The Poison Season(5)

Stepan glanced at his daughters. “Klaus told me there is a lake in these parts, one that looks pristine but is actually full of poison.”

Jaren laughed, but his twin sister touched his hand. “I’ve heard of it, too. From the townspeople.”

Jaren was certain this was just another bit of local superstition. They had moved to the small village of Bricklebury a little over a month ago, after their mother died and Klaus, an old friend, invited them to rent his house for a good price. Jaren knew his father was too haunted by memories of Sylvie to stay in their old home, and Bricklebury was a perfectly nice town. But Jaren had never seen such a gullible, gossipy group of people in his life.

Considering his mind was always wandering in fanciful directions, Jaren himself might have been prone to believing in tall tales. But the stories Jaren told himself while he walked and worked weren’t fairy tales. They were stories of what might be or what could have been, conversations he wished he’d had or hoped to have one day. Maybe he only felt lost because he was surrounded by three headstrong girls who knew exactly what they wanted. But at eighteen, Jaren still had no idea where he was going.

He was tempted to tell his father just what he thought of this “magic lake.” But he also knew if he didn’t acknowledge his father’s fears, he’d likely send his sisters to do the gathering next time. Jaren hated chopping wood and hunting, the two other duties he might be tasked with.

“I won’t go back,” he said, and he meant it. There was no reason to go so far afield, and besides, he’d slept horribly last night. He vastly preferred his own bed to stones and snowmelt. “But you don’t need to worry, Father. I never saw so much as a squirrel out there. Spring is late this year.”

“It always comes late this far up the mountain,” Summer said, with the air of someone who knew something the rest of the family didn’t.

Sofia shoved a hunk of bread into her mouth. “Says who?”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Tadpole,” Story said, elbowing her little sister.

Summer avoided their eyes. “I heard someone say it at the market.”

“It’s that carpenter, isn’t it?” Story grinned, her eyes glinting in the firelight. “I knew you liked him!”

While his sisters teased each other and their father tried to quiet them, Jaren’s mind was filled with a strange, mournful song he couldn’t place. He had no musical ability to speak of, so it wasn’t likely he’d made it up himself. And his mother, though she’d loved to sing, wouldn’t have chosen something so sorrowful.

“Yoo-hoo,” Story called, waving a hand in front of Jaren’s face. “Where did you go?”

He realized his spoon was dangling in front of him, forgotten. “Sorry.”

“You’re clearly exhausted,” their father said. “Get some rest. Your sisters and I will take over your chores for the rest of the day.”

Jaren nodded and mumbled an apology. But, though he did feel exhausted in every fiber of his body, he lay awake for hours, trying to tease out the melody of the strange song in his head.



Chapter Three


Several days later, Sage and Leelo were sent to visit Isola. Her mother, Rosalie, had complained to Fiona and Ketty that Isola had been acting strangely all winter, sullen and tired for no good reason.

“Maybe she’s ill,” Sage suggested as they made their way to Isola’s cottage. “She did look terrible when we saw her last.”

“Or perhaps being a Watcher was too hard on her. Winter duty is exhausting.”

Leelo had once asked her mother why they didn’t start their year as Watchers in the spring or summer, giving them more time to learn before the lake froze.

Because the winter is long and takes a toll on even the more experienced Watchers, her mother had explained. Going through it all at once is too much, so we split it up, make it a little easier. Everyone, no matter their size or physical ability, was required to spend a year on duty, guarding the island. Leelo was still recovering from the night she’d spent in the woods, followed immediately by an entire day patrolling the shore.

Sage was about to respond when they heard a commotion from inside Isola’s house.

“I don’t want him to go!” she screamed. “You can’t make him!”

The shrill desperation in Isola’s voice made Leelo’s skin crawl. “We should leave,” she whispered, turning back to the trail.

But Sage shook her head and pulled Leelo along after her. “And miss this? I don’t think so.”

“Sage,” Leelo hissed, but they were already crouched behind a tree, listening.

A moment later, the door to Isola’s house burst open. A young man, half-undressed, was being shoved over the threshold by Isola’s mother, who was beating at his head with a wooden spoon.

“Fool!” Rosalie yelled. “The ice is gone! Tell me if it was worth it when the lake takes you!”

The young man raised his arms over his head to protect himself, the muscles of his torso rippling with the movement. Leelo and Sage stared slack-jawed as Isola ran out of the house after her mother, clad in nothing but her shift.

“Please, Mother!” the girl wailed, but the young man was already tugging his shirt over his head and running through the woods toward the lake.