Unthinkable

by Nancy Werlin

  Fenella caught her breath. “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  Fenella closed her eyes briefly. This weight had been

  even more terrible than she had realized, until this moment when it was released.

  “I’m glad, but . . . very confused. How did I destroy love in my family, then? I didn’t think it could be that I destroyed their love for me.”

  Ryland said, “That’s correct. You didn’t destroy love in that family. You destroyed love in your family, precisely according to the terms of your contract.”

  “But I only have one family,” said Fenella blankly.

  At this, the tree fey murmured. Their voices, unified, calm, without reproach, formed a braid of sound on a sudden warm wind. You are our beloved adopted daughter. We are your family. And you are ours.

  Their warmth filled Fenella. But her confusion did not lessen. What had their acceptance of her to do with the second task? She hadn’t hit a tree with Walker’s truck. Had she weakened the tree fey’s love in some other way?

  “I still don’t understand.”

  Ryland stretched out his back paws deliberately, first the right, then the left. “Think, Fenella, you stupid girl.” “She’s not stupid,” said the queen.

  “I mean it affectionately. I like her. She’s fond of me too,

  whether she realizes it or not. We’re friends. So, Fenella? You know who stopped loving you the moment you hit Leo with that truck.”

  Fenella did know. She snarled, “Walker is not family! The destruction had to be aimed at family!”

  In her arms, the child stirred. “Shh,” Fenella said. “Shh, Dawn, I didn’t mean to shout. Sleep.”

  The little girl subsided.

  Then the tree fey whispered around Fenella again.

  Walker’s family has long, long roots in the earth, said the oak trees. Lineage is complicated, added the willows. He is human, but he is also ours, said the tree fey, all together. Just as you are.

  Fenella stood quietly then, as she remembered.

  Her first drive with Walker in the truck. Walker talking about his family. My family’s been taking care of trees for generations. Trees are in our blood.

  She had known. For a few moments, she had guessed, but then she had forgotten.

  “I s ee.”

  “You have completed the three tasks,” said the queen.

  “Yes,” said Fenella absently.

  She was still absorbing the information about Walker. He had really loved her? Though scarcely knowing her? Apparently he had. Love needed to exist before it could be destroyed.

  She felt the trees sway against her. “I’m sorry,” she murmured to them. To her family. “When one live limb is chopped off, it hurts the entire tree. In hurting Walker, I hurt all of you too.”

  And yourself, they said.

  “And myself,” she acknowledged. Maybe that was what love was after all. A rootedness beneath the earth.

  All along she had thought she was seeking personal peace. But in reality, she had sought to cut herself away from the roots that connected her to not only one, but two families. She understood that now.

  But nonetheless, she had destroyed, and destroyed, and destroyed.

  She kept on rocking the little girl gently in her arms.

  “Fenella?” Queen Kethalia spoke. “Did you hear me? The tasks are complete. The life-curse is broken.”

  “I am fully human again?”

  “You always were human. But now you are . . .” The queen hesitated. “Reborn.”

  “I feel no different.” It wasn’t really true. Fenella had a terrible ache in her heart, a physical ache.

  She had awoken, somehow, she thought.

  She leaned her cheek against the soft head of the child. Was Fenella’s flesh as vulnerable now as any human’s? Truly?

  With decision, Fenella straightened. There was no point in questions or in delay. Her path was the same. She had done all that was required. Padraig was destroyed, her family was safe, and it was time to act for herself.

  “Ryland?”

  “Yes?”

  “Will you see Dawn returned safely and swiftly home to Lucy?”

  “I promise.”

  “Then I am ready to die.”

  Fenella felt nothing much. Not relief, not peace. But perhaps that was the way of it, in the final moment of decision, in the final moment before death.

  She placed the child in a cradle again offered by the tree fey.

  She held the queen’s opaque gaze and nodded questioningly at the queen’s ceremonial knife, held as ever in its sheath on the queen’s forearm. Then she bowed her head, waiting.

  Behind and around her, the oaks and the willows whispered in their own intricate language. Their leaves brushed against Fenella’s arms, the skin of her legs, and the drooping of her skirt, as Fenella stood with her hand outstretched for the knife, her feet firmly planted on the ground, and her red head bowed.

  Impatience rustled in Fenella. Why was it taking the queen so long to pull the knife from its sheath? She was tempted to send a message to Ryland with her eyes. Hurry her up!

  But she didn’t. The moment elongated. Finally she felt the queen move near her. She heard the deep inhalation of the queen’s breath. At last there came the weight of the knife as it was placed on Fenella’s palm. The queen’s cool touch helped Fenella to wrap her fingers around the hilt.

  “Look at me.” The queen was close, but it seemed to Fenella as if she were far away.

  Fenella looked.

  “I will not help you do this,” said the queen.

  Fenella looked to Ryland. He had said he was her friend.

  He lifted his manticore paws. “I have no hands.”

  “Oh,” said Fenella. “Of course.”

  It didn’t matter, she told herself. She wanted this. It was all she had ever wanted. She had struck at herself with this very knife before.

  The queen released Fenella’s hand. She stepped away.

  Fenella adjusted her grip on the knife.

  The world shrank around her. The only thing that felt real was the knife in her hand. She felt outside her own body, up high in the air, watching a small, slender redheaded girl. A redheaded girl with trees at her back, and a tall, extraordinary royal creature before her, and a second royal creature out of myth to one side.

  All of them were waiting.

  The redheaded girl held the knife out before her. She reversed it so that the point rested on her stomach. She put a second hand on the hilt.

  With all her strength, she pulled the knife toward her, and felt the cleanness of its edge as it entered her body.

  Chapter 47

  The knife had only just parted her skin when a tremendous weight knocked against Fenella from the side, tumbling her to the ground and sending the knife flying through the air.

  “Stupid girl.” Ryland was on all four paws, crouched low, with his face bare inches from Fenella’s and his breath heavy on her face. “You can’t die. I won’t let you. I’ve worked too hard.” He paused, eyes narrow. His tone turned cool. “At least, not until you’ve thanked me for helping you.”

  “Thank you,” said Fenella sourly.

  The floating, disembodied feeling had left her the moment Ryland struck. She had landed in the dirt on one elbow. It hurt. She sat up slowly, painfully, and pulled her arm around to peer at her elbow. Blood welled there.

  “You’re bleeding from your stomach too,” Ryland pointed out.

  Fenella could feel that now also. She put a finger curiously to the second wound, poking it through the hole she’d created in her shirt with the knife.

  The willows all crowded close. They murmured soothing things. Soft green leaves were used to wipe her wounds. The blood kept trickling out, though, and after a few minutes Fenella realized that, unconsciously, she had expected the pain to fade and the wounded area to knit together before her eyes, the way her wounds once had.

  That was not happening.

  She st
ared at her blood in wonder. “I really am mortal again.”

  “I told you.” Queen Kethalia crouched down a few feet away. The lily crown that grew from her scalp had gone askew, and she was shivering even though it was warm. She drew her wings in close around her shoulders.

  “You really did almost kill yourself,” added Ryland crossly. “Why? You’re eighteen. You’ll be dead soon enough. You’ve only got another seventy, seventy-five years. What’s the point of dying now?”

  He slid a sideways glance at his sister. “What you were thinking, Kethalia, I have no idea. Nobody wanted Fenella dead. Am I correct? I’ve figured it out. You wanted the opposite. You and the tree fey. You were plotting for her to win. And live.” He took a long, thoughtful breath and then added, throwing the words like weapons: “And become an ally for us, in the human realm.”

  “We were waiting to see if you would intervene to save her,” said the queen coolly. “Rather than one of us doing it.” She was pale, however.

  Ryland froze.

  “As indeed you did,” finished the queen.

  “You manipulated me! I never meant—I never wanted—” Ryland paused in his outburst. He glanced at Fenella, and then at the queen, and then at the ground beneath his front paws.

  “You never wanted to care about her?” The queen’s voice was neutral.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  It seemed to Fenella that the queen and Ryland momentarily forgot there was anybody present except themselves. The queen straightened, and stepped closer to her brother. His body was so tense that you could see the definition of his muscles over his shoulders and back.

  “Why did you save her?” asked the queen.

  Ryland did not respond for a full minute. “I do like her,” he said, finally, grudgingly. He lifted a paw and then seemed to forget it, for it hung suspended in midair. “I liked being with her. I liked seeing her grow stronger and more alive, even if she didn’t realize that was what was happening. It has been . . . gratifying—to help her.” He sounded surprised.

  He looked up at his sister, and his eyes narrowed. “Have you grown more insect capabilities while I’ve been gone, Kethalia? I don’t remember you being able to shoot your eyes out on stalks.”

  The queen retracted her eyes. “I don’t quite have them under control yet.”

  “I knew the tree fey were with you. Now I see the insects are too. You’ve used this time I’ve been gone, haven’t you?”

  “Yes,” said the queen simply. “I have.”

  Noticing his extended left forepaw, Ryland put it back down on the ground. He said reluctantly, “Fenella has made me think about a few things.”

  From her spot on the ground, Fenella blinked.

  The queen said, “Such as?”

  “For one thing, she thinks we made a mistake. About the Mud Creature. She thought he should have been cared for, when he was a child.”

  The queen stretched her wings. “And your opinion?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” For a long time Ryland stood, his entire body tight.

  “It changes you,” said Queen Kethalia. “When you care for someone.”

  Ryland raised his tail aggressively high. “Don’t lecture me on ethics. You are no pattern of tender perfection. You’ve been playing political games.” He gestured with one paw toward Fenella. “Playing with her life, which you supposedly think is so important to our future.”

  “I trusted you with Fenella,” said the queen. “And you proved trustworthy.”

  Ryland was silent.

  “Well, then, brother?” the queen pressed. “You have guessed my intentions. My hope, I should say. You know Fenella as well as the tree fey now, and in some ways, better. If she gets over her death wish, could she be the human ally we so desperately need? Can she be our agent of change?”

  It took Ryland another few moments. Fenella watched him, fascinated. His tail flicked from side to side. His eyes were hooded, their gaze internal. But finally he spoke, thoughtfully, temperately.

  “Fenella is uniquely rooted in both worlds. She is naturally curious and enthusiastic. And if her family accepts her again, they too might ally with us. They have a long history of involvement with Faerie.” He paused, and cast Fenella a direct, assessing glance. Surprised, she returned his gaze squarely and fully.

  Still looking directly at Fenella, Ryland resumed speaking. But now his voice had a passion and involvement that Fenella had never heard before.

  “If Fenella lives, she will not waste a moment. She will be one of those who leave a blazing comet trail behind. When the humans inscribe their history—if they survive to do so—they will need space for her inventions. Her ideas.”

  Fenella was glad she was sitting on the ground. If she had not been, she would have fallen over.

  The queen’s gaze was only for her brother. “You are poetic.”

  “I like her,” he said again. He regarded his front paws.

  “The tree fey were right,” said the queen. “Not only about Fenella. About you.”

  Ryland did not look up. “I wanted to rule.”

  “You never shall,” said his sister. “Nonetheless, you are needed.”

  “I know,” said Ryland sourly.

  Queen Kethalia laughed. Though Ryland did not join her, he looked up at her, and then at Fenella, and then at the tree fey. Then he was suddenly standing straighter, as if—even if he did not fully realize it—he had set down a burden.

  Abruptly, he turned to Fenella. “Enough of this. Fenella! You’ve gotten into a bad habit of leaping too quickly. You need to take time to process before you make decisions. Especially a decision like death.” He scowled into her face.

  Fenella shook her head. “Wait. I’m confused. I’m not sure—”

  He interrupted. “Forget what my sister and I were discussing. For now, focus on one question. What’s your hurry to die, human girl? Why would you spurn the precious years you have been given back?”

  “Because I want peace,” Fenella protested automatically. “I want death—I want . . .”

  Her voice faltered. She looked at Ryland, and then past him at his sister. At this moment, they had an uncanny similarity of expression. Then she looked up at the tree fey, her newfound kin. “I want,” she said, and heard her voice fade away into uncertainty.

  “What do you want?” The queen slid a quick glance at her brother. “Take your time.”

  “I want,” Fenella tried again. “I want—”

  Then all the wanting burst in upon her at once.

  She wanted to be the one to return Dawn to Lucy. She wanted to see Lucy’s face as Fenella placed her daughter back in her arms.

  She wanted to stand before Zach and Lucy and Miranda and Leo and Soledad and apologize, and fully explain, even if they could not hear it, even if they could never forgive her.

  She wanted to tell Miranda that she had been right, and that she could trust her own instincts, always, forever.

  She wanted to hold Dawn again. She wanted to feed her, and play with her. She wanted to watch her grow up, safe.

  She wanted to sneak Pierre a treat under the table at dinner.

  She wanted to paint walls and scrub floors and put up a chart of chores on the refrigerator, and help her family make a new home.

  She wanted to raise her voice and harmonize with Leo and Lucy and Soledad and Miranda, as they sang in the living room at night.

  She wanted to eat a Boston cream pie.

  She wanted to open the atlas to a random page and go wherever her finger pointed, just to see what was there. She wanted to find the place where she had been born and grown up, and stand on that land, and there say a prayer for the lost Scarborough girls, and for Robert, and for Bronagh.

  She wanted to make a new friend, a woman who was strong of mind and will, who would grow into her heart and help fill some of the place that had once belonged to Minnie.

  She wanted to weave ribbons in her hair, and put on a dress with a skirt that swirled and a b
odice that enhanced everything she had, and dance all night beneath the stars.

  She wanted to pull car engines apart, and talk to people about them, and think about fuel, because she felt quite sure that there was another way to power engines of all kinds, a way that would produce waste products that were healthful and in harmony with the earth, and that she might be the one to discover it.

  She wanted to find out exactly what the queen and Ryland had meant, when they talked about Fenella becoming their ally.

  She wanted . . .

  She wanted to drive beside Walker for long miles through the forest. She wanted to pull the truck over when she was tired, and have Walker offer her his hand.

  She wanted to walk beside him under the canopy of the trees. She wanted to inhale the scent of the wood and the moss, and the scent of Walker. She wanted to tell him about the tree fey, and listen to him talk about his family and their history. She wanted to find the biggest tree, and tug Walker down beneath it. She wanted to feel his arms around her, and she wanted to put hers around him. She wanted the trees to whisper a blessing around them, while Walker looked at her again the way he once had, when he wanted her, when he loved her.

  She wanted to pull him into Faerie for a visit, so that he could meet their tree family. She wanted to visit his human family.

  She wanted to be on his lap again, this time without any distrust between them. She wanted to press herself into him, and have him press into her. Then one day, with him, she wanted—oh, she wanted—

  Fenella discovered she was curling her arms into a cradle. She let them drop. She swallowed back the lump in her throat. She could never have those things, the Walker-things, for she had destroyed Walker’s love, destroyed it when it was only a small, hopeful shoot.

  But she could still want them.

  The wanting filled her. It felt good to want.

  It felt—she felt—alive.

  She was alive. She was alive and she was mortal, and that was her elbow that hurt, and her blood staining her clothing. There would be bruises and scabs and scars on her body as she lived her life. She would wear them proudly, for scars were evidence of how once you had been broken, but now were healed.

  She was not broken. She had not been destroyed.