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Looking about, she saw a simple red cotton dress at the foot of the bed. Under it lay a pink shift, under-clothes, and red slippers. She wished they were a shirt and breeches, but knew she might as well put them on. There was no sign of her old clothes, but even if she could find them, she doubted that they would be in very good condition.
Once dressed, she had to sit briefly to catch her breath. The weakness and ache weren’t as bad as they had been, but she was still shaky. Tidying her bed required another rest before she could leave the room. She did not see the pocket of shadow that separated from the gloom under her bed and followed her.
The main room of the cottage was empty of people. Looking around, she saw the things that she would expect in her mother’s house, as well as three heavy perches—as if very large birds often visited. She guessed that other bedrooms lay behind closed doors. Two doors, however, stood open. Outside one, a path led downhill into a forest. Going to the other, she looked into a walled kitchen garden. A small well, a table, benches, and an outdoor hearth were placed on the open grass. Her mother sat at the table, peeling apples. The duckmole sat on the table beside her, pushing a bit of peel with his bill.
Sarra beamed as Daine sat opposite her. “It’s long past breakfast, but I thought you might still want porridge.” She filled a bowl from a pot on the hearth. Pitchers of honey and cream were on the table; Daine used both. The porridge was rich, with a deep, nutty taste that shocked her. It was stuffed with bits of dried fruit, each tasting fresh picked. The cream and honey also were intensely flavorful. She ate only half of the bowl, and put it aside. Her mother drew a mug of water from the well. That was easier to swallow, although it was as powerful as if it came from an icy mountain stream.
Sarra frowned. “You should be hungrier, after all that sleep and the pain from crossing over.”
“You forget how things tasted when you first came here.” A fluffy orange-and-white–marbled cat leaped onto the table to sit in front of Daine. She stared at the girl with large, amber eyes, pink nose twitching. “In the Divine Realms, you eat the essence of things, not the shadow. I am Queenclaw, goddess of house cats.”
Respectfully, the girl bowed. Queenclaw was an impressive creature. “It’s a very great honor, meeting you.”
“Of course it is.” The cat began to wash.
“How’d you come to be here, Ma?” Daine asked. “I thought the mortal dead go to the Black God’s realm.”
Sarra cut up her apples. “So I did,” she replied. “Your father came for me there. He petitioned the Great Gods to allow me to live with him. They decided it was well enough.” She eyed Daine warily. “You blame me for not telling you about him?”
Daine looked at the cat, who was still washing, and at the duckmole, who was grinding apple bits in his bill. She’d forgotten her ma’s way of discussing private things before others. “It might’ve helped later, is all. Ma, we can’t stay, you know. We’re—”
Queenclaw hissed, and leaped off the table. Briefly Daine suspected her of creating a diversion, until she saw that a black shape, almost like a living ink blot, was tangled in the cat’s teeth and claws. It wriggled and shifted like water, trying to escape. Only when the duckmole jumped down to stand on one of the thing’s tendrils did it quiet.
“What is that?” the girl wanted to know.
“I’ve no notion,” replied Sarra, frowning. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Unless it’s one of Gainel’s—the Dream King’s. It could be one of his nightmares.”
“No,” Queenclaw said, looking up. “He’s strict with his creatures. They lose their power over mortals if they’re allowed to wander, so he keeps them close.”
“We’ll hold it for Weiryn to look at when he returns.” Sarra reached down, white light spilling from her fingers. When it touched the shadowy thing, Queenclaw and Broad Foot moved away from it. Kneeling, Sarra picked the creature up, using the white fire as a kind of scoop. “What manner of beastie are you?” she asked, frowning.
The creature rolled itself into a small, tight ball.
“I command you, give me your name!” ordered Sarra. There was a crack, and a smell of blood. “Darking?” She looked at the animal gods. “Have you heard of it?”
“Never,” Queenclaw said, washing a forepaw.
Broad Foot shook his head. Vanishing in a wave of silver fire, he reappeared on the table next to the girl. “Easier than climbing for a little fellow like me,” he explained.
Daine’s mother shrugged, dropping the creature into her apron pocket. “That will hold you for now.” She drew a line of white fire across the pocket’s opening. Seeing it, Daine was uneasy: Sarra’s magical Gift had always shown as rose-pink fire, not white.
“Don’t fuss,” the woman told her pocket as the darking began to thrash inside. “You’ll just—” She fell silent abruptly and cocked her head, as if she listened to someone.
When Daine opened her mouth, the cat placed a paw over it, silencing her. “Hush,” Queenclaw whispered. “Someone needs her.” Fur tickled Daine’s nose; she sneezed.
“You are known to the Green Lady, Isa,” Sarra remarked, oddly formal. “You seek aid for a breach birth? Who is the mother?” She listened, then sighed. “Nonia. I see.”
Daine frowned. They had known an Isa and a Nonia in Snowsdale. Her mother had always claimed that Isa would be a good midwife, if she could ever stop having children of her own. Nonia was barely a year older than Daine herself.
“Harken, Isa. You must turn the babe before it comes. No—listen to me, and I will help.” Absently, Sarra walked into the cottage, looking at something very far away.
Daine was the only one who saw the darking—whatever it was—drop to the ground through a hole in its pocket prison. She thought, just like Ma to fix the opening with magic and forget there’s a hole in the bottom. She said nothing as the darking vanished into the shadows by the cottage wall. If Queenclaw and Broad Foot hadn’t seen its escape, she wasn’t going to tell them. After all, the darking hadn’t done any harm.
“She’s not the same as she was back home,” she whispered, more to herself than to the cat or the duckmole.
“Of course not.” Queenclaw stretched. “Only gods or immortals may dwell here.”
“You’re telling me that Ma—my Ma—is a god.”
“There was a need,” Broad Foot explained. “The northern forests had no one to watch over village gardens and childbearing—the Great Mother Goddess can’t be everywhere. It wouldn’t have worked if your mother hadn’t liked such things already. Since she does, she became the Green Lady.”
“Is she my Ma, then?” demanded the girl. “Is she who she was, Sarra Beneksri?”
“Are you who you were?” asked the cat.
About to say that of course she was, Daine stopped herself. Daine of Snowsdale could no more heal animals—or turn into one—than the sun could rise in the west. She got up, ignoring a slight dizziness that overtook her. “Please excuse me. I need a walk.”
“Be careful,” both gods chorused.
“Do you wish a guide?” added Broad Foot, concern in his voice. “Some mortals find the Divine Realms overwhelming—”
“No company, thank you,” Daine said, heading toward the gate.
Outside the wall lay a well-marked path. To her right it curved around the house. To her left it
crossed a log bridge over a stream and led into the forest. Near the trees a rocky bluff rose in tumbles of earth and stone until it breached the leafy canopy. Anyone who climbed it should have a view that would stretch for miles.
Crossing the bridge, she found that her head had cleared; strength was returning to her legs and arms. She left the path at the foot of the bluff, taking a track that wound through piles of stone, leading her gently upward. When she stopped for a breath after steady climbing, a nearby chuckling sound drew her to a spring hidden in the rocks. A couple of sips of water were all that she needed: Her veins seemed to fill with a green and sparkling energy that carried her on upward.
There was plenty to think about as she climbed. Her Ma, a god? She loved her mother, but there was no denying that Sarra needed looking after. Without it, she would seek plants on a cloudy day without taking a hat. Gods were dignified, all-knowing, all-powerful creatures, weren’t they?
She knew that lesser gods entered the mortal realms only on the equinoxes and solstices and her mother had said it was good they met the Skinners on Midsummer Day. There were degrees of strength among gods, then. If this was so, then perhaps lesser gods weren’t all-anything, and Sarra could now be a divine being.
“There would be worse goddesses than Ma, I guess,” she remarked, then sighed.
She left her thin, pretty slippers under a bush when they began to pinch. Thickening the soles of her feet by changing them to elephant hide, she climbed on in comfort. The way was rocky and steep. By the time she reached the rocky summit, she was gasping.
Below was the forest roof, an expanse of countless shades of green, pierced by clearings, streams, and ponds. Turning, she found mountains that stabbed into the sky, their heads wrapped in cloud, their shoulders white with snow.
“Oh, glory,” she whispered, and went to see what lay below on that side. Passing a dip in the rock, she halted. A pool of some eerie substance was cupped there. It shimmered with green, yellow, gray, and blue lights, much like the colors that she’d seen in the sky the night before. They moved over its surface in globes, waves, or strips. Watching the pool made her giddy. She swayed, and put out a hand.
