Frozen Flowers
Frozen Flowers
Kore Yamazaki
Hazel left the two young women mulling over gifts for their loved ones and realized he would be done with work before sunset.
The bag fashioned from his ancestor’s leather was empty, no longer weighing him down. The town gleamed with Christmas decorations, and Hazel felt light of foot.
He felt almost human. He couldn’t help but smile.
He snorted, breaking into a trot. To Hazel, the rhythm of his four hooves was like a song, but only other centaurs would understand. Anyone else would just call it a racket.
Hazel broke into a gallop but halted a moment later.
Some shadowy, messy thing had just crossed the path ahead of him.
“Oh. Mm. Yeah…”
It was muttering to itself, bumping into the half-seen humans on the other side of the veil as it dragged itself along. Those it bumped did not appear to notice, but watching it writhe through the streets was deeply unpleasant. Just the thought of touching it unsettled Hazel.
Yet Hazel raised his cap as it passed. Even this thing might one day become a customer.
Many creatures such as this existed in big cities. Hazel wasn’t sure if they were ghosts or living beings. Cities messed with the winds. Now, as in the past, wherever people gathered, so too did these apparitions.
London was crowded with buildings, cars, and people. Parts of it smelled genuinely terrible. There were large parks and little gardens, but it wasn’t exactly easy for someone of Hazel’s size to run around. While he was wearing horseshoes, the asphalt was still bad for his hooves. He had to maintain constant vigilance as he ran in order to avoid hitting something. If he tripped, or tripped up someone else, he would bring shame to his species.
That said, unlike the “surface” roads the humans used, creatures such as Hazel used the “back” roads that lay reflected in pools of rainwater. This allowed them some freedom of movement.
The writhing shadow became lost in the crowd, out of sight.
Hazel put his hat back on. He made certain the string was secured under his chin and broke into a gentle trot.
The silent winter wind felt amazing, and Hazel breathed deeply. The wind carried the smell of winter, subtly distinct from that of the city itself. Inhaling it, he left London behind, following a hidden path. Making good use of a shortcut, his pace grew steadily faster.
As he ran farther and farther north, the sights before his eyes gradually began to change. The rowan fruit appeared to slumber, while the fields of grass maintained a frosty silence. Even the ancient stones that lined these country roads spoke not a word.
Hazel ran until the sun sank below the horizon and at last arrived at a house.
It appeared to be a normal home, no different from any other found this deep in the country. Its dark walls were made of gray stone. Firelight flickered through the windows. The thorny leaves of the holly growing over it were full of life, but the garden’s roses, trimmed for winter, lay slumbering in anticipation of far-off spring. Only the green apple tree growing by the door greeted Hazel warmly.
Somehow, this tree bore fruit year-round. Hazel took one.
The tree released the apple into his palm without resistance.
These were tart apples, well suited to baking. As he was about to take a bite, the door suddenly opened.
“Hazel! I told you to call out the moment you arrive!”
It was a woman with hair so black it was almost blue. A quilt covered her shoulders in place of a shawl.
With the warm light of home at her back, she shook with anger, as if she were scolding a wayward child.
“It’s been a while, Aunt Marie.”
Hazel put the unbitten green apple in his pocket and tapped his hooves in greeting.
Hazel’s two-legged aunt Marie lived far from northern Britain, where the centaur herd roamed. While most centaurs had four legs, every so often one would be born with two, like a homo sapiens. Born without a horse’s body, they were weak compared to an ordinary four-legged centaur. While centaur children could stand moments after birth, two-legged children took months before they could eat and move about on their own.
But two-legged centaurs could do more with their hands and were far more sensitive to problems of the heart.
Life with the centaur herd was difficult for them as they were better suited to living among the homo sapiens—among humans.
For this reason, two-legged children were sent to live with humans who knew about these things or with two-legged centaurs already dwelling in human society. This was considered beneficial for all involved.
Marie, too, had been sent to live with two-legged friends and raised as a human.
And now she lived alone in the country, far from any town.
“You don’t need to come see me just because it’s Christmas,” Marie said.
“Did you have plans with someone else?”
“You know I don’t.”
Marie held open the mint green door, letting Hazel in.
The floor of Marie’s place had no carpets or hardwood floors, just old stones. Hazel liked this floor. He could tread on it with his hooves without fear of harm. He’d never ventured upstairs and so was unsure what the floors up there were like.
“If I don’t eat your cooking and apple pie today, Aunt Marie, I’ll feel like the year just hasn’t ended properly,” Hazel said.
“That sounds awfully nice, but I bet you’re just tired.”
“If I was tired, I’d hardly come all the way out here.”
Hazel meant it. If he was worn out, he’d never go anywhere but his usual resting place.
“Ah, come on. Wipe off those feet. You were running around all day, right?”
Marie took a large cloth from the shelf by the door. She started to give it to Hazel but then thought better of it and knelt at his feet. She held out her hand, and Hazel lifted his front leg for her.
“Sorry.”
He’d have preferred to wipe them down himself, but the way his body was put together meant his forelimbs—which resembled human arms—could not reach either pair of feet.
“You’ve always just stomped right in! You should take more care.”
“I always clean up anything I get dirty!”
“Quickly sweeping pebbles into the corners does not count as cleaning.” Marie sighed dramatically, but she wasn’t angry with him. Hazel had been visiting his aunt since he was very young, and they were always like this. He used to run around the house like a wild thing, and he remembered her taking a whip to his hindquarters.
Once all his hooves were wiped down, she allowed Hazel into the living room at last.
The television in the corner was switched off, and an antique radio purchased God-knows-when stubbornly refused to play a single Christmas song. This was a Christmas living room without the voices of newscasters, the phony acting of some third-rate TV special, or the singing of carolers. Just the snap of wood burning in the fireplace and the sound of the wind racing over the winter pasture. But to Hazel, this quiet was far more comforting.
The furniture included a couch that seated three and an easy chair for one. A bookmarked novel lay on the easy chair. Marie must have been reading when Hazel arrived.
He glanced around and realized Marie had not followed him into the living room.
He smelled ash in the fireplace and the fragrance of flowers. Alongside these, a sweet scent drifted in from the kitchen.
Hazel sniffed and followed the scent, discovering Marie boiling water to make tea.
“Any requests?” she asked, mulling over a selection of tea bags.
“Anything is fine.”
“Right.” Marie plucked two tea bags out of the box—judging by how few remained, they must have been her favorite. She dropped them into a pair of mugs just as the water came to a boil. She poured it and watched the tea steep. Hazel looked over the surprising amount of food spread out around the mugs on the oak dining table. The plates were all wrapped in aluminum foil to keep the food warm.
He peeled back foil to find potatoes roasted in rosemary and a large chicken.
“And here I was, about to starting eating alone,” Marie said, making a show of dismay.
Hazel laughed.
“There you go again. You knew I was coming, didn’t you? I’ve been here every year for a decade.”
He took the foil off another dish, eyes sparkling. He’d found the pie, bursting with thick-cut apple slices. There was a small piece missing—had she sampled it earlier? Hazel plucked an apple slice and popped it into his mouth.
“Mmm! Your pies are the absolute best.”
“No spoiling your dinner!” Marie ordered.
“Okay,” Hazel said, like a chagrined child.
“Here. Your present.”
There was still plenty of chicken left—which would likely become part of a soup tomorrow—but both had clearly eaten their fill. Finishing another cup of tea, Hazel pulled out the last item in his bag and offered it to Marie.
Marie blinked at him and then broke into a smile.
“Thank you! The only people who ever bring me presents are my brother and you. I think he’s the one who gave me that apple tree when I first started living on my own.”
She closed her eyes at the memory. Hazel tried to place the present in her hand, but she stopped him.
Marie got up and left the kitchen. A few minutes later, she returned with a box wrapped in a mint green ribbon, the same color as the door.
“Here! We’ll trade.”
She seemed so happy that Hazel couldn’t help but smile.
They both unwrapped their presents carefully, and as one, raised voices in surprise. The presents that emerged from the box and the parcel were both the same shape.
“A horseshoe?” Marie cried.
Both presents were the U-shaped metal commonly attached to a horse’s hooves.
Marie’s was old and a little rusted, while the ones Hazel held were brand new and without a scratch. Four of them, one for each hoof. Metal but not iron. The color of the stars, they appeared to be made of aluminum.
“Is this some sort of joke?” she asked.
For a four-legged centaur to give horseshoes to a two-legged one was generally seen as a mark of spite. Two-legged centaurs may have been human in form, but their minds, bodies, and insides were all centaur. Yet two-legged centaurs had no hooves upon which to place horseshoes.
Hazel frowned in puzzlement. It took him a moment to understand, and then he winced.
“Um, oh. Sorry… That’s not what I meant at all, Aunt Marie. Honestly. I heard the humans talking, and they said it was good luck to hang up a horseshoe.”
“Oh…yes. I’ve heard the same thing.”
Marie’s expression relaxed, and Hazel felt relieved. He’d hunched over, but now his posture returned to normal.
“Aunt Marie, why horseshoes for me?”
“You haven’t changed those in ages, have you? I wipe your feet for you often enough to notice that much.”
But they were light, and sturdy, and lasted a long time!
He smiled awkwardly, scratching his head. He was happy but a little embarrassed. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling.
“Now, let’s clean up. Would you mind doing the dishes?”
“It’s the least I could do.”
Hazel bowed and headed for the sink, which was always spic and span. Marie kept everything spotlessly clean.
But Marie didn’t follow him.
There was a rustle of cloth and then the sound of something hitting the floor. Hazel turned to find Marie collapsed, clutching her chair.
“Marie?”
Hazel managed to turn himself around in the narrow space and rush over to her. He bent his front legs and helped her up.
A moment before she had seemed totally healthy. Now her brow was creased, her eyes unfocused. She seemed to be having trouble breathing.
“Marie, what’s wrong? Can you walk?”
She shook her head weakly. Hazel gathered her in his arms and stood. He moved from the kitchen to the hall. Not exactly smoothly—he banged his head and rump on several things—but he managed to hurry into the living room and lower her onto the couch.
Hazel touched his palm to Marie’s forehead. She didn’t seem to be running a fever, but four and two-legged centaurs had different normal body temperatures. Hazel couldn’t be sure she wasn’t ill.
“If you’re sick, why weren’t you in bed?”
“I didn’t notice,” she whispered.
“How could you—” Hazel started and then stopped talking.
Too much food to eat alone.
She had a Christmas present ready.
He couldn’t very well say any more.
Hazel returned to the kitchen and searched the cupboards. Unable to find what he was looking for, he was forced to go back to the living room and ask.
“Marie, where’s your medicine?”
“I’m out,” she groaned. Her hands clutched the quilt around her shoulders.
Two-legged centaurs might look human, but physically, they were centaurs. Human medicine wasn’t bad for them but neither was it terribly effective. Injuries and sickness were best treated with centaur medicine. There were dozens of centaur medicines, but not all centaurs could make them. Her stock had run out.
Hazel asked how long ago she’d run out, but Marie said nothing and avoided his eyes.
“Marie, why didn’t you say? I’d have happily gotten some for you.”
“If they find out you’re seeing a two-leg, they’ll treat you differently.”
“They won’t!” he cried.
“Not just you. Your mother and father. My brother. His wife.”
At the mention of his family, Hazel fell silent.
Four-legged centaurs looked down on two-legged ones. If not with scorn, at least with pity. If centaurs had four legs, they could be with their families, could live together, could run with the herd. But if a centaur was unable to hunt for the rest of the herd, it didn’t matter how good they were with their hands. Besides, life expectancy for two-legged centaurs was decades shorter. They were prone to sickness and could not have children.
So they were treated like wounds, like growths, like pestilence. Sent to human towns so the four-legged could avoid contact with them.
Hazel had known Marie since he was young. His father—Marie’s brother—had sent his son in his stead, to make sure his sister was doing all right on her own.
Hazel had been sent away from the herd and given a letter whose contents he did not know. He’d been told it was for travel practice.
He had found fae and spirits playing here and there, and asked them the way, eventually finding his way to Marie’s house. The apple tree was already growing by the door, and covered in fruit, but all Hazel remembered was the sight of her tears as she read the letter.
Nobody knew when the rift between two and four-legged centaurs began. Hazel didn’t really understand it himself. But it had carved a deep gulf between his father and his aunt, and they weren’t the only ones.
Hazel had heard that in the old days, two-legged centaurs were killed at birth. The modern way was certainly not as bad, but it was still, to his mind, a load of crap.
To hell with it.
“I’ll go get medicine. You rest here, Marie.”
Hazel put on his coat as Marie watched in surprise.
“You’ll go get it? All the way to the herd up north?”
There was always a medicine maker in the centaur herd, just as there was always a doctor where humans gathered. If Hazel insisted the medicine was for him, perhaps there would be no repercussions.
“Even on the back roads, it will take at least two days to get there and return.”
“I can manage,” Hazel said.
“I’ll get better with rest! You should rest, too.”
“But—”
“I insist.”
Her pale hands, so frail compared to his own, grabbed him. There was no power in them. She could hardly stop him from going, but stop him she did.
“If I don’t have medicine, I go to bed until I get better. I always have!”
This wasn’t the first time this had happened to her.
Marie’s breathing was shallow. It was less ragged than before, but her breaths still came quickly.
Hazel imagined her enduring her illness alone. All alone in bed, clutching her aching body as the wind raged across the fields. Waiting for the storm to pass, unable to rely on anyone.
“Don’t leave me alone. Not right now,” Marie said.
All Hazel could do was nod.
He went upstairs for the first time, fetching a blanket from her bed and covering her where she lay on the couch. She was always scolding him for being careless, or thoughtless, so this was him trying to be the opposite. But instead of scolding him, her eyes were closed. She did not even manage a smile.
He considered carrying her to her bed, but the narrow stairs made it difficult for him to climb. Instead, he left Marie lying in the living room. He poured hot water into a pot, which he placed on the coffee table. Folding his legs, he lay down beside her.
The fire’s heat warmed the stone floor. Hopefully that would be enough to keep Hazel from getting sick himself.
He heard her softly whisper, “Thank you.”
She always smelled like frozen flowers.
Hazel thought that every time he came to see her.
Perhaps because she’d seemed so astonishingly beautiful when, as an exhausted foal, he’d finally stumbled to her doorstep. Perhaps it was because he’d been touched by her care, her refusal to reject him, even as he became well aware of the rift between the two types of centaur.
Maybe she’d rather no four-leg ever saw her.
Yet she always prepared dinner and dessert for him, and always waited for his arrival.
She must never know I’m secretly thrilled to have a chance to look after her.
Hazel shook off the thought. Marie’s eyes fluttered open. She reached down to stroke Hazel’s horseback.
His coat was black and glistened like he’d just come in from the rain. Her touch was gentle. His body temperature was higher than hers, and she could feel his warmth through her hand.
“Your coat is so black and glossy. It’s beautiful.”
“The same as your hair, Aunt Marie.” Hazel meant it.
“Oh, that’s not true. Mine’s all…this way and that way. It never lies straight like yours.”
“My tail gets every bit as bad if I don’t comb it.”
Marie chuckled. She must have imagined him trying, and Hazel laughed at the thought.
“I’m jealous of you,” she said.
“Mmm?”
“I may look human, but my legs ache for it. On days when the breeze is gentle, on those rare clear days when I see a beautiful morning mist, I want to run as far as I can. But I’m so weak. Two frail legs won’t take me anywhere.”
That was worse than being cut off from the herd.
Marie’s nails dug into his coat a little, but Hazel did not object. After a few minutes, she smoothed his coat out again, brushing where she’d mussed it.
“Nothing worse than wishing for what you can’t have,” she said ruefully.
Four legs or two, each had what they had. Hazel could not live in these cramped houses, and Marie could not live in the fields with the herd. Were it not for the rift, Marie’s skilled hands could have made her a good doctor. Hazel could have thought of Marie as nothing more than an aunt, as part of his extended family.
“But all I’ve ever known is this Marie, who walks on two legs,” Hazel said.
“Just as I’ve only known you to clop around on four hooves,” Marie whispered softly, closing her eyes. “The beautiful hair on your legs may be the same color as my own, but I envy them.”
Marie said nothing more. She must have fallen asleep again.
When he could tell that she was sound asleep, Hazel got up and put more wood on the fire. Excited for the new fuel, the fire sent up a shower of sparks. The red glow lit and warmed Hazel and Marie. The scent of ash grew stronger.
The night wind brought new snow dancing around the sides of the house.
The water in the pot grew cold, but Hazel did not feel like warming a new batch.
Hazel returned to Marie’s side, resting his torso on her legs. He positioned his rump where she could easily stroke it if she woke again.
The firelight made it hard for Hazel to gauge her complexion. He took off his gloves and lightly touched her cheek, which seemed a little cold.
Her breathing was steady, and the furrow between her brows had relaxed. Hazel almost spoke…but didn’t.
You’re beautiful, two legs and all.
It hurts that our eyes only meet if I bend my knees.
What would she say to him in return?
He swallowed those words, burying them in his heart till death. He adjusted the cushions, propped himself up, and closed his eyes.
When the morning light woke her, Marie could tell the storm inside her had passed.
She searched for her nephew, who’d been lying at her feet when she went to sleep. Other than some cushions on the floor, though, there was no sign of him.
Did he go home?
He was not the sort to just leave without a word. But if he had gone, she must have placed an awful burden on him. Marie’s heart filled with regret.
She’d hoped to keep her frailty hidden from him, but this had been worse than usual. Hazel must have been so shocked. She’d never said a word about her sickness to him before.
The lack of medicine was unfortunate, as well. Perhaps it was far past time to trouble her brother for more. She would normally never consider it. Marie let out a long sigh.
Her brother sent batches of medicine regularly. Not a lot, but that was all the love he could show her. She’d been sent away as a baby, so she didn’t know what her mother, father, or brother looked like. She could never ask for anything from her parents, but her brother had figured out where she was and had found a way to show her some small mercy despite the rift between their kinds.
Sometimes, that filled her with unspeakable rage. But then she’d look at the apple tree he’d sent her, and the churning fog in her heart would subside. There was nothing Marie could do about it.
Looking at her adoring nephew, she felt the same rage sometimes. But when she watched him savor the sweets she’d made, she couldn’t help but laugh, and the storm inside her would die down.
Did he really leave?
“Auntie? Marie? You awake?”
Marie jumped and turned toward the hall. Hazel stood there with a steaming bowl of soup in his hands. When he saw Marie was awake, he happily came over and handed the bowl to her.
Inside was porridge made from milk, stock, and bread. Marie thanked him and took it. Her nephew shifted uncomfortably, his hooves clattering on the stone.
“You made this?” she asked.
“I may have knocked into a few things in the process.” He scratched his head guiltily.
Thinking about the state of her kitchen was terrifying, so Marie pushed the thought out of her mind. She focused on eating the porridge her nephew had made for her, despite the fact he knew nothing of cooking.
“The best thing about having two legs is that I can clean every corner of the house,” Marie said pointedly. Hazel cringed, laughing.
“This is a long way to go, but would you deliver it for me?”
As Hazel got ready to leave, Marie handed him an apple pie, all wrapped up. The leftovers from the night before.
“Sure, but to where?”
“You seemed to think it was awfully good. Take it to my brother.” After all, Marie said, she’d made the pie using apples from the tree he’d given her.
Only the faintest whiff of frozen flowers hung around her now.
“I’ll be glad to take it to him.” Hazel gave a mock human salute. He carefully put the pie and Marie’s present in his bag and then taped the lid. She’d never once asked him to deliver anything before. He’d been a courier for a while, but this job felt special.
“How much?” she asked.
“If you prepare another spread like last night the next time I visit, that’s all the payment I need.”
“You realize that’s far more expensive?”
“Fair!” Hazel laughed out loud.
“Do come again, Hazel.” Marie waved him off.
Behind her, an old horseshoe now hung on the mint green door.
“Mmm. I will, Marie.”
With that, Hazel folded his arms and galloped away on his four hooves.
December 26th had no snow or wind. It was just another cloudy English day.
The dried-up winter trees stretched bony branches across the sky. The gray stone walls piled along the road were cold and heavy. Nothing grew in the fields.
But as Hazel headed to the far north end of the land, along narrow country roads, the sights seemed strangely new.
He already knew what he’d give his aunt next time.
The End