by Amy Bearce
A Division of Whampa, LLC
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© 2015 Amy Bearce
http://www.amybearce.com
Cover Art by Amalia Chitulescu
http://ameliethe.deviantart.com
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ISBN 978-1-62007-710-8 (ebook)
ISBN 978-1-62007-711-5 (paperback)
ISBN 978-1-62007-712-2 (hardcover)
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To Julia and Keira
he last drops of fairy nectar clung to the edge of the jar fourteen-year-old Sierra Quinn held, poised above the vial containing that day’s harvest. One measly vial’s worth. The fairies were producing less and less these days. Her father, Jack, was not going to be pleased. He insisted nothing stand in the way of his elixir profits, especially not annoying, moody fairies.
Sierra gave the jar a little shake to loosen those stubborn drops, every bit of it precious. Fairy nectar kept Jack happy. When Jack was happy, he left Sierra and, more importantly, her little sister Phoebe, alone.
Setting aside the empty jar, Sierra squinted at the glowing nectar in the vial, estimating the pitiful amount. It seemed like so little to cost so much.
The ground growled beneath her feet, and she froze. She stood like a statue for a long moment, her hand above the vial. Dread swirled inside her like the golden syrup in the glass. The moment spun out, an elastic split-second in which dust motes floated in the air like gold flakes. The family’s ancient unicorn gave a rusty bellow; he always knew when things were about to go pear-shaped. When his cry scraped down Sierra’s spine, her paralysis shattered. She reached for the vial but was too late.
The workroom floor roared up to meet her with a human-like shriek, slamming her to her knees. Glass crashed nearby. Sierra’s head smacked against the scarred wooden table on her way down. The walls jittered and bounced, sending clods of dirt, thatch, and rocks skittering at her face. She blinked as the rumbling from the earthquake rattled her bones and filled her stomach with terror. During the big quake last year, she saw a two-story cabin crush an entire family. She still woke up screaming, sometimes. So did Phoebe.
Phoebe! The thought of her sister sent Sierra scrambling, grabbing for the table leg to pull herself to her knees. Why wasn’t Phoebe calling?
The quake settled down to shivers, but Sierra stayed on her hands and knees. She crawled through the dust and debris in the kitchen and small living room until she reached their tiny shared bedroom. Jagged pebbles pressed into her palms, but she didn’t stop to brush them off as she staggered to her feet.
“Phoebe? Answer me!” Sierra cried.
Wild shadows danced on the bare wall as the lantern hanging from the ceiling swayed back and forth, creaking quietly. She scanned the room, heart beating like a rabbit’s, barely noticing the rubble littering the pallet on the floor. When she saw carrot-red hair peeking out from the patched covers, her breath rushed out with a loud sigh. Phoebe was okay. Her red head rose up, wild in disarray. Hair flipped over her right cheek from her adorable cowlick; wide brown eyes stared at Sierra.
“Is it over?” Phoebe said. In her ten short years, she’d already lived through countless quakes, but that didn’t make them any less terrifying.
“Yes, Bug, we’re fine.” Sierra sank to her knees, even though the floor had stopped its wicked dance, and relief rushed over her like a waterfall.
“Then what’s that stuff all down your leg? Are you bleeding?”
Sierra glanced down at her legs and touched the dark wet pants. Her hands came away sticky. A golden and glowing residue stained her fingertips. Cursing under her breath, she ran back to the workroom, Phoebe following like a shadow. The sweet smell of fairy nectar filled the air with the scents of honey and cinnamon.
“Jack’s going to kill me,” Sierra said, surveying the shattered glass and the spilled nectar across the floor. Their father called fairy nectar his goldmine for more than its color.
“Dad can’t blame you for another earthquake,” replied Phoebe, reaching up to stroke the long braid down Sierra’s back.
Sierra just raised her eyebrow. They both knew that was leagues away from the truth. Phoebe bit her lip and got out the mop, glancing back with eyes even wider than before.
Wanting to assure her, Sierra said, “I’ll get more before he gets home. Don’t worry, sweetie. He won’t even know. It’ll be okay.”
Sierra sighed again. She secretly hoped there’d be enough to collect. Another fairy run, this late in the afternoon, with the sun already touching the horizon? Perfect. Just perfect.
They cleaned the mess as quickly as possible and managed not to cut their hands on the glass. They couldn’t do anything about the remaining honeyed scent of nectar in the air, but it was a common smell in their house. Maybe Jack wouldn’t notice. Sierra stuffed her nectar-stained pants in the bottom of the wash bin and pulled on another pair she used when she collected. They were tough and rugged homespun, with pockets to hold whatever tools she needed.
Even wrapped in their coats and shawls, the girls were slapped hard by the air. Spring couldn’t arrive soon enough. They pushed through the wooden door of the back porch and took a few steps before turning to examine the house. It seemed to have withstood the quake fairly well. The grey mud and clay packed between the wood logs made it pretty sturdy. They kept repacking the mud mixture into any holes created by quakes. The house might not be pretty, but it kept the winter winds out, which was more than most could say about their homes on the far outskirts of Port Ostara. Their small village of Tuathail sat along the edge of the busy port, but Tuathail remained small and basic, set off in the forest as it was. The bubbled, thick glass in their few windows was rough but strong. Satisfied that their house wouldn’t collapse on them in the night, the two girls set off to the fairy meadow.
The empty woven bag and a glass jar hung heavy on Sierra’s hip, but she quickly adjusted her stride to their bulk. They crossed the tiny back yard to check on the unicorn, Old Sam, before they set off to the fairy hatch. His ragged neighs had not stopped with the quake. He’d yanked so hard on his rope that the ends hung frayed and mangled. His dark eyes followed Phoebe’s every move―they adored each other.
Sierra had a harder time loving the beast. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to take care of him. She could never leave a magical creature in pain or in need. But her skin crawled at the sight of that empty hole left behind every year when he dropped his horn. Jack made special arrow tips from it, small, but powerfully strong, so he loved when the winter chill ushered in horn-dropping season. Even though Sierra knew it would grow back in the spring, just looking at him hurt. She glanced at the sun’s position while Phoebe petted Old Sam’s knobby back. He’d been around since Sierra was four, right before Phoebe’s birth ten years ago.
Phoebe gave Sam a sugar plum that lifted his ears and thankfully stopped his fussing. His cries always sent chills creeping up and down Sierra’s skin. She had to smile as she watched Phoebe whisper loving endearments to the shaggy old beast. Her little sister was the sweetest girl in all of Aluvia―not like Sierra at all, but they were still close as could be. Sierra was thankful for Phoebe every day.
Sierra’s hand brushed against her empty jar, and her smile faded.
“Time to go,” she said, eyes
tracking the dimming light. Jack would be finishing up his business soon and would ask questions if dinner wasn’t on time, earthquake or no earthquake.
They began the hike down the icy trail to the fairy hatch. As Phoebe often did on this walk, she sighed and said, “I wish I were a fairy keeper.”
“No, you don’t,” Sierra replied, as always.
The girls were rare in having keepers on both sides of their family tree, so it was a miracle Phoebe wasn’t born a keeper too. Sierra was just thankful her sister didn’t have to deal with the often-agitated fairies.
Phoebe usually argued at this point. She thought their tiny little glowing wings―about all you could see of most of them―were charming. So did lots of people who didn’t actually have to work with the treacherous creatures. But today, perhaps seeing the weariness stamped across her sister’s face, Phoebe summoned a smile. “Let’s pretend we can do anything, then. What would you rather be?”
“Anything. Anything but this.” The words came unbidden, soaked with bitter regret from years spent dreaming of a different life.
Phoebe’s smile faded, and Sierra wanted to kick herself. She didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but it was true. Sierra hated that her fate had been decided the moment she was born with a keeper mark on the back of her neck. Her path was fixed, no matter how much she wished otherwise. The fairies would never leave her alone. The mark was only the outward evidence of some inner trait or ability the fairies were drawn to. If she knew what it was, she’d change herself and be free.
Phoebe was quiet; only the sounds of the crunching stones beneath their feet filled the frosty air. They passed the old oak that snapped in half in last year’s big earthquake, ripped partly out of the dirt as the ground split near it. Sierra averted her eyes from the gnarled, naked roots aimed skyward instead of into the earth where they belonged.
Phoebe finally said, “At least you know you matter, Sierra. The fairies need you.”
Sierra had nothing to say in response. She didn’t have the words to express why it infuriated her to have no choice about her life’s calling. Yes, she took care of her fairies. If she didn’t, she’d never have a moment’s peace. The little worker fairies needed someone to protect them, as they weren’t very clever. Sierra built a special hatch for their home and found the exact mushrooms the queen needed to thrive. The fairies lived on the far edge of the Quinns’ land, as close to the forest as Sierra could get them while still keeping them safe. She made sure no wild creatures encroached on their territory and that other people left them alone. But in return, she took their nectar for Jack, even though she didn’t want to.
She’d told Phoebe how the fairies often fought during nectar collections but had glossed over how bad it really was. She didn’t allow Phoebe in the fairy meadow during actual collections. Too dangerous. Plus, if she saw what it was like, she’d worry more than she did already. She had seen the bites, scratches, and pinches. Sierra ran her fingers along two large scratches on her forearm, shaking her head. Never a sting, at least, since queens never attacked to kill their keepers. Well, they never had before, though Sierra sometimes wondered if her queen would be the first. Why the fairies stayed with her, she didn’t know, since they seemed to hate being stuck with her as much as she hated being stuck with them.
When they turned the corner at the clump of blackberry bushes where Phoebe would wait, Sierra paused. A haunting silence sat heavily in the meadow. No bass-deep thrumming of the fairies in their hatch rode along the breeze. No tiny lights like sparks flittered within the darkening trees. Her heart galloped. Where were her charges? Thankfully, her sister hadn’t noticed yet.
“Phoebe, I need you to go back and start cooking, okay? We don’t want dinner late for Jack. This won’t take long, but they get irritated at dusk, and I don’t want you to get hurt.” That last part was not a lie.
Phoebe’s shoulders sagged, but she knew a late dinner meant trouble. Finally, she headed back, dragging her feet, head tucked down into her chest. Her knitted shawl, too thin for the cold weather, hid her vibrant hair. Sierra gazed after her sister for a moment to make sure she was really going. If their mother hadn’t died birthing Phoebe, maybe things would have been different. Whatever kindness had been in their father must have died right along with her. Phoebe and Sierra stuck together, but some days were better than others. Before she could ache over how much more she wished she could give Phoebe, Sierra turned her attention back to the fairy hatch.
There were no cages for Sierra’s fairies. No wires, no lids, no glass. Except for the queen, they were so tiny they could fit through most holes, but they didn’t need cages with a fairy keeper around anyway. She was the reason they kept coming back. They did live in a slatted wooden box that allowed easy access to their nectar, but otherwise they were free to come and go as they pleased. Unlike Sierra. She was trapped by her mark, her father, and by her love for Phoebe.
Sierra tiptoed forward. The sky was darkening, but there were no glowing wings covered in the nectar that dripped off them in their hatches. A sense of dread swelled inside her like the beginning of an earthquake. Her skin prickled as it did in that still moment before chaos unleashed destruction.
When she reached the hatch, it appeared that a pile of tiny rainbow flower petals were spread on the ground. For one moment, she didn’t understand. Then her knees gave out when her mind made sense of the sight.
All the fairies were dead. No movement, no noise, no vibration, no light. Sierra searched the pile for her queen, the tiny wings rasping softly as she sifted them through her hands. They were like dry silk as they slid down her palms, which began to shake. She dropped the last dead fairy from her fingers and stood in shock. All dead but the queen, who was missing. She cursed, glancing around the clearing in a panic. Where was the queen?
She had no idea what could do something like this. She spun around but saw nothing in the meadow. A fairy queen was bigger than the rest, as large as a butterfly, easy to spot. She was definitely not in the pile at Sierra’s feet.
She grabbed the wooden hatch and turned it upside down, hoping for clues. The light was getting low, but the box was empty except for the last remains of nectar dripping down its sides. The heady scent floated in the air since she’d disturbed the hatch, but no angry fairies swarmed around her. The cry of an owl startled her, brought her back to herself. The sun was now only a red glow glaring over the treetops. What could have done this? Fairies were so strong.
Working quickly, Sierra scooped the tiny fairy remains into her jar and bag, looking over her shoulder around the glade again and again. She’d examine them later. She kept moving, aware the sun was almost below the horizon and that Jack was probably arriving at the house right now. She was really in for it. She cursed again as she picked up the last of the fairies.
They lay in the jar, still and silent. Except for the queens, fairies were so tiny you couldn’t even see arms and legs except beneath an apothecary’s magnifying lens. But all fairies glowed, at least when they were alive. Sierra had never seen more than one dead fairy at a time. In all the history of Aluvia, nothing like this had ever happened that she knew of, anywhere on the world. The pile of dull wings looked terribly wrong in the fading light, but they were beautiful even in death. She slid the jar into her bag. She needed to run. Her heart was pounding, demanding action.
Sierra’s thoughts jumbled together as she ran, like the fairies sliding around in her jar. Maybe she did this? Did they die because she wasn’t a good keeper? No feeling followed these thoughts. She was too stunned.
This was not the first time she had wondered if there was a mix-up at birth. She had never felt a special connection to her charges, not like her best friend Corbin, a keeper who loved his fairies with all his heart. But fairy keeping wasn’t something you signed up for or quit. The mark on her neck said she was a keeper, so she was one. The talent ran in families.
Sierra was the first keeper in her family in two generations, but their bloodline boasted a
n unusual number of keepers. Her father liked to claim their great-great-great-however-many-great grandmother was the first keeper in Aluvia. Jack liked to make a lot of claims, though. Didn’t make them true.
The ground blurred beneath her feet as she ducked under branches and leaped over fallen logs on the way home. Maybe her fairies dying meant she wasn’t a keeper anymore? She touched the base of her neck where the fairy wings birthmark sat. Warmth swept through her body as it always did when she touched it. Corbin would have ideas of what she should do next, wonderful keeper that he was, but Sierra was fresh out.
“Where are you?” she whispered aloud, as if her queen would answer.
Sierra raced through the darkness, stifling a sob on her fist. It wasn’t seeing the mishmash of crumbled wings and glitter on the cracked red dirt that made her want to cry, not really. Sierra talked to her fairies as she worked because it seemed to calm them some, but they didn’t talk or communicate like people. Crying over the deaths of the little worker fairies would be like crying over a bunch of dead bugs. The fairies’ deaths were sad, even tragic, because they were beautiful and important to the world. Still, it wasn’t like losing someone you loved. Even the queen, who was clearly more intelligent than the workers, had never managed to communicate much. She’d shown affection, and she’d shown anger. But even though Sierra hated her calling, she wouldn’t wish for them to die. What would a world be without their magic?
No, what was filling her with despair was the question: what would she tell Jack? What would he do when she told him the makers of his precious nectar were gone? If her fairies were all dead, she realized there was a good possibility she was as good as dead, too―her and her little sister. It wouldn’t take some kind of magical disaster to wipe them out.
Jack was enough all on his own.
he aroma of grilling onions greeted Sierra as she neared the back door. Through the window’s warped, speckled pane, she saw Phoebe stirring with a ladle at the wood-burning stove. She still had to stand on a slice of the lightning-struck tree trunk in order to reach the skillet. Her sleeves bunched up past her elbows as she worked. She was singing, as she often did, her high voice clear and sweet. Her red hair flashed in the lantern light, a cheery beacon of home. She often wished for dark brown hair like Sierra, but the bright red hair was perfect for Phoebe’s happy nature. Sierra gasped in relief―Phoebe was okay, at least for now. There would be time to figure out what to do.