A Branch of Silver, a Branch of Gold

by Anne Elisabeth Stengl

Disembodied laughs are enough to disrupt the balance of most minds. Not hers. Her old memory was too stuffed with strange sights, sounds, smells, and sensations to have room for disruption. She continued on her way.

Somewhere, sometime in the long history of the worlds, there was probably a moment in which someone had done something more brazen. But one would never have known it by the look on Evette’s face.

She’d never liked Galehot Pigman. He’d spent most of one summer, ages ago now, calling on her with wilted posies and struggling to comprehend the meaning of simple words. Like “no,” for instance. Or “go away.”

“When they’ve forgotten,” said Grandmem, her whiskery chin close to Heloise’s ear, “come to me. I won’t remember either. But I’ll believe you when they don’t. And I’ll tell you what I can.”

“What sort of a question is that? I can’t do anything in the world. I can only do what I do.”

Benedict wondered briefly: If he was to curse the wind-spirit in Corrilondian, would he use the gender form for ideas or immortals?

Turning away from the sight of her own face, Heloise braced herself against the darkness of the forest. Squaring her shoulders, she took a step. Then another. Then, clenching her hands into fists, she strode boldly forward and— “Ouch!” —walked into a tree she could not see.

How could there be a sacrifice without the whole of the heart and soul involved?