《Shards of Imagination》


 The Right to be Forgotten (CKMo)

    Lucy dashed down the hallway, alarms blaring crimson streaks of warning across the cold, sterile walls. Her boots pounded against the floor, each step fueled by sheer adrenaline as she wove through the flashing emergency lights. She rounded a sharp corner, her momentum barely controlled as she slid on her knees, skidding past a bewildered guard. His mouth barely had time to part in confusion before she snatched his phone from his hand with a flick of her wrist, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.


    A gunshot cracked behind her, the sound ripping through the air like a whip. Sparks flared as the bullet ricocheted off the metal wall, stinging her cheek with its heat.


    She didn¡¯t stop.


    With one fluid motion, she kicked off the ground, scaling the side of the hallway in a series of rapid footfalls. The physics of it barely made sense, but hesitation had never been in her nature. Lucy angled herself in midair and vaulted back down, landing on a trolley abandoned in the chaos. The impact sent it rolling forward with a sharp squeak, the wheels wobbling dangerously as she used her weight to angle the platform onto its frontal wheels.


    Her fingers worked fast, typing in the numbers on the stolen phone. The hallway stretched ahead, the window of opportunity narrowing with every second. Her heart pounded as the call connected.


    "Hello! You¡¯ve reached the hotline for Redaction Runners¡ª"


    ¡°GET ME RYAN!¡± she barked into the phone, her voice ragged with urgency.


    Another shot. She had no time to react. The bullet seared through her thigh, the pain instant and searing. She barely stifled a scream as her leg crumpled beneath her, ruining her balance. The trolley buckled under the uneven weight and she went flying.


    The world flipped. The ceiling became the floor, and then¡ª


    Impact.


    She hit the ground hard, breath leaving her lungs in a strangled gasp. The pain clawed through her leg, hot and merciless, as the phone tumbled beside her.


    ¡°¡ªwhere your history is private history,¡± the recorded message finished.


    Fucking. Ryan.


    She barely had time to curse before she caught the glint of more bullets heading her way. Her instincts kicked in, and Lucy reached back in time, finding the exact moment where the confused guard had fired the shot that had ruined her escape. She erased that moment from his memory, then her own.


    The change hit instantly. A jarring, sickening lurch rippled through her mind, sending her stomach into knots. The headache came fast and hard¡ªcheap, but still painful.


    She blinked, now standing, barely keeping herself upright. The trolley was ahead of her again, the hallway unchanged¡ªexcept her leg was whole. No blood. No bullet wound.


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    The guard up ahead, however, still looked confused.


    ¡°Hey, you!¡±


    Lucy¡¯s gaze snapped up. Red sirens painted the hall in warning streaks, and the guard¡¯s gun was already raising toward her.


    I can figure out how I fucked up later.


    She dove down as bullets shredded the air above her, slamming onto the trolley with a grunt. The headache was manageable. That meant she had only redacted once.


    The phone was still beside her. Ryan¡¯s voice droned from the speaker, a message she knew by heart.


    ¡°While you decide, do note that there will be an extra upcharge for any events we consider inconvenient to redact in the name of justice,¡± Ryan¡¯s smug voice echoed, though she barely heard it over the gunfire. ¡°This will, of course, be entirely based on our discretion.¡±


    Fucking. Ryan.


    She kicked against the floor, shoving herself and the trolley forward at full speed. The end of the hall loomed ahead¡ªa floor-length window.


    She crashed into it, the impact jarring through her bones. Cracks spider-webbed across the glass, but it didn¡¯t break.


    She slammed her fist against it in frustration.


    Bloody hells. Of course, this building would have reinforced windows. Should she redact the last safety inspection? Or further back¡ªbefore the correct installation?


    ¡°PUT UP YOUR HANDS!¡±


    Lucy spun, eyes locking onto the guard now taking careful aim. A split second. A squeeze of the trigger. The bullet left the barrel, and she barely had time to react before it punched through her arm.


    The pain stole her breath, but she reached back in time again. Two memories this time. The inspection. The serviceman. One to realize the window hadn¡¯t been fitted correctly. The other to install the correct one.


    Redacted.


    Another headache slammed into her skull like a hammer, but the change was immediate.


    The window gave way.


    She was in freefall.


    Glass shards surrounded her like glimmering daggers, the city below stretching impossibly far.


    She reached for the phone, the only thing tethering her to a semblance of control. The familiar number glowed on the screen as she snatched it from midair.


    ¡°Please leave a message and tell us what information you would like to redact from time, thank you!¡± Ryan¡¯s voice rang, almost cheerful.


    Lucy turned her gaze downward.


    The river.


    The Seloma¡¯ne River.


    She knew that river. She knew this view.


    But it was on the other side of the country.


    Her breath hitched. Someone had redacted space.


    ¡°Beep,¡± came from the phone gravity began taking over.


    ¡°RYAN, REDACT THE DAY!¡± she screamed into the phone, curling herself against the wind. ¡°I FOUND THE SPACE GUYS! THEY¡¯RE AT THE HOSPITAL! SO DON¡¯T LET ME GO TO THE HOSPITAL TO GIVE BIRTH THIS MORNING. AND YOU BETTER FUCKING REMEMBER YOU AGREED HER NAME IS JORA.¡±


    But it was a recording.


    She knew the fall was fatal.


    The impact came. But she never felt it.


    Lucy woke with a jolt.


    A familiar ceiling. Warm sheets. The soft glow of a bedside lamp. Her head pounded, a dull, familiar ache.


    Ryan hovered over her, his brown eyes full of quiet concern.


    She gasped, gripping his hand. Her other hand shot to her stomach. Round. Full. Safe.


    ¡°My head hurts,¡± she whispered, voice hoarse. ¡°And it isn¡¯t from the baby.¡±


    ¡°I think you already know why,¡± Ryan murmured, brushing his fingers through her hair as he handed her a glass of water. ¡°Are you ready to hear it?¡±


    Lucy nodded, drinking greedily. Then she paused. A thought struck her, deep and urgent.


    ¡°Wait. The baby.¡± She swallowed hard, searching his face. ¡°Everything¡¯s okay, right?¡±


    Ryan¡¯s expression softened. ¡°The birth went perfectly fine,¡± he assured her. ¡°You brought a beautiful, healthy little girl into the world.¡± He hesitated, lips twitching upward. ¡°And you agreed to name her Karen.¡±


    Lucy groaned.


    Ryan chuckled, but his smile faded as he added, ¡°The real problem is what else we found at the hospital.¡±


    His voice turned grim.


    ¡°The ones redacting space.¡±

 Of Tofu Pudding and Foam Swords (Ariane dArtagnan)

    (Written on the back of a postcard of the Golden Gate Bridge, partially obscured by a tea stain)


    Say to Bitu, Gatekeeper of the Netherworld, thus says Imin-kam, Seventh Gallu Demon:


    Greetings from California!  We have captured the dead man¡¯s soul and, after some adventures, are returning to the Netherworld.


    We were poling our raft down the street, with the dead man gibbering at our feet in his manacles and neck-stock, when Esh-kam stopped us.  "Hey, look!" he said, pointing at a caf¨¦ sign that read "Meet Fresh," plus some characters in Chinese calligraphy.  (You know my third brother ¨C always a slave to his gullet.)


    "What about it?" asked Desh-kam, impatient to get back to the Netherworld.  (You also know my eldest brother ¨C always so serious about, well, everything.)


    "That soul we seized last time was at a Meet Fresh, remember?  She choked to death on a bowl of douhua."


    The six of us nodded.  It was hard not to remember someone who managed to choke to death on soft tofu pudding.  (Although, to be fair, it hadn''t been the pudding that got her but a stray sweet-potato ball.)


    "What about it?" I asked.


    "Well, we could try it.  He¡ª" a jerk of the head towards the dead man ¡ª "isn''t going anywhere."


    My fourth brother, Limmu-kam, read the disapproving set of Desh-kam''s beak and shook his head.  "You know better than to dally on Earth after we seize a soul, brother.  We need to get him back to the Netherworld so the scribes can process him."


    Before Desh-kam could issue his verdict, the caf¨¦ door opened, and out sauntered a woman with a cup of boba milk tea.  Even as we watched, she slurped up several springy black pearls and chewed contentedly.


    Next to me, my fifth and sixth brothers, Ia-kam and Ash-kam, swallowed hard.  We turned pleading eyes on Min-kam.  If anyone could talk Desh-kam into a short stop, it would be Min-kam, second born of the gallus.


    Unexpectedly, the dead man spoke up.  "The douhua at Meet Fresh is very good.  You should try it."


    Desh-kam raised his eyebrows.  "So you can make a run for it as soon as we leave the raft?"


    The dead man shrugged as well as you¡¯d expect from someone who was wearing a neck-stock and had his hands manacled behind his back.  "Where would I go if I ran?"


    That was true enough.  He couldn''t return to his body ¨C it was much too mangled.  He could exist as a ghost fugitive on Earth, but I didn''t think he knew that.


    "I don''t see that it''s a big risk," Min-kam told Desh-kam.


    "Pleeeeeease?" I begged.


    Desh-kam considered for a moment while we held our metaphorical breaths. "Very well then.  Make sure he is secured."


    While the dead man protested that he wasn''t going anywhere, we looped a rope through the grid of poles that formed our raft and bound his manacles tightly.  Then we moored the raft among the rushes and stepped onto solid ground, back into the human world.


    Since Desh-kam refused to let us eat in the caf¨¦, we got douhua and boba milk tea to go, and we trotted back chattering about how we were going to sit on the edge of the raft and dangle our feet in the water.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    Except, when we passed out of the human world into the rushes and returned to the river, the dead man was gone.


    Also, the raft was halfway through sinking.


    Dropping the containers and cups, we leaped into the water to rescue it.  When we hauled it on land and turned it over, we discovered that the dead man had gashed holes in each of the animal skins that kept it afloat.


    "I''m going to use his hide as a replacement!" Min-kam roared.


    Tight-lipped, Desh-kam didn''t say, ¡°I told you so."  He began issuing commands.  "Min-kam, take Esh-kam, Limmu-kam, and Ia-kam, and go re-arrest the dead man.  Ash-kam and Imin-kam, we¡¯re going to fix the raft."


    While Min-kam and the others set off in pursuit of the dead man, the three of us examined the damage to the raft.  It was worse than we''d realized.  Not only had the dead man punctured all the animal skins, but he''d also sawed at and nearly cut through the ropes that held the raft together.


    When our inspection was complete, Desh-kam heaved a heavy sigh.  Ash-kam and I traded glances and didn''t dare utter a single word.


    At last, Desh-kam stood.  "Let''s get supplies to fix this."


    "A hardware store...?" I ventured.


    "Indeed."


    He led us back onto the street, where a passerby gave us directions to the closest hardware store.  The route led us past a park, where battle cries caught our attention.  On a grassy field, two great armies clashed, thrusting and stabbing and parrying with swords forged from...foam?!


    Even as we watched, one soldier smote another with a mighty blow that ¨C utterly failed to crack open his skull.


    "What is this?!" I didn¡¯t realize I''d spoken out loud until a woman who was walking her dog answered, "Oh, that''s the local roleplaying society.  They LARP here every other Saturday."


    "LARP?"


    "Yeah.  You haven''t heard of it?  It stands for ''live action roleplaying.''  Kind of like a game of make-believe for adults."


    "Uh¡­."


    She smiled sympathetically, called her dog, and went on her way.


    "Make-believe...for adults...," I repeated.


    Ash-kam shook his head.  "What will humans come up with next?"


    We both looked to Desh-kam to set a seal of approval on our disapproval, but he was appraising the false soldiers.  "Yes.  Yes¡­.  I do believe that will work...."


    We waited.  When he didn''t elaborate for several moments, I prompted, "What will work?"


    "We''re going to collect their foam swords.  Get as many as you can."


    With that, he was off, whirling across the battlefield like a great storm, sweeping up foam swords as he went.  After a stunned second, Ash-kam and I dove into the fray.  A foam sword thumped me on the shoulder, and I growled and snatched it.  Then I tripped another false soldier and grabbed his foam sword too.


    Complaints rose from all sides.  "Watch it!  You nearly knocked me over!"  "Hey!  Where''d my sword go?"


    Arms wrapped around neon pink, green, blue, and purple foam swords, Ash-kam and I met up with Desh-kam.  In the background, the false soldiers hunted in vain for their vanished weapons.


    "What are we doing with these?" Ash-kam asked.


    "You¡¯ll see," Desh-kam replied.


    Trading puzzled shrugs, we followed him back to the river.  Min-kam and the others hadn''t returned with the dead man yet, but I heard wailing in the distance.


    Desh-kam plucked a long rush and used it to lash two foam swords together.  "We''re going to use these to make ourselves a new raft."


    "Oh!" I cried.  ¡°Brother!  You¡¯re a genius!¡±


    He didn¡¯t acknowledge the obvious.  "Get to work.  I want this done before they return."


    Working together, we had a neon pink, green, blue, and purple raft in no time.  Once Desh-kam tested it and deemed it river-worthy, he even allowed us to retrieve the douhua and boba milk tea that we¡¯d dropped.  We sat in companionable silence on the foam swords, dangling our feet in the water and feeling the douhua dissolve on our tongues.


    At last, Min-kam and the others stumbled through the rushes, panting and carrying the dead man on their shoulders.  This time, they had taken no chances: He was rolled up in so many nets and lassos that he resembled a spider''s dinner.  Sadly, the ropes didn''t stop him from wailing nonstop.


    Min-kam''s jaw dropped when he spotted us.  "You''ve been having dessert while we were chasing down this¡ª"  He thumped the dead man on the head.  The dead man yowled.


    Desh-kam chucked an empty douhua container into the river.  "Ah, good, you''re back.  Get him onboard so we can cast off."


    "But¡ª" protested Esh-kam.  He scanned the rushes, clearly searching for the rest of the containers.


    "Have no fear.  None of it went to waste," Desh-kam assured him serenely. "We ate it all."


    Esh-kam¡¯s howl rivaled the dead man¡¯s in anguish.


    "Come," Desh-kam ordered again.


    Shoulders slumping, my brothers carried the dead man aboard.  The raft tipped dangerously but stayed afloat, and as we bobbed down the river towards the netherworld, Desh-kam slurped contentedly on the last cup of boba milk tea.


    I was fairly certain it was the one Esh-kam had ordered.

 Tournament of the Seasons (Ariane dArtagnan)

    The Prince of the Spring Court was terrible at Seasons. As the Spring sprites looked on in horror, a basket of rich, black earth plopped onto the playing field right where it was guaranteed to get captured. And, lo and behold, while the Winter Court sprites rolled around on the icy air laughing, a snowball the size of a snowman¡¯s belly smacked down next to the basket of earth, cutting off all but one path of escape.


    ¡°His Highness the Prince of Spring wants to know why no one is spreading his earth!¡± bellowed the herald.


    Sprout glanced across the field and inadvertently met the Prince¡¯s eyes. He scowled back. Sprout bowed low and waved at the other sprites. ¡°You heard him. Off we go.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no point,¡± grumbled the oldest sprite, Blossom. ¡°The Winter Queen will capture it with her next move.¡±


    ¡°Still.¡±


    The Spring sprites elbowed their way past the Winter sprites and began to shovel the earth onto the ground around the basket.


    ¡°Sure you wanna do that?¡± jeered a Winter sprite.


    ¡°Only reason Her Majesty hasn¡¯t taken it yet is that she knows she can any time,¡± laughed another.


    ¡°Oh hush, you,¡± fake-scolded a third. ¡°Let them do their jobs. It¡¯s good to see that someone in the Spring Court knows how.¡±


    Shoot, one of the more hotheaded Spring sprites, flung down his shovel. Before he could launch himself at the Winter sprites, his twin, Bud, grabbed the back of his tunic. ¡°Ignore them and shovel, brother!¡±


    Shoot clenched his fists. ¡°It¡¯s not fair! They should have waited until our Queen returned to hold the Tournament of the Seasons!¡±


    Under normal circumstances, they would have waited. Unfortunately, the Prince¡¯s ineptitude at the board games was matched only by his hubris, and he¡¯d declared that he would play for Spring this year.


    ¡°Less talking, more shoveling,¡± Sprout ordered. ¡°He¡¯s going to play the next basket any second now.¡±


    The other sprites groaned, but they bent over to toss dirt across the dead leaves left over from the Autumn-Winter tournament. Tiny, tender green shoots peeked out of the black earth. ¡°Don¡¯t bother growing,¡± Sprout wanted to tell them. ¡°You¡¯re going to die anyway.¡±


    They¡¯d just barely emptied the basket when another one landed, all the way across the field. Sprout and the others flew over as fast as they could. When they saw where the Prince had played this basket, Leaf literally fell out of the air.


    ¡°Why?¡± moaned Bud. ¡°Lady of the Spring Breeze, why?¡±


    Shoot slammed his shovel into the ground. ¡°What¡¯s the point of spreading this?¡±


    ¡°Well, she might not take it immediately¡­,¡± Bud suggested, but Sprout noted that she didn¡¯t make any motions with her shovel.


    A glance at the two players showed the Prince glaring at them, while the Winter Queen studied the board with a faint smile playing over her ice-blue lips.


    ¡°We¡¯re just going to get yelled at if we don¡¯t do it,¡± Sprout told the others. ¡°Come on!¡±


    No sooner had the tip of her shovel touched the black earth than a snowball landed on the field behind her. It shattered into a winter storm, and when its winds touched its neighbor, it, too, burst apart. One after another the snowballs exploded, until the Spring sprites were surrounded by a wall of flying snow.


    From the hard blue sky overhead descended a flock of Winter sprites. ¡°We¡¯ll just be taking that!¡± chirped their leader.


    Suppressing a sigh, Sprout handed up the basket of earth. The Winter sprites fluttered off with it, giggling.


    ¡°If he knew anything about the game, he¡¯d forfeit now and save us the hassle,¡± muttered Blossom. The old sprite¡¯s teeth chattered in the gale.


    ¡°If he knew anything about the game, we wouldn¡¯t be in this blizzard, would we?¡± Leaf asked tartly.


    ¡°He can¡¯t forfeit. If he loses, we¡¯re guaranteed another month of Winter,¡± Bud murmured.


    ¡°You mean when he loses, we¡¯re guaranteed another month of Winter,¡± Shoot snapped.


    ¡°Sprites of the Spring Court!¡± The herald¡¯s bellow rang out over the roar of the wind. ¡°Please spread your earth!¡±


    Sprout sighed again. Her breath froze immediately. ¡°Let¡¯s go. This can¡¯t possibly last much longer.¡±


    <hr>


    Except it did.


    It must have been a slow day at the Winter Court, because their Queen seemed to be in no rush to finish off the Spring Prince. Rather, she toyed with him, setting traps for him all over the field, allowing him to believe that he had secured his territory, only to swoop in and take it. As the game dragged on, the cold that drifted off the field began to affect the spectators, and even the Prince started to look anxious. He might not have been able to read the board before him, but a glance at the field told him that snow covered most of it.


    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°We have to do something!¡± said Sprout. ¡°We can¡¯t let him lose like this!¡±


    ¡°What can we do?¡± Bud asked. ¡°We¡¯re not allowed to play for him.¡±


    ¡°Any one of us is better at Seasons than he is,¡± Leaf observed, ¡°but I don¡¯t know if any of us can beat the Winter Queen.¡±


    All heads turned towards Blossom. The old sprite harrumphed. ¡°Beating her isn¡¯t the problem. Getting him to take our advice is.¡±


    Sprout studied the Prince¡¯s slumped shoulders. He was turning a black basket over and over in his hands as he stared down at the board. He obviously had no idea where to play it. ¡°I think he might, at this point. We just can¡¯t be too obvious about it. Blossom, where should he play next?¡±


    The old sprite sniffed. ¡°Let me see.¡±


    They all rose up and hovered over the field, pretending that they were preparing for the next basket.


    ¡°There.¡± Blossom pointed at a patch of black earth that had survived long enough for winter aconite to blossom. The bright yellow cups opened wide to greet the wind from the snowstorm next door. ¡°If he plays there, he can save that area.¡±


    ¡°All right. Let me get his attention.¡±


    The Prince was arching his back, as if it ached when he hadn¡¯t been the one shoveling dirt all day. The next time he licked his lips and glanced at the whitened field, Sprout flitted to the side. The motion caught his eye, and she blinked three times. He cocked his head. She blinked three more times. His brow furrowed.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think he gets it,¡± muttered Shoot.


    ¡°He will. Come on.¡±


    Sprout flitted about, pretending to move aimlessly until she ¡°just happened¡± to be hovering over the patch that Blossom had pointed out. Then she slung her shovel across her shoulder and gave the Prince a meaningful stare.


    His jaw dropped.


    The Winter Queen began to follow his gaze. ¡°What did you see¡ª¡±


    He slammed his miniature basket down on the board. An instant later, a full-sized basket came hurtling out of the sky, nearly crushing Sprout.


    Leaf whooped. ¡°It worked! Er, I mean¡ªhe made a good move!¡±


    ¡°Foul!¡± shouted a Winter sprite. ¡°She cheated! She signaled the move to him!¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing in the rules that forbids communication between the player and the sprites on the field,¡± Blossom informed him. ¡°In fact, it would be impossible to play out the Tournament of Seasons if there were no communication between the player and sprites.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but¡ª¡±


    Scowling ferociously, the Winter sprites rotated midair and looked to their Queen for guidance. She had leaned back in her chair and was examining the Spring sprites one after another, tapping her blue-white fingertips against her lips. Then she selected a snowball from her bowl and snapped it down on the board.


    A giant snowball materialized out of thin air and thumped down next to the basket.


    Sprout shook herself out of her reverie. ¡°Come on! Shovel!¡±


    As the Winter sprites flitted around the snowball and transformed it into a blizzard, Bud, Leaf, and Shoot flung shovelfuls of earth right up to the edge of the storm.


    Sprout floated high in the air next to Blossom, waiting. The old sprite surveyed the field and nodded. ¡°There.¡± She pointed.


    This time, Sprout didn¡¯t have to catch the Prince¡¯s eye. He was already tracking her every movement, like a baby robin watching its mother¡¯s beak. She met his gaze, tipped her head, and took off for the next spot.


    Another basket of earth followed.


    Point, fly, shovel. Point, fly, shovel. Little by little, the field turned the pale green of young shoots, the fluttery white of snowdrops, the sunshine yellow of winter aconite.


    ¡°Are we winning?¡± Sprout dared whisper while Blossom contemplated her next move.


    The old sprite scowled. ¡°Hardly. She¡¯s not taking us seriously.¡±


    ¡°But if she doesn¡¯t take us seriously all the way to the end, maybe we can win.¡±


    ¡°Maybe.¡±


    Spring continued to expand across the field. Patches of purple crocuses met and merged into bright red tulips. Daffodils bobbed their defiance at the snow.


    ¡°We¡¯re winning!¡± Shoot cheered.


    ¡°Hush!¡± snapped Blossom.


    ¡°But just look at how much territory we control¡ª¡±


    A basket of earth whumped down next to him. All the Spring sprites froze.


    ¡°That¡ªthat¡ª¡± whispered Bud.


    ¡°That¡¯s the wrong spot!¡± yelled Shoot, waving his arms. ¡°It¡¯s one over!¡±


    ¡°Can we move it?¡± Leaf asked. ¡°Maybe if we move it¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t touch it!¡± Sprout leaped in front of her. ¡°Baskets can¡¯t be moved once they¡¯re placed.¡±


    ¡°You forfeit the game instantly if you move a game piece once it has been played,¡± Blossom lectured. She put her hands on her hips, surveyed the field, and shook her head.


    ¡°How bad is it?¡± Sprout pressed. ¡°Can you save it?¡±


    ¡°No. This entire area is dead.¡±


    ¡°Dead?!¡±


    Sprout gazed down helplessly at the tulips. Sure enough, within a few moves, they were surrounded by a wall of flying snow. Frost crusted their petals and bleached their colors, and one by one, they wilted and drooped.


    ¡°Nooo!¡± came a wail from the Prince. ¡°That was a mistake! Let me take it back!¡±


    ¡°That was no mistake,¡± said the Winter Queen, unmoved. ¡°That was precisely where you intended to play. It simply wasn¡¯t where your sprites intended you to play.¡±


    ¡°Can we still win?¡± Sprout pleaded with Blossom. ¡°It¡¯s only this corner of the field, right? We can still take the rest, right?¡±


    But Blossom was shaking her head. ¡°No. Winter has already secured too much territory. We can¡¯t catch up. Well. I¡¯m sure our Queen could catch up, but I cannot.¡± And she bowed across the field at the Winter Queen.


    The Winter Queen scrutinized the old sprite for a long moment, then inclined her head ever so slightly.


    Gasps rose from the spectators. ¡°Did she just¡ª?¡± ¡°She nodded at her!¡± ¡°At a sprite!¡± ¡°From another Court!¡±


    ¡°It would be customary to resign at this point.¡± The Winter Queen¡¯s cool voice drifted across the field.


    The Spring Prince was gawking at her with his mouth half-open. ¡°But that¡ªthat can¡¯t be ¨C I ¨C it was just¡ª¡±


    ¡°Your sprite has already acknowledged that she cannot win this game. Do you intend to waste the time of two Courts by playing it all the way to the end?¡±


    ¡°I¡ªbut what if you make a mis¡ª¡±


    A single, frozen eyebrow lifted. The Prince swallowed the rest of his sentence before he suggested that a Queen might err. He hung his head. ¡°I resign.¡±


    Without a word to him, the Winter Queen rose from the board. Her attendants instantly surrounded her, straightening the creases in her gown and rearranging her icy tresses. She folded her hands before her and took a step, preparing to sweep off with her retinue. Then she turned back.


    ¡°It was a worthy game. Against a worthy opponent. In light of the pleasure I derived from this match, I will reduce the one additional month of winter to two weeks. I look forward to our next game.¡±


    The Spring Prince¡¯s head jerked up. It took him so long to collect his thoughts that she was gone by the time he mustered the words to thank her.


    Stunned silence reigned on the field. Then Shoot whooped. ¡°We did it! You did it!¡± He threw himself at Blossom, nearly knocking her out of the air. She grumbled but, Sprout noted, didn¡¯t push him away.


    ¡°Blossom, Blossom, you were brilliant!¡± Bud threw her arms around both of them, followed by Leaf, and finally by Sprout too.


    ¡°Tch, youngsters, always making such a fuss!¡± grumbled Blossom.


    But Sprout caught a tear glinting at the corner of the old sprite¡¯s eye. It shone as brightly as a field of crocuses.