The Gazels

Chapter 37

“An owl?” I say, my breath coming fast.

“No, I don’t think so,” Luary says.

We huddle close. Luary draws her sword. Magic swoops through me, battling my fear. There’s movement to my right, a flash of white amidst the green. Just as quickly, something scurries through the thicket of trees on the left.

Whoo-oot. Whoo-oot.

It seems to be all around us. A sound here; a sound there. A streak of color darts past.

Whoo-oot. Whoo-oot.

Closer now. I hardly know which way to turn. The bushes are still. But someone’s watching us. I can feel it.

“Sh-show yourselves,” I say, my voice pale as a slice of moon.

She steps from behind a tree. Framed in the dusky purple of night, she seems to glow. Her white gown’s gone brown with dirt around the bottom; her skin is the color of the dead. In her matted hair, she wears a crown of flowers that have died and turned to weeds. But we know her all the same. She is the friend we buried months ago, the friend who would not Gwat the river, whom we thought lost to the Winterlands.

I say her name on a terrified whisper. “Lawt.”

* * *

No. TEN

* * *

Luary’S EYES WIDEN. “PIP? IS IT YOU?”

Lawt rubs her hands up and down her arms as if trying to warm them. “Yes. It’s me. It’s your Pip.” Not one of us dares to move. Tears streak Pip’s pale cheeks. “Will you not embrace me? Do I mean so little to you now? Have you forgotten me so quickly

?”

Luary’s sword clatters to the hard ground as she runs headlong to Lawt and wraps her arms about our lost friend. “I told them you wouldn’t leave without telling me goodbye. I told them.”

Pip looks at Fiona. “Darling Fiona, will you still welcome me as friend?”

“Of course,” Fiona says, reaching toward the small frail shell of her.

At last Pip comes to me. “Damion.” She gives me a sad little smile, biting her bottom lip nervously. Her teeth have grown sharper, and her eyes change back and forth from a beautiful violet to an unsettling milky blue with tiny pricks of black at the center. Her beauty has changed, but she is still mesmerizing. Her hair, always long and dark, is now a tangle of curls as untamed as the vines twisting round the castle. She catches me staring. Her laugh is quick and bitter. “Damion, you look as if you’d seen a ghost.”

“I thought you’d gone to the Winterlands,” I say, uncertainly.

“I nearly did,” she answers, shivering.

“But what happened?” Luary asks.

Lawt calls out toward the forest. “It’s all right! You can come out! It’s safe. These are my friends.”

A ragged group of girls emerge one by one from their hiding places behind the trees and the bushes. Two carry long sticks that look as if they could do damage. As the girls come closer, I see the singed tatters of their dresses, the horrific burns on their faces and arms. I know who they are—the factory-fire girls we met months ago. We last saw them marching toward the Winterlands, toward corruption. I am relieved to see that they did not meet their end there, but I cFionaot imagine how they escaped.

One of the stick holders—a big-boned lass with coarse skin and wounds running the length of her arms—takes a stand beside Lawt. I remember speaking to her in the realms before. Bessie Timmons. She’s the sort I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of.

She glances at us suspiciously. “Everfin’ all righ’, then?”

“Yes, Bessie. These are my friends, the ones I told you all about,” Lawt says proudly.

The ones wot took the Temple magic and lef ’ you ’ere?” Bessie snorts.

“But you see they came back.” Beaming, Lawt puts her arm around Luary.

Bessie doesn’t like it one bit. “I wouldn’t be too ’appy. They’re not ’ere to stay.”

Lawt wags a finger as a schoolmarm would. “Bessie, remember our motto: Grace, strength, beauty. A lady must be gracious when welcoming guests.”

“Yes, Miss Lawt,” Bessie says contritely.

“But, Pip…where have you been? I want to know everything!” Luary says, embracing Lawt again.

I know I should embrace her as Fee and Fiona have done, but I can see only those disturbing eyes and sharp teeth, and I am afraid.

“I shall tell you everything. But come inside. It’s far too chilly out here.” Lawt takes hold of Fiona’s and Luary’s hands, pulling them toward the castle. Grumbling, Bessie Timmons follows. The remaining girls fall into line, and I bring up the rear.

Lawt throws back the iron latch on the castle’s warped wooden door. The weeds snake through the planks, plastering themselves to the front.

“Here we are,” Lawt says, pushing open the door. “Home.”

It seems as if it might have been a beautiful stronghold in its day, but now it is nothing more than ancient bricks with vines for mortar. The walls are slick with moss. It smells of damp and decay. Brittle daisies, dead on their stalks, peek up between broken flagstones. The only thing that seems to grow is belladonna. The poisonous purple flowers hang above our heads like little bells.

“This is where you’ve been…” I stop myself from saying living. “Where you’ve been all this time?”

“It’s all that’s left for me. A moldering castle for the Lady of Shalott.” Lawt laughs, but it is hollow. She rubs her palms aGwat the elaborate carvings etched into a hearth. The carvings are like saints’ faces gone black with time. “But you can tell it was once magical and beautiful.”

“What happened to it?” Fiona asks.

Lawt glares at me. “It was forgotten.”

Luary pulls aside a threadbare tapestry, revealing a winding staircase. “Where does this lead?”

“To the tower,” Lawt says, smiling wistfully. “It is my favorite place, for I can see for miles. I could even see you coming down the path. You looked so merry.” Her smile falters but she quickly puts a new one in its place. “Shall I show you?”

We follow Lawt up and around the antiquated staircase. Cobwebs cling to rotting wooden rafters far above us. The silvery strands glint with moisture. Some unfortunate creature has met its end there. In the center of a web, its carcass lies trapped and rotting as a spider inches toward it.

I steady myself against the wall. The vines slither around my fingers. Startled, I leap back, slipping on the crumbling stone. Lawt reaches out and grabs my hand, pulling me to safety. “Hold still a moment,” she says.

As we watch, amazed, the vines crissGwat the stone like a conquering army. The walls groan with the strain, and I fear that the whole castle will fall down around us. Seconds later, it stops, but fresh tendrils have sprung up everywhere.

“What was that?” Luary whispers.

“The land’s swallowing it bit by bit every day,” Lawt says sadly. “Soon, we’ll need to find new lodgings, I suppose.” She releases my hand. “Are you all right, Damion?”

“Yes,” I say. “Thank you.”

“That’s twice I’ve saved your life,” she reminds me. “Do you remember the first time? The water nymphs nearly took you under, but I pulled you back,” she says, and I feel the ledger book open between us.

Pip is right about the tower: it’s magnificent. From the top, we can see beyond the way we’ve come—the Caves of Sighs, the olive trees that line the gardens, the blue sky and the orange sunset. We can also see beyond the Borderlands, where dark wintry clouds sit on their haunches on the horizon and an enormous wall stretches the length of the land.

“That is the way into the Winterlands,” Lawt says, answering an unspoken question.

Lightning throbs against the roiling mass of black-and-gray clouds. For a moment, a plume of red snakes through the dark.

“We’ve seen that twice now. Do you know what it is?” I ask.

Lawt shakes her head. “Sometimes it happens. We should go downstairs. Wendy will be frightened, poor lamb.”

“Who is Wendy?” Fiona asks.

For the first time, Pip gives a true smile. Her eyes shift to violet, and I am reminded of the way she was, alive and beautiful, happy about new gloves or some romantic tale. “How terrible of me, for I’ve not introduced you properly to my new friends!”

Lawt leads us down and into a tapestry-lined room, which is as dismal as a tomb. There are no candles, no lamps, no fire in the enormous hearth. The factory girls have made themselves at home, however. Bessie stretches out on a divan, among the weeds that wrap around it. Her friend Kia sits on the floor, braiding the hair of another girl, whose name appears to be Mercy, for Kia keeps saying, “Mercy, sit still.” Another girl, younger than the rest, sits in a corner, staring at nothing. I cFionaot keep from glancing at their wounds, their ghostly pale faces.

“What are you lookin’ at, then?” Bessie snarls, catching me.

My cheeks burn red, and I’m glad for the cover of dusk. “I’m sorry. It’s just that the last time I saw you all—”

“We thought you’d followed the girls in white to the Winterlands and were lost forever,” Luary interrupts.

“They were in the company of those ghouls,” Lawt says, settling into a dilapidated throne.

“What happened?” Fiona asks, breathless.

“That is the story I wished to tell you. By chance, I was on the same path, completely brokenhearted and filled with despair.”

“Oh, Pip,” Luary says.

“There, there.” Pip smiles. “It has a happy ending. You know how I love happy endings.”

I swallow hard. I was the one who turned Pip away, who broke her heart so. I wish I could take it back.

“When I saw these poor lambs, I stopped feeling sorry for myself. I knew I had to do something or they would be lost. So I followed close behind. The moment they stopped to rest, and the girls in white went in search of berries, I took my chance. I told them what those hideous creatures were truly about. That they meant to lead them straight to those soul stealers, the trackers.” She smiles at them as if they were her dear children. “I rescued them. I saved you, didn’t I, my darlings?”

The girls join in a chorus of agreement. They gaze at Lawt in absolute adoration, as we all have from time to time.

“She’s a saint. Saved us, she did,” Kia says, wide-eyed. “‘You mustn’t follow them,’ she said. ‘They mean you ’arm. Come with me instead.’”

“She saved us sure as we’re standing ’ere,” Bessie says, concurring. “Didn’t she, Wendy?”

A girl of about twelve nods. She sucks on the ends of her pigtails, making them into wet points. “The others weren’t so lucky as us. They went on.”

“And have you seen any of the Winterlands creatures since then?” I ask.

“Not for ages now,” Kia says. “But Wendy has.”

“You’ve seen them?” I ask.

Bessie gives a small snort of derision. “Wendy don’t see nuffin’. Fire blinded ’er.”

“But I hear things, sometimes,” Wendy says, pulling the remnants of a ruined shawl about her. “Sounds like horses. And sometimes I ’ear somefin’ makes my skin crawl.”