Magistaire Chronicles: Shadows of the Past

Chapter 16

Seven Years Ago

Wind shot from Hazelmere's palm into her face, the girl yelping as scrapes etched her skin. She'd been at this task for almost a week, and nothing changed–she was still just as clumsy as ever, and that accursed fruit remained rooted in place: atop the tree's crown, mocking her with its glow. It was enough to make her nostrils flare; could her grandmother not see this was stupid? The old woman said herself that the gods made a mistake! What was the point of her dragging her out here, then?

Hazelmere fell to her knees and drooped her head. At times like this, she wished Ashencrane would have left her be. Perhaps the winds would have carried her off to a new land instead.

"Damn!" She squeezed her eyes shut and ran her hands through her hair. She was speaking nonsense again; this was her reality, whether she liked it or not.

She lifted herself off the ground and stretched out her hand. "I just have to...!"

Wind snaked through her fingers, turning to mist when a hand closed around her wrist. She gasped and turned to her right to look the towering man in his one eye.

"You won't do anything but hurt yourself like that," Yarrow said. He let go of her wrist and held his staff again.

Tears blurred Hazelmere's vision as she looked up at him. "What do I do, then? My grandmother won't listen to me!" She clutched the sides of her head. "She just yells at me and leaves me here!"

"You're Ashencrane's, right? I take it you're that muse she keeps going on about." He sighed and shook his head. "She's tough as ice, but she means well."

"I wish she'd go away!" Hazelmere huffed.

"You don't mean that," Yarrow said. He craned his neck to look at the tree's crown, Hazelmere proceeding to follow suit. He hummed upon eyeing the fruit at the top. "Is that what you want?"

"It's what she wants!"

Yarrow gently tapped her with his staff. "If I grab it for you and her, will you promise me you'll stop crying?"

Hazelmere nodded.

"And you'll promise not to speak ill of your grandmother again?"

Hazelmere nodded again, this time hesitantly.

A ghost of a smile split Yarrow's scarred face. "Very well," he said, setting his staff aside.

Hazelmere's large eyes swelled. "You can't walk without that!"

Yarrow ignored her and leaped into the air, planting his feet on the iced bark while wrapping his arm around the trunk. He skittered up the leafed colossus one leap after the other until the leaves swallowed him whole, the old man vanishing from Hazelmere's view.

The young girl watched, her mouth agape and her fists raised, flinching away when the leaves rustled.

Branches snapped, and leaves, frozen stiff from the wintry air, peppered her golden hair. Yarrow's string bean-like body hurtled down next, to which Hazelmere yelped.

The half-elf held out her hand. Zephiriere! She cried.

Wind snaked from her fingertips onto the back of Yarrow's cloak, holding him in place.

Hazelmere gasped and reeled her hand back, the old man landing softly atop the snow. The red, spiked fruit plummeted from the snapping mass of branches next, landing in his bony hand.

Yarrow grunted and rose, tossing the Sunfruit Hazelmere's way.

"Ah-!" The girl fumbled with it before grasping it with both hands.