Fallen Leaves

"And your... your father?" she asked him, pulling back from his too-enticing embrace. "What will he think?"

"It won't matter, Nix. There is no world in the sky where it will matter."

"But how can you say that? He's your father, Levus. Everything he's earned, worked for... it becomes yours, someday. To tell me you don't want that... is a lie."

"What I want is--"

"You foolish ogre! I know what you want! But look around you! Don't you see this?" she pushed him away before he could silence her with his devious kisses. Now was a time for the truth.

"We can stop it," he said, "there is no curse of this earth the Court cannot turn.

"I am not of this earth, Levus," she said. For all she knew, anyway. In the beginning, everything was clouds, spinning mountains, and smells of charred flesh... until impact.

"But these... these things. They're trees. Carvings. They can't be Flakes, Nix."

"They are, they are! I know... I know we have never made sense. But we have instincts, and coming here, in the end... it is destiny." She ran her hand along the ribs of a tree, its wood twisted and gnarled into a dancing woman.

"I pulled you from a flaming crater, Nix. I will not lose you."

"Levus, you... ugh." She relented. One hug. Just one.

"If you forsake this marriage," she told him, "you will be cast out. Abandoned, reviled, poor -- everyone will remember the fallen prince who chose a Flake over the peace of his country. And then," she went on, turning to look at the solemn face of a nearby trunk, "you will lose me. To these glades."

"I will not," he said. "I will not, Nix. I have made my choice. We will--" he paused, she shook in his arms. "Nix, are you...?"

She wiped the tears from her face. "No," she lied. "Let's go."

It had been years, Levus thought, climbing down from his horse. He tied its reins to a branch, the arm of a dancing woman.

"These... the glades? You brought me to the glades? Stars, Levus. Stars! If the Court knew..."

"You may be the one to tell them, Ava. With caveats -- the trees must remain intact."

"Caveats! But they're just--oh my word, Levus, the Queen? She's...?"

"She is here."

It was slow to come, he remembered, but over so quickly. It started on her neck, in the spot he loved to kiss, to graze with his fingers as they lay together. It became rough, calloused, then tough as bark. Finally, it grew moss.

"I'm so sorry, Levus. I will do whatever it takes."

"Thank you, Ava. There are not many Flakes here-- it would seem that after Nix, none have fallen. The glades have been quiet."

"Were they not always quiet?"

"Not always," Levus said. "I have come... often. Over the years, birds have begun to avoid this place. I remember sitting here, below the Queen, hours on end to their chirps and warbling." He looked toward the trees. "It grew quieter every year. Until there was nothing."

"I smell something... foul," she told him, "but I can't quite name it."

"The birds could," Levus said. "They know death."

"Death? This is not quite death, Levus. But it's close." She inhaled sharply. "That, Levus, is the scent of dying. All of these Flakes, they're... they're all barely holding on. Stars above." She placed a hand on the breast of a tree, its arms up in celebration. "They're all so nearly gone, completely snuffed out... yet fiercely alive."

Levus grabbed her hand, hauling her to another, where she nodded. And another, and another. She nodded every time.

"And this one?" it was smooth, like the rest, but motionless. Her wood the brightest, her back the straightest. And resting atop her head, almost entirely engulfed by the tree, was a thin silver crown, studded over with gems.

"She... her majesty... she is alive. She is alive, Levus. But by slivers. Stars above, by flinders of slivers."

"That doesn't make any sense," Levus said, his own hand next to hers. "She was the last to come; how could she be the furthest gone?"

"Whatever it is, she's doing it on purpose. The strands from her, oh, the strands! Even you could feel this, Levus, close your eyes, search for it! There is a violent attraction!"

He listened, closed his eyes, and sought the empty hill. It was here he could escape the world, here he could feel nothing at all. It was a skill of his, something to use before battles, before court... before funerals.

He felt it, entirely enticing. Something tore at him, hundreds of things falling from the sky and ripping his clouds to bloody shreds, the tumbling of winged bodies all opening flaming craters. They needed him. He had to go... this hill, just a buoy of cowardice in a sea of martyrs.

"Levus?" Ava asked. The vision collapsed at her touch.

"I... she is there. They are all there. Entwined."

"They have to be together."

"They spoke to you?"

"In their own way," Ava told him, "truly, there was much to see. The first one... remarkably, she wasn't drawn here. It was dozens of years ago, maybe hundreds, I couldn't tell--but this was just where she died. They don't have to be here, Levus. They are just here, now. This is their comfort. To fight death, as one."

Levus thought but one thought, though he hated himself for it. It was wrong, maybe, it could destroy something, maybe, but...

"Could we move them?" he asked. No more secret trips through foreign lands full of war. No more secrecy. Nix could... Nix could have a garden. A place in the palace. A home, again.

"Alone? No."

"But--"

"But with the Court? Anything could be done, with the Court's full force. And this... this is something they would get behind."

"With caveats," he told her.

Ava smiled. "With caveats." She put her hand on the crowned figure once more. "She is incredible, Levus. That the Queen could accomplish this, for all these years... I promise you, she will come to no harm. We will do all we can to preserve her." She passed a glance around the glade. "And all of them."

"I believe you," he said, "but it's getting late. And there is a lot to do."

"Yes," she said, nodding. "Let's go."

One coin. That was the most they could afford. Was it worth it, she asked herself? Instead of food... what? Hope?

"What are you going to wish for, Della?" her brother asked, tugging at her sleeve.

She ruffled her little brother's hair, trying to assuage his urgency. The fountain was a few roads away, still. "I can't tell you what I wish for," she said, "because if I do, it won't come true."

"But that's just a myth! No one will know you told me."

"I will know, Tum. And besides, even if the chance is low, when it comes to wishes, one must be careful."

"But--"

"No buts! Now shush. The trees approve of silence, you know. Not eager nosy beavers."

He paused, thinking. "Do they need the money, Della?"

"Who? The Court?"

"No, the trees. The money just sits in the water, until... until someone takes it. But nobody can take it."

"People take it, sometimes. Even though they aren't supposed to." Not often, though. Whoever takes any becomes ill, and none survive it. Funny how the wishes rarely come true, but greed always pays out... in its own way.

"But they don't need it!" Tum said.

"It isn't about needing it, Tum. It's about not needing it. Now stay close, we're at the crowds. Just hold my hand until we get to the fountain's edge."

Some people called it the King's doing, she remembered, others knew it as work of the Court. Whoever did it-- they had an extravagant hand. It was a massive pool, full of coins and light. In the center, there grew a thickly corded tree, blooming high above the adjacent brick houses and tile roofs. Each thick cord broke off into the figure of a dancing woman, each one with arms raised high in celebration. They were carved of the wood, but legend claimed they were all alive.

Dancers, she thought, beautiful women entranced by the trees. Her favorite was the one in the middle, the one not dancing at all, just standing proud and ready. Like Della always had to, for Tum. Above its head rested a beautiful silver band, and in it Della could barely make out the colored glints of gems.

"Della," Tum said, tugging her sleeve, "throw one! Make a wish!"

So she did. And it was simple: she wished they wouldn't starve. Now, or ever.

"Now what?" Tum asked. "Did you feel anything?"

"No," she lied. "But these things take time." She clasped his hand tightly, and turned to leave. "Let's go, Tum."