No Place Like Home, page 14
Her voice was hard and resolute, but Lan saw tears stream down her cheeks.
“Annabelle, you can’t quit—”
“I’ll go,” said Lan.
Her voice was so quiet she wasn’t sure they heard, but Marlow stopped talking.
“What did you say?”
“I’ll go,” she repeated.
Lan sat up. Her hair was matted, damp from the humidity, and her eyes full of gunk and half-laden with sleep. Her body hurt from lying on the bamboo, and the rainfall had made every part of her grimy and coated in mud. Her mother would have cried aloud to see her this way.
“What are you saying?” Annabelle whispered. “What about your family?”
“Rồi sẽ qua nhanh,” said Lan. “That’s what they kept telling me when we were apart—time will pass quickly. I’ll see them again, but I can’t let you give up halfway, so we’re going together if that’s what it takes.”
“If you mean it, then I—I’ll think about it,” said Annabelle. She wrapped her arms around her knees, looking small. “It helps, a lot. I didn’t expect you’d say yes.”
“I knew you’d come to your senses in the end,” said Marlow, smiling. “You didn’t have it in you to resist.”
“Resist having my heart eaten by a terrifying monster? Or did you mean the endless walking?” said Lan.
“Not helping...” mumbled Annabelle, glaring at them.
“Resist being with us, of course, just like the Cognitor told us!” said Marlow. “And using your powers like that awesome snowstorm!”
“I’ve still got a lot to learn,” said Lan. “That reminds me. I have to talk to Ruse.”
“The centaur?” said Annabelle, looking up. “About what?”
“Lessons. If I’m going to stay, then I’d better get practicing.”
Energy Creates Energy
Phoenix greeted Lan that afternoon with a newly whittled stick in her hands. Lan had forgotten how good it felt to really move again. The nymph’s style was close to Annabelle’s fluid dance, and she quickly got lost in the practice. Phoenix was a patient teacher and waited for Lan to adjust to the forest’s strange magical residue.
Her powers felt different than in the valley but more stable than before. Magic moved through her like a breeze, not as colorful but noticeable at every turn. Her spells intermingled with the current of energy throughout the rest of the woods. Phoenix taught her to notice the air and ground, to ask for their help rather than fighting against them when working a spell. They moved around the clearing to not bother the nymphs in one place for too long. Lan didn’t pause until Zephyr came and whisked her off for a break.
Within days, Lan’s riding improved so much they were moving fast, and she no longer stumbled pulling herself up on Zephyr’s back. Her newfound energy surprised her, and the Hollow held no shortages of distractions, from picking up phrases in Centaurian and Nymph to Kestrel’s subtle magic. Marlow and Annabelle were still confined to bed, faced with a slower recovery under Kestrel’s watchful eye. Lan walked alone around the surrounding woods—the sweet mango blossoms, cranky old guava fruit, and ever-flirty peach trees with velvety pink sprigs in their short curls. Even the ancient pomegranate shrubs that few dared to bother began to recognize Lan and whisper to her by name. It was a shame so many delicious fruits were not in season.
As Marlow grew steadier on his feet, Lan saw with some annoyance that the young nymphs were taking notice. Even with their muddy feet and rougher skin, they made for a beautiful picture. Lan still wore Annabelle’s Academy clothes. Rough with wear, they weren’t so flattering. The outfit was cozy, but Lan would’ve welcomed a nicer option. It puzzled her. The lack of fancy clothes hadn’t bothered her in Toronto. Then again, none of the kids at her school made her feel all sunny and warm like Marlow could. She practically glowed each time he looked at her. It was downright annoying.
“You get used to it,” Annabelle said, watching Lan glare at the nymphs one day.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lan said guiltily, turning away.
“Oh, please, I’ve been his best friend for five years. I know that look,” said Annabelle, rolling her eyes.
“I don’t know what that means!”
“It means you’re like every other girl making moon eyes at a handsome guy. I’ll admit it. That swoopy hair goes a long way. It’s totally normal.”
“But not for you?”
Annabelle sniffed. “He’s not my type.”
Lan raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure he’s every single nymph’s type.”
“Well, not mine. To be honest, guys have never much held my interest. But in any case, you don’t have to worry about the nymphs.”
“Because we’ll be off soon, right?”
“Marlow has to get better first.”
Annabelle had not regained her old drive, but flashes of her strength returned. It made Lan hopeful to see her moving again, training on her own, and exchanging stories with Ruse about their different traditions from the coast to the forest. Lan grew surer each day that their time in the Hollow was drawing to a close. The thought both saddened and relieved her. So much of the woods remained unexplored, and Lan’s chest ached to think of her new friendships cut short. The impossibility of any future together weighed heavily.
“Why so glum?” Zephyr asked as they rode out of the clearing in the late afternoon. The air was muggy. Lan’s shirt stuck to her uncomfortably. “You know the nymphs never mean anything by it. They flirt with everyone.”
“What? No, why does everyone think—That’s not it,” grumbled Lan. After the talk with Annabelle, Lan had decided to firmly ignore the inconvenient effect Marlow had on her, in the hopes that it’d disappear.
“The ground’s perfect for a gallop, and you haven’t even asked me to go faster.”
“Okay, can you go faster, please?”
Zephyr muttered something under his breath but picked up to a lope. They cantered in silence. The breeze calmed her. As they moved, Lan practiced grabbing hold of the residue trailing through her fingertips like spun silk. Flowers sprouted wherever she willed them to: dandelions, roses, and giant sunflowers, her mother’s favorite.
“You’ve grown,” Zephyr noted, slowing to a walk.
“You think so?”
“In many ways. It’ll be interesting to see how the stars cross in your life.”
“The Cognitor in the fields said they couldn’t see my future,” said Lan. “Can you? Centaurs are supposed to be good at that sky stuff.”
“More as a faith we follow than a mystery we try to solve,” said Zephyr. “Besides, as Ruse would say, the future is your doing, not the sky’s.”
They both looked up through the trees, where the sun had taken on the dim orange glow of sunset, with traces of the rainbow clinging to the edges of the clouds. Kestrel would want them back soon.
“I’ll be sad to leave,” said Lan quietly.
“I know. As will I.”
“I finally feel calm, like it’s enough just to be here, you know? I can’t remember the last time I felt that way. Definitely not in Toronto. Not unless I was reading and imagining I was someplace else.”
“The forest can have that effect on people.”
“You don’t happen to know a way I can come back, do you?”
Lan hardly dared to voice the question. She wanted to go to Asta for Annabelle, but the thought of never returning to the Weathering Woods felt too permanent to accept.
“I’m no witch,” said Zephyr, “but I’ve heard the orchard in Asta can do just about anything you ask.”
“Even let me go back and forth between worlds?”
“Even that.”
“Tell me how,” said Lan, leaning so far forward in her eagerness that Zephyr had to steady her.
“The trees in that orchard are the original source of Silva’s residue, the power of kings. Many species exist for all sorts of spells, but when it comes to crossing realms, the pomegranate’s what you’d want.”
“Pomegranates?”
Lan’s mind flashed to scrambling up trees in her grandparents’ garden and looking down onto laden shrubs bearing the grenade-like fruit that her mother cracked open, spilling shining seeds like jewels.
“How do you know this?” she asked Zephyr. “And what’s so special about them?”
“Nymphs like to talk. I like to listen. I’ve heard just one seed would do the trick, but it depends on the person and the fruit. Magic like that gets very dangerous, but if a spell is cast right, even the gods aren’t immune.”
Lan considered his words. She had to admit that kind of power was tempting. If she could go back and forth between her world and Silva, she’d never feel alone or bored again! She wouldn’t have to say goodbye to her magic.
“Don’t forget,” said Zephyr lightly, “Asta’s orchard is forbidden to people for good reason. Its residue may reach across the land, but working with a seed itself—a spell like that doesn’t always do what you want it to. Best to leave it to the witches who know what they’re doing.”
“It feels silly to be learning all this magic just to leave it behind when I go.”
“You can’t continue wherever you’re headed?”
“Not in my world. There’s not an ounce of magic to work with.”
“But energy creates energy, remember?”
Lan was silent. After a while, they turned and rode back to the Hollow. Dusk set upon the forest. A warm glow of firelight appeared ahead. They mounted the hill at a gallop and entered camp, where Marlow was hanging wet clothes on the line and chatting to two redheaded apricot nymphs. The others were erecting a slender wooden structure around the fire, strung with flowers and herbs.
“Full moon tomorrow,” Zephyr said. Lan slipped smoothly off his back. “I almost forgot. Ruse always does something special.”
“Like a ceremony?”
“A simple one, for gratitude or reflection and the like.”
“I do that, too, at home,” said Lan. “We set out water and fruit for our ancestors. We send it to them with incense, these smoky nice-smelling stems.”
“Ruse prefers bonfires, but same idea.”
“Wait a second,” said Lan, suddenly remembering the circled day on the calendar on her bedroom wall in Toronto. “If it’s the full moon in May tomorrow, it must be the seventeenth. I know because it’s my birthday.”
The Full Moon
“It’s not a big deal,” said Lan to Kestrel, who was making bite-sized honey cakes with Marlow.
For a nymph who rarely ate human food, she was an excellent chef. Annabelle had left to get firewood with Ruse, thrilled to finally regain her independence.
“Twelve is a big birthday,” Kestrel was saying. “A magical number, a complete rotation in our calendar—apparently yours, too. A step into adulthood, many would say.”
Lan made a face.
“She’s right,” said Marlow, who was sprinkling lavender on top of the honey glaze. “Back at the Academy, it was a graduation. They make you do a full set of exams to celebrate. Annabelle had hers last year. She hated every minute.”
“Back in Toronto, I’ll probably have instant Jell-O,” said Lan. They stared at her. “It’s like this powder that turns into sweet gloop... Not as bad as it sounds. My dad bought it a lot for me when we first moved.”
Kestrel fished the last cake from the fire and swept the lot away on a wooden tray. Marlow looked at Lan and tipped his head toward Kestrel’s vacated spot on the log beside him. He was still peaky, his jawline pronounced, his light hair messy and pushed to the side. Lan knew he was too weak to even string his bow, but he had not lost his poise. If an army of elves (the scary kind) suddenly marched into camp, he’d be ready to meet them.
Lan picked up a couple of knives from the firepit alongside a handful of smooth stones cast aside and passed a pair to Marlow. She sat beside him. They began to whittle in a comfortable quiet, Marlow making arrowheads and Lan trying to not cut her hand open like Phoenix had showed her. Marlow was wrapped in the dark green fabric of a borrowed cloak. The potion stains on the hem marked it as Kestrel’s. His clean shirt was thin enough to see the bandages underneath.
“Do you want your cloak back?” Lan asked.
“Keep it. It suits you, matches your hair.”
With Kestrel out of sight, Marlow reached into his pocket and pulled out a mini honey cake that he handed to Lan.
“For you,” he said, looking proud of himself. “Happy birthday.”
Lan looked at it and tried not to laugh. “Aren’t they all supposed to be for me?”
“Slow down, birthday girl. They’re to share. Besides, I made this one specially. Not that there’s anything different about it, but it’s from me, personally.”
Lan took the cake and bit into it. Honey from the center oozed out and filled her mouth with sweetness.
“Not bad for a first attempt at baking,” she said. “I’d say you might actually like being Kestrel’s assistant.”
“She’s incredible. Almost a shame we have to leave. I mean, obviously I’m happy we’re going.” He glanced quickly in the direction Annabelle had left, as though making sure she hadn’t somehow heard. Lan followed his gaze.
“If you like it here, you can always come back,” she said.
Marlow stopped whittling and looked at her, his eyes their usual bright green in the daylight. His forehead was creased. She waited for him to say something, but then someone coughed loudly behind them. They started.
“Sorry to intrude.” Kestrel had returned, a bowl in her hands.
“You’re not intruding,” said Lan.
“Clearly.” Kestrel held up the potion. “Marlow, your medicine.”
“Thanks, Kestrel, I can apply it myself.”
“Right away.” She turned and left to join Zephyr by the cauldrons.
“I know you hate watching,” said Marlow, shrugging the cloak off his shoulders.
“Not looking,” said Lan. She focused intently on her misshapen rock carving and swung around when he said, “Finished.”
“Now I know I’m not cut out to be a healer.”
“Not at this rate,” said Marlow. He nodded at the stone beginning to take a bladelike shape in her hands. “You’ve gotten so much better. I saw your practice last night. You looked great.”
“I thought you were sleeping.”
They were interrupted again before Marlow could answer. A laugh cut in from the edge of the clearing. Annabelle and Ruse had returned, firewood in hand, deep in conversation. Her face was scrunched up but in a good way.
“Last call to get yourself cleaned up, because I am starving!” Zephyr shouted.
“I’m gonna pop down to the stream and wash before we eat,” said Lan, rising. “Zephyr knocked me into a mud puddle earlier.”
“Want me to come with you?” said Marlow.
“You shouldn’t be moving too much,” said Lan, echoing Kestrel’s caution. She laughed at Marlow’s unimpressed grimace. “Don’t eat without me!”
It might have been her imagination, but he looked sad to see her go.
Lan left the clearing, taking in the smell of the woods that she had grown to love. A few apricot nymphs darted around the bushes and smiled as she passed. She reached the stream and dipped her bare feet in. The water brushed her ankles. She filled the pouch tied to her hip and scrubbed her face, hands, and nails of dirt. A delicious smell was already wafting from camp. Lan hurried back to find a feast spread over the logs.
“Finally! You’re back!”
Annabelle pulled Lan over to rows of roast corn on the cob, a steaming cauldron of Lan’s favorite tomato and fish soup, jugs of berry juice, a pyramid of lavender-topped cakes dripping honey, bowls of wild fruit, and stubby miniature baguettes just like the ones from the streets of Hà Nội.
“Do you do this every month?” asked Lan in amazement.
“Your birthday called for adding something extra,” said Ruse.
The seven of them gathered around the logs and sat, food balanced on woven leaf plates like the banana-leaf wraps from Lan’s childhood.
“To a giving and forgiving month ahead,” said Ruse before they ate. “To Lan.”
Marlow, sitting across in the circle from Lan, winked at her as he took a drink. The fire suddenly felt warm on her skin. Beside her, Annabelle leaned in for a hug.
“Happy birthday,” she whispered. Lan’s heart swelled to see her smiling again.
“Zephyr told me he and Ruse can take us out of the forest,” said Lan. “After that, we’re practically in Asta! I know you’re still healing, but we’ll be ready to leave anytime you want. You’ll be home in Sol soon.”
“Wow,” said Annabelle softly. “Without you—well, we really needed you. I did. Now it’s as much your quest as mine.”
She leaned over and laid her head on Lan’s shoulder. Her eyes closed. Opposite the circle, Marlow and Zephyr were laughing at something Ruse had said. Lan’s stomach settled in a comfortable fullness. Phoenix and Kestrel began to sing in their own tongue. A few nymphs whistled from the nearby trees. It reminded Lan of the raucous karaoke nights her parents had hosted with old friends many years back. New Year’s Eve always got loud with ’80s hits, and her mother’s voice could’ve rivaled a nymph’s.
When Lan glanced up again, Marlow was looking at her across the fire. He rolled his eyes at something Zephyr whispered in his ear and brushed him off. Then he stood and walked over to sit at Lan’s other side.
“How’s it going, birthday girl?”
“You need a haircut,” she answered.
“Do I?” he said, running his hand through his hair. “I rather like how it’s grown.”
“If you like the lost-in-the-woods look.”
“I’d say I’m pulling it off,” he said. “More fun than being the golden boy.”
