author: Nicole J. LeBoeuf

Notes from the author:

In at least two of her novels, Patricia McKillip does a remarkable thing. Both In the Forests of Serre and Od Magic feature princesses who are confronted with an unwanted arranged marriage. We, the readers, know how that story goes. She’ll run away and reinvent herself somewhere else. Maybe she’ll wind up in a kinder kingdom and save a litter of dying puppies. Maybe she’ll appoint herself head librarian to a dragon. Whatever outcome, we’re used to seeing princesses rebel. What is less common is a princess who comes to accept the betrothal, and a writer who can convince me that that’s the happy ending. You should see McKillip do it. It’s really amazing.

The view of the stars from the window of my childhood bedroom was depressingly familiar. Each of the constellations was back in its proper place. “A place for everything,” Mother liked to say, “and everything in its place.” If she’d had her way, I’d have stayed in my proper place for the rest of my life.

But I hadn’t. I’d escaped. I’d packed my things, hiked down the lane, hitched a ride to the nearest town, and caught a bus for as far away as my meager savings would take me. I told myself one day I’d visit every star I used to wish on. And I swore never to return to Dirkmere House again.

I’d kept that oath, even when it was hard. Even when it was *really* hard. Even when I had nothing to eat but daydreams and back alley gleanings, and nowhere to sleep but beneath box hedges in the park. And I knew that I could have called it quits at any time. But I stuck it out, and eventually it got easier. I got to where I could contemplate making plans beyond mere survival. The possibilities made me giddy.

Then Mother called and I crashed down to earth. God knows how she got my number. I’d cut off contact. It wasn’t because I didn’t love her—I did, and I missed her terribly—but I knew how vulnerable I’d be if ever she got a chance to sink her hooks in. And, God help me, I was right.

“Alia,” she said. “I need you to come home.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Alia, I’m dying.”

“No,” I said carefully, “you’re not.”

“I am, though. You need to come home.”

I was sure she was lying. She’d lied to me so many times in the past. Petty lies to quiet my questions. Big lies to keep me afraid. Lies of all sizes, for every reason and for no reason that I could see. It would be just like her to bait this hook with another lie.

But what she reeled me in with was the truth.

“Alia, listen. Your eyes did not deceive you, that night. If you come home, I’ll explain everything.”

So I did.

Going home was easier than leaving. I had more resources this time, and I knew where I was going. The bus ride was only eight hours long. But I still had to walk between the bus station and Dirkmere House, because Mother never crossed the property line. She didn’t even own a car. She’d home-schooled me and ordered her groceries delivered. I never even saw a doctor until six months after I’d run away from home and caught my first flu.

“Dirkmere takes care of its own,” Mother had said, and that turned out to be true.

But lies and obfuscation, it seemed, were hard habits for her to break. “Explain what, darling?” she asked over coffee after dinner on my first night back.

“What you promised you’d explain. What I saw that night. How you gaslit me about it.”

“Such an ugly word.” Mother held her mug to her lips. I set mine down and folded my arms. “Oh, all right. Tomorrow.”

But every tomorrow brought me only a promise of tomorrow, and Mother was terrible with promises. Meanwhile, with me to take care of her, she took to her bed. I brought her her meals, and cups of cold water from the lake, and I watched her slowly but surely shrinking away.

Finally I put my foot down. It hurt my heart to do it—how could I give ultimatums to a dying woman?—but I told her that if she didn’t come clean, I would leave again, and this time I would not return.

She turned away from me, but she acquiesced. “Fine,” she grumbled into the pillow. “I’ll tell you. Will that make you happy?”

“I have no idea what’ll make me happy. You need to tell me all the same.”

She sighed and fretted at me to help her sit up. I plumped the pillows behind her and eased her more or less upright. “Alia,” she said, “yes. You saw me walking on the surface of the lake. You can do it too. It runs in the family.”

I blinked. “What, miracles?”

“Belonging to Dirkmere. Dirkmere takes care of its own.” Familiar words. Now she told me what they meant. They meant that we could never drown in that lake, nor come to harm upon its shores. It kept the house safe from disasters natural and man-made. Once, before I was born, there’d been a fire in the kitchen; Dirkmere had sent a wave to extinguish the blaze. “That’s why the wallpaper on the side with the stove is stained. I never did get around to having it restored.” She shrugged. “Maybe you will, after I’m gone.”

“After you’re gone,” I told her gently, “I’m leaving. I’m selling the house.”

“You can’t.” She said it like a statement of neutral fact. “Dirkmere won’t let you. It needs you too much. And you need Dirkmere too. You’ll sicken and die sooner than later, out in the world.”

“Dirkmere doesn’t seem to be saving *your* life,” I pointed out.

Another shrug. “Dirkmere doesn’t promise immortality.”

I let the argument drop. I’d win it eventually. And that Pyrrhic victory came far too soon. I was by her side when she died; her last act in life was to raise a trembling hand and try to wipe my tears away.

I never said I didn’t love her. But I’d wanted to love her with my whole self, the self I got to choose. I turned out to have less choice than I’d supposed. In the end, I lost that argument after all.

Mother’s last request had been that I give her body back to Dirkmere, so when midnight came I carried her through the forest and down to the shore. Then I just kept walking. Trusting less in what she’d told me and more what I’d seen years ago, I walked out across the surface of the lake. The water cooled and cushioned my bare feet so that it felt very nearly like walking on nothing at all.

I stopped some thirty paces out. That seemed far enough. “I haven’t decided yet,” I told my mother. “But if I stay, it will be because I decided to stay, not because you told me to. But whether I go or stay, I’ll always love you.”

Then I knelt on the water’s surface and let her go.

For a moment, she lay atop the glassy lake. Then, slowly, she sank. Dirkmere took her into its depths as though accepting a priceless treasure from my hand. I watched her vanish away into the dark below me. And then, when I could no longer see her, I heard Dirkmere’s voice for the first time.

That changed everything.

I’d believed Mother had walked on water. I’d believed that I could too. But until I heard Dirkmere speak to me, I hadn’t believed in the *why.* I hadn’t believed I could belong to a body of water, or rely on that lake to care for me throughout my life.

I believed now. I had no choice.

I stood and gazed up helplessly at the stars. Once I’d told myself I’d visit them, every single one I’d ever wished upon. Now I knew the time for wishes was over. I was back in my proper place now, never to escape. But when I looked down I saw the stars reflected in the waters, Dirkmere offering them up to me like jewels. Perhaps, I thought, there would be compensations. Mother had certainly never seemed unhappy.

So much remained to be seen. For now, I followed the path the stars made back to the shore.

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