A Crown as Sharp as Pines
Copyright 2022 Jennifer Kropf
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All places, characters, and ideas are completely crafted by the author’s imagination-powers and if it so happens that someone pretty important in this book reminds you of a deity figure that happens to also be all powerful, mighty, and forgiving of sins then that was most definitely an accident.
(Or was it?)
No parts of this book are to be reproduced without the author’s written consent, with the exception of quotes or short excerpts for promotional purposes.
For more information on books published by
Winter Publishing House, please visit:
www.WinterPublishingHouse.com
ISBN EBOOK: 978-1-990555-03-9
ISBN PAPERBACK: 978-1-990555-04-6
HARDCOVER: 978-1-990555-05-3
Find the special Winter novella,
“Merrily Merrily”
at the back of this book
Contents
PROLOGUE
THE FIRST
THE SECOND
THE FIRST INTERRUPTION
THE THIRD
THE SECOND INTERRUPTION
THE FOURTH
THE FIFTH
THE SIXTH
AN INTERRUPTION
THE SEVENTH
THE NEXT INTERRUPTION
THE EIGHTH
THE FIFTH INTERRUPTION
THE NINTH
THE TENTH
THE ELEVENTH
ANOTHER INTERRUPTION
THE TWELFTH
THE THIRTEENTH
A MIDDLE-ISH INTERRUPTION
THE FOURTEENTH
THE FIFTEENTH
THE SIXTEENTH
THE EIGHTH INTERRUPTION
THE SEVENTEENTH
THE EIGHTEENTH
THE NINTH INTERRUPTION
THE NINETEENTH
THE TENTH INTERRUPTION
THE TWENTIETH
A TRITE-ISH INTERRUPTION
THE TWENTY-FIRST
AN INTERRUPTION
THE TWENTY-SECOND
A WEEK OR THREE LATER…
MERRILY MERRILY
A WINTER STORY
.
PROLOGUE
A spark is how this story begins.
‘Twas a glow of faith, no shinier than a silver spoon, no larger than a mustard seed, quiet for a measure until it was touched by a mighty spirit and given wings. The spark flapped to seek out the youthful heart for which it had been gifted, bringing with it the warmth of a new and glorious morn’.
When the spark landed, it got to work tugging the youthful heart this way and that, wrestling with opposition, calling wickets, and the sputters of doubt in the wind, and setting to lead the fair Trite girl into a destiny unrecognized by any wool-eyed, important theologian.
When little Kaley Bell awoke from the night’s hushed middle, she felt a warm tug in her heart, a beat in her soul, and a purpose on her fingertips. She did not know what it was that had changed that morning, only that a thing had changed. She had the sudden and most unexplainable craving for sweets.
Dreaming of sugar, she climbed from her bed and followed the invisible string tugging her spirit out to her car.
An early-morning haze lingered in the streets of Stratford where Kaley stood a measure later, staring up at a candy store with big, forest-green eyes.
“Hello?” she called toward the dim windows in her birdsong voice.
Making a fluttery decision, she tugged the golden handle and found it unlocked, releasing the scent of sugar powder and maple sweets into the street.
The moment her spring sandals touched the hardwood floors, the quiet shop buzzed to life; candles lit and strings of bulbs spurted to a glow above, illuminating high shelves stacked with all the sweets one could dream of.
She searched the store for an owner, finding the counters left unattended and the maze of warm shelves absent of souls. Over by a decorative pine tree, a toot filled the shop, and an infant-sized toy train rounded on a silver track amidst the prickly branches. Tufts of glitter spat from the train’s pipes as it disappeared back beneath a curtain of green needles and came out the other side, aiming toward a staircase at the store’s edge.
Stealing one last glance at the empty Stratford street, Kaley followed the train.
The locomotive lit the way up the stairs with pea-sized headlights and into an unlit hall where a glow seeped beneath a large door. Kaley did not notice the train wander off, its horn disappearing from her mind. An embellished “W” was painted on the door’s wooden exterior.
For a reason she could not explain, Kaley felt she ought to knock. But the moment her knuckles tapped the wood, the door swung open, and light filled her vision. She shielded her eyes, peering through the radiance at the slender silhouette of a creature with violet wings. She was sucked in by a warm wind.
SEVERAL FULL QUARTERS LATER
AND YET, ALMOST NO TIME LATER AT ALL
(TIME IS A FUNNY THING)
Kaley flipped a page aged with water marks and crinkles. A low hum accompanied the book; constant, warm, and soothing. Her finger followed the lines best it could with the words hopping about and the sentences curling into twists, creating a path one had to turn the book upside down to follow.
“Have you heard about the magic cylinder that plays to the heartbeat of the Truth itself?” a book whispered from the stack to Kaley’s right. “Painted red to hide its power and—”
“Quiet,” Kaley scolded the book, for ‘twas the seventh time that pesky thing had interrupted her reading that morning. Kaley was certain she would slap it across the time pocket if it did not shut up.
“Have you heard about the magic wreath that—”
“Un—real.” Kaley dropped the book in her hands and reached to dig the chatty Volume out from the pile so she might stuff it under a blanket.
A sharp pop reverberated through the time pocket, and her fingers stilled. Kaley’s gaze darted to where a smoky haze leaked through a fresh crack in the pocket’s shell. This new crack was larger than the thread-thin ones that had appeared over the last two quarters. She jumped when it popped again, watching the crack channel across the shell. A shard of the pocket broke off and her heart stopped.
A breath of wind rushed in from the unlit basement beyond, brushing along Kaley’s neck. She stared at the gap—just big enough for her to slip through, should she wish to try.
But she could not. Before Porethius Plum had left Kaley to read through the Volumes of Wisdom, the fairy had instructed, “Do not leave this time pocket for any reason.” For, as Porethius was not a true time overseer, she had not been able to stop time completely outside of the pocket she had created—only slow it down. ‘Twas why the thing kept cracking.
The soft sound of distant shouts reached her ears, bringing Kaley to shift her footing. Her fingers fell from the book, and she moved to the gap, studying the jagged edges of the shell that looked as sharp as glass. But they felt soft and rubbery beneath her thumb. She tugged at them, finding them stretchy. She nearly had the time pocket yanked back together when a clang echoed through the dark room beyond, and a scream followed.
Kaley’s attention darted into the dimness, to the breath of light curving ‘round the staircase at the end of the room. The clanging continued, the shouts increasing. She let the fabric of the pocket slip from her hands and trained her eyes on the spiral staircase as she stepped into the dark basement, past the warm dome she had dwelled in for a good measure.
At the foot of the stairs, a clang and a crash from above drew her to creep up. ‘Round and ‘round she went until she came to a room of stained-glass windows and carved end tables, with an arched opening that reminded her of a modest church lobby. The clattering thrummed in Kaley’s ears as she inched to the arch to spy into the next room. When she saw what lay beyond, her blood ran cold.
Six boys with pointed-toe boots and raven-black coats stood back-to-back among tipped over wooden benches and mounds of shattered stained glass.
Kaley stumbled back.
Limbs burst from a black mist overhead, lapping up boys like hungry tongues until only one remained. The blackness hovered over the last boy, and a low, beastly voice whispered from the darkness.
The boy tossed his staff to the floor, drawing forth a set of medallions with trembling hands. “Glory to Elowin,” he gritted. He smashed the medallions together and popping sounds echoed through the room. White snow surged in through a broken window, covering the boy like a hand, and when it settled, the boy in raven-black had vanished.
Kaley couldn’t breathe. The coil of blackness turned, and she felt a set of unseen eyes spot where she peeked ‘round the arch. She fled, clamouring down the spiral staircase, hearing wind and shadow rage down the stairs behind her.
She raced across the basement floor, bursting into the time pocket and grabbing the jagged edges of the gap. She pulled the fabric together, releasing a cry until the ends sealed, halting the furious shadow that lay beyond.
Kaley tripped back a step, knocking over her chair.
The black cloud filled the basement, dark and infinite, tendrils curling slowly in sluggish time. At the cusp of the shadow, the edge of a large, engraved helmet peeked from the mist, with metal arches o’er the eyes. But there were no eyes inside.
All was quiet, apart from Kaley’s heavy breathing. And then, from the back of the pocket, a Volume piped up:
“Have you heard about the broken star turned to fools’ gold and guarded by eight hands or feet?”
THE FIRST
On the last day of June, there was a knock on Aunt Sylvia’s front door. I trotted down the grand staircase to answer it, expecting another parcel from Quinn’s shopping splurges. But when I opened the door, Kaley was there.
“Uh…Come in?” I joked. “Did you forget how to walk through a door since you snuck out at five o’clock this morning?”
“Five o’clock this morning? I’ve only been gone for a day?” Kaley asked with a bizarre look, and I raised an eyebrow.
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked, stepping onto the porch. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
There was a crease between Kaley’s brows, the edges of her mouth were tipped down, and I glanced past her to the street, wondering if she’d been followed home or was in some kind of trouble.
“Helen,” she finally rasped after too much silence.
My sister burst into an elaborate story about how she’d been pulled through a shop door in Stratford by wind and had appeared in a basement. She spoke of a fairy named Porethius Plum who’d asked her to read and remember the Volumes of Wisdom, which she’d spent four months doing in a time pocket. It sounded like an impossible task she’d been given after an impossible story. Because no one could cross back over into Winter when the intersects were closed.
Even though the more she spoke, the clearer it became that what she was telling me was true, I couldn’t get past the one thing that rang out from her story the loudest:
She’d been to Winter. My Winter. Without me.
After all these years, my aunt had finally found her brain and begrudgingly invited us to live in her enormous house until we found something else, after the region’s health and safety board had deemed Grandma’s house “unfit for occupancy” and forced us to leave last February. Moving day had been the worst. I couldn’t have listened to Quinn’s complaints or subtle jabs about us not belonging for a moment longer. I knew full well that the Bell children didn’t quite belong anywhere.
“What did you do to your room?!” Sylvia’s scold tore my nose up from the violet tome in my hands. Her horrified face took in the evenly spaced-apart papers that covered the floor, the half-filled mugs of cold coffee abandoned on my dresser, and the scribble-covered, coffee-stained napkins I had pegged to the walls.
“Uh…I’m doing a project,” I lied, and added, “Science.”
My aunt’s face soured. “In July?”
The pause that came after was long and awkward. “Yep.”
“Well, it can’t be for school so what is it—”
“College. Prep.” My eyes darted to the window like I’d spotted a bird, which I hadn’t. “College prep. For college. To prepare.”
Sylvia hated it when I talked about science. After she got back from her Costa Rican vacation, I’d tried to explain to her why the sea tides rose and fell, and she’d walked out of the room while I was still talking.
Sure enough, my aunt glared at my mess and pulled herself back out the bedroom door. I tapped a pencil against the cover of the Volume of Wisdom in my hands—the gift the library had left beneath our tree last Christmas.
“Did you just get one of Sylvia’s epic scolds?” Kaley came in next. She eyed the napkins before heading over to the bed, and I rubbed my eyes.
“It was a mild one.” I slapped the book shut and spun to face my sister. “I’ve been wanting to ask you: You said you felt a tug in your chest and then you followed it, right? That’s how you found the door to Winter? And how exactly did you get it to show itself?” I asked.
Kaley pursed her lips. “I don’t know, Helen. It was just there.”
I glanced off, twirling my pencil. Kaley was watching the pencil when I spun back to face her again. Her gaze flickered up to mine.
“You have no idea how you got it to appear?”
“I don’t think it was opened from our side. You should leave it alone, Helen. The last thing we want right now is to open another one. What if that shadow—”
“Nightflesh,” I corrected. “It had to be him.”
She shifted in her seat. “Okay. What if Nightflesh had chased me through the door? Do you really want to give him another chance?”
I blinked and moved on.
“You said the Volume that spoke to you mentioned a drum, right?”
Kaley chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I’m assuming it was talking about a drum when it spoke of a magic cylinder that plays to the heartbeat of the Truth itself. It talked about a wreath and a star too. I don’t know why that’s important though, after what happened at the end of my time in the pocket…” I glanced up when her voice trailed off and I caught her staring at the wall. My hand tightened around the pencil.
“There had to be a reason,” I said, tearing my eyes away. “The library gave me a book that had the story of Day and Night, right after Zane told me about the Triad of Signs and how the only way to make more Carriers is to put the Triad back together.”
Kaley fell back on the bed. “I’m just supposed to store the Volumes in my mind, Helen. I don’t think I’m supposed to read into that chatty book.” She paused. “No pun intended.”
“I think I figured it out,” I said, and she lifted her head.
“Figured out what?” Her gaze darted warily to the mosaic of coffee-coated napkins.
“Think about it; Elowin created the Carriers of Truth when he was in Winter. That had to be his plan—to make Carriers to bring the Truth into every corner of Winter. Elowin also created the Triad of Signs; the one thing that can create more orbs, and thus, more Carriers.” I paused as I waited for the gravity of this revelation to settle in her. “I think that’s the way to overthrow Nightflesh, and that’s why Nightflesh has been so intent on hunting all the Carriers down. It’s why he tore apart the Triad of Signs; not just because he’s trying to silence the Truth, but because he knows that Carriers are his weakness—the ones who were immune to even Mara Rouge’s power.” I twirled around one last time to look at my sister. “I think the answer has been in me all this time.”