The Poison Season, page 1
Praise for Luminous
“A beautiful, enchanting tale of a young woman coming into her own powers. Luminous shines as brightly as its heroine.”
—Joan He, New York Times bestselling author of The Ones We’re Meant to Find
“Shining prose, radiant characters, and a love story that burns bright.”
—Elly Blake, New York Times bestselling author of the Frostblood Saga
Mara Rutherford began her writing career as a journalist but quickly discovered she far preferred fantasy to reality. Originally from California, Mara has since lived all over the world with her marine-turned-diplomat husband. A triplet born on Leap Day, Mara holds a master’s degree in cultural studies from the University of London. When she’s not writing or chasing after her two sons, she can usually be found pushing the boundaries of her comfort zone, whether at a traditional Russian banya or an Incan archaeological site. The Poison Season is her fourth novel.
MaraRutherford.com
Books by Mara Rutherford
available from Inkyard Press
The Poison Season
Luminous
Crown of Coral and Pearl Series
Crown of Coral and Pearl
Kingdom of Sea and Stone
Mara Rutherford
The Poison Season
For Jack, my number one fan from the beginning.
I love you and everything is going to be okay.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Acknowledgments
Prologue
The wolf was not thinking of hunger as it chased its quarry through the dark woods, having feasted earlier that day on a large roe deer. It was driven by a sense of purpose, one that had infected its brain late last winter, when it had picked its way carefully across the ice to the wooded island that seemed so still and peaceful—and likely full of prey.
The wolf was not from this mountain. It had been born on another, not so far from here. The alpha had driven it from the pack, already aware that it would be competition someday. But the wolf hadn’t known that; it had only known that it was alone for the first time in its life. Alone, and hungry, and wanting...
There were no other wolves on this mountain. It had searched everywhere, but something about this Forest was not welcoming to wolves, or any other large predators, for that matter. It wasn’t a lack of prey; it was something in the Forest itself. A warning of some kind, that this place wasn’t for the likes of the wolf. But it was tired and hungry and searching, and so it had found itself on the island, padding about on silent feet, past the sleeping cottages and their unwitting inhabitants, which would have made a lovely meal. But the Forest told it, “No, they’re not for you, either.” And it had found itself in a pine grove in the island’s center.
The wolf had snuffled at the base of the trees, picking up the scent of old blood and new growth, deep below the Forest floor. The roots of the trees, which had been replenished in a ceremony not long before the first snowfall, were always alive, even when the rest of the island slept. Feeling safe and quiet for the first time in many months, the wolf lay down amid the roots and slept a long, dreamless sleep.
When the wolf awoke the next morning, it felt changed. It was no longer hungry or tired or lonely. It was as if the Forest itself had sustained the wolf in the night, and now the Forest bid it farewell, told it to go away from the island, before the lake thawed and it would be trapped. The Forest only asked one thing in return: that the wolf nourish the Forest the way it had nourished the wolf. And now the wolf, which was still young and still learning, would finally fulfill its duty.
As the island came into view, the wolf released a long, doleful howl and drove its quarry onward.
Chapter One
The Watchers stood on the lakeshore, peering through the heavy mist that hung low on the water this time of year, when winter was just thawing into spring. Across the lake, the outsiders’ voices were as hollow and mournful as a loon’s cry.
Sound had always traveled strangely on Endla.
“What do you think they’re doing?” Sage whispered against Leelo’s ear, sending a chill down her spine.
Leelo shook her head. It was impossible to tell through the fog. They’d only been Watchers for a few weeks, and so far they’d had no interaction with the villagers across the water. They shouldn’t even be here. They wouldn’t be here if it were spring. Winter had made them complacent.
She stretched and looked out at the few remaining ice floes, scattered like the reflections of clouds on the water’s glassy surface. The majority of the lake was too deep to freeze, and only the rare fool was bold enough to attempt the crossing. The carcasses of young migratory birds served as the occasional reminder—should anyone need it—of the lake’s magic. They washed up on the shore with their feathers and flesh eaten away by a poison so strong it could sink a wooden boat long before it would ever make it across.
“Maybe we’ll be lucky this year,” Leelo murmured, more to herself than Sage. “Maybe no one will come.”
Sage snorted. “They always come, cousin.” She tugged on Leelo’s blond braid and rose. “Come on. Our shift is over, and they’re not going anywhere for now. Let’s find Isola.”
They hadn’t seen their friend much over the winter, but Isola, who was a year older, had been finishing up her own mandatory year as Watcher. Now that Leelo had done it herself, she wouldn’t blame Isola if she spent an entire month hibernating. Watching was both boring and exhausting all at once.
Leelo followed Sage into the trees, the soles of her shearling-lined boots quickly becoming mired in the mud and dead leaves left behind by the melting snow. She hated this time of year. Everything was dirty and drab, even their clothing. She wouldn’t wear the bright, beautiful dresses her mother made until the spring festival.
Sage stopped to pluck a branch of red holly berries from a bush, quietly murmuring a prayer of thanks to the woods that provided so bountifully for Endla. As Watchers, it was their duty to protect their home from the merciless outsiders who had destroyed all but this, the last of the Wandering Forests. “We have to finish making our crowns. You haven’t even chosen a theme yet.”
Leelo sighed. “I still have time.”
She had always loved the spring festival, but now she clung to the days like a child at her mother’s skirt. The sooner it was spring, the sooner her little brother, Tate, would be leaving, unless by some miracle his magic emerged before then. Whenever she thought of Tate out there among the outsiders, she wanted to cry. Because if she wouldn’t be there to care for him, who would?
They left the main trail and made their way to Isola’s cottage, where Sage knocked briskly on the door. Nearly a minute passed before it opened a few inches, revealing Isola’s sleep-swollen face and tangled hair.
“What is it?” Her words came out as a croak, clearly the first she’d spoken this morning.
“We’re sorry.” Leelo ducked her head, already retreating. “We didn’t realize how early it was.”
“It isn’t early,” Sage said. “Isola is just lazy.”
Leelo nudged her cousin with her elbow, though Sage had never been known for her tact.
The girl blinked a few times, trying to rouse herself. “I didn’t sleep well, that’s all. What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be Watching?”
Sage shrugged. “Our shift ended. Nothing was happening, anyway.
A shadow passed over Isola’s gaze. “Nothing ever happens, until it does.”
It was such a strange thing to say that Leelo wondered if something had occurred on Isola’s Watch, something she and Sage had never heard about. It was entirely possible an outsider had attempted the crossing without all the younger islanders knowing. But any successful breach would have been announced. Outsiders caught by Watchers were always given a choice: the Forest or the lake. Either way, they were never heard from again.
A low voice called Isola’s name from inside the cottage before Leelo could ask what she meant.
“Sorry, that’s my father. I should go.”
Sage rolled her eyes and turned back to the woods, not even bothering with a goodbye. Isola shrugged an apology at Leelo, and she smiled in sympathy, having borne the brunt of Sage’s short temper for seventeen years.
Every rose has its thorn, her mother would remind Leelo after Sage had said or done something cruel. Her cousin was prickly, but she was also strong, intelligent, and fiercely loyal. If Leelo were ever in trouble, she knew Sage would come to her rescue, no questions asked.
They were almost back at their own cottage when movement in the bushes caught Leelo’s eye. A flash of dark hair and pale skin. She stopped and looked around as if she’d just had an idea.
“You’re right, I should get to work on my crown. Take my bow and tell Mama I’ll be home soon?” Sage and her mother had moved in with Leelo’s family when both of their fathers died in a hunting accident, when Tate was still a toddler. It wasn’t unusual for several generations of one family to live together on Endla, but it was rare that two women would be widowed so young, especially sisters.
Fortunately, Leelo’s mother, Fiona, and her aunt, Ketty, were resourceful women. Ketty had taken over tending to her family’s small flock of sheep, which produced the wool Leelo’s mother wove into clothing. Endlans traded for most of their possessions and food, so it was important to have a skill, something that few other people could provide. They weren’t the only shepherds, but Leelo’s mother made the finest woolen goods on the island. Together, the sisters were able to provide for their family, but winters were always lean.
“I can help,” Sage offered, but Leelo shook her head.
“No, no. Aunt Ketty will be expecting you. I won’t be long.”
“Suit yourself.” Sage hefted both bows and went into the house, the little string of bells they kept on the doorframe tinkling as she let the door fall shut behind her. It was several more minutes before Tate dared reveal himself, afraid he’d be caught shirking his duties by his strict aunt.
He had grown so much in the last year Leelo almost didn’t recognize him as the same raven-haired baby she’d helped raise. He was so beautiful he was often mistaken for a girl, at least until he was old enough to walk and people saw him clad in trousers, not skirts.
Ketty had given him his name, calling him as ugly as a potato when he was born. She said it so often that “Tate” stuck, even though everyone knew it wasn’t true. But sometimes, when Leelo’s mother was nursing him to sleep in the middle of the night, Leelo heard her call him Ilu, “precious one,” with a faraway look in her eyes that Leelo had never seen before.
“Come on, then,” Leelo said, waving her brother closer. “You can help me make a crown for the festival.”
He grinned, happy to be involved however he could. Islanders like Tate—incantu, they were called, or “voiceless”—weren’t allowed to attend the festival, even though he wasn’t quite old enough to be affected by the magic yet. Once an islander reached adolescence, generally around age twelve, they were susceptible. But even though she understood the reasoning behind it, Leelo hated the rule. As if the incantu didn’t feel like outcasts already.
They walked in silence for a while, until the trail faded into the undergrowth and they were forced to forge their own path. “What should I choose for my crown?” Leelo asked Tate. It was tradition for each young adult to decorate a crown honoring Endla’s flora or fauna, a way of symbolizing that they were all an important part of its ecosystem. Sage had decided on a deer. Mostly, Leelo surmised, as an excuse to wear something sharp.
Tate chewed on his lower lip for a moment, eager to come up with the right answer. “What about a fox?”
“Hmm... A bit too cunning for me, perhaps.”
He stared at his feet, thinking. “A squirrel?”
Leelo grinned and twitched her nose. “I was thinking of something a little less whiskery.” They had wandered close to the lake, but they weren’t in danger of encountering an outsider here, where the far shore was barely visible.
“A swan!” Tate said suddenly.
“Now, where would I get...” Leelo’s voice trailed off as she saw the cygnet floundering in the shallows. She glanced around, making sure they were alone, before picking up a muddy stick and hurrying toward the water.
“Careful!” Tate called, shrinking back. They were taught from the time they could walk to never go near the water, but the poison was always weaker at this time of year. Leelo suspected it had something to do with the ice melting, diluting the poison somehow, but she didn’t know for sure. All she knew was that the swan would die if she didn’t help it.
“Foolish fellow,” she said, trying to reach it with the stick. It had stopped struggling, its heart and lungs probably already damaged beyond repair. Finally, she managed to nudge the swan close enough that she could reach it.
Wrapping her hand in her cloak, she took a hold of the swan’s long, graceful neck. It was so weak it didn’t even struggle.
“Is it dead?” Tate asked, peering over her shoulder.
“Not yet, but I’m afraid it’s too late to save it.” Leelo’s fingers itched to stroke the gray down giving way to snowy white feathers. The creature was so beautiful she felt her eyes fill with tears. “The poor thing. It didn’t deserve to die this way.”
Every year, young birds made the mistake of landing on what appeared to be a pristine mountain lake, not realizing no fish lived in its waters, no plants grew in its shallows. Within a day, the birds were reduced to nothing but their hollow bones. Given long enough, even those would eventually dissolve. Leelo had never encountered a bird that was still alive before.
Feeling the creature’s life slip away in her hands was somehow worse than hunting, because this death was senseless. They couldn’t eat the meat, as it was already tainted by the poison.
After a few minutes, Tate placed his hand gently on his sister’s shoulder. “It’s not suffering anymore, Lo.”
She sniffed and dried her cheek on her shoulder. “I know.”
“Maybe you can wash the feathers and use them for your crown. Then a small piece of it will live on, in a way.”
Leelo turned to look into her brother’s brown eyes, her heart swelling at his gentle earnestness. She rose and pulled him into an embrace. “That’s a lovely idea,” she whispered against his soft hair. “Will you help me?”
He nodded. “Of course.”
Together, they rinsed the lifeless cygnet with fresh water from Leelo’s waterskin, then wrapped it in Leelo’s cloak before heading back toward the house. On the way, Tate gathered a few thin branches from the Forest floor, supple enough to bend into a crown. Leelo pointed out some brilliant blue berries that would make the perfect adornment. Tate plucked half a dozen, whispered a prayer, and placed them in his pocket for safekeeping.
When they were nearly at the house, Tate stopped to tie his bootlace and motioned for Leelo to kneel down next to him.
“What is it?” she asked.
He kept his voice low, though they were still alone. “Aunt Ketty is watching from the window.” Leelo knew well enough not to look up. “She hates me.”
“She doesn’t hate you,” Leelo assured him. “She’s just Ketty.”
He frowned. “She’s going to wonder what we were doing.”
“I’ll tell her I asked for your help. Don’t worry, little brother.”
“I’m scared.”
Leelo knew he wasn’t talking about their aunt anymore. She reached out and cupped the dwindling roundness of his cheek for just a moment. “If it’s any consolation, so am I.”
