Rose Coffin

by M. P. Kozlowsky

  “Does this mean we’ve arrived?” she asked Coram when she rose back to her feet. “Is the cemetery near?”

  Coram nodded. “Just beyond Theebius.”

  The air was ice-cold, the moonlight lost in the fog. There wasn’t a sound for miles.

  Rose crept forward until the beginning of the cemetery could be made out. It was just down a short slope, the land stretching out. From what she could see, it was clear the ground was loose, as if there were fresh burials every day. Either that, or something beneath the soil was fighting to get out.

  Ridge finished paying his respects, repeatedly wiping at his eyes as he stood. Still, he couldn’t pull himself away from the skeleton tree. He kept talking to it, the quietest Rose had ever heard him speak. “Guide me, Theebius. Guide me to my destiny. Let my life be worth speaking of.”

  Eo took the lead down toward the cemetery, his armor glowing in the fog like the sun peeking through. There was a newfound sense of confidence in the Cobberjack. All fear had left him. It turned out he was his father’s son after all, Rose thought.

  When they reached the bottom of the slope, Ridge gave each one of them a shovel. Eo found a rock nearby and began sharpening his claws.

  “We don’t know what’s going to come up,” Coram said. “So be careful. Don’t dig too recklessly.”

  There has to be a better way, Rose kept thinking. There has to.

  Nobody wanted to make the first move. They each looked from one to the other, shovels in their hands.

  “Perhaps it’s best if we spread out,” Meadowrue said, her voice like ice. It was clear how badly her hands were shaking. Everyone noticed it, but before something could be said, she dashed off into the fog, far from the others.

  Rose made sure to follow. She thought nobody should be forced to face their nightmares alone.

  Nearly eighty yards in, Meadowrue arched her back and was about to thrust the shovel into the ground when she froze. The shovel just hung there in midair. Looking back at Rose, her arms locked, she said, “I can’t do it.”

  Rose was taken aback by her vulnerability. This is a girl with ghosts, she thought. This is a girl with nightmares you could never imagine, Rose. This is worse than a brother in a coma. Worse than a thousand SallyAnns. “You don’t have to,” Rose said. “We’ll do it.”

  But Meadowrue shook her head. “I can’t let my demons chase you. They’re mine to face.”

  The look in Meadowrue’s eyes cracked Rose’s voice wide open. Fear vibrated along each syllable. “How many of your dreams are buried here?” she asked.

  Meadowrue’s face went slack, the blood draining quickly. When she spoke, her chin quivered. “Hundreds. And they’re all the same.”

  The wind was fierce in the middle of the cemetery. It threw the fog from east to west so viciously that Rose’s surroundings could only be glimpsed in fragments. Hidden, then uncovered, then hidden again. The effect made everything appear even more surreal than it already was. Rose would see her friends for seconds at a time—unnerved gravediggers—before they were once again lost in the never-ending fog. Like the moon behind passing clouds.

  “Deedubs wasn’t the only one to ever go into Widcrook,” Meadowrue said, her voice hushed and distant. “I went too.”

  Rose lowered her shovel and walked closer. She didn’t need to ask what happened; she just put her hand on Meadowrue’s back.

  “It was long ago, when I still had wings. I flew all the way across the Zo, at one of its widest points, toward the north. By myself. Fairies aren’t meant to fly for very long stretches, but I was always reckless like that. I was curious too, always wanted to see what was on the other side of the river. What had everyone so scared? What was so terrible about Widcrook? It turned out there was a lot. On the shores of the Zo, there was this race of creatures; they’re called Kesps. They’re really horrible looking—I can’t even begin to describe them. Even if I could, I wouldn’t want to. I see them enough in my dreams. But on that day I saw how they were being treated. They were enslaved by these tiny gremlins, Vyntills. It was brutal. The Vyntills poked and prodded them, put saddles on their backs. They beat them, kept parents from children. Worked them near death. I … I couldn’t take it. I’d never been so incensed. I returned home that night and told everyone about it. Every fairy in Stammandy. I told them that I wanted to go back with a boat and rescue every single one of them. The elders warned me against it—I was forbidden. But I didn’t care. I knew what was right. I knew what had to be done, and I shamed them all for not seeing it. Two days later, I went without permission. I put all the money I had into buying a boat, and I sailed it across the Zo by myself. In the thick of the night, I rescued as many Kesps as I could, loading them onto the boat before I was detected. I knew if we stayed to fight—if I tried to rescue everyone—we would all die. And so we fled, escaping by the skin of our teeth—myself and twenty-eight Kesps. I know it was hard for them, leaving their loved ones behind, and I promised I’d come back for the rest. Most of the Kesps with me were young; they were scared and they were angry. Well, not as angry as the fairies were when we returned to Stammandy. You see, fairies are all about beauty and nature, about family and one’s own kind. They weren’t open to the Kesps. They didn’t see the good in them that I saw. They only saw ugliness. Filth. They considered every Kesp to be ill-mannered and ignorant. Animals. And they said it was only a matter of time before they brought violence. Needless to say, the Kesps were treated poorly. Nobody wanted them there. The fairies said their presence ruined their home, ruined everything it stood for. The Kesps weren’t treated any better here than where they had come from. Then one night something horrible happened. There was a fight, an argument, and by morning the Kesps had massacred dozens of fairies. Elders, children—there was no pity. Eventually we were able to drive them out, but the blame fell on my shoulders. My wings were taken from me and I was cast out. ‘You’re not a fairy anymore,’ they told me. And I don’t blame them. I alone was responsible for those deaths. Every single one. They’re all on me. And I’ve been haunted by it ever since.”

  “But … you didn’t know,” Rose said. “You were trying to do the right thing.”

  “If it was right, how’d it end up so wrong?” Her lips were trembling. Her eyes blinked repeatedly.

  “Because … because fairies were scared of something they didn’t understand. They didn’t share your love. Your dreams.”

  “I have no dreams, Rose. I have only nightmares, and they’re all buried at our feet. I’m … I’m scared to dig them up.”

  Freezing, and with the wind’s howl filling her ears, Rose said, “Then I will. We’ll face your nightmares together.”

  She figured the spot where she stood was just as good as any in which to dig. The quicker you start, the quicker it ends, she told herself. With Meadowrue still frozen in place beside her, her arms limp at her sides, Rose plunged her shovel into the ground and drew back some dirt that was filled with writhing white worms as thick as her fingers. The deeper she dug, the thicker they got. About two feet down, where they were the size of her wrists, she hit something. A dull thwack. And it wasn’t a worm. She pulled the shovel back and the dirt shifted, and she saw an eye staring up at her. It was large and yellow and filled with bubbling pus, and when it blinked, Rose let out a shriek. Quickly, she threw the dirt back over it, her heart pounding. Reality was terrifying enough in this world; she couldn’t imagine what everyone’s nightmares might be like.

  She glanced back at Meadowrue. She was still in the same spot, still unable to move. It was as if invisible hands had risen up and grabbed hold of her ankles. After watching Rose’s first attempt, she seemed to be talking to herself, psyching herself up. But whatever she said, it wasn’t working. She couldn’t get her body to move.

  Somewhere far away, through the windblown fog, Rose heard shouts. Someone had dug up something big and a fight was taking place, though she had no clue where. It sounded horrific, a clash of weapons and gasps for help and strength.
If they didn’t find the bow soon, dreams wouldn’t be the only things buried here.

  She looked down at her shovel in frustration. This isn’t working, she thought. It’s a needle in a haystack. If we keep digging aimlessly, we’re just going to uncover more and more nightmares.

  Then, deep in her head, it was as if she could hear the Abomination laughing. The Voice was still with her, and it seemed to be growing stronger.

  Behind her Meadowrue shrieked. She must have started digging while Rose was distracted. She was stumbling backward, dropping her shovel in terror, hands covering her mouth as if to keep something in.

  “What is it?” Rose asked, screaming over the wind and through the fog.

  “H-how?” Meadowrue said, stammering. “How is … how is this p-possible?”

  “Rue, what is it?” she said, rushing over. “What happened?”

  “The first grave … The very first grave I dig and … and … it’s one of mine!”

  Rose reached her, grabbing hold of her arm. It was ice-cold, the skin covered in goose bumps. Meadowrue’s eyes—growing larger by the second—were locked on the shifting earth no more than six feet away.

  Rose looked too, her stomach plummeting straight into the ground with the nightmares. Something was clawing its way to the surface, the dirt falling off it in large chunks. It was a nightmare that even the fog kept clear of.

  “One of mine!” Meadowrue shouted again, shaking her head in disbelief. “It’s one of mine!”

  The cloaked figure rose to an imposing height. Its pointed face, horselike and skeletal, darted out of the hood. There was just the slightest amount of skin over it, thin strands about to snap. Every tooth was exposed, and there were barren holes where its nose and eyes should be. Its emaciated body was wrapped tightly beneath the raggedy cloak, worms writhing all over it.

  “What is that?” Rose asked. For all the fear that swept through her body right now, she knew it was only a fraction of what Meadowrue was feeling.

  Meadowrue backed away. Her swords weren’t even raised—she had drawn them, but they were down at her sides. Her head shook from side to side as she cried out, “It’s a Kesp. A Kesp!”

  The creature shambled forward, head bobbing, a strange gasp coming from its snout. Something told Rose her voice wasn’t going to work on it. Was this true? Or was it the Abomination speaking? “We’re going to have to fight, Rue!”

  But Meadowrue just stood there, and suddenly the Kesp was rushing toward her, head down, its cloak flowing like a cape. As Rose braced herself, it ran right by her and rammed Meadowrue in the chest, knocking her back almost a dozen feet, swords flying.

  Meadowrue didn’t seem hurt, but she didn’t get to her feet either. There was no fight in her.

  “Get up!” Rose said. “It wants you! You have to fight!”

  But still, Meadowrue refused to act. She looked as if the blow had cracked her chest open, yet, as the Kesp moved in again, she had the strength to scream.

  She’s just going to let it kill her, Rose thought. It’s almost as if she wants it to.

  Rose ran faster than she ever had, blinking in and out of the fog, a race with a nightmare. She reached Meadowrue just moments before the Kesp, and dived, grabbing one of the fallen swords. But by the time she turned around, the Kesp was on her, shrieking into the wind, one howl mixed with another. With her eyes closed, Rose swiped the sword through the air, connecting with the creature. She felt something give beneath the cloak, and the Kesp toppled to the side.

  “Get up,” Rose said to Meadowrue, trying to pull her to her feet before the monster gathered itself. “Get up!” But Meadowrue refused to budge. It was like she weighed five times her weight.

  When the Kesp stood again, it ripped its cloak off and unfolding from within were the two longest arms Rose had ever seen. They just stretched and stretched, thin and sinewy. Sharp claws unfolded from the ends, fingers with several knuckles each, bending in impossible ways. Its legs unfolded too, flexing in three different places, giving the Kesp another six feet in height.

  Its mouth opened wide enough to swallow Rose whole, letting out a hideous squawk, strands of flesh snapping across its expanding chest. With a long finger, it pointed at Meadowrue.

  “It wants me,” Meadowrue cried. “It never stops!”

  Rose, her chest heaving, jumped in front of her supine friend, the sword vibrating in her hand. She tried to steady it with two hands, but that just made it worse.

  “It wants me!” Meadowrue screamed again. “Move, Rose! It wants me!”

  But Rose refused to budge, even as the Kesp charged. It moved so much quicker now, dropping to four legs in a wild rush. Rose barely had a second to register what was even happening. There was no time to use her voice, no time to cry out for help. Her only instinct was to raise the sword, her elbows wobbling. The Kesp leapt at them, and Rose ducked, eyes averted, as she raised her weapon toward the creature. She could feel the blade meet the stretched-out flesh, the Kesp’s momentum carrying its body forward, dragging against the steel. It collapsed in a heap beside them. Writhing in agony, still reaching out, the Kesp clawed at them. Its long rows of teeth snapped, its body rising and falling. It glared at Meadowrue, and Meadowrue met its glare, her face wet with tears. “Leave me alone,” she said. “Please leave me alone.” The Kesp lunged and scratched her face, just below the eye. Then, hands clutching its wound, the monster let out a small gasp and ceased moving.

  Frantically cleaning herself off, Rose looked on in shock as the Kesp dissolved into the fog, not living, not dead, not even a dream anymore. She rose to her feet and felt something wiggle down her shirt. Just as she was about to scream, Orange Blossom climbed through the collar and threw half a worm to the ground.

  Rose helped Meadowrue up, applying pressure to her facial wound. Blood seeped from the gash and dripped down her fingers. She couldn’t believe she thought it, but she needed Meadowrue to be tougher. Next time the wound might be fatal.

  “If you refuse to fight, your fears will win,” she told her.

  “I’ve survived this long, Rose.”

  “Is that what you call it?”

  Rose knew she was being tough with her. She had to be. Just as Rose’s mother had been tough with her. The problem was getting through. She wished her mother could see her now.

  Meadowrue glanced down in shame. She brought her hand to her cheek and placed it over Rose’s. “I have no idea how many times I’ve been here, Rose. Too many by far. There’s going to be one of those things for each of my people killed. I … I can’t do it. I can’t face them.”

  “You—”

  There was a scream, and Rose’s head snapped toward the sound. She saw Ridge angrily charging through the fog toward a twelve-foot-tall spider. His birds had all been caught in a web, their bodies limp. Ridge’s branches tangled with the arachnid’s legs, each one trying to puncture the other. Just past him was a ball of light, and Rose knew this was Eo. Gold sprays were flying off his back, the spiked armor hard at work. There was no sign of Coram, and Rose felt a sharp twinge of fear in her chest.

  “We’ll never make it like this,” she said.

  “We have to run,” Meadowrue cried. “I’m telling you, we have to get far away from here!”

  “There has to be another way, Rue. We can’t run and we can’t keep digging.”

  “Then what?”

  Rose paused, and the wind continued to blow as if it had something to say. The voice was powerful, cutting through her clothes and skin and reaching deep within her. She could feel it shove aside the Abomination’s voice as if it were nothing.

  The message rose up through her body. It told her she could do this, that she could help end this struggle. And it told her she knew exactly how to do it. Who was talking, Rose wasn’t sure. But she had a feeling it might be Eppersett itself. This strange new world reaching out to her. Straightening up, Rose closed her eyes, letting the message take hold. And then she had it. Over time, she was beginning to understand h
er abilities more and more. She now realized it didn’t always have to be some kind of attack or defense. It could be something more subtle, like when she called Orange Blossom to her inside the labyrinth. She had the power to manipulate the world around her. If she sang now, it would be a kind of communication with the beyond. She could tap into something hidden, some astral plane. Eppersett itself. And as the song began to pass through her lips, it was as if she was asking the world to sing with her.

  “But I still haven’t found what I’m looking for …”

  She sang this line over and over again, a type of pleading, a type of prayer.

  “But I still haven’t found what I’m looking for …”

  Meadowrue was silent beside her, holding her face, staring in awe, as Rose was suddenly pulled forward, her back arched, as if something had yanked her heart.

  Still with her eyes closed, Rose walked through the cemetery. Or was she carried? Guided? Battles were taking place all around her. The spider was gone, but there was now something like a half human, half rat. It was ten feet tall and carried an ax as it faced down Eo and Ridge. Minutes later, she strode straight between Coram and another of Meadowrue’s Kesps. Coram tried shouting at her, but Rose heard nothing but the whispered instruction in her ears to keep walking west.

  After a few hundred yards, the ground rumbled, and Rose opened her eyes. About ten feet ahead of her, the earth was shifting, as if something were bubbling up from beneath.

  “It’s there,” Rose said, breaking her trance. “The weapon, it’s there. We have to dig.”

  Rose stuck her shovel in the ground and turned to Meadowrue, who had followed closely. “I can’t do this alone. I know you’re scared, but I need your help. You can do this.”