“Go to the front door of the abbey, please, Giene,” Isabella whispered into the descending dark. Into the gloaming.
Alice dashed around the corner of the abbey, little cat feet pressing through the snow, and skidded to a stop when she saw Isabella and Giene.
“I felt your pain, and I came to find you…” said Alice slowly, staring up at the Liminal, the cat’s tail puffing up to three times its usual size. “What's that—”
“Alice, there’s no time. Please go find Emily.” Isabella gasped through the pain, holding a breath for a moment as Alice stared up at her, her whiskers twitching unhappily. “Alice, tell her to bring a rose.” The cat still wasn't moving, but then Isabella cried out as Giene tripped, just a little, jarring the witch she carried. “Right now, please, Alice,” the witch managed through the haze of pain that engulfed her.
With her puffed-up tail and pointed whiskers, Alice turned and fled, back around the corner the way she'd come, right back into the abbey.
It was, unfortunately, too late not to cause a scene, because the abbey’s front doors were wide and open, and witches were spilling out into the twilit world with brooms, a group of two healers striding toward Isabella before pausing, realizing, in astonishment, what was carrying her.
Pye and Bridey and Tabby were there, too, with brooms in hand, clutching their hats to their head as they ran down the cobbled road out of the abbey. But these witches stopped, of course, the moment they say what was ahead of them.
They all stared at the Liminal, all still and perfectly silent.
“It’s...it's all right,” said Isabella through her fevered haze. “This is the knight Giene. She saved the abbey once, when it was being built, and she saved everyone in it. She loves this abbey...please, please don’t be afraid of her.”
The witches looked among themselves, perplexion clearly evident on their faces, and there was soft murmuring. Giene's arms stiffened, and Isabella could tell she was uncomfortable. The pain was beating in her head like a drum, but she opened her mouth, was about to speak again...
But the words fell silent on her lips.
Because there, standing in the doorway of the abbey, shimmering and glimmering, was the soft form of the ghost. Bryn.
Bryn stared ahead of her, hands clasped in front of her heart, face utterly anguished upon seeing her lover...or, really, what her lover had become. And seeing that look of anguish on Bryn's face, Giene faltered, almost dropping Isabella, but stiffening at the last moment to keep her upright balance. Isabella breathed in and out slowly, trying to breathe around the pain and positively failing as Giene took a step forward, and another one, closer and closer to the ghost.
Pain danced between the two forms of the no-longer-humans, caught in two completely separate worlds. It is as if they stood apart from one another across a great divide. They could see, but they could not touch...but it had been so, so long since they had done either. Giene and Bryn stared at one another with strange lights in their eyes, and as Giene sighed out, Bryn held her hands out to the Liminal, her see-through palms glimmering in the half-light.
Her whole ethereal body was a wish, and Isabella could see it, could see the deep despair in the ghost, could feel the despair emanating from Giene.
They finally could see one another, but both knew—just as she did—that they would never be together.
Not unless this plan worked. Which, since Isabella had thought of it...was probably not going to.
She held tightly to Giene and closed her eyes, trying to will away the pain. And that's when she heard her Familiar clear her little cat throat. Isabella opened her eyes and was relieved beyond description to see Alice standing there in the doorway to the Abbey once more.
And with her, Emily, eyes wide and dark, carrying a single rose.
“It’s still a living thing, isn’t it, Em?” asked Isabella, wavering in the Liminal’s arms.
“I don't know about living,” said Alice nervously, but grew silent when Emily cast a glance down to the little cat. Both Changer and Familiar were unsure as they turned their gazes again to the witch.
Isabella was practically feverish with pain as she murmured: “A ghost can inhabit a living thing… That’s why Bryn was able to pick up the rose.”
The ghost held up her arms again, urgency making her eyes wider, her motions sharper, shorter...desperate.
“Please. Bryn,” said Isabella, pointing to the flower that Emily held in her outstretched hand. “Go into the rose. And then Emily can bring you out here, past the walls of the abbey. Out here to Giene.”
The ghost understood. In a flash of light, she was a bird, and she dove into the petals of the white rose. It shimmered for a long moment, and Emily took a step over the threshold of the abbey, not wasting a heartbeat.
Nothing happened. If the ghost remained in the rose, it was impossible to say, but Emily strode forward, and she held out the rose to the Liminal.
“I’ll trade you,” said Emily softly, carefully. “One sweetheart for another.”
And Giene gently placed Isabella in Emily’s arms. And reverently, worshipfully, she plucked the rose from Emily’s grasp. For a long moment, she stared down at the perfect white petals, turning the lovely thing in her unlovely hand. It was so beautiful, so beautiful, and it practically glowed in the dim, last light of the day.
Giene leaned forward, and she crushed the rose, thorns and all, to her heart.
There was so much light, in that moment, that the world was brighter than day. The rose and the woman melded together, somehow, though Isabella would never be able to say how it was possible. Another flash of light erupted through the wood, and for a brief heartbeat, they all could see that things were very much changed. For the Liminal and ghost were no longer Liminal and ghost, but real flesh and blood women, standing there together upon the cobbled stones of the road leading to the abbey, the abbey that Giene had given her life to protect. Giene stood in her old armor, blonde hair falling about her shoulders and shining in the dying light, and Bryn stood on her tiptoes, laughing as she embraced her knight tightly, peppering her face with kisses. They gripped each other so tightly, in fact, that one would be hard pressed to see where one woman began and the other ended.
Not that it mattered, of course. For two halves had become one whole again, and Giene and Bryn were finally together, in one another’s arms, after lifetime upon lifetime of waiting.
And then the light died, and the two women disappeared from view, vanished and gone. And when the spots had cleared from their eyes, the assembled witches (and Changer and Familiar), saw that all remained of them was a simple pillar of dust that fell to nothingness and scattered as the cruel, cold winter wind dissolved it apart.
“The soul completed the body,” said Pye, in wonder, voice soft in the darkness. “They’re...gone.”
Isabella closed her eyes, pinning the memory of them together, laughing, together and happy, forever against her heart.
And then, because the pain was too much, she blacked out.
Perfectly content.
---
It takes quite a few healers using quite a bit of energy to patch together so many broken bones. And it takes quite a bit of energy on the part of the healee, too. But by the darkest part of evening (with the vigil already almost half over), Isabella was almost as good as new, sitting on the edge of the bed in her old abbey room, sipping her preferred tea (pennbane, of course), with the last healer to finish up the lacing of her thigh bone just about finished.
“Make sure to drink knitbone tea,” she said, wrinkling her nose as she washed her hands at their basin. “Not pennbane.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Isabella with a wide smile, setting the cup down.
“See that she stays away from cliffs,” said the healer then, brow raised to Emily who nodded and held the door open for the healer as she took her leave amidst their chorus of thank yous.
The Changer leaned against the door then and breathed out for a long moment, staring ac
ross the space between them to her witch. Emily gave a small smile that made Isabella's heart flutter softly in her chest before the Changer crossed that space, kneeling down gently before Isabella, clasping her hands.
“I’m sorry this Imbolc didn’t turn out quite as you were planning…” said Emily, voice soft. Isabella laughed a little at that, a very tired laugh, eyes heavenward.
“And I’m sorry that this wasn’t the nice, relaxing jaunt away from Benevolence that you were hoping for,” said the witch, squeezing Emily’s hands, too. “But I think it all turned out as it was supposed to. Giene and Bryn are finally together…” she breathed out, glancing over Emily’s shoulder at the stars that swung in the western sky through the little window. “Can you imagine? Five hundred years, Em…” She gazed back at her Changer, leaned forward until her forehead pressed against Emily’s. Her eyes were closed, and she breathed in and out, the scent of Emily all around her, that goodness that made her feel so grounded, so home: cinnamon and clove and coffee and all that was her Changer.
Everything good in the world was in that scent, in the warmth in Emily’s hands as she clasped the witch’s, in the strength of her presence and nearness, in the way that she reached, slowly and softly enfolding the witch in a tight embrace.
“I can’t imagine it,” said Emily then, voice growling as she whispered the words into the witch’s ear. “I love you. I love every day with you, every moment, every hour. I love you, Isabella.”
The witch was all warmth as she leaned back then, upon the bed, balancing on her elbows, a single brow raised as she cocked her head invitingly to the Changer. “Come here,” she whispered, voice soft. But it wasn’t a request.
The Changer’s eyes grew dark and wide as she rose and climbed up and onto the bed smoothly, pressing the witch down and onto the mattress. “Are you sure?” she whispered, lips poised above Isabella’s neck as the witch arched beneath her. “Are you all right? What about your bones?”
“For the love of all the gods, Emily, if you don’t ravish me right this second, I’m going to—”
But Isabella never finished her sentence, for her mouth was captured with a kiss that ignited a world of want and need and fire as Emily moved over her like sun and stars.
And two halves made one whole.
---
The next morning, Isabella and Pye and Tabitha and Bridey and Emily gathered together, sitting in their favorite comfortable chairs lounging by a cozy fire, tea cups in hand, laughing. Together.
It was the last day of the Imbolc festivities. And it had been quite unlike any Imbolc Isabella had ever known. She hadn’t participated in the ritual or even the vigil; she hadn’t partied or eaten untold amounts of witch peak pastries. She’d spent much less time with her friends than she would have liked or hoped.
But Emily held her hand tightly. And Pye and Tabby and Bridey had squeezed her gently with many hugs. And Aunt Sophia had wept happily when she’d found out what transpired with Bryn and Giene (and after she’d stopped yelling at Isabella about climbing down the cliff face, and asking a Liminal to carry her back up it. Apparently, Isabella hadn’t realized exactly how weak Liminals actually were, and that she might have been dropped to her death at any moment. Why, the things Isabella had learned this Imbolc!).
And Bryn and Giene, wherever they might be, were happy and, finally, together. Isabella liked to imagine them in the sunlands, walking arm in arm, kissing one another and telling each other everything that had transpired during the hundreds of years that they had passed apart.
“You know,” began Pye, then, her tone of voice different—soft. Isabella glanced up, pulled out of her reverie. “I’m sorry. I never got a chance to tell you that...” said Pye, to Emily, formally and truthfully: “I’ve been an ass.” She glanced at the two of them. “You two are good together—you’re right for her, Emily. I’m glad you have each other. And. Just...well, yes. I needed to tell you that.”
Isabella rose up and hugged Pye fiercely before sitting down gently on Emily’s lap. And Emily squeezed her tightly, holding her close, head against her chest, as if she were listening to the witch’s heartbeat.
“Thank you for that, Pye,” the Changer said, then. And Pye smiled.
“You know we have some time before the closing ritual and festivities,” said Bridey, twisting one of her braids around on her finger. “And I’m this close to finishing that book—”
“And my festivities were interrupted yesterday,” said Pye with a wink.
Emily and Isabella gazed at one another and laughed. Not quite as interrupted as theirs had been.
Emily stood, grinning, carrying Isabella up. The witch squealed with happiness, putting her arms around the Changer’s neck as she kicked her booted feet, imagining the lovely afternoon they were about to pass…
“Wait!” said Tabby, then, standing, too. She trotted over to the table and picked up a glass of milk and a small plate of cookies, which she pressed firmly onto Isabella’s stomach. “Just in case,” she said, with a very serious little nod.
“What…” began Emily, but Isabella shook her head, pressing a finger to her Changer’s lips.
“Thank you, Tabby,” she winked at her friend. And then she kissed her Changer deeply, holding onto the milk and cookies for dear life.
Just in case of ghosts.
Part Three: Spring
Isabella Fox saw the crack in the ice beneath her feet before she heard it, the sound echoing off of the surrounding trees like a miniature explosion. And then, because these things happen suddenly, far more suddenly than one can hope to react, Isabella plunged through the ice into the water below, broom—which might have prevented this—skittering uselessly away from her reach over the shattering ice.
Somewhere, distantly, the witch could hear yelling voices muted by the too-cold water that instantly folded over her head, that stole her air away as she thrashed against its grip, invading her mouth and nose and eyes. It was so cold, and as Isabella struggled against her hampering cloak and hat and boots and gloves and layers of skirts, she stared up at the far-off hole above her in the ice. The water gently dragged her down, and a singular thought rose within her:
Emily.
There was a splash, and the light of the hole was covered by a shadow, and then, as if summoned by her thought, there was Emily’s face before hers, but hard to see, really, in the dark of the water, and then there was a jerk and a pull and an arm about her waist, and Isabella fell into blackness.
---
“Of all the stupid—”
“Alice, that's not helping.” Emily’s voice from far, far away was calm but shook a little at the end. “Please try to make the fire hotter, all right?”
“I mean, seriously, you haven’t been with her as long as I have! She’s concocted so many bad ideas, you wouldn’t even believe it, but I think this one really—”
“Alice.”
“I’m trying.”
A whoosh. Warmth.
Isabella’s eyelids fluttered against her cheeks, and then somehow, impossibly, she opened her eyes.
“Oh, goddess.” Emily breathed, and then Isabella realized that she was in the Changer’s arms, Emily’s cloaks of white deer hide covering her completely, her limbs tingling beneath them and beneath nothing else, her whole body bare. Isabella blinked slowly, breathing in and out. Her lungs burned raggedly as they gulped cold air.
“What…what happened?” she croaked, and then she felt a warmth and a weight over the hides seated on her lap. Isabella cracked her eyes again and groaned, because there was Alice, perched on her legs, fur puffed up to make the cat twice her usual size, whiskers pointing crazily in all directions as the cat opened and shut her mouth, speechless for a long moment.
But not for too long.
“Of all the stupid—”
“Alice, I’m sorry,” Isabella croaked again, trying to clear her throat as she leaned back against the warmth of the Changer, Emily rubbing her arms gently. The sound of Emily's heart
beat was a comfort to Isabella as she attempted to manage the simple act of breathing. “Darling, I’m sorry,” she whispered up to Emily, who sighed for a long moment, then kissed the witch’s eyes with her soft mouth, lingering against them and breathing down, melting the ice that had formed over the witch’s lashes.
“I thought…” said Emily then, and her voice cracked. Isabella stared up with an open mouth as the Changer drew her closer, squeezing her tightly. And then Emily began to weep.
“Now see what you’ve done,” huffed Alice again, flicking her tail like a tiny tabby whip. “Poor Emily, who threw herself into that thrice-damned lake to save you, I might add, without any worry for her own life or limbs or body—”
“Please don’t cry…” said Isabella nervously, reaching up and brushing away the Changer’s tears with cold fingers. She sat up then, wincing as she did so, because her entire body ached like nothing she’d experienced in this lifetime yet. She turned, shivering beneath the hides, and she wrapped her arms about Emily, burying her face in the gentle curve of the Changer’s neck and shoulder.
“I love you. I’m so sorry,” she repeated, feeling Emily’s silent sobs beneath her, feeling her heart splinter into a thousand pieces, like the ice on the lake.
“Don’t be sorry,” whispered Emily then, her breath hot against the witch’s ear, huffed out brokenly. “I just almost lost you.”
And Isabella realized she was right.
“I think that my ability to forbid terrible decisions has been severely compromised,” continued Alice, inhaling a great deal before launching into another chapter of her scolding. “Because of all your terrible ideas, Isabella, this was one of the worst. ‘Let me go out onto the lake and see if the ice is close to breaking up!’ she says! ‘I have my broom and can fly!’ she says! ‘If it cracks, I’ll just mount quickly and fly up and be safe!’ she says! Ha! Ha! Haaaaa!” One might have been able to slice a thick loaf of bread with the sharpness of the tabby cat’s scathing words as she lashed her tail again, but all of that anger dissolved in a heartbeat; Alice’s fur flattened, her whiskers went back to their catawampus disorder, and she stepped forward, butting her head against the witch’s elbow. The cat’s resolve to scold her witch melted as she realized, too, how close she’d come to losing her.
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