“But . . . that doesn’t make sense. If I’m the ‘guide,’ then what do they mean about ‘the past’?”
“I’m guessing that’s referring to the fact that Fintan is one of the Ancients, and therefore the very essence of our past. Or perhaps they’re hinting that the memory we need is deep in Fintan’s past.”
“But—”
“I realize it’s not a perfect match, Sophie—and believe me, I’ve done everything I could to reject this theory. I’ve researched ‘guide,’ and compasses, and spent every waking hour trying to find some other meaning. This is the only idea that makes sense.”
“What about Prentice?”
Alden looked away, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his hair. “How many times do I have to tell you, Sophie—Prentice is useless.”
The emotion in his voice knocked her back a step—but she couldn’t tell what it was. Sorrow? Anger?
“I’m sorry,” he said after a second, rubbing his temples. “I just . . . I wish I could change . . . But I can’t.”
He sounded so incredibly weary.
Before Sophie could think of anything to say he took a shaky breath and added, “I’m not going to force this on you, Sophie. I had to bring you down here because I couldn’t tell you the plan until we were completely alone—but if you don’t want to do this, we will leave right now. No questions. No problems. Certainly no hard feelings. I’ll come back with someone else as my guide. The choice is completely yours.” He held out the magsidian crystal. “Say the word and I’ll take you home.”
Her reflection looked fractured in the dark facets. Sophie felt just as torn.
“What if something happens to you?” she whispered, wishing she could block the horrifying thoughts racing through her head.
Alden, staring at her with wild eyes, like Brant. Curled up on the floor of a cold, empty house, rocking back and forth.
“Nothing’s going to go wrong,” Alden promised.
“How can you know that? You wouldn’t need a guide unless there was a really good chance something could go wrong during a break, right? And what if I’m not strong enough to help you?”
Alden stepped closer and squeezed her shoulders. “I have no doubt that you’re strong enough, Sophie. Think of all the amazing things your mind can do. You’re impenetrable to other thoughts and transmissions—”
“Not Fitz’s.”
“Okay, one person can get past you—”
“Silveny, too.”
A smile peeked from the corners of his lips. “Fine. One person and an alicorn—that’s still far superior to our strongest Keeper, who’s had dozens of Telepaths slip through. And when you pair that with your incredible concentration levels and consider the fact that no one can block you, it’s almost like the Black Swan made you for this task.”
Sophie cringed. She didn’t want to be made for anything.
“I know how frightening this is. And trust me, this is the last thing I would ever ask of you—not because I’m worried for me. I know I’ll be fine. But I want you to be fine. If you don’t want to, say the word.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just . . . if something happened and it was my fault—”
“Nothing is going to happen, I promise. But even if it does, it wouldn’t be your fault. No—don’t shake your head. Listen to me. You are—by far—the strongest Telepath in our world. If you can’t guide me back, no one can. No one.”
She could tell from his eyes that he meant every word.
And if he believed in her that much . . .
She swallowed, barely able to find enough of her voice to whisper, “Okay.”
His smile was sad as he pulled her in for a hug. “Thank you, Sophie. I’m so sorry you have to go through this. I’ll try to make it as easy as possible.”
She was too stunned by what she’d just agreed to do to think of anything to say to that, so she turned back around and continued their descent.
The rest of the walk was a blur as she tried to remember everything Tiergan had ever taught her in their telepathy sessions. It all seemed so trite and useless now. What did it matter that she could project her thoughts on paper or read the minds of animals or transmit miles and miles away? How would any of that pull Alden back if he started to lose himself?
She was so absorbed in her own worries that she didn’t notice they’d reached the bottom until she tripped, her feet expecting another stair and finding sandy floor instead.
The room they’d entered was small, square, and empty. The only distinct feature was a huge metal door with a small black slit in the center.
“They call this place ‘the Room Where Chances are Lost,’ ” Alden whispered.
The sand rustled in front of them, and Sophie barely managed not to squeal as another dwarf twisted out of the ground.
“Permission has been granted for you to enter,” the strange creature murmured in a dry, cracked voice as he shook the loose grains from his shaggy fur and squinted at them with his dark, beady eyes. “I am Krikor. I shall be your attendant.”
Alden gave a slight bow and Sophie fumbled to copy him.
“Are you ready?” Krikor asked, moving toward the metal door.
Alden reached for Sophie’s hand—probably to reassure her, but he was trembling so much it was hard to feel comforted.
“As ready as we’ll ever be,” Alden whispered. Then he pulled Sophie forward and inserted his magsidian pendant into the keyhole in the center of the door.
Metal latches clicked, but nothing happened until Krikor slipped a rounded disk of magsidian into a thin slot hidden in the shadows at the edge of the door, like putting a coin in a soda machine.
A thunderous Boom! reverberated through the chamber and a seal broke along the edges, letting bright orange light seep through the cracks.
“Focus on the floor as you walk,” Krikor advised as he pushed open the door. “It will spare you from seeing the madness.”
The first thing Sophie noticed was the smell.
It wasn’t rot or decay or waste like she would expect from a prison. Nor was it sulphur or magma, like the center of the earth should smell. The only word she could think to describe it was “bleak.” If hopelessness had an odor, it would smell like Exile. Sharp and stale and bitter.
Also noticeable was the sound. It wasn’t loud or angry. No screaming or raging. Just constant muffled moans. Cries of misery. Or insanity.
“How big is this place?” Sophie asked, her voice echoing off the cavernous walls. The metal hallway was lined with porthole-size windows and seamless doors, and it curved up ahead, disappearing into the gloomy light.
“Not as big as you think,” Alden told her as they made their way down the hall. “The structure is a spiral, curling in on itself.”
Still—there were a lot of doors. “I thought crime was supposed to be rare.”
“Exile is the prison for all the worlds. That’s why we have to keep its location so secret. Not all species are as peaceful as ours.”
Almost on cue, some sort of creature screeched and crashed against the walls of its cell. Sophie moved closer to Alden.
Despite her fears she ignored Krikor’s warning, scanning the doors and hoping to spot Prentice’s name in the glowing labels above them. But then a face appeared in one of the windows—moss green skin and slits for a nose and brown fangs peeking through its flat lips. Sophie looked away, but she could feel it staring at her with its bulging milky eyes as they passed.
After that she focused on the smooth, sterile floor, watching her reflection warp and skew as she tried not to imagine what other monsters hid behind the metal walls. On and on they walked until Sophie felt dizzy from winding round and round and round. And yet it still felt too soon when they stopped, and Krikor announced, “The prisoner you seek is in here.”
TWENTY-FOUR
IS IT SAFE?” SOPHIE ASKED as Alden slipped the magsidian key into the plain silver door labeled FINTAN.
It felt wrong to e
nter a prison cell with only a short, hairy dwarf to protect them—where was Sandor with his bulging muscles and giant weapon when she actually wanted him?
“The prisoner is in controlled confinement, and we have restrained him,” Krikor answered.
“But stand behind me just in case,” Alden warned.
He started to twist the key, but Krikor blocked him. “Your pendants,” he said, holding out his furry hands.
“I can’t believe I missed that.” Alden removed his balefire crystal and handed it over.
Sophie copied him. Her wrists tingled with the memory of her burns as Alden explained that Fintan would’ve been able to call sparks back to a flame, and she hoped this would be the last Pyrokinetic she’d ever face.
Krikor stepped out of the way, and Sophie hid behind Alden as he turned the key.
Moist, frigid air blasted them when he pushed the door open, and a raspy voice said, “I guess this means the Council has decided to make good on their threats.”
“Unless you’d like to make this easier on everyone,” Alden told him. “It’s not too late.”
“Oh, it’s far too late. Far too late.”
The resignation in Fintan’s voice pricked at Sophie’s heart. Even if he’d brought this on himself, what must it be like knowing you were about to turn into one of the mindless drones filling the hallway with their lifeless wails?
“I’ll admit, I didn’t think they’d send you,” Fintan added quietly. “I guess I should see it as a compliment. They sent their star.”
Alden sighed and took a few steps forward. “Fintan. I implore you to see reason—”
“Ah, you’re not alone. I’d wondered,” Fintan interrupted. “You—hiding back there. No need to be afraid. They’ve gone to great lengths to make sure I’m perfectly harmless.”
Sophie peeked around Alden’s side.
Fintan was thinner than she’d expected. Almost fragile-looking, with sky blue eyes and slender features. Not someone she would ever suspect of being wrapped up in a conspiracy to massacre the human race. He wore bright red clothes and was bound to a plain metal chair in the empty, icy room.
“Amazing,” he whispered, staring into her eyes. “You’re the girl who bottled the Everblaze, aren’t you?”
Sophie nodded, focusing on his ears. The tops curled into more prominent points than Bronte’s, sticking out of his messy blond hair.
His dry lips stretched into a grin. “Wasn’t it magnificent? The Everblaze,” he clarified when she frowned. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen it. But it was a remarkable thing to behold.” He stared into space, like he was reliving the memory. “Couldn’t you just feel the way the fire breathed with power and energy and life?”
Fluorescent yellow flames danced through Sophie’s mind, and she could almost feel the searing heat and the choking smoke as the fires closed in around her. “Mostly I just wanted to get out of there alive and stop it from killing any more innocent people.”
His smile toppled to a scowl. “I suppose only a Pyrokinetic can truly appreciate the majesty of an unstoppable flame. The fire of the sun on the earth. I would’ve loved to see it again, before . . .”
He closed his eyes.
“If you’d tell us what you know, there wouldn’t be a ‘before,’ ” Alden reminded him.
“We both know I’m never leaving this cold, empty room with no warmth, no kindling—nothing but solid metal and fireproof clothes. A life with no heat—no fire—isn’t worth living.”
He shivered.
“Besides,” he added, shifting as much as his bonds would allow. “Some secrets are worth protecting.”
“So you admit, you are hiding something,” Alden asked him.
Fintan’s hands curled around the metal arms of his chair, turning his knuckles white. “Our world is broken, Alden—and all the Council does about it is condemn anyone brave enough to acknowledge that we have a problem. Break our minds, lock us deep in the earth, convince themselves that we are the criminals. But who are the ones ruining lives? Destroying families? Forbidding people from using their abilities, relegating them to working class—”
“Pyrokinesis was forbidden because your insatiable craving for power killed five people. You supported the decision when you resigned from the Council.”
“That was a regrettable mistake,” Fintan whispered. “And I understood the need for change. But then I lived the life they’d relegated me to. Treated like the Talentless—with no way to satisfy my craving for flame. It’s a daily struggle not to let my sanity slip away.”
“I’m not so certain you’ve succeeded.”
Alden’s voice was cold, but Sophie couldn’t help feeling a tiny stab of sympathy for Fintan. Having a special ability meant everything in their world. She could imagine how frustrating it would be to have one and have to deny it. And if his body actually craved it . . .
“And that’s only a small problem,” Fintan added, his voice building steam. “Left to their own devices the Council will let everything we’ve built crumble to dust. Someone had to stand up and fight for what matters—and while I’m not the one who cast the first sparks, I am willing to help keep the flames alive.”
“The flames have been extinguished!” Alden shouted.
Fintan snorted a laugh. “That’s the funny thing about rebellions. You can’t stop them until they’ve consumed everything that fuels them. And from where I sit I see plenty of kindling.” His eyes locked with Sophie’s. “She’s as much a part of it as I am—never forget that.”
“She’s not a part of anything.”
“If that were true, then why is she here?” He stared at Sophie again, the kind of stare that made her want to squirm or hide because it was like he was looking through her instead of at her. “You’re choosing the wrong side, Alden. If anyone’s mind should be broken, it’s hers. She’s hiding more secrets than anyone.”
Alden grabbed his shoulders. “That’s enough!”
Sophie forced air into her lungs and tried to shove his horrible words out of her mind, but they’d already rooted themselves to her fears.
“Enough,” Alden repeated. He took a deep breath and turned to face Sophie. “Are you ready for this?”
She gave a shaky nod.
“Doing this brings me no joy, Fintan,” Alden told him quietly. “But this group—this rebellion you’re protecting—will be stopped. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect what matters.”
Fintan’s glare screamed a million snide insults. But all he said was, “Well, then I guess you’d better get started, shouldn’t you?”
“Yes, I believe I should.” Alden stepped back, smoothing his hair and rubbing his temples. “Last chance.”
All the color had drained from Fintan’s face, but he still gritted his teeth and said, “I’m not the first to sacrifice myself for the cause—and I won’t be the last.”
“And your sacrifice will be for nothing. I’ll find whatever you’re hiding in the break.”
“You’ll never find it in time. I know how to protect my secrets. And if I can, I’ll drag you down with me.”
“You’ll only hurt yourself if you try.” Alden turned to Sophie. “I’ll need you to keep physical contact with me.”
Sophie stumbled over to him, her palm slick with sweat as she curled her fingers around his wrist. “What am I—how do I—I don’t know—”
“Relax, Sophie. Your job is incredibly easy. All you have to do is open your mind to mine and stay connected. If you feel my thoughts start to slip away, simply call for me to guide me back. Think you can handle that?”
“But he said he can drag you down.”
“He’s just trying to scare you. The worst he can do is block me from finding what he’s hiding before his mind shatters. Just keep your eyes closed and try not to pay attention to anything you see. I’ll work as fast as I can.”
“How long will it take?” she whispered.
“No more than a few minutes.”
Fintan laughed, c
old and sharp. “That’s what you think.”
Alden ignored him, placing his hands on Fintan’s temples. “Go ahead and connect to my thoughts, Sophie. Let me know when you’re ready.”
She felt too overwhelmed to think. But she closed her eyes and tried to stretch out her mind and . . .
. . . thought she might be sick all over the floor.
She took a deep breath and tried to tell herself that this was no different than trying a new skill in her telepathy session. It didn’t help as much as she’d wanted, but when she tried again she was able to spread out her consciousness enough to reach Alden’s mind.
Alden’s thoughts filled her head, rippling like a soft breeze
There’s no reason to worry, Sophie. I trust you.
Telling her not to worry was like telling her not to breathe. But all she said was, Be careful.
You too.
She counted each passing breath, wondering how she would know when the memory break started. Would something change? Would it feel suddenly different?
Then Alden’s mind dimmed and turned cold—and Fintan started to scream.
TWENTY-FIVE
SOPHIE TIGHTENED HER GRIP ON Alden’s wrist, forcing herself to stay connected as a flood of images poured through his mind. She tried not to focus on them, tried to let them all wash through her consciousness and fade away.
But the Everblaze burned too brightly to be ignored.
She watched through Fintan’s eyes as he and five other elves in deep orange capes stretched their arms toward the night sky. She felt his head throb as he concentrated on the tiny pricks of heat radiating from the twinkling stars, but he focused through the pain and counted to three. Together as one, the six of them called the warmth down to earth.
For a second the heat ignored them. Then six lines of neon yellow flame streaked toward the elves, gaining speed with every second. The others gasped and backed away, but Fintan held his ground, opening his palms and ordering the fire to bend to his will. The flames twisted and coiled into an elephant-size fireball that hovered above him.
Tears pricked his eyes as he soaked up the power of a purer, richer, more magnificent fire than had ever graced the earth before. But the blaze refused to stay contained and the fireball erupted, raining bits of scattered flame.
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