Chapter 2
The One Left Behind
Holly
Istand just outside the door, my face raised to the falling snow. Huge flakes land on my skin and melt. A shiver runs through me, and it's not only from the cold.
I shake myself and look around, trying to decide where to go first. He’s not anywhere obvious, so I head to the stables at the back of the house.
The place is quiet. John, the guy who’s looked after the horses for the last forty years, is nowhere in sight.
Likely, he’s stuck in the snow somewhere between here and Elderfell.
Pushing open the door, I call out, “Milo, if you're here, let me know.” Nothing.
“Come on, Milo, it's too cold to play games.”
There's still no reply. Grrr.
Of course, that doesn't really mean anything; he could be hiding, so I head inside. The warm, comforting smell of horses envelops me. I’ve always had an affinity for animals, but horses most of all.
They stamp and whicker when they hear me coming.
I stroke Belbel, my mare, on her soft nose as I pass, heading to where Milo's pony is stabled. Bramble is standing on three legs, fast asleep. There's no sign of Milo.
Damn, I was hoping for a quick resolution to this. My stomach rumbles, but I suspect breakfast will have to wait. For me, at least. I quickly fetch some sweet-smelling hay for the horses and check their water. Everything else will have to wait.
As I head out of the stables, the snow has stopped, and the sun has come out.
I take a deep breath. It's beautiful, and I stand for a moment admiring the view, all clothed in sparkling white, clean and untouched.
Down toward the village to the south, and then up toward the woods and the cliffs in the other direction.
Dad will be heading down to the village in the tractor.
If Milo's gone that way, Dad will no doubt find him. So I head the other way towards Silvergate—a place I hate with a deep loathing. A place with more bad memories than anywhere I can think of. I don’t believe in magic, but for some reason, everything bad that happens around here seems to be centered on Silvergate.
There are no footsteps. The snow erased everything. But still, something draws me forward.
Yeah, I hate the place, but at the same time, there's a strange attraction to Silvergate.
Maybe that’s why so many terrible things happen there. I put them from my mind. I'm just going to find Milo. We're going to go home. We're going to have a lovely breakfast, and that's that.
It's about a mile to Silvergate. I trudge on through the thick, heavy snow. It's soft, and my feet sink in. Melted snow slides inside my boots and cold bites through to my skin, freezing my toes.
I follow where I know the track lies beneath the snow, heading into the woods, where the snow is thinner. I’m close now. I feel a heavy waiting in the air. I call out again, “Milo.”
There's no answer.
And then I come to the clearing. A shudder runs through me as I stare at Silvergate. It doesn't look like much—there’s certainly no gate—just a clearing in the woods, with snow settling deep where the trees refuse to grow.
It's too still. The air feels wrong here, colder somehow, as if the frost has sharp teeth. The clearing presses in on me, too wide and too empty at the same time, as though the world forgot to breathe.
According to the villagers, a gate once stood here, and that's how it got its name. But all I see are bare stones half-buried in the snow, and a dip in the ground that refuses to fill—a scar. That's all. Nothing magical about this place, just a scar.
And a little boy in a red jacket.
My knees go loose. One broken breath—relief, sharp as pain.
Milo is sitting huddled against one of the rocks, his arms around his one good knee, his broken leg stretched out in front of him, crutch still clutched in his left hand. He’s wearing blue pajamas with ponies on them under the jacket, and blue wellingtons.
For a moment, I think he's sleeping. Please be sleeping.
He's so still, and panic flares inside me. He can’t be… No. Not again. Not in this short time. Then he raises his head and stares at me with eyes full of loss and grief. What the hell happened to him?
I stumble, almost going to my knees as I step into the clearing. Ice prickles race across my skin. “Milo.” My voice splinters. “Are you all right?”
He just stares at me for a moment and then gives a big sniff. “They left me behind,” he says.
“Who left you behind? Who did you come here with, Milo?”
“The children. We followed the bells.”
God, not more freaking bells. I frown. There’s no one else around. “Which children?”
He doesn’t seem to hear the question, just stares into space with that tragic look on his face. “We heard them jingling in the night, calling to us, and we followed.”
He’s clearly been hallucinating or sleepwalking—
“And we came here, and we were supposed to go to a fabulous place. He promised.”
“Who promised?”
Again, he doesn’t answer. “And there would be amazing presents, much better than anything from here. Magical presents.”
Ugh. I hate that word.
He lets out a sob. “And I wanted to go with them so much, but I couldn't keep up. And by the time I got here, they were all gone.”
Sleepwalking. Has to be. Because I sure as hell don’t hear bells or see an army of invisible kids hiding out here. I listen, but there’s nothing but muffled silence. Maybe he's making this up. My little brother has a very fertile imagination.
“Are you okay, Milo? Are you injured? Does your leg hurt?”
“Yes. That’s why I couldn't keep up. I wanted to go so much, and now I'll never find them. And I’ll never get the magical presents.” He sobs again. “They left me behind.” He gazes up at me with imploring eyes. “Can you open the gate to the magical place, Holly?”
Grrr. “There is no magical place, Milo. How many times do I have to tell you that? There is no magic. Magic doesn't exist.”
“But it was real, Holly. I heard the bells. I followed, and they disappeared.”
I shake my head and hurry over, reaching out my hand to him.
He doesn't have his gloves on, and his little hand is freezing as he slides it into mine. “Come on, let's get you home,” I say. “We’ll have crumpets for breakfast.”
Which I know are his favorite, but he just stares up at me through tear-drenched eyes.
“Can you walk?”
He nods forlornly. “But maybe we should stay. Just a little while longer. Maybe the gate will open, and I can go with the other children.”
Crouching down in front of him, I brush the tears from his cheek.
I tug off my mittens and gently put them on his hands, wrap my scarf around his neck, then tuck the crutch under his arm.
I wish I could carry him, but he’s too heavy—he’s grown so much since I left home.
And I don’t want to leave him to get help. We’ll just have to go slowly.
“Come on, we can make a snowman later. Once you’ve warmed up.”
He just glances back over his shoulder, longingly.
“How about we invite Tansy over? She can help with the snowman.” Tansy is his best friend; they’ve been besties since they were four years old.
“We can’t. Tansy’s gone. She went to the magical place.” Another sob. “I’ll never see her again.”
Of course she did. “You will. You’ll see—we’ll phone her as soon as we get home.” At least that will put an end to this nonsense. Dad can bring her back from the village in the tractor.
He goes quiet then, and we head home, but I can feel his sadness pulsing through the cold air between us. This is why I hate all the magic crap that goes on in this place. It drives me crazy. I mean, get real, people.
We move slowly, and it takes about four times as long to walk back as it did to get to Silvergate.
Just as we get in sight of the house, the snow starts falling again.
But it looks like Dad’s already back, and we’ve got company.
What’s going on? There are at least five cars on the driveway in front of the house.
My family have been Lords of the Manor for as long as history has been recorded, and while we don’t have any legal power, the villagers tend to come straight here when anything goes wrong.
My hand tightens around Milo’s.
“Ouch,” he mutters.
Maybe they heard Milo was missing and came to help us search for him.
As we approach the house, I recognize Tansy’s aunt’s car.
While I love Tansy dearly—she’s a sweet girl—I hate her aunt with a deep, dark loathing.
I will never forgive her for how she treated Zayne when he needed her the most. Likely, he would still be here if she had behaved like a decent human being.
Or if I had, that little voice whispers.
Though maybe not. Zayne will be twenty now—he’s a month older than me—and the village was never big enough to hold him.
I can’t see Tansy anywhere. I would have expected her to come running. A lump forms in my stomach. I glance down at Milo; his lower lip quivers.
The group of villagers is standing at the top of the steps leading to the house, along with my father and mother. My mother glances at us as we approach, her eyes widening at the sight of Milo beside me. “I told you I’d find him,” I say.
She hurries over and clutches him to her, wrapping her arms tight around him. He’ll suffocate if she hugs him any harder. I look at my dad, then at the people surrounding him, their expressions grim. They’re clearly not here to look for Milo.
Dread crawls up my throat. “What’s going on?” I ask.
“The children are missing,” my father says.
“Which children?”
“All of them.”
My stomach drops.