The Fall Of Snow: Guard Your Heart

16. Sixteen

Sixteen

Break Free

H uck runs to his side and drops to a knee. "It's alright. Deep breaths. It's over."

Coy is on his hands and knees and when he looks up at me again, tears brimming.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." He mutters these words as Huck grabs him by the shoulders, bringing him up from the ground.

"You’re okay, Coy. You did it. You fought it again. There was no harm done."

"I was coming to warn you guys before you got back. Cabin two came by for a round of cards and I thought I'd make it back in time. I didn't think I would be so long. I didn't . . ." He looks at the ground beside him. Coy's words pull me from my stupor, and I rush forward to meet them.

"Coy, I—" I fumble on the right words to say, still not fully grasping what this means. Huck looks at me with sympathetic eyes before standing up and grabbing his sword.

"Coy has been cursed for seven years now." He brushes his pants off after returning his sword to its rightful place. "We typically have control of his shifts, keeping him inside on nights where the blood moon is out." He stops, crouching down next to me, "But what you did, Snow, was incredible. I have never seen him react that way when shifted." His sincerity is so out of character that I almost get choked up at his words.

"And you've dealt with his . . . shifts before?" My voice quivers now as the intensity of the night settles like dust. Huck gives Coy his cloak to cover up. Coy takes it and then stands in the darkness.

"Huck tries to be there for me when he can, but I've gotten pretty good at avoiding the shift altogether now. It's been years since I've shifted."

"Coy, I'm so sorry." It's all I can think of to say.

"Don't be. I made a deal I shouldn't have." He looks at Huck as he claps him on the back, "Thanks, man. I can always count on you." He turns to me, his eyes still rimmed and red. "And thank you, Snow. Your voice brought me back. It gave me the strength I needed."

"Don't tell me you're thinking of replacing me with Snowflake." Huck's voice is light—playful even, as he leads the way back to the cabin. Something tells me his out-of-character behavior is for the sake of his friend. Coy's been through enough tonight.

Each day that passes since the night of Coy's shift, I keep a close eye on him once the sun sets. Although I've since learned his shifts reflect the moon's phases, I still can't help but worry. Not for my own sake, but for his. The look on his face that night was haunted and I can see this curse destroys him every time it takes hold, like it takes a piece of him with it each shift. If it weren't for Huck, I believe it already might have.

Huck explained to me that if the Arion Warriors found out about Coy's curse, they would kick him out of the camp without a second thought, leaving him all alone. These warriors are his family. For that reason, they don't discuss it with anyone, even with the group in the cabin. Some suspect, but they don't dare ask, knowing that if word got out, Coy would lose not only his home but also his found family. These warriors would never do such a thing to a fellow soldier, especially sweet Coy.

I haven't found the courage to ask about the details surrounding his curse, but something tells me it has to do with a sister he once spoke of. I figure if he wants to tell me his story, he will. Just as I told him mine.

Since that night, Huck and I have continued to train in the evenings and the others have been preparing for another transfer of warriors to this camp in his absence. Apparently, some of the oldest warriors are retiring, leaving an opportunity for fresh blood. I still don't know why or how Huck is spending his evenings training me instead of meeting with the other captains in preparation for the incoming trainees, but every time I ask, he insists that I not worry about his business.

When Coy came in last night bringing me what must have been the last daisy of the season and a kiss on the cheek, I was again reminded of how comfortable I've become with my situation. I know it is not one that can last, but I can't help the soft part of me that doesn't want to leave. My plan of boarding a ship and sailing across the sea seems to be getting further and further away as the winter rolls in. Every morning when the frost glistens on the blades of the grass, I shudder at the thought of spring coming, when my time here will be up. Or when Huck discovers I’m a fraud and officially kicks me out. Whichever comes first, I suppose.

The longer I stay, the more my roots grow into this cabin, sinking deep into the ground beneath. I just pray that from now until then, another huntsman doesn't find me. Chances are low due to the changing weather and the security. Strangers don't just wander into this camp undetected. Except, of course, in my case. I was lucky to stumble upon this cabin during one of the worst storms of the decade.

As the weeks have gone by, Aspen's symptoms have been getting worse and I’ve made no further progress fuzing. I’ve learned more about his symptoms and his illness as a whole, but how to treat it? I may as well start packing my bags now.

The elixir acquired from the now-dead Bernalon is wearing off too soon and I am running out of time. Despite Huck and Archer's efforts to find another supplier, they haven't had much luck.

So today I am doubling down in my efforts to recreate the elixir. Aspen is running out of time and so am I. It only seems fitting as I was the cause of losing their supplier in the first place. I’ve apologized time and time again about it, but each time they shut down the idea that I was at fault for Bernalon's actions. Despite their protests, I cannot deny that if I weren't at the tavern that night, they may still have their supplier.

With each day that passes, Huck doesn’t mention the two-week eviction that has passed without action despite me not delivering on my end of the deal. I’m not sure if that’s due to the desperation to find another solution for Aspen or something else, but I am too afraid to ask. Better I just keep my head down and try my best to crack this thing and get Aspen some relief.

When I was young and my powers hadn't yet surpassed my mother's, she would teach me how to create magic within the fruit depending on what outcome was desired. She was so meticulous with her lessons, always making sure my intentions were clear for what I wanted to create. I was too young to truly understand the depth of what we were doing at the time, but now I know that while most of our customers purchased our less potent apples in the front of the shop, the bulk of our profits came from what we sold in the darkness, behind closed doors .

Our orchard was opened to the public during the warmer months, but our shop was open year-round selling fruit-fuzed delicacies to cure hair loss, insomnia, and even some illnesses. But only the wealthiest of clients knew where the real treasure lay. My mother concocted poisons and cures for anything from death to blindness, all living within a single apple.

Before my mother stopped our lessons, I had mastered the basics of fuzing apples with temporary memory loss, a cure for insomnia, and even altering simple physical features. Although she never taught me her more complicated methods of fuzion, I picked up on some of her skills.

With the very basic knowledge of how to fuze the fruit for medical issues, I believe I can help with Aspen's symptoms, at least some of them. With the remnants from the glass bottle, I have been studying its properties and working to fuze each one into the fruit. The problem is with getting my magic to fuze properly, and not get stuck inside my body. I have no idea if I can cure him of these symptoms, but at the very least, I can take away his headaches temporarily.

The branches of the birch trees dance in the chilling snap of winter. This is by far the coldest day yet, and my fingers begin to freeze as I work with the frost apples in the woods—one of the only living things left. With the help of Coy and Archer, I've set up a small table with a few things to help me work on perfecting my magic. A pile of discarded apples lay at my feet as I work on honing my power more acutely. I may have been wrong in refusing to work in the cabin today when they asked, but I just work better outside, even if I manage to get frostbite in the process. Out here I don’t have to worry about anyone spotting my bright bronze eyes or the shadow of failure looming so closely.

When fuzed correctly, a warm glow will flash within the fruit before returning to its original state leaving the apple delectable and imbued. So far I’ve gotten only the weakest glimmer, resulting in an impotent apple—not nearly enough power to affect any lasting change for Aspen. Just enough to ease the pain for a short amount of time.

I've been focusing on my most intense emotions, as that seems to be when my power is at its height when it is at the cusp of releasing from my body. I've thought of specific memories where my feelings have been most severe. I've thought of the day my father died, each time my mother betrayed me, Violetta's dying breath, and even the first time I used my magic, but the closest I get to releasing my magic is when I think of my most recent attack at the tavern. I focus on my fear and my fury in those moments of uncertainty and feel my magic sputter at my fingertips.

A snow hair darts through the trees followed by a hungry fox. I let myself pause from my work as I watch the two zig-zag between the pines. Strange that a hunt would take place with me so close by. I haven’t been very quiet while out here.

When they both run out of range, I bury my head back in my work when I sense the slightest movement out of the corner of my eye and turn.

Just ahead of me, the hare darts back to where she came from, alone. The pale fur above her hind leg is now matted with crimson. Bewildered, I watch as she hurries beneath a fallen tree and into a burrow. Tentative steps have me following at a distance, but I can already see what has occurred here as she tends to her litter. The mother sacrificed herself—used herself as bait to lure the predator away from her young. A sob escapes my throat for never having such a fierce love from my own mother, and I never will.

After hours of failure at different attempts and approaches, when the apple mocks me with barely a shine of fuzion, hot, angry tears stream down my face. Because I realize now why my magic won’t leave my fingertips. I recognize the subconscious reluctance living deep within me. It’s my mother. It has always been my mother, at the center of everything since the day I was born. I was always so afraid to disappoint her—to upset her. To further her hatred of me. As a result, I’ve suppressed my own magic. The fear of losing her has completely crippled me.

But I lost her a long time ago, and instead of dealing with it, I let her control me from afar. I let her make me smaller. I made myself smaller in hopes that she would come back to me.

But no more. I am done with the grief. I am done with the guilt. I am done with her .

Pain lances through my chest at the realization of all that’s been lost. All of the time I struggled instead of helping myself using my own magic. I am no damsel.

I scream in frustration, letting out a guttural cry to the skies. My muscles shake with fury and fatigue. My head pounds with strain. My chest aches with despair. I scream and scream, not caring how far my voice carries as I launch the apple at a nearby birch, watching it explode in satisfaction. But an odd thing happens just before it breaks apart. The apple…glows. It glows bright before winking out to its ordinary shine. The fruit moves so fast through the air that I almost miss it. But it’s there, for just a moment. That moment is all it takes. It's enough.

When I’ve settled my mind, I look down at my hands, feeling that slight exhilaration and euphoria of magic leaving my body. I run to the tree, crashing to the base and picking up the chunks of apple in my hands. Taking a bite, I already know I’ve done it. I’ve successfully fuzed a pain reliever into the fruit. It isn’t much but it’s enough to help Aspen for now.

I grab another apple and focus all of my energy again, while it’s still fresh in my memory.

This time, when my magic releases from my fingertips, I feel it. It's a sigh of relief. Like a tiny bit of euphoria as the power breaks through the barrier of my body and grabs onto something else in exchange. I jump with joy when I fuze that small amount of magic into the fruit, feeling it when it latches onto the properties of the apple. It has been months since I've been able to use my magic properly, and today I've finally a bit of control back, and right now that's enough for me.

Quickly I fuze another apple and roll it towards the hare’s den, hoping she will take the offering.

A crunch of sticks and leaves from behind has me whirling around, hitting my low back into my makeshift work table. My first thought is that the fox is back.

Oh hell. It’s not the fox.

The man is massive and menacing with his arrow nocked. His long hair is pulled back at the nape of his neck and his beard covers most of his face. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is one of my mother's huntsmen. Who else would hunt the Endless Forest in the dead of winter? His eyes widen when they meet mine, probably shocked by the glow, marking me as his target. If he was unsure of who I was before, he certainly isn't now.

Without thought I chuck the apple at him and run, not waiting to see if I even hit him before sprinting as fast as my feet will take me.

The trees fly past my vision in a blur as my boots pound the cold ground beneath me. I'm heading west, in the opposite direction of the huntsman, but I've never been this far past the apple tree and I have no idea what I'm running towards. All I know is that I need to outrun this blood-hungry male. I reach for my sheathed daggers as I run, which is more difficult than it should be. I couldn't be more grateful for my training with Huck because if this were a few months ago, I'm not sure I would have even made it this far right now. I hear the heavy cadence of the huntsman behind me, his boots thudding against the ground in a patterned succession and I know he won't stop until my heart is in his hands.

My stomach sinks when I see the ground drop off into nothing up ahead and wish that I could project my magic from a distance. I pull it to the surface just to see, but as suspected it just stalls at my fingertips waiting for something to latch onto. As I near the drop-off, a flat horizon of nothing but ocean fills my view.

With each step, a plan forms around the wild idea. Am I really about to jump off the end of the earth right now? Am I really going to leap into the unknown abyss, possibly impaling myself on jagged rocks instead of being killed by a huntsman?

Yes. Yes, I believe I am. But not before I sink a blade into his chest.

If I'm about to go out, I'm going out my way.

I turn just enough to aim and let my dagger fly before turning forward once again.

With my adrenaline already pumping, I work up the courage to jump far as the cliff's edge approaches and hear the dagger hit something solid. The huntsman cries out and his arrow flies past my ear. There is no way he will follow me over the cliff now. I can dodge him and his arrows . . . I think.

I have seconds before I meet my fate and the arrows haven't slowed at all. Either the hit of my blade wasn't fatal, or he’s pushing through the pain and loss of blood. Either way, jumping is my only option.

The grass turns to gravel as the rocks of the cliff form and my heart beats out of my chest. My muscles burn and I lengthen my stride, getting as much momentum as I can before the leap. I need to project far from the rocks if I expect to survive this. All I can think about right now is survival. Why are the fates always trying to kill me?

I send up a silent prayer to anyone who's listening as I take the final step off of the cliff and into the open air. There is a moment where my body defies gravity and I'm sailing through the sky, before I feel the pull and I begin to free fall towards the misty waves of the sea below. My scream is cut off mid-wail by gravity as my stomach bottoms out. My hair is pulled away from my face and my stomach flips as I descend. I'm vaguely aware of the final arrow that follows me down the cliffside.

The water hits me all at once, the cold bite grabbing me by the throat, nearly freezing my muscles in an instant. But I push through, not allowing this to be my end. Bubbles surround me in a flurry of motion as I sink further down into the ocean. The world spins on its axis when a wave pummels into me, disorienting my surroundings. For a moment I can't see which way is up as I try to kick to the surface, but the waves are strong and the water fierce. The great sea is never something to underestimate.

My lungs begin to burn as I search for air and panic rises. Just when I'm about to give up the fight, I finally break the water, clinging to a slick rock as the waves continue their relentless crashing against the cliff. I take in big gulps of air, like I'm starving for oxygen as my numb fingers dig into the algae-covered rock. With salt water in my eyes, I squint to look above from where I came from, and laughter bubbles up inside my frozen chest. Once the laughter starts, I can't stop it. I believe I'm experiencing momentary hysteria.

I laugh the entire way back up the cliff and through the woods. I laugh as my hair drips down my back, nearly forming into icicles, and as my fingers freeze to stillness. I laugh as I pass the apple tree and follow the trail home.

I laugh when the warriors enter the cabin and ask me how my day was. I laugh at their outbursts when I tell them why I’m soaking wet and shivering.

I laugh because once again, death came after me and once again, I won.