Episode One
Episode Two
Episode Three
Episode Four
Episode Five
Episode Six
Episode Seven
Episode Eight
Episode Nine
Episode Ten
Episode Eleven
Episode Twelve
Episode Thirteen
Episode Fourteen
Episode Fifteen
Episode Sixteen
Episode Seventeen
Episode Eighteen
Episode Nineteen
Episode Twenty
Episode Twenty-One
Episode Twenty-Two
Episode Twenty-Three
Episode Twenty-Four
Episode Twenty-Five
Episode Twenty-Six
Episode Twenty-Seven
Episode Twenty-Eight
Episode Twenty-Nine
Episode Thirty
Episode Thirty-One
Episode Thirty-Two
Episode Thirty-Three
Episode Thirty-Four
Episode Thirty-Five
Episode Thirty-Six
Episode Thirty-Seven
Episode Thirty-Eight
Episode Thirty-Nine
Episode Forty
Episode Forty-One
Episode Forty-Two
Episode Forty-Three
Episode Forty-Four
Episode Forty-Five
Episode Forty-Six
Episode Forty-Seven
Episode Forty-Eight
Episode Forty-Nine
Episode Fifty
Episode Fifty-One
Episode Fifty-Two
Episode Fifty-Three
Episode Fifty-Four
Episode Fifty-Five
Episode Fifty-Six
Episode Fifty-Seven
Episode Fifty-Eight
Episode Fifty-Nine
Episode Sixty
Episode Sixty-One
Episode Sixty-Two
Episode Sixty-Three
Episode Sixty-Four
Episode Sixty-Five
Episode Sixty-Six
Episode Sixty-Seven

Instead of answering her, Adele said, “Sylvie, why did you run away from home?” She asked the question so straightforwardly, even innocently, that Sylvie found herself answering before she could think about it.

“I wanted to find Carl,” she said. “I didn’t like our family without him. I just had to go.”

Her mother flushed and cast her eyes down. “Yes, I thought that’s what it must have been. Things haven’t been good the past couple of years, have they?”

“You and Dad… well, Dad especially, have been just horrible about Carl.” Sylvie felt her hurt and resentment rising, surprising her Snowpepper self. “Dad even… Dad…” she wanted to tell her mother about the slap, but her throat tightened and she couldn’t force the words out. Her hand floated up to touch her cheek, as though she could still feel the slap’s sting on her skin. Tears smarted in her yes.

“Yes, he slapped you, I remember. He cried about that later, did you know? He felt so terrible. He really didn’t mean to hurt you, darling.”

“He never let me know that!” Sylvie exclaimed angrily. “He never even apologized to me! He acted like a, a big bully! I hated him for that!”

“He knew you did, sweetheart, and I swear to you, it hurt him terribly. But he just couldn’t be rational when it came to Carl. He couldn’t see straight. It drove him out of his mind to even think about it. He would go a little crazy, he couldn’t help himself.”

“Why? What did Carl do that was so horrible? Why wouldn’t anybody tell me anything?” Sylvie’s face was hot, her heart was racing, her hands shaking. She wanted to cry but she wanted answers more. This was the first time either of her parents had been willing to talk about Carl since that terrible night. She didn’t want to lose the moment. “Please, Mom, I need to know.”

“It’s difficult to explain, Sylvie, and I’m not entirely sure I understand it myself. You see, something happened that night. Your father saw something that he couldn’t reconcile with the son he loved.”

“Tracy said the other guys were saying it was because Carl was gay,” Sylvie muttered.

Her mother smiled a little sadly. “I wish that was it,” she said. “I’m sure George could have accepted that. He’s not a Neanderthal, you know. But what really happened… was much more difficult.”

“Well… what?” Sylvie couldn’t stop the impatient rise in her voice. “Was Carl a werewolf or something?”

Her mother’s eyes widened. “Well, no,” she whispered. “But Sylvie, you’re not too far off the mark with that wild guess.”

Sylvie felt her mouth close so suddenly that she bit her tongue. “Mom, please, will you spill it? What are you getting at?”

“Carl was becoming something strange to us,” Adele said softly, looking down at her hands, which writhed as though each finger had a separate will of its own. “He … well, he didn’t do anything so terrible, I thought, but you know how your Dad is about anything that seems irrational or superstitious, don’t you?”

“I know he’s an atheist, and he used to get mad whenever anybody talked about magic or faeries or anything like that. He was weird about it. He wouldn’t even let us believe in the tooth faerie or Santa.”

“Yes. It’s a blind spot your Dad has. Really, it’s a phobia. He’s absolutely petrified of magic, the supernatural or occult, anything that smacks of what he calls ‘blind irrationality’. He’s tried to convince himself he didn’t believe in it, and he tried very hard to teach you children to be rational, logical creatures. I once asked him how he could be so frightened of something if it wasn’t real, and he became so enraged that he scared me. So I let him have his way with you children, though I personally saw no harm in Santa Claus or faeries. But with Carl, he failed.”

“Well, I guess he failed with me, too,” Sylvie muttered under her breath. When her mother glanced sharply at her, she said, “Yeah, Carl used to tell me stories about magic and werewolves and faeries and things. Scary stories, some of them.” She shuddered, remembering the werewolves in particular.

“That was part of it,” Adele sighed. “Carl had an instinct for the strange, the magic side of life. As convinced as your father was that it was all nonsense, Carl was equally convinced that there was more to the world than what could be seen or heard. And…” her voice trailed away again, her face tense and drawn.

Sylvie made herself be patient. She let Snowpepper-in-her come forward, watching and listening intently without pressure. She could see the pulse beating erratically in her mother’s throat, the fine sheen of sweat on her brow. Adele blinked and rubbed her eyes heavily. “Oh, Sylvie, this is so hard for me. It just sounds so crazy. I’m about to tell you things that I can’t imagine you’ll be able to believe.”

“Hey, Mom, don’t worry about me,” Sylvie assured her. “You’d be surprised at the kinds of things I’ve learned to believe in. I’ve changed a lot.” She moved closer to her mother’s chair and opened her arms to her. Adele startled at first, but returned the hug gratefully.

“Thank you, darling,” she whispered. “You are a sweet girl. I’ve missed you terribly.” The hairs on the back of Sylvie’s neck lifted. She had the eerie feeling that her mother was talking to Snowpepper—to the sweet innocence that had been missing in her for twelve years.

She stayed where she was, resting loosely in her mother’s arms. She was surprised by how natural and normal it felt. She had no conscious memory of ever being this close with her mom. It had always been Carl for her, for as long as she could remember, anyway.

Adele continued. “George saw Carl do something that frightened him terribly, that enraged him, drove him to a state of temporary insanity. And in that state, he disowned the son he loved, and he forbade me to have anything more to do with him.”

“What did he see?” Sylvie asked.

“Carl was practicing magic in his room,” her mother said calmly. “He was calling up spirits and talking with them. Your dad walked in on one of those sessions, and he saw some sort of shape hovering in the air, talking with Carl. He watched for a moment, too shocked to move or speak, long enough to be certain of what was happening.” Her face softened. “It’s not really his fault, sweetie. I hope you can forgive your father. I hope Carl can forgive him too. Mostly, I hope he can forgive himself. Something happened to him when he was young, I’m certain of it. Something magical and strange, that frightened him so badly he’s never recovered. And what he saw in Carl’s room reminded him of that experience.”

Glancing sideways at Baba Janet, who sat imperturbably knitting at one of her endless afghan squares, she said, “Sylvie, honey, is there someplace we can be private?”

Taken aback, Sylvie had no idea what to say. How long had she been gone? Would her room still be available to her? How many people were staying here now? She didn’t want to risk barging in on somebody else’s private space. She might have been gone for weeks, for all she knew. For a long moment, her thoughts whirled in confusion.

“Mom,” she said, after a lengthy pause which had become uncomfortable, “You might think this is a weird question, but… what’s the date today?”

“It’s the sixth, Sylvie. Why do you ask?”

“Uh… the sixth of what month?”

“What? Sylvie, have you been taking drugs?” Her mother’s voice slid toward that edge of maternal worry mixed with authority that Sylvie hated.

“No! I haven’t, I swear. Please, would you just tell me what the full date is? I really need to know.” She cast about for some sort of rationale. “It’s, ah, sort of a game, I guess, but it’s important to me.”

Looking stonily at Sylvie, Adele said in a freezing tone, “All right, Sylvie. I don’t like the game, but I’ll play along. It is the sixth of August. Does that help in some way?”

The sixth of August… why, that was the very same day she and Father James had left on their walk, the day of the August Full Moon. So she was back before she had left? How was that even possible? Her head pounded. She would think about that later.

“Oh… okay,” she said. “Thanks, Mom. I did have a good reason for asking, but… I really can’t explain, though. I’m sorry. We can go into my room if you want.”

As they rose and moved toward the room that Sylvie used, she remembered to ask, “Hey, Mom, how did you find me here, anyways?”

“Give me a moment, honey. I’ll get to it. It’s a long story, and I want to start from the beginning.” Adele’s voice shook slightly. Sylvie worried that she might start to cry again, though she could feel her Snowpepper self calmly accepting the possibility. It felt strange, being two personalities at once, but she hoped she would get used to it.

As she led her mother through the cramped kitchen to get to the hallway where her bedroom was, Sylvie/Snowpepper was struck by the otherworldly beauty of this very ordinary and rather dingy apartment. The sun’s rays, slanting through the dirty windows and igniting the floating motes in the air, took her breath away.

She began to understand Father James’ attitude better. Everything was so much more vivid after a visit to the other side of things. Even a cracked teacup filled with the milky dregs of someone’s morning Earl Grey struck her as exotically fascinating. She wanted to wander over and stare into the contents of the cup. She wanted to swirl the cold milky tea and watch the patterns that would form. Reaching her hand out, she stroked the dirty peeling wallpaper as she passed, fingering the shreds, thrilling at the texture, gritty on one side and smooth on the other.

She noticed her mom’s tightened lips and anxious eyes, watching her. Of course she worries that I’m on drugs, she realized with a pang. I’m acting like a stoned-out hippie. I have to pull myself in! Her Snowpepper part protested, but Sylvie overrode her. Listen, Snow, we need to act normal if we’re going to survive in the world now, she explained. People who act like they’re stoned get locked up in mental institutions. You wouldn’t like that, trust me. Reluctantly, Snowpepper acquiesced.

Keeping her eyes firmly pointed in front of her, Sylvie led her mother into the bedroom, disciplining her impulse to stare at the interesting forms and colours it contained. She offered Adele the sole seat in the room, a hard plastic chair that looked like it had begun life in a schoolroom, while she sat on the bed.

“Okay, Mom,” she said. “What is it that you want to tell me?”

Baba Janet’s bulk occupied her usual seat, but Sylvie had eyes only for one woman. Her mother was perched uncomfortably at the edge of the sagging couch, clutching her purse on her lap. When she saw Sylvie, she started up, and then sank back onto the couch.

“Sylvie! Oh, darling, I…” her mother Adele’s face was flushed and her eyes darted back and forth, not meeting Sylvie’s. She looked terribly ashamed, Sylvie thought. But why?

“Mom? Are you okay?” she asked hesitantly. Something about this situation was wrong. Snowpepper-in-her wanted to dance across the room and curl up into her mother’s lap, something that the Sylvie part of her instinctively recoiled from. Her mother had never been physically demonstrative, and now she seemed jumpy, defensive and just plain unapproachable.

“Oh sweetheart, I… I can’t, I don’t …” her voice cracked and her face crumpled and broke. Snatching a lipstick-smeared tissue from her purse, she began to quietly sob into it. Sylvie felt her stomach lurch as if the floor under her had dropped like an elevator. Her mother was crying. Because of her?

Before she could think about why she shouldn’t, she found herself cradling her mother in her arms. “It’s okay, Mom, I’m fine, really,” she whispered. “Don’t worry about me, please, I’m all right…”

“No, oh, dear, it’s not that…you don’t know…” This brought about a fresh flow of tears with stormy sobbing. Adele’s shoulders heaved and the soggy wad of tissue was utterly ineffective in blocking the noise. Sylvie pulled her mom into her arms and held her close, feeling horridly awkward. Sylvie was frozen in shock. If it weren’t for Snowpepper, she would be sitting stiff as a board, being no help at all. It was Snowpepper who murmured encouragement and stroked her mother’s back tenderly.

Snow, what’s going on? This can’t be happening! My mother never cries! she wailed in her mind. Hey, Don’t worry about it Sylvie, Snowpepper responded serenely. It’s okay. Just let her cry. When she’s finished she’ll tell us what she’s crying about. Everybody cries. Snowpepper’s calm acceptance of the situation helped Sylvie to feel a little more settled.

At last, Adele’s sobbing ebbed and she blew her nose on the useless wad of Kleenex. “Oh, goodness, I feel silly,” she murmured, stiffening away from Sylvie’s embrace. “You must think me a dreadful baby.”

“Why do you care what I think, Mom?” Sylvie said without thinking. Then she added, “But I don’t. Everybody has to cry sometimes. I guess it’s your turn.” The words came from Snowpepper, but as Sylvie said them, she realized it was true. It wasn’t such a big deal. So her mother cried. She breathed more easily.

Adele excused herself to go to the bathroom. When she returned, her makeup had been freshened and she looked calmer.

“Now, Mom,” Sylvie asked, “Can you tell me what’s wrong? If it’s about more than just me running away, I mean,” she added a little guiltily.

Closing her eyes, Adele breathed deeply for a moment. “I hardly know where to start,” she said. “Your leaving, running away, well it was a terrible shock to me. I… I couldn’t stand to lose another of my children; just let them go like that. It forced me to face some things I had spent a long time avoiding.”

At first, she seemed to float home. Later, she found it difficult to remember the details of that walk. Sensory information was overwhelming to her. The colours were vivid, cubed. Smells and other sensations conspired to fill her to bursting; at times she feared she would literally explode from the built-up pressure of information overload. When the buildings began to show signs of decay, she knew she was getting closer. She found herself beginning to tremble with reaction. She needed a bed to hide in, to curl under the covers and make the world go away for a while, just until she could sort through her new self.

She felt like a jumble, a kaleidoscope, a jigsaw in which the pieces came from different puzzles. Now she knew she was crazy, but she didn’t concern herself with that fear now that the reality had manifest. All she wanted to do was be alone with her mind and emotions, but she feared it wasn’t going to be easy.

Her steps slowed as she approached the home. It seemed she had been gone for months, and she began to fear that no one there would know her, that there would be no place left for her. A worrying thought struck her. Quickfoot—Father James—was still over there, on the other side of things. What if they had been gone for years and years? As far as she could tell, nothing had changed, but she didn’t know the city well enough to be sure of that. When she saw the familiar door with its flaking coat of grey paint, she had to stop and lean against a wall while the rush of relief swept through her, leaving her shaken.

Climbing the stairs, she had to cling to the rickety guardrail, slowing her steps, breathing deeply. It’ll be okay, she told herself. Everything’s going to be all right. Part of her mind said, No, it’s not, everything is wrong! But the Snowpepper part said, brightly, Of course, it’ll be okay! This is so fun!

She felt herself stretched dizzyingly between the two parts of herself, the frightened part, and the exhilarated part. She used to think she knew herself pretty well. Her accustomed set of reactions still occupied as much space in her mind as ever, but now Snowpepper’s presence was jostling her, stretching her, forcing her to expand, and it was terribly uncomfortable. New rooms were opening in the familiar small house of her mind, expanding her sense of self in ways that she didn’t at all like.

Snowpepper was still high from the novelty of being alive in the world, and Sylvie didn’t want to rein her in yet. Let her have her fun. But she foresaw the need to get in control again. It was her life and she had to make it conform to the kind of person she wanted to be. She wasn’t some ditzy faerie. There was no room in the real world for Snowpepper’s way of being.

When she opened the door at the top of the stairs and stepped into the Home, she gasped, a shocked grunt as though she’d been struck a heavy blow in the chest.

“Mom! What are you doing here?”

She walked in a daze of happiness. Everything was so beautiful! When she looked at the clouds, she became lost in their complex curves, discovering subtle variations and gradations of pearl grey and dazzling white. Her nostrils dilated as she tried to assimilate the various scents that drifted to her on the breeze—the salt sea, rank with rotting seaweed; the rich green smell of growing things; the occasional drift of scent as people passed her by. As she grew closer to the city streets, the grey metallic tang of vehicle exhaust mingled with the other odors. She loved all of it without judgment. It was all so real!

She skipped and stopped, ran and twirled, half-dancing, eager to drink everything in. I’m reborn, she exulted. Reborn! A new chance, a new lease on life…Then she giggled aloud at her own thoughts, which seemed silly to her. Who cared, anyway?

Still giggling, Sylvie made her wandering, halting way back down the seawall to the city streets. A hazy sense of where the Home was drew her, but she gave no thought to what the proper route might be, nor did she worry about getting lost. She could feel the Home, its location pointing her in the right direction, there. All she needed to do was wander and she would find it. She had no doubts.

A brief giddy thought slid through her awareness, as she wondered, Have I gone crazy, after all? I’m sure I look crazy! The errant thought found no purchase in her mind, however, which sparkled and fizzed with delight at the rampant newness, the vivid beauty of this day of days.

Early on, the Sylvie part of herself had worried that people would accost her and demand to know why she was behaving so strangely. Snowpepper wanted to smile at every single person she saw, insisting on dancing and skipping like a little kid, burying her nose deep in various flowers and squatting to say hello to dogs being walked on leashes attached to people.

She soon found that, without exception, the faces of the dour busy people lit up in smiles that were themselves childlike, as though Sylvie/Snowpepper carried a flame within her that ignited their own hidden joy. It was lovely to watch the happiness spreading! The people she encountered all walked away with a bounce in their gait, as though barely able to restrain the desire to skip and jump as she was doing.

Very soon Sylvie surrendered to the pure pleasure of being her own whole, real self for the first time since age three.

The next time Sylvie woke, she was alone. She had fallen asleep under a great cedar while trying to think, muzzily worrying the problem of where she had been and why she felt so strange. Her mind felt like an echoing vault, full of emptiness. Why couldn’t she think? Why couldn’t she remember?

Now, spitting the leaf mould from her mouth and brushing the bits from her hair and clothing, memory returned in a colourful flood, vivid and crystal-clear. How could she possibly have forgotten? Her heart contracted painfully. Where was Snowpepper?

Snow? she called in her thoughts. Snowpepper, are you there? Oh, faerie, I’m so sorry, please don’t leave me!

I’m here, she thought. Then she became terribly confused. For that moment, she had been Snowpepper. Now she was Sylvie again. What was going on?

Snowpepper, please, talk to me! I need you, where are you?

No really, I’m here. She could feel herself thinking the thought, but she without conscious volition. It didn’t come from another source, she was certain; she knew what her own thoughts felt like, and this was definitely herself. Yet these thoughts seemed to be saying that Snowpepper was here!

It’s really me, Sylvie, she thought happily. It’s like what Mother Maples said was supposed to happen. I’m you, and you’re me, and it’s me being you thinking that you’re me.

Sylvie giggled. It was so silly, a delightful game she was playing with herself. Immediately, she stiffened in terror. Am I going crazy? This is how crazy people act… then she giggled again. Oh Sylvie, lighten up! she thought, quelling another giggle as the thought effervesced in her mind. Everything isn’t always so serious, you know! She couldn’t help it. A snorted burst of laughter escaped her desperate control.

She was going mad. She moaned piteously, wrapping her arms around her head, trying to stop the rebellious laughter and the strange thoughts. She needed to be alone, to grieve Snowpepper, Quickfoot Mother Maples, and the strange lost magical world full of colour, light and unpredictable dangers. Why was her mind behaving so strangely?

She thought severely, Sylvie! Stop thinking this to death! We’re the same person now just like we’re supposed to be! Just accept it and it will be so much easier! We can have fun together! You owe me that, remember!

Goosebumps prickled down her spine. Perhaps it was true. It was starting to make a bizarre sort of sense. If it were true, if Snowpepper and she had become somehow mingled together again, then her tragic error from childhood could finally be remedied. And she did owe Snowpepper. She owed her bigtime.

At last the tears came, and the Snowpepper part of her mind didn’t try to stop them.

A chill damp breeze ruffled Sylvie’s hair. She stirred, mumbling, “Snow… Snowpepper… I’m sorry… Snow, forgive me…”

“Are you all right miss?”

The strange, ordinary voice startled her so badly that she jerked to a sitting position, straining her neck with the sudden movement. “Ow!” Her hand crawled up to knead the spasming muscle, while her eyes took in her surroundings for the first time.

Every muscle in her face slackened, causing her mouth to drop open stupidly. What she saw was an ordinary grey day on the seawall in Stanley Park. The sky was uniformly cloudy; she had no way to tell if it was morning or afternoon. The seawall was deserted, save for the worried-looking woman who had asked the question. Her hair was the colour of the pale grey sky, her raincoat, though several shades warmer, slightly more taupe than grey, was essentially colourless, her face pale and powdered. But for a startling red slash of lipstick, her only spot of colour, she might have faded completely into the background.

“Excuse me, miss, I said, are you all right?” The woman was wary but determined, as though she expected Sylvie to do something dangerous but had convinced herself that it was her duty to make sure of her condition.

“Um… yeah… I guess so,” she mumbled, peering dazedly about her. “Yeah, I’m good, go away, please.” Shocked by her own rudeness, nevertheless, she could not abide the grey woman’s presence any longer. She could feel her dislike, could tell that the woman didn’t want to know her and had no motive beyond shoring up her own self-image as a good and helpful person.

The grey woman sniffed, drawing herself upright with an air of injured dignity. “I was only trying to help,” she muttered. “If you’re sure you’re well enough…”

“Yes, I said so, didn’t I? Thanks very much, but… please, leave me alone.”

Why was she here? Where had she been? She felt thick and dense with experiences, but without differentiated memories to help her understand. She had to be alone, to think, to try to make sense of things. Pulling herself awkwardly to a standing position, she stumbled away from the grey woman into the woods, drawn by the dark friendly trees.

Tags: fiction, novel excerpt, fantasy

“I thank you, dear sister,” the Faerie Godwitch whispered into the ear of the quivering, quiescent Faerie Queen. Her eyes still swam with visions of grandeur and truth. “You do not realize it, but you have helped me find the solution! Simply by allowing yourself to be this vulnerable, to crack your controls, you have opened the door.”

Hurriedly, Choleis stood, angrily shaking her sister’s arm away. “Do not mock me, Chyseis!” she snapped. “I know I was weak and foolish. I lost control and I am suitably shamed.” Her hauteur was cracked and imperfect, but she donned it automatically, like a comfortably familiar torn cloak she was unwilling to discard.

“I do not mock, Choleis, I swear to you. Look at me, dear. Look into my eyes.” Chyseis was adamant. At last the Queen reluctantly flicked her gaze toward that of her sister. Seeing no sign of mockery there, she searched more deeply.

“Why, you are serious,” she said. She laughed bitterly. “I don’t know which of us is the more foolish!”

“I admit, I do not understand why what you did opened the closed gates of understanding for me. Somehow the powerful vibration of your raw, true emotions profoundly and deeply affected my state of being, perhaps because of our relationship as sisters. We are two sides of the same coin, you and I; opposites, yet connected in ways we have never understood and I, at least, haven’t always been comfortable with.” She smiled wryly at her sister’s expression. “While your body shook under my hands, I was transported to a new and greater level of awareness. I felt and knew things I could only guess at before. It was clear to me that your sound and movement, your vibration of energies, was causal to my experience.

“And that is not all. Sister, I have found the answer. I can heal the stone!”

Choleis’ amber-gold eyes sharpened and her nostrils flared. She tossed her head like a restless horse. “What! You are certain? There is no possibility of error?”

“I am as certain as I have ever been of anything.”

The witch turned toward the house. “I must call out the younglings. The otherside child holds the key.”

Snowpepper, it’s time, Sylvie said. She’s coming for us.

Snowpepper had been drifting, trying valiantly to stay awake. Now she snapped to alertness, every cell buzzing with energy. She felt it, too, whatever Sylvie was sensing. A thick portent, an ominous looming. The air seemed viscous; she could hardly breathe.

Just then, the door opened and Mother Maples entered. “Children, dear little ones, your presence is required. Please, come out now.”

Quickfoot and Winkling stirred sleepily. “What’s happening?” the black faerie asked, rubbing her eyes.

“I don’t know,” replied Snowpepper. “But I think it’s important. We have to go outside, Mother Maples called us.”

Snowpepper and her two sleepy friends exited, blinking, into the bright sunshine, where they found the Faerie Queen watching them with an avid intent gaze that Sylvie found disconcerting.

What’s she looking at? she fretted. She looks like she wants to eat us up or something.

Snowpepper shuddered. I don’t even want to think about it.

Mother Maples led them to the portal where the Stone was visible, its glow clouded, the crack stretching nearly all the way through now. As they watched, they saw it creep ever so slightly farther. The Queen’s sharp intake of breath seemed loud in the ringing, shocked silence.

The brown witch turned resolutely toward the little group. “Now,” she said, “I need the two of you, Quickfoot and Winkling, as witnesses. You are not directly involved. But your support is needed.”

She turned to Snowpepper. “Your presence in this world, child, I am afraid, is the cause of the damage to the Stone.” She ignored Snowpepper’s horrified gasp as she gazed at the Stone, her eyes hard. “I am afraid I have no time for mercy or compassion. Dear, you must listen carefully to what I say. Your otherside self has perpetrated a terrible crime, and it does not matter that she was only a small child when it happened. Such deeds reverberate and the consequences can be grim. She must accept responsibility for her behavior; that is her job.”

Snowpepper, very confused, thought, Sylvie, I don’t understand. What’s she talking about? For a moment her otherside self didn’t answer. Then, her grim thought came. Snowpepper, I know what this is about. And you’d better listen. It’s really important.

“Your task, little Snowpepper, is more difficult, I’m afraid.” Mother Maples continued. “You must remember what happened. You must remember who you are, and what was done to you. You must face your past, but it has been locked away so securely that you have no hope of remembering on your own.

“I apologize for what I am about to do, for it will hurt you, I’m afraid. I do this only for necessity’s sake.” Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, she reached into Snowpepper’s subconscious in the way she had recently understood and, very carefully, removed the block she found there.

Stored memories that had been hidden behind the block flooded into the faerie’s conscious awareness with shocking suddenness.

She gasped, shook her head, and batted at the air. “No!” she moaned, “No, I can’t, no, don’t, please…” Inexorably, irresistably, memory upon memory piled into her, a tsunami, a deluge of information. For long moments Snowpepper tumbled helplessly in chaotic confusion, spun about by sheer volume of images, feelings, experiences, thoughts and remembrances from the past.

A quiver began in her belly and became a swelling wave that grew toward her heart, her throat and finally burst out her mouth. She howled in agony, writhed and twisted in the air, her feet kicking, every muscle taut and fighting.

“Oh, dear,” muttered Quickfoot to Winkling. “My poor dear Snowpepper. What has Mother Maples done?”

“Hush,” Mother Maples chided. “Look to the Stone.”

Through the portal, they saw the Stone and gaped in awe. Its glow slowly increased as its cloudy interior cleared, gradually yet undeniably, and the hair-thin crack was ever so slowly vanishing. The Stone was healing, and its effulgence grew at the same pace.

The tortured faerie whimpered. “Oh, what did you do to me, my otherside self?” An anguished cry sounded like it was ripped from Snowpepper’s throat. “Why did you do it? I didn’t do anything to you! You didn’t have to push me out!” She screamed again, the agony in her voice terrible to hear. “You didn’t have to do that! You didn’t have to! It was mean and horrible! And all this time you pretended to like me! And you didn’t want me to be you! As if you get to decide! Oh! Oh!

“I am you! You are so stupid! Stupid and mean and nasty! I didn’t deserve to be pushed out into the cold and dark—you don’t know what it was like—I didn’t know, I didn’t want to know and I wish I didn’t remember but I do! I do!

“Oh, it was horrible!” Snowpepper sobbed, “So awful, all alone except for the voices, the whispers, and the teeth… the teeth…

“I had a right to be alive! I was born too! I was you too! I used to be as much you as you are! Who said you could? Why did you?” Snowpepper was babbling and crying at the same time, still writhing in the air.

“I am so mad at you!” Snowpepper’s fair skin was flushed, her little hands formed into fists. “I am so mad! You were wrong, just wrong, and all this time I thought you were so wise, and I felt so guilty for making you ride in the back of my head, when you wouldn’t even give me that! You pushed me right out into a nightmare! I lived in nightmare for twelve years but it might as well be a thousand because it felt like a thousand!

Snow, I’m so sorry, Sylvie whispered. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the Stone shining radiantly now without trace of crack or cloud, and the sight lifted her spirits, even in the face of her humbling. Oh Snowpepper, my dear sweet self, I did it, all of it, just like you said. Please, please forgive me.

“No! It’s too late! I will never forgive you! I hate you!!” Snowpepper mustered her breath and roared in a bellow impressive for such a small faerie, “I HATE YOU, SYLVIE!”

With a sound like a thunderclap, everything vanished.

Snow, Sylvie called. Snowpepper, wake up! Snowpepper stirred then awoke suddenly, jolted by an indefinable sensation of difference. What was happening? Winkling and Quickfoot slept on, one wedged on either side of her, and she didn’t want to move suddenly and wake them.

Snowpepper, something’s about to happen. I don’t know what, but I have a feeling we should be awake now.

Snowpepper didn’t ask how Sylvie knew. Should I wake the others?

No. Let them sleep. I don’t think we need to do anything right now, but we should be awake. Whatever’s going on will have something to do with us. I… Sylvie’s voice in Snowpepper’s mind hesitated. I have a feeling. A strong feeling. We’re going to be needed.

—————

This was unexpected. Reality unfolded around her like an accordion opening, complete with chords of almost-music that she nearly heard. Everything expanded – exploded — she was buffeted by a storm of information. Herself expanded as well, until she was one with the storm, dancing on universal winds. Her ability to comprehend near-infinite streams of information effortlessly would have astonished her had she noticed, but she was too busy analyzing and correlating the bits of information against each other to wonder about what was happening.