A Branch of Silver, a Branch of Gold

by Anne Elisabeth Stengl

  But more than anything she didn’t want to tell him about the six shadowy figures standing all around him—in the mirror world, but no less real. Figures that were not merely shadowy but truly shadows themselves, needing no bodies to cast them.

  She didn’t want to tell him. She didn’t want to know it herself. In fact, she would willingly have scrubbed her eyeballs with lye soap just then.

  “You look ill,” said Benedict. “And that’s something, coming from me.”

  She did indeed look very strange with the silver glow from the branch lighting up one side of her face, leaving the other half cast in darkness. Both of her wide eyes were visible and bright, however. He knew without being told that whatever she’d seen must be terrible.

  “Maybe,” he said as gently as he could, “you should put the mirror down. Maybe you shouldn’t attempt to . . . to do whatever it was you did last night. Leave it for now. We can try again later.”

  Heloise could hear him talking. She could even discern a few of the words above the wild hammering of her heart in her breast. Her immediate response was, Yes! Listen to him! He makes a good deal of sense. And he is the marquis’s own son, so he must know a thing or two, and he’s got all that book-learning and those decl—declat—those things he’d written on all that paper! He knows what he’s about, and yes, he’d be well worth paying attention to, don’t you think? So put the mirror down, put it back, shut the armoire, and go home. Just go home. At least for tonight. You can try again later, just as he says.

  But it didn’t make a difference. Because no matter how much her brain pummeled her with these ideas, no matter how madly her heart pounded, the quiet voice that wasn’t hers was already there, whispering a counter thought:

  You can’t leave Evette with them.

  That’s just what she’d be doing if she went home now. Because she’d seen those shadows before, she’d seen them on Le Sacre Night. She’d seen them, along with the white phantoms, take hold of her sister and drag her away.

  They had her. They held her. Somewhere in their strange forest realm.

  You must return to the Between. You must find the second branch, the branch of gold.

  So without answering Master Benedict, Heloise turned her back on him and held up the glass. Though all was dark on that side of the chamber beyond reach of the firelight, in the glass she saw pure green, rich and warm, so lush she could almost hear it humming the song of its own greenness.

  The shadows around the bed were gone. The bed itself was gone. But the four tall trees standing in place of the bedposts were still there, as was the canopy of leaves.

  “Heloise?” said Benedict.

  She didn’t answer. She was looking at herself. Only she saw herself standing in the dark, fire-lit bedchamber, her face cast in silver-and-red glow, her hands holding something just out of sight which she knew was the handle of the mirror.

  But her own hands held nothing. Because she now looked on herself from the mirror world.

  “I am my reflection,” she whispered. Then, “This is getting easier to do.”

  She turned away from the little oval of glass. She didn’t need it and didn’t want to be distracted by it. Lifting her gaze, she sought some glimpse of the sky through the greenery above her. But the trees stood so close together, their branches so entwined, that there was no sky to be seen.

  It should be much darker. No sunlight could shine through foliage that thick, and yet all was bright as midday. But search though she might, Heloise could discover no light source. Perhaps the brightness was all in her own mind. Or perhaps the trees themselves gave off light.

  Well, none of that mattered. She couldn’t remain here turning in place and expect to get anything done. She wasn’t certain how much of her Benedict could see or hear. Obviously, when she’d screamed in the moonlit forest last night, she’d screamed in the real world as well. And those cuts had been real as well, though now even the scars had disappeared.

  Just in case he could hear her, Heloise spoke out loud: “I’m going to go exploring. Just a little ways. I’ll . . . I’ll be back. I suppose.” She couldn’t promise for certain. After all, in a forest this big, how could she expect to find her way back to any one particular spot?

  With a shrug, she set off in a direction that appeared less thickly grown than the rest. Indeed, as she pushed her way past a low-swinging bough (wondering, as she did so, if she was stepping through the door of Benedict’s room), the ground beneath her bare feet shifted. Tree roots rippled beneath the soil, pulling back and away. Grasses skittered and slid, flowers ducked and danced, and Heloise found a path of warm brown dust spread before her, as clear as though someone had cut it ages ago.

  “Well,” she said, “I think I’ll go this way.”

  Rather than pursuing the path, she turned and pushed her way firmly among the trees. She heard the forest murmuring around her, frustrated vibrations that struck her bones rather than her ears. But she resolutely pushed through boughs and ducked under branches, wading through grasses and ferns that came up to her knees, sometimes up to her chest.

  Every second she expected the trees to surround her again and crush her. But this time, much to her relief, they only grumbled. The further she plunged, the more the forest withdrew, no longer presenting an enticing path but at least not interfering with her efforts.

  Good girl. Very good. Now, find the branch of gold.

  It was warm. Heloise decided to focus on this fact above all others. It was warm. Blisteringly warm. Damp as well, like the most humid of days at the height of summer in Canneberges, down among the bogs . . . but ten times more so. Yet there were no bugs, not even one. No living thing moved or breathed anywhere so far as she could discern.

  Other than the forest itself, which was far more living than anything she had ever before encountered.

  But even this thought she chose not to dwell on. She focused on the warmth and how uncomfortable it was. She focused on the sweat rolling down her spine so that her garments stuck to her skin. She focused on these things with desperate intensity as she moved through the tall grass and pushed leafy limbs from her face.

  She didn’t think about the fact that she was in a forest while still in a house, and that none of this was really possible. Because, possible or not, it was happening. And she had to find her sister.

  You must find the branch. The branch of gold.

  A gurgling, shushing, lulling voice called to her from a near distance. She turned her head to one side so that her ear might better catch the sound. It was like rain, but not really. Definitely water, though.

  Having no other clear goal in mind, she decided to pursue it. Once more the trees permitted her to pass, and within a few paces she found herself standing in a sort of avenue, as finely tended as the main roadway leading up to Centrecœur on which the marquis and marquise themselves traveled to and from. The trees on either side of her were stately, but of a variety she did not know. Their trunks were pale, almost lavender-hued, and the leaves arching overhead were richly golden. Not golden like autumn, but golden like the buttons on Master Benedict’s fine jacket, glinting. They glinted so profoundly that one could almost hear glint as an actual sound as light struck each leaf and bounced to the next.

  “Branch of gold,” she whispered. But even if she were to stretch up as high as she could reach, she could never grasp any of those branches, and, skilled though she was at climbing, these trunks were too tall and smooth. Even the lowest limbs were beyond her reach.

  Keep going. You’ll find one. I promise.

  The gurgling song of water continued to beckon, and it seemed to come from the end of this avenue. So Heloise continued on, taking one step, then a second.

  But as she took the third, she realized that she wasn’t alone.

  She couldn’t see them, at least not when she looked at them directly. But as the leaves overhead went glint, glint, glint, the light they cast struck the air and left impressions.

  Heloise blinked. Whil
e her eyes were closed, just for that small instant, she saw the lower gallery of Centrecœur in the middle of the dark night, and moonlight shining through the windows along the wall fell upon twelve figures dressed in white not many paces ahead of her.

  Heloise’s eyes opened again from their blink. The figures were gone, as was the hall. She walked the golden avenue of trees, one foot just come to rest, the other about to rise. But the air ahead of her still bore the impressions of twelve young women.

  She closed her eyes again immediately. This time no image of Centrecœur appeared; she saw only the inside of her eyelids. She wanted to curse but was too angry, so it came out in a sort of splutter.

  Grabbing her skirt in both hands, she ran up the avenue, pursuing that which she could not see. The glinting leaves cast strange shadows on the ground before her, and had she given them more than a passing glance they would have made her dizzy. But she was so intent upon her pursuit, she could scarcely spare a thought for anything else.

  Then, though she knew it hadn’t been there a moment before, she came to an abrupt halt before a waterfall.

  Its liquid voice filled her ears to brimming, and she stood with her mouth open, staring. How it could have manifested itself so suddenly she could not begin to guess. But then, this forest didn’t follow any of the rational rules by which Heloise had thought the world worked, so really she shouldn’t be surprised.

  The waterfall itself was tiered, dark stones beneath the water forming a set of stairs that would have been perfect had they not been quite so slick and had the water not run over them quite so fast. At its base a churning pool bubbled and sparkled. Heloise expected a river or stream flowing away but saw no sign of one. Perhaps the pool was very deep and thus never overflowed the banks upon which Heloise now stood. The waterfall itself was tall. She stared up its great height and blinked again.

  With her eyes closed, she saw a broad stairway cast in moonlight and stone leading up to the Great Hall of Centrecœur above. Twelve girls dressed in white climbed that stairway. One turned and looked back at her.

  “Evette!” Heloise cried.

  Don’t try to follow! Leave her alone!

  Heloise stood a moment in frozen indecision. Then, despite the voice roaring commands in her head, she plunged into the pool—which was foolish considering she didn’t know how to swim. Just then she didn’t care, and fortunately the pool proved shallow, rising only as high as her knees. She waded forward, little noticing how cold the water was despite the heat in the air. She reached the waterfall and stood before its heavy white churning. The first tier was no more than a step, so she lifted her foot and took it.

  “Ouch! Dragon’s teeth!” she yelled. The step was slippery, and she nearly hit her chin as she fell, which surely would have jarred several teeth loose had she not caught herself. The whole front of her dress was now soaked through. But she grabbed the stone under the water and pulled herself up.

  You foolish, foolish child! Take the branch and be away! Why can you never listen?

  Despite the white rushing, Heloise managed to climb five steps. Her knuckles pale with the effort of gripping and supporting herself on wet stone as water poured in a never-ending stream into her eyes and mouth, she braced her arms and legs and reached for the sixth step.

  You’ve got Rufus’s own stubbornness about you. Open your eyes and see what’s before you!

  A low-hanging bough extended over the water, a gleam of gold against the moist air. She caught hold of it and pulled, feeling for an instant the strong support it gave her.

  Then, with a crack, it broke off in her hand.

  Heloise fell, and the waterfall pushed her back several steps. But she caught herself with one flailing hand even as her other hand remained firmly clasped around the broken branch. Water poured into her gasping mouth, and she choked and gagged and felt what it might be like to drown.

  Let go! Let go and be on your way!

  Heloise clung to the stone, refusing to fall any further. No! She couldn’t allow that. She must get to the top of the stair! She must—

  Something caught the top of her head. Long, muscular fingers wrapped around her skull, tangled in her mass of curls. A heaving tug, a jolt of pain, and Heloise found herself rising up out of the waterfall’s flow to stare into the face of a strange, horrible being.

  At first she thought the face was a skull. But that couldn’t be. It couldn’t be! It must be a mask. The body was tall and black as pitch, but the forest’s golden light made each glossy limb gleam with an odd speckling, as though there were spots just beneath the surface. The shoulders were massive, the neck thick and powerful, and yet the body itself was thin, willowy, and weirdly feminine.

  One long arm stretched to its full extent held Heloise by the head as bright gold eyes flared at her from behind the skull’s hollow eye sockets.

  “Where do you think you are going?”

  The voice poured through grinning sharp teeth that never moved, only grinned, and it spoke the same, incomprehensible language of the song. But even as before, the words struck Heloise’s ear and broke apart, shifting in her mind to find a shape she could understand.

  “Where do you think you are going, mortal creature? Stealing our bounty as you go!”

  The stranger’s other hand, black and speckled as her bare neck and massive shoulders, darted with the lethal swiftness of a wolf driving in for the kill, caught the branch Heloise clutched in her hand and, with a sharp twist, snatched it away.

  “Alala, you silly child,” said the voice behind the teeth. “Will you always place your trust in such doltish creatures as these?” The strange woman held up the branch, claw-tipped fingers twirling it so that it gleamed before Heloise’s gaze. Heloise wanted to reach out, to try to snatch it back. But both her hands clutched at the long fingers holding her by the head as she struggled uselessly to be free.

  The strange woman laughed. At least, it might have been a laugh—a high, chortling, coughing gulp of a sound, closer to a laugh than to anything else Heloise had ever heard. It froze the blood in her veins despite the humid heat of the air.

  “Here, mortal beast,” the woman said through her laughter. “Fetch!”

  With that she tossed the golden branch down into the pool below. Heloise twisted in the grasp that held her, saw the little plop . . . and watched the golden glimmer vanish under the bubble-churned surface.

  The woman let her go. Heloise fell hard onto the steps, and water poured into her face. After the fact she reflected that this would have been a good moment to pause and consider a reasonable course of action. But reason had no place in this realm.

  Get it back! Get it, quick!

  Heloise whirled about, the stones of the steps grinding painfully against her back and bones. She flung herself down into the pool.

  Before it had been shallow, no higher than her knees. Now, as she plunged in a rush of white bubbles and froth, she realized that it was very deep indeed. So deep that she felt the strength of depth as though it latched hold of her arms and pulled.

  Her eyes were tightly shut, and she plugged her nose with one hand. But that was no good. What did she hope to accomplish? She couldn’t swim, to be sure, but she could hold her breath and try to look. The water stung her eyeballs, but that wasn’t so bad. She forced her eyes open and peered into the darkness below.

  It was strangely clear. Impossibly clear. All around her, silver light glowed, and she realized that it came from the small silver branch caught in her hair. Below her, the golden branch, turning gently as it sank, lit everything as clearly as a paper lantern on a summer evening. She could see every bubble, every eddy in the water. She could see the smooth stones around her like the walls of a well.

  A moment of choice so brief it could hardly be called a moment flashed through Heloise’s consciousness. She could struggle and flail to reach the surface, or she could do what seemed to come naturally and . . . sink.

  Suddenly she knew that she would rather die than let that gol
den branch get away from her.

  So she sank. She kicked and waved her arms, and somehow this helped the sinking. The weight of the waterfall pressed upon her, pushing her deeper. Her rate of sinking was faster than the branch’s, but she was still far out of reach. She rotated her body, her legs tangling in her sodden skirts, and went headfirst down into the gaping depths, her eyes filled with silver and gold light.

  One hand outstretched. Oh, the pressure around her head, in her ears, in her bones! It crushed her, compressing her like a newly washed cloth being run through a mangle. But she reached, and she kicked, and the waterfall urged her further down to her doom. Her fingers strained, and she thought her bones must break in the weight of water.

  The branch gleamed brighter. Then, just as her hand closed around it, the light went out.

  And Heloise found herself lying halfway on the bank of the shallow pool (which was now only a few inches deep), coughing and spluttering even as the waterfall rained down from above. She spat out what seemed like a whole well’s worth of water and lay shuddering with her face in the golden grass.

  A foot as enormous as a knight’s helmet came down into her line of vision. Black and velvety, boasting giant claws that ever so gently tore the ground beneath it.

  The Lion-Prince spoke: “So you’ve met Aunt now, have you?”

  TWENTY-TWO

  Rather to her surprise, Heloise felt a surge of relief that filled her body and expelled itself in a great sigh. Possibly a hundred or more reactions would be considerably more appropriate in this particular situation.

  Nevertheless, as she lay there on the brink of that pool which had, only moments ago, been unbearably deep and seemed likely to prove her final grave but which was now scarcely more than a puddle—as she felt the pound of a waterfall on her legs, a waterfall which she knew even now poured down the staircase of Centrecœur—as her one hand clutched the golden branch and the other wiped spit from her face, she felt nothing but relief that the Lion-Prince had appeared in his lion form which, though more dreadful, was far less intimidating than his man form.