“Why do the dead get a better view that we do?” Hollis asked as we cut through the cemetery on our way home from school.

“Shhhh!” I slapped his arm. “Don’t speak so loud. The dead can hear you.”

He frowned and slapped my arm harder. There would be a mark tomorrow. “The dead don’t hear nothing. They’re dead.” He stopped and stared across the graves, past the church spire, all the way down to the sea. It was a beautiful view, one that couldn’t be bought while alive and not fully appreciated when dead, and the sun made the ocean shine like a cut stone with colors impossible to describe and to believe if you’d never seen them.

Hollis placed his hand against his brow as if shading his eyes to watch for an approaching ship. “It’s stupid to waste land like this.”

I’d heard his father say that before, when I was over late helping him with his math homework. He was horrible at math. I crossed myself surreptitiously when no one was watching. It was bad luck to speak like that about the dead. Bad luck or stupidity, as my father would say with a shake of his head.

Hollis looked back at me to see if I would contradict him and, when I said nothing, he turned and continued down the hill. I followed after he’d gone a few paces, far enough away that I could whisper, “He doesn’t mean it. Enjoy your view.”

That night I crept out of bed once I heard my parents’ snores in the next room and checked every door and window to make sure they were latched. I hadn’t said anything against the dead, but everyone knows sometimes that doesn’t matter. Sometimes nothing does. Still, it was a beautiful view.

There is a garden at the end of the world. Don’t ask me how I know there’s a garden at the end of the world. There are some questions that you shouldn’t ask. There are some questions that shouldn’t exist because of the fates of the world, but that is a discussion for another day.

There is a garden at the end of the world. It is quiet, serene, painted in shades of green. Oh, the trees change color, into riotous reds and autumnal oranges, when they feel like it. But mainly the garden exists in shades of green. The better to make us relax and forget that it is the end of the world.

There is a garden at the end of the world. There is also a gate. When you come to the end of the world and find yourself inside the garden, because everyone always does, you will see the gate. It is your choice whether to walk through it or not.

What’s on the other side of the gate? It looks like just more of the garden. But I’ve never seen anyone return. No, I’m not certain what’s on the other side. My path has led me there, yet.

“What do we learn from the pine?”

I sighed. There were two kinds of questions that came from my mentor. The first, I never minded. These questions were straightforward, easy to answer as I was good at memorizing the various properties of plants and their uses, the meanings of different bird calls, and what the clouds foretold in the morning sky.

The second kind of questions, I minded. I minded greatly. While I was good at remembering practical things, philosophy and moral theories were not my strong suit. I was too literal and my mind didn’t bend those ways.

Perhaps if I ignored the question, my mentor wouldn’t keep asking.

“What do we learn from the pine?” my mentor asked again.

I looked up at her and stifled a sigh. The pine was beautiful. Its sap was useful for so many things, as were its needles and bark. The pines beside us were covered in water droplets from the last rain. While stunning, it didn’t jog my memory.

“I don’t know. What can we learn?” I asked, trying to head off a long, frustrating time.

My mentor smiled, “That’s what you’re here to find out.” Then she turned and went back to harvesting tubers, waiting for me to figure it out. She’d be waiting for a while.

“Those aren’t sunflowers,” Taliah said as she yanked her hand out of mine and pointed at the low plants covered in blooms that were the brightest thing on this gloomy day by far.

I sighed, but only inwardly. To let Taliah hear me sigh would lead to nothing but agony for the next hour. Agony for me, of course.

“Not sunflowers,” I said as I reached into my bag and pulled out the rolled up pouch containing seven slender vials. “Two words. Sun and flower.”

“That’s stupid.” She looked up at me, her braid almost lashing her in her face at her sudden movement. “Who’d name them the same thing?”

“They’re….” I stopped myself. There was no talking with her when she was in this type of mood. The one that said Momma could make her go with me and start to learn what she needed to become a grown woman who could be a useful member of the village, but she didn’t have to do anything else.

I unscrewed the top from the first vial and began the painstaking process of collecting the raindrops from the sun flowers’ petals. Each drop shimmered as it slid into the vial and I ignored Taliah’s dramatic huffs behind me as she kicked rocks into the overfull creek. I ignored her. It was best. Someday she might even need some of what was held in the vials I carefully placed back in my pouch. Perhaps someday she might even grow up. But perhaps that was too much to hope for and I alone would be left tending the village when Momma was gone.

The sun pierced the grey clouds and the sun flowers’ shook as one, the rain drops flying like gems in the sky and I sighed, audibly. One vial was better than none.

“Can we go now?”

I turned around and saw Taliah with her hands on her hips and I couldn’t avert the wave of anger I felt flash hot white like a sparking coal. If she’d helped we’d have two vials. She shrank back as I stood and said nothing as I began walking back towards the village. I’d never hurt her, but it didn’t mean I couldn’t be cross at her for being overindulged and self-absorbed. It might one day cost more than a vial of sun flower’s dew.

When Maude went to sleep there wasn’t a chair on her lawn. But it was there when she pushed back the curtains hung above her kitchen sink.

“Well, shit.”

Her aged long-haired, short-whiskered orange tabby looked at her and yawned before going back to sleep. Clearly he would be no help and shouting expletives would only annoy him.

Maude brooded as she waited for the kettle to boil. If she had been outside, her head would have been shrouded with miniature rain clouds. Inside she simply fogged up the windows with her worry. To anyone outside this part of the valley, a chair wouldn’t mean anything except perhaps a delivery mix-up easily fixed with a call.

Not here.

A red chair meant trouble. Sure, it looked comfy enough to sit in, but that would indelibly mark her for death. As of now, she had a fright and a fighting chance. And Maude was a fighter. Ain’t no one going to prove her otherwise.

“What do we do with these green leaves?” Flora’s mother asked her as they stood in front of the bush.

Flora twirled her fingers in her hair as she tapped her foot, buying herself time. There were too many plants with small, green leaves. How was she ever supposed to keep track of them all?

“Tea?” Her answer was more of a question than answer.

Her mother sighed and shook her head. Flora knew she wouldn’t get the answer out of her easily. There would be more questions. She felt like sighing herself.

“Are most of the leaves green?”

“No.” Flora failed to keep the annoyance out of her voice and shrunk back, but her mother appeared to ignore it. “There’s mostly those purple ones.”

“And what does that tell us?”

Flora bent closer to the plant and jumped back, running into her mother as the leaves snapped at her nose. Her mother’s laughter made her cheeks burn as if on fire, but Flora’s anger went out as fast as a green wood fire when she realized she knew this plant.

“Snap sharp leaf!” Flora yelled and the plant stopped snapping. “It’s snap sharp leaf.” She turned to look back at her mother.

“Correct. And it’s use?”

“Protection,” Flora said confidently. “It’s for protection.”

“Good.” Her mother patted her shoulder. “There’s hope for you yet.”

When the leaves turn golden, that’s when the wise are wary of trouble. Everyone knew that, even if most chose to not believe it.

Haley glared up at the branches festooned with their hundreds of golden leaves that shimmered and shook in the breeze. Just her luck that the leaves should turn now, when she was so close.

It would have been bad enough if just one tree had turned, but all she saw down the lane were trees wreathed in golden leaves. Haley shook her head. This was bad, more than bad, it was probably going to be catastrophic, whatever it was.

“Why aren’t your more specific with your warning?”

“Sorry, luv, I didn’t catch that.”

Haley turned and saw a woman looked at her with a curious expression on her face.

“Sorry, ma’am,” she said with a formal bow. “Just talking to myself. Beg your pardon.”

“That’s quite alright.” The woman patted her on the arm as she looked up at the leaves. “But I wouldn’t ask them quite so loud. Not when they’re golden.” She resumed toddling down the street.

Haley looked up again with a shiver and nodded. The woman was right. She’d just deal with whatever came whenever it did. That’s what she always did. Haley turned and hurried away from the trees. It was time to get to work.

She rubbed her chin as she hunkered down to stare at the footprint in the snow. The powder was fresh, over six inches had fallen overnight. It was unusual for this time of year, at this altitude. Not unheard of, but unusual enough that it had taken her by surprise, not to mention annoyed her horse who gave her a look that said she could walk herself to the next settlement when she had made it outside of her tent.

Now there was the issue of the footprint. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone else up here, not with the festival coming up in less than another cycle of the moon.  Meeting someone out here didn’t worry her. She could take care of herself and her horse. What was worrying was there was only one footprint.

She stood up and scanned the area with her hand shading her eyes. There was nothing. Not a single other footprint, only miles of unadulterated snow as far as she could see. Who, or what, left only a single footprint outside her tent? She  wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.

“Looks like paradise to me,” he said staring out to the horizon.

I looked at him sideways before turning my attention back to the ocean. It was a beautiful day, a perfect blue sky after the threat of rain, palm trees swayed in the breeze that sprayed droplets of saltwater into our faces. I hadn’t caught his name or I didn’t remember it. Didn’t really matter.

“Looks can be deceiving.” I adjusted my hat so the gust of wind wouldn’t blow it away, over the rocks and into the shallows that were sacred, and be lost forever.

He turned towards me as he laughed. “Sometimes.” He wiped his eyes and slapped me on the back as he began walking down the road. “But I still call it Paradise. Let’s go see what else’s along this beach.”

I watched him go, but knew it was useless not to follow. He’d find out soon enough the cost of so-called Paradise. They always did and I then I’d be left looking for another soul who could someday set me free.

“Well, could be worse,” Sheldon said as he looped his thumbs behind the straps of his overalls. He was always one for looking on the bright side.

I scowled. “Could be better.” I picked up a smaller fallen branch and poked at the heartwood at the base of the branch that had taken off part of the tree’s trunk. Instead of resisting, the wood collapsed like a piece of moldy bread. “Damn it.”

“Such language.” Sheldon shook his head. For someone who dealt with the scum of the city when he wasn’t harvesting corn or squash from his farm, he had a surprising distaste for obscenities. You’d think he’d be desensitized by now.

“Sorry,” I said as I stood up and threw the stick onto the ground. I looked around the park. There was no one else up and about yet as the clouds overhead still threatened rain, even with the wind pushing them along like they were late to another engagement. I turned up my collar to protect my neck. I hadn’t yet gotten used to remembering scarves for the cold since my hair was hacked off.

“Best be getting this branch taken away before a little one gets too curious and gets hurt.” Sheldon walked back to his truck. He called over his head. “You best be figuring out what’s going on. That mentor of yours said he’d fixed it.”

“On it,” I said with more conviction than I felt. “Damn it all,” I said quietly so Sheldon wouldn’t hear.

My mentor, the Great Alastair Wilde, was not only not great, but not my mentor after he up and left a week ago without a word leaving me only a third of the way through my apprenticeship and first on the list of suspects in his “suspicious” disappearance. I looked up at the tree and back down at the rotted heartwood, half expecting a horde of termites to come roiling out of it.

The only thing suspicious about Wilde’s disappearance was that he took all my funds and my one piece of nice jewelry when he split and now the mages from the next town over were sniffing around, looking for a weakness to exploit or a trace of him to track. I shivered. And he had to leave me with rotting heartwood on top of everything else. It couldn’t just be a pixie infestation or something of the like. Instead it had to be a problem with the heartwood. I looked around at the other trees in the grove and sighed before starting towards the closest one. Time to see how far the rot had spread and figure out how well and truly screwed we were going to be.