Page 9

A Step Too Far

The dawn sky shimmered gold with ribbons of green.

“The border is nearly open,” I marvelled, watching the folds of colour above our cottage.

“I’ve never seen the colours so bright,” said Rose.

“Everything feels stronger this year.”

The roses hummed, their petals quivering.

Our honeybees were frantic with excitement, no longer flying lazily home with pollen but streaking past, startling us out of the way.

Even our donkey in the meadow at the end of the garden—usually the laziest creature in the kingdom—skipped through the grass, braying like a trumpeter.

Our hens chased each other in circles and laid eggs with pearly shells.

Mother came in from the back garden, carrying two circlets of roses, one red, one white. Five roses each.

“I want you to wear these,” she said. “Put them on, and keep them on.”

We did not need to ask why. We always wore a circlet of roses when the border opened.

Rose looked prettier than ever with the crimson glow on her fair cheeks.

I, with my unruly white hair crowned in flowers, looked wilder than ever, like a sprite in a springtime faerie dance.

How was it that one sister looked regal while the other looked fey?

And how was it that Mother did not resemble either of us?

As soon as these thoughts surfaced, they faded before I could pursue them. I shook my head, trying to clear away the strange forgetfulness, though I knew from experience that I could not.

The twine of thick rose stems pressed against my forehead. The magic thrummed, tingling against my skin. My senses sharpened, and I became more aware than ever of Faerie’s influence seeping through the thinning border. I glanced at Rose, but she did not seem to feel it as I did.

“Will the border open tonight?” I asked as we breakfasted.

“How should I know?” said Mother.

“You know more than anyone.” I watched her as I chewed my food. If I squinted slightly, the air around her shimmered.

“Why are you scrunching your eyes?” said Rose. “You look silly.”

“So I can see where magic is.”

I turned my squinty gaze on her, but only the roses shimmered around her head. I looked back at Mother, opening my mouth to ask why she glowed with magic—but before I could speak, she met my gaze and said firmly, “Not now, Lily.”

A restraint settled on me, like a heavy blanket.

Had I spent my whole childhood under the influence of the magic in her words?

I struggled against the restraint; I had never resisted it so strongly before.

Questions bubbled up, trying to break the surface.

Questions about Mother, about myself, about the mystery I had lived with all my life.

But I could not break through the restraint.

“One day,” said Mother quietly, repeating the old phrase I had heard so many times.

“When?” I asked impatiently.

“Soon.”

Suddenly, she looked sad, and my irritation melted.

“Sooner than I would wish, Lily. For it will change everything. And I am selfish enough to want to keep you as my little girl.”

Rose looked between us. She was never as curious as me. She never sensed mystery the way I did. But even she was struck by Mother’s unusual mood.

Mother arose and put on her light summer cloak. I blinked at the brightness of the shimmer on that old, nettle-green fabric. She took up her basket and gave us each a rare kiss.

I stood in the doorway, watching her go, feeling the tingling on my forehead where she had kissed me. It felt like a charm, or a blessing.

A sudden, inexplicable urge seized me—to run after her, to beg her not to go. I even took a few steps forward, but before I could call out, the green of her cloak and hood blended into the trees. She vanished.

Rose and I were restless all evening, wondering where Mother was.

Dinner sat between us, growing cold. Rose said Mother would be displeased if we let food go to waste, so we ate, but without appetite.

Every sound outside sent me darting to the window, looking for that familiar hood, that sturdy figure moving noiselessly through the trees, emerging from the gloaming with her foraging basket, surrounded by a flutter and scurry of creatures.

“I’m going to search for her,” I said as the sun neared the horizon.

“You will not!” said Rose with unusual fierceness. She gripped my arm. “Look at that mist coming from the border. I won’t lose you as well, Lily!”

She looked truly afraid, so I relented.

The sky was green with deep pink accents, and the mist was tinged the same unnatural shade—something between fresh fir needles and summer beech leaves.

It was not uncommon for a mist to pass over the border, wreathing the trees and changing the familiar landscape into something dreamlike.

But this mist was different. Weightier, more tangible.

Something unusual was going on in Faerie.

It would be folly for me to try and find Mother in such obscurity.

“She will be waiting for the mist to lift,” I said, trying to reassure myself. “That’s why she’s delayed.”

Rose frowned. “I would have thought Mother could find her way home with her eyes closed.”

I felt vexed, for she was right.

“Shut the door, Lily. There’s such strangeness in the air. I don’t want that mist drifting into the cottage.”

“The roses won’t let it come in,” I said. “Come and see.”

The roses were shedding petals in a light shower that settled around our boundary. Any that drifted beyond the garden fence vanished into the mist with a green glow.

“I don’t want to see,” Rose said. “I want you to shut the door.” She shivered, so I closed it.

Rose sat in Mother’s chair, watching the fire and attempting to comb out the wool for Mother’s spinning, but too distracted to do much work.

I could not rest. There was something almost invigorating about the magic seeping over the opening border, and I paced up and down the length of the cottage, despite Rose’s pleas for me to sit.

Eventually she could bear no more and she went up to bed. I paced until I was exhausted, then fell asleep in Mother’s chair and dreamed of faeries dancing in rings, mesmerising me, until a great black bear shook me and roared until the spell fell from me and I was free.

I thought it was still night when I awoke, for the cottage was cast in gloom.

“Wake up, Lily,” said Rose, prodding me.

I sat up groggily. “Is Mother home?”

“No. And I’m too scared to let the hens out or fetch water. What shall we do?”

I yawned, moving to the window.

The mist had deepened, absorbing daylight and casting everything into the gloom of a forgotten forest glade. Green swirls rippled and danced along our garden fence like ghosts.

“It cannot pass our boundary,” I said. “There is nothing to fear.”

“Put your wreath on,” urged Rose, handing me my white roses.

I obeyed and stepped outside the back door to fetch water.

The hens were subdued, pecking cautiously. The cockerel circled round them protectively. Even Tansy did not stray far from the henhouse. The meadow beyond was hidden in mist, but I heard a muffled bray and a few plaintive meh s from the goats .

Returning to the cottage I set down the water pail. Rose had removed her wreath to brush her hair, and the brush and wreath lay on the table, but Rose was not there. I heard her voice, calling from the garden gate.

“Oh, I am so glad to see you!”

I ran to the door. There she stood, reaching out toward Sir Oswain.

“ Rose !” I called, snatching up her wreath and running down the path.

I could not believe she was being so foolish!—to be standing at the gate, bareheaded, reaching for Sir Oswain’s outstretched hands! Worse still, he was lifting the latch!

The jackdaw echoed my cry—“ Take care! Take care!” he squawked, but his voice was muffled by the strange, swirling fog.

Our roses quivered along the walls, petals trembling in warning. But Rose was too far beyond their reach to be restrained by them.

“Send me away with a treasure more priceless than any jewel or crown,” Sir Oswain begged. “Allow me the honour of bestowing one kiss upon your fair hand, that I might carry it with me into the world beyond.”

“ Rose !” I yelled, running down the path.

The gate swung open.

The jackdaw shrieked from out of the mist—“ Beware! Beware!”

Beyond the path, in the shadowy trees, a figure glided between the trunks. A figure in a hooded cloak.

“ Mother !” Relief flooded through me.

Rose hesitated in the gateway and turned her head towards the trees.

“Mother!” she called, stepping into the path and drifting toward her. The hooded figure stood with arms outstretched.

But something was wrong—the figure was too tall.

The mist rushed forward, curling nebulous fingers around them both. Sir Oswain shouted something, but his words were swallowed up.

I hurled myself down the path, tripping, scrambling to my knees—but it was too late—the arms of the faceless stranger closed around my sister—the mist enfolded them, swallowing their forms—and they were gone.