by Jim C. Hines
“That’s it,” Snow said. “Into the circle, little demon.”
“The circle,” Danielle whispered. She dropped to all fours, studying the circle where it passed closest to the tree. “Snow, look!”
Snow stepped back. “Uh-oh.”
One of the hazel’s blackened roots had poked through the mud, destroying a portion of Snow’s spell. Danielle and Talia both dragged Snow away from the tree as the branches exploded in fire. Claws and teeth splintered the wood as an enormous wolf dug itself free. Its fur was a dirty gray, like old ash. Orange-and-blue flames rippled along its body. They were brightest along the back, reminding Danielle of a dog with raised hackles.
“It is a Chirka,” Snow said. “A big one, too. What did they sacrifice to bring one here at this time of year?”
Talia bounded toward the gate. She slid through the mud, arms outstretched for balance, then spun like a dancer. One hand snagged the bucket, flinging the water squarely into the wolf’s face.
Clouds of steam burst from its fur. Talia whirled and threw the bucket itself, which shattered on the wolf’s head. The wolf shook, spraying dirt and sparks in every direction.
“Bad Chirka,” Snow snapped. Her choker flashed, slowly re-creating the broken symbol in the dirt. “I’m almost ready.”
The wolf ignored her, slinking around the edge of the circle. Glowing orange eyes never left Danielle.
The second water pot smashed into the wolf. The water clearly annoyed the demon, but it didn’t seem to cause any real harm. Neither did the knife which followed, sinking into the wolf’s throat. The wolf nipped at the hilt, but its jaws wouldn’t reach. With a snarl, it crouched and sprang at Danielle.
Talia was faster, grabbing Danielle’s wrist and flinging her toward the tree. As Danielle fell, she saw Talia twist out of the demon’s way, barely avoiding the burning jaws of the Chirka. It slid through the mud where Danielle had been standing. Mud sprayed everywhere as it fought to recover.
“A bit of magic would be nice right about now,” Talia shouted.
“What, you finally met something you couldn’t just bludgeon into submission?” Snow knelt at the edge of the circle. The hazel roots had receded back into the earth, and Danielle could see the frost creeping through the soil. “Danielle, the spell is ready. Lure the Chirka into the circle!”
“Won’t I be trapped, too?” Danielle yelled.
“Oops!” Her mirrors brightened, hastily adjusting several of the glyphs. “Sorry.”
The wolf snarled and crept toward the tree where Danielle stood. Strings of drool swung from its jaws. Several times it lunged and snapped, ripping branches with its jaws, but it always drew back before reaching Danielle.
Danielle pressed deeper against the tree. The burnt wood smell made her eyes water, and she cringed each time she heard another branch snap.
The wolf was between her and the circle, but as long as she stayed here, enveloped by her mother’s branches, the wolf seemed reluctant to attack.
Instead, it went after Snow. It leaped past Talia, knocking her back into the fence before bounding around the circle. Snow yelped and stepped to the side, trying to keep the spell between her and the wolf.
The wolf was too fast. Another bound and it was close enough to catch her. Teeth bared, it pounced.
Talia slammed her shoulder into the wolf’s midsection, driving it toward the circle. It landed at the edge, off-balance. Snow drew back one leg and kicked it hard in the nose.
Sharp teeth caught the edge of Snow’s dress. With a jerk of its head, the wolf tossed Snow into her own circle, then stumbled away.
“You wanted its attention,” Talia said. Her shirt smoldered where she had hit the demon, but she didn’t seem to notice. She drew another knife and pointed it at the wolf’s throat. Not that it would do much good. Talia’s other knife was still protruding from the wolf’s neck.
“Mother, please. . . .” Danielle whispered. She didn’t know what else to ask. A gown and glass slippers were one thing, but what could she do against a demon?
The wolf leaped again. Talia planted the second knife in its throat, but as before, it barely noticed. All four paws slammed into Talia, smashing her against the house like a doll. Then the wolf sprang away from Talia and raced toward Danielle, so fast she didn’t have time to move. Danielle held her breath, turning her face away as that huge, flaming body filled her vision.
Heat seared her skin, but the wolf didn’t reach her. Charred and broken, the remaining branches of the hazel tree had stretched past Danielle to seize the demon’s struggling body, wrenching the jaws back from her face. She could smell its breath, like rotten eggs, as white-hot teeth snapped for her throat.
Danielle jabbed her knife into the wolf’s mouth. It bit down, wrenching the knife from her hand and flinging it into the mud. The heat seared her fingers. Her sleeve smoked as she pulled back, trying to press deeper into the safety of the tree.
The wolf still struggled. Branches and leaves began to burn anew, and with every lurch, the wolf came closer to Danielle. Her mother was too weak to hold it for much longer.
Danielle flexed her hand. The skin was red, blisters already beginning to form between her thumb and finger. “Let it go, Mother. Don’t let it take you, too.”
Something sparkled in the branches to her right. At first, it looked like a shard of ice. Desperately, she reached through the burning leaves, and her fingers closed around the hilt of a sword. The blade was as long as her arm, a thin, flat shard of crystal or glass.
The wolf caught one of the largest branches in its jaws and twisted, ripping it from the tree and freeing itself from her mother’s grip.
Without thinking, Danielle brought the blade through the branches and shoved it into the wolf’s side.
The wolf yelped and backed away. Danielle followed, pushing the sword deeper, driving the demon toward Snow’s circle. Snow stood on the other side, clapping her hands and calling the demon.
It darted to one side, whining as the blade ripped free. Danielle swung the sword in a wide arc, slicing a clean gash along the side of the wolf’s throat and forcing it into the circle.
The Chirka stumbled, then struggled to raise its head. It looked confused. The jaw hung open, as if it could no longer work the muscles to close it. It tried to step out of the circle, then fell back as if it had hit a stone wall. The demon’s dark blood steamed as it hit the soil.
“Got you,” Snow said triumphantly.
Danielle dropped the sword. Turning her back on the wolf, she hurried over to the smoldering ruin of her mother’s tree. Most of the leaves were gone, and those branches that hadn’t broken were black from the heat. Small flames still burned along the roots.
When Danielle reached out to touch the trunk, she felt nothing but lifeless wood.
CHAPTER 4
SOFT HANDS GUIDED Danielle toward the well. Snow eased Danielle’s blistered hand into a pot of cool water, one of the few pots that hadn’t been destroyed in the fighting.
“No,” said Danielle. She tried to grab the pot, to take it to her mother’s tree, but Snow held fast. She was stronger than she looked.
“She’s gone,” said Snow. “I’m sorry. Leave your hand in the water while I tend to Talia. I have a salve that will help your burns, but I need to treat her wounds first.”
“What’s to tend?” Talia said, flexing her arm. The upper part of her sleeve was a tattered, blackened mess. Her arm was red, but the burns weren’t as serious as the one on Danielle’s hand. Lines of blood marked her chest and stomach where the demon’s claws had cut her skin. “It’s a fire demon. The wounds cauterize themselves. I’ll be fine.”
Snow folded her arms. “You’ve got mud and who knows what other filth in those cuts. Either I tend them today, or I wait until they turn septic and you’re too delirious to protest. Which would you prefer?”
Talia grimaced and sat against the wall of the house. Snow was already rummaging through her satchel. She produced a curved silver ne
edle and a length of glimmering white thread, which she set to one side.
“You have no idea how much I despise needles,” Talia muttered.
Their words barely registered. Danielle averted her face from the remains of her mother’s tree, but the acrid smell of smoke drove it home with every breath. She could still feel the embrace of the branches as the tree struggled to protect her.
This was her fault. She had retreated to the tree, drawing the demon after her. Her eyes blurred. “I’m sorry, Mother.”
Motion at the corner of the house snapped Danielle from her thoughts. Erik stood staring from the shadows, his face pale. He started when he saw her watching him.
“Danielle?” he whispered. He looked back at the demon, who lay unmoving in the circle. The flames had died, and it almost appeared to be a normal wolf, albeit a thoroughly charred one. “I heard the noise. I thought Hunter was fighting with another stray. I came back here—”
“It’s all right,” Danielle said. “I think it’s dead.”
“How did a wolf get—” His eyes widened, and his fear seemed to disappear between one heartbeat and the next. “Wow. Is that a magic sword?”
Danielle rolled her eyes. “Erik, who’s minding your father’s shop?”
“Oh, bugger,” Erik said. He turned to go, then hesitated. “You know, there have been a lot of stories since you left. I wanted to say . . . I mean, we didn’t know how bad. . . . I’m glad you’re free. From your stepmom, I mean. And, hey, are you really a princess now?”
Danielle nodded. “If you keep quiet about me being here, I’ll bring you something from the palace the next time I visit.”
“Really?” He grinned so hard it looked like his cheeks would split. “Your secret will never pass these lips. My word on it, Princess.”
Once he was gone, Danielle reached down to retrieve the sword that was her mother’s final gift. The blade was perfectly smooth, sloping to a razor-sharp edge on either side. Bits of charred fur and blood still coated the glass. She pulled her hand from the water and used her damp sleeve to wipe away the gore.
The simplicity of the slender blade made the design of the hilt more impressive. The glass of the grip was tinged green, cast in the rough bark pattern of the hazel tree. Thin lines of wood were inlaid in the glass, spiraling around the handle for a better grip.
The “roots” at the pommel wrapped around a sky-blue sphere of glass. Twin branches formed the crossguard. The hilt fit her hand perfectly, and the touch of the wood seemed to soothe her burns.
She raised the sword to the sun. Deep inside, just above the guard, she thought she could make out the shape of a hazel leaf, as if it had been etched within the glass.
The sword was just as beautiful as the gown and slippers her mother had provided. She wiped her face with her free hand, then rested the sword across her legs.
“Now do you understand why I didn’t want you along?” Talia asked.
Snow made a tsk sound as she swabbed ointment over Talia’s wounds. “She did kill the Chirka.”
“She would have died if we hadn’t been here to save her.” Talia looked away as Snow threaded her needle. “No disrespect, Your Highness, but you don’t know how to protect yourself. Snow and I can find your husband. Go back to the—Dammit, that stings!”
Danielle gently tapped the sword against a small rock in the mud. It chimed like crystal, but not a scratch marred the blade. The glass was so much lighter than steel.
“My mother knew how much I loved my father’s work,” she said. “He could make magic with nothing but a blob of molten glass, a blow tube, and a hot fire.” She smiled, remembering. “When I was little, I used to gather up the splatters of glass after they cooled. They were like glass pebbles, smooth as water on the top, but rough beneath where they captured the imprint of the hearth. I’m sure he let the glass drip on purpose, just for me.”
She flexed her fingers and winced. The skin felt raw and tight. She raised the sword into a guard position, smiling at the way the glass caught the sun.
“Hold the tip lower and fix your elbow,” said Talia, her jaw clenched. “Your arm looks like a chicken wing.”
“You don’t want to have to protect me? Teach me how to protect myself.”
“The best way to protect yourself is to go home,” Talia muttered.
Danielle ignored her. To Snow, she said, “My stepsisters knew nothing of magic before the wedding. Someone had to guide them.”
“Fairies,” Talia said. “They’ve got a real thing for wolves. Always sending them out to stalk humans through the woods or sneak into houses or—” She hissed in pain as Snow tied off the final stitch.
“The spell was cast using witchcraft,” Snow said firmly. “The signs in the attic were unmistakable. But the ingredients to summon and control a Chirka are rare. Most of them are illegal.”
“Where would they go to get them?” Danielle asked.
Snow folded her needle and thread into a small bundle, then rummaged through her satchel until she found a brown jar. She dabbed greenish ointment over the cuts on Talia’s stomach, rubbing it into the skin.
“There are only two places in Lorindar. We need to visit the troll.”
Snow took Danielle’s hand and began rubbing the ointment onto the burns. A cool, tingling feeling spread through her skin. The ointment smelled like fresh-cut hay.
Danielle flexed her hand. “You said there were two places to find those illegal ingredients. What’s the second?”
“My room at the palace.”
Danielle nibbled a seed cake, barely tasting the sweetness, as she followed the others through the Holy Crossroads toward the southern gates of the city. Church bells clamored to either side, signaling noon-time worship. On the steps of Saint Thomas, a preacher in plain cotton robes shouted at the crowds, condemning the use of divine magic by mortal hands. “Magic is not meant for beings as fallible as ourselves,” he shouted.
Normally, the preachers annoyed Danielle with their taunts and condemnations, but this time, she found herself in agreement.
On the other side of the street, a man wearing a blue cloak edged with gold symbols pointed and jeered. “Magic is a gift of the savior,” he shouted. He drew a crucifix from inside his cloak. A winged fairy, cast from bronze, hung from the small cross. “The First Fairy, who lived and died as one of us.”
“Idiots,” Talia said. “The only reason the people haven’t run the Followers of the Fey out of town is all the money the fairies send to push their farce of a church.”
From the sound of things, the group gathered at the Church of the Iron Cross felt the same as Talia. Their taunts soon drowned out the cries of the Fey Church.
“Come on, while everyone is busy watching the show.” said Snow, threading her way through the crowds.
Talia pointed toward the small, gruesomely decorated Chapel of the Baptism of Blood, where a man and woman in crimson hurled epithets at the other churches. “It’s nothing but an act to rile the crowds and put gold in their coffers, the same as any actor or tumbler.”
“You don’t believe?” Danielle asked.
“In them?” She snorted. “By the end of the night, most of these priests will gather at one of the churches and drink together like brothers.”
“So what do you believe?”
Talia shrugged. “My teachers told me magic was brought to our world by Pravesh, Giver of Light. His sister Shiev was angry, wanting to keep that magic for the gods. She tore him into eight pieces and scattered the parts across the world. The fey rose from his spilled blood and spread throughout the world. They had Pravesh’s magic, but were forever tainted by the violence and betrayal of their birth.”
“Is that why you don’t like the fairies?” Danielle asked. Talia said nothing.
Danielle finished her seed cake as she followed. She kept her head bowed, but it didn’t seem to matter. Few people paid them any attention, and those who did would be unlikely to recognize her. Even Snow passed with little noti
ce.
Snow had left her fancy gown and jewelry at the house, donning one of Danielle’s old outfits instead. Charlotte and Stacia hadn’t touched Danielle’s things, probably deciding they were no good for anything but rags. The shirt and trousers were well worn, but clean. Snow was thinner than Danielle, so the clothes hung loosely on her slender frame, except in the chest and hips. An old apron provided a bit more modesty, and a moth-eaten scarf concealed her choker.
A yawning guardsman waved them through the open gates of the city. The hot, heavy air of the crowd gave way to a cool breeze, and the cobblestones beneath their feet changed to hard, dusty earth.
Danielle carried her sword under one arm, tied within a roll of blankets. Talia had bundled it so that Danielle could reach into the blankets and draw the sword without too much trouble, though they would have to unroll everything to get the sword back in.
She squeezed the blankets as she walked, feeling the crossguard press against her ribs. She wanted to take the sword and hold it in her hands, to feel the last gift her mother would ever give her.
“I should have come back sooner,” she whispered. How long had that demon been trapped within the tree, weakening her mother’s spirit?
Snow shook her head. “Your mother chose her death the moment she drew the Chirka into herself.”
“This isn’t how things were supposed to be.”
“She died to save you,” said Talia, her expression distant. “It’s what any good mother would have done.”
Tents and carts lined either side of the dirt road, spreading outward along the city wall. Prostitutes and lepers and actors, all those who found themselves less than welcome inside the city, gathered here around the gates.
“How long until we find the troll?” Danielle asked. Flies buzzed in annoyance as she stepped over a pile of horse dung.
“That depends on whether or not he wants to be found,” said Snow.