Exile

by Shannon Messenger

  “No reason to worry,” the face whispered as laughter erupted around her. The sound was young and childish at first. Then deep and dark as the face shattered to a million tiny flecks that surrounded her, stinging like needles. Some part of her mind knew she wasn’t actually being touched—but that didn’t make the pain any less real. She wanted to scream or cry or call for help—but she had no mouth. No voice. She was just a blip of consciousness.

  A bodiless mind.

  The needles of light turned electric, zapping with tiny shocks over and over and over until the only reality she knew was their pricks and pain. She was trapped. Stuck in this nightmare world where shadows tricked and light attacked and she was nothing. No one.

  No.

  She was someone.

  But who was she?

  It was a question she used to know, but the answer felt like it had been erased by the panic and pain, shoved out of her reach—beyond the burning lights.

  She had to find it. Even if it was hard. Even if it hurt.

  She pushed through the shards of light, letting them scrape and singe and strip more of her consciousness away. And then she was falling again. Down down down, with no end in sight. Dropping so far she knew she’d never pull herself up.

  But without the tormenting stings, she found the answer to her question.

  I am Sophie Foster.

  She transmitted the words to make them more real and a thin strand of white light cut through the black. She wrapped her mind around it, clinging to the lifeline and hovering in the dark with no idea where to go or what to do. The cord of light flickered. Then a whisper of warmth trickled around her, building to a hum as the shadows bent and twisted into a shape. A dark bird.

  A black swan.

  It spread its wings and dove. Sophie watched it fall, wondering if she could trust it.

  Let the past be your guide.

  She released her hold on the strand of light, falling falling falling so fast, so hard, she caught up with the swan. She grabbed its wings and held on tight as it swooped and swept and swerved, finally crashing into a world of sunlight and blue sky and green grassy hills. But the world was too bright, too shimmering. Almost blinding.

  The swan—now a real bird—tumbled with Sophie across soft ground until they collided with the legs of a woman, knocking her down. Her musical laugh rang through the air as she fell into their tangled heap. Then she pulled herself free, cradling the flapping swan in her arms and whispering for it to be calm.

  She looked about twenty, with long blond hair that hung in soft waves and a violet gown. Sophie had never seen her before, but something felt familiar about her, especially when she smiled. The smile made her turquoise blue eyes sparkle the exact way Edaline’s eyes did in the rare moments when she broke free from her grief.

  Jolie.

  Can you see me? Sophie transmitted, knowing it was crazy.

  Jolie didn’t respond. Instead she looked back to the swan waddling at her feet and reached to stroke its black feathers.

  I don’t understand, Sophie transmitted, wishing she could scream when silence was the only response. What does this mean?

  Jolie laughed. “It’ll be okay.”

  Her voice was so similar to Edaline’s, Sophie felt chills. Jolie turned toward her then, and the clarity in her stare felt different than the other visions—like it wasn’t a dream or a memory this time.

  “We have to trust,” she told Sophie, her smile fading.

  Trust what? Trust who?

  Jolie didn’t say. She just glanced at the sky and said, “You have to go.”

  How? And what are you doing here? What does this mean?

  Jolie swept up the swan with long, graceful arms and tossed it to the bright white clouds. “Follow the pretty bird across the sky.”

  The swan spread her wide black wings and flapped as the scene splintered to dust. But the shadows that rushed in pushed Sophie up instead of down. Shards of memories tried to grab her as she rose but she was moving too fast, blurring through the darkness until it turned gray and then white, and then she was back in her body, gasping and heaving and thrashing inside two strong arms that held her in a viselike grip.

  “Don’t you ever do that again!” Alden shouted.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  SOPHIE WAS NO STRANGER TO headaches, but she’d never experienced anything like the thunderbolt that crashed into her brain when she opened her eyes—pounding and tearing and smashing and searing.

  “Just breathe,” Alden whispered, squeezing her hand. “It will pass.”

  She did as he said, trying to count her breaths to distract from the pain. But she couldn’t concentrate and had to keep starting over. The third or fourth time she passed one hundred, the headache retreated, crawling back to whatever dark place it had come from.

  She opened her eyes slowly, giving her brain time to adjust.

  The faint blue glow from Alden’s balefire pendant provided the only light, and the room they were in had a sandy floor and a massive metal door. Alden must’ve carried her to the Room Where Chances Are Lost at some point—though she had no idea when. Had she blacked out?

  Alden helped her sit up, leaning her against his shoulder.

  “Thanks,” she croaked, wincing when she heard her broken voice. “So, I guess that was a pretty bad idea, huh?”

  Alden didn’t respond.

  “I know you’re angry—”

  “You think I’m angry?” His shout echoed off the walls—which sure made it seem like he was angry. “I thought I’d lost you, Sophie.”

  “But I’m here. I’m fine.” She forced herself to sit up on her own and tried not to sway too much as the blood rushed to her head, turning everything fuzzy. “I just . . . I thought Prentice might’ve hidden something important for me to find.”

  “His mind is ruined!” Alden wiped his eyes, taking several deep breaths before speaking again. “All he has left are shattered memories that have smashed together—a maze of madness so convoluted it sucks you in and never lets you escape.”

  “I know. But I thought that since he was a Keeper, there might be a memory he’d tucked away, waiting for me to find.”

  Alden sighed. The epic kind of sigh that sounded weary and frustrated and hopeless all at the same time. “Was there?”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted.

  She closed her eyes, picturing the swans she’d seen among the chaos. The shadow swan had only formed after she’d transmitted her name, almost like it had been sent for her. And it led her straight to that warm, safe place with Jolie and the real swan, which didn’t feel like a memory so much as . . .

  “Do you think Prentice could’ve communicated with me?” she asked quietly.

  “Why?” Alden leaned forward, his eyes stretched almost too wide as he took her by the shoulders. “Did you see something?”

  “I saw a black swan with . . . a woman.”

  She thought about telling him who. But if she told Alden she’d seen Jolie communicating with a black swan, she knew he’d think the same thing she was. The same thing it felt like Prentice had been trying to tell her.

  Could Jolie have been part of the Black Swan?

  What would Grady think if he knew?

  “Did you see the woman’s face?” Alden asked.

  “I’d never seen her before.” It wasn’t totally a lie. She’d never seen Jolie in person—and she’d never seen pictures of her that age. “But she was talking to the swan. And then . . . it felt like she talked to me. She told me to ‘follow the pretty bird across the sky.’ Does that mean anything?”

  “I . . .” Alden let her go and buried his face in his hands.

  “Are you okay?”

  “My head . . . I’m just”—he pressed his palms against his forehead like he was trying to squeeze the headache out—“I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. And I know you think this is what the Black Swan meant for you to find, but Prentice isn’t capable of having rational, coherent thoughts anymore.”
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  “Couldn’t part of him still be there somewhere? Locked deep away?”

  “Let’s hope not, Sophie. Let’s hope for Prentice’s sake that he’s not even aware he’s still alive. To be trapped forever in constant madness would be a far worse fate. Far, far worse.” He shuddered.

  She knew Alden was right. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that some tiny piece of Prentice had tried to tell her something. Something so important he’d clung to that last bit of his sanity all this time.

  Alden rubbed his temples, wincing with each press of his fingers. “Did you see anything else?”

  “Nothing that made sense. It was all such a jumble of images. The only other thing I really recognized was you.”

  “Me?”

  “Well, I’m pretty sure it was you. I saw a face with teal jewels for eyes. It leaned in to stare at me, and then it whispered, ‘no reason to worry.’ ”

  Even in the dim light of the balefire Sophie could see Alden turn pale. “Th—that was the last thing I said to him. Before the break. He begged me to make sure his family stayed safe and I promised he’d have no . . .” His voice faded and his whole body shook. “He remembers. I can’t believe—I never thought he—I—”

  He clutched his head in his hands and moaned.

  “What’s wrong?” Sophie asked as he toppled forward.

  “My head,” he managed to groan. Then his body went limp.

  She rolled him to face her, calling his name and shaking his shoulders. The gray cement over his wound had cracked, releasing fresh streams of blood. “Alden, please, you’re scaring me.”

  He didn’t respond.

  Sophie looked around for Krikor, wishing he’d pop out of the sand. But it was just her and Alden in an empty room in the center of the earth. And she had no idea what to do.

  She fumbled for the magsidian pendant, holding it to the blue balefire—but the light was too dim to cast a beam. There had to be a trick she didn’t know—and there was no way she could carry him up all those stairs.

  “Please, Alden—wake up,” she begged as she dug out her Imparter and shouted Elwin’s name.

  The silver square stayed blank—and it wouldn’t respond to Grady’s or Edaline’s name either.

  She shook Alden harder. “How do I get us home?”

  Still no answer.

  Fitz, she transmitted, forcing herself to concentrate through her panic. She pictured Everglen in her mind, trying to remember what she’d done when she’d been hostage and called for Fitz from halfway across the world. Fitz, please, tell me you can hear me.

  Silence.

  Tears pricked her eyes, and she struggled to think of anything else she could try.

  Fitz, please. I don’t know what to do.

  Sophie? Can you hear me?

  Fitz! Now she was crying. Fitz—you have to help me, he’s hurt and he won’t respond and I can’t leap us out of here—

  Whoa, whoa—slow down. Who’s hurt? Where are you?

  I . . . I’m not allowed to tell you. . . .

  Sophie, come on—if you need help, you have to tell me where you are.

  She glanced at Alden. His wound had opened wider, soaking the sand with red.

  I’m in Exile.

  EXILE???

  Yes—with your dad—and he hurt his head. He’s bleeding. A lot.

  Leap him here. I’ll have Elwin meet you at the gate.

  I can’t. We have to use this magsidian pendant thing and I don’t know how to make it work. Do you know anything about it?

  I’ve never heard of magsidian. Can’t you ask someone?

  There’s no one else here—and I can’t get your dad to wake up.

  But . . . maybe she didn’t need to.

  The information was in Alden’s memory somewhere. If she probed his mind, she would surely find the answer.

  She took a deep breath, rallying her concentration.

  Sophie, are you there? Fitz transmitted. What’s happening? What should I do?

  Hang on—I’m trying something.

  Before Fitz could argue, she blocked his transmissions and pushed her consciousness into Alden’s mind.

  It felt different than she expected. Cramped and dim.

  And sharp.

  His thoughts had edges—rough bits that scraped and scuffed as she waded through, transmitting Alden’s name over and over. At least his mind wasn’t empty. There were memories to cling to, but they were tangled and twisted into an icy jumble and she didn’t know how to make sense of them.

  Streams of cold trickled into her consciousness, but she ignored the chills and focused on the thin threads of warmth she could feel scattered around Alden’s mind. She gathered them together as she begged him to come back, telling him how scared she and Fitz were, how much she needed his help.

  For several terrifying seconds nothing happened. Then Alden gasped and opened his eyes.

  His chest heaved and he cradled his head as he hacked and wheezed. “What happened?” he asked between coughs.

  “I don’t know—you just collapsed and you wouldn’t wake up.” A small sob slipped out as she said it and Alden looked at her, his eyes suddenly clearer.

  He’s awake, she transmitted, hoping Fitz could hear her. We’ll be there soon.

  “Oh, Sophie, I’m so sorry. I thought . . . I don’t even know.” His shaky hands fumbled for the magsidian and he held it next to his balefire pendant. “Let me get us out of here.”

  He spun the balefire crystal until he found the facet he wanted and touched the point of the magsidian to the edge. The black stone turned iridescent, flashing an almost blinding beam of light toward the ground.

  Alden couldn’t stand as he grabbed Sophie’s arm and told her to concentrate. But he rolled them into the icy light, blasting them out of Exile.

  THE SUDDEN SUNLIGHT NEARLY BLINDED Sophie as she tumbled across the sand—but the scorching heat was a relief after the arctic chill of the leap. She felt like she’d been swallowed by an avalanche and launched through a blizzard.

  A dusty breeze swept across the desert, closing off her throat. Alden sputtered and coughed as he slowly sat up beside her.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled when his breathing calmed. “I’m so sorry for collapsing down there. This head injury must be worse than I thought.”

  Sophie tried not to look at the wound. “We need to get you to Elwin. Are you up for another leap?”

  “I think so.” He squinted at the sand where tiny spots of red speckled the bright white. “My eyes are a bit blurry, though, so I might need your help with the pathfinder.”

  He fumbled to pull the slender wand from the pocket in his sleeve and gave her instructions for how to twist the crystal to the right facet. Sophie locked it into place and reached for his hand.

  “I know this day has been quite the adventure—but there’s no reason to worry now, Sophie. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  She wrapped most of her concentration around him anyway. Her head ached from the extra strain, but she wasn’t taking any chances during the leap.

  She was bringing Alden home safe.

  “IT’S ABOUT TIME!” FITZ SHOUTED as the glowing gates of Everglen came into focus. He sprinted to their side with Elwin right behind him.

  “I’m sorry.” Sophie tried to stand, but was hit by a wave of dizziness. “I got us here as fast as I could.”

  She noticed Alden’s confusion and explained about transmitting to Fitz for help.

  Elwin picked at the cement on Alden’s wound. “What is this stuff?”

  “A dwarven remedy.” Alden took Fitz’s hand and Fitz pulled him to his feet—but he couldn’t stand on his own. Fitz threw Alden’s arm around his shoulders and steadied most of his dad’s weight.

  Elwin whistled. “Well, you’re a mess all right—but we’ll get you fixed up properly in no time. And what about you?” He squatted down to examine Sophie, snapping his fingers and forming a blue orb around her.

  The light flashed in Sophie�
�s eyes, triggering another headache.

  “You’re a mess too,” Elwin told her as she winced. “I’m starting to think your accident-prone ways are contagious.”

  Alden gave a weary laugh. “This one was my doing, Elwin. And I was very lucky to have Sophie along.” He squeezed his son tighter. “Very, very lucky.”

  “Why were you in Exile?” Fitz demanded.

  “It’s classified, Fitz. You weren’t even supposed to know we were there.”

  “Sorry,” Sophie mumbled.

  “You have nothing to apologize for, Sophie. You were in an impossible situation. The fault is mine. As it is for so many things . . .”

  He tightened his grip on Fitz again, but this time it looked like he was clinging to him.

  “Well, come on,” Elwin said, lifting Sophie over his shoulder.

  “I can walk on my own!”

  “Maybe, but I’m not taking any chances.”

  “Alden’s the one who collapsed—not me.”

  “True enough. But you’re the one who’s faded.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  I DON’T UNDERSTAND,” SOPHIE SAID as Elwin set her down her on a giant canopied bed in one of Everglen’s enormous upstairs guest rooms. It was the same bed she’d woken up in when she’d nearly faded away. “How can I be faded? I’m wearing a nexus.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” He grabbed her wrist, squinting at the meter on the underside. “Did you do anything differently during the leap?”

  “I wrapped some of my concentration around Alden to make sure I brought him home safe. But my nexus is supposed to keep me together no matter how much I concentrate, right?”

  “That’s what it’s designed for.”

  She looked away as Elwin flashed orange around her wrist, not wanting to trigger another headache.

  “The nexus is working,” Elwin said after a second.

  “Then there has to be some mistake.”

  “Oh, there’s no mistake. See for yourself.” He handed her a silver mirror from the dressing table.