Elisabet took several steps down the mountainside, looking all around her. “Look—the moon is out,” she said. “How beautiful.”
It was beautiful, but Charlie was in no mood to appreciate it. “You’re still here. Nothing happened.” She had half-expected Elisabet to die or vanish as soon as they were outside.
“I’m full of souls,” Elisabet replied, still staring at the moon. She moved her arm back and forth for Charlie to see. “Look. They’re keeping me alive.” Sure enough, the little lights were glowing under her skin like a thin piece of parchment stretched over a lamp.
“Can’t you just…keep them then?”
Elisabet looked at her now. “No. What’s left of this body is already breaking down.” She pulled a handful of her golden hair out as easily as if she were skimming cream from a bucket of milk, and it crumbled to dust. “It can’t contain this much magic. Balfour was never able to get it right. Besides,” she continued, sounding perfectly calm, “it would be wrong to imprison them. Balfour never should have trapped them, even if he did it out of love for me.”
“What now?” Charlie asked quietly.
“I’m going to let them go.” Elisabet smiled at her. “Goodbye, Charlie.”
“Goodbye, Elisabet,” Charlie answered, feeling unexpectedly choked up.
Elisabet turned to gaze at the moon again, raised her arms slightly, and gave a long, sad sigh. The little glowing lights she had inhaled and contained inside her skin poured from her mouth in a rainbow of soft colors. They drifted away on the breeze, floating away until they could no longer be seen. As the souls left her body, Elisabet seemed to grow darker and less substantial. The last light drifted away, and when the next gust of wind struck her, she dissolved into a cloud of dust and was scattered across the mountain.
Charlie stared at the spot where Elisabet had been for a long time, feeling very sad. The young woman had expected to wake to find that her lover had found a way to save her life and she could be with him always. Instead, she had woken to find that her beloved was dead and that he had used her to trap the souls of innocent people. People did such amazing and terrible things for love.
The sadness of Elisabet’s strange end and the relief of her escape from inside the mountain combined to make Charlie realize how tired she was and how much pain she was in. With no adrenaline left to keep her going, she was exhausted, stiff, and a little dizzy. Even with the moonlight, it was too dark to traverse the mountainside, and she didn’t know where she was anyway. She would just stay put until morning and decide what to do then. Her blanket, by some miracle, was still tied to her bag, but it was covered in glass shards, and she couldn’t see to remove them in the dark. She wrapped her cloak around herself instead and settled herself in the crook formed by two large boulders. She was so tired that she fell asleep almost at once.
* * *
Some time later, Charlie found herself suddenly awake. She remained still for a moment, trying to recall what sound or movement had woken her. Finally she opened her eyes to look. There was a woman sitting on a rock a few feet away from her.
“Hello,” the woman said quietly.
“Hello,” Charlie replied cautiously after a pause.
“Have you got a light?” the woman asked.
“No, I dropped my candle inside the mountain.”
“Perhaps you could light a fire?”
Lighting a fire would mean having to find her bag, and finding her bag meant she had to move. Charlie considered telling the woman to light her own fire, but finally she mustered the energy to find her striking stones and to drag a few nearby sticks into a pile. The woman made no attempt to help her and didn’t move from the rock, which Charlie thought was rather inconsiderate, given that she was the one who wanted the fire in the first place. When she had the tiny fire going, she sat back to look at her visitor in its feeble light.
The woman was maybe a few inches taller than she was and dressed in men’s clothing and riding boots. Her hair was dark and curly, her eyes were blue, and her face had an impish quality. She was resting her chin on her hand and her elbow on her knee, and though she was looking at Charlie quite seriously, her eyes had a mischievous sparkle. There seemed to be a faint blue glow lingering around her.
“How’s the pain?” the woman asked casually.
“It’s pretty bad, but I’m too tired to care,” Charlie answered. “Who are you exactly?”
“A friend. I just stopped by to check on you.” She studied Charlie for a moment. “You did a good job.”
“Well, I’ve had a lot of practice lighting fires. I’m nowhere near as fast as Griffin, but he cheats.”
That brought out a smile. “I meant you did a good job freeing the souls. I was counting on you, and you came through. Your fire-building skills are excellent too though.”
Charlie looked at her blankly for a moment. “You wanted me to free the souls?”
“Yes, I left a trail to bring you here.”
“Why didn’t you just free them, if you knew?”
“Because Balfour was still alive, and I had to allow him a chance to remedy his wrongs himself,” the woman said. “Of course, I didn’t trust him to actually do it, so I left a few contingency plans.” Her eyes softened a little. “Poor Elisabet was a nice girl, but she should have been brave and told Balfour ‘no’ when he tried to immortalize her.”
“And these contingency plans were?”
“The ball of light that led you into the mountain was mine. And I made the door so you could get back out. Doors and gates are a bit of a specialty of mine. I think Balfour just magicked himself up and down the tunnel.”
“Well, that was nice of you to provide me a way out of the trap you lured me into,” Charlie said.
“You weren’t particularly difficult to lure. You have a well-developed sense of adventure.”
Charlie sat quietly for a long moment, huddled in her cloak. “Was this entire journey a pretext to lead me here to free Elisabet and the souls? Because that isn’t what I was on a quest to do, and I didn’t find what I was looking for.” She had a very good idea now of who this woman might be, and the impossibility of that idea didn’t change her mind. She had been alive at the same time as Balfour, the door she had made had opened with Charlie’s sword, and the mountain was one of the last places she had been seen.
“No, you’re on exactly the quest you are meant to be on,” Jordana said. “This is just a stop along the way, a chance to learn. Quests are really more about the journey than the destination anyway.”
“That is the exact opposite of the definition of a quest!”
“Hey, it’s my Order—I make the rules here.” Jordana smiled, seeming to enjoy the argument.
“How are you here anyway?” Charlie wanted to know.
Jordana shrugged. “I make doors, and I walk through them. I’m not really physical here; if you tried to touch me, your hand would go right through.”
“So, is this my quest all done, and you give me my dagger?”
“No,” Jordana said cheerfully. “But I’ll leave you something to help you on your search when I go. Anything else you want to know?”
“Mm. Have any idea where my horse is?”
Jordana pointed. “That way.”
“All right, thanks.”
“Gods, you would be a smart mouth, wouldn’t you?”
“Well, you could have killed me making me fall down that hole, so you deserve it.”
“That’s fair.” Jordana stood. “Time for me to be going. Follow me and pick this key up after I go through the door.” She took a large silver key from her pocket.
Charlie dragged herself to her feet. “You’re going back into the mountain?”
“No, I’m just using the door. It isn’t real, remember. It leads where I want it to.”
Charlie followed her back to the door and watched as she slid the silver key into the lock.
“Good luck, Charlie,” Jordana said, giving her another mischievous smile. “Ma
ybe I’ll get to see you again. Keep that sword sharp!” Then she pushed the door open easily, stepped through, and was gone.
As soon as the door shut behind her, it disappeared, and there was only the mountainside where it had been. There was a clink as the key fell from the keyhole and hit a rock. Charlie bent to pick it up, then shuffled back to her makeshift campsite. The fire had burned itself out, so she pocketed the key and settled back down to sleep.
* * *
It was light when Charlie woke again, and she had a better sense of her surroundings. Judging by the density of the plant life she was much further down the mountain than she had been when she entered the hollow in the mountainside. She decided not to put too much thought into trying to reason out where she had ended up and just walked in the direction Jordana had pointed, hoping for the best.
The extent of her injuries was more apparent now that the excitement was over and the edge had been taken off her exhaustion. Her bruises made her stiff, and she had to be careful not to twist her body, or her broken ribs would respond with sharp stabs of pain. Walking when her mobility was so hampered was very slow going, but she didn’t feel any better when she sat down, so she plowed onward. She had a little bit of bread left in her bag, now badly smushed, but she didn’t feel inclined to eat much. She was able to find water pretty quickly, and the sun was warm, so she reasoned as long as nothing ate her, she would probably make it back down the mountain.
When she had to sit down to rest, she picked glass fragments out of her clothes, shoes, and blanket or looked at the key Jordana had given her. It was about the length of her palm and looked to be made of pure silver, though the metal wasn’t soft. The top was ornately fashioned with curlicues and what might have been letters in some foreign language. She assumed that the key must open something that contained the dagger and that she was meant to be searching for that thing now. It wasn’t the prize she had sought, but it at least gave her a bit of renewed hope that she would still find the dagger.
Dusk was falling when Charlie arrived back at the spot where she had left her horse and most of her things. Mystic nickered anxiously at her until Charlie stumbled up to pet her. She moved the horse to fresh grass, changed into clean clothes, forced herself to eat a few bites of food, and went to sleep.
The next morning she made the decision to go back the way she had come. She was in no shape to take care of herself right now, and she needed to ask for help. She believed she had done all she had come here to do, and a break would be a good idea. She packed up her things, managed to saddle and mount her horse without crying, and turned back. It was a rough trip, and the return journey took a little longer than it had the first time. Riding wasn’t too bad, but the routine tasks of camping and horse care were debilitatingly painful. With a little luck, they managed to cross the river without incident. A bird bearing a letter from Grandmother appeared one morning, and Charlie sent back a very brief account of recent events and asked Grandmother not to contact her again for a while.
Duchess Taka was waiting in the courtyard to greet her when Charlie arrived back at Hawk’s Rest. The watchmen had recognized her from a distance. Charlie had her injuries treated by the castle’s healer and was given over to the excellent care of the duchess’s servants. She was told in no uncertain terms that she was to rest until she had recovered properly and that she would be staying for the winter. Charlie didn’t protest. She knew by the time she was physically well enough to travel again, it would be much too cold and the mountain pass home would be blocked with snow. She had every possible comfort she could desire here, and she accepted that after the many trials and obstacles of her journey so far that it was all right that she take a break from the constant searching and exploring.
Besides, Charlie was certain that the wanderlust and need for adventure and novelty would replenish themselves in time. She could enjoy soft beds and good meals for now because she knew she would find herself sleeping on the ground and eating stale bread again, on her way to somewhere new. Her quest wasn’t over, and she could never feel settled until it was finished. The sapphire dagger was out there somewhere, and she was going to find it.
* * *
Epilogue
Charlie returned from her walk one day in late winter and draped her blue woolen cloak with its white ermine-trimmed hood across a chair before sitting on the bed to exchange her outdoor boots for her slippers. She had settled seamlessly into life at Hawk’s Rest, enjoying the comfortable living, the excellent company, and the abundant entertainment. She went riding in the woods when the weather permitted and plunged the depths of the well-stocked library when it did not. She found all of the secret places in the castle just as she had at Windsong, and Michael taught her how to hunt with the hawks the fief raised and trained. The rough life of travel began to become a distant memory as the callouses softened, the sunburn faded, and the constant wariness dissolved into contentment. She didn’t think about the dagger or Jordana or futile quests anymore as she wiled away the days until spring.
As she finished putting on her slippers, something white against the mirror caught Charlie’s eye. It was a folded piece of parchment sealed with a dot of wax and stuck in the mirror frame. With a mix of curiosity and dread, she pulled the letter free and broke the seal with her thumb. It was from Grandmother.
Your father is alive, and I know where you can find him, the letter read. Touch this letter to your mirror, and you will see him.
Charlie placed the paper against the mirror, writing-side down. The glass rippled slightly and a new image began to replace her reflection. It was a dark-haired man with blue eyes like Charlie’s own—her father. He was sitting by a campfire with a young man with brown hair. She could see their lips moving as they talked to each other, but she couldn’t hear them. Her father said something, and the young man laughed. The mirror rippled again, and the image faded away, leaving her with a lump in her throat and a fresh feeling of loss.
Charlie crushed the letter in her hand. It was a very clever ploy. Even if she didn’t believe the image was real—and she wasn’t sure she did—she would still be unable to resist begging Grandmother for more information. She was being drawn back in by a master manipulator. She looked up at herself in the mirror now, noting the familiar glint of determination in her eyes, a trait she had inherited along with the dark hair and love of horses from the man who had disappeared years ago.
It was time for her next adventure, she decided.
About the Author
Emery Gallagher chased a childhood love of medieval history all the way to a Master of Philosophy in Medieval Archaeology. She writes mostly so she can stay at home with her dog.
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