Shadows of Winterspell

by Amy Wilson

  Teacake looks up at him and opens her tiny pink mouth to yowl.

  ‘Yes, that’s very reassuring,’ he says. ‘I’m sure the forest will quail before you, furball.’

  A look passes between them that I can’t read, and then she hisses, and bounces off to join Yanny and Zara as they start the trudge towards the dark mass of the forest.

  ‘What was that with Teacake, Peg?’ I ask, looking after them. ‘Is there anything I should know? How many secrets are you keeping?’

  ‘Oh, many,’ he says. ‘But as for that little sph—’ He chokes, as if he have a furball of his own. ‘As for that little kitten, I should say she’s exactly what she looks like: silly.’

  Centauride/Centaur

  Half horse, half human in appearance, powerful, and always on the front line of any conflict in the fae forest realms. Their magic is in the strength they bear, and in the weapons they wield. The bows, swords and daggers forged by their kind are unparalleled in craft or power.

  The shadows are clustered tight between the trunks of the trees, and they cling to the brittle branches up high, and they crawl through the undergrowth with a sound like the crack of fire. They are shadow imps and shadow cats and shadow wolves, stalking between the giants of shadow men. Yanny takes a breath and strides through as if they don’t exist, pulling his faelight from his school bag. Zara follows. And Teacake winds about my ankles. I pick her up and kiss her nose.

  ‘Wait here, if you like,’ I say. ‘And pull me out, if I get stuck on the way back?’

  She puts her face into my neck and purrs, deep and tight, sending waves of warmth through me.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, putting her down.

  She walks away a few feet, and then turns back and sits watching us, licking a paw, and I follow the others in, trying not to see the eyes that follow, or to hear the wail of their shadow voices. But the further I go, the closer they get, until my feet have lost the path, and my eyes cannot see past the mist of their forms to my friends. The acorn at my throat is uncomfortably warm, and when I put my fingers to it, there’s a snap of static that makes me wince.

  ‘Zara!’ I manage.

  She is there in an instant, and her warm hand pulls me through, Yanny on the other side. We walk in a chain – Zara in the middle, unseeing, but all too aware of the tension in the air, the warp of the darkness in here.

  ‘No wonder they say it’s haunted,’ she whispers. ‘I’ve got goosebumps all over!’

  ‘Just . . . keep walking,’ says Yanny with an effort.

  His faelight is starting to pulse erratically, and I hope he knows where he’s going, because I certainly don’t. We skirt an enormous yew tree, its twisting roots thick upon the broken ground, and then there’s a thunderous echo in the air and a centauride stands before us. She is taller than any man I’ve ever seen, and her brown hair twists and spirals down her shoulders. Her human torso is painted in the colours of the forest, and her hindquarters are the blue-grey of starless night.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she hisses, bending down to Yanny, as Zara and I stare.

  ‘Going home,’ Yanny says in a tight voice. ‘These are my friends. We’re fine.’

  ‘You have the whole of the realm of shadows about you, and the Stag draws near – you are not fine!’ she bursts, stamping her hooves. ‘You should be more careful, Yanny – your family has lost enough already. Go now, and quickly. I’ll divert these creatures.’

  She stares at me, her dark eyes blazing. ‘I don’t know what you are, but you draw the shadows like darkness itself. You are not welcome here. See him home, and be gone, before you stir the rest of the kingdom to rage.’ With that, she draws her golden bow and charges into the swathe of shadows, her battle cry sending them spiralling off into the darkness.

  ‘That was Rory,’ says Yanny, watching her go. ‘I’ve really made a mess of today. Let’s get inside before we cause any more chaos.’

  We follow mutely as he treads down the bank to the hidden entrance of his home. Rory’s words keep repeating in my mind. She could see straight away the danger I bring here. Does Yanny see it too? Will his family?

  Yanny stops at the hatch, looking back at me. ‘She has a sharp tongue,’ he says, as if he’s reading my mind. ‘Don’t take it personally. She was afraid for us, and fear makes her fierce.’ He looks between Zara and me. ‘This was my fault. I was the one who got us into trouble. You should head back. Take my faelight . . .’

  He thrusts it out, but Zara shakes her head.

  ‘Yanny . . .’

  ‘I know – it’s spineless to make you go back on your own. I just can’t . . . do any more right now.’

  ‘What did she mean, Yanny?’ I ask, knowing I shouldn’t; knowing he’s already reassured me as much as he can right now. ‘About your family having already lost too much?’

  ‘Not now,’ he says.

  ‘But I didn’t mean to put you in more danger. She said about darkness . . . I’m sorry.’

  ‘Pfft,’ says Zara. ‘Take no notice of that. I see no darkness in you. And besides, Yanny’s already explained, she was just cross . . .’

  I nod, trying to let her words outplay Rory’s, but before we can say goodbye to Yanny, the door swings open behind him, and he topples in with a surprised yelp. His father stands bristling on the doorstep.

  ‘In,’ he commands. ‘All of you. All the forest is whispering of truant children. I can only imagine it’s you, Yanny . . .’ He hauls his son up none too gently and starts propelling him down the corridor. The door slams shut behind us, and the quartz in the walls flares. ‘Really, this is the last thing we needed. It’s enough to get you out to school and back without bringing more trouble.’

  Zara and I look at each other as we follow Yanny and his father down the corridor. I guess we’re the trouble. My chest feels hollow, my legs like rubber. Nothing ever seems to go the way it should. I can hear Nan telling me to be careful what I wish for, and Peg saying going to school was a really dumb idea. Were they right?

  I didn’t mean to bring more trouble here.

  ‘Look at this place, Stella!’ Zara whispers. ‘The roots, and the lights . . . and there are tiny little mushrooms growing in the walls! And flowers!’ She grins, clapping her hands together. ‘I knew there were things I didn’t know about – I just knew it!’

  Her eyes dance, but before I can say anything, we’re interrupted.

  ‘Stella,’ says Yanny’s mum, her expression bright and wild and a little alarming as she darts at us from the kitchen. She takes us both by the wrist and draws us into the warmth. ‘Come, we must sort this out. Sit down.’

  Yanny is already sitting at the table, and his father is shooing the younger kids into their bedroom. When he turns back from the door, his face is as fierce and fae as hers. The room settles into an amber glow that matches the fire in Yanny’s parents’ eyes, and Zara and I take seats on the bench by the window, shuffling together.

  ‘This cannot be,’ says Elowen. ‘Yanny, you are permitted to go to school, and to come home again to us. We do not forbid you friends, but we do forbid you to bring them into danger. And you found danger for yourself when you went out fighting shadows last night without permission. Look at you now. You are lucky Rory was on the prowl.’

  ‘I know,’ he says. ‘But, Ma—’

  ‘But nothing, son,’ she hisses, and her teeth are wolf-sharp, her eyes aflame. ‘We will not have this. You take too much upon your shoulders, and it is not wise. What do you think will become of us, should we lose another of you? Do you think we would survive that, Yanny?’

  Yanny flinches, but he doesn’t say anything.

  ‘You are not to patrol,’ Fen says then. ‘And you are not to fight, Yanny. That is not your task. It is mine, and your mother’s. You may hate to see what it costs us, but that is what you must bear. We all are doing things we would rather not be doing, seeing things we wish we could unsee. This time will pass. There will be brighter days. You will have a future. That is all we ask fo
r you.’

  ‘I want my future here, in the forest,’ Yanny says.

  ‘And we hope for that too,’ Elowen says. ‘Still, you must go to school. And you must avoid the shadows.’

  Fen sighs. ‘I’ll make us a hot drink.’ He looks across at Zara and me. ‘And then we’ll see about getting your friends home.’

  ‘Stella – and this is Zara, if I’m not mistaken?’ asks Elowen.

  Zara can do no more than nod.

  ‘We just wanted to make sure he was safe,’ I start. ‘I didn’t mean to cause trouble . . .’

  ‘Perhaps you didn’t,’ says Elowen. ‘And I am glad my boy has friends, truly. Glad that he is home safe.’ She gives us a bleak, pointed smile. ‘But if Rory tells you that you draw the shadows, Stella, then she does not lie. You should stay away, for now. And so should Zara.’

  ‘What could the shadows do, though?’ Zara asks. ‘Won’t they just . . . go away?’

  ‘Sadly not.’ Elowen sighs. ‘I’ll leave you to explain the dangers of the shadows, Yanny. Your father and I must get ready for patrol. We will see your friends out on our way.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Zara asks later, after Fen has brought steaming mugs to the table and left to get ready. ‘Yanny? What is it that you’ve lost? What’s going on here? What is so dangerous about the shadows?’

  He wilts a little in his seat.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispers. ‘I know I ask too many questions. Dad always says—’

  ‘We lost my sister, two years ago,’ he says. ‘That’s what we lost. We lost Thorn.’

  ‘Oh, Yanny,’ I manage, shuffling up close to him as Zara does the same on the other side, trying to find words and failing.

  ‘What happened?’ asks Zara after a long silence.

  ‘She got ill,’ he says. ‘We thought it was just a cold, but it got worse so quickly, and nobody could help. By the time we realized it was shadow sickness, it was too late.’

  ‘Shadow sickness?’

  ‘It spreads,’ he says. ‘It starts in the trees, when they don’t get enough light, and from there it spreads to the fae and the other creatures. Nothing survives without the trees. Thorn loved playing in the canopy. We weren’t supposed to because it’s hard to tell when a tree is sick from up there. We only noticed it afterwards – and by then, it was too late.’

  ‘Isn’t there a cure?’

  ‘No. Sometimes people recover,’ he says. ‘But when we discovered the tree, it was already dead.’ He looks out into the kitchen, but his eyes aren’t seeing anything there. ‘Dead trees are like poison to fae, especially when they’ve died because of the shadows,’ he says. ‘The tree sprites are quick to notice normally, but it was just a young elm, not bonded with any of the sprites. It was already dying when Thorn touched it.’ He lifts his shoulders. ‘So. Now you know.’

  My father’s shadows killed his sister.

  How would he even look at me if he knew what I really was? If he knew that maybe I could have fixed this years ago, if Nan and I had just kept going . . .

  ‘Stop that,’ Yanny snaps at me.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That look. Every time I mention shadows, you get all mournful and sorry. Did you bring them here? Did you make them? Did you send them to kill trees, and young fae?’

  My throat is tight with a river of tears, but I swallow them.

  ‘No.’

  ‘So stop it.’ He sighs, shoving his shoulder against mine. ‘Please.’

  ‘OK,’ I say, biting my lip to stop myself from saying sorry again.

  Zara looks from him to me, but even she doesn’t have the right words. She just shoves herself up closer to Yanny on the other side and tucks her arm through his.

  Zara and I hold hands through the forest on the way home, and though we are flanked by Yanny’s parents with their faelights, there’s a constant shudder down my spine that won’t let me rest. I stare into the darkness between the trees, and I stare at the trees themselves for signs they might be sick.

  How would I know?

  I am fae, and I know barely anything. I don’t know what to say to this fierce, bright couple as they stalk soundlessly through the undergrowth, their eyes flecked with amber, every muscle of their bodies ready to strike and defend. To protect us.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper to Elowen, as we reach the edge of the forest.

  She looks at me for a long, silent moment, and my breath sticks in my throat. Nan told me the fae were dangerous. I thought she meant wild, and keen to fight, and there is some of that in her – but there is more. There is something so true and stark about her, especially here. Her skin gleams beneath the moon, her stance knows the land better than I know anything, her folded wings flicker with bright copper threads, and her stare sees everything.

  ‘I know,’ she says. ‘Thank you, Stella. Now go – and don’t come back until it’s time.’

  ‘Oh, Stella!’ Zara halts as we emerge from the trees, looking back at the forest. ‘What is going on? I never saw anything so magical, but that awful sadness . . . And Elowen – what did she mean when she said that to you? Time for what? And what was Yanny going on about, it’s not your fault. How could it be your fault?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say, threading my arm through hers and pulling her back with me, Teacake now tucked under my other arm. ‘I don’t know what to think about any of it.’

  My mind is sparking with too many images, too many ideas of fight and flight and shadow creatures and the monster who is my father, hidden away in there. I always hoped that if I did go in there, if I made it past the shadows to the true fae, that it would be a good thing. That my magic would be stronger, brighter than his; that it would be my mother’s moon-sprite power that would shine through. But that didn’t happen.

  I draw the shadows to me, just as my father does.

  ‘But we have to think about it. What do we do, Stella?’

  I’ve never seen her so animated. She looks like she might charge back in there and fight the shadows herself if I just said the word. Or run away entirely in the other direction. Her feet are almost stamping with impatience just to do something.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘OK. We’ll have to make a plan!’

  ‘Yes!’ she shouts. ‘A plan! Yes!’

  I have to go back in there. If I can draw the shadows to me, it must be possible to send them back where they belong. I am the Lost Prince, after all.

  A strange high peal of laughter escapes me and rings out through the moorland. Zara stares at me.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I stutter. ‘I know it’s not funny. None of this is funny. It’s not funny, Zara! We just need to calm down a bit! Stop shouting!’

  ‘You stop shouting!’

  ‘OK!’

  And then suddenly it’s clear what I have to do next: I have to find him.

  I have to find the palace, and I have to find the Shadow King.

  I have to take the shadows with me – and make it all stop.

  ‘Children,’ says a dark, disapproving voice. Peg flutters down and lands hard on my shoulder. ‘What a fine chorus you are making out here in the wild. I’ve been out here waiting for you. Come, now. Nan has been worried sick, and it’s time for Zara to get home before her folks are the same.’

  But Zara is staring with horror towards our house, her feet unmoving.

  ‘What is it?’ I demand.

  She points to the scrubby narrow lane on the other side of the house. A shining silver car has been parked in a hurry, front wheels at an angle. We have a visitor, and it’s not Mrs Mandrake – she’d never let go of her ancient once-was-blue truck.

  ‘My mum’s here!’ she whispers.

  We trudge through the garden in silence. I cannot imagine what we’re going to find inside. Zara hasn’t said that much about her mum before – I have no clue how she might handle ghost Nan . . . or Peg, for that matter. Will she just be standing in an empty kitchen? Will Peg be a bird, or a lizard? Will Nan even be there?

&n
bsp; ‘How did she find the house?’ I ask.

  ‘Oh, I told her you lived on the edge of the forest. She’s probably tried every one,’ Zara says. ‘I should’ve sent another text – I forgot.’

  ‘Well come on, then,’ I say. ‘She’s here now; we’d better go in and face the music.’

  I push open the back door, wincing as all the bells ring out, and tread lightly into the kitchen, where Nan is pouring tea, a sweet little red bird on one shoulder. A woman with Zara’s golden eyes and brown skin sits across from her and looks up as Zara follows me in.

  ‘Ah!’ she says. ‘Here they are!’

  She smiles, but there’s worry in her eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ begins Zara, fluttering about beside me. ‘We were—’

  ‘I’ve already explained to your mother,’ Nan interrupts smoothly, gesturing for us all to take a seat. ‘Fishing at twilight is rather special – though I note you didn’t catch anything.’

  ‘They weren’t biting,’ I say, sliding into a chair and plucking a yellow pear out of the fruit bowl. ‘I’m sorry we worried you, Mrs Nassar.’ I gleam at her, and her eyes soften, though she looks rather bemused. ‘The forest is so beautiful, and we lost track of time . . .’

  ‘You both look very cold,’ Nan says after a long moment. ‘Have some tea . . .’ She indicates for me to pour, and my hands are shaking, but I just about manage it without scalding us all.

  ‘It has been a pleasure to meet your nan, Stella. And I’m glad that Zara has found new friends,’ says Mrs Nassar. ‘But next time, Zara, a little more information, please – and answer your phone! It would have saved me some worry. You have a charming home, Mrs Brigg.’

  ‘Thank you,’ says Nan. ‘Rather old and dilapidated, much like me, but it serves us well.’

  Peg the bird flutters from Nan’s shoulder to mine as I reach for a handful of berries, and he pecks at me until I feed him some.

  ‘And such a sweet bird!’ Mrs Nassar says. ‘Really, the whole place is somewhat enchanting.’