فصل 40

40.

In Which There Is a Disagreement about Boots

“Take those off, dear,” Sister Ignatia said. Her voice was cream. She was all soft steps and padded claws. “They simply do not become you.”

The madwoman tipped her head. The moon was about to rise. The mountain rumbled under her feet. She stood in front of a large stone. “Don’t forget,” the stone said on one side. “I mean it,” it said on the other.

The madwoman missed her birds. They had flown away and had not come back. Were they real to begin with? The madwoman did not know.

All she knew at the moment was that she liked these boots. She had fed the goats and the chickens, and gathered the milk and the eggs, and thanked the animals for their time. But all the while, she had felt as though the boots were feeding her. She couldn’t explain it. The boots enlivened her, muscle and bone. She felt as light as a paper bird. She felt like she could run for a thousand miles and she wouldn’t lose her breath.

Sister Ignatia took a step forward. Her lips unfurled in a thin smile. The madwoman could hear the Head Sister’s tigerish growl rumbling underground. She felt her back start to sweat. She took several hurried steps backward, until her body found the standing stone. She leaned against it, and found a comfort there. She felt her boots start to buzz.

There was magic all around this place. Tiny bits and pieces. The madwoman could feel it. The Sister, she could see, felt it, too. Both women reached their nimble, clever fingers this way and that, hooking shiny bits of magic into their hands, saving it for later. The more the madwoman gathered, the clearer the path to her daughter became.

“You poor lost soul,” the Head Sister said. “How far you are from home! How confused you must be! It is so lucky that I found you here, before some wild animal or roving ruffian did. This is a dangerous wood. The most dangerous in the world.”

The mountain rumbled. A plume of smoke erupted from the farthest craters. The Head Sister turned pale.

“We need to leave this place,” Sister Ignatia said. The madwoman felt her knees start to shake. “Look.” The Sister pointed to the crater. “I’ve seen that before. A long time ago. The plumes come, then the earth shakes, then the first explosions, and then the whole mountain opens its face to the sky. If we are here when that happens, we’re both dead. But if you give me those boots”—she licked her lips—“then I can use the power inside them to get us both back home. Back to the Tower. Your safe, homey little Tower.” She smiled again. Even her smile was terrifying.

“You are lying, Tiger’s Heart,” the madwoman whispered. Sister Ignatia flinched at the term. “You have no intention of carrying me back.” Her hands were on the stone. The stone was making her see things. Or perhaps the boots were making her see things. She saw a group of magicians—old men and old women—betrayed by the Head Sister. Before she was the Head Sister. Before there was a Protectorate. The Head Sister was supposed to carry the magicians on her back when the volcano erupted, but she did nothing of the kind. She left them in the smoke to die.

“How do you know that name?” Sister Ignatia whispered.

“Everyone knows that name,” the madwoman said. “It was in a story. About how the Witch ate a tiger’s heart. They all whisper it. It’s wrong, of course. You don’t have a tiger’s heart. You have no heart at all.”

“There is no such story,” Sister Ignatia said. She began to pace. She hunched her shoulders. She growled. “I started the stories in the Protectorate. I did. They all came from me. There is no story that I did not tell first.”

“You’re wrong. The tiger walks, the sisters said. I could hear them. They were talking about you, you know.”

The Head Sister turned quite pale. “Impossible,” she whispered.

“It was impossible for my child to still be alive,” the madwoman said, “and yet she is. And she was here. Recently. The impossible is possible.” She looked around. “I like this place,” she said.

“Give me those boots.”

“That’s another thing. Riding a flock of paper birds is impossible, and yet I did it. I don’t know where my birds are, but they’ll find their way back to me. And it was impossible for me to know where my baby went, yet I have the clearest picture of where she is. Right now. And I have a pretty good idea of how to get to her. Not in my head, you see, but in my feet. These boots. They’re ever so clever.”

“GIVE ME MY BOOTS,” the Head Sister roared. She balled her hands into two tight fists and raised them over her head. When she swept them back down, uncurling her fingers, they held four sharp knives. Without hesitating she reared back and snapped her hands forward, shooting the knife blades directly for the madwoman’s heart. And they would have struck, too, if the madwoman had not spun on one heel and taken three graceful leaps to the side.

“The boots are mine,” Sister Ignatia roared. “You don’t even know how to use them.”

The madwoman smiled. “Actually,” she said, “I believe I do.”

Sister Ignatia lunged at the madwoman, who took several windup steps in place before speeding away in a flash. And the Sister was alone.

A second crater began to plume. The ground shook so hard it nearly knocked Sister Ignatia to her knees. She pressed her hands against the rocky ground. It was hot. Any moment now. The eruption was almost here.

She stood. Smoothed her gown.

“Well then,” she said. “If that’s the way they want to play it, fine. I’ll play, too.”

And she followed the madwoman into the trembling forest.