By the Icy Wild

by Everly Frost

  Wrapping my arm over his waist, I snuggled my head into his shoulder and waited for him to drop his chin to the top of my head and hug me back. His heartbeat thrummed in my ears and his arms warmed me, his breathing deepening.

  I relaxed for the first time knowing that tonight there would be no dreams of Michael begging me to be alive.

  The next morning, I awoke to find Michael still sound asleep, but when I moved, his arms tightened and his eyes shot open, immediately alert.

  “Ava, what? Where…?”

  “It’s okay,” I reassured him, trying to calm him. “You’re okay.”

  His heart pounded in my ears, an erratic, worried beat, and I waited for it to slow down, stroking his shoulder and back, kissing his cheeks gently.

  “I fell asleep,” he said. “I haven’t done that for a while.”

  I chewed my lip before pressing a kiss to his. He’d said he’d lived in the mountains for the last week, and I could only imagine what he’d been through to evade the bears that long. When his heart finally settled and the fear vanished from his eyes, I found his smile again and soaked it up along with his hugs and kisses until our stomachs growled. Michael’s was louder than mine and I guessed he still hadn’t made up for the starvation of the last week.

  At breakfast, he volunteered to work on blockading the back of the tower, but Quake said, “Thank you, brother, but we’ve got this covered for now. Ava, why don’t you take some time today to show your friend everything he needs to know?”

  Quake’s words sank into the air around me and I accepted them with gratitude. I needed to take my own advice: one step at a time.

  When Michael finished eating, I said, “There’s something I want you to see.”

  The black branch was stark against the white snow around it.

  “This is the source of nectar,” I said. “Your dad did this. He cut this branch from a sacred tree in Seversand and brought it here. In Seversand, they sing songs instead of telling stories, and the tree is sung to be the tree of life.”

  At that, Michael raised his eyebrows at me.

  “We’re still debating the actual possibility of that, but still, it’s pretty clear that it causes regeneration.”

  Michael reached out to touch it, but I stopped him. “It’s probably best if you keep your distance for now. The surface of the branch has receptors in it that react to human touch. It’s a lot like the moss in that way. I’m not sure how it will react to anyone who isn’t mortal.” My glance at Michael was apologetic as I ran my hand along the bark, sensing the warmth beneath my fingertips, the feeling that I was touching something that didn’t belong here or, well, anywhere.

  I reached a spot where the scorpions gathered.

  “Wait … Are those?”

  “Scorpions,” I said. “Like the one on my wrist. One of them wrapped around my hand when I touched the tree for the first time and it inked a mark onto my skin. We think they have something acidic on the surface of their bodies. Don’t worry; it didn’t hurt me. But they guard the branch. Protect it. Snowboy said your dad got bitten a lot when he grafted the branch onto here.”

  “So this is where he got nectar?”

  “From the sap, and then he synthesized it to produce more of it because he couldn’t take the branch with him.”

  “You used to be afraid of nectar.”

  “True.” I circled the tree, remembering Snowboy’s words. “This world wasn’t made for people like me. But this tree—or the product of it—has saved my life countless times. I can’t hate the thing that saved me. I’ve stopped beating myself up about that and I’ve faced my fears.”

  “I remember what it did to you.” He circled, too, in the opposite direction. “When you fought that bear—when you fought me—you were so strong. A thousand times stronger than anyone I ever fought before. And look at you, standing in the snow without freezing. Not like…” He smiled. “Do you remember the balcony at Ruth’s place?”

  “I remember. I didn’t want to go inside.” I drew close to him, taking comfort in his presence.

  “What else can you do now? Keep warm, obviously. Strong—also obvious. And I definitely noticed that you can hear what I can’t hear.”

  “You’re right. If we listen carefully, we can hear heartbeats.”

  His eyes widened.

  “Yours is really strong.” I cleared my throat. “Pip’s better at it than the rest of us, which is why we rely on him to tell us if anyone—or anything—approaches the tower. He can’t hear the bears though. They slow their heartbeats too much. But I’m here for that.”

  He moved in closer to the tree, careful not to touch it. “And why is that? Why is that your job?”

  “Because…” I stepped back from the heart glow I could see thumping near his collarbone. “Because I nearly killed one of them. Michael, unless you don’t already know this, the bears aren’t like normal animals. They’re like people. They regenerate. It’s what makes them such awful killing machines. But … I need to tell you something.”

  I swallowed. “The others can’t see it, but I can. I don’t know why, but there’s this glow. I didn’t know what it was at first, but I discovered that it’s regeneration energy. I can see regeneration as it happens. But there’s more. I can’t just see it. I can stop it.”

  “Wait … What are you saying?”

  “Michael, I can ki—”

  “Stargirl!” Pip raced around the corner and my heart leaped into my throat. Pip was on watch and if he was shouting for help…

  “What is it? Is it an attack?”

  “It’s bears. Four of them. Coming through the forest.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I RACED after Pip while Michael kept pace, darting through the trees to the far side of the orchard. The snow belt curved closer to the tower on this side and I could see the slope where three bears waited. But the more immediate threat was the fourth bear approaching nearby. It lumbered on all fours, limping forward, but it wasn’t until it was ten feet away that I saw why: it carried something in the crook of one arm, its giant paw turned inward to protect a small, white bundle.

  It wasn’t attacking. I breathed a sigh of relief as I drew to a halt, taking a more cautious approach with Pip and Michael beside me. The bear wailed across the distance, shaking its head from side to side, yowling as it did so. With great care, it laid the bundle on the snow.

  The small, white mound didn’t move. The bear nudged it with its nose, pressing its cheek against it, before it shuffled backward. It shook its head into the air again, drawing up onto its hind feet so I recognized it.

  “Nine,” I called. “What do you want from me?”

  Nine ambled backward even farther, as though reluctant to leave the bundle.

  “It wants you to look,” Pip said.

  “Yeah, I’m getting that vibe too. Okay, I’m going over there, but I want you to come with me and be ready to call the others if things get bad.” It had been a while since I’d taken nectar. I could tell I was still okay because I wasn’t feeling the cold, but if this was some kind of trap, I’d have to fight for my life.

  Nearing the mound, I made out the shape of fur and a small body, its back to me, wrapped around like a caterpillar.

  “It’s a baby bear,” Michael said, a step ahead of me.

  I tugged on Michael’s arm. “That’s impossible. The Council created thirty bears and each of them was made, not born. It says so in the files.”

  He stared back at me. “There are way more than thirty bears.”

  “But…”

  “I counted at least a hundred or more. Not all of them are fully grown. Many are tiny like that one, but there are many more than thirty.”

  This new information floored me. A hundred killing machines. Or … were they? Would the new generation carry the same instincts? Could nature eliminate the worst of their design?

  What I did know right then was that the baby wasn’t moving.

  Its heart glow was very weak, its pul
se slow and pale. Not like Nine’s, which would blind me like Michael’s if I focused on it. The baby’s fur was oh-so-soft as a kitten’s, its features fine and fragile, and its nose a dark triangle above a toothless mouth. Its breathing was shallow and its pulse slowed with every passing second.

  Nine’s cry was plaintive.

  “I can’t help you,” I called to him. “My power hurts things.”

  But I had to ask myself if that was still true. The branch of the magnolia tree had come to life because of me—a single leaf had grown. And then there were the not-so-obvious things, the delicate things, like the way Pip hugged me or the way Rift’s shadows were not so dark when I was around, and the way Michael’s shoulders weren’t heavy anymore.

  Was it love or was it forgiveness?

  Or was it both?

  As Pip and Michael lowered themselves to the snow beside me, I crossed my legs and drew the small creature onto my lap, cradling it, checking carefully for wounds. It had no sharp bones jutting from its body like the fully-grown bears, which made it easier to hold.

  I kept my voice low. “Pip, can you sense what’s wrong?”

  Pip squinted in thought. “There’s hardly a heartbeat. I almost can’t hear it at all.”

  “It’s very slow. The blood isn’t pumping like it should.”

  Michael laid his ear to the cub’s chest, listening. “I think I might know what’s wrong. I wanted a pet when I was younger and mom took us to a kennel. There was a litter of pups that was born too early. The owner said their hearts weren’t working properly. She said there was nothing they could do.” He sat back on his heels. “I can’t hear anything at all.”

  “It’s like when I was asleep,” I said, thinking aloud. “I was alive, but nobody could hear my heartbeat.”

  Michael sucked in a painful breath, but before he could speak, Pip asked, “Do you think the cub came into contact with a slumber plant?”

  “No, but … the symptoms are the same and…” I twisted to Michael, catching his hand and holding it in mine. “I want to tell you something and I don’t want you to be sad.”

  He shook the tension out of his shoulders. “Okay, I’m listening.”

  “When they brought you to see me, you held me, and just by touching me, you almost woke me up.”

  Michael’s eyes filled with pain and I wanted to tell him it was okay now. I wanted to kiss his eyelids and take all the darkness away.

  I said, “It really scared Ruth. The thing is, when you touched me, I felt the same surge of energy that I always felt with you. You have all this energy inside you and I think that’s where your regeneration comes from. It kicked my heart, sped it up, and almost woke me.”

  He glanced at the cub. “I don’t think I can wake it up, if that’s what you’re hoping. I touched it just now and nothing happened.”

  “No, but I think I can. I want you both to stand back. The last time I did this, I almost killed someone.”

  They did as I asked, although Michael shot me uncertain looks, while I focused on the task at hand. When I’d hurt Seth, I’d unleashed the energy into his healthy body. But when Michael’s energy had touched my damaged heart, he’d almost woken me. I hoped that what I held inside me could do both.

  I opened the empty place where I stored all the residual energy from nectar, letting it trickle out, careful not to open the fire of destruction, surprised by how much I was keeping at bay. I shut it down quickly, not letting too much out, and I imagined the energy leaving that empty spot in my stomach and traveling up my chest, across my shoulder, into my right arm and all the way to my finger.

  My skin buzzed. My arm tingled. Every part of my torso came alive. I clamped down on the surge of emotion that came with it, trying to stay calm, clinical—not to care too much.

  But I wanted it to work. I wanted the cub to live.

  Behind Nine, the three other bears waited and one of them rested her head on her paws, shaking it to and fro, agitated, as though she was beseeching me to help. I wondered if it was her cub—her child.

  I placed my finger on the source of the weak heart glow—the heart itself—and very gently released the energy inside me.

  Like a conduit, the energy traveled from my fingertip into the cub’s heart. I fed it slowly, controlling it, allowing it to trickle in, watching the orange glow meld with the cub’s blue heart glow. The light glowed brighter, but I didn’t want to overwhelm it. I didn’t want to take control, just feed what was there. As my own energy diminished, the blue light grew, and suddenly … there it was.

  A glorious, quick thud.

  Thud-thud.

  Relief and happiness flowed through me as I withdrew my finger from the cub’s chest.

  I watched and waited another moment, hoping it wasn’t a fluke, that the cub’s heart would continue beating on its own at the pace it was.

  The baby bear stirred, shifting in my hold, and the mother bear’s head shot up. I could see her shivering from that distance, thrumming as though she needed to see her baby and couldn’t wait another moment.

  I scooped the bear cub into my arms and carried it toward her as she trembled and bellowed, barely containing herself. Nine followed me and for a moment, I thought he might grab the cub, but he seemed to decide against that at the last moment.

  The mother bear’s spikes bristled as I approached, but not in threat. She mewled, holding out her giant paw, sniffling at her baby as I handed him over, nuzzling his body and face. The baby’s eyes weren’t open, but it responded to her, snuggling into the soft spot between her paw and chest.

  I took careful steps away, only turning my back on them when I was at a safe distance. Then I waited for them to leave. Nine roared at me before he snowballed and disappeared with the others into the mountains.

  “You saved it.” Michael took my hand, his warm in mine.

  Finally, I allowed myself to smile.

  “You did it, Ava.” Pip gave me a quick hug and returned to his post, leaving us alone.

  I tugged Michael along the path. “Walk with me?”

  The orchard was varying shades of gray bark and white snow. “I need to say that I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I was here and you didn’t know I was alive.”

  “It’s okay. You didn’t choose this.”

  “All that time you thought I was dead, it killed me.”

  “I get it. I understand.”

  “You don’t have to say that. You’re allowed to be upset.”

  I waited for him to respond as he leaned back against the nearest tree, contemplating the snow, pressing his hands against it.

  “I’m not. I’m really not. I know who you are. I know you weigh the risks in every choice you make.”

  I propped against the tree next to him as he continued. “When you were in the middle of the firestorm at the festival, you saw the water coming and you made sure I was safe. Me. The one you don’t have to worry about, but you did. I’ll never forget the way you looked at me right before you did that. It was the same way you looked at the bear cub just now, like you saw more than you should.”

  “I saw your heart glow, Michael. And if I’d touched you right then, I could have hurt you. Badly.”

  “That’s why my dad put that bug in me, isn’t it? Ruth said it was monitoring my life signs. And it didn’t make sense before why he would do that.”

  “It was because he thought I might hurt you and he wanted to know if I did.”

  Michael sank to the ground, his back to the trunk of the tree. “I hardly know who he is. Everything he’s done. It’s unbelievable.”

  I joined him there, tucking my legs under me. “I found my parents.”

  “What? Where?”

  “They’re asleep under Tower Seventeen. In a place called the room of long sleep. My brother arranged it before he died and Ruth promised to keep them safe.” I shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but it did. “They won’t wake up in my lifetime—however long that is. I thought they abandoned me, and in a way they did, but it was
a horrible choice they had to make.”

  “When did Ruth tell you?”

  “She didn’t. I discovered them myself.” I scratched a pattern in the snow. “I wanted to tell you. I hated keeping it from you. Too many people have too many secrets.”

  He grinned. “Got any others you want to tell me?”

  “Probably.” I laughed. His smile was infectious. He wrapped his hand in mine. There was no zap and I didn’t expect there to be—I’d been taking nectar for so long that my own energy matched his now. I wasn’t the weak one anymore. There was a time when the absence of that tingle would have scared me, but now it told me I was okay. I had Michael. I had my brothers.

  “Stargirl,” he said. “That’s what they call you.”

  “I chose it to remind me of you.” My head found his shoulder, resting comfortably while he stroked my hair. “Arachne called you my Protector once. I thought she meant it in a generic sense. I didn’t know there was an actual group of them.”

  “Arachne’s been working really hard to find out Olander’s plans. She’s given us the means to…” Again, he glanced upward, as though he was afraid someone was listening. “I’m not used to being able to talk outside.”

  I refocused. “It’s okay. We’re safe.”

  “Arachne wants to take him down. After you died, she came up with ways to get information in and out of Starsgard. We have intelligence inside Evereach—people on the ground. I don’t know who they are, but I’ve read some of the messages. It’s … Evereach isn’t a good place to be right now and I’m glad … I’m glad Mom got Jason out.”

  That was the first time he’d said anything like that. When his mom had taken his younger brother and disappeared, Michael had felt deserted, abandoned.

  He said, “I don’t blame her anymore. She did what she had to do.”

  I pulled away far enough to see his face. “Does your mom know you feel that way?”

  Michael’s arm tightened around me and I realized how much I’d missed the sensation of being held in place and together, like all my broken pieces made sense in the crook of his arm. Except that I wasn’t so broken anymore and I realized that now.