The Girl Gingerbread in the Woods of Winter White

by Bethany R. Lindell

  The boy cocked his head, the motion as smooth and natural as it must have been when he was alive. He blinked, and Gingerbread remembered to breathe.

  "A real ghost . . ." Clatch murmured behind her.

  Was that what he was? Gingerbread's eyelids fluttered, and she made herself focus on the boy instead of her fear. He looked as round-faced and tow-haired as when his dog had followed him, but his worn and ratty clothes had been replaced by . . . was that a tunic? A robe? Gingerbread couldn't tell. Whatever he wore shone so blindingly white it turned the snow blue and gray. She had to look away.

  She blinked hurriedly, trying to rid her eyes of the dazzle the boy left in her vision. His eyes stuck with her. Deep eyes. Old eyes. Eyes that knew more than he had learned from life. The fear squeezed at Gingerbread's heart again as she floundered against her not-knowing.

  She couldn't meet those eyes again, and stared at his feet instead. He didn't have shoes either, but why would he need them? His feet didn't touch the snow. Phantoms don't float.

  "I don't know," Gingerbread said.

  Clatch shuffled in the snow, probably feeling the cold through his fur-lined boots. He was taking this more in stride than Gingerbread.

  "Well what does he want?" Clatch asked.

  Gingerbread's mouth fell open to say she didn't know that either, only to clap it shut when the boy raised his arm, pointing behind them.

  Gingerbread couldn't breathe, but her heart thundered like a race horse inside her chest. She followed the line of his finger, glad for the excuse to look at anything other than his brilliance, and found trees and snow behind her. "Nothing's there."

  "Gingerbread?" Clatch asked with confused eyes.

  She shook her head. "I don't understand," she told the boy, turning back for the barest glimpse of him.

  Her unearthly sense that had picked up Katri's urgency earlier broadcast the boy's impatience before he rolled his eyes. There was no delay between her and this . . . the boy. It made him more real than the ground beneath her feet. Gingerbread thought her eyes could see more than anyone else's, all the hidden parts of the world.

  I guess not.

  He flung out his arm again, his brilliance so fierce it forced Gingerbread back a step. She bumped into Clatch and his hands caught her beneath her arms. "Ginge!"

  "Back," she said, hiding her eyes but unable to hide from that persistent light. "He wants us to turn around."

  "Turn around? Why?"

  Gingerbread shook her head and stumbled back, shoving Clatch ahead of her. "Just go!"

  The brilliance softened as they fell back into the clear space between trees. The boy's light lingered in her eyes, even after the dancing spots faded, like her vision had soaked it up like a dry sponge.

  Mundane colors entered Gingerbread's vision again as she and Clatch searched the small clearing, each traveling opposite ways to cover it faster. Gingerbread scowled at the ground on her side. "She isn't here," she called out, but a glance showed the boy still stood there, insisting.

  Gingerbread sighed and kept walking. "If this is a trick I'm not going to lose my way just because you sent us back," she muttered, kicking a lump of snow and finding a frost-encrusted pine cone. "I see you standing there for one thing, so I know which way we want to go-"

  "Gingerbread!"

  Her head snapped up at Clatch's voice. He was across the snowfield, kneeling behind a tree and frantically digging.

  Gingerbread ran to him and gasped when she saw the little figure huddled against the tree, covered from crown to sole in snow.

  "Katri!" She knelt beside Clatch and dug. They uncovered the girl, flinging snow out behind them. Blue touched her lips and her skin showed pale beneath her tinker's tan. She shivered as Clatch wrapped her in his coat.

  "She's alive!" Gingerbread felt as surprised as Clatch sounded. "We need to get her warm and back to camp. Quickly."

  "Follow me," Gingerbread said as Clatch scooped the child up and held her against his chest. Katri sniffed, the icicles clinging to her nose bumping against each other. Gingerbread turned back and jerked to a stop. She threw out an arm to keep Clatch from passing her.

  "Now what?" he moaned.

  The boy stood in front of Gingerbread, holding her with his eyes. She sucked in air and held it. Is this what everyone else feels when I look at them?

  The boy turned his head a fraction and looked past her. Gingerbread followed his gaze deeper into the wood. Her heart stuttered against her rib cage as fear tripped her up.

  "We have a visitor," Gingerbread whispered.

  "Who?" Clatch turned to look but his eyes roved over the same place without catching on anything but branches. "What?"

  Cold air invaded her mouth when it dropped open, but words wouldn't come. It was too ridiculous, even for her unseen world. You're already seeing things, she reminded herself. This isn't real.

  But the boy's presence was an undeniable warmth next to her, though she couldn't see him from the corner of her eye. She could never sense the phantoms. They didn't give off cold spots like the ghost stories said. This was real.

  "A unicorn," she said.

  A unicorn with witch's eyes.

  The Witch

  The unicorn was as lovely as any child could dream it to be, but Gingerbread knew that hunger in its eyes. She recognized it from a decade of nightmares.

  "Piping Witch!"

  She drew her sword and charged the beast, ignoring Clatch's shout of alarm. The unicorn didn't move as she ran at it, and when Gingerbread brought her sword down on its neck, only to find it vanished, she realized she'd fallen for the same old trick.

  She spun around and found the witch standing behind her. Gingerbread had grown since she last saw her, but still the woman towered over her, lean and tall in her antiquated full-length dress. There was no broomstick, no ridiculous pointed hat or warts sprouting from the tip of a hooked nose. She was too clever for that and hid her ugliness behind stiff refinement. Death had turned her face angular and pale, but her chin still jut out like a knife beneath thin lips and a small, unimportant nose.

  The boy was gone and Clatch shielded Katri out of sight behind the trees. "Just you and me, Dearie."

  "So you can see me, too," the Piping Witch said, her voice sweet and slow as molasses. "I thought you might. My, what lovely eyes you have."

  Gingerbread snorted. Her eyes mirrored the witch's own, right down to the sparks popping against her high cheekbones and the pinpoint burns that so resembled freckles.

  She lifted her sword, but bit back her temper. She would not fall for any more of her tricks. "I will always see you. You have been seared into these eyes of mine."

  The Piping Witch smiled, her face curling like paper thrown on the fire grate. Her form was better preserved than the phantoms of her victims. Are you taking that from them too?

  "My teacher used to tell me all good things come to those who wait." The witch's smile grew, revealing ash beneath her paper skin. "And I have waited such a long time for you."

  Gingerbread bared her teeth and lifted the point of her sword. "That makes two of us!"

  She ran for the witch, her battle cry parting the icy air before her. The Piping Witch's face filled Gingerbread's sight, barring all rational thoughts from her mind as the world turned red and orange. The air flickered with unseen things the instant before ash exploded from tapered fingertips in thick plumes of roiling smoke.

  They caught Gingerbread in the face, and she coughed and hacked trying to breathe past them. The ashes burned her skin before she could hide her face in her hood, letting the ruff catch the hottest of them.

  Dearie's coming. From where? Which direction? Gingerbread crouched with her sword held in front of her to defend the trunk of her body. Ashes swirled around her, hiding everything but flashes of snow between the stinging flurries. The world was white and black . . .

  Red.

  An ember sailed over Gingerbread's head like a comet in the night. More coming! She rolled, hitting the
ground with her shoulder and coming up again in the gray edge of the ash cloud. She blinked quickly, trying to clear the smudges from her eyes. Dearie stood tall in Gingerbread's vision, her witch-sight still clear though she couldn't tell the trees from the snow.

  The air shifted again with shapes that swam in and out of Gingerbread's sight, like oil hiding on water's surface. Instinct screamed move and she did. The Piping Witch cast her arm out and embers spread from her fingertips. They flew out in an arc, only two coming close enough to singe Gingerbread's leggings.

  "Your aim's as tragic as ever, Dearie." Gingerbread taunted the dead woman where she knelt in the snow, letting it put out the scalding burn on her leg. "What happened to your old lady specs? Did you forget to take them when Mother burned our house down?"

  Dearie ignored her. She stared at her fingertips, burned raw and bloody from the hot coals. She flexed them, the skin of her face pulling taut with a wince. Gingerbread watched an idea enter the witch's head.

  "Blood and ashes!" Gingerbread swore, her feet shoving against the snow to get her close enough to take off Dearie's hands. The witch glanced up, her eyes scanning over Gingerbread's shoulder before she spun away, pivoting around her right foot and spinning on a pointed toe to face Gingerbread again on her other side.

  Gingerbread broke her momentum hard and swung up at a diagonal. "You are too old for ballerina shoes, Dearie." Her sword left a silver arc as it reached for the woman's stomach, but did not find its target as the Piping Witch leapt back. She jerked an arm up to protect her neck and something like red-hot wax dripped off her fingers, landing on Gingerbread's arm.

  The girl hissed and ducked to avoid more of the slurry. Gingerbread hugged the ground as the heat passed over her back. A hideous cry broke through the air after them, raising the hairs on the back of Gingerbread's neck and knotting her stomach. Snow crunched from a heavy weight hitting the ground, but Gingerbread didn't dare raise her head.

  She rolled in total panic, once, twice, until she grabbed hold of her better sense again and stopped well to the witch's right. The snow hissed several feet away, marking where Gingerbread had been. Plumes of steam rose up where Dearie's slurry had hit the ground behind her. She caught the faint whiff of decay and rot but couldn't say if the steam itself was poisoned or only rank.

  Dearie was down in the snow, her crippled hands raised up in front of her. Curved cuts marred one of her cheeks and there was a thin slice of red showing through a tear in her high collar. Her crippled hand hung down, the blood still dripping down her palm collecting at her fingertips.

  Gingerbread didn't pretend to understand how she had knocked Dearie over as she popped one of her pouches at her belt and pulled out a small wax capsule. She hurled it with a grunt before reclaiming her feet. The capsule landed in Dearie's lap and melted in the heat surrounding her. The minerals in either half of the capsule mixed and medicinally sweet smoke burst out as a magenta cloud that curled around Dearie's face. Gingerbread charged her with a rolling cry, sword ready for the strike.

  The Piping Witch twisted her hand up and reddish black fire swelled to life. It licked up her fingers like candle wicks, consuming them.

  Gingerbread groaned, her shoulders drooping before she stiffened her muscles again. "I hate it when you experiment."

  Dearie raised her arm and clawed at the air with her burning fingers. Witch's fire ate up the air with a roar, scattering ash across the snow. She threw it out wider and it ate the branches of the nearest tree without melting the icicles. Dearie chuckled.

  No, no- None of us are fireproof! If Dearie set the wood on fire, she and the tinkers would go up in shriveled crisps.

  She swung her blade for Dearie's arm, but broke off when the witch slung the purplish flames at her chest. Gingerbread dove and came up swinging, meaning to cleave the woman straight up the middle, but only caught the hem of her long dress as the Piping Witch danced away with another chuckle. Ash exploded from her hem, blinding Gingerbread.

  The girl coughed her lungs free, swinging wildly in the direction she thought Dearie had gone. "You're not getting away!" she rasped, unable to shout like she wanted. More low laughter.

  Gingerbread felt something at her back. A presence hiding in the ash. She spun on her heel, her sword's edge cutting ash flakes into fine dust in her wake. "Ha!"

  Her eyes startled wide. Not Dearie.

  It was the unicorn, the one that had watched them uncover Katri, but his eyes were now liquid star fire. Bright and hot and gold.

  Numinous Numina . . . The words whispered through Gingerbread's mind.

  The warmth of the unicorn's eyes soaked into Gingerbread with such speed she felt it as a punch to the chest. Echoes of Numina's light brightened the blaze in the unicorn's eyes, so strong, flares leaked up his fabled horn and encircled it with green and gold auroras.

  For a blissful moment, Gingerbread lost herself in the beauty of those eyes.

  It was a terrible mistake.

  Gingerbread only remembered the Piping Witch when a victorious cry burst the air apart behind her. She spun again as the ashen light left the Piping Witch's long fingers. Gingerbread screamed defiance, but it didn't fly at her.

  "No!"

  The cry tore out of her throat as the unicorn reared, tearing the witch fire with the tip of his horn. He caught the second blast hidden by its bulk full in the chest.

  The unicorn screamed, the sound lodging inside Gingerbread and tearing her apart. It was the sound of Numina fading, of the house collapsing into ruin. Of Mother dying again.

  Gingerbread's knees failed her, and she collapsed into the churned up snow. Clatch called out in the distance behind her, asking if she was all right. Such a stupid question. How could anything be all right ever again when the unicorn was dying right in front of her?

  She didn't know when the Piping Witch joined her or how long the woman stood over her and the unicorn. Gingerbread only raised her eyes and there she stood, smiling.

  "Such a long time . . ." she said, reaching.

  Gingerbread closed her eyes. What did defeat matter now?

  A hand gripped her shoulder hard. "Ginge?"

  Her eyes fluttered open, tears frosting her outer lashes. Gingerbread frowned as a wave of deja vu overwhelmed her when she saw Clatch leaning over her.

  She looked around, confusion chasing out her despair when she found they were alone again. The unicorn had gone. So had the Piping Witch.

  Gingerbread searched the clearing. Evidence of their fight was still there in the churned up snow, but the valley where the unicorn had fallen, the Piping Witch's path across the clearing, both had gone. She could only find her own footprints.

  "Where did she go?" Gingerbread twisted around and latched on to Clatch's arm. "The Piping Witch. Which way?"

  Clatch's mouth hung open, and he shook his head. "I didn't see anything-"

  "You must have!" She gripped him tighter, half rising from the snow. "She killed a unicorn! You had to feel that! Even ordinary mortals aren't that blind."

  A fear had hold of her, and it seeped into Clatch's eyes. His eyes flicked about before returning to Gingerbread's face. For the first time he couldn't quite meet her eyes.

  He reached down and laid his hand over hers gripping his arm. "Gingerbread, we were the only ones here. We still are. You took off screaming and swinging your sword but . . . you were fighting thin air."

  Her fear turned white, fading her voice into a faint squeak. "What?"

  Clatch nodded and patted her hands like she was Old Nan in her rocker. The silence hung loud between them. It was worse than waking with her sword at his neck.

  Clatch rose, pulling his arm away without Gingerbread. "We need to get Katri back to camp. The sun will be up soon, if your instinct is right. We should hurry."

  He was already walking away to retrieve the girl bundled up in his coat beneath a tree. Gingerbread stared at his back. His words echoed around her hollow head. Thin air. Thin air?

  But then . . . wha
t did I see?

  THEY GOT THE GIRL BACK to camp before the sun crested the hidden horizon line. Gingerbread led them through Numina's defenses fast enough Clatch didn't have to break stride two steps behind her.

  A cry burst into the air, sending Gingerbread into a reflexive crouch. She searched for the source and found Clatch swarmed by tinkers, aunts and cousins and neighbors crowding him to get a better look at Katri. Her mother was the loudest as she pulled the girl from Clatch and hugged her tight to her chest, rocking her back and forth.

  "She's frozen through."

  "Where was she?"

  "Did the witch make off with her?"

  "Somebody, wake Old Nan!"

  The crowd carried the girl off, retreating to the family's wagon while a great-niece ran to wake the forgetful wise woman, leaving Clatch and Gingerbread behind.

  She stared at the toes of her ugly boots. They hadn't said a word to each other through the wood, but then they'd had Katri to think of. Now that she was safe again, something like a weighty bell loomed between, unnatural in its silence.

  Clatch inhaled, opening his mouth to say something, and Gingerbread glanced up. She waited, watching behind the curtain of her hair.

  Clatch closed his mouth and walked away, his feet crashing through the snow as he joined the other tinkers.

  Gingerbread let go of the breath she'd held back, and closed her eyes. You should feel relieved, she told herself. You hate when people pester you with stupid questions like 'are you all right' or 'how do you feel'. Of course, you're all right, so act like it.

  She walked in the other direction, ignoring the ache beneath her breastbone as she pulled her sword off her belt and sat on one of the carved stools left by the fire, now forgotten into embers. Exhaustion pressed down on her until her shoulders sagged. Long night, Gingerbread thought as she fumbled her whetstone out of its pouch. Longer day.

  She slid the stone up along the blade's edge once, twice, and again. The sound of stone sliding over steel, rough at first but ending in a satin smooth song, soaked down into Gingerbread, past her fraying nerves and soothing the tumult of her thoughts. Six, seven, and again. The rock and blade sang their old song. Skr-siing. Skr-siing. Gingerbread tumbled into the cadence like a soft bed.