Prophecy of the Sisters

by Michelle Zink

  “Aunt Virginia?” My voice is a bellow through the house, desperation seeping deeper and deeper into my bones.

  Luisa and Sonia stare with wide-eyed shock at my behavior.

  The click of shoes on marble makes me turn. Relief fills my body and then leaves just as quickly when I see that it is not my aunt but Margaret, looking at me as if I have gone around the bend, yelling through the house like a child.

  “Why ever are you shouting, Miss Milthorpe?”

  “I’m… I’m sorry, Margaret. I must speak to my aunt at once. Have you seen her?” My shaking voice betrays my fear.

  She smiles. “Why, of course, dear. She’s upstairs. In bed.”

  “In bed?” Margaret might as well say Aunt Virginia is grooming the horses for all the likelihood that she would be in bed during the day.

  “Yes. In bed. She’s not feeling herself. She has been unusually tired of late, and I have sent her to bed for added rest. Nothing to worry about, I’m sure. Just a little under the weather.” She smiles, as if this alone can quell the turmoil racing through my veins. “Check on her later, dear. After she has had some time to sleep. I’m quite sure she’ll be fit as a fiddle.”

  I nod, remembering Aunt Virginia’s weariness after intervening on my behalf in the Otherworlds. Tipping my head into the parlor, I see that it is empty and turn back to Margaret.

  “Margaret?”

  “Yes, Miss?”

  “Where are Henry and Alice?”

  Uncertainty crosses her normally unflappable features. “Well, that is a matter I wanted to discuss with Miss Spencer.…”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Well, perhaps you should discuss it with me.”

  She shifts nervously from foot to foot, and I think that this may be the first time I have felt myself mistress of my own home. “Well, Miss… Alice took Henry to the river.”

  My mouth drops as I look beyond the window to the steely sky. “To the river? Now? Why, it looks as if it will pour at any moment, Margaret!”

  She has the grace to look sheepish. “I wanted to tell Miss Spencer, but she was unwell, so…” Her voice trails off, and she looks away.

  “But how could you let her? How could you let Alice take Henry? He is only a child!” There is no hiding the accusation, though I know it is unfair. Alice is, after all, Henry’s sister. Why should she not take him out for some fresh air, even on a forbidding day such as this, if that is what he desires? Why should Margaret have reason to doubt that it is only sisterly love and duty that would cause her to do so?

  Her face hardens. “Well, if you must know, it was Alice who insisted she wanted time alone with Master Henry. And she made no secret about the fact that it is she who is Mistress of Birchwood, not Miss Virginia. And that I have no business questioning her activities. That’s exactly what she said, Miss: ‘You have no business questioning my activities, Margaret.’ I am sorry, but there was no stopping her.”

  I turn to Sonia and Luisa. “Remain here. Whatever happens, do not leave this house.” I grab my cloak and open the door, and then I am out into the biting cold.

  I make my way around the house and see them standing by the river’s edge as the first drops begin to fall. Pausing, I tip my head upward as a cold drop falls onto my cheek.

  And then I run.

  My skirts swing heavily around my ankles as I race down the stone path. In the distance, Alice stands just a few feet from Henry. Nothing seems amiss, and for a moment I think perhaps I am mistaken. They seem to be doing nothing more ominous than conversing.

  But then the sky opens with a thunderous crack, and the rain begins to fall in earnest. In moments my hair is plastered to my head, my soaked skirts heavier and harder to manage. And yet Henry and Alice remain on the riverbank as if they are standing in bright sunlight, unmoving and seemingly unaware of the torrent that surely soaks them as well. Now I know that I am not mistaken, and I will my legs to move faster.

  They are off the stone terrace entirely, on the dirt near the bank. Too near the bank, I think. Neither turns when I reach them, though they must notice me, panting and trying to catch my breath not five feet from them both.

  “What are you doing?” I shout it over the furious roar of the rain, though I believe I know quite well why Alice has brought Henry here.

  For a moment, neither answers. They simply stare at each other as if only they two exist.

  It is Alice who finally speaks. “Go away, Lia. There is still time for you to stand aside. Let me speak to Henry alone. I will settle this thing here and now.”

  I look at Henry — really look — and am livid with rage. He sits in his chair appearing smaller than ever, as if the rain has somehow made him shrink to look like the barn cat we once tried to bathe in a tub behind the stables. His teeth chatter with cold. He is not wearing so much as a coat.

  “This is every bit as much my business as yours, Alice. Have you no shame, bringing Henry out into the rain?” I move toward him, meaning to return him to the warmth and safety of the house. Everything else will be addressed later.

  But Alice steps between Henry and me. “Henry will not be going anywhere, Lia. Not yet. Not until he gives me the list.”

  I want him to deny it. I want him to protest, to say anything that might save himself the torment of standing between Alice and me with the one thing we both want more than any other. But that is not what he says.

  “She was going to take it, Lia. I saw her looking. It is my place to protect you. Father said so.”

  “Father… is… dead, Henry!” Alice shouts it into the wind, raising her arms to her sides. “There is no one left to whom you must answer. No one but me and Lia. And you can free her, Henry. You can free her forever by giving me the list.” Her voice is full of new power, and it rises even over the river’s swift rush and the pounding of the rain.

  “Henry! Look at me, Henry!” I want him to see that I am not afraid, and I try to hold his eyes through the will of my thoughts alone. “I’m not afraid, Henry. There is no need for you to protect me, all right?”

  His lips have turned a morbid shade of blue, purple around the edges. He can hardly speak, can hardly get the words out for the cold. “Father told me to keep it safe. F-f-for you, Lia.”

  And then I see what I most fear. Henry’s fist, closed tightly around something limp and white. I curse myself inwardly.

  Demanding the list from Alice only proved to her that I did not have it. It only gave her cause to look elsewhere.

  “Put it in your pocket, Henry. Put it away until we are back inside.” I step toward him with every ounce of authority I can muster. I will take him in. Let Alice try to stop me.

  Except that she does not. She does not, in fact, come anywhere near me. Instead she steps toward Henry, grabbing hold of the handles on his chair as she turns sideways, turning her face to look at me.

  “Don’t come one step closer, Lia. I told you to step aside.” And then to Henry. “Give me the list, Henry. If you want to protect Lia as you say, as Father wanted you to, you will give me the list. If you don’t, Lia will never be free of the burden that is hers.” She needn’t threaten me with words, for her hands on Henry’s chair so near the river are threat enough.

  Henry shakes his head stubbornly. “No. I’m only doing as Father asked.” His lip quivers, belying the fear and cold that he tries to hide behind his steadfast refusal.

  I have had enough. I step toward Henry, trying to affect a confidence I do not feel. “This is ridiculous, Alice. Let go of Henry at once. I’m taking him inside.”

  I have just reached her shoulder when Alice spins, faster than I think possible in such rain, so that she and Henry are facing the river as she looks at me half over her shoulder.

  “Don’t come any closer, Lia. Don’t.”

  I stop, holding very still. Thinking. Thinking as fast as my mind will carry the thoughts forward. The look on her face is indecipherable — a mixture of anger and fear and sadness so intermingled it is difficult to determine where o
ne ends and the others begin. She looks half-mad, her eyes wild. I do not trust her with our brother. It is wisest to get Henry away from her grasp as quickly as possible. I take one step toward her, feigning a confidence in her rationality that I don’t really feel.

  “Don’t.” Her eyes are pleading, begging me for something I don’t understand and cannot grant. “Please, Lia.”

  It is this final plea that makes me feel safe stepping forward once again, that makes me believe Alice does not want to hurt Henry.

  But I am wrong, so very wrong, for I have only taken one step when she gives a small shake of her head, heaving Henry and his chair forward toward the river as simply as if he is a stone.

  It seems strange that I should hear the sickening creak of Henry’s chair over the downpour, but I do, and the wheels inch forward across the rocky riverbank, not very quickly at first but picking up speed as it hits the incline.

  In what seems the oddest thing of all, everything happens slowly. Somewhere within the logic of my mind I know things are pressing ahead much too fast, much too dangerously, but in this moment it seems that everything has slowed down, the time passing in a strangely twisted version of itself.

  I lunge across the wet earth, flailing desperately for his leg, the spoke of his chair, anything at all, as Henry rolls closer and closer to the river. Sprawling across the mud, my fingers catch on the spoke of one wheel, and a spark of pain runs up my wrist as the backward movement of the chair is stopped with my fingers.

  Henry is painfully silent, clinging to the arms of his chair with all the strength his small body can muster. I try. I try to hold the chair, but it is so very heavy, my fingers are not nearly strong enough to stop the force of so much steel. It pulls loose from my hand in a last, excruciating tug.

  And then Henry is falling, falling, down the bank of the river. Amazingly, he stays in the chair until it hits a rock near the bottom, tipping and spilling him out of it.

  Straight into the rushing water.

  31

  “I-I-I didn’t —” Alice’s voice is a stutter over the rain in the moment before I race to the river’s edge.

  I give no thought to anything but Henry, helpless without the use of his legs in the rushing water. I cannot get to the river fast enough. I dive headlong into the center of it, knowing it is deepest there and will carry me more swiftly toward my brother. The water hits me with the cold shock of surprise as it closes over my head, taking me downstream even as it pushes me under its surface. I struggle against the current before finally letting go, allowing the force of the water to push me to and fro, to throw me painfully against the bottom, scraping my body against the rocks that lie there.

  It is only as I begin losing my breath that I come to my senses, making a desperate bid for air by pushing off the rocky riverbed with all the force I can muster. I long ago learned to swim in the calm water off the island where we vacation in summer, but my violent tumble down the river has nothing in common with the gentle rocking of the ocean. My head emerges from the murky depths, but the river tugs at my skirts, threatening to pull me down once more. I believe I see something dark floating downstream just before my head is again pushed beneath the roiling current.

  This time I fight, thinking Henry may not be far out of my grasp. I kick and stretch, reaching for the surface until I break free, gasping for air while I am able. The rain still falls, making circles on the surface that fold quickly into the rapids. I look and look, scanning the churning river for any sign of my brother, but the water is muddy, the rain incessant, and I see nothing that gives me hope before I am slammed to the bottom yet again.

  My bones are weary, numb with cold and the constant abuse of the rocks at the bottom of the river. Tossed through the water like discarded baggage, I feel the alluring tug of eternal sleep. Something within me wants to let go. To open my mouth and let the water flow to every inch of my body, if only to complete the struggle that is the river, the prophecy, the burden that is mine.

  It is my mother’s voice that forces me to a moment of lucidity. Watch out for Henry, Lia. It is an echo in the half-dead part of my mind, the part that has nearly given up, and with it I kick to the surface, fighting for my life and the life of my brother.

  “Lia! Over here! Come this way!” At first I think I imagine it, but the voice is real and calling to me from the riverbank.

  I lift my head over the rapids, scanning the shoreline until I see her. It is Alice, standing at the river’s edge with a long, thick branch in her hand.

  “Come on, Lia! You must try! Try to make your way to me.” I can barely hear her, though she must be shouting with everything she has in order to be heard at all from such a distance.

  She is far enough downstream that I may make it if I paddle furiously and with all my might. But Henry… Desperation makes me frantic, and I begin to sink once more as I scan the river. There is no sign of him. No sign of the chair, so heavy it has surely sunk somewhere along the length of the river.

  “Lia! Over here!” Alice is still waving. Still calling. Looking only at me. Who will search for Henry?

  I decide to try and grab onto the branch, if only to give myself a moment to be still while I scan the water and the riverbank for Henry’s dark head. The river pushes me along with such force and at such great speed that working against the powerful current takes every ounce of strength left in my battered body.

  Against every odd, I begin changing direction, slowly turning toward the bank on my right. As my body settles more fully into its new direction I am able to use the current to my advantage, and by the time I am near to Alice and the proffered branch I am moving so fast I fear I might pass them entirely with one sweep of the river’s great arms.

  “Ready, Lia? You must grab as you pass, all right?” Alice’s voice is a command up ahead of me, and I find myself nodding in agreement despite everything that has happened.

  I am rushing, rushing toward the spot where the branch dips into the water.

  “Be ready, Lia. One… two… wait… Now, Lia! Now! Grab it!”

  She is leaning so far out over the river that I think she will topple in after me, but as I rush by, I reach out a hand and grapple through the water. I am nearly past it, nearly past the point where I might find salvation, when I feel the crackly, rough branch on my palm. I close my fingers around it quickly, before it is too late.

  In an instant my body stops its journey downriver. I still feel the pull of the current. I still feel my skirts, heavy with water, tangling against my legs and weighing down my body. But for now, at least, the branch and my sister serve to keep me above water.

  “Lia! Lia.” Alice is panting, out of breath and soaked to the skin as if she, too, has nearly drowned in the river. She extends one hand with effort, keeping the other on her end of the branch. “Take my hand, Lia.”

  I hardly hear her at all. My eyes scan the length of the river, taking it in until it disappears in a curve around the bend. He may have grabbed a low-lying branch, I think. He may have become stuck on one of the shallow stretches of river. He may have found a rock to cling to until help arrives.

  I tick the possibilities off in my mind as if counting down the options for tea. As if every one of them is just as possible as the last, despite the fact that there is no sign of Henry. No sign of his chair. Looking at the river, it is easy to believe that Henry was never there at all.

  “Now, Lia! You must grab my hand. This branch will not hold you forever.” Alice is angry, and I am surprised that her anger can still gain my attention.

  “H-h-henry.” I am so cold I can no longer feel the branch beneath my palm, though I see it still enclosed inside my fist.

  “We shall get a search party for Henry, Lia. But you must come out of the water now before the branch gives way.”

  I am still thinking. Still thinking. Trying to think of a way to save Henry.

  “Lia!” Alice is shouting at me through her tears, and I notice for the first time that she is sobbing, sobbin
g so hard she can hardly speak. “You will come out of the water this instant. Do you hear me? Do you? Because you will be no good to Henry dead at the bottom of this river.”

  There is no time to question her offer of help. Something in her voice, in her tears, in the stark fear on her face, makes me nod. She is right. Only too right. I must get out of the water to help Henry properly, and right now, there is only one way out.

  One of Alice’s hands holds onto the branch. The other reaches for me.

  It takes me a moment to muster my courage, for I am so cold and the river so fast that I fear falling back into the current. I will not survive it again.

  I wrap one hand tighter around the branch. And with the other I reach for Alice.

  She grips my hand so tightly with hers that I do not doubt for an instant that she will come into the river with me before letting me go. She pulls with a strength I didn’t know she had until she falls backward into the mud and I am lying half in and half out of the water.

  She scrambles to her feet, slipping in the mud, and turns me onto my back.

  “Lia? Lia? Are you all right?” Her face is pale and wet. I don’t know if it is the rain or her tears that fall to my face as I sink into darkness.

  The room is warm, but I feel it only as the absence of the cold that seemed to sink deeper into my bones in the hours since Alice pulled me from the water. I am still numb. Whether from cold or fear I don’t know. Ivy and Aunt Virginia have been bustling about, piling extra blankets on my bed, forcing me to drink tea so hot it scalds my tongue.

  “There, now. Are you warm enough, dear? Is there anything else I can get you?” I feel Aunt Virginia’s gaze on my face, but I cannot meet her eyes.

  I shake my head, studying the fine needlework strewn across the coverlet on my bed. The search party is still out looking for Henry. Sonia and Luisa are downstairs, somewhere in the silent house. I know these things, but cannot harness the energy to think about any of them.