/See Everlush, your home,/ she says in my mind. She banks around so I can see the colossal tree. The leaves of it are wide around as her wings, and I cannot see where the trunk touches the ground—though it must, because Star is landing there, and the selkies are leaping off into the green forest at its base.
/They take our water and make sure the tree still lives./
Mother circles the tree. There are more doorways in the trunk, but all of them are shut. She rises, circling the boughs.
/In the world I came from, Everlush was a palace of light. Now, in this world, it’s our last stronghold./
“You weren’t dreamt here, Mother?”
/No. No, son. I wasn’t./ Her wings batter the air and we cross over the top of the tree. The sky is black; the few stars hanging in it seem like dust I could take up with my fingers.
/In the world I came from, we had a warm sun that shone and gave life to the trees and plants. Your kind cannot bear the sun’s light without burning; on that world, you would have only gone out by moonlight, or else covered. But this world has no sun, so you are safe; it has no moon, so we fly by starlight./
Her wings hold. We list to one side a moment, then she straightens again. /This isn’t the normal way, Freddie. We shouldn’t be having to do this. But why else were we brought here? We are the only ones who can hold back the dark./
She descends. We are past the tree. Beneath us, dead rock, and some faint greyish green.
Crackly plant matter rustles, swirling beneath Mother’s wingbeats. We fly, and this is the only sound; beneath us, the ground remains grey, unchanging.
“Look ahead, Friedrich.”
I lift my gaze.
There is a black fog ahead of us. Curves form its edges, making it resemble a cloud, but there is something hiding behind it, dumb, malevolent. The wall extends out on either side of us. Off to our left, it obliterates the horizon, as though we are staring into a black, empty tapestry.
My mouth goes slack. I can almost watch the condensation of my warm breath form a straight line, being pulled into the murk. I can’t keep my eyes open.
“Mother…I’m…getting cold…”
She gasps. Her wings jerk once, twice—I try to crab my fingers to hold on to her horns, but they will no longer move for me.
THOOOMMMMMM
It is a sound larger than me, larger than my entire world. A giant spear of fire slams into the black fog. It swirls and dissipates, like ink blasted by clean water. The way before us is clear. Mother takes a breath, then glides forward, extending her head so we become the leading edge of her flight. She swivels her gaze; pure flame jets out of her mouth. Her eyes are heat, her bones are heat, her skin and horns and teeth. I have never felt so alive! My bones sear, but I laugh.
“Sure—easy to laugh when you don’t have to flap any wings!” Félicité is beside me, smiling. Her wings make a crystalline sound as they flutter, too fast for my eyes to see. She flies a little higher than mother’s head, escaping the flame.
“Are you comfortable, Prince Friedrich?”
“Yes. Now that I am warm.”
“We must be careful with you, Freddie. Now look!” The siren points below. Dryads are tossing seed on the ground, are jumping and stretching and dancing. Some seeds sprout in time to their stomps and lifts, but no carpet of grass comes, only scraggly rounds of sage.
Mother glides through the black, trumpeting flames, hide glowing softly blue. Beneath us, the dryads continue their strange dances on the barrens.
“Prince Freddie, tell me what is happening—tell me what you see.”
“They’re trying to grow things.”
“They are! But this world fights against us.”
Mother banks; the siren hovers, unable to match her speed. As Mother slows, the siren rejoins me, bobbing on the wind. “It’s not always like this. I was dreamt in the last world, under your grandmother. That world had flowers, trees, all kinds of animals and mortal races. Even fish that flew!” She grins. “But when a hole in the world opens, it is hard for us adventurers to ignore its call.” The corners of her mouth loosen, so she is baring her teeth. Such flat teeth. She goes on. “This wasn’t where I thought I’d wind up when I went through. But I guess I got my adventure.
“We didn’t always have to fight this hard, Freddie. If Queen Lumina didn’t save the power we give her every day and fly out here every night to breathe fire into this world, it would die. Every night we gain a little land, only to lose it somewhere else.
“If another hole doesn’t show up soon, it will be the end of us Hriannens.”
I stare at her, thinking.
“Well? Say something, if you must.”
“What is a fish?”
Her mouth goes slack a second. Then she tosses back her head, laughing and chiming at the same time.
She recovers, swallowing. “It’s a selkie’s favorite breakfast. But pay attention! I want you to remember what I said. Remember! No matter what happens to me or anyone here, remember—we didn’t always live this way!”
* * *
When Mother flies to Star’s side of the territory, my sister is breathing too hard to speak. Her wings tremble, and they do not certainly beat the air like mother’s, but go one side after another, a strange galloping rhythm. My fingers tighten around Mother’s horns, as if by hanging on tighter myself I can help Star to fly truer.
“It is all right, my Starling. Go home and take Kiama’s people back up; we’ll try planting here.”
Chiming rings dizzyingly through the air; the sirens orbiting mother are descending in a spiral towards the bare ground. The dryads they hold cross their ankles, legs dragging in the wake.
“No!” Star’s voice is as rough and dry as the ground below. It is barely there, a strange small sound coming out of a creature her size. “Want—to help!”
“You already have, nestling. Go home.”
Star sinks in the air. My fingers tighten again—but she holds her trembling wings still and tips forward, turning into a dive. She skims the heads of the dryads on the ground and levels out, facing the dark. Her chest swells before fire comes spitting out—but it is not one long blaze-line, but intermittent sputters.
The dark recedes just a little, then reforms in front of her, turbid as ever. Her eyes widen as she flies straight into it.
“Mother!” I shout.
“Star!”
Sirens start to scream, but their wail is drowned out by the boom of wind and flame as Mother launches herself after my sister. She stretches long like an arrow. Her orange flame turns blue-white, and now the heat is painful enough to make me wish I could shield my face. Instead, I will my eyes wide open, so I can search for the white glow of my sister’s hide. The dark scatters before the flame, but there is no Star.
Mother roars, a sound like thunder and whinnying. The brief time she has taken to call out invites the dark back in like a flood. It surrounds us.
Mother inhales. In the second before the noisy flame bursts out of her, I hear a faint, desperate neighing.
I kick one leg. “That way! That way, mother!”
Still flaming, she banks in the right direction, tail cracking as she curves around. That sound almost covers up Star’s second cry. It is below us.
I risk removing a hand to point. “There!” Then I remember she can’t see me up here. I beat on her brow with my fist. “Lower, lower!”
She folds up her wings and curls her tail over her shoulder. We plummet downwards, flame clearing the way before us.
Then, it sparks harmlessly off a white back. Star’s neck arches as she looks up at us. She bleats in relief.
Mother drops on her, extending all four legs. She grabs Star in a crushing hold.
She’s so much smaller than Mother! I realize for the first time.
“Son—can you—can you hear the fae?” The extra drag is making Mother labor for every wing stroke.
“You’re goi
ng the right way,” I say. The sirens’ screams have transformed into a steady ululation back and forth, distinct to my ears. A beacon.
Mother sweeps her flame forward and down, keeping Star safe as we push forward.
Finally, we break free of the black. Everlush is a tall shadow on the horizon. The ululation breaks off, and suddenly mother is surrounded by the sirens, holding the dryads again.
The singers are glowing now, but silent as they ride Mother’s upwash back to the tree.
* * *
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Also by Danielle Williams
WONDER Out Where the Sun Always Shines
HORROR The Bureaucrat
What the Cat Brought Back
HUMOR Magic Fashion Frenchies #1: Love Potion Commotion!
The Purrfect Christmas
FORTHCOMING A Gingersnap Cat Christmas
Steel City, Veiled Kingdom
The Horror of Hriana
Magic Fashion Frenchies #2: Salute a Pooch!
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About the Author
Danielle Williams believes her outrageous imagination can be attributed to a healthy childhood diet of computer games, Bruce Coville books, Twilight Zone reruns, and Martin H. Greenberg horror anthologies.
She graduated from Brigham Young University in the 2000’s and currently resides in the Wild West with her patient husband and threenager cat.
Hints of fantasy and science fiction always sneak into whatever she’s writing.
For more info about Danielle and her upcoming ebooks, visit PixelvaniaPublishing.com.
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