Until you wake then, my foolish girl…”
Aisling stepped outside; frigid white spirals wrapped around her as she called out the same words she had spoken every year: “Have you come to fetch me, Cailleach?”
An old woman stepped from the maze of the ice-laden trees and parted pale lips in a smile. Her face was the clear blue of still skies; her eyes were the blinding white of untouched snow. Though she moved no closer, cold breath brushed Aisling’s cheek. “It is time for Winter, daughter.”
With her face tilted to the sky, Cailleach spun in the wildly blowing snow; her long white hair streamed out like mist. From her pale lips, the weight of winter escaped—sending the thick snows to blanket the earth, releasing the deep cold of true winter.
Then she paused in the storm she had set forth. Clutching her tall wooden staff, Cailleach whispered the dreaded words, “Sleep now.”
And as she had done since childhood, Aisling tumbled to the snow-covered ground to become the Sleeping Girl. For a moment, she resisted Sleep, clinging to the pleasure of winter’s beauty for a breath longer. Aisling turned her face to the ground, sighing at the rare joy of new-fallen snow against her skin.
Too soon, Cailleach was there, sweeping Aisling into her arms, carrying her to the door, where her sisters, those chosen once-mortal girls who had been Sleeping Girls, waited to watch over her during the sleeping months.
She felt herself being handed into strong arms, and then Sleep took her.
Blossoms would not unfold as long as she rested; life would still while Cailleach roamed with her icy breath. So, Aisling slept with the earth, as silent as the creatures hibernating in their dens, as changeless as the buds waiting to wake in the spring.
Months of storm and ice passed while Aisling slumbered.
Finally, in her sleeping world, she heard Donnchadh’s sibilant voice whispering her name; she felt his warm breath slide over her. “Aisling, dream the Spring for us. Awaken.”
So Aisling began to dream slender roots sinking into the soil and furred creatures stretching in their dens. She dreamt fish racing the currents, field mice weaving through the grasses, and serpents basking on the rocks. Then her dreaming body smiled at the new life she called to wake with her.
Thus Aisling woke, looking for him, for Summer.
He was not there.
She opened her door and stepped onto the porch. Sun-soaked wooden planks warmed her bare feet. The white willow beside the pond rustled in the breeze. With each breath, she drew in the fragile scent of spring flowers.
She turned her gaze to the budding trees, seeking Donnchadh in the wood where they would run with the creatures of the forest and seek out the fresh waters of hidden springs. With Donnchadh beside her, they would look on the waking wo
rld and rejoice. They would dance on the edge of the overflowing river in celebration. Sometimes her sisters would join them; more and more, though, she was alone with Donnchadh.
But for the first time, he was not there.
Instead, in a shadowed patch of snow—a last breath of winter—Cailleach waited. “Walk with me, daughter.”
As they followed the twisting path to Cailleach’s cabin, Aisling wondered if her sisters had felt relief or despair when they had become too old to be the Sleeping Girl. Did they lament the years of dreaming the world awake or did they rejoice that they were no longer children?
When she’d asked Donnchadh, he would only say, “It’s not for me to speak of.”
Aisling knew she must choose soon. Every Sleeping Girl had to make the choice between replacing the last Cailleach or joining Donnchadh as one of the many girls who frolicked in the sunlight. To be young with him forever or to be apart from him and age—neither answer made her happy. She thought of the beautiful things she would leave behind if she chose the Winter Path, and she thought of the beauty she might finally know if she carried winter’s kiss. And she knew not which answer to give.
Cailleach paused on a flagstone path leading up to a rough-hewn cabin. “We’re home.”
A dark wood porch curled around the small building; a single weathered rocker sat on the splintered planks. Hand on the heavy black door handle, Cailleach glanced at Aisling. “Are you ready?”
Mouth too dry to speak, Aisling nodded.
Cailleach pushed open the thick wooden door; its swollen wood creaked in objection. In silence, they crossed the threshold, and Cailleach went toward the single source of heat in the room, the cooking fire.
Although tiny, the main room was well-kept. Worn furs were folded in a corner; colorful rag rugs covered smooth floorboards. Across the back wall, a shelf overflowed with leather-bound books.
Aisling turned to follow Cailleach, but a massive gray wolf blocked her path—ears back, tail wagging.
“Faolan,” Aisling murmured. Though she’d seen him watch her from the distance over the years, this was the closest she’d ever been to Cailleach’s companion. She held out her hand, palm up. “Will you let me sit with your mistress?”