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Felicity carrying goldenrod in her arms. Ann’s voice, strong and sure. Gorgon marching through the battlefield.
I have only to swallow the berry and it is done. That is all. Swallow the berry and with it all struggle, all care, all hope. How easy it would be to do.
Kartik. I left him at the tree. The tree. I was to do something there.
So very, very easy…
Kartik.
With a tremendous effort, I spit the berry from my mouth, gagging as I try to rid my tongue of the sugary numbness. My body aches as if I have pushed a heavy rock uphill forever, but now I am rid of it.
“I’m sorry. I cannot go with you. Not now. But I am to have a request, am I not?”
“If you wish it,” the crone says.
“I do. I should like to offer my place to another,” I say, looking toward Circe.
“You would give it to me?” she says.
“You saved my life. That must count for something,” I say.
“You know I abhor self-sacrifice,” she replies.
“I know, but I’ll not have you wandering in the mists. Too dangerous.”
She smiles at me. “You’ve done very well, indeed, Gemma.” She turns to the Three. “I accept.”
Circe steps onto the barge.
The crone nods to me. “You have made your choice. There is no turning back now. Whatever shall happen you must accept.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Then we wish you luck. We’ll not meet again.”
I step onto the muddy, mist-shrouded shore as the maiden pushes the pole against the bottom of the river and drifts off into the fog and Circe retreats into the shadows. I move slowly till my legs remember how to walk quickly, and then I am running, running with all my strength, pushing through the mist with greedy, determined steps until it feels as if I am flying. I feel the hardness of branches at my back, a sharp pain in my side. I press a hand to it, and when I pull my hand away, it’s soaked in blood.
I’m back where I was on the frozen ground of the Winterlands.
“Kartik. Kartik!” My voice is raw and weak. What little magic I have left is ebbing.
His eyes are wide with alarm. “Gemma! You mustn’t move. If your blood falls on the ground of the Winterlands—”
“I know.” With a great effort, I plunge the dagger in to its hilt and fall back, trying to get away from the tree’s muddle of roots. I keep my hand to the wound and blood trickles over my hand. The tree sways precariously. The Winterlands creatures shriek to see its mortal wound. With an enormous crack, it splits open and the magic inside bleeds out.
“Step away!” Gorgon calls, but not soon enough.
Every bit of the tree’s power flows into Kartik. His body receives the magic like one hundred blows. He falls to the ground, and I fear it has killed him.
“Kartik!” I scream.
He staggers slowly to his feet, but he is no longer Kartik. He is something else entirely, a being etched in shadow and light, his eyes shifting from brown to a terrifying blue-white. He is so bright it hurts my eyes to look. All of the tree’s power—the Winterlands magic—now lives inside him, and I do not know what this means.
“Kartik!” I reach for him, and my blood drops into the frozen soil.
“It begins again!” a tracker cries to the shouts of the others.
The injured tree’s roots come alive. They twist themselves round my ankles and climb up my shins. I scream and try to move away, but I am being devoured.
