The Silver Gate

by Kristin Bailey

  Wynn kept her eyes on the ground before her feet so she wouldn’t miss any sticks. She carefully lined up the skinny ones that wouldn’t be good for burning on the path so she could follow them back to Elric.

  She twisted through the bare branches of shrubs and little saplings growing through the blanket of leaves on the forest floor. As she glanced up, she noticed a path, and followed it toward a hill. The frost crunched under her feet as she walked, gathering the dry sticks as she went.

  The first touch of sunlight warmed her face. She heard a rustle ahead and looked up.

  A brown hare munched on some new spring grass growing in an open clearing on the edge of a large birch grove. The white bark of the trees shone bright in the new sunlight as the frost glittered silver on the ground. The trees were budding bright yellow leaves for spring. With the new sunlight behind them, they glowed gold.

  Silver and gold. She was here. She found it.

  Wynn hummed the song under her breath, thinking the words, hoping she could hear the voices sing with her again. Maybe this wasn’t the place. It was beautiful, with the silver frost covering the birches, but it didn’t feel magical. The woods were silent, except for the quiet munching of the hare. His ears turned forward and back as he ate the new shoots of grass.

  Suddenly a young fox emerged from the bright white trunks of the birch grove. He lowered his head, slinking forward, pressing his golden-red body close to the ground. His fine black ears pricked forward.

  He pounced, jumping straight up, his tail high as he landed in front of the rabbit.

  Wynn held her breath, but to her surprise the rabbit reared up and danced on his back feet as he pawed at the fox in return.

  The fox smiled, lowering in another bow, his tongue hanging out as he grinned at the mad spring hare. The hare fell back down on his paws, and both the rabbit and the fox bounced around the small clearing as if they were playing.

  Wynn laughed at them, then sang the song to see if they would dance with the music the way the birds had done. The fox popped up again, bounding through the clearing as he pranced and pounced. The rabbit answered in kind, hopping delicately on his back toes as he pawed at the air and leaped around the fox.

  Wynn watched the natural enemies dance to her tune, and she sang louder until laughter bubbled up into her voice. This was magical. The hare and the fox leaped and played. They were very good dancers. Maybe all foxes and rabbits should try to be friends. The light glittered around the animals, catching in the frost and turning it into a million points of sparkling light as a soft breeze fluttered through the new spring leaves of the birches.

  “Wynn!” She turned at the sound of Elric’s voice. He marched up the path with both sacks swung over his shoulder and Mildred on his heels.

  “Here!” she called, wanting to show him what she had just seen, but when she turned back, the fox and the hare had gone.

  “What were you doing up here?” he asked, breathing heavily. He had been running.

  “I have sticks,” she said, dropping her bundle at her feet. “For the fire.”

  “You did a good job, but I already put it out.” He lifted his hand to shade his eyes, scowling at the birches. “This looks like a well-traveled path. Hopefully it will lead to another hamlet or village.”

  Wynn smiled but didn’t say anything. She knew this road would lead right to the court of the Fairy Queen, where the woods were filled with light and color, and the animals danced together as friends.

  “Come on.” She took her brother’s hand. “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Elric

  THINGS WERE LOOKING UP. ELRIC grabbed a birch stick and peeled the bark as they walked along the path. There was a chill in the air, but summer was coming soon. They still had a little bit of meat, and he kept the fishing line. Hares would be waking from hibernation, easy to hunt, and they had a clear path under their feet.

  Even Wynn seemed less stubborn as she happily trotted through the birches with Mildred chasing at her heels. Wynn would take an extra-large step, and Mildred would dart between her legs. Then Wynn would take another long step, and the hen would weave through her legs again. It became a game between them, and it made Elric smile.

  He leaned on a walking stick he had picked up to watch them play. This path had to lead somewhere, and soon they would be able to find a place they could settle and live in peace.

  He had a decently steady hand, and Mildred had thick, stiff feathers. Maybe he could become a fletcher and make arrows, or begin to learn a smithing trade. Working with a large fire would be nice on cool mornings such as this.

  “Do you think I’d make a good smith?” Elric asked, tossing the peeled stick into the woods.

  “What is that?” Wynn halted in the path ahead of him.

  “Someone who makes swords, and knives, and other things with metal.” Chains and tools wouldn’t be as interesting as crafting armor and weapons, but it was part of the job.

  “Knives are sharp, careful.” Wynn bent to pick up a stick of her own, crowned with yellow leaves.

  Elric stopped on the path. Those were their mother’s words. Wynn had even mimicked the cadence of their mother’s voice as she said them. He could see her in his mind, running to Wynn, to pull her away from the things that would harm her as she repeated the same phrases over and over so Wynn could learn.

  Knives are sharp. . . . Fire is hot.

  Those lessons should have been obvious. Wynn had to work so hard for any piece of information she gained, but they still found their way deep into Wynn’s mind through patience and effort.

  Each one was a victory, because every small thing Wynn ever learned came with tremendous effort.

  How could he teach her all the rest that she would need to know?

  That night Elric prodded the fire as he watched Wynn sleeping peacefully nearby. Tiny flakes of snow began to fall, and he adjusted his cloak over his shoulders to ward off the chill.

  The sight of the flurries dancing through the light cast by the fire reminded him of a night much like this one. Wynn had been about four and couldn’t talk yet. Mother had laid her down to sleep near the fire, then stood in the doorway of the hut, looking out into the darkness.

  “Who do you watch for?” Elric had asked.

  She folded her arms across her chest with a heavy sigh. Her long sandy hair fell in two braids over her shoulders as she contemplated the new snow. “It snows when the Fairy Queen feels lonely. If you watch closely, you might see her through the snow.”

  Elric laughed at her. “You’re telling me stories. Father told me grown men don’t listen to such things.”

  Mother smiled. “And you are a grown man now?”

  “I am six!”

  She chuckled. “A very grown man indeed.”

  She opened her arms, stretching the woven blanket she carried over her shoulders out like wings. He rushed into them, and her arms circled him, enveloping him in the warm comfort of the blanket and his mother’s embrace. She kissed the top of his head. “I am glad I don’t have to be lonely. I have you, and your sister.”

  Elric looked up into his mother’s gray eyes, so much like Wynn’s. “If the Fairy Queen is real, why haven’t I seen her?”

  His mother looked out at the falling snow. “You will see what you believe you see.”

  As a boy, he pondered those words for years. Sometimes while out in the fields tending the sheep, he sat alone in the night and told himself that he believed. It never made a difference.

  Wynn was counting on him, and he had to do what was best and what was right for both of them. Trusting in fairy tales would not help them survive.

  Wynn mumbled in her sleep and turned over, pulling the cloak from her body. It snapped Elric back into the moment. He stoked the fire, their tiny shield against the cold, then he tucked the cloak back around his sister.

  Sometimes he wished he could see the world the way she did. But he couldn’t. He never would. The snowflakes grew thick
er, large clusters of puffy ice falling from the dark sky. He huddled deeper into his own cloak and drifted off to sleep as softly as the falling snow.

  Elric woke with a start. A heaviness pressed over his body and his limbs went numb with cold. His breath rose in a fog around his face as he tried to blink the sleep out of his eyes, but his lashes were crusted together. All he could see was white.

  A blanket of snow an inch-and-a-half thick lay over everything, and fat snowflakes were falling from the dark clouds overhead. The wind picked up, and he could have sworn he heard a distant howl on the wind. He turned to the white lump next to him.

  “Wynn, wake up!” He pushed the heavy snow off his cloak, grateful that the thick wool kept him fairly dry. They wouldn’t remain that way for long. He struggled to his feet but stumbled and fell. Pain stabbed through his legs, and he couldn’t balance on his numb feet. “We’re in trouble, wake up!”

  He had to brush off a thick blanket of snow to shake her shoulder. Thankfully she stirred, revealing Mildred tucked in her cloak, close to her chest. His relief felt like sinking his shivering body into a tub of hot water.

  Mildred shook out her comb and blinked at him with an uncertain awwwwk. Wynn yawned and stretched her arm up, the snow falling off her cloak in heavy clumps. Several of the snowflakes landed on the ends of her cropped hair, then melted.

  She blinked at the frosty-white grove.

  “It’s snowing!” A wide smile broke over her face as she scrambled to her feet, shaking off the rest of the snow and brushing off her cap. It fell around her, leaving a ring of disturbed snow at her feet. She twirled in the thick flurries laughing at the dancing snowflakes above her, then hugged Mildred tight. The hen kicked at the sudden embrace. “This is wonderful.”

  “This is a disaster.” Elric wrapped his hand in the hem of his cloak and brushed aside the snow enough to gather their meager belongings. He shoved what he could back in the sacks, his fingertips feeling like they would shatter in the cold. “We can’t see the road.” His teeth chattered as he said the words, so he clenched them tight until his jaw ached. If he hadn’t woken when he did, they might not have woken at all. Another hour, two? He wasn’t sure how long it took to freeze to death, and he didn’t want to find out. He cursed springtime and its mercurial weather under his breath. It didn’t help that they were traveling north and into the mountains.

  Wynn walked over to him and placed her hen near her feet. Mildred flopped onto the snow, then flapped and jumped, trying to pull her feet out of it. She squawked, clearly affronted that she had to touch the cold snow.

  “I got you,” he said to Mildred, who had flopped on her side with her feet curled tightly into her feathers. Elric picked her up and lifted her to his shoulder, where she could perch. Her feathers tickled his ear, and he tilted his head into her side in a vain attempt to warm his cheek. She cooed at him and preened his hair.

  Wynn trotted over to a tree and shook it. She giggled as the snow fell from the branches, landing on her with a soft plop. With her cheeks flushed red from the cold, she smiled at him.

  The road had to lead somewhere. They might be close to some form of shelter, but that path would take them up the mountain. If they went down, they might be able to get below the snow line. But then the storm could turn to freezing rain. That would be worse. Chances were greater that they could find someone else living on the edges of the lake. Lakes offered resources. Barren, snowy, mountainsides did not. “We have to get down off this mountain right now. We’ll head back to the lake. There might be another fishing village nearby.”

  “No.” Wynn backed away from him, her feet creating long furrows in the snow as she dragged them. “We are going the right way.” She pointed into the birches.

  “We can’t climb into the snow. We’ll freeze to death out here. We must find shelter.” Elric tucked his hands under the pits of his arms in an attempt to warm them as he stumbled along a downhill path. Mildred jumped off his shoulder and returned to Wynn.

  “The village is dead. There are dogs.” Wynn marched the opposite direction. Her footprints left dark pockets that marred the pristine white. Mildred tried to hop from one to the next, flapping with urgency, but her wings couldn’t lift her heavy body out of the snow. “I’m going this way.”

  “Wynnfrith!” Elric tried to hurry after her, but his foot slipped in the cold mud beneath the snow and he had to catch himself against a tree. “Stop right now. You need to listen!”

  She shivered, pulling her cloak closer to her exposed neck. The short fringes of her hair pushed up around her face like a mane. “I will find the Silver Gate.” Swinging her arms, she began to sing that song for the thousandth time.

  Elric gripped the branch of the tree until he feared it would snap. “It doesn’t exist!” Elric shouted. “It is only a story Mother made up to keep you happy.”

  Wynn spun around and yelled. Her words clearer than normal. “No. Mother said the Fairy Queen is real! She said I can see her.”

  Elric took a pair of careful steps toward Wynn. “She taught you songs when you were little because it helped you learn to speak. You had to repeat things over and over before you could learn words, and songs were easy to remember. None of that song is true. It is nothing more than a bit of entertainment some minstrel made up to earn a few coins at market.”

  “It is true. I will find the Silver Gate,” Wynn said, concentrating hard on her words. She stopped speaking for a moment and waited, as if the words were near her tongue, but would not rest on it. Finally she said, “It is close.”

  Elric shook the snow from his hair and raised the hood of his cloak, his ears burning from the stinging cold. How was he ever going to convince her to come with him?

  Wynn walked back toward him and took his hand. “We found the dancing smoke, the fire river, the hands, the lake, and the grove.” She swept her other arm out at the stark white birches. “Why don’t you see?”

  Elric grabbed her elbow and led her back the way they had come. She yelped in shock and pulled against him. He trudged forward, dragging her behind him. He managed only a few steps before he stopped. He didn’t have enough energy to fight. It was too cold. He had to appeal to her. It was the only way. “The smoke was a flock of birds. The fire was a reflection from the sun. The hands were nothing but a tree in the darkness. The lake was covered in fog. It held water, not air, and there is nothing special about this grove. All of these things are perfectly ordinary.” He looked around at the fat flakes of snow falling through the drooping branches of the birches.

  “Why?” Wynn pulled her arm from his frozen grasp. “Why don’t you see?”

  “I don’t believe in magic!” he shouted. “It’s naught but tricks and distractions that jugglers perform for coins at market.” He swung himself behind her and tried to push her forward with his hip and shoulder, but she leaned against him. His feet burned and he couldn’t bend his toes. “There is no magical force that can change things just because you want it to.”

  “Magic is real.” Wynn turned to the side, and he nearly fell forward into the snow. She trotted away from him and backed up so he couldn’t grab her again. “I believe.”

  “What do you know?” Elric muttered. “You’re a half—”

  He stopped himself before he said the last word, but it sat on his tongue like poison.

  Wit.

  She stared at him with deep hurt in her eyes. It was the same look she had given him when he had cut her hair.

  And his guilt sliced at him like a knife. He didn’t mean it. “Wynn, I’m so sorry.”

  “I know things,” she said, her lips set in a soft frown as if this hurt cut so deep, it had lost its sharp edge.

  “I said I was sorry. I’m just—” He rubbed his neck, soothing the ache that lingered there from carrying the sack. “This hasn’t been an easy journey, and I don’t know how much longer we can last like this.”

  “Am I cursed?” Wynn looked out into the tangle of trees. Her voice sounded so resigned,
as if she were telling him she was tall, or hungry.

  Elric put his hand on her shoulder. “You are not cursed.” He said the words, but even as he said them, he thought about the years of poor harvests that had plagued the village where they had lived ever since the year she was born, and the number of misfortunes that had befallen them on this journey.

  “Father said I was cursed. Mother kept me, and that cursed her, too.” She looked far off into the distance.

  “You’re not cursed. You just need to be more sensible. Curses aren’t real either. If you continue to believe in things that aren’t real, you’ll only be disappointed.” He let the sack fall to the ground. Somehow he had to wrestle Mildred into it without getting scratched. The hen was still flopping around in the snow. She ran as soon as he neared her.

  “I don’t know what that means,” Wynn said. The chilling wind picked up, blowing the heavy snowflakes away from her face.

  “It means you can’t think something is real and have it be true. You can’t think, ‘Oh, here’s a rock’ and have that rock suddenly appear. And when you don’t get what you want, you will feel hopeless and sad and we will be lost high on a mountain in a snowstorm, where we will likely die.”

  Wynn bent down, brushed some snow to the side, and picked up a rock the size of her fist. “Here is a rock.”

  “That’s not the point! None of the rest of it is real. I don’t believe in the Silver Gate. I don’t believe in the Fairy Queen, or the Grendel, or magic, or any of it. I can’t believe it and I won’t believe it.” He slapped the snow off his shoulders and turned from her. He sniffed; his nose was dripping from the cold, and the dry winter air made his eyes sting. “Live in your fantasy all you want. I don’t care. Just please, please, listen to me. I’m trying to save us.”

  She placed her hand on his shoulder. He turned to her, and she tipped the rock into his palm.