The Springborn

SABELLA

I open the envelope and take out a slip of paper. While I squint at the tiny handwriting, Calder moves so that anyone looking out from the house will not see me reading the message. Rhys and Branna watch me with expectant eyes.

“What does it say?” Calder asks.

My pulse quickens. “Sparrow and Robbie are waiting on the other side of the hedge. They’ve broken through Delphine’s enchantment and made a tunnel. It’s on the north end of the garden.”

Calder points to a dark gap close to the ground, near the tool shed. “There.”

In my excitement, I grab his arm. “We’re going home.”

He grins. “We are. As soon as we get loose from these confounded vines.”

“This should help.” I pull a tiny packet out of the envelope. “Sparrow made this. The note says it’s a powder to rot the vines.”

“Glory be,” Calder exclaims. “We’re going home.”

I tear open the envelope and sprinkle black powder onto my vine-leash. An inch-wide piece of the plant dries up, shrivels, and breaks free from the rest of the stem, releasing me from bondage.

Calder offers his arm. I dust his vine with the powder. “Thank you, Sparrow,” he says as the plant withers and drops off.

We join hands with Rhys, and with Branna beside us, we sprint to the hedge. Toward freedom.

The outer part of the hedge is still dark green and densely foliaged, full of sharp thorns the color of old bones, but from the edges of the tunnel, limp, blackened leaves dangle. Side by side, Calder and I kneel and peer into the opening. The passage is only high and wide enough for one person at a time to pass through on hands and knees. Shadows lurk near its beginning and obscure the view of its ending.

My antlers could be a problem in such a small space, but I refrain from voicing that concern. Heaven knows we don’t have the time or the tools to cut them off.

We sit back on our heels. Calder says, “I’ll go first to make sure the way is clear of those nasty thorns. Once I’m through, I’ll whistle.” He takes my face between his hands and kisses my forehead. “Wish me luck.”

He turns and plunges into the tunnel’s mouth. “Good luck,” I say to his disappearing feet. I draw in a deep breath and stand up. Worry rises inside me, a river threatening to flood, but then Rhys tucks his small hand into mine. He needs me to be strong.

“Why did Uncle Calder leave us?” he asks. With his free hand, he strokes Branna’s neck.

“He’s making sure the way is safe, and then we will join him. Everything will be fine.”

The boy nods. Together with Branna, we wait. Every second feels like an hour.

No sound comes from beyond the hedge. Fortunately, no sound comes from the house, either. Against my side, Rhys trembles like a frightened puppy. I wrap my arm around him to reassure him, to encourage him not to lose hope—although my own hope is wavering. What if something has happened to Calder inside the tunnel? He might be caught by thorns or ensnared by another enchanted vine. Perhaps I should venture in and check—but who would watch over Rhys and Branna then? I could take them with me, but if the way is dangerous…

A shrill note comes from beyond the wall of vegetation. Calder’s whistle. Relief washes over me.

“Go on now,” I say to Rhys. “You crawl in with Branna, and I’ll follow you.” The look of terror on his face suggests he will need to be shepherded along.

“I can’t,” he says. His eyes brim with tears. “It’s too dark. The thorns…”

“Rhys, you must. If you want to go home to your brothers, this is the only way. Calder whistled to tell us it’s safe. He’s waiting on the other side. It isn’t far.”

The boy bites his lip. One tear plummets to the grass before he nods bravely, kneels, and crawls into the hole.

“Branna,” I say to the deer. “You’re next.”

She motions with her chin as if to insist that I go before her. I will not waste time arguing with a fawn when, at any moment, Delphine might catch us in the act of escaping. And so I fall to my knees and enter the ominous passage.

The way is not easy. The heavy foliage obscures almost all light. Again and again, my knees catch in my skirt as I crawl. Finally, I pause to gather up the fabric and tuck it into my waistband. This done, I crawl faster. My antlers brush against long thorns and sharp leaves. Now and then I must stop to untangle them. I pay for this in blood when thorns score my hands and wrists.

I hear Branna moving slowly behind me, mewling as if in pain. As a deer, she cannot crawl on her knees, nor can she bend low enough to avoid all the thorns. Perhaps that is why she bade me to go first, so her faltering progress would not impede mine.

Finally, I see light. Calder pulls Rhys out. I scramble forward onto soft grass.

Before Calder can help me to my feet, Delphine’s angry shouts echo over the hedge.

I stare back into the tunnel but see nothing but blackness. “Branna is still in there,” I say. Panic spreads through me, ice water in my veins.

“I’ll get her,” Sparrow says. I see her then, standing with Robbie a few feet behind Calder. Her hair is shockingly white and her body is bent with age. I have but a second to marvel at the sight of her before she dives into the hole like the heroine of some legend.

“Wait!” I call after her. But it is too late. She is gone.

The entire hedge shudders and groans. Branches spread to cover the opening, sprouting wicked thorns and razor-edged leaves. Rhys cries out and throws himself into Calder’s arms.

My heart shatters. This sudden, violent separation from Sparrow is too terrible. I grab Robbie’s shoulders hard. “Open it again. Please. We must help them.”

Robbie’s face pales. “I can’t. Sparrow’s the only one who knows how.” Despair cracks his voice. “Oh, saints. Poor Branna. What will I tell Cleona? Her sister…”

“They’re not dead,” Calder says with conviction. “Delphine would not have killed them. She has plans for them, remember? You heard her, Sabella.”

The world grows eerily silent, and then under our feet, thunder rumbles. The sound swells; the earth convulses. We stumble away from the hedge and cling to one another. Just beyond the hedge, a stalk half an acre wide erupts in a mighty rush, moaning like a great monster. It bears Delphine’s house on its back as it climbs skyward. Farther and farther the monstrous plant ascends, until it is a sleek green tower that reaches the clouds. Branches sprout from its trunk; leaves spring from these until the thing resembles one of Delphine’s unnaturally-lush bean plants.

With a shudder, the stalk stops growing. Its lowest branches loom a hundred feet or more above us, untouchable. Clouds obscure its highest branches and the house.

Branna and Sparrow are halfway to the sky.

If ever I wished that I could fly, it is now.