by Libba Bray
I have the urge to turn the boat around and run back to him. But then the current catches us and we’re moving, carried swiftly toward the Borderlands and whatever waits for us there.
* * *
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
* * *
THE SKY BLEEDS RED OVER THE WINTERLANDS. IT CASTS an eerie light on the Borderlands, turning it the colors of a bruise. In the distance, the castle nestles in its robe of vines, like a pale hand hidden in the folds of a dress. I’m relieved that it’s still intact.
“Do you see Fee anywhere?” I whisper.
“No,” Ann answers. “I don’t see anyone.”
Carefully, we part the thorns in the bramble wall and slip inside. Miss McCleethy takes in everything with a nervous glance. “You’ve been coming here?”
I nod.
She shivers. “What a dismal spot.”
“It was very merry for a while,” Ann says sadly.
We step quickly and quietly through the blue-tinged forest. The branches seem to be plucked of almost every berry, and what is left hangs in mealy clumps, forgotten. Maggots eat their way through the abandoned fruit. It makes my stomach turn.
Whoo-oot. Whoo-oot.
“What was that?” Miss McCleethy gasps.
“Don’t move,” I whisper.
We stay as still as statues. The call comes again.
Whoo-oot. Whoo-oot.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” Pip’s voice.
She steps out from behind a tree and is quickly flanked by Bessie, Mae, Mercy, and others I’ve not seen before. They fan around her like soldiers, carrying torches. It’s as if every bit of breath has been knocked from me. I’m forced to keep my hands behind my back, out of sight, to hide their trembling. She has marked her face in the blue-black juice of the berries. The others wear similar markings that give their faces a skeletal appearance.
In the firelight, Pip’s eyes change from one state to the other, from violet to white, inviting to terrifying. “Hello, Gemma. What brings you here?”
“I—I was looking for Fee,” I say.
She frowns playfully. “You’ve lost her, have you? Tsk-tsk, Gemma. How careless. Well, I suppose you’ll have to come have a look inside, then. Follow me.”
Pippa takes us to her castle like a conquering queen. She’s still lovely. She has the magic working for her, but she has not shared much of it with her disciples from what I can see. They ride behind her, tattered and torn, their skin going gray and ruined.
“Bessie,” I start, and she gives me a sharp shove.
“Keep movin’.”
The castle is as neglected as the forest. The vines crawl up the walls unhindered and drape across balustrades, hanging down in claws of green. Snakes thread through their mossy abundance.
“Where’s Felicity?” I ask again.
“Patience, patience.” Pippa hums while lining up goblets of berries along the altar.
Bessie sneers as she appraises Miss McCleethy. “’Oo’s she? Yer mum?”
“I am Miss McCleethy, a teacher at Spence Academy,” McCleethy answers.
Pip claps, giggling. “Miss McCleethy. You’re the one giving Gemma such trouble. You shall not give me any trouble at all.”
“I shall give you a great deal of trouble if you do not tell us where to find Miss Worthington at once,” Miss McCleethy insists.
“Don’t,” I warn.
“She needs a firm hand,” she whispers.
“She’s beyond that now,” Ann urges quietly.
“Shush!” Pippa says. “This is my castle. I am queen here. I make the rules.”
Mae reaches for a cluster of berries and Pippa shakes her head. “Mae, you know that is for the ritual. They must be consecrated first.”
“Yes, miss.” Mae smiles, seemingly happy to have been upbraided by her god.
“Felicity!” I shout. “Fee!”
The castle’s walls creak and groan as if they shall fall in on us. A vine tightens across my boot and I yank my foot free.
“She’s in the tower,” Mae says. “Fer safekeepin’.”
“Pip,” Ann pleads, “you have to let her go. The Winterlands creatures are coming.”
“Not you too, Ann.” Pippa tuts.
“Pip…,” Ann starts.
“All I need do is offer a sacrifice. I tried with Wendy, but she made for a poor sacrifice, being blind. And then you came back, and I knew…. I knew it was fate; don’t you see?
Miss McCleethy steps in front of me. “You can’t have her. Take me instead.”
“What are you doing?” I say.
“Gemma,” Miss McCleethy whispers, “whatever may happen, you must put aside your fear and safeguard the magic.”
Whatever may happen. I do not like the sound of it.
“Sometimes we must make sacrifices for the greater good,” she says. “Promise me you’ll keep the magic safe.”
“I promise,” I say, but I don’t like it.
Pippa hums to herself. “A willing sacrifice. That’s very powerful magic indeed. I accept.”
The factory girls drag Miss McCleethy toward Pip.
“Unhand me, you little hooligans!” she snarls, not so willing after all. She slaps Mae hard across the face, and Bessie responds with a blow of her own. Miss McCleethy falls to the ground, her ear bleeding, and the other girls join in with kicks and punches.
“Stop it!” I start for them, but Miss McCleethy holds out a bloody hand.
“Gemma, don’t!” she warns.
“Yes, that is enough,” Pippa says, as if she were waving away a second helping of soup. “Bring her to me.”
They half drag Miss McCleethy to the altar and tie her hands behind her back. Her lips bleed, and I see fear in her eyes, the dawning realization that she has sorely misjudged these girls.
“Will we suffer unbelievers?” Pip calls.
The girls answer with a clamor of nos. In their faces, I see such hate. It chills me to the bone. They no longer see us as human; we are the other, the threat that must be killed.
Pippa turns to Miss McCleethy with a sigh. “I’m afraid there is only one punishment for those who will not follow us.”
Bessie produces a shining sword. Its edge gleams in the light. The girls whoop and screech. Their primitive cries make a deafening clamor. Miss McCleethy struggles.
“No!” she shouts, kicking and trying to get away. But Mae and Mercy hold her fast, forcing her over the altar so that her head hangs free. My heart hammers against my ribs.
“Pippa, what are you doing?” I say, running for her.
Pippa blows me back with the force of her magic. Caught off guard, I fall to the floor in pain. The girls push Miss McCleethy’s head forward and expose the flesh of her neck.
“No!” I stagger to my feet, and before I can call the magic, Pippa unleashes hers. This time, I clatter to the ground like a toy. Miss McCleethy closes her eyes tightly; her mouth is set in a determined line. The blade is raised.
“Protect the mag—” she shouts just as the sword comes down with lightning swiftness.
Beside me, Ann screams and screams, her desperate shrieks blending into the crowd’s exultant shouts until it is impossible to tell where one leaves off and the other begins. I feel as if I shall vomit. My breath is ragged and tears prick my eyes. Ann sits perfectly still and stops screaming, shocked into total silence.
With a syrupy sigh, the vines wriggle forward and claim the headless body of Miss McCleethy. The girls kneel, hands clasped as if in prayer. Pippa stands before them, behind the altar. She raises a chalice over her head and brings it down again, mumbling words I cannot hear. She pulls a fat berry from the cup and places it gently into the waiting palms of Bessie. Slowly and solemnly she moves down the line, handing out a berry to each girl bowed before her.
“Who is the way?” she bellows.
“Mistress Pippa!” they respond in unison. “She is the chosen one.”
“What is our task?”
“To eat the berries and
stay in paradise.”
“Amen,” she says.
As one, the girls bring the berries to their mouths. They gobble them up.
Pip turns to us with her arms spread, her mouth open in a delirious smile. “I am sorry about your teacher, but she wouldn’t have been able to join with us. But I have faith in you. After all, you’ve come back. But you must be as we are, my darlings. Those who would follow me must eat the berries.”
I find my voice at last. “Pip, please listen. The Winterlands creatures mean to take over the realms. If you kill me, I cannot fight them.”
Bessie takes the steps to the tower and returns with a struggling Felicity, who kicks and screeches. She attempts to take a bite of Bessie, and Bessie hits her hard.
“Oh, Fee! You’re here. That’s jolly,” Pippa says as Fee looks at her in horror.
Pippa saunters over to us and places berries in our hands. She gives Ann a kiss on the forehead. “Ann, darling, why do you shake so? Are you cold?”
“Y-yes,” Ann whispers. Her lips tremble with sheer terror. “Cold.”
“Do you believe, darling? Do you believe that I am the chosen one?”
“Yes.” Ann nods, sobbing.
“And will you eat the berries? Will you accept my grace?”
“If you were truly the chosen one, you would not need to intimidate your believers,” I say. If I am to die, I will not go without a voice.
Pippa strokes my hair. “You’ve never liked me much, Gemma. I think you are jealous.”
“You may think what you like. We are in danger. All of us. The Winterlands creatures mean to rule the realms. They have already killed many of the tribes. They ride without mercy, taking the souls of those who will not join them.”
Pip frowns. “I’ve heard nothing.”
“The creatures are on their way here now. If they sacrifice me at the Tree of All Souls, they will have all the power of the Temple and rule the realms.”
“They cannot rule the realms!” She laughs. “They cannot because I am chosen. I hold the magic. It grows in me. The tree told me so! If they plotted, I should know it.”
“You don’t know everything, Pippa,” I say.
She brings her face toward me until it is inches from mine. Her lips are still purple from the berries. Her breath smells of vinegar. “You’re lying.” A slight smile pulls at her mouth. “Why don’t you use your magic against me?”
“I don’t want to do that,” I say, my voice cracking.
Pippa’s face lights up. “You’ve lost it, haven’t you?”
“No, I haven’t—”
“That’s why you couldn’t stop me—because I am the true chosen one!” Pippa thunders.
Bessie grabs me hard by the arm. “Let’s prove it to the unbelievers! Let’s take ’em to the Winterlands!”
“No!” I shout.
Pippa claps. “That is a splendid plan! Oh, yes, let’s!”
Felicity takes Pip’s hands. “Pippa, if I eat the berries, if I stay with you, will you let them go?”
“Felicity!” I shout.
She shakes her head and gives me the tiniest of smiles.
“Will you? Will you let them go?”
A glimmer of recognition flashes in Pip’s eyes, as if she is remembering a favorite dream. She leans down, the black of her hair weaving into Felicity’s blond strands, a tapestry of light and dark. Sweetly, Pippa kisses Fee on her forehead.
“No,” she says harshly.
“Pip, you don’t understand; they’ll hurt you,” Felicity implores, but Pippa is past human reason.
“I am more powerful than they are! They don’t frighten me. I am the way! I am the one! Bessie, we need another volunteer,” Pippa commands.
I am pulled from my seat and up to the altar, where I fear I may meet the same fate as Miss McCleethy. Pippa forces more berries into my hands.
“Eat, for I am the way.”
The berries stain my palm. I said I would safeguard the magic, but I have no choice: I must use it. We must break free.
I draw deeply on my power and it surges through me with renewed vigor. Pippa locks her arms with mine and we are joined in struggle. The magic feels new and hard and terrifying. My mouth tastes of metal. It’s as if my blood is no longer in my control. It pulses out of time, rushing through my veins till I shake. I feel everything inside Pippa—the rage, the fear, the desire, the longing. And I know she feels what is in me as well. When I find the secret wound, Felicity, a look of terrible sadness passes over her face.
“Let me go,” she croaks. “Let me go.”
“Only if you let us go,” I say.
She unleashes her power in full, and I am blown back against the wall of the castle. I fall into a crumple.
“Stop!” I shout. And when I let loose, she falls to her knees. But I can feel the magic turning, and I dare not be without my wits now. I have to rein in my power a bit, and in that moment, Pippa lets hers soar, pinning me against the wall, where the vines begin to crisscross over my hands and feet.
“Pippa!” Felicity shouts, but Pip is beyond caring now.
“I am the way!” she shouts.
Felicity swings the flat of the sword against her, knocking her over. The magic’s hold loosens.
“Fee?” Pip says, eyes wide. And then she sees the gash in her arm, her blood trickling down into the velvety vines. With a mighty groan, the castle shifts and bucks till we tumble one over the other.
“What is happening?” Mae Sutter shouts.
The vines whip about, reaching for whatever they can grab. There is a deafening roar as the ancient stones begin to tumble. We run for the doors in a panicked clump, dodging the falling debris.
“Pip!” Felicity shouts. “Pip, come away from there!”
But Pip’s face is alight with some terrible joy. She lifts her arms to the sky. “There is nothing to fear! I am the way!”
“Pip! Pip!” Fee screams as I yank her away.
We watch, helpless, as the desperate vines find Pippa, pulling her down hard. “No!” she shouts. “I am the way!” But the sky is raining stone. And then the great castle falls in on itself completely, entombing Pippa deep within its broken walls, silencing her forever.
Felicity, Ann, and I barely escape. We are left panting in the grass as the castle sinks back into the earth—the land reclaiming its own, and Pippa along with it. Bessie and Mae have escaped, as have some of the others. Mercy has been buried along with Pippa.
The girls stare at the spot where Pippa was standing.
Mae smiles through her tears. “She meant it to be this way,” she says in utter rapture. “Don’t you see? She sacrificed ’erself. For us.”
Bessie shakes her head. “No.”
Mae grabs her skirts. “We have to keep doin’ what she told us to do. Keep eatin’ the berries. Follow her ways. Then she’ll come back. Pray with me, Bessie.”
Bessie shakes her off. “I won’t. It’s done, Mae. Get up.”
“She was chosen,” Mae insists.
“No, you’re wrong,” I say. “She was only a girl.”
Mae will not see it any other way. She grabs handfuls of rotting berries and swallows them, calling Pippa’s name like a prayer after each one. She holds fast to her belief; she doesn’t want to know that she’s been misled, that she’s abandoned here, alone, with no one to guide her but her own heart.
Bessie runs after me. “Can I come?”
I nod. She’s a brawler, and we might have need of one.
I catch up to Felicity.
“Fee…,” I start.
She wipes her nose on her sleeve, turning her head away from me. “Don’t.”
I should leave her to it, but I can’t. “She was gone for some time. You were the only force that kept her from turning completely. That’s magic. Perhaps the most powerful I’ve seen.”
* * *
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
* * *
GORGON HASN’T WAITED FOR US TO RETURN. SHE HAS sailed after us, and now
she waits for us on the river. Kartik takes one look at Felicity’s tear-streaked face and lets well enough alone. He and Bessie size each other up, and she moves onto the boat without a word.
“It’s done,” I tell him. “Gorgon, steer us toward the Winterlands.”
Fowlson hurries to my side. “Wait! What do you mean? Where’s Sahirah?”
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly.
I’m afraid he might scream. Howl. Curse us. Hit something. Instead, he sinks silently to the floor of the ship, his head in his hands, which is somehow so much worse.
“What can we do?” I whisper to Kartik.
“Let him be.”
Gorgon guides us along the river. Small fires burn upon the water. They blaze brightly in their smoking bowers. The flames leap and crackle, threatening us with their heat. The wind blows, peppering us with a choking ash. It is like entering the mouth of hell.
Lightning pulses behind the twisting, churning red clouds over the Winterlands.
“We are near,” Gorgon says.
Ann gasps, puts a hand to her mouth. She’s staring at the water, where the lifeless body of some unfortunate soul floats past, facedown. It bobs there for a moment, a grim reminder of our task, and then the current carries it away. But it will stay in my memory forever. The rest of us fall silent. We are crossing out of the Borderlands. We are entering the Winterlands, and there is no turning back.
Gorgon eases into the pool where we first met the army of the dead. Upon the tops of the craggy cliffs, blazes have been set. I do not want to know who set them or what might be used as fuel. The forest folk and the Hajin have pulled their boats ashore. Philon turns those cool eyes to the cliffs, searching for something.
“Which is the way to the tree?” the creature asks, shouldering a shimmering ax.
“There is a passage that way,” I say.
“Where is the teacher?” Philon asks.
“We lost Miss McCleethy to the Borderlands,” I say.
Fowlson has taken off his belt. He sharpens his knife against the leather in faster and faster strokes.
“I fear that is just the beginning,” Philon answers.