The Usurper's Crown (71 page)

An old man come courtin’ me, hi-derry-down!”

Ingrid grinned. They had sung this one together so often, she joined in instantly.

“An old man come a-courtin’ me, all for to marry me
,

Maids when you’re young, never wed an old man!”

Grace began to giggle, and Ingrid could not help herself. She began to laugh as well. It was so good here, so simple, walking with her sister, all forgiven, heading for home and hearth with nothing more complicated than a bundle of firewood to carry.

“It’s when that we went to church, fa-la-la-loodle …”

Ingrid faltered for a moment. What had needed to be forgiven? What had she done?

“Look.” Grace broke off the song. “There’s Leo.”

Leo stood beneath a birch tree, his scythe raised. Fresh-cut brush lay in heaps at his feet.

“Be careful!” Ingrid cried at once, although she didn’t know why.

Leo swung the scythe down, it tore through the tangle of brush and saplings, laying them flat on the ground.

“So, you’ve turned up at last, have you?” he said, bringing the scythe around again. “I don’t suppose you remembered to think of your family while you were gone?”

No, she hadn’t. She had been too busy, with … all that needed doing. She had been … on the mainland? In Bayfield? Farther? Had she gone to Chicago? Ingrid shook her head. It was wrong to return without a gift, that much was clear. But what did she have? She had left so much behind already.

She groped in her apron pocket, and brought out a spear tip. She did not remember placing it there, but it didn’t matter. Leo would like this.

“Here, Leo,” she said, extending it. “This is for you.”

He shouldered the scythe and took the spear tip. He held it up to the light as if it was a coin of dubious quality.

“Well, all right then,” he said, pocketing the shining piece of metal. “Better get on, the both of you. Mama’s waiting.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of home.

Grace took Ingrid’s hand again. “That was a good gift, sister.”

“Yes.” Ingrid fell into step beside her. She felt lighter and emptier at the same time. But she was happy. She was walking and singing with her sister. She was going home.

“It’s when we were walkin’ home, fa-la-la-loodle!

It’s when we were walkin’ home, hi-derry-down!

It’s when we were walkin’ home, he let me walk alone
.

Maids when you’re young, never wed an old man!”

“Look,” said Grace suddenly. “There’s Papa.”

Ingrid looked, and there was Papa standing in the clearing with his gun. A rustling filled the long, blanched grasses and Papa aimed and shot, the gun sounding horribly loud in the still afternoon.

What a strange time to be hunting rabbits
, thought Ingrid, perplexed.
Rabbits are all underground in the middle of the day
.

“What are you hunting, Papa?” she asked.

Papa cracked open his shot gun and reloaded the breech. “What’s been lost,” he said tersely. “What are you hunting, young woman?”

“What’s been stolen,” answered Ingrid promptly.
But why? What does that mean?

Papa just grunted and sighted along the barrel of his shotgun again. “And what have you brought home for your father?”

Ingrid dug in her other apron pocket. This time, she brought out a tiny golden statue of a long-tailed bird in flight.

“Here, Papa.” She handed it to him carefully, suddenly afraid she might drop the precious thing. She could not lose this. It was precious, but she didn’t know why, or where it had come from, or how it had come to be part of her.

Part of me? This is part of me?

Papa snatched the golden icon off her palm and turned it over, examining its workmanship before he tucked it into his shirt pocket. “I suppose that’ll do,” he grunted, not looking at them, but staring off across the clearing. “Get along, both of you. Mama’s waiting.”

Grace took her hand and led her away, even as the grasses began to rustle again, and another shot exploded through the warm air.

“Grace,” said Ingrid as her sister took her hand again, “what’s happening?”

“We’re going to see Mama,” said Grace with a grin. This time, her teeth, bared as she smiled, seemed unaccountably sharp.

“Its when that we went to bed, fa-la-la-loodle!

It’s when that we went to bed, hi-derry-down!

It’s when that we went to bed, he lay as if he were dead
.

Maids when you’re young, never wed an old man!”

But this time Ingrid did not join in. She felt too hollow for singing. Where was she? She was with Leo, and with Papa, and with Grace, but what was with herself? She hunted what had been stolen, but she was led away to Mama. How was she to look for it if she was being led to Mama?

“Look,” said Grace. “There’s Mama.”

Ingrid looked. She saw the back of their house, with the outbuildings and the chicken coop. Mama stood beside the big, iron laundry kettle, stirring it with the long, well-worn paddle. But no steam rose from the kettle. In the next moment, Ingrid saw why. No fire burned underneath the pot.

“Well, you’re here at last,” said Mama grimly. “Lay the fire, you two.”

Ingrid knelt beside the kettle and laid down her bundle of wood. “Mama, why are you stirring before the fire’s lit?”

“I’m keeping fresh a past that’s gone missing,” she answered. “Why are you wandering loose in the woods?”

“I’m looking for a heart that’s been stolen,” said Ingrid, laying out the wood to be ready for the fire.
Why? Why? I
don’t understand. Why am I saying these things? Why am I here?
She stared at the pile of sticks.
What is happening?

“Light the fire, Ingrid,” said Grace, sitting back on her haunches and grinning at Ingrid with her oddly pointed teeth.

Ingrid automatically reached in her pocket for matches, but her pocket was empty. “I can’t,” she said muzzily. “I must have given it away.”

Grace shook her head and clucked her tongue. Above them, Mama stirred the kettle relentlessly. The liquid inside sloshed, making the sides of the great kettle ring.

“You should not have given so much,” Mama grumbled. “I dare say you didn’t even bring anything for your poor mother.”

Ingrid searched her pockets, unaccountably frightened, but there was nothing to be found.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered. “Really. I didn’t mean …”

“Oh, Ingrid,” sighed Grace. “Whatever are we going to do with you? You have so much, and know so little of anything you carry. You’ll waste it all on trivialities, and never know what you could have been.”

“Nothing else for it, then,” muttered Mama.

“No, I’m afraid not.” Grace’s eyes glinted. She snapped her fingers, and a fire sprang to life underneath the kettle. But the fire wasn’t … right. It should have burned red and gold. Ingrid was sure of it. Grace’s fire burned bright green. She had seen such light elsewhere. Where? It was important. Where had she seen that light?

“In you get,” said Grace cheerfully.

“What?” Ingrid scrambled to her feet, her heart pounding hard.

“If you’ve nothing else to give, you must give yourself.” Mama’s paddle stirred the thick, black liquid in steady, even strokes. It had already begun to steam. “In you get.” She nodded toward the kettle.

“No! Mama, Grace, no!” Ingrid backed away. She’d die in that darkness, she’d drown. She’d lose what little of herself she had left, the tiny spark inside her would be snuffed out. She knew it, and she didn’t know what else to do.

“Nothing else for it,” rumbled Papa’s voice behind her. Ingrid swung around. Papa emerged from the woods, his gun tucked casually under his arm, and a brace of birds slung over his shoulder. Leo walked beside him, his scythe held in both hands ready to swing up. “You didn’t bring enough.”

“You never did,” said Mama to the black liquid. “Tries, and tries, and it’s never enough for her, is it? Would have been enough for anyone else, but not for her, oh no. Can’t let go, can’t let it be enough, ever. Well, now you’re called on to give the last, my girl.”

“You’ve always offered that much, but no one’s ever taken you up on it, have they?” Grace’s eyes were very green, and slanted in her face.

Not right. Too much wrong here. She stared around at Mama, at Papa, at Leo. Then she saw the blade of Leo’s scythe wasn’t steel. It was stone, stained dark with something that was not tree resin.

“Why are you doing this?” she cried. “
Why?
”

“Because you won’t stop,” said Leo, stepping closer.

“Because you can’t be stopped.” Papa stepped away from Leo, blocking Ingrid’s path.

“Because there are limits to any power,” said Mama without breaking the pace of her endless stirring.

“Because you’ve been divided and remade into something new,” said Grace pleasantly. “Unnatural thing that you are, you cannot be held back in any of the usual ways, as you fall under none of the usual provinces. She knew that. Now.” Grace’s eyes shone green with the same light that came from the strange fire under Mama’s kettle. “In you get.”

She? She? Ingrid backed away, but there was nowhere to go. Grace, strangely altered as she was, stood behind her. The rest of her family surrounded her, pressed against her, herding her toward the great, dark steaming kettle.

“Still afraid.”

“In the end always afraid. So ready to give, until the end, then there is only fear.”

“No!” shouted a new voice. Ingrid jerked her head around.

Everett Lederle, his blue Union Army cap askew on his head and his clasp knife open in his hand. “Ingrid, here! Run!”

“Everett!” Ingrid cried, and leapt toward him, pushing past her family in one burst of speed until she was beside him, her arms thrown around his neck in gratitude. “Mary Mother of God, Everett. How did you know?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Everett wrapped one arm around her waist. He brandished his knife at her family, who stood clustered around Mama’s kettle. The green light gleamed in their eyes and caught the smooth stone of Leo’s scythe blade. “I’ve got you safe now. None of them will touch you while you’re with me.”

But why should they stay back?
Ingrid swallowed and pulled away just a little. Leo had his scythe, and Papa had a gun. All Everett had was his tiny knife.
Why stay away?

“Everett, what’s happening?”

“I don’t know. We just need to get out of here. We’ll figure it out later.” He grasped her hand and tugged her toward the house. “Come on.”

But Ingrid held her ground. “Everett, I have to find … There’s something stolen and I have to find it.”

“I know, I know.” He patted her hand. “But not here, Ingrid. You’re not safe. We have to get away.”

Grace’s eyes glowed and she stepped forward. “Yes, run away, Ingrid. Do.” Her teeth, yellow now, and shining like her eyes, snapped.

“Take her away from here, ungrateful girl,” muttered Mama, stirring, constantly stirring. “Get her out of my sight.”

“Yes. Do.” Now Leo took a step forward, hefting his strange, stained, stone scythe.

“Ingrid, please,” said Everett, retreating before Leo’s fierce grin, pulling her back toward the safety of the house. “Let’s go!”

Papa lifted his gun.

She should run, she knew it. The ones who faced her were dangerous. She knew that with all her heart. Everett was safe. He would protect her and keep her close, as he had always sought to do. Why didn’t she run? What held her here?

Trust your heart over your eyes
, said a voice in her memory. Whose voice? What memory? She didn’t know. Her head swam. Papa put his gun to his shoulder. Everett yanked on her hand, almost pulling her off her feet. He wanted to save her, to keep her close, to keep her from drowning in Mama’s kettle, that was somehow the source of all this danger. She had been led here, and now she was being torn away from here by these people who were not quite her family. But Everett was Everett still. Wasn’t he?

Ingrid looked up into Everett’s eyes. They were blue as she remembered. His grip was as strong as she had always known it would be.

The knife he carried had a blade of stone like Leo’s scythe.

“Please, Ingrid,” he said desperately. “There’s no more time! Let me get you out of here!”

“No more time,” repeated Ingrid.

And she ran.

She tore herself from Everett’s grip and she charged toward her family. She knocked Papa’s gun away. Leo’s scythe swished past her. Grace stretched out clawed hands, and Mama lifted her paddle, but Ingrid did not break her stride. She dove forward, flinging herself headlong into the steaming kettle.

Ingrid fell into darkness. Nothing touched her, no heat, no cold, no air, no light. She fell, flailing her limbs, and there was no light above or below, only emptiness and falling as in a nightmare, but she did not wake. She screamed, but the sound went nowhere, and still she fell.

Just as she thought for sure she must faint, the fall was done. There was no sensation of landing, just of ceasing to fall. She stood, she thought. There seemed to be some uneven surface underfoot, and she seemed to be whole and unhurt, but she could see nothing. Blackness as thick as blindness surrounded her.

“So,” said a voice Ingrid was sure she should have known. “Not afraid enough.”

Two eyes opened in the darkness. They were huge and green and slanted. Animal’s eyes, feral and cunning. Grace’s eyes as Ingrid had last seen them in the face of the apparition who had been Grace and yet could not have been.

Her throat closed, and Ingrid swallowed hard.

“You cannot see, little woman?” inquired the voice. “How very rude of me.”

There was a soft pop, as if someone had snapped their fingers. Green fire sprang up before Ingrid. She blinked hard and stumbled backward.

When she could look again, she saw a gigantic fox lounging on the other side of the fire. The light in her eyes was the same light that filled the green flames that burned without fuel between them. All of Ingrid’s memories came back in a single wave, of where she had seen this green light before, of who she was and why she had come to this strange place, and how this must be the Silent Lands, and who waited on the other shore for her.