CHAPTER 1

SHABAZ

Snow fell all night long, a hard wind heaping it in long drifts along fences and hedges. When morning came, snow covered the thatched roofs of cottages in the village and hid the ruts in the road leading to a dilapidated castle crouched on a low hill beyond the village.
The castle had once been imposing, but neglect, war, and time had toppled two of its three turrets and eaten away at the tops of its stone walls until they looked like a gap-toothed grin. Its main building still held traces of its former glory—each window and door sported faded carvings of griffins and dragons, unicorns and rocs.
Once it had been a fortress; heavy wooden shutters barred with iron bands still kept the wind and cold at bay, and the rusted and creaking front door was made of solid iron, studded with spikes. An empty moat, overgrown with weeds and scrub trees, encircled the castle. One entered the castle over a bridge and through an arched doorway facing east. At one time there had been a gatehouse defended by pike men and archers, but it had crumbled away. All that was left of it was a pile of stones the masons used to shore up the castle walls.
Stables and a cowshed were tacked on like afterthoughts inside the courtyard. Above them, two small windows faced the main building.
One of the windows opened, and a young woman leaned out and looked toward the fiery line of light where the sun was rising above the hills. The sunlight put color in her pale cheeks. Her face was angular and thin, with a high-bridged nose that looked like it had once been broken. She had soot black hair, and her dark blue eyes sparkled like gems.
“Hello sun, it's me, Tania,” she whispered, as she did every morning, and then she turned and blew a kiss to the west, where stars still shone in the lightening sky. “For you, Mother,” she said.
She gave one last look at the snowy courtyard and closed her window. In the stables just below her room, three cows snorted softly, steam puffing from their wet nostrils. Dressed in hand-me-down boy's clothing, Tania pitched hay into their stalls then took a bucket and milked the cows. When she finished, her bucket was heavy, full of warm, frothy milk.
In the back of the stables in a stall by himself, stood a tall, white horse. His mane fell to his massive chest, his tail reached his hocks, and there was something majestic in the way he held his head. Tania whistled as she approached his stall. He whickered in return, nodding his great head in greeting.
“Good morning, Shabaz,” said Tania, scratching him softly behind his ears. She patted the old warhorse on his neck, then, making sure the cows had finished their hay, she turned all the animals out into the orchard where they could paw for frozen apples. Tania leaned on the fence and watched as Shabaz rolled. He lay down, his forelegs folded beneath him, his muzzle dipped in the snow, and for a moment Tania had trouble seeing him. He blended into the drifts. Only his dark eyes and his twitching ears gave him away. Then he snorted and heaved himself to his feet, shaking a powdery fall of snow from his broad back.
Her feet cold now, Tania carried the milk bucket across the courtyard. She opened the kitchen door and set it inside, calling, “Good morning, Grandfather Birchspring!”
The kitchen was like the rest of the castle. Long ago it had boasted three cooks, six apprentices, two scullery maids and a meat carver. They were long gone. The huge chimney that could hold a whole roasting ox stood empty now, and the copper pots once lining the walls had been sold. The long table that used to groan beneath the weight of game and fresh fruit was bare, except for two wooden bowls. No more glasses left—only wooden bowls, pewter plates, and mugs had survived the passage of time. A black iron caldron still hung from a massive chain, but it held hot water for the laundry and an occasional bath.
Cobwebs festooned the massive ceiling beams, but otherwise the room was clean—the red floor tiles worn from repeated washings. A fire crackled merrily in a pot-bellied stove by the back door and a pot of porridge and a kettle of hot water bubbled on top of the stove.
A diminutive elf stood on a three legged stool in front of the stove and stirred the porridge with a wooden spoon. He wore a faded blue coat, his pants held up by a piece of twine around his waist. He had white hair and, uncommon in elves, a white beard that reached to his chest. Bushy, white eyebrows nearly hid his eyes, but they were keen and as merry a blue as the summer sky.
A pitcher of cream and a bowl full of eggs sat on a shelf by the stove. As she watched, he took an egg, cracked it into the porridge, and peered into the pot. “Finally, a good one,” he muttered. “Tania! Hurry, girl, breakfast will be cold.”
“I'm here!” She sat at the oak table in the kitchen, tucking her cold feet beneath the long wooden bench.
Her grandfather hopped off the stool, put a bowl of porridge in front of her and said, “Eat!”
“The world looks lovely beneath the snow,” said Tania, picking at her food. “I hope it stays.”
“Humph.” Her grandfather poked at the fire, stirring up sparks. “Nothing but trouble, mark my words.”
“Trouble?”
“That’s what I said. First it snows early this year, and then when I cracked an egg this morning nothing came out.”
“Perhaps the chicken was ill.” Tania shrugged and finished her porridge. She set the bowl down and wiped her mouth with her sleeve.
The old man frowned. “Don’t wipe your mouth on your sleeve,” he said, clicking his tongue. “I promised your mother I’d do my best. She trusted me. But look at you. You haven’t combed your hair in a week, you won't wear a dress, you eat like a swineherd, and you smell like the stables.” He wrinkled his nose and made a face. “When did you last take a bath, girl?”
“It’s freezing!” Tania shuddered. Baths in the winter, ugh! She ran her finger around the rim of the bowl and licked it. “This was good, even without eggs.”
“There was one egg. But the three others were empty—the worst sign I’ve seen in years. Why, I haven’t seen that since…” his voice trailed off.
“Since when?”
“Since your mother died.” The old man shook his head again, lines of worry on his face. “It can’t be though, he died with her.”
Tania looked up, startled. Her grandfather rarely spoke about her mother, except to say her mother would certainly be disappointed in her. Questions as to how she’d died and who she’d been were met with pinched lips and a pained expression. He’d never once spoken a word about her father. Now he was muttering again. She held her breath, straining to hear.
“He died with her, so it can’t be the same man. Perhaps someone else has come, there have been whispers of war in the north, but who could make the eggs empty like that except a…?” Her grandfather looked up and noticed Tania’s face. “I’m sorry child what were you saying?”
“Whispers of war?”
“Aye. There's been talk in the marketplace.” The old man ran a hand over his head, making his fine, white hair stand up in comical wisps.
“War! Won’t that be exciting? Do you think the soldiers will come this way?”
“I hope not! What do we need with a bunch of heavy-footed clods in chain mail tramping about the castle?”
“It would mean adventure! If I were a boy, I could be a soldier, fighting right in the thick of battle, stabbing enemies with my shining sword!” Tania jumped on the bench and parried with an imaginary enemy. “Take that!”
“Stop it, child! War is an abomination! It killed your mother, and…” He broke off and stared at Tania with something like fear.
“Who died with my mother? Was it my father?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Grandfather Birchspring shook his head. He picked up a broom and started sweeping the floor. “Get on with you, you have your chores to do. No more foolish talking about war, do you hear me?”
“You’re just a tiresome old elf,” Tania said angrily. “What do you know about war and adventure? I'd like to have something interesting to do for once. Instead, I have to do chores. How exciting.”
“You have to set the breakfast table as well. Get on, girl, the cock will be crowing any minute. ”
“Where's Polly? ”
“She's got the flu. You'll have to take over her chores until she's well. Off with you now. ”
 Tania took plates from a cupboard and hurried through the castle. She ran up the steps to the first floor, down an echoing hallway where paler patches on the wallpaper showed where long-gone portraits had once hung. She rapped on a heavy wooden door and, hearing nothing, pushed it open with her shoulder. To her relief, there was nobody in the dining room. The Lord and his wife liked to sleep late, their daughters lazed in bed until full daybreak, and their twin sons were probably still snoring off the effects of too much beer at the village tavern. Everyone would show up when the cock started crowing though.
Humming, Tania put the plates on the table and then hung the kettle on a hook inside the dining room fireplace. She fetched kindling and embers from the kitchen, and soon had a fire crackling in the grate. She opened the shutters and pulled back the tattered curtains, letting a shaft of wan sunlight in the room. It lit up motes of dust, and Tania sneezed. From the window she could see down the length of sloping fields to the river in the distance, where mist floated just above dark, swirling water. The river flowed through town, and sometimes boats laden with goods braved the swift current to trade. Today there was no one on the river. As Tania watched, a flock of crows flapped by, cawing noisily.
The door creaked open and Lord and Lady Enguarand came in, followed by two maidens wearing faded, velvet dressing robes. Tania gave a little curtsy, pointed toward the bubbling kettle, and said, “Good morning, Lord and Lady Enguarand, Lady Melflouise and Lady Addlenett. You’re right on time, breakfast is nice and warm.”
“Good morning, Tania,” cooed Lady Enguarand as she stared at a spot on the wall. She was very nearly blind, and had to be held firmly by the elbow when she walked about.
Her husband, Lord Enguarand, eased her onto the middle of the bench and took a seat by her side. He looked around and asked, “Where's Polly?”
“She has the flu. I'm serving breakfast this morning.”
Lord Enguarand said, “I hope she recovers soon. Be a dear and give me some of your grandfather’s excellent porridge.”
“I’d like some too,” said Melflouise, their eldest daughter. She smoothed her shining, golden hair. “Good morning, Tania. Isn't that my brother's old tunic? You should mend that hole under the arm. You look thin, are you ill? Doesn’t she look ill to you, Addlenett?”
The younger sister, Addlenett, a pudgy girl of fourteen with hay-colored hair and squinty blue eyes, shrugged and held her plate out toward Tania. “She always looks ill, but Polly's the one sick in bed. Porridge, please,” she said.
Tania sighed. She’d been hoping to avoid the girls. It seemed that ever since she could remember she’d been running from them. As a child she’d hidden for hours in the byre just to keep out of Melflouise’s way. It didn’t help that Melflouise looked as pretty as springtime, with creamy skin and sapphire eyes that sparkled with warmth. Where that warmth came from, Tania couldn’t begin to imagine.
As Tania leaned over to get Melflouise’s plate, the girl gave a cry and said, “Tania, you smell like a cow!”
Addlenett laughed and said, “That’s because she’s the stable lad, you gnome!”
“Gnome? How dare you call me a gnome!"
“Girls!” Lord Enguarand pounded his fist on the table. “Enough bickering. Tania, serve breakfast and be off with you!”
Tania shoveled porridge onto plates, gave another little curtsy, and fled from the dining room. “I am not their serving maid,” she fumed, as she pulled her cloak on and headed out the door. She stopped suddenly as she noticed her grandfather. He huddled on his little three-legged stool next to the fire, his expression desolate. “Are you all right?” she asked.
“I’m sorry, it’s my fault,” sighed the old man. He blew softly, making his long, white mustache float in the air in front of his lips. His eyebrows, usually fluffy and perked like a terrier’s, drooped mournfully. Beneath them, his pale blue eyes were watery with tears. “I told her I couldn’t take care of you. I told her I didn’t merit the responsibility. Now look at you, you’re a serving wench, a milkmaid, and a stable lad. I’ve failed, failed miserably.” He wiped at his eyes with the end of his beard.
Tania’s hand slid off the door latch. “I'm not a serving wench. I’m a stable lad and a milkmaid, but I’m a good one. When Matilda’s cow fell into the stream and wouldn’t get up, who did they come to fetch? Me! So you did do something right. I’m needed here, and that’s important, isn’t it?”
“Those two harpy sisters run your feet off with their silly demands, the twins are pathetic, and their poor mother isn’t much better.”
“Grandfather, who would take care of Lady Enguarand if I didn’t? Can you see her daughters hanging up her clothes or finding her flower press? As for the twins, they’re not so bad. So don’t worry about me.”
The old man sighed and shook his head. “You’re right, I shouldn’t worry, but I do lass. After I saw the white eggs, I had a long discussion with your mother in my poor ancient head. I told her I was doing my best, and that you’d promise to take at least one bath a month. Will you promise?”
Caught by surprise, Tania said, “Why, yes.”
“You promised.”
“You tricked me.” Tania grinned and patted his knee. “But you win. I’ll take one tomorrow night.” She paused. “I promised to take a bath, so will you do something for me? Will you tell me about my mother? I know her name was Amylee, and that she was beautiful, that’s what you always say, but who was she? What was she like?”
“She was like the morning star. She was brightness itself, and her wit could make anyone laugh. She had hair like spun silk, golden as sunlight. Her eyes were the softest green of spring, and her voice could lure the nightingale.”
“I know all that, you’ve told me a hundred times! But if she was so special, how did we come to this miserable place?”
“Hush. This castle used to be the best stronghold in the North. Years ago, when it was still intact, people came from all over the country to admire it. There used to be another tower over there, where the orchard meets the west pasture. Now, there are only heaps of stone and a few splintered logs. Your mother lived in that keep.” He pointed.
Prickles ran up and down her spine, and Tania turned her head slowly, her gaze following the pointing finger to the window out over the courtyard, past the arched doorway leading to the orchard, and then past the orchard to a smooth pile of snow that hid a ruin. “My mother lived here?” she whispered. “I thought we came from far away. You always said we traveled for ages to get here, and that we were lucky Lord Enguarand took us in.”
“She didn't live in this castle. She lived over there, in what used to be a lovely, high tower. I would see her sometimes, leaning out her window on the far side. She was staring at the mountains.”
“You never told me this,” Tania said.
“No, you were too young, and it would have…troubled you.”
“Why today? Why now?”
“How old are you?”
“Almost eighteen, you know that.” Tania tore her gaze from the window and peered at her grandfather. “Do you feel all right?”
Instead of answering her, he said, “I promised your mother to wait until you were old enough to understand. But how old is that? I fear I cannot wait any longer. The signs are back. Something’s not right, and something wicked is coming. I can feel it. Did you hear the crows a while back?” Her grandfather looked at her, anxiety clouding his eyes.
Tania snorted. “You’re always seeing bad signs.”
“Sometimes I see things, like the time Rena fell into the river and drowned. I told her to be careful, didn’t I?
“I don’t like speaking about that.”
“No one does, child. But listen you must.” He patted her hand. “This was a mighty castle. There used to be a steady stream of folk going up and down that main road, passing through the village. The inn was always full and the marketplace bustled. Customers, traders and merchants vied with each other for bales of fine cloth, fat cattle, fresh fruit and vegetables. It used to be that the sound of the smith’s hammer rang morning ‘til night. The courtyard was bigger then. That part of the wall didn’t exist, and the stables and cow barn were in separate buildings outside. There was a proper swineherd to keep the pigs out of the courtyard, three milkmaids, thirteen servants, a falconer, four stable lads, a smithy with two apprentices, the moat was full of pike, and there was even a magician’s hut.”
“I can’t begin to imagine that,” said Tania, sitting on the floor by his side and drawing her knees up to her chin. She looked out the cracked windowpane at the drooping line of the roof, the walls shored up with logs to keep them standing, and then at the mound of snow marking a fallen tower. “Tell me about my mother.”
“I have to tell you about this place first, so you’ll understand why she came here. The village was thrice as big as it is today, and ten times as many people lived here. The North had no great cities except the Towers, but this was as close to a city as you could get at that time.
“Lord Enguarand is a rather useless man, and his grandfather and great grandfather were nothing but peaceful farmers, but his great-great grandfather was a warrior. Lord Enguarand’s great-great grandfather was called Lord Ironstorm. In the war against the necromancers he led the northern men to battle and won all the lands back the invaders had claimed. Lord Ironstorm was a legend in his time, but after the wars he settled down quietly and made his fortress town into a profitable trading and farming community. His name faded into the same shadows as the memories of war. He became Lord Enguarand the first, and spent most of his days in the orchard over there, sitting on a pile of stones.”
“The necromancers?” Tania shivered. “The old washer-woman claims her grandmother could remember the war, and she says the necromancers were never really beaten. She says her granny claimed they’ll come back one day and take all the lands they once held, and we’ll all be their slaves again.”
“Is Falbella still telling her grandmother’s tales down at the riverside?”
“You should hear some of them. According to her, the necromancers wore plastrons made of human bones, and they had cloven hooves and horns. They could cast spells that turned mighty warriors into stone, and with a single word they could tumble a castle.”
“If they were that strong, they would have won the war. No, child, they had normal feet, no horns, and their magic spells were less dangerous than their poison-tipped arrows. What made them so frightening were the hordes of undead fighting with them. They had spells that would knit together a man’s spirit for a time and enable him to fight. It iced a man’s blood to see his dead comrade standing and shooting arrows at him. No matter that the undead were poor archers; most folk fainted or threw their weapons down and ran. Lord Ironstorm stood fast against the hordes of necromancers and crushed their army. Afterward, he made sure the dead were all properly burned in funeral pyres, so that they would never rise again.”
“So what Falbella says is nonsense,” said Tania, still shivering. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine an army of undead stalking the land. “They will never come back, thank the heavens. What does all that have to do with my mother? This took place at least two centuries ago. What does it have to do with her?”
The old man sighed. With a stick, he poked at the fire next to his little stool. “I confess I don’t quite know how to tell you this.”
“Try, please,” Tania said. From outside came the snuffling sound the pigs made as they worked their way across the courtyard, shoveling snow aside with their snouts, searching for bits of grain, worms, roots, or whatever else they could find. Tania knew they would churn the snow in the courtyard into a muddy mess. Then the pigs would go into the forest to search for chestnuts, and she would have to go fetch them back again in the evening. She wondered why pigs never seemed to want to come home by themselves. They always waited for her to lead them back through the pasture. They would detour wide around the mound of mossy stone that her grandfather said had once been a lovely tower. She frowned. The stones were all worn with time and moss grew five inches thick on them.
“Grandfather, how could my mother have ever lived in a tower here? That pile of stone has been on the ground for centuries.”
“It fell exactly one hundred and seventy-seven years ago, killing both your mother and the lord of the necromancers, and ending the war for good.”
Tania’s mouth fell open, certain that he’d lost his reason. She gaped at the old man. “It would be best if Lord Enguarand didn’t hear you say things like that, or anyone else, for that matter. Perhaps you’d like to lie down?” Her voice quavered. Her grandfather seemed so frail, suddenly. He was small, even for an elf. He’d always been so spry and energetic that he seemed everywhere at once in the vast kitchen. Now, as he huddled in front of the fire, Tania realized that he was barely bigger than a six-year-old child, and the firelight shone through his pointed ears. She blinked, sending two tears rolling down her cheeks.
“I knew you wouldn’t understand, child. I told you we traveled for ages to get here. It was the truth. I brought you here from beyond the ages; I lifted you from your mother’s last embrace; and I brought you here. I carried you not across the country, but across time.” He leaned forward and touched Tania’s cheek. “I’m not your grandfather. I have no blood in common with you, Tania. I was simply an elf in the service of the Lord of Glen Hall. Your mother was no ordinary woman. Her name was not just Amylee, it was Lady Amylee of the Golden Forest, and she came from the mountains fleeing the dark lord. He caught up with her here, and she vanquished him. She killed the lord of the necromancers.”
Tania watched as tears trickled down the old man’s cheeks. “You aren’t my grandfather?” she asked, finally, in a small voice.
“No, though I would give my life for you.”
“Who are you then?”
“My name is Wander Birchspring, and I’m an elf. Look at you child—you have no elf blood, you’re as tall as a young beech tree. Didn’t you ever wonder about that?”
“Yes, but I thought nothing of it. Some horses have small foals, and pony mares can birth horse foals. I thought maybe… maybe I was one of Lord Enguarand’s bastards. That would explain how I’m treated here.” Tania bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. “How came you to be my mother’s servant?”
“I was in her service since she was a babe. My family has always been entwined with yours. My mother was the head cook in your grandfather’s castle, my father was sword master, and as a lad, I was valet to the Lady Amylee.
“When the necromancer came to Golden Forest, he conquered the lands and took Glen Hall, your grandfather’s castle. Then, suddenly, he ceased fighting. For a while, we thought he’d changed. He fell under your mother’s spell and married her. Then, just before you were born, something happened, and the war started again. We managed to escape with you. We traveled across the mountains, joining random troops of elves and rangers, until we managed to meet Lord Ironstorm and his mighty army. We joined forces. Your mother took refuge in this place. She thought she would be safe, but she was betrayed and the Dark Lord came to get her. In the end, she managed to kill him, but in doing so, she died.”
“My mother killed the necromancer king?”
“Aren’t you listening, girl?”
“Who betrayed her?”
“If I knew that, I would have strung his innards from one end of the keep to the other, but I never discovered the traitor.” Grandfather Birchspring bowed his head. Tears dripped off his long nose and fell with small plops on the floor. “I failed her, I did. I took you with me, as she begged me to, across time to here and now, to keep you safe. But I didn’t know we’d be in such misery, that the castle would be nothing but a heap of moldy stone, and that Lord Enguarand’s family had sunk to such depths that Lady Amylee’s daughter would be treated like a common stable lad.”
“Do they know who I am?”
He looked frightened and shook his head. “Of course not, child. No one can know, for if it were known that the daughter of Lady Amylee and the Dark Lord still lives, there would be some who would pay blood to have you at their sides and others who would pay just as much to have you killed. No, the Dark Lord’s daughter is too dangerous a title to wear.”
Tania felt as if she’d just received a kick from a horse. “Wh - what did you say? Say that again? My father wasn’t Lord Enguarand? He wasn’t Lord Ironstorm?”
Her grandfather just looked at her, his eyes full of pity.
A thin wail escaped her throat, and she clutched at the old man’s shirtfront. “It wasn’t the Dark Lord!”
“I swear I never wanted to hurt you.” Birchspring touched her hair. “But you must hear the truth. You are Lady Amylee’s daughter and her blood flows in your veins, but your father was the accursed Dark Lord.”
“How is that possible?” she whispered.
“Your mother was so beautiful, no one could resist her, even the Dark Lord. He promised to change his ways if she married him. She wanted to believe him, thinking it would save her lands and castle, and so she became his bride. For six months they lived together and they seemed happy. But then something transpired to cause him to forget his promise. I have no idea what happened, to tell the truth. It happened too quickly. There was a fight, and he slaughtered everyone who stood against him. He locked your mother in the dungeon. As soon as your mother could escape she fled, taking me with her.
“When the Lady Amylee met Lord Ironstorm, you were already a babe in her arms. He tried to keep her safe. We all loved her.” His voice cracked and he shook his head. “Only your mother knew how it all would end. She would sit in that tower, staring at the mountains, waiting for the Dark Lord to come for her. She must have realized he would find her, she must have known who would betray her. She had it all planned out, and in the end, I could only save you, and flee.”
Tania tried rubbing some feeling back into her face, but it was numb. Her thoughts churned in her aching head. Nothing made sense anymore. “How—
how did you come through time?”
“Why, on Shabaz. I thought you would have guessed, child.”
There was a noise in the hallway, and Grandfather Birchspring got up. “We’ll talk later.”
Working in a dazed fog, Tania cleared the dining room table and put fresh porridge in the kettle for Lord Enguarand’s twin sons, Lysom and Rian. Tania wasn’t thinking about them however. Her hands and feet seemed to move of their own accord. Her head buzzed as if a hive of bees had settled there. Each sound was magnified tenfold, and even the sound of her heart was deafening. She shuffled off to the kitchen, a pile of dirty dishes in her arms, and she thought of a golden-haired woman sitting near a window with a baby in her arms. How she must have hated her baby. The sight of her black hair and dark eyes would have been like a knife in her mother’s heart. How had Birchspring managed to save her? When the tower fell, did her mother believe it would kill her, too? Had she hoped so?
She set the dishes in the sink and went to the well to fetch water. Unthinkingly, she drew the bucket from the well, sloshing icy water on her feet, but she didn’t notice. A snort caught her attention, and she turned her head. Shabaz stood next to her. She hadn’t heard him approaching. Another glance told her the canny horse had managed to open the orchard gate again, and the cows were already halfway to the river. For some reason, the silly creatures seemed to think that the grass on the far side of the river was much better than the grass over here. They would try to wade across, often getting stuck or swept downstream as far as the water mill, where they would inevitably make mischief.
Tania set the bucket down and walked to Shabaz. She put her arms around his neck and buried her face in his mane. “She must have hated me,” she said, and started to sob. The white horse whickered softly and nuzzled her pockets, searching for tidbits. Tania finished crying and wiped her face on the horse’s silky mane. “Why did you have to let the cows out?” she asked. “Now I’ll have to go chasing them all over the town, and everyone will laugh at me.”
The old horse nodded, as if he understood.
“Grandfather said he wasn’t my grandfather,” she said. “Did you know that?”
Again the horse nodded.
“Did you know my mother?”
The horse’s head bobbed.
“And my father?”
Now Shabaz was still—only his long tail stirred in the cold breeze. Then he snorted softly, nuzzling her hard under the arm.
Tania sighed, tears still pricking her eyelids. “Do you know what I think? I think Grandfather Birchspring has finally lost his mind. He has simply forgotten the truth, and he’s woven some fantastic tale about kings, princesses, and dark lords, just to pass the time. It is impossible for someone to travel through time, just as it’s impossible you can understand a single word I’m saying.” There was a long silence, while Tania leaned on the horse’s withers and pressed her face to his neck. “I just won’t believe it,” she said.
The horse lowered his head and snuffled hopefully in the snow, and Tania dried her tears and went to fetch the cows.
The sun set and Tania finished her chores. She shut the pigs into their sty then rounded up, fed and milked the cows. Shabaz settled in his stall, and she locked the chickens in their henhouse. As she picked up the bucket of milk, Tania paused and looked across the field to where the sun was setting. On a whim, she set the bucket down and strode through the ruined archway, across the orchard, and ducked under the split-rail fence. Silently she stood contemplating the snow-covered heap of stones before her. Reaching down, she brushed off some snow and sat on a large stone, once part of a pillar, and cupped her chin in her hands. The setting sun sent red shafts of light through the forest. Her feet grew colder, but she sat until the sun dipped suddenly behind the mountains. In the evening, the snow looked blue. The moon would rise soon and turn everything to silver, but until then, Tania sat on the frozen stone and tried to imagine a tower standing before her.
The shadows grew deeper. They slid over the snow and seemed to move in concert, reaching for the pile of rubble. The stones came alive. Shaking snow off their mossy sides, they rose into the air and stacked themselves into a spiral staircase. Wooden beams appeared, freshly cut and sharp-edged. They formed the skeleton of a tower. Slabs of stone levitated and flew into position, covering everything in a gray, shimmering armor. The tower rose like a unicorn’s horn into the air, and narrow, diamond-shaped windows appeared in the sides at intervals. The top was a pointed magician’s hat made of gold tiles that glittered when light struck them. A final window appeared. It was a simple, arched window facing west, and then the shutters opened.
A woman leaned out to fasten them with silver hooks. Her slender arms were bare as if it were summer, and golden hair fell in a shining cascade around her shoulders. She stood for a minute, looking out over the valley, and her gaze slid over Tania. She held her breath, but the woman didn’t see her. After a moment the woman disappeared, but she reappeared a minute later, an infant in her arms. The child was very pale, with dark hair and eyes that sparkled like gems. The woman tucked the child under her chin and sat at the window. The little girl’s arms crept around the woman’s neck. Their faces were peaceful, and every now and then the woman would stroke the child’s hair. They stayed like that until the moon rose above the trees and the tower turned transparent and vanished.
Tania got up stiffly and brushed the snow off the seat of her pants. The chill had settled in her bones, and her feet were frozen numb. She ran a hand over her face, rubbing her eyes. It had been a dream, nothing but a dream. If she stood there again, perhaps she’d see another scene—one where a golden-haired woman stared with loathing at her daughter. Which dream was the truth? Tania bit her lip until she tasted blood. As soon as she could, she was going to have a long talk with Grandfather Birchspring. But not tonight. No, she had to set the table, help with dinner, then clean up and get ready for bed. Her muscles ached already, she was so tired, but she had hours of work still before her.