Fury Convergence

by Chrysoula Tzavelas

  “Shut your mouth. You thought you’d just slip that in there, did you?”

  Rhianna laughed again. “Well, you might like him a little. But you love me.”

  “I do,” Branwyn said firmly. She felt a little out of her depth in this conversation. She was seeing parts of her sister she’d never really looked at before. She was not the wise elder sister here. Nor was she ready to talk about liking Severin. But she was definite about loving Rhianna.

  “I know,” Rhianna agreed.

  Branwyn forcibly relaxed her hands and sat up again. “I hated fighting with you, you know. I was always so happy when I could get you on my side. I thought you liked it too. I loved you and me against the world… even if you didn’t see it the same way.” Rhianna waved a hand weakly but Branwyn drove on. “I never wanted to fight with you. Not seriously. But I was afraid of your angel. I was afraid of what he might do to you.”

  “Past tense,” said Rhianna lightly. “You’re not afraid anymore, or you think it’s too late?”

  Branwyn bit her tongue, but it was indeed too late.

  “The creative process,” repeated Rhianna, waving a hand. Slowly she sat up as well. “Tell you what, Branwyn. Even if it is too late for me, you can… well… I won’t tell you to trust him, and I won’t tell you not to be afraid of him… but Umbriel makes you look evil, Branwyn.”

  “Probably not that hard,” muttered Branwyn. She gathered her hair back and tied it up.

  “Hah,” said Rhianna. She took a deep breath, as if she was about to say something important. “I like being part of something bigger than myself, Bran. You don’t work like that. You… you define yourself as something bigger than yourself and try to build toward that. It’s like you’re a lens projecting light on the world. But I can’t do that. Trying to make myself big only made me… very small.” She leaned forward. “I really want you to understand that.”

  “Okay,” Branwyn managed. It was practically her definition of weakness. But Rhianna wasn’t weak, and her angel wasn’t making choices for her. He didn’t give her a flowchart. He was… He was trusting her.

  Bitter grief for all she’d never understood rose up, but weakly, weakly, from a heart still drained of tears. “I’ll… I understand.”

  “Okay,” said Rhianna. She exhaled. “And now I want you to help me get somewhere, just like in high school. Even if you disapprove.”

  “I didn’t dis—never mind. Never mind. What do you want?”

  Carefully, Rhianna said, “The beast of fire and thorns is back. I felt it before Sev left. I want you to take me away from this house, out there, so it can come to me.”

  “Why?” demanded Branwyn, her voice rising sharply.

  “You know why, Branwyn. You’re going to take me out there, and I’m going to stop the beast and you’re going come back and use that to talk the Saint into releasing the kids.”

  Branwyn had no idea what she was talking about. “I’m not going to sacrifice you just to buy—”

  “I’m not asking you to sacrifice me,” said Rhianna breathlessly. “I’m asking you to trust me.”

  Oh.

  “I see.” Branwyn stared resentfully at her little sister. “I think maybe I should go distract the beast, while you go talk circles about the Saint.”

  Rhianna shook her head. “Nope. I called dibs on the stupid stuff, which means you have to be clever. What did you do with my shoes?”

  20

  Letting Go

  The polar twilight of Sainthome was unchanged, but the wind had picked up as Branwyn and Rhianna walked, hand in hand, out into the snowfield. Rhianna held her coat close around herself, but even so, the wind tugged at her like it was a sail.

  Outdoors, it was even easier to see just how faded she was. Blowing snow didn’t actually travel through her but Branwyn could see it on her far side. It was like she was a poor reflection in a darkened window. She left footprints as they walked, but they were lighter, and the snow didn’t crunch under her feet.

  In the distance, at the top of the cliff, the beast of fire and thorns roared and pawed at something tiny zipping around its head. Branwyn squinted and finally realized the pool of extreme contrast near the edge of the cliff was Severin. Darkness pinwheeled around his feet and extended upward to flare out from his shoulders.

  Rhianna looked around, then back at the lodge. In her sleepy, quiet voice she said, “This is probably far enough. Bran, I’d shout again but I don’t think he’d hear me right now…”

  Branwyn hesitated, because trusting Rhianna was taking everything she had. She’d already suppressed three alternative solutions that wouldn’t involve Rhianna and also probably wouldn’t work. “Rhianna, do you know something?”

  “Oh, lots of things. But you don’t believe me when I tell you. Come on, Bran. You can do this.” Rhianna squeezed her hand.

  Ashamed, because it was Rhianna reassuring her, Branwyn whispered, “Severin?”

  What?

  “Will… will you let it come now?”

  After a pause, he whispered, Do you want me to?

  No, she cried silently, but what she said was, “Rhianna does.”

  The tiny figure in the black pool turned. The beast struggled more with whatever was pestering it. But when the black pool vanished, the beast leapt forward. Another leap and it hopped down from the edge of the cliff like a dog jumping off a couch.

  Then, in an odd, unbalanced lope, it lowered its head and headed toward Rhianna and Branwyn.

  “You should get out of the way, Bran,” said Rhianna, shaking off Branwyn’s death-grip on her hand.

  Reluctantly, Branwyn took two steps to the side. The beast was almost halfway to them now. Branwyn and Rhianna combined were the size of its foot.

  Severin touched the back of her neck, then put his hands on her hips. Branwyn’s vision blurred. She shook her head and stepped back another five steps until she bumped into a too-warm chest.

  As the beast of fire and thorns closed on Rhianna, speeding up, becoming more like a fireball and less like a beast, Rhianna held up her hand, palm up. In a flash, it was beastlike again, and skidding to a halt. Through the snow flying everywhere. Branwyn realized its eyes were gouged out, and its feet like swiss cheese.

  Red smeared across Rhianna’s fingers. Delicately, the beast’s tongue darted out and enveloped Rhianna’s upturned hand. A flash of flame enveloped Rhianna and the beast, so hot it crisped the fine hairs on Branwyn’s face. Water vapor exploded around them, freezing nearly instantly and falling to the ground with a tinkle.

  Branwyn refused to look away. In the center of the inferno, Rhianna’s hair rose around her face like a halo and what had been empty in her filled with flame. For a moment dark energy swirled from the beast to the woman.

  Then both Rhianna and the beast of fire and thorns were gone. Branwyn stood with Severin behind her in a shallow crater in the snow that was rapidly becoming another ice pond. Her feet and the lower part of her jeans were soaked. She didn’t care.

  She brushed her fingers across the head of the hammer at her waist and felt the single remaining soul, the final part of the haunt where they’d started. She’d trusted Rhianna, and this is what it had earned her. This time. She couldn’t even consider the idea that it wasn’t worth it. She’d make it worth it.

  Silently, she turned to hike back to the lodge, where she’d do… something.

  “Wait,” said Severin, harshly. She shook her head and walked away.

  It’s not over, he whispered. She glanced over her shoulder before whirling around.

  In the air over the snow crater, a rose was blooming. As she stared in horror, the petals became tendrils of flame, which stretched out into limbs, a head, and many tails. The beast of fire and thorns was reborn.

  As it settled to the ground, Branwyn looked wildly at Severin. He stood where he’d been, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked irritated, which told Branwyn nothing at all. She blinked and peered at the beast again and realized it was much sma
ller than it had been: perhaps only the size of an elephant now. It seemed more… solid than it had been when it had descended on Rhianna, too. The ‘flames’ were more ‘tufts of hair’ and ‘too many tails’ than flickering emanations of heat. And while it had been wolfish before, its proportions had shifted, making it far more foxlike, if foxes were elephant-sized.

  With a single bound, the beast landed between Branwyn and Sainthome. As she gazed at it in bewilderment, it raised one paw and pushed her: the same quick, sharp motion Marley’s cat did when she decided to shove something off a table. Branwyn fell flat on her butt in the snow, staring in astonishment. “Rhianna?”

  Severin said, his voice dripping with scorn, “More faerie bullshit.”

  Meanwhile, the beast of fire and thorns nosed at Branwyn’s feet, then picked them up in its mouth and started dragging Branwyn across the snow. “Hey, ow, that’s cold, stop it!” howled Branwyn as snow slid up her coat and shirt. But her feet weren’t freezing anymore.

  Severin didn’t do a damn thing as the beast released Branwyn’s feet and rolled her through the snow. After that it lifted her by the parka and set her on her feet, mouthed her hair like it wanted to eat her whole head, and finally tripped her with a swipe of a paw and settled down in the snow with Branwyn between its paws like a chew toy.

  As it settled its big vulpine head near her, looking at her with a vivid green eye, Branwyn said again, “Rhianna?” The eye didn’t blink. Branwyn touched the beast’s muzzle. It was warm and furry, as much a living thing as Severin. She looked over at him. He had his head down and his hands in his pockets again, watching her. At least he wasn’t smiling.

  “Uh, help?” she said. “Please?”

  “You seem to be doing fine on your own,” he said. But he strolled closer to the beast. The green eye moved to focus on him. Branwyn wriggled out from the paw pinning her and didn’t get eaten, which she took as a good sign. She managed to get a few steps away before the beast’s breath huffed out behind her as it sighed.

  “I’m soaked and freezing,” she said crossly. “Please tell me this is Rhianna? Somehow?”

  “You sure like having things spelled out, don’t you, cupcake,” Severin said dryly.

  “Yes. I do. If I didn’t have contracts I wouldn’t get paid,” Branwyn snapped.

  Severin sighed and put his hand on the beast’s head, between its eyes. It submitted to this peacefully. He looked at it for a moment while Branwyn shivered. “She’s in there. She’s not alone.” His eyes narrowed. “Stupid faerie bullshit. It won’t last once we get back to Imani’s haunt.”

  Branwyn struggled to parse this. “But she’s in charge for now?”

  Severin gave her an odd glance and pulled his hand away from the beast. It yawned, then licked the entire side of his body. He gave it a cold stare. It rolled on its back and waved its feet in the air, yipping in a way that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

  “How many times did you kill it again?” asked Branwyn.

  “Clearly not enough,” Severin replied. “I don’t know what you mean by in charge, cupcake. That thing isn’t a platoon. Angel girl isn’t the commander. She’s just in there.”

  “And it’s different,” said Branwyn thoughtfully. Her shivering grew more pronounced. Severin was still looking at her with an odd intensity. “What?”

  He glanced away, at the beast now tunneling into the snow. “I could have held it, you know.”

  At first she thought he was complaining. Then she realized, in his own indirect way, he was asking her why.

  “Rhianna thought this would be better.” She thoughtfully regarded the beast of fire and thorns rolling around in the snow. “I’m cold. I’m going to change clothes, and after that I’m going to talk to the Saint.”

  The clothing in her overnight bag had been selected with an eye toward tropical fun in the sun, not a sojourn in an offshoot of the Court of Winter, but by the time she arrived at the lodge, dry meant a lot. She looked back over her shoulder once. Severin had vanished again, probably to that nice, comfortable dark space of his, but the beast of fire and thorns was still playing in the snow, using its steaming breath to melt the snow, watching it refreeze into ice, and then skidding across it.

  It was deeply strange.

  After she’d changed into shorts and all three tops in the bag, she stepped out onto the windswept patio in one of her two pairs of dry socks and looked toward the stables. The Saint was over there, in one of the paddocks with some of the older kids, doing something with some horses.

  If she waved and called, he’d come see her, and her feet could stay dry. He was nice like that. But if she did that, there wouldn’t be any witnesses. So instead she put on her other pair of socks and her wet shoes, and trudged over to the paddock.

  He noticed her as she leaned her elbows on the rail, and his twinkling eyes swept over her tropical garb. “I saw you playing with yon beastie. Kilter can find you warmer clothes than that, little sister. Winter doesn’t quit here.”

  Branwyn shook her head at the offer and took a deep breath. “Let the kids who want to leave do so.”

  The paddock, previously full of surreptitious whispers, suddenly went silent. The Saint got that reserved, neutral expression again. “Have you finally found an argument, then?”

  “For why my world is a better place for them to grow up? No. How could it be? But the world will be a better place if they grow up there.”

  The Saint met her gaze for a long moment before looking off to the horizon. One of the kids hopped the fence and dashed to the lodge. Finally, the Saint said, very gently, “They’re just children, little sister. You have millions like them back home.”

  Fiercely, she said, “Millions who have been here and walked away?”

  The girl who had run to the lodge returned, other children behind her. They spread out around the paddock as if watching a fight. The Saint glanced at them and scratched his nose. “Well, they do miss their video games…”

  Several of the older kids looked disgusted. The Saint smiled before looking at Branwyn again. “You think these kids are going to change the world? They’re good, ordinary kids. Kendry there’s handy with the horses, but she can be handy with horses here or there, and the world won’t care one bit.”

  Branwyn scowled and pushed her hands through her hair. “Listen. My sister Rhianna showed me something. It was really hard for me to see. I don’t know, maybe it’ll be hard for you to see for the same reason.” She opened her hands, showing empty palms. “You said they’re ordinary kids. Were you an ordinary kid? I wasn’t. I never even wanted to be.” She shrugged. “And you know, I’m lucky enough to… to have the power to change the world. Right here in my hands, just like you did.”

  She paused as he glanced down at his own hands, then up at her again. “I’m still listening.”

  Branwyn tossed her hands in the air. “I’m just one person. So are you. A really impressive person, but you have limits. You said so yourself. What do seventy kids matter, you said. Steal them away and the world doesn’t change at all.” She paused for breath and looked around. Even more kids had arrived, including some in pajamas and boots. “But it doesn’t have to be that way. You’re a mountain. They can be the avalanche.”

  A ripple of murmurs spread through the children, but the Saint only gave her a thoughtful look and flexed his hands absently. “They’re just children,” he said softly. “I said I’d send them back when they’re grown, if back they want to go.”

  Branwyn shrugged. “They’ll be mountains too, by then. Mountains can’t steer the avalanche. All they can do is let it go and hope for the best.”

  The Saint was silent.

  One of the boys shuffled forward: Matthew, who’d stopped Snowball the wolf from biting, Matthew, who knew an opportunity when he saw one. “I’d like to go back, sir. Kilter and the others are great but I want to go to a proper school so I can go to college.”

  The girl identified as Kendry shook her head. “I don’t. School
sucks.”

  Matthew shrugged. “Mostly because of kids like I was, though.”

  “There was also homework,” said Kendry darkly.

  “I want to go back, too,” cut in a smaller girl. “I want to put out flowers for my parents and learn how to stop other people from being mean. And I want to show my little sister dandelions.”

  A second boy said, “If I go back, I could cook the amazing things I learned here for people. I’d like that.”

  “I want to be a doctor,” said another small kid, just as one of the older girls said, with a defiant expression, “I want to make video games, darn it.”

  Then the whole crowd was talking at once, pressing around the Saint. He looked over their heads at Branwyn and said thickly, “You’ve got them all riled up. I told you I didn’t like upsetting them…” He trailed off, looking down at the upturned faces.

  After a moment he looked up again. “That angel sponsoring your sister. He’s going to be personally responsible for every single one of them?”

  “Absolutely,” said Branwyn, who felt that if they all had to sleep in Umbriel’s living room, it was the least the angel deserved. Through the following cheer and excited scatter of children, she added. “I imagine he’ll contact you to make arrangements.” She narrowed her eyes, a suspicion occurring to her. “Maybe he already has.”

  The Saint looked over her shoulder rather than answering her. “What about you, Charlie?”

  Charlie was standing a few yards away, holding Severin’s hand with both her own. “I’ve got to go back,” she said quietly.

  The Saint raised his gaze from Charlie to Severin, but he said, “No. You don’t. Not if you don’t want to.”

  Charlie lowered her gaze to the ground, and Branwyn tensed for Problems.

  Then Severin said, his voice raspy. “I want her to come back.” His voice dried up, and he looked irritated when he spoke again. “She… means a lot to me. It would… it would be bad if I couldn’t see her.”

  Charlie looked up at the monster beside her with bright eyes, then looked over at the Saint. “I’ve got to. I’ve got to say goodbye to my mom, but I don’t want to say goodbye to him. Even if he is a giant jerk screw-up.”