Reckonings by Carla Jablonski

shouted.
    Startled, Turnip whinnied and trotted away. “Darn you, too, Tim!” she called after the retreating horse. Realizing what she’d said, her face flushed. “Turnip,” she said through gritted teeth. “I meant Turnip.”
    She stormed back to where she’d dropped the knapsack and rummaged through it. “Mmm. Let’s see.” She felt around until she found a carrot. “Brilliant. Gran, you think of everything.”
    She stood back up. “Turnip!” She held the bribe over her head and waved it. “Yo! Turnip. I’ve got a carrot for you. Carrot!”
    The horse eyed Molly, then clip-clopped back to her. Turnip nuzzled her to get at the carrot, and Molly let the mare take it with her big teeth. She stroked the horse’s velvety nose and thought of the beautiful unicorn that she had met with Tim.
    Tim . She shook her head, as if trying to dislodge him from her mind, and led the horse to thefence where riding gear waited. She slid in Turnip’s bit, and slung the saddle over her high back, tightening the girth. Placing a foot in a stirrup, Molly lifted herself up onto the horse. “Well, let’s go, if we must.” She jingled the reins, and pointed Turnip out of the corral and onto the road to Leanan Hill.
    Why is Gran making me do this anyway? Molly wondered. Dad would say it’s because she’s touched in the head . Molly recalled some of the stories he’d told about Gran. Like all the times he’d come home to find her dancing around the house with a skillet, swatting at the invisible fairies. Whenever Molly’s father was particularly angry at Molly, he’d warn that she was becoming too much like her crazy gran.
    â€œIf that’s what constitutes the definition of daft, I suppose I am,” Molly declared. “I’ve seen fairies. Well, not anywhere around here, and they weren’t invisible like the ones Gran seems to do battle with. But I have seen them.
    â€œActually,” Molly continued, “to be exact about it, I’ve seen people from the land of Faerie. I wonder if that’s the same thing.”
    Molly felt a slight chill as the thick foliage of the tall trees created a canopy that blocked the sun. “If Dad really thinks Granny is such a loon, would he have stuck me up here with her? I don’t think so.”
    The path wound its way through the quiet woods. As Molly listened to the birdcalls and felt the soft breeze ruffle her hair, she began to grip the reins less tightly. Tension eased out of her, the soft sway of the horse beneath her lulling her into something approximating peace.
    Maybe Gran isn’t so kooky after all , Molly thought. She considered trying to work herself back up into her bad mood, just to prove Gran wrong, but then decided that would be stupid. Even stupider than talking back to her parents after she was caught sneaking out again—which was how she landed here in exile. “One of those dumb things you do that doesn’t hurt anyone but you,” Molly said.
    Soon she emerged from the wooded area and saw the large, mysterious stones that marked the top of Leanan Hill. She headed Turnip up the path. It really is beautiful up here, she noted. She breathed in the scent of heather and noticed that the grass sparkled emerald green in the late afternoon sunlight.
    â€œHere we are,” Molly told Turnip. She swung down from the saddle and took off the knapsack. The horse immediately began munching on the grass. “Enjoy your lunch,” Molly said, giving the flank a pat. “I wonder what Gran packed for me, other than carrots.”
    She reached into the knapsack and felt…paper? Had Gran included a note? She pulled out an envelope. No, it wasn’t a note; it was a letter from Marya.
    Molly sat back against one of the tall stones to read, enjoying its warm solidity. The sun’s warmth had been baked right into the rock, and it relaxed