The Autumn Fairy

by Brittany Fichter

  The third man said nothing, just stared blankly off into the forest behind her as though there weren’t an interesting thing in the world.

  In a few moments, the four of them had retired to the shade of a nearby tree, where the men passed the bucket around and took turns eating. Katy would have preferred to simply leave the berries there and return to her scrounging, but as it was her only bucket, she suppressed a sigh and contented herself with waiting on a rock while the three men ate.

  Well, if she was resigned to waiting, she might as well take advantage of the opportunity, even if it did result in her impending doom later. “Have...have you heard any news of the king’s personal knights?”

  “Pardon?” the tall man asked, looking up from the bucket of berries.

  “I just mean with rumors of the forest growing again. Has there been any recent news of their safety?”

  “You know one of the knights?” the short one asked, his yellow mustache sticky and stained with berry juice.

  “I did...once.” If he had somehow, against all odds, survived the journey to the castle.

  The tall one shook his head. “I’m sorry, lass. There’s no news we’ve heard. We’ve just come over the mountains, but before that we were on the other side of the isle, making our way around the coastal villages. Haven’t been in the royal city since last summer.”

  “What do you do?” she asked.

  “We trade in specialties,” the short one said, wiping his hands on his shirt. “Tools, jewelry, baubles.” He nodded back at the horses, which were getting a drink at the stream.

  For the first time, Katy noticed the bulging bags hanging from their sides.

  “Sometimes,” the short one continued with a smile, “we even transport people.”

  “And that will be enough of that,” the tall one snapped at his friend. When he returned his gaze to Katy, it was apologetic. Katy decided his eyes were kind. They had the same kind of crinkles as Firin Reaghan’s eyes, unlike the short man’s gaze, which looked as though he were imagining...things every time he glanced her way. The third man, who was of average height and had a small paunch, still just looked bored.

  “You will have to forgive my friend,” the tall one said, shaking his head. “He’s been too long on the road without his wife to remind him of his manners. That job falls to me, unfortunately, when she’s not around.”

  Katy wasn’t sure what to say to this, but thankfully, the tall man continued anyway.

  “We haven’t heard news of the knights, but we have heard news of another sort, though I’m afraid it’s far less congenial.”

  Katy frowned. “And what would that be?”

  “The Black Eve.”

  “The plague?”

  He nodded solemnly. “It’s been in three of the last towns we’ve passed through.” He glanced at his friends. “We were hoping there was none here. It’s why we took the mountain road instead of following the coast. We had hoped that by skipping a few villages, we might beat the illness before it arrived.” He turned his head slightly and studied her. “Have any fallen ill here?”

  “I...I don’t think so. Not that I’ve heard of, at least.”

  The short man leered, his beady eyes lighting up as he leaned forward. “Have you ever seen the Black Eve?”

  Katy shivered. “Once. A long time ago.” She had been only four at the time, but she remembered it well. The Black Eve had been the illness that finally claimed Maire’s fragile body.

  “Well.” The tall man nodded once to himself before scooping the last handful of berries out of the bucket. Then he stood and handed the bucket back. “Thank you for being willing to part with your delicious finds.” He turned to the short man, who was still watching Katy in a way that made her want to hide. “Come, Ned. It’s time for us to go.”

  Ned gave Katy one last look of longing before sighing and climbing on his horse. The third man, who remained silent, got on his own mount.

  “Wait!” Katy called out just as they began down the road.

  The tall man looked at her with wide eyes. “Yes?”

  “Would...If you don’t mind, could you perhaps exclude me from your mentions in town?”

  He frowned. “What for?”

  She paused. “Women are not supposed to be so close to the forest.”

  Understanding lit his eyes, and he nodded. “I see. But your family—”

  “Yes.”

  “Very well then. No word of the pretty girl who picks berries. Good day, miss.” And with that, they were gone.

  Katy took her bucket and began to walk home, staying close to the edge of the woods. As much as she had disliked Ned’s hungry eyes, she couldn’t help marveling at the feeling that had moved through her when the tall man had called her a pretty girl. No man had called her that way before. Well, Sir Christopher, of course, had called her pretty. But he had been more like a father than a landlord, and weren’t fathers supposed to call their daughters pretty? Firin Reaghan had never broached the subject, but then, he was a firin. She supposed his mind rested on higher subjects than appearances. She had once asked Emma if she was pretty, but Emma’s response had been that looks were deceiving, and no one would want a skinny, weak girl, so she had better get to working.

  There had even once been a time when she’d hoped Peter might find her pretty. Her hair had been much lighter then, nearly golden with large ringlets that bounced when she walked. She’d never been tall or full-figured like the other girls she had once played with, but eventually a few curves had arrived, and Emma had pronounced her enough of a woman that she no longer had to wear her dreaded stockings everywhere.

  Of course, all of that had changed after Peter—But no. She wouldn’t think of such dreary things.

  Her skin prickled just before a wave of unease hit her and scattered her morbid thoughts. She stopped walking, the hairs on the back of her neck tingling. There was something wild in the air. Wild, and yet familiar. She closed her eyes to concentrate more.

  Bits and pieces came back, as though from a dream. A rainy night. A rearing horse. A sword with gleaming green edges. And the metallic green eyes of a stranger.

  When she opened her eyes again, however, there was nothing out of the ordinary. The green leaves of late summer still rippled through the branches above her, and waves of yellow grass rolled across the fields. Birds chattered, and lazy white clouds floated through the sky. Still, Katy shivered and picked up her pace. She needed to get home.

  5

  A Fool for Thinking

  The feeling that something was wrong followed Katy all the way home. She fairly ran inside. “Emma?”

  “Where else would I be? I went to market yesterday,” came the acidic reply.

  Katy pulled the coins from her reticule. “Look what I—” Before she could continue, however, she froze.

  Emma was not in her usual place in her chair. She wasn’t organizing the eggs they’d brought in from the chickens, either, nor was she sewing. Instead, she was lying in the single bed in the corner, her face ashen and her hands shaking as they clutched the covers.

  Katy started to run to her side, but Emma held up a hand and shook her head. Only then did Katy realize that the old woman’s arms were covered in blue spots, the color of a bruise.

  “Stay back,” she rasped. “Won’t do us any good to have you catching on either.”

  “Emma,” Katy whispered. “When did you—”

  “Doesn’t matter. Now there, don’t get all teary-eyed. What happens will happen. I’m old. Be a mercy not to have to put up with you or this life much longer.”

  Katy tried to release the breath that was stuck in her chest, the one squeezing all the air out and not letting her draw any more in. She looked around the little cottage desperately. Her eyes slid past the table where it looked as though Emma had succeeded in slicing half of a potato. The fire had grown cold, and the threadbare brown curtains still blew in the wind. “At least let me get you some tea,” Katy managed to choke out as she
stumbled over to the window to shut it.

  “Don’t need any. Won’t be cold much longer.”

  Katy tried to go to her side again, but Emma glared at her until she knelt at least three feet away on the thin braided rug. “I didn’t know the plague had hit the village,” Katy said.

  “That’s because you’re never there.”

  “I was there a week ago.”

  Despite her frail appearance, Emma’s pale eyes narrowed.

  “I was visiting Firin Reaghan.”

  Emma rolled her eyes. “Because that old superstitious fool is worth getting yourself killed for.”

  Katy pressed her lips tightly to keep from responding. “But who had the plague?”

  “Came with a new family that arrived four days ago.”

  “From up the coast?”

  Emma nodded and coughed. Katy had to keep herself from leaning forward to brush the old woman’s curly white hair out of her face.

  “Oh now, don’t look at me like that. I told you I’m old. Not like I could stay here forever.”

  “But you’re all I have left.”

  “Fah. If that were true, you would stay away from the firin.”

  Katy managed a weak smile.

  “When I’m gone,” Emma coughed again, “look in the chicken coop under the third roost. You’ll find a little bag of coins.”

  “I’m not allowed to go into town.”

  Emma smiled wryly, a strange look on her thin, fragile face. “As if that’s ever stopped you. Have the firin buy you new boots and a new cloak and some supplies.”

  “What for?”

  “Go find that boy.”

  Katy blinked. “Peter?”

  “Of course Peter. Who else put up with you when I wasn’t around?”

  “Emma,” Katy whispered, staring at her hands. They were still stained red from the berries. “Peter is dead.”

  “I don’t believe that for a minute. And neither do you.”

  Katy could only stare miserably at her.

  “What makes you so sure he’s dead?” Emma demanded.

  Katy swallowed hard. “He...he promised to come back for me. He swore he would.”

  “He’s a man. Men do things in their own time.”

  Katy shook her head. If only she could express to Emma what that promise had meant. But Emma couldn’t know. She couldn’t know that that promise had been the reason Sir Christopher had died. It was the reason Sir Odhran had sent Peter away. If Peter had somehow survived, he would have come for her by now. Eight years was far longer than a simple delay.

  Emma shrugged. “Suit yourself then. But don’t sit here all miserable and wasting away because one man made a promise and didn’t keep it.”

  Katy had nothing to say to that. So she got up and went outside. By the time she returned with more firewood, Emma’s eyes were nearly closed. As soon as the fire was properly built once more, Katy scooted as close as she dared to the bed.

  “Emma,” she began cautiously, “I know you never liked to hear about my...differences.” Not liking the topic was an understatement. Emma had flown into a rage whenever the subject was broached by even Katy herself. She would harbor homeless children, she always said, but olcs and witches were another story. “But I think...I think this time they might be able to help.”

  Emma opened one eye. Somehow, that one eye still managed to look displeased. “How so?” Her words were more wheezed than spoken, and Katy couldn’t be sure if the shadows on her face were just shadows in the waning light of the outside world, or whether it was beginning to turn blue.

  “I can change things,” Katy whispered, holding her hands in front of her. “When I touch them, they die.”

  “And you want to touch me?”

  “I want to touch your spots.”

  “Out of the question.” Emma leaned back and closed her eyes once again. “Magic is against the king’s law and with good reason.”

  “Please!” Katy leaned forward, excitement building in her chest as she considered what had at first been just a passing whim. “I’m telling the truth! Emma, we have nothing to lose! You’ll die anyhow if I don’t. Why not let me try?”

  “I’ve never needed magic nor will I ever need it.”

  “Please—”

  “Katrin!” Emma made a weak attempt at sitting up and glared down until Katy dropped her eyes. “I am dying. Leave me be! Don’t make me regret keeping you and defending your reputation all these years!”

  Katy nodded, but it took all of her self-control to stay still.

  “I’ll tell you what I’ve told you for the last twenty years. Be a good girl. Go find that boy.” She paused. “Just let me go.”

  Katy wanted to argue, but something inside told her that the time for arguing was over. And so they sat for hours, long after the fire had died and the sky outside had grown dark. Shame and remorse filled Katy like it never had before. She should have used the time to mourn Emma’s passing. She should have been singing a mourning song or talking or at least keeping the fire healthy so that Emma might pass in peace. But sometime during the wait, as Emma’s chest moved less and less with each breath, Katy became chained to the floor. If anyone had seen her from the outside, they might have thought her a statue. No one would have suspected she was silently fighting the greatest battle of her life.

  Inside her, she could feel flames begin to lick the cavity of her chest. She could feel the heat pulse through her body as it began to prickle all over. The sensation was a familiar one, but never had it been so strong or so determined to get out.

  Please, she thought to Atharo, if you care. If you truly care as Firin Reaghan says, do not let it out. Keep it inside me. Let it kill me if you wish, but don’t let it escape.

  But her fingers still began to tremble, and though she sought to hold it inside, the burning sensation began to move down her chest and out to the ends of her fingertips. She gritted her teeth as the shaking began.

  She wasn’t the monster like the others thought. She refused to be.

  But the closer Emma came to death, the more another emotion began to rise from Katy’s soul as well. Anger. Rage deeper than she’d ever known before. Hatred for the fact that she had lost Sir Christopher and Peter. She had lost Maire. She had been shunned and hunted by the very people she had once played with. And now Emma was being torn from her as well.

  Katy raked her fingernails into the dirt floor, trying to hold on to some semblance of control, but as soon as she heard the silence of the room, one breath being drawn in instead of two, Katy could no longer hold it inside.

  She bolted, barely able to contain herself until she was far from the cottage, out in the middle of an empty field. With a scream, she fell to her knees. The fire in her soul took flight. Invisible, it radiated out from her fingertips. The green grass beneath her crumpled as it yellowed then browned before turning to ash. Unable to stop the flow of power, she wept as the world around her blackened and died.

  “You promised!” she screamed. “You promised you would come back! That you would save me!” Her hands grew hotter, and for a moment, she feared she might set the sky aflame before she collapsed, weeping, onto the ground.

  “But you’re not here,” she whispered between sobs. “And I’m a fool for thinking you ever would be.”

  6

  A Gift

  Katy didn’t remember picking herself up out of the charred field, nor did she recall walking slowly back to the cottage. Only when she was back inside and staring at the lifeless, mottled corpse in the bed did she come to her senses enough to remember her promise to herself. As soon as Emma was gone, she was going to leave this world behind.

  Firin Reaghan would object, of course, but that was to be expected. After somehow surviving the explosion that had come from inside her, destroying everything she touched and beyond, she had no choice. No one was safe while Katy was near.

  Forcing her eyes closed, Katy turned from the body, lit a candle, and pulled back the rug that lay in fro
nt of the fire. Pulling up the trapdoor, she felt her way down the steps to her little room. It hadn’t been there when she was a child, but after a few drunks had come to the cottage demanding to take her hostage at the age of eight, Sir Christopher had decided she needed a hiding place.

  In truth, she hated the little space. Her power, which constantly ebbed and flowed like an ocean inside her, was easier to manage whenever she was outside. In the cramped windowless cavern, there was nowhere for it to go. Even now, as she gathered the few belongings she had, Katy had to bend in order to stand, for the ceiling was shorter than she. She hurried to pull her blanket from the little straw mat in the corner, but she paused for a moment to stare longingly at the book in the corner, the one she’d taken from Peter’s house after he had gone. But eventually she gave up and trudged upstairs. She would need to buy food in the first town she came to, and the book would only take up precious space in her bag and weigh her down.

  After donning her cloak, Katy began to leave, but something held her back. One more time, she glanced at the lifeless body in the corner. Guilt began to fill her, and Katy knew she couldn’t go. Not just yet. She would be alone for the rest of her life. She could spare an hour.

  Instead of heading to the forest as she’d planned, Katy ran to Peter’s house. There were still a few hours before dawn, so she should have more than enough time. As soon as she was inside, she lit a fire in the dusty hearth and sat down at the little desk in the corner, where she pulled out a parchment and a pen.

  Sir Odhran,

  Though Sir Christopher refused to tell me what kind of creature I am, I am not oblivious to the danger I pose to Downing. I’m sure you reason, therefore, that I should turn myself in. Forgive me for not wanting to be hunted like one of your deer. You can now take comfort in the knowledge, though, that I am leaving, and I will never return. I’m leaving, and you’ll never have to see me again.

  I only ask that Emma’s body be buried respectfully in the cemetery beside her daughter. Fault her with nothing but having a soft heart.