stains on her cheeks, creating pink pools on the pillow.
It’ll be over soon. We both feel it, shivering at the air. My teeth chatter. My head aches. I cling to her and plead with my magic to work. To save her.
I wish and wish and wish...
The peace we’ve found can’t be stolen. I should be leaving, not her.
Please...please...
I’ll bottle up some of her blood, I’ll mix it with ash and smear my face—maybe I can trick Death, maybe he’ll think I’m Becca and take me instead.
“You have to take care of her, Rose,” Becca gasps. “She needs you—” But she chokes on the words, she lets out a sob and grips my wrist so tight I imagine the bone cracking, but her words are even more painful. My body turns cold and icy as they echo through me.
“P-promise me—Promise you’ll...do this. Love me, Rose. Don’t let her go.” Her face twists in torment again and she screams. “Please!”
I try to pretend that I don’t know what she’s asking, I can’t.
But I know.
She wants me to save the baby. But to do that I’ll need to cut into her.
The chill in my blood turns so cold my body goes numb with it.
“I promise,” I whisper. But I can’t do what she’s asking. I can’t.
The pain slides off her body and she nods her head, like it takes all her strength to move. Hair clings to her face, wrapping around her neck in a tangle of amber and blood. Her eyes cloud over and a sigh slips from her lips, like relief, like all the work is finished and she can rest.
Something in the air shifts. Another hole rips open in my world. And my Becca, my sweet companion, blows away, through the door of the Dead, leaving me alone.
A moment ago she was laughing and handing me tea, kissing my cheek, and now she’s gone.
Time seems to stop, to hover over the three of us, like it’s not sure this was meant to happen either. Questions of why circle in the air around us.
It doesn’t seem right. Becca was good. Pure. Even after all the blackness. She shouldn’t be the one to leave this world.
Not Becca.
Luke stands, jerking me back to now, reminding me of his presence. He goes to the rack of knives hanging on the wall and pulls down the sharpest one he can find. He takes it to the fire and singes the metal to clean it. Then he comes back to Becca’s side and hovers, gripping the hilt with white knuckles.
“I’ll do this,” he says, voice shaking.
I stare at him, blood on his neck, tears in his eyes, all strength and safety, and I want to let him do the task. I want to run, far away where the world can’t touch me, into the snow, deep into the bowels of the mountain where the soot and dust will choke me, where darkness can surround me and I won’t have to see, I won’t have to watch my sister’s life end.
“No,” I say with more strength than I feel. I swallow hard and let the ice in my veins numb me even more, I force the ache in my soul to quiet. “I need—I have to do this.” Whatever I feel will need to wait. I promised Becca. I can do this one thing for her. And maybe with this horrifying act I can make some of the terrible things I’ve done right.
I reach out and pull the blade from Luke’s grip.
My whole body vibrates with what I’m about to do. I dig deep inside for strength, for my magic, for anything to make this be finished.
I cut before I can turn back. Slow. Careful. I don’t want to harm the life inside. I can’t think of this body as Becca, my sister, the girl who’s eight-year-old hands patched up my scrapes when I fell from the barn loft, the girl who cared for the baby birds that we found in the hay that summer the swallows filled the rafters.
I don’t see blood, I don’t see torn flesh. I only see memories and the hope of life inside.
Let it be okay .
I reach in and find an arm, a leg. I pull the tiny, purple body from the womb, and a burst of hope fills me at the sight of it, at the wrinkly face and bunched-up fists.
A girl, so miraculous, so beautiful. A piece of
It’ll be over soon. We both feel it, shivering at the air. My teeth chatter. My head aches. I cling to her and plead with my magic to work. To save her.
I wish and wish and wish...
The peace we’ve found can’t be stolen. I should be leaving, not her.
Please...please...
I’ll bottle up some of her blood, I’ll mix it with ash and smear my face—maybe I can trick Death, maybe he’ll think I’m Becca and take me instead.
“You have to take care of her, Rose,” Becca gasps. “She needs you—” But she chokes on the words, she lets out a sob and grips my wrist so tight I imagine the bone cracking, but her words are even more painful. My body turns cold and icy as they echo through me.
“P-promise me—Promise you’ll...do this. Love me, Rose. Don’t let her go.” Her face twists in torment again and she screams. “Please!”
I try to pretend that I don’t know what she’s asking, I can’t.
But I know.
She wants me to save the baby. But to do that I’ll need to cut into her.
The chill in my blood turns so cold my body goes numb with it.
“I promise,” I whisper. But I can’t do what she’s asking. I can’t.
The pain slides off her body and she nods her head, like it takes all her strength to move. Hair clings to her face, wrapping around her neck in a tangle of amber and blood. Her eyes cloud over and a sigh slips from her lips, like relief, like all the work is finished and she can rest.
Something in the air shifts. Another hole rips open in my world. And my Becca, my sweet companion, blows away, through the door of the Dead, leaving me alone.
A moment ago she was laughing and handing me tea, kissing my cheek, and now she’s gone.
Time seems to stop, to hover over the three of us, like it’s not sure this was meant to happen either. Questions of why circle in the air around us.
It doesn’t seem right. Becca was good. Pure. Even after all the blackness. She shouldn’t be the one to leave this world.
Not Becca.
Luke stands, jerking me back to now, reminding me of his presence. He goes to the rack of knives hanging on the wall and pulls down the sharpest one he can find. He takes it to the fire and singes the metal to clean it. Then he comes back to Becca’s side and hovers, gripping the hilt with white knuckles.
“I’ll do this,” he says, voice shaking.
I stare at him, blood on his neck, tears in his eyes, all strength and safety, and I want to let him do the task. I want to run, far away where the world can’t touch me, into the snow, deep into the bowels of the mountain where the soot and dust will choke me, where darkness can surround me and I won’t have to see, I won’t have to watch my sister’s life end.
“No,” I say with more strength than I feel. I swallow hard and let the ice in my veins numb me even more, I force the ache in my soul to quiet. “I need—I have to do this.” Whatever I feel will need to wait. I promised Becca. I can do this one thing for her. And maybe with this horrifying act I can make some of the terrible things I’ve done right.
I reach out and pull the blade from Luke’s grip.
My whole body vibrates with what I’m about to do. I dig deep inside for strength, for my magic, for anything to make this be finished.
I cut before I can turn back. Slow. Careful. I don’t want to harm the life inside. I can’t think of this body as Becca, my sister, the girl who’s eight-year-old hands patched up my scrapes when I fell from the barn loft, the girl who cared for the baby birds that we found in the hay that summer the swallows filled the rafters.
I don’t see blood, I don’t see torn flesh. I only see memories and the hope of life inside.
Let it be okay .
I reach in and find an arm, a leg. I pull the tiny, purple body from the womb, and a burst of hope fills me at the sight of it, at the wrinkly face and bunched-up fists.
A girl, so miraculous, so beautiful. A piece of
Similar Books
Rewinder
Brett Battles
The Healer
Allison Butler
This Changes Everything
Denise Grover Swank
The Midnight Men and Other Stories
Lee Moan
The Lifecycle of Software Objects
Ted Chiang
The Woman Who Rides Like a Man
Tamora Pierce
Miracles and Massacres
Glenn Beck
Fish Tails
Sheri S. Tepper
Unforgettable
Loretta Ellsworth
Fever 1793
Laurie Halse Anderson