by Taryn Tyler
“ Listening to the ghosts again?” I asked.
She shook her head. “The trees.”
“That ghost child who speaks to you.” I said. “The girl.”
Rose pulled a stray curl away from her neck. It dangled from her fingers like a dancing thread of fire. “They all speak to me.”
“But the one who speaks the most—I've seen her before. When she was alive.”
“Where?” Rose asked but I knew she had already guessed.
“The manor. Just after Lucille came. One of the soldiers brought her in, cold and hungry, out of the rain. No one knew what happened to her after that.”
A dragonfly landed on Rose's bare shoulder. She stared straight at me, not bothering to brush it off. “You know.”
I nodded. “Lucille ate her heart.”
I had heard Lucille and the Hunter –Hans --discussing a fine delicacy to be brought up to her room late in the night after Papa had gone to bed. I had pretended I thought it was an animal's heart but why drug an animal first so that no one would hear it scream? Later I had seen the girl led down a corridor up toward the tower rooms that no one used. I'd never told anyone.
Rose touched my shoulder, pressing her palm warm and comfortably into my skin. She held my gaze. Her wild amber eyes didn't quite smile and didn't quite cry and then we moved forward with the water's current.
The brook widened into a stream. The bank grew smoother and wider, covered with rocks and moss instead of gravelly earth. We stopped at a place where the the rocks were wide enough for us to climb up onto and sit cross legged while we waited for fish to bite.
I leaned next to the water and cupped my hands, lowering them into the gurgling ripples. I waited until the wings and legs of a water bug tickled my palms, then closed my fingers around him. I pulled him up out of the water. His legs squirmed as I held him by his wing and tied him to the end of the fishing line.
Rose sat beside me, watching. She could have easily called the water bug –or even the fish—to us but she refused to use her powers against the forest. She would take what the earth offered her, she'd said, but nothing more.
She laid back with her long bare arms stretched over her head. She had taken to wearing only her outer gown when the weather was warm, and leaving her shift buried in the cupboard with her boots. The pale gray fabric draped loosely over the sleek curves of her body. “I hope we catch something soon.” She said. “It's going to rain.”
I didn't ask her how she knew that when the sky looked as clear as glass. She knew. That was enough.
The water bug wiggled his legs over the water's surface. The current drifted past us. I let my feet drape over the rock's edge, dipping my toes back into the cold, dark water. Something stirred in the rushes. Rose looked up. Her eyes narrowed. I followed the line of her gaze. The hobgoblin poked his long smudged face and now shortened beard out of the long green stalks.
He scrunched his face up into a knot. “You two. Can't I go anywhere without seeing your big gawking faces?”
Rose flicked a gnat away from her eye with her finger. “We were here first.”
“Ha. Think you'll make me leave do you? This is the only place I can catch a decent mouth of fish.” The hobgoblin planted himself cross legged onto the bank and set to work stringing his fishing pole.
“Do you have a name?” I asked.
Rose shot me a look.
The hobgoblin glowered. “You think I would tell you my name with the witch just laying there next to you? I'm in no hurry to die.”
I narrowed my gaze. “Rose would never--”
“Leave him, Snow.” Rose said “He's just a nasty little man with no manners.”
I turned toward her, strewn over the rocks with a reed between her teeth, her ankle crossed over her knee, her toes wiggling. My tutors would have been horrified. “You don't have any manners either.” I pointed out.
Rose snorted. “No. But I have that other thing. What's it called?” She twisted her face, wrinkling her nose as she continued to chew the reed. “Charm.”
I shook my head, unable to resist a giggle. “You mean audacity.”
The hobgoblin cast his bait into the water and sat back with both hands on his pole, waiting for a bite. We left him alone and concentrated on catching our own dinner.
The wind and the water rippled. Sunlight streamed out of the sky, soft and warm like a farewell kiss. Rose and I caught three fish. Rose braided herself a crown and bracelet out of rushes. I told her that they looked ridiculous on her but I was lying. The green made the bright red of her hair and the gold of her eyes sing. She looked like a dryad or a siren. Like Rose.
We were deciding whether or not to cast the fishing strand one last time when we heard a cry and a splash from across the stream.
We turned toward the sound. The hobgoblin hopped up and down on the bank, gripping his fishing pole. He moved closer and closer to the water with each leap. The current was already pouring over the arches of his feet.
Rose arched her eyebrows in amusement. “You will scare away the fish if you go for a swim now.”
The hobgoblin continued hopping, edging closer and closer to the water. He gripped his fishing pole tight in his hands. “Idiot. Can't you see my beard is caught in the thread? The fish is pulling me in.”
I turned my head, meeting Rose's gaze. Without a word we both slid off the rock, down into the water. We waded across the stream. It only reached a little past our knees but the hobgoblin was small enough to drown in it. My foot slipped on the soft carpeted slime of the moss and Rose had to catch me to keep me from falling into the slow dribbling current.
We reached the hobgoblin. Rose grabbed hold of his fishing line with both hands and pulled a grayling the size of a hare out of the water. The fish thrashed his long silver tail wildly, his scales glinting like tiny mirrors in the sun.
I climbed out onto the bank next to the hobgoblin and knelt next to him in the gravel. The water lapped around my knees and thighs, stirring the edges of my skirt. The hobgoblin stopped hopping as I fumbled to untangle his beard from the fishing strand but the knots were too tight. The wind stirred the rough strings of his hair even as I worked, tightening their hold around the strand. The hobgoblin kicked and snarled like a trapped badger. Finally I gave up and cut him loose with my knife.
The hobgoblin stopped struggling. He stepped back, stunned as if I had slapped him. He looked down at his beard, now reaching the center of his chest rather than his waist.
“Are you alright?” I asked.
“Oaf.” He said “Temptress. Fiend. You're worse than the witch. Distorting my face once wasn't enough for you, eh? You had to come back and finish the job?”
“I--”
Rose came up beside me with the grayling in her hand. The fish had stopped flailing. His gills moved slowly now as he struggled to breathe. The hobgoblin jumped up and snatched it out of her hand. Clouds were closing in overhead, draping us in sudden shadows, but I still saw something glint around his waist. I squinted, peering at it more closely.
It looked like a gold ring hanging from around his belt. In its center was a large pink amethyst but around that, engraved into the gold, was a marking I had seen before. Perhaps the insignia of some noble I'd seen at the manor.
“What's that?” I asked him, but he had already darted off into the rushes, disappearing into the forest floor.
“Next time,” Rose said “we will leave him to die.”
We waded back across the stream. I had the three fish on a string in my hand and Rose had the fishing pole and empty satchel hung over her shoulder when the first streak of lightning cracked across the sky.
“The rain.” Rose said. “Let's race it to the cottage.” She grabbed my hand and darted into the trees, pulling me after her.
The first roll of thunder sounded. Our feet beat against the earth like a drum. Cool, hard soil beneath my soles. Crisp, dry leaves. Rough, brittle twigs. We sprinted forward, side stepping through the trees like a dance,
first one way then the other. At first Rose raced ahead, pulling me by the arm to keep up with her, but as we ran her breath began to shorten and then I was in front, pulling her after me.
Lightning cracked. Thunder roared. Cool dusk air crawled past my face and into my hair, fondling my feet and ankles. My heart hammered in my chest, matching the pulse of my feet. Water rushed beside us, trickling through the earth as we ran upstream.
At last we reached the bridge. I stopped, jerking Rose to a stop beside me. Her arm pulled taunt then slackened between us. Her fingers tightened around mine, pulling our palms close. Her cheeks were flushed from running, her eyes and mouth filled with laughter. A thread of lightning flashed, the same fire as her hair. The air was thick and damp, preparing for the coming storm.
Thunder shattered against the silence. The sky broke apart, pouring heavy streaks of rain down over our heads. I screamed, then laughed. Within seconds we were drenched through, every inch of our clothes soaked and clinging to our skin.
Rose dropped the fishing pole. I dropped the fish. She took my hand, already smothered in rainwater. Water drizzled out from between our palms and down our wrists. We flung our heads back, letting it pour into our mouths. Drops danced over my face, collecting on my lips and eyelashes, then dripping down my cheeks and neck. We spun around, whiling in circles until we were dizzy.
When both our heads were spinning too much to stand upright we pressed our foreheads together, holding onto each other for balance. Our bodies swayed together, rocking back and forth in the cool of the evening. I could smell the crisp flora of the forest, heightened by the rain, and the warm honey scent of Rose's breath, brushing against my nose and cheek. Slowly the dizziness began to fade.
I shivered. “Winter is on its way.” I was unable to keep the wistfulness out of my voice.
Rose tightened her fingers around mine. We ignored another flare of lightning. Another crash of thunder. “So is our red bear.”
But he wasn't.
Winter came. The rain hardened into ice, coating the cottage roof and covering the brittle windings of Rose's gardens. Only the red and white rose vine continued to bloom in the persistent howl of harsh winds. We filled our cupboards with turnips and dried peas and beat the dust out of our stockings so we could repair the holes.
“We need more thread.” Rose said, fingering our last spool. Her red cloak lay spread over her lap, the last of the hem's tears newly stitched together in tiny neat little 'x's.
“We can get some at the village.” I said “We need more flour too.”
Rose shook her head. “Greta and I spun the thread in the village. When I was there last winter the villagers said they had to go to Copshire to buy thread.”
“Can't we go to Copshire?” I asked.
“It's a day's walk and there are bound to be soldiers.”
I bit my lip. Would Lucille's soldiers even recognize me now? It had been so long. Surely they had stopped looking for me. It wasn't a risk I wanted to take. “We can wait until the red bear comes. He'll keep me company while you're gone.”
We waited. The frost grew thicker. The wind grew stronger. I helped Rose build a sled with the wood from her grandmother's old bed so she could carry more wood with her into Copshire. The bear didn't come.
“We can't wait any longer.” Rose said “Another moon and the roads will be iced over.”
I sighed, looking down at a new hole in the heel of my stocking. Black threads frayed around the edges, threatening to snap if they were pulled. The wind moaned outside. Or were those the ghosts?
I shivered. I didn't remember my nightmares. Not anymore. But some nights . . . . It was good to wake up and see Rose, alive and warm, a few feet from me in the loft. Her presence chased away the lingering traces of darkness before my mind could form names for them. And I always dried the tears away before she woke.
“Take me with you.” I said.
Rose shook her head. “It's dangerous.”
But I couldn't spend two whole nights without Rose's song or the warm thick fur of the red bear's coat. Being awake and alone for so long would be nightmare enough. “It's been two years.” I said. “Most of the soldiers didn't remember what I looked like when I lived in the manor.”
Rose pounded her palm against the pastry dough laid out on the table. She drummed her fingers over the wood surface.
“We can carry more wood with the two of us.” I said.
Rose tossed her curls and tapped her foot and wrinkled her nose but eventually she agreed that I could come. We baked what was left of our flour into bread for the journey and set out the next morning.
The first part of the journey was familiar. We followed the same road through the wood to Rose's village as we'd followed before. I felt a shudder as we stepped out of the trees. My pulse quickened. I closed my fists around my palms. Open space with only a few buildings cluttered together to shadow the ground. The air was colder out here. The sun was brighter.
Rose felt it too. She turned to me as if to ask if I was all right. I nodded and we kept walking.
The children in the village waved to us as we passed through but the adults hung back, watching us with wary eyes. We stopped at the well for a drink but didn't linger long. It was hard to rest with cold, unwelcoming stares hounding us from the yards and windows. Rose stopped for only a moment to gaze at the house she had lived in with Greta. Another family lived there now. Two children chased a dog through the yard while their father sharpened a set of carpenter's tools.
After the village was the heath. Bits of purple heather prickled up out of the thick blanket of snow. A pair of hawks circled over our heads. The creaking pull of the sled of firewood dragged behind us as we trotted up the road. Large black stones lay scattered over the fields, coated with ice. So much stillness felt lonely after the stagnant bustle of the village. A chill swept through my cloak and skirts. They flapped back and forth with a hard snapping sound but the snow kept the grass and heather still. The stones stood solid and unmoving, smothered in cold, hard ice.
Past midday, after we had eaten our first portion of bread, a hawk soared over the heath, clutching something in her talons. I thought it was a snake at first but it was too thick and had too many limbs. It thrashed back and forth in its struggle to get away. The hawk landed on one of the tall stone ledges. The sun glinted off a streak of torn gold threads. Then we saw the matted gray beard and long grubby fingers.
Our ill-mannered hobgoblin friend.
Rose cursed. “Can't he go anywhere without almost getting himself killed?”
We rushed forward, lifting our feet up and down in quick, snow-covered crunches until we reached the bottom of the stone. It was at least twice as high as Rose. Maybe even three times my height.
“I think I can climb it.” I said “If you can distract the bird.”
Rose nodded. She edged over to the other side of the giant rock.
The climb was harder than I expected. The stone wasn't high but it was covered in ice. My feet and knees slipped. My hands turned red and numb from grasping at the cold, slippery surface. I bruised my shin and cut the inside of my palm. At last I pulled myself up onto the ledge.
The hobgoblin turned his face toward me from inside the hawk's nest. His little black eyes were frightened and dazed. Rose's song carried up from below. The hawk tilted her head, hopping a little on her sharp talons as she fluttered toward the sound, closer and closer to the edge of the stone. Her wide, all-seeing eyes blinked, fixed on the heath below.
I crept toward the nest and helped the hobgoblin untangle his beard out of the dried brush and heath. It had already begun to grow back, reaching almost to his waist. I wrapped both my hands over his middle and pulled him out of the nest. He struggled for a moment then held still as I set him down beside me.
Rose's song stopped. The hawk turned her head. Her eyes lighted on the hobgoblin. He made a dash for the edge of the rock but she was faster. Her talons closed around the gold threads of his coat, pulling him up
off the ground. He kicked his tiny legs back and forth, trying to set his feet back onto the stone.
“Rose.”
I stood and reached for the hawk and hobgoblin. They rose higher and higher into the air. My hands closed over the hobgoblin's shoulders. I pulled. His coat ripped. The hawk pecked at the back of my hand, piercing the skin with her sharp beak. I lost my balance and teetered toward the edge.
“Rose.”
Her song started again. Slow. Simple. Twirling and tumbling like the wind itself. The hawk let go of the hobgoblin and took off into the sky.
I fell forward, landing on my knee with the hobgoblin in my hands. I let go of him and swung my legs over the edge of the stone. The climb down was quicker but I was still out of breath when I reached the ground. The hobgoblin dropped beside me with a tiny crunch in the snow.
“You're far from the wood.” I said.
He pulled a feather out of his beard. “Not by choice, you clumsy oaf. Look what you've done to my coat. It's in tatters.”
The back had been ripped so that I could see the white of his shirt in six long stripes where the hawk's talons had been but a day or two with a needle and thread would mend it easily enough.
Rose stepped around from the other side of the stone. “Are you alright?”
I nodded. “What happened?”
“I thought saying hello would be enough to distract her but she was very hungry. I had to tempt her with the sky.” Rose scanned the cold, empty heath, barren of all signs of life save for a sliver of black in the sky. The hawk soaring off into the early winter sky. “It will be some time before she finds another meal.”
The hobgoblin crossed his arms, scowling. “I don't care if it takes her the rest of the winter so long as it's not me or one of my brothers she finds.”
“You ought to take better care of yourself.” Rose said.
The hobgoblin shook his head. I noticed for the first time a string of pearls around his neck tucked beneath his shirt so that I could only see a few of the pearls. Between those pearls hung a small gold disc with the same insignia his amethyst ring had had. He snorted. “That's rich, coming from you.”
