Toad Words (18 page)

Snow’s hands closed over something, just as the old woman’s hands closed over her throat.

It was a bad angle for both of them. The woman had to adjust her grip, and that gave Snow time to grab with the other hand, brace herself, and swing.

Not with the poker. With the gigantic frying pan that the boars used to cook potatoes.
 

The great iron slab struck the old woman in the side, and one corner caught the wound where Ashes had bit her. Iron touched witchblood and set it burning.

The old woman made a sound that Snow had never heard before and hoped to never hear again, a high, bitter wail, and fell to the floor. She fell partly on top of Snow, still wailing, and Snow croaked her disgust and scrabbled backward, dropping the pan, unable to think of anything except the desperate need to get
away.
 

But it was over. The old woman’s limbs drew in on themselves, jerkily, like a dying spider. Her flesh collapsed as the witchblood boiled away, splitting across her cheeks and puckering into the hollows of her bones.
 

Snow thought she looked as if she had died a long time ago.

But what do I know? I can barely breathe…and those spots on my eyes weren’t there a minute ago…

Her whole body buckled. It was a very strange sensation and she seemed to fall over very slowly onto her side, and then even that was too much, and she was lying on her back.
 

Two things,
thought Snow, gazing up at the ceiling. There was a darkness seeping in around the corners of her vision.
My life came down to
two
things. Knowing that truffles are worth more than potatoes, and knowing that you don’t get ripe apples in spring.
 

I will have to tell Arrin
, she thought, and she would have laughed if her throat were not in ruins.
 

There was a dragging, scuffling sound. Snow listened to it coming closer.
 

Something was crawling across the floor toward her.

Not the old woman. Please, not her. She must be dead. I am probably going to die anyway, but please let me have taken the old woman with me.

Something touched her elbow.

The pain took her breath away—or would have, if she could breathe—but Snow turned her head.

It was Ashes.

The little sow’s eyes were glazed with pain and her breath was ragged, but she had crawled across the floor to Snow. As Snow watched, she tilted her head so that her snout fit under Snow’s elbow, and she nudged it upward, so that Snow’s hand laid against her skin.

Snow smiled. In all the world, there were only two living creatures, and perhaps neither of them would be living for much longer.
 

The darkness closed in around her eyes, until she seemed to see Ashes at the end of a long tunnel, and the two of them lay on the floor in the earthen den and waited for death to come for them.
 

When Arrin returned to the boar’s den with Puffball and Greatspot, the house was dark and cold.
 

The boars moved more quickly than he did. Arrin swung off his mare and had one foot on the ground when he heard a squealing cry of dismay.

The huntsman’s mind was full of the king’s words, and when he heard it, he did not run immediately toward the den. Instead he bent his forehead to his mare’s neck and failure engulfed him.
 

The king had not been kind.

But Arrin was a good and responsible man, so he pushed himself away and hurried to the den.

“We didn’t know how to move her!” Hoofblack was saying miserably. “What else could we do? We can’t make her eat wild garlic until she throws up or pack her with mud and what else is there?”

“You should have gotten a human!” roared Puffball. “Humans need human medicine! If they could take boar medicine, they wouldn’t be so damnably fragile!”

“But—”

“Both of you, be silent!” snapped Greatspot, and slashed at them with her tusks. The boars fell quiet and backed away.
 

Juniper was lying alongside Snow, embracing the girl awkwardly. “She’s still warm,” said the sow. “And still breathing. I don’t like the look of her throat, but I can’t do anything about it.”

“What happened?” asked Arrin. He went to his knees beside Snow. Juniper rolled a mild eye up at him. There were no obvious wounds, she was not bleeding, but her throat was red and violet and hideously swollen.
 

The little white pig, the one whose name he couldn’t remember, was lying across her feet.
 

Hoofblack tossed his head. “That happened,” he said contemptuously. “That thing over there. It stinks of magic, what’s left of it.”
 

Arrin turned to the bundle of cloth. There was something sticking out of it that looked like the dried claws of a bird of prey. It took him a moment to realize that they were hands.

He flipped the cloth back to see the face, and looked immediately away.
 

“It’s the queen,” he said.

“You can tell that?” asked Hoofblack.

“It’s the gown. The embroidery. She was wearing it the day that she sent me…never mind.”
 

It came to him distantly that the king would be relieved, and also a trifle annoyed. “I’ll see that witch hanged,” he’d said, “or burned. She bewitched me once, but she’ll not do it again.”
 

Well. The queen had placed herself beyond his vengeance. Now it fell to Arrin to place Snow beyond his fears.

“I’m not saying you did the wrong thing, leaving her in the woods,” the king had said, so quietly that his voice was almost lost in the snap of banners overhead. “But perhaps it would have been better that way. I shall disinherit her, but distaff heirs have a way of turning up and making trouble.”

Arrin had said nothing. He had been too shocked. Even when the king slapped him on the shoulder, he had said nothing.

“Perhaps she died in the woods,” said the king. “Eh? We’ll keep an eye out. Hard to survive a winter out there—no, I’m not blaming you. Worked out for the best, I expect.”

Arrin, who had said nothing about the boars, or Snow’s current whereabouts, had found voice to say “As you say, my lord.”
 

He had slipped away after dinner. If it had occurred to the king that Arrin might carry word back to his first wife, he did not act on the thought. The pigs had been waiting in the woods.

And now here was Snow, perhaps dying.

Perhaps it’s her way of making it easier for him,
Arrin thought.
 

He examined the thought for an instant, no more—and pushed it away.

“The convent,” he said. “They know her there, and they’ll protect her. If the queen is dead, it’s only the king to fear, and he’ll be glad enough to see her go into orders.”
 

The boars looked at him, then at each other.

“Human stuff,” said Greatspot. “Get her up. You’ll take her on your horse, hunter-man?”
 

Arrin nodded, picking Snow up in his arms. She was heavy and solid, not ethereal as princesses are said to be. He walked to his horse.

Greatspot nodded. “Puffball, stay here. You’ve gone far enough today. Juniper, with me.”

“You’ve gone just as far,” said Puffball mildly.

“Yes. One of us should see this through, and I don’t trust you to speak for us. You’ll crack a bad joke at the wrong moment and these nuns of Snow’s will chase you out with a broom.”
 

It was awkward mounting with his arms full, but Arrin managed it, using Puffball as a mounting block.
 

He turned his horse, glancing back toward the den. The little white pig stood in the door, held up between two larger fellows. She was limping, but she met his eyes.

“Take care of her,” she said, in a clear, high voice.
 

“I will,” said Arrin.

Snow woke.

Her throat ached in ways that defied description. She was surrounded by whiteness—white walls, white ceiling, unbleached linen sheets. There was a window with wooden shutters, and a vase of dried hydrangea blossoms on the sill.

“W-what?” The sound of her own voice was hoarse and ugly. “Where am I?”

“The convent of St. Mirriam,” someone replied. “You were attacked, but you’re safe now. All will be well.”

“Yes…” said Snow slowly. “I remember—”

A thought struck her suddenly, and she tried to sit up. The nun sitting beside her put a hand on her shoulder and held her down. “Ashes!”

“Ashes is fine,” said a familiar voice near the floor.

Snow craned her neck, and Juniper stood up and laid her great bristly head across the sheets. She smiled, as much as a boar can smile.

“Hush!” croaked Snow. “They’ll hear you—”

“Don’t worry,” said the nun. She did not look much older than Snow, but she had a great air of calm. “We know about them. It is…unusual, but their leader agreed to be bathed in holy water, and did not turn into a demon, so we are forced to conclude that it is some manner of miracle.”

Juniper grinned. “It’s a good thing we didn’t bring Puffball. He would have pretended to be one, just for a joke.”

“That’s all right, then…” croaked Snow, and drifted back to sleep.
 

The next time she woke, she was stronger, and she was able to drink a little broth. Her throat hurt, but if she let liquid trickle down the back and did not try to swallow, it hurt less. Mother Clara came as soon as she was awake, and sat down on the bed beside her.

“My dear, how do you feel?”

“Horrible,” whispered Snow, and smiled weakly.

Mother Clara threw her head back and laughed. “Very good! That will pass. We were worried for a little while, when that young hunter brought you here. Your throat was so swollen that we were not sure that you would survive.”

“She tried to strangle me,” Snow whispered, plucking at the edge of the sheet. “She was mad. She must have been.”

The abbess took a deep breath, and her smile faded. “I am afraid,” she said slowly, “I am afraid that was your mother. The queen. Her sorceries had recoiled on her somehow.”

There was a long silence in the little white room. A breeze came through the little window, and rattled the edges of the dried flowers.

“My mother is the castle midwife,” said Snow, closing her eyes.
 

The abbess patted her hand. “I sent for her, and will tell her you said so.”

There was a little silence. Snow stirred. “The boars?”

“Your truffle-hunting friends,” said the abbess, laughing.
“They
were a surprise. I had expected fairies, you know, or possibly dwarves, and I was a little concerned by it. They are not safe friends, and some are devils in disguise. But I could not understand why they would need a human to bargain for them. Your friend Greatspot was a revelation. If she were human, she would make a marvelous abbess, I think.”

Snow thought about a time last winter, when Greatspot had gone into heat and had spent several days away from the den with Puffball. It did not seem terribly appropriate to mention this to a nun. She settled for a nod.

Mother Clara patted Snow’s hand again, and rose. “Rest. When you are strong enough, we will take you out to the garden. Men are not allowed within these walls, and I fear Master Arrin is going half-mad wanting to see you.”

Master Arrin was in fact going half-mad, and had been for several days. When Snow, assisted by Juniper on one side and Mother Clara on the other, made her way into the garden, Arrin nearly flung his arms around her. (He did not, largely because Mother Clara was there.)

“You’re alive,” he said, as she settled on a bench. “I was afraid—you were so limp and your breathing was terrible—”

She smiled. “I still sound terrible,” she said. Her voice still sounded hoarse and hard, like a crow laughing. “It’s not painful, but they tell me it may not ever recover. Oh, well. I got off lightly, really.”

“I should have come sooner,” said Arrin. “Or never left you alone.” He sank to his knees next to the bench.
 

(Mother Clara shared a look with Juniper, which did not—quite—include rolled eyes.)

Snow shook her head. “It wouldn’t have mattered. It was the queen. She would have found a way. At least…at least it’s over now.”

“You were very brave,” said Arrin.

Snow looked at him blankly.

But I wasn’t brave
, she thought.
I was brave before, when I talked to the farmer. I was frightened and I did it anyway. I was brave when I went to the nuns. Being attacked by the queen—that wasn’t brave. I just wanted not to die.
 

She wondered if he would understand. She thought not.

She wondered if, given time, she could teach him.
 

And then she thought,
he rode from the boar’s house, all that dark way, with me rasping for breath in his arms. And perhaps I don’t understand what that was like, either.
 

It is possible that we might teach each other.

Mother Clara cleared her throat discreetly. “It may be useful for both of you to know that the king has disinherited Snow and remanded her to my care. I believe he would like you to discover a vocation and take orders, but I made him no promises. In any event, you are welcome here as long as you would like to stay.”

Snow exhaled, leaning back on the bench. “Thank god.”

“God most likely had a hand in it,” Mother Clara agreed. “At least by way of his humble servant.” She smiled demurely and Juniper snickered.
 

Arrin took Snow’s hand and squeezed it hard. “Then I will come and see you again.”

“Yes,” said Snow. “I think I’d like that.”
 

It was an odd season.

The wild geese threaded the sky through

the equinox's needle

the sugar maples burned upon the hill.

The bear came walking down the road

through the middle of town.

My neighbor saw him,

said he looked like he was going somewhere

not quite in a hurry.