"Heather, it's me!" Veronica screamed.
The blow, Heather thought, was mostly aimed at her, but Duke as she was now - the Iron Duchess - didn't seem to care about Veronica getting in the way. The metal colossus attacked without mercy or discrimination.
Heather ran for it. She launched another fireball in the giant's direction. The Iron Duchess didn't notice it any more than she would a puff of air. Her flames weren't hot enough to penetrate that mass of metal; Heather grimly thought that nothing would be. Her knees and arms were scraped and bleeding, rolling around among thorns to get away.
Make it to the door and to the hell with it, Heather thought. Not that she'd trust any of the idiots that surrounded her to clean up this fucking mess. Heather was between the door and the giant, thinking whether to make a coward's move and run while she still could, demanding more from herself than that.
The giant deliberately raised an iron foot. She brought it down on the silver flicker, on the fine scrollwork edging about the portal. It splintered into a broken, dark mess. No one was escaping. A vast iron hand reached out in Heather's direction once more.
At least she could bring smoke as well as fire. Heather made a wall of black smoke to cover herself and ran for it again, while the Iron Duchess struck at the next enemy she could see.
The Paladin left her sword sheathed. She was in front of Martha and Heather McNamara, putting her shield in the way of a fierce blow. The silver metal buckled in one strike. She fell aside, rolling over thorns. The shield was crumpled, broken as she picked it up again. The silver star and painted rose were ruined and indistinguishable, a mass of scrap metal.
Martha made a set of complicated gestures with her hands. What looked like a lump of clay in her palm burst into a cloud of dust, flying around where the iron giant's eyes should have been. Heather could tell that she tried to deceive it, compel it to seek a different direction, but it wasn't working. Veronica got up from the ground and tried something similar, her voice rising higher and hoarser.
"Stop it come back with us we will help you you are not a monster - " Veronica tried to shout. The giant's footfall rose above her head. Heather set the ground under the other leg aflame, burning a hole below the giant. It lost its footing and stumbled just enough to let Veronica run.
The little grey creature from the West had left, fucked off into some pathetic little crevice or other. Heather glared at the sickly-saintly-good thing called the Star that was left, resting at its cardinal point, hands tucked inside in a pristine white robe.
"Help us," she said. "You say you're the forces of good and light and fluffy kittens. Then save my friends and help your precious Paladin."
The Star's silver eyes didn't have pupils or sclera or whites, and yet they looked at Heather almost like that fucking counselor did after Martha's death, like J.D. reaching into her and knowing what she felt without having to ask. As if it knew Heather's blood-guilt and her petty cruelties, how often she'd knock others down like bowling pins for sport and to make herself feel stronger.
"Stop her," Heather asked, laying down her pride. Martha and Heather McNamara were on their knees behind a thorn bush. "I'll trade something with you if you stop her."
The Star spoke cool and calm and levelly to her. "There is one way I can grant that particular request. Do you ask a boon to kill the girl that you turned into this?"
"For fuck's sake don't kill her," Heather said. What was the Star's excuse - some bullshit I'm-so-powerful-unleash-me-and-it's-nuclear-or-nothing? Or even worse, it was a smug I'm-teaching-you-a-moral-lesson-here-you-lowly-mortal.
Heather went back into the fray. She tried to fire the ground even deeper, trap Heather Duke in a black ash pit, but she wasn't strong enough. Her power began to exhaust her and her fireballs faltered. The Iron Duchess turned its attention once more to her. The Paladin finally drew and raised her sword. It was a toothpick held against the giant's butcher knife as if she could somehow block it with pure heroic resolve or some shit like that. For a moment the two blades met, a tiny silver sting and a vast mass of steel. It only lasted a moment. The Paladin's sword shattered, and the Iron Duchess knocked her flat yet again. Another ant crushed in her way.
Martha pushed Heather McNamara back, as if she could protect her. She made another gesture, calling on whatever ghostly powers she had. Broken thorns clambered up the Iron Duchess' legs, tangling together like black rope. But the bonds were too weak to do more than mildly inconvenience the giant. They broke and split apart in a moment. The Thorn Lady had fulfilled her promise to give power. Heather McNamara helped Martha up the hill.
Heather stumbled, fell. This time her bleeding knees refused to bring her up from the ground. The fire in her was only a dribble of a few ashes, now. The Iron Duchess raised her sword for another blow. Veronica and J.D. dragged Heather out of the way. The ground shook with an earthquake and the Iron Duchess sunk her blade twenty feet into the earth.
"You're supposed to have a power too," Veronica argued with J.D. "Do something, dammit! You idiotic slug - "
"It's not exactly helpful to know she doesn't feel any pain!" J.D. snapped. "Or much of anything."
Fucking useless power. I knew it from the start, Heather thought. They were going to die here. Heather set off a useless fireball over the Iron Duchess' eye.
"No. It helps," Veronica said. Her mouth curved in her I'm smarter than you and have a plan grin. "Don't fight her. Sometimes the only way to win is to give in. Star!" she called out. "I crave a boon. I'm told I have potential for power. Might I trade that power ... for a chance to bring my friend back?"
The Star uncoiled hands from sleeves, spoke a few soft words. Veronica was bathed in silver light. She became the cynosure of all eyes, the center of everyone's gaze. Even the Iron Duchess had eyes only for her.
"Stand down," Veronica commanded. Though her voice wasn't shaped by any compulsion, it carried and sung. The balance shifted toward her, the world hanging in waiting. The Iron Duchess raised her sword as if to bring it down on Veronica's head. And yet something stopped her from lowering it in a last deadly blow. "I won't fight, Heather. Can you kill someone who is powerless, someone who trusts you?" Veronica raised empty hands, palms flat in the air, moving like a line of lilting melody in a song. "Will you still fight if no one is fighting you?"
No killing blow had struck yet.
"You traded away longing," Veronica said. "You lost a heart of flesh." She walked fearlessly toward the giant. For that moment they could breathe, waiting, watching. She seemed to shine with an inner light. "I traded away my power, and I can give a heart back to you. It's the only trade where there are no penalties and no payments, and what is given is indistinguishable from what is received."
Closer she came, to where the iron giant could strike her down with a single careless flick, a fly buzzing up and offering itself to the swatter. Powerless and yearning, risking her life, reaching out to save someone she still cared about. Perhaps she cared about her more than any other.
"Put down your sword. Take my hand," Veronica said. The Iron Duchess stood stock-still.
The iron gauntlet moved. Heather held her breath. Was that a loosening, untightening in the gigantic iron fingers? She wanted to see it, so of course she would conjure that faint shift of shadowed grey to be a favorable omen. She couldn't save Veronica from this when it went wrong; no one could.
A slow uncurling. A gradual reaching for something beyond battles and power and dominance. The vast hand shifted, freed its grip piece by piece from the hilt of that deadly sword. The hilt trembled like the branch of a tuning fork. It teetered on the edge. Then it fell to the ground, a deadly thing that they had to flee, scattering clods of earth and thorns about as it dropped.
Heather Duke asked for help for once in her life. Iron hand met a hand of flesh.
Another flash of light, silver washing over the landscape. Heather had to blink and look aside, blinded. The outlines of the iron giant faded away. She was diminished, washed out and brought down to a human's height. Tints of pink flesh replaced grey adamant. Veronica's gift of longing had replaced the Thorn Lady's boon. A powerless - but much more pleasant - Heather Duke.
She held Veronica's hand and crushed it tight between her fingertips. "I told you to take power but you gave it away," she said. Her voice caught as if she was sobbing. "Because of me?"
Veronica showed off a heroic shrug. "I won the argument," she quipped.
The hand-holding turned into a pulverizing hug, and then somehow a messy, dirt-and-lipstick-stained kiss.
The Star bowed their head, almost as if in reverence. "An act of love and sacrifice. The door opens once more."
Wonderful. Not just true love, but epic, fairy-tale, save-the-day true love, Heather thought. I give them 'till graduation, tops.
Veronica and Duke disappeared, back to the real world, waking up from their dream but holding each other all the while. Martha walked Heather McNamara up to the gateway.
"Wait," McNamara said. "You were in my body, before. Couldn't you ... couldn't it be you that goes back to Earth?"
She sounded sincere, not putting on a case of altruistic stupidity for the Star's or anyone else's approval. She looked at Martha like she would a bosom buddy, not an enemy or a joke.
"It sounds like you were better at being me," McNamara said. "If everyone jumped off a cliff, I probably would too. You didn't make anyone kill themselves. You probably aren't failing math. You should be the one to go through that door."
It looked as if McNamara and the spite ghost had bonded. Heather kept her expression and red-hot feeling about that locked away inside her. You're never making that swap because I won't let you, Heather, she thought.
Martha Dunnstock put a comforting hand on McNamara's shoulder. "You need to go back. Your canary loves you. I saw that when I was being you. And Heather Chandler ... she did risk her life to come and save you. You're not worthless, Heather. You want to be friends?"
"I'd like that," McNamara said. "How would that work?"
"I'm dead, but it's not all bad," Martha said. "There is something that lies beyond this, and I'll be there. Go back in peace. Give that canary a treat for me."
"At least you could wait a while," McNamara said. "I mean wait a while for me to come back, after I'm old and stuff. It would be nice to have a friend waiting for me. You could help other people trapped here."
Martha mulled it over. "Looks like my afterlife is going to be empty without the revenge plans. I'll have time to try something else. Perhaps I could be a paladin's squire." Martha and the Paladin exchanged a pleasant look, sizing up one another and almost immediately liking what they saw.
"Good. See you later." McNamara folded Martha in a bear hug and tripped lightly through the silver door.
Martha didn't have anything more to say to Heather, but she caught at J.D.'s sleeve as he passed by. "Before you go, you need to know that your father is dying," she said. "I don't know that he'll end up here. Most people don't, but there's a chance."
J.D.'s expression barely changed, though he ought to have felt something, whether it was relief or loss or gloating. Heather felt bizarrely sickened by the lack of display. He inclined his head to the Paladin and spoke quietly. "Can you make sure my mom doesn't have to deal with him?"
"I'll do my best."
Then like the others J.D. put himself against the silver door in the air. Only this time, it was as if he'd put his hand on glass. It wouldn't break and let him through, for all he tried.
"Chandler - " He gestured to Heather. She put a hand through easily; she felt the way part for her, felt the pull of her own hand on a wooden table about to give her a splinter. Heather McNamara, Veronica and Duke even if she didn't always like them, her parents, her life in Westerburg - Heather Chandler had every reason to go back. She withdrew. She grabbed J.D.'s hand and tried to drag him through with her, but she felt an impassable barrier there no matter what she tried.
"I warned you," the Paladin said, gently enough, but utterly impersonal - she felt as if she was talking to a stranger. She kept her distance, not even walking close to them. "If there is nothing you care for, you cannot return to your world."
J.D. turned away bitterly. "Well, that leaves one free fucking body," he said. "You looking for one to rent, Martha? Might as well take it."
"No. Like the Paladin said, you need to find something you love enough to return to the world."
He raised a scornful eyebrow.
"We're not so different," Martha said. "I despaired, and turned it on myself. You would have turned it on other people as well. I was wrong about you. I think we could have been friends."
"That doesn't help."
Heather looked back. A grey, spindling figure raised his hand. Grey Willows would have his bond, and J.D. shuffled back toward him.
"No, asshole," Heather snapped. "I brought you into this world and I'm not leaving alone. We'll think of something."
There came a disturbance in the silver door. Not on their side; a thing from the other side. The surface of the door rippled, flamed into a painfully bright red-gold. That which emerged from it wasn't human - or at least, didn't look like any real human normally did in life. A glowing, magnificent woman, or at least the shape of one, her body sheathed in unending fire that showed almost no features or weaknesses.
The Fire Woman.
Heather's grandmother. Heather's own power turned to fire in this world, so she guessed it wasn't too different for Grandma Chandler. But she looked like a living candlestick instead of like a person, her power flowing dangerously around her, drawing attention and dominating above them all.
Heather thought: So this is what she really is, on the inside.
"You're late, Heather," the Fire Woman said. "What's the hold-up?"
"A lot of talk about the Fire Woman, and finally we glimpse a glimmer of the burning pinwheel," Grey Willows said, and giggled.
She ignored him magnificently, and held out a burning hand to Heather. "Come with me. You've achieved your goal and I will help you cross the barrier."
"You trapped me," Heather accused. "You trapped all of us in crappy fights. I bet we could've avoided all the trouble ... "
"Challenges that you all overcame with brio," her grandmother said.
"I didn't know you were a real person before," Martha said. She looked at Heather's grandmother with a hint of fear on her face. "I thought the Fire Woman was one who exists but was never born, an archetype from dreams taken form - like the other Cardinals. I even thought she was my teacher."
"I taught you well," the Fire Woman said. "Didn't you get everything that you wanted? You learned for yourself that vengeance wasn't what you truly needed." When Martha didn't reply, she turned back to her granddaughter. "Hurry, child; perfectly good gateways don't open every day."
"You forgot someone," Heather said.
"Jason," her grandmother called. J.D. hung his head, standing next to the wizened grey creature. He didn't look up.
"I'm afraid I made a mistake with that boy." The Fire Woman made a sigh and a shrug. "His wish for death is his own. Don't blame yourself for him, Heather. If I hadn't sent him here he would have ended himself some other way, perhaps a worse one. He was never your responsibility to fix, and you were at least kinder to him than you were to Martha. You know that you're drowning in this place. Take my help and save yourself before you can save others."
She stepped toward the door. Heather reflexively took a step forward, mirroring her. Then a deep bass-baritone voice flared past both of them, like the rushing wind.
"No. You will both stay until I have my bond."
An exceedingly irritated gargantuan toad, its right eye still dripping tears, paced up to the clearing. It stood there, panting, slimy sides heaving with exertion. It looked out of place between the dry, broken thorns, its large body dripping moisture and mud, looking if anything rather uglier than the last time Heather had seen it. "You broke our contract," the Toad in the Well accused the Fire Woman.
"You sold me to a giant toad!" Heather complained. "And people think I'm the ungrateful granddaughter. My dad is so going to hear about this one."
"Be quiet a moment, dear." The Fire Woman nodded at the toad. "I take it you found my granddaughter annoying. She's excellent at that."
"I founded your wealth and you made a bargain with me," the toad croaked. "You will pay for what I have endured - my eye, my children burnt - you will most certainly pay, mark my words."
"She was annoying enough to bring you here alone," the Fire Woman repeated. "Alone and away from your well and its protections."
The toad caught on. There was a flicker of consternation in its bulbous eyes. It flinched back. But that was only for a moment - then the Fire Woman released her power on him.
The toad flamed. It barely managed a scream before its throat must have burnt through. Flame devoured it. Heather smelt BBQ toad: vaguely like chicken, vaguely like caf mystery roast.
Definitely never eating that again.
The flames diminished. Heather saw charred black flesh with white bone protruding from it. Next the Toad in the Well seemed to collapse in on itself, the burnt corpse disappearing to wherever dead things in this world might disappear. It was obvious he was gone, wiped off the game board, and become an ex-toad. Heather hadn't chosen to try to stop it: he'd wanted to keep her as a prisoner.
"Well done, Heather," the Fire Woman said. "Now come."
"Not without answering to me," the Paladin said. She was a battered knight as she made her way over to stand by them. Her lovely silver shield was twisted and broken, her armor filthy and dented, her sword missing. "You should never have sent these children here. Speak to the Convocation about what you have done."
"Out of my way," the Fire Woman said. "You have no power over me."
The Star's head tilted upward. Their long pale fingers made a sketch in the air like a cat's cradle on string. "She speaks true, Paladin. The Toad was a denizen and never mortal. The Fire Woman has broken no bond and bears no blood guilt - not even in her past. In law you cannot touch her."
"Laws can be wrong," the Paladin said.
Heather frowned, wondering what she was missing. Her grandmother had power; how could she not have killed someone? She hadn't denied it when Heather talked to her. It could have been an accident, but that would still have counted as spilt blood, wouldn't it? Great-Grandmother Chandler had the same power and she was murdered by her servants, leaving her daughter behind. It must've been hell being a daughter raised by someone who could force you to obey. J.D. couldn't feel emotions off Heather's grandmother; maybe she used that technique to lock guilt and other conflicting feelings away.
Grandma Chandler seemed in an awful hurry now. "Heather, come," she repeated. She didn't have to add the other half of that: Heather, come or else I'll order your friends to do something really nasty. Heather had just seen her kill without hesitation or guilt.
"Think of something, dammit," she told J.D., hoping against hope he'd finally listen to her. She looked back at him just before she stepped through the door with her grandmother. Already he was with Grey Willows. His eyes were half-lidded, as if he was in a doze. The wizened grey creature had a hand wrapped around his neck in a parody of affection or dependence, too close. Then she was through the door, her grandmother pulling her by the wrist.
Heather felt fire surround her. Colours swirled around them and she had no idea which way was down or up. She tried to reach for something physical, feel the table like she'd felt before, but the flames surrounded her. They didn't burn or hurt her. Warmth enveloped her like a blanket and Heather felt almost like going to sleep. Like hell I'd ever sleep in a blankie with my grandmother watching, she thought. She could feel her grandmother's power - not stronger than her own, but far more fine-tuned and practiced and skilled like a razor-edged scalpel - and then she felt something like cords binding her.
Another bargain, signed and sealed. Heather could almost hear the dry dead crackling of the Thorn Lady's laughter. A bargain that included her. She struggled, but her grandmother must have long planned for this to happen.
Heather woke up. She looked down at a smashed cup between her hands, tasted a bitter ashy taste in her mouth. She raised her head. Her vision was blurry. She could see Heather McNamara and Veronica and Duke already stirring, stretching in their chairs, restless.
"Sleep," somebody commanded. Heather struggled against her own eyelids. The others' heads collapsed to the table like discarded Barbies. The voice had sounded weird to Heather, too high and too breathy, not what she was used to hearing. But it was familiar too.
With a shock of vertigo, Heather looked at the young woman across the table. She looked like a young Grandma Chandler might have done, once. She was lusciously pretty and dazzingly confident, wearing the red jacket Heather had chosen for herself that morning. She spoke through watermelon-pink lips with Heather's own favorite lipgloss. She was Heather Chandler and she was -
Heather looked down at old, wrinkled fingers. They were her own hands. No, her grandmother's hands. She could barely move them; they fluttered out of her control and ached painfully.
Her grandmother - Heather Chandler facing Heather Chandler - nodded almost companionably at her. "I'm afraid I put something extra in my own tea," she said. "It should take its full effect soon. Since my body was mine when I poisoned myself, I doubt I'll bear any stain for my suicide."
Heather cursed her, but the words came out tangled. Her heart beat slowly and raggedly. She looked across with hatred at her own body - at the person who had stolen everything from her. She was meant to die here, die old and ugly and in despair, her grandmother to walk out with youth and beauty and power and life. That last seemed the cruellest of all. Heather Chandler did not want to die.
"Good night, dear."
—
"For in love there are no penalties and no payments, and what is given is indistinguishable from what is received." - Eleanor Farjeon, Martin Pippin in the Apple Orchard