by Isobel Bird
“Thanks for the warning,” Cooper said, glad he was finally talking but annoyed that he still insisted on pretending they were playing with some kind of faerie magic instead of a bunch of crazy teenagers. “I think I can handle them.”
She walked in the direction the Wild Man had pointed in. Sure enough, she found that a narrow path led away from the pool. It passed between the cliff walls and was just big enough for her to slip through. She was walking through a tunnel beneath the mountains. It was dark, but she kept going. Then she saw a pale light ahead of her. She walked toward it, hoping it was a way out, and soon she found herself surrounded by a purple fog that filled her eyes.
She waved the fog away, and when it cleared she saw that she was in the cave again. The fire was still burning in the center of the room, and Spider was sitting on one side of it.
“Welcome back,” Spider said. “Did you enjoy the adventure?”
“Next time I’ll pick Disneyland,” Cooper said testily. “Just what did you think you were doing?”
Spider cocked his head. “Didn’t you like our little game?” he asked.
“Not much,” Cooper said. “I don’t know who you people are, but trust me—you’re going to be in it but deep when I find Sophia and the others.”
Spider laughed. “It was just a little fun,” he said. “An initiation of sorts. You said yourself that you were looking forward to your initiation.”
“What you did was more like fraternity hazing,” Cooper said. “Now, get out of my way. I want to get out of here.”
She stood up and started for the exit. Spider rose as well. “Wait,” he said. “We’re not finished.”
Cooper turned and looked at him. “Oh, I think we are,” she said.
Spider smiled. “But what about your prize?” he said.
Cooper looked at him blankly.
“Have you forgotten?” he said. “You passed the test. You met your challenge by entering the Cave of Visions and completing your journey. Now you may play with us.”
“Oh, that,” said Cooper, smacking her forehead in a sarcastic gesture. “You know what—I think I’ll skip it. I’m really tired, and it’s got to be almost midnight. I’m just going to go find the others.”
“But we want you in our group,” Spider said. “You have proven yourself worthy.”
All of a sudden the other members of the group came filing into the cave. They formed a ring around Cooper. They were holding their instruments in their hands, and their dirty faces stared at her.
“Please,” said Spider. “Play with us.”
Cooper looked at the kids surrounding her. Bird was among them, looking very unhappy. She saw Bird looking at her, a strange expression on her face. Suddenly she wanted to be out of the cave and away from the whole bunch of them.
“Look, I think you guys did a great job with this whole thing,” Cooper said. “At least, for a bunch of lunatics. But I’ve had enough. Right now I want to leave.”
“I’m afraid we can’t allow that,” Spider said. His voice no longer sounded friendly. It sounded cruel. Cooper turned and looked at him.
“I don’t really care what you think about it,” she said, her anger rising. “I’m leaving.”
“I don’t think Bird would like that, would you, Bird?” said Spider.
Cooper looked at Bird. The other girl looked away.
“What’s going on here?” Cooper demanded. “Who are you people?”
The others laughed. “Haven’t you guessed by now?” Spider said. “I would think one who could escape from the Wild Hunt would be more clever than that.”
“Let me guess,” she said. “You’re supposed to be faeries.”
There was more laughter from the others. Spider smiled. “Very good,” he said.
Cooper wheeled around and stared hard at Bird. “You too?” she asked. “Are you still playing their little game, or are you going to stand up to them?”
Spider laughed loudly. “Oh, no. Bird is not a faerie. She is a mortal, like you. She came to us many years ago, drawn by our music, as you were.”
“Oh, is that so?” Cooper asked.
“Yes,” Spider said. “But now Bird has tired of us. We told her that if she found one to replace her she might go. She played and you came to her. You passed the test. Now it is your turn to play with our merry band.”
“You people are nuts,” Cooper said. She couldn’t believe the ridiculous story they were telling her.
She started to push her way through to the entrance, but suddenly the cave filled with music as the others began to play their instruments. Almost immediately, Cooper felt her head fill with the intoxicating sounds that had first drawn her to Bird.
She spun around to tell them to stop, her hands over her ears as she tried to block the sounds of the music. But there was no way to get away from it. At the same time, the players began to dance around her, blocking the way out and making her lose her sense of direction.
“Stop it!” she yelled. “Stop!”
She fell to her knees, fighting the music. But it was too strong. The weird melody ran through her mind, calling to her, and she couldn’t resist it. She wanted to play along with the weird faerie kids. She wanted to join them. Even after what they’d done to her. And that made her madder than anything else.
The music of the players swept over Cooper. She knew what Spider and the rest said about being faeries was pure make-believe. The people moving around her were just ordinary kids, like she was.
Someone broke from the dancing band and ran to her. It was Bird.
“Quickly,” she said. “There’s no time. Take my hand.”
Cooper grabbed Bird’s hand and was pulled through the swarm of musicians and out of the cave.
Once outside, Cooper didn’t know what to say. Clearly, Bird was having some kind of reaction to the purple smoke or to the music or to what had happened during the night. Maybe she was still playing some kind of game.
Bird took Cooper’s hand. “I couldn’t let you take my place,” she said.
Cooper’s mind was spinning. “Let’s get out of here,” she said to Bird. “It’s time to finish this.”
“You go,” Bird said. “My journey is over. I have been with the faeries too long. But you are safe from them now.” With that, she turned and disappeared back into the cave.
“Bird!” Cooper called after her. “Bird!”
She didn’t know what was wrong with Bird. If this was a game, it wasn’t funny at all. She stood up and ran for the entrance.
But Bird was gone, and so were the rest. Where they had been, there was some oddly colored dust, but that was it. Where were they? They couldn’t have just gotten up and left so quickly. They must have run out the back, Cooper thought. It must be part of this crazy ritual. Well, it was time for the ritual to end. She ran to the rear of the cave, determined to find Bird, Spider, and the rest of the faeries. But when she got there she found that she couldn’t find either of the entrances she’d come through back into the cave.
She was furious. She’d been toyed with all night, first with Spider’s game and now with this. She was through with all of it. If they wanted to laugh at her, that was fine with her. She turned and stormed out of the cave, slipping through the entrance and into the night. It was time to find Kate and Annie. She had a few things to tell them.
CHAPTER 16
“They were killed,” Annie said before she could change her mind. “In a fire.”
She hadn’t told anyone about her parents or the fire, not even Cooper and Kate. In fact, she hadn’t talked about the fire since the day almost ten years ago when her aunt had come to take her and Meg from their home in San Francisco to her house in Beecher Falls. Even thinking about it made Annie too sad; talking about it had always been impossible.
Now that she’d said the words out loud, though, she found that the fear that had always accompanied any thoughts of talking about the fire had lessened a little. Not much, but enough that she could at least voi
ce the words.
“In a fire?” said the Oak King gently.
Annie nodded. Having told him the first part of what had always been one of her most closely guarded secrets, she found herself wanting to tell him more.
“It was my fault,” she said quietly.
“Come now,” said the king. “You’re only a child. How could it have been your fault?”
“It was,” Annie said insistently. “I started it.” She had never told anyone any of this before, not even her aunt. She didn’t know why she was saying any of it now. She’d always been so careful not to talk about it. But it was as if the words were flowing out before she could stop them.
“It was Christmastime,” she said slowly, as if trying to remember all of the details so that she would get the story right. “I was six and Meg was just a baby. We had this beautiful tree all covered in lights. I liked to sit and look at it. I liked the way they twinkled on and off like stars.”
Annie paused, not sure she could continue. The Oak King was watching her intently, not saying anything. She knew that he was waiting for her to go on. She took a breath.
“Every night when we went to bed my father made sure the tree was unplugged,” she said. “But one night I wanted to see the lights, and I went downstairs in the middle of the night and plugged the tree in. I sat on the sofa and looked at them blinking on and off, and I fell asleep. When I woke up the room was filled with smoke.”
She felt a tear slip from her eye and run down her cheek. She didn’t bother to wipe it away, knowing that more were about to follow it.
“I shouted for my parents,” Annie said. “I couldn’t see anything, and I couldn’t breathe. I tried to run out of the room, but it was too hot and there was too much smoke. So I hid behind the sofa and screamed. The tree was on fire, and the fire was spreading to the rest of the room.”
The tears were coming quickly now. The two kings were watching her, but she no longer felt ashamed of being sad.
“My father came into the room calling my name,” she said. “I cried for help, and he found me. I remember him picking me up and running outside. I remember finally being able to breathe.”
She stopped. She was reliving that night all over again in her memories. She really could smell the smoke from the fire and feel the heat of it on her skin. She recalled, too, the way she had felt so loved and safe in her father’s arms when he carried her out of the house and told her to go stand in the garden until he came back.
Then she remembered how scared she was when he let go of her and ran back into the burning house. This was the part she didn’t want to remember. But it was part of her story, and she had to tell it, no matter how painful it was. Gaining her composure, she started speaking again.
“My mother and Meg were still inside,” she said. “My mother had gone upstairs to get Meg out of her crib. But I guess the smoke was too much for her, and she couldn’t find her way out. My father ran back in, grabbed Meg, and brought her out to me. He told me to hold her and to take care of her until he and my mother came back.”
She couldn’t say any more. The tears were streaming down her face now, and her voice had started to hitch. She knew that if she said another word she would start crying uncontrollably.
The Oak King came over and stood in front of Annie. “Your parents, they did not come out of the house, did they?”
Annie shook her head. “My father died trying to save my mother,” she said before grief overcame her and she couldn’t hold the tears back any longer. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed, letting it all out. “And it was all my fault.”
She felt the Oak King’s arms go around her, pulling her close once more. Normally, she would shy away from being held like that, believing that she should be able to control her emotions. But his touch was so caring, so gentle, that she didn’t want him to let go. Several times during the night he had comforted her. Now she put her arms around him and buried her face in his chest, crying.
She hadn’t cried that way since the neighbors, seeing the smoke and flames, had come out of their house and forced her and Meg out of the garden and away from the burning house. She had screamed at them then, trying to run back inside to find her father and mother. She had screamed while the fire trucks came and the firemen put out the blaze, beating at the man who was holding her and crying out for her mother or father to come out and make her feel better.
But they hadn’t come out. After the flames were quenched and the trucks had gone away, she’d looked at the house and not understood why her parents didn’t just walk out the front door. The outside of the house, while scorched, hid the horrible destruction within its walls. She was never allowed to see it. But she’d imagined it often enough in dreams since then—the blackened walls, the charred furniture, the ruined Christmas presents lying in filthy tatters on the floor.
And it was all because of you, she told herself for probably the six millionth time. Even though everyone from the firemen to her aunt had told her repeatedly that the fire was not her fault, she knew that wasn’t true. She had plugged in the lights when she knew she wasn’t supposed to and had fallen asleep with them on. She had been unable to find her way out. She had been the reason her father had to go back inside. But she had lived, and he had died along with her mother.
She felt like she was six years old again, and it felt horrible. She’d thought that maybe she’d started to make peace with her parents’ deaths the month before, when her aunt had surprised her by organizing a showing of her mother’s artwork. She’d also found a box of photographs of Annie, Meg, and their parents that Annie had never seen before. These things had all helped reconnect Annie with her parents. But they hadn’t helped her confront the one big thing that had haunted her ever since that night almost ten years ago. She’d kept that buried deep inside. But now it was out, and she had to face it.
The king continued to hold her as she cried. She was afraid that he was going to start saying all of the well-meaning things that people had said to her when the fire had occurred, like “It was an accident” and “You know your parents loved you very much.” She’d heard those things over and over again, and they hadn’t helped at all. Of course, it had been an accident. Of course, her parents had loved her. But that didn’t change the fact that she had been responsible for their deaths.
“You need to remember,” was what the Oak King said finally. “You need to remember what happened, and you need to remember your father and mother.” His voice was calm and filled with great sadness. Annie wanted him to hold her forever. She hadn’t felt so safe in years, not since her own father had held her. Thinking about that made her start crying all over again.
“I miss them so much,” she said.
“That’s why you need to remember, little one,” the king replied. “You need to keep them alive in your thoughts and in your heart.”
He pulled away from her, and she reluctantly let go. She was afraid to look at him because she felt ashamed of crying so much. But he put his hand on her chin and gently raised her head to look into his face. He was smiling, and the look he gave her made Annie know that it was okay for her to let him see her like this.
“Thank you for telling me your story, little hedgehog,” he said.
Annie found herself almost laughing at his pet name for her. She really did feel like a little hedgehog sometimes, all rolled up with her spikes sticking out so that no one could really get too close. Her costume had been more appropriate than she’d realized when she’d made it. But the king had made her abandon that armor, and she felt a lot better for it.
“What you told me could not have been easy for you,” said the Oak King.
“No,” said Annie, “it wasn’t easy.” She didn’t tell him that she’d never told anyone else that story. Even her aunt didn’t know that she had been the one who had left the Christmas tree lights plugged in. Annie had never been able to tell her.
“I think, though, that you are too hard on yourself,” the king continued.
“Death, like everything else, is ultimately a part of life. Is that not what we learn from walking the path? Is that not what you learned tonight from my battle with my brother?”
Annie sniffled. It was true, death and life were all part of the cycle of things. Her involvement in Wicca had taught her that time and time again. Things changed—the seasons, the moon, the tides. The wheel turned and turned again. That’s what celebrating the sabbats was all about. And death was most definitely a big part of the cycle. But knowing that didn’t make this particular part of her life any easier. Accepting life and death as a cycle was okay for dealing with things like animals’ dying and gardens’ decaying, but it didn’t change the fact that her parents had died because of something she’d done. People were more important than animals and flowers. Their deaths meant more.
She thought about Elizabeth Sanger, the girl from school who had been killed two months before. Helping to find and catch her killer had made Annie feel better, but she didn’t think it had made accepting the fact that Elizabeth had been murdered any easier to take, especially for the people who had loved her. Death just hurt. Accepting it turned the hurt into a different kind of pain, but it didn’t make it go away.
Her parents’ deaths were part of her life. She couldn’t change that. But thinking of their deaths as part of some overall cosmic plan didn’t heal the wound inside of her. That would always be there. If she understood the Oak King correctly, he was suggesting that she should somehow accept what happened to them as part of her path. Could she do that? She didn’t know. It was a lot to ask.
But maybe I can, she thought as she looked from the Oak King to the Holly King. Maybe that’s my challenge.
The Oak King stood up and stretched. “Now that I’m awake, I think it’s time you joined the world again,” he said to Annie. “There’s a party waiting for you.”
“I’m sorry I made such a fool of myself,” Annie said to the two kings as they led her out of the room. “I know I must look like some kind of lunatic to you.”
“Not at all,” the Oak King said. “You look like one who has experienced the power of Midsummer. You don’t have to tell me how strong that power can be.”