Hazel and Holly

by Sara C. Snider

  “I’d like that,” Holly whispered. She looked down at the crystal that seemed to hold a turbulent night within its depths. She wasn’t sure how to destroy it. The crystal was probably stronger than anything. It looked like the sort that would break rocks if one tried to smash it.

  And yet…

  It looked like it should be heavy, yet it wasn’t. It had once been cold yet now held a warmth beyond what it could have absorbed from her skin. It was as though it was its own entity, abiding by its own set of rules.

  She made a fist and squeezed the amulet against the palm of her hand. The crystal, though warm at first, grew colder and colder the harder she pressed. It grew so cold that her fingers began to tingle and her palm grew numb. But she kept pressing, watching her mother with tear-filled eyes, harboring a deep hope that it would remain unbreakable.

  Then, like a thin layer of rime across chilled water, the crystal gave way and shattered. An intense cold engulfed Holly’s hand, encasing it in pain before the numbness returned and she lost all feeling.

  Willow’s form began to unravel. The parts of her that had been solid now began to twine away in curls of smoke that dissipated in the air.

  “I’m sorry!” Holly cried.

  But her mother just smiled and put a fading hand to Holly’s cheek. She turned to Hazel, put a hand to her lips, and offered the hand to Hazel. One heartbeat later, Willow was gone.

  A chill settled in the room—wintery, just like the silence that accompanied it. Hazel didn’t know what to say, and so she said nothing, standing stiff and unyielding like a frozen tree.

  Holly fell to her knees and into tears. Hazel told herself to go to her, to comfort her, yet she couldn’t bring herself to move. Instead, Hawthorn walked over and gave Holly a handkerchief, put an arm around her, whispered words that Hazel couldn’t hear. They must have been comforting, for Holly nodded and gulped down gasps of air as her sobs lessened. She rested her head on his shoulder, so Hazel turned her attention to Hemlock.

  He sat on the floor, cradling his head in his hands. Hazel knelt down next to him.

  He looked up at her, then surveyed the room. Some of the color had come back to his face, though he still looked like he had been washed and wrung out by heavy, unforgiving hands. “So it’s done then?”

  Hazel swallowed and nodded, unable to say anything, even to him. Especially to him. After everything that had happened, after everything she’d done… It was all too much, so she fixed her gaze at a point beyond his shoulder. Looking near him but not at him. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, not anymore.

  He put a hand to her cheek and pulled her gaze to him. He smiled. “You did it.”

  Hazel’s lips trembled. How could he smile at her? How could he offer her kind words when she could find none for herself? Her body shook. She was tired, so unbearably tired. So she let herself rest against Hemlock, and she cried.

  * * *

  The room had warmed in the countless moments that had passed, though the silence lingered. Hazel sat next to Hemlock, across from Holly and Hawthorn. Between them lay Ash’s prone body, unmoving yet alive, according to Holly.

  Hawthorn spoke first. “You know I hate to be rude, but is it really necessary to sit here and stare at your father’s prone form for an unbearable length of time? I know decorum calls for such things, but surely we’ve stared sufficiently long enough and can get on with the pressing business of leaving this place.”

  “We can’t just leave him,” Holly said.

  “Why on earth not? You yourself said he’s not dead. Leaving while he’s still unconscious sounds like the perfect time for us to make an exit.”

  “I agree,” Hemlock said. “Your father was rather adamant about us staying. We should go before he tries to stop us. Again.”

  “Yes,” Hazel said, though she made no move to get up.

  “But…,” Holly said.

  “But what?” said Hawthorn. “But you can’t figure out the best way for us to get out of here? But you can’t understand why you’ve all not been listening to me sooner? But my brilliance has not diminished for suggesting such a base and obvious idea? Surely that’s what you meant to express.”

  Holly pursed her lips and fixed him in a level stare. “But we can’t leave!” She got up and poked at a collection of jars scattered on one of the tables.

  Hawthorn threw up his hands. Then he squinted at Hazel and thrust a finger at her. “She’s becoming more like you every day!”

  Hazel rolled her eyes.

  They all remained sitting while Holly wandered around the room to examine whatever jars and bottles she could find. From time to time, Hawthorn would sigh, loudly, but when that didn’t elicit whatever response he hoped for, he contented himself with poking at Ash’s unresponsive face instead.

  Holly returned with a few jars. “What are you doing?”

  “There are different degrees of unconsciousness. I was wondering on which degree your father had settled.”

  “Well?” Holly said, then shook her head. “Never mind, it’s not important. I found some tinctures that I think will help revive him.”

  “What?” Hawthorn said as he got to his feet. “You’ve lost your mind!”

  “That’s probably not a good idea, Holly,” Hemlock said.

  “No, but he’s my father—our father—and I’m not leaving him like this.” She raised her chin at Hazel, as if challenging her sister to stop her.

  But Hazel just nodded. “Do it.”

  Hawthorn threw up his hands and moved away. He walked over to a bookshelf and pretended to examine the tomes but kept stealing glances over at Holly and the others.

  Holly leaned down and unscrewed the lid on one of the jars and held it up to Ash’s nose. His brow twitched, but he lay still. She removed the lid of another jar and held that up to his nose, and after a few seconds, Ash’s eyes opened and he started coughing.

  Holly helped him sit up as she patted his back. “That’s some nasty smelling stuff you’ve got there. Would probably wake the dead…” She shifted her weight and looked uncomfortable. “Though I’m sure that’s not why you have it…”

  Ash rubbed his eyes, gave Holly a feeble smile, and put a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you, my dear.” His gaze shifted over to Hazel and Hemlock, and his smile faded.

  “I’m not staying,” Hazel said before he could say anything. “So don’t try to keep me here.”

  He winced and rubbed his chest as he looked around the room.

  “She’s gone,” Hazel said.

  Ash winced again, though Hazel was unsure if it was from pain in his chest or from a different kind of pain altogether.

  “It’s what she wanted,” she said. “It’s what was right.”

  He fixed her in a cool gaze. A long, tense moment passed between them before he said, “You should leave before the others get to talking. I’ll show you out of the mountain. Arrange a carriage.” He tried to get up from the floor but couldn’t manage it. Holly took his arm and helped him to his feet. He gave her another wan smile and patted her hand.

  “Come,” he said and shuffled out of the room.

  Hazel helped Hemlock off the floor, and he leaned upon her as they followed Ash out.

  Nobody said anything as they walked through the stone hallways. Occasionally they would meet another necromancer. Ash would nod and the necromancer, though eyeing Hazel and the others, would nod back and move on.

  “Aren’t you going to get in trouble?” Holly said after such an encounter. “You’re not supposed to let us go, are you?”

  “It could be argued I wasn’t supposed to bring you here either. Yet I did, with no great harm to my reputation. There will be talk and complaints, but I doubt anything serious will come as a result. Besides, one can’t live beholden to rules.” He gave Hazel a knowing smile. She looked away.

  They continued on, eventually following a set of stairs that led downwards into a stable. The air was sweet and cloying but not as unpleasant as an indoor
stable could have been.

  A black-robed acolyte came up to meet them while another one lingered behind near a table.

  “Hitch up the carriage and prepare to take my daughters back to Sarnum.”

  The acolyte lingered as he eyed Hazel and Holly. “But, sir—”

  “Now,” Ash said, his voice turning harsh.

  The acolyte clamped his mouth shut. Then he gave a slight nod, and he and the other acolyte got to work.

  While they waited, Ash led them outside where the sun shone and gave a gentle warmth to the crisp, autumnal air.

  “It would be best to leave the carriage at the Shrine,” Ash said. “Not for me, but you’ll provoke the others less this way.” He gave Hazel a level look. “You don’t want to give them more reasons to come after you.”

  “And what about you?” Hazel said. “You’re really going to let us go? After everything? Just like that?”

  He squinted against the sunlight towards a vast, flat field. “You made your choice, as did your mother. I will respect that.”

  “Is that so?”

  He looked at her. “Just promise me one thing. Promise that you won’t decide now how your life will always be. You are young, Hazel. Promise me you’ll let your life be whatever it wants to be, no matter what anyone else thinks of it.”

  “Including you?”

  He gave a half smile and exhaled a sharp, short breath. “Including me.” He paused and his smile faded. “I couldn’t go back, you know. Not after… this.” He waved a hand towards the mountain. “I didn’t fit anymore. But maybe you will be different. Perhaps… we are different.”

  Hazel swallowed. “Perhaps.” She wanted it to be true, but at that moment, she felt more like her father than she ever had. After everything she’d done, how could she say she was different?

  A gate opened from the nearby stables, and out rolled a black-lacquered carriage.

  “Ah,” Ash said. “Time to go then.”

  Hazel nodded. She wished she knew what to say to him. She wished she didn’t feel so sad at this parting, especially when she thought she should be happy. She had done what she had set out to do. She should be happy, right?

  Ash turned to Hemlock. “Sorry about that bit of business back there. Nothing personal. But I take the welfare of my daughters most seriously, however unconventional my approaches. I’m sure you understand.”

  Hemlock regarded Ash with a stony expression. “Of course.”

  Ash gave a tight smile. “Splendid.”

  Holly stood nearby, wringing her hands. Then she threw her arms around her father and gave him a quick hug before she ran into the carriage. Hawthorn held the door open, and Hazel helped Hemlock climb inside.

  Before she could pull herself up, Ash said, “I will always be here, you know. Should you ever be in need.”

  Hazel froze in place for a moment. Then, without looking at him, she climbed inside and sat next to Hemlock. Hawthorn followed her, and the carriage pulled away.

  The journey back to Sarnum was largely spent in tense, exhausted silence. When they weren’t all sleeping, that is. Hemlock slept the most. Holly spent a good portion of her waking hours staring out the window, her expression pensive and distant. Hawthorn expended his energy avoiding Hazel’s gaze. She couldn’t really blame him, after all that had happened.

  They reached Sarnum late the following day. The acolyte that served as their driver took them back to Sensi’s Contemplation. Holly murmured her concerns over Tum having gone missing, while Hawthorn muttered his over his carriage that had undoubtedly been stolen. But all were too tired to do anything about those problems, so they all agreed to go back to the inn to figure out what to do next.

  It was strange for Hazel, being back there. The three old women still sat on the sofa in the common room, knitting up a storm. That they had remained unchanged accentuated how much everything had changed for Hazel, that she no longer felt like the same person she had been before. She didn’t know how to go back—she didn’t know how to feel comfortable in her skin again.

  They went upstairs to their respective rooms. Hazel escorted Hemlock to his door and had started to open it when Hawthorn cried out from his room nearby. She hurried over and found Tum and the driver inside while the entirety of Hawthorn’s wardrobe had been strewn across the floor.

  The driver’s cheeks flushed red. He mumbled something incoherent and hurried out.

  “What are you doing?” Hawthorn cried. He picked up one of his shirts between a pair of fingers, sniffed at it, then made a disgusted sound and dropped it back on the floor. “What have you been doing?”

  Tum drew himself up. “Having a bit o’ fun, that’s what. You and Miss Holly all ran off to go spoiling without me, so I did some spoiling of my own.”

  Hawthorn’s face turned an impressive shade of purple. He drew himself up and opened his mouth, but then Holly came up behind him. She squeaked when she saw Tum and ran inside and hugged him. Instead, Hawthorn clenched his eyes shut, took a deep breath, then turned and walked away.

  Tum wriggled out of Holly’s hug. “Oh, sure, it’s all well and good once the spoiling’s been done, but don’t think I forgive you.”

  “They put us in boxes, Tum. I would’ve rather they didn’t, and I would’ve rather you came with us, but we didn’t have any choice.”

  Tum sniffed. “A likely excuse.”

  “It’s probably good you weren’t there. They didn’t have any beer.”

  He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “No?”

  “No, none. They had these creepy mushrooms though.”

  Tum shook his head. “Nope, don’t like mushrooms. Old Uncle Wirt kept some ’shrooms in his cellar, rather than beer like any decent gnome. They were a weird sort that stained his hands black and made you see odd sorts of things if you got too close to ’em.” He sniffed. “Nobody liked Uncle Wirt.”

  “Um, yeah. See? It’s good you stayed behind.”

  Tum nodded. “Suppose so.” He looked her up and down. “So what’d you spoil?”

  “I told you, nothing.” Holly sighed. “Never mind. Let’s just go find you some beer.”

  Tum perked up. “’Bout time.” He ran from the room. Holly followed him out.

  “At least some things haven’t changed,” Hemlock said as he leaned against the doorway. He smiled.

  Hazel went over to him, and he took her arm. “Everything else has,” she said as they walked back to his room.

  “It always does, Hazel.”

  She helped him over to the bed, and he sat down.

  “I’m sorry for what happened,” she said, unable to look at him. “It was all my fault, Ash hurting you like that.”

  “From what I recall, he was the one who did the hurting, not you.”

  She shook her head. “If not for me, none of it would have happened. If I hadn’t gone off alone… if I’d done something different… it never would have happened. It shouldn’t have happened.”

  “You don’t know what would have happened if you’d done things differently. Maybe things would have gone for the worse. Maybe not. Maybe if I’d done something differently…” He shook his head. “It’s pointless wondering about such things. We are where we are. That’s all we need to think about.”

  “And what are you thinking about?” She couldn’t help but feel he must want to get away from her—away from the source of so much pain. How could he not? But she didn’t have the courage to ask him directly.

  Hemlock went quiet and stared at his hands a long while, and Hazel grew nervous.

  Finally he looked up at her and said, “I’m thinking about whether or not it would be terribly inappropriate if I asked you to marry me.”

  Hazel’s mouth fell open.

  “Would it?” he said. “Be inappropriate?”

  Stunned, all she could do was stand there and shake her head.

  His brow knitted into a puzzled frown. “Is that ‘no’ it’s inappropriate, or ‘no’ it’s not inappropriate?”


  “You don’t want to marry me!” Hazel blurted out. She winced at how harsh she sounded.

  Hemlock folded his hands and gave her a level look. “Oh? Would you care to tell me more about what I do and don’t want? It sounds most enlightening.”

  Hazel tightened her jaw. “You saw what happened. You know what happened. You…” She took a deep breath and, calmer, said, “You should get as far away from me as possible.”

  “I see. And what would you say if I told you that I don’t want to get as far away from you as possible? That I want the exact opposite of that. What would you say then?”

  Hazel pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. “Then I’d tell you you’ve lost your mind.”

  “Is that all?”

  “I’m a necromancer, Hemlock! I can’t deny it anymore. What’s more, I’m not sure I want to deny it. I don’t know what I want! I don’t know if I’ll be able to go home. I don’t know if I can just start living my life the way I left it. I don’t know if I even want to try. I don’t know anything other than I’m confused and scared, and I know you can’t possibly love someone like that because you deserve better. You… you deserve better, Hemlock.” She covered her face with her hands and took a deep, ragged breath.

  He was quiet a while. Hazel wondered if she should leave when he said, “Will you sit with me?”

  She shouldn’t sit down; she should leave. It would only be harder the longer she waited. But she didn’t want to go, so she sat down on the bed next to him, though she kept her gaze fixed to the floor.

  He turned so he could look at her and said, “You know, when you left, the only thing I could think about was how I needed to find you and stop you. I couldn’t let you go through with it, and if you did, it would somehow be my fault. I would have failed.”

  “I know,” Hazel murmured. “It’s why I left like I did.”

  He gave her a half smile, though the other half looked sad. “Exactly. But looking back now, I don’t know… it all seems kind of foolish.”