THE TOPIC OF THIS CONTEST WAS:
Her ankle betrayed her and she again found herself face down on the frozen pond. Two strong arms picked her up, and carried her toward the woods. Oddly, she wasn’t afraid. In a clearing ahead stood a stone house with smoke puffing from the chimney. He pushed open the door, and carried her inside, where she was shocked to see three…
(Stories need only touch on this topic in some way to qualify.)
As she trod across the pond, Jovana looked back over her shoulder. Her golden eyes searched the forest for something that wasn’t there. That’s when her foreleg buckled beneath her with a sickening twist.
With a surprised cry, she crashed forward onto the frozen pond in a sprawl of limbs and smoke-like breath. Her cheek struck the ice first, then her shoulder, and then the rest of her cervine body skidded in a graceless arc.
The pond answered with a low, resonant hum as though the world itself had struck a tuning fork.
She lay still, steam rising from her tawny flanks like mist. Snowflakes drifted down soft as dandelion fluff, settling on her dark hair and the curve of her back.
Then she heard footsteps approaching. They were not hurried, nor hesitant, but, instead, they moved with purpose.
Normally skittish, oddly, she wasn’t afraid.
Two strong arms slid beneath her human torso, lifting her upright with surprising ease. Her deerlike hind legs trembled uselessly beneath her, but the stranger supported her weight as though he had carried cervitaur all his life. Then, again, she was very small for her kind.
His hood shadowed his face, but she sensed a steadiness in him, a calm aura that seemed to engulf her.
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered in a voice as rough as sandpaper. “I am Aisling.”
They crossed into the woods, the trees closing behind them. Soon, a clearing opened ahead. At its center stood a stone house, ancient and squat, with smoke slowly puffing from the chimney, swirling its way into the sky.
The air smelled of cedar and something older, something that remembered hooves on soil long before roads existed.
Aisling pushed open the door with his shoulder, and when he stepped inside, the warmth from the fire enveloped her.
Jovana froze.
There, seated at a round wooden table, were three figures who turned toward her in perfect unison.
They shared a face. Aisling’s face. Three versions of him, one young, one middle-aged, and one old. Each of them watched Jovana with the patient curiosity of people who had been expecting her for centuries.
Aisling lowered his hood, and she beheld a fourth version.
Jovana’s breath caught.
The youngest Aisling rose and approached with a steaming mug. “For the pain,” he said gently.
Jovana accepted it, though her hands shook. “What is this place?”
“A refuge,” the eldest replied. “For those who slip through the thin places.”
“The pond,” the middle one added. “It’s a seam. Most cross without noticing. Others. well, others fall through.”
Jovana tried to stand, but her injured leg buckled. The youngest knelt, examining the joint with reverent care. “Not broken,” he murmured. “But the thin places mark those who cross.”
Jovana frowned. “Why are there four of you?”
“We’re not four,” the eldest said softly. “We’re one.”
Jovana stared at them, her tail flicking in agitation. “I don’t understand.”
“You will,” the middle one said.
Aisling pulled up a chair and sat. “You’ve dreamed this place. Since you were a youngling.”
Her heart lurched. She had dreamed it, the stone house, the clearing, the smoke rising like a signal. But she had always awoken before reaching the door.
“Why me?” she whispered.
The eldest smiled. “Because you listened.”
“To what?”
“The warning,” the middle Aisling said. “The ice called out. You heard it.”
She remembered the hollow ring beneath her fall. She had thought it was just the pond complaining.
Aisling reached out his hand. “You can stay until you’re ready to leave.”
“And if I’m never ready?”
“Then you’ll stay,” he said.
Jovana sipped the drink. Warmth unfurled through her chest and down her spine. The fire in the hearth crackled. The four versions of Aisling watched her with something like hope.
No, more like longing.
Jovana set the mug down. “All right,” she said. “I’ll stay awhile.”
The house seemed to exhale.
And then-
A thunderous crack split the air.
Not a knock. More like a hoof hitting wood.
Then, the door shuddered under a second blow, its wood splintering. All four versions of Aisling stiffened.
The eldest whispered, “Not now.”
The middle one rose, pale. “No! Not yet! It’s too soon!” he shouted.
The youngest backed away from Jovana, eyes wide. “We didn’t have time to prepare.”
Jovana’s pulse thundered. “Who is that?”
All four spoke at once.
“Another you.”
Then, with an ear-splitting noise, the door buckled inward. A jagged crack raced across it like lightning.
Jovana staggered to her four feet, pain shooting up her injured foreleg. “What do you mean, another me?”
The eldest turned toward her, sorrow in his eyes. “The thin places don’t just let travelers in. They let versions in. You weren’t the only one who fell.”
The door exploded inward, and standing in the threshold was a second Jovana, massive, frostbitten, and wild-eyed. Her mane was tangled with ice, her breath a furious plume, and her hooves struck sparks on the stone floor.
But it was her red eyes that froze the room.
They weren’t angry. They were hungry.
Aisling whispered, “We had hoped to keep you two apart.”
Then, the other Jovana lowered her head, pawed the ground, and charged.
