SONG of EMBER

6

AN UNWELCOME GUEST

🙜

Ember tossed another weed across the splintered fence, threw aside the stick he'd been using to poke around in the dirt, and flopped down in the middle of his garden with a groan. He stared up at the latticework of branches overhead, praying for a breeze.

The trees barely stirred.

It was a hot day, the first hint that summer was just around the corner, and the muggy air lay undisturbed over the river path. So hot had the morning been, in fact, that Ember had almost made up his mind to stroll down to the cool running water and dip his toes into it… A pleasure he had avoided religiously ever since the morning he'd found his trap sprung.

He sighed, wiggling his toes in the dirt and folding his arms behind his head, happy to relax his knotted muscles. Sweat rolled down the sides of his neck and soaked through his shirt, sticking to everything: dirt, leaves, prickly little seeds. His decision to work in the garden since sunrise (a task which principally entailed uprooting all the weeds he'd been ignoring) had taken its toll—and it was hardly afternoon.

After the humming on the path three days ago, no more gifts had appeared on his stoop. Ember was beginning to wonder if the creature had gotten bored of its game. In a way, he admitted, it would be a relief; he was somewhat afraid of it, despite their gestures of goodwill. The mystery itself was what he found most alluring.

And yet, as tightly as he gripped his fishing spear or knife each time he saw another object gleaming on the stoop, there was always a part of him which enjoyed that rush of heady excitement. It was a feeling he'd begun to crave, without even knowing why. He couldn't have explained it to someone with mere words. It was just that.

A wild, fey feeling.

And it was not the first time he had felt it.

Ember closed his eyes against the sun-speckled branches far above him and slowly inhaled, allowing the memories to flood back amid scents of upturned soil and crushed leaves: his mother was alive and well, and his sister was still unmarried; they had gone into town together and encountered a small crowd gathered in the square. In the middle of it stood Hunter, back from one of his adventures

He remembered curiously pushing his way to the front, too short to see the goings-on and determined to find out what had everyone in such a state.

Hunter had a small stone cupped in his palms.

It glowed like a firefly, and from the moment Ember saw it he was captivated. Hunter claimed it came from the Sisters, one of many mountains which sheltered their valley but the nearest and by far the grandest, with two snowy peaks ringed in thick forest. Sisters Mountain was shrouded in countless stories of valor and peril, and Hunter was one of the few who braved its dead-end trails and pitfalls.

You, boy! Hunter had said, making Ember jump. Here… I know that look.

And to Ember's apprehensive delight, Hunter plopped the small glowing rock into his outstretched hands.

You can't keep it, though. That came from the Sisters, see, and I don't know but what lost it might come lookin'… Hunter's voice echoed from the distant past, somehow still just as gruff as it had been a week ago. Oh, he can touch it a'right, madam, no harm. There are plenty of trinkets up in those mountains, if you only know where to look.

Ember had lifted the gem to his eye, shocked into silence by the icy smoothness of it and enchanted by the swirling amber glow. It was light and adventure and beauty and life all bound into one little stone, humming gently in his boyish hands.

I don't like it. His mother's tense voice drifted from somewhere behind him. We don't need magic here in this valley. Nothing good ever comes of it.

Ah, but there's magic in the waters here, madam. Hunter bent down to Ember's height, his beady black eyes sparkling with mystery. There's magic in the very air we breathe. Some of it foul, I grant you, but some of it fine. You may not like it, but your feelings on the matter won't make the wonders of the world simply vanish. These rivers are sourced from the mountain itself! Why, there's magic right outside your doorstep—

That's enough, said his mother, snatching the stone from his palm and pinching it in two fingers. She shoved it at Hunter, her lips thin and white. Take it back.

I apologize, madam. ‘Twas not my intent to cause offense. Hunter winked at Ember and tossed the stone to another captivated bystander. Pass it around if you like, s’long as it ends up in my pocket again.

How did you come by it? someone demanded.

Long story, that. And Hunter leaned against his old barrel-faced horse with a twinkle in his eye that Ember recognized: it always preceded the very best of his tales.

Come, Ember. His mother tugged him away. Leave the man alone.

Certain details of the memory had faded, but Ember still recalled the cool impression of the stone in his hand as if he had held it yesterday. Just touching that piece of dormant magic had given him a strange sensation, like the drop from a sudden fall.

And a little of that feeling returned—an excited yearning, a hollow thrill, an emptiness and a desperate desire to unravel all the riddles of the world—each time he found one of those strange gifts sitting on his doorstep, placed there by river-wet fingers for him and him alone to find.

Now, as he reflected on those things, he felt it again… and for the life of him could not determine if he liked it or it frightened him.

Opening his eyes, Ember stretched his jaw into a tired yawn and sat up on his elbows, glancing around at the work he had done. The sparse greens had room to breathe again, most of the empty space had been cleared, and he was gratified to see an enormous pile of weeds on the other side of the fence. A few stragglers that hadn't quite made the toss dangled haplessly over the wooden rails and fresh dirt clods adorned the side of the cabin.

Ah, well.

He rose, and was just brushing dirt off the seat of his trousers when a shifting shadow caught his eye. He glanced up at the foggy cabin window and stared for a moment, uncertain of what he'd seen.

All was quiet save the birds that conversed in the trees, a few chirring insects, and the tall weeds rustling by the river.

No—

Something had moved!

The shadow returned again, briefly, as if a small trespasser had flown into the house.

Ember took a few steps forward and snatched the spear from where it leaned against the wooden rails, heart pounding. The floorboards inside gave a muffled creak, and he licked his lips, swallowing once.

Definitely not a bird.

Something made a soft thudding sound and Ember tightened his grip on the spear, heading for the path that led to the house. And then he saw the shadow appear in the lowest corner of the window, barely visible through the dirty glass. This time it stopped moving long enough for him to glimpse the intruder:

Two eyes.

Very large, very black.

Familiar.

They stared out at him in wild surprise, and then vanished.

Door hinges rasped.

The single wooden stair let out a faint squeak.

Footsteps pattered on the flagstone and dirt path.

Ember didn't think.

He turned and ran—bare feet and all—helter-skelter through the garden, leaping the fence on the other side, sprinting across the field behind his cabin, toward the woods. Something swished through the plants behind him and the rickety fence creaked.

Suddenly a voice like a woman's voice was crying out his name; a sound so familiar, yet warbled as a larksong. He stumbled, nearly falling, but redoubled his efforts despite the haze which crept across his vision. The creature which now pursued him had an unholy advantage.

Ember heedlessly threw aside the spear, shoved his fingers in his ears, and ran as he had never run before.

He did not know where he was going.

He just knew that he had to get away.