“The guardian of Tuonela?” he repeated stupidly. “But not this Tuonela.”
“No. That is just a name. Tuonela is there.” Suru pointed to the far shore, invisible behind snow and the storm of birds. “I have never left it unguarded. Until now.”
“But—why?”
“I wished to see the other shore. But I had never fallen, or imagined that I could.” He lifted his head to stare at the wheeling birds. “They cannot return until I do. And it will be a terrible thing if they do not return.”
“They’re migrating, that’s all.” Philip’s voice cracked. “Birds fly south in autumn, the storm confused them—”
“They are not birds. I must go back.” Suru extended his hand. “Come with me.”
“I—I can’t. I’ll freeze—I’ll die.”
“You will not die with me. But—”
The boy gestured in the direction of the lodge. A gust of wind stirred the trees, and for the first time Philip could see the glow of yellow windows in the frigid night.
“If you wish to return there,” said Suru, “you must travel alone.”
The boy fell silent. After a moment he went on in a low voice. “I do not want to leave you here, alone. You saved me from exile. In exchange I have given you a gift.”
One finger reached to touch Philip’s forehead, and again icy flame blazed beneath Philip’s skin.
“You’re insane,” said Philip. “Or I am.”
He pulled away, then drove his fingernails into his palm, trying to wake himself; stamped his bad foot upon the frozen ground, a motion that should have sent him reeling.
But just as he no longer felt cold, he could no longer feel pain. The boy’s touch had drawn that from him, as well.
You saved me. In exchange I have given you a gift….
The wind died. Night once more claimed the glowing windows. Philip stared at the darkness that hid the lodge, that hid everything and everyone he had ever known.
Life did not work like this, love did not work like this. Philip knew that. Only stories did, where wonder trumped despair and desire overcame death. The fairy’s kiss, the sacrificial faun; enchanted swans and shoes that sliced like blades, like ice. That was why he had become a dancer, not just to dream of fellowship and flight, but to partake, however fleetingly, in something close to ecstasy—and how long since he had experienced that?
Even if he hadn’t lost his mind—even if this was somehow real, some crazed dream-bargain he’d made with his unconscious—he couldn’t imagine leaving it all behind. How could he leave Emma and their shared childhood? Or the young dancers he’d taught and promised to see when he returned to the city; the city itself, and the little world that nested inside it, with its hierarchy of striving men and women, ballet masters and earnest intructors who might never take the stage again but still couldn’t bring themselves to abandon it completely.
If something opens up, you know we’ll find a place for you.
“This gift.” Philip glanced at Suru. “If I go back, will it—will I still have it?”
The boy nodded, and Philip flexed his leg tentatively.
He could go back. Even if he couldn’t return to his old position, he could look for other work, a smaller company, some private school in the suburbs.
Or he could stay here until he found something. Emma would love it, and Sam. He could see spring for the first time at Tuonela. Wild geese and swallows returning from their winter migration; a solitary swan plying blue water, dark ripples in its wake.
He took a deep breath and turned to where Suru stood, waiting.
“I’ll go with you.”
Suru took his hand and drew him to his side, then led him, slowly, along the water’s edge. Before them the thread of moonlight wove between stones and ice-skimmed pools, frozen cattails and snow-covered spruce and birch. Birds filled the sky, not just waterfowl but owls and ravens, gulls and hawks, great crested herons and tiny kinglets and scissor-winged swallows that soared and skimmed above the lake but never touched its surface.
Pinwheels of snow spun in their wake, extinguished by the black waters of Tuonela. With every step that Suru took, more birds appeared. The air became a living whirlwind, wings and shrill chatter, whistles and croaks; over it all a solitary, heartrending song like a mockingbird’s, that ended in a convulsive throb of grief or joy.
Philip didn’t know how long they walked. Hours, perhaps. The moon never seemed to move from where it shone above the far shore. Snow blew across the moonlit path, but no more fell from the sky. The birds no longer sang, though Philip still felt the rush of untold wings. He was neither tired nor chilled; whenever his hand brushed Suru’s, cold fire flashed through his veins.
The snow grew very deep, so powdery it was like swimming through drifts of cloud. Overhead, evergreen branches made a pattern like frost crystals against the stars. The trees grew taller, and Philip now saw that each had been slashed as with an ax, two deep grooves that formed a V. Suru touched one, withdrew a white finger glistening with sap and fragrant as balsam.
“These mark the border,” he said. “We are within Tuonela now.”
They walked on. Gradually, the distant shore came into view. A long rock-strewn beach and towering pines, stands of birch larger than any Philip had ever seen. Behind the beach rose a sheer black cliff hundreds of feet tall, dappled silver where moonlight touched fissures and ragged outcroppings.
Suru halted. He stared at the desolate trees and that impassable wall of stone, the onyx waves lapping at the beach. Above the cliff countless birds circled restlessly. The great pines bowed beneath the wind of their flight.
“We are nearly there,” said Suru.
He turned to Philip and smiled. The flesh melted from his face. Sparks flickered within empty eye sockets; his mouth opened onto a darkness deeper than the sky. He was neither boy nor swan but bone and flame.
Yet he was not terrible, and he bowed as he took Philip’s hand, indicating where a deep ravine split the ground a short distance from where they stood. A stream rushed through the channel, tumbling over rocks and bubbles of ice, before plunging in a shining waterfall that spilled into the lake. A fallen birch tree spanned the cleft. Ribbons of mottled bark peeled from its trunk, and there were jagged spurs where branches had broken or rotted away.
“I will cross before you,” he said. “Wait until I have reached the other side. Do not look down.”
Philip shook his head. “I can’t.”
His tongue seemed to freeze against the roof of his mouth as he stared into the ravine, those knife-edged rocks and roaring cataract. At its center a whirlpool spun, a dreadful mouth gaping at the moon overheard.
Suru lifted a fleshless hand. “You must. All things make this crossing.” He pointed to where the birds wheeled against the sky. “That is their road. This is mine. No living thing has ever taken it with me. That is my second gift to you.”
Before Philip could reply, Suru turned. His arms stretched upward, all bones and light as he crouched, then leapt above the chasm. For an instant his skull merged with the moon, and a face gazed pityingly down upon the man who remained on the shore.
Then moonlight splintered the cage of bone. Feathers unfurled in a glory of wings that rose and fell, slowly at first, then more and more swiftly, until the night sky fell back before them and light touched the clifftops. The great pines kindled red and gold as thousands upon thousands of birds dove toward the surface of the lake and landed, the cliffs ringing with their cries.
“Come!”
Philip looked up to see the great swan hovering above the far shore, its eyes no longer black but blazing argent. The terrifying joy he’d felt earlier returned. For a second he closed his eyes, trying to summon every memory of the world behind him.