Read Online Worlds Without End by Caroline Spector - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Caroline Spector
Tags: Science-Fiction, Fantasy
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than my healing magic along on this trip. I’ve brought him: Ysrthgrathe.
I know what happens next. I’ve played it out in my head so many times that I think I’ve grown numb from it.
But I’m wrong.
There are some things you never get used to.
* * *
The faeries danced around me, laughing. Cruel tricks are their stock and trade.
“Did you like the dance, mother?” one of the spriggans asked.
I couldn’t answer because there was no breath in my chest. Tears stung my eyes. But I kept dancing.
I couldn’t stop.
There’s a car. She’s driving it through rain-slicked streets. The headlights make yellow beams against the oily pavement. There’s no other traffic. Everything is deserted.
She stops for a red light. There’s a tap against the passenger-side glass. She looks up. A pockmarked face appears at the window, broken fingernails trail across the wetness down to the door handle. Too late, she realizes that the doors are unlocked.
She can’t keep him out.
11
Where was Caimbeul?
I couldn’t stop dancing now. This was part of it. Part of the test. And perhaps a bit of revenge at the same time. I know they thought they had just cause, but that was part of the past, too.
I looked down and saw that my dress had changed again. Glamour. Nasty tricks of the first water. I wore a long white dress made of rose petals. Not unlike the ones Alachia had favored in Blood Wood.
* * *
I open my eyes. The faeries are gone. As I look about, I notice that the trees have died. They are nothing more than hollowed-out stumps. It’s cold.
Colder than it should be this time of year. Or anytime in Tír na nÓg.
Looking up, I see that the sky has turned the color of old oysters. And the air smells of burnt flesh.
I start to run down the hill, back to the town where Caimbeul and I left the car. The fields I run through are fallow, dead, and brown. Where there was once a cobblestone road, now only small jagged pieces of stone show against the dun-colored earth.
A stillness hangs in the air. But this is not the silence of a quiet afternoon.
The buildings I pass are crumbling. Finally, I come to the tavern where we stopped for lunch. No vehicles are parked outside. The windows are boarded up, but the door hangs open, listing on one hinge.
I go inside.
It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dark. Broken chairs litter the floor. Glass crunches under my feet. There’s no one here.
I walk outside again.
All around me, everything crumbles to dust.
And I am alone.
* * *
Tears streamed down my face. The spriggans grabbed my hands and spun me about harder and faster. The world revolved around me until all I saw was a blur of light and motion. Shutting my eyes, I tried to block it out.
* * *
I open my eyes.
We spin about under the azure sky, hands locked with one another.
“Faster.” he says.
“You’ll make yourself sick.” I reply.
“Faster.”
So we turn and turn until we both fall down onto the soft grass.
“The sky is spinning.” he says.
I put my hand on his forehead. He is warm, but not unusually so. My hand looks so large against his tiny forehead. I can hardly believe that this creature, this small boy, came from me.
He pushes my hand away, impatient again to be going. In a flash he is up and off and running. Chubby legs pump and I see he’s beginning to lose his baby fat. In another few months he’ll be a little boy, a baby no longer. And I find I can’t bear the idea of his growing older. I would keep him like this forever.
From high in the sky, a bird cries out. I look up, shadowing my eyes with my hand. It begins a slow descent, circling around and around. Black with yellow wing-tips.
I hear a shout and turn. The sky has turned dark as ink and rain slices down.
Standing next to our small stone house are my son and an old man. Somehow I have missed something. Something important, something I must understand. Then the man drags my son into the house. The door slams shut. An eternity
I know what happens next. I’ve played it out in my head so many times that I think I’ve grown numb from it.
But I’m wrong.
There are some things you never get used to.
* * *
The faeries danced around me, laughing. Cruel tricks are their stock and trade.
“Did you like the dance, mother?” one of the spriggans asked.
I couldn’t answer because there was no breath in my chest. Tears stung my eyes. But I kept dancing.
I couldn’t stop.
There’s a car. She’s driving it through rain-slicked streets. The headlights make yellow beams against the oily pavement. There’s no other traffic. Everything is deserted.
She stops for a red light. There’s a tap against the passenger-side glass. She looks up. A pockmarked face appears at the window, broken fingernails trail across the wetness down to the door handle. Too late, she realizes that the doors are unlocked.
She can’t keep him out.
11
Where was Caimbeul?
I couldn’t stop dancing now. This was part of it. Part of the test. And perhaps a bit of revenge at the same time. I know they thought they had just cause, but that was part of the past, too.
I looked down and saw that my dress had changed again. Glamour. Nasty tricks of the first water. I wore a long white dress made of rose petals. Not unlike the ones Alachia had favored in Blood Wood.
* * *
I open my eyes. The faeries are gone. As I look about, I notice that the trees have died. They are nothing more than hollowed-out stumps. It’s cold.
Colder than it should be this time of year. Or anytime in Tír na nÓg.
Looking up, I see that the sky has turned the color of old oysters. And the air smells of burnt flesh.
I start to run down the hill, back to the town where Caimbeul and I left the car. The fields I run through are fallow, dead, and brown. Where there was once a cobblestone road, now only small jagged pieces of stone show against the dun-colored earth.
A stillness hangs in the air. But this is not the silence of a quiet afternoon.
The buildings I pass are crumbling. Finally, I come to the tavern where we stopped for lunch. No vehicles are parked outside. The windows are boarded up, but the door hangs open, listing on one hinge.
I go inside.
It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dark. Broken chairs litter the floor. Glass crunches under my feet. There’s no one here.
I walk outside again.
All around me, everything crumbles to dust.
And I am alone.
* * *
Tears streamed down my face. The spriggans grabbed my hands and spun me about harder and faster. The world revolved around me until all I saw was a blur of light and motion. Shutting my eyes, I tried to block it out.
* * *
I open my eyes.
We spin about under the azure sky, hands locked with one another.
“Faster.” he says.
“You’ll make yourself sick.” I reply.
“Faster.”
So we turn and turn until we both fall down onto the soft grass.
“The sky is spinning.” he says.
I put my hand on his forehead. He is warm, but not unusually so. My hand looks so large against his tiny forehead. I can hardly believe that this creature, this small boy, came from me.
He pushes my hand away, impatient again to be going. In a flash he is up and off and running. Chubby legs pump and I see he’s beginning to lose his baby fat. In another few months he’ll be a little boy, a baby no longer. And I find I can’t bear the idea of his growing older. I would keep him like this forever.
From high in the sky, a bird cries out. I look up, shadowing my eyes with my hand. It begins a slow descent, circling around and around. Black with yellow wing-tips.
I hear a shout and turn. The sky has turned dark as ink and rain slices down.
Standing next to our small stone house are my son and an old man. Somehow I have missed something. Something important, something I must understand. Then the man drags my son into the house. The door slams shut. An eternity
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