by Jason Denzel
The ground continued to descend. Shevia tiptoed along the path, ducking low and squeezing between branches. It was easier going than the first few times she had come. After she had been punished for ruining several dresses, Shevia had taken the time to carefully break off the worst obstacles. Now, if she was careful, she could come to the heart of her little Thornwood without any rips or smudges on her outfit.
At last she approached the heart of the valley. The thornbushes grew high above her head, creating a vaulted ceiling that reminded her of a smaller version of her family’s banquet hall. Stepping farther in, she imagined this was Kelt Apar, and her friend, the High Mystic.
A branch cracked behind her and she heard a familiar voice curse. Shevia whirled around and saw Tibron shaking his arm, trying to unhook his long-sleeved shirt from a thorn. A flash of panic rushed into her. Her first thought burst from her mouth before she could stop it: “Don’t tell Mother or Father!”
Tibron yanked his arm free and glared at her. “Ancestors, Shevia! What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“You weren’t in your room. I looked out the window and saw you climbing the garden wall. Mother’s going to punish you!”
“Not if you don’t tell her! Please, Tibron, please say you will not!”
“How did you you find this place?” he asked. “It looks dangerous.”
Shevia watched him marvel at the vaulting ceiling of thorns. It seemed to loom over him as a warning. The Thornwood belonged to her friend, and Tibron was not welcome.
“My friend lives here,” she said before she could stop herself. “She says I’m welcome anytime. She gets lonely, so I come to visit.” Shevia always thought of her friend as a “her,” although she wasn’t sure why.
Tibron’s hand drifted to his belt where she saw he wore the dagger Father had given him last summer. His eyes darted around, clearly afraid something would jump out and attack them. She put her hand on his arm to reassure him.
“Come on. I will introduce you.” She took his hand.
She found the pile of rocks where they always were. They rose in a waist-high mound. Beneath them, a wide hole descended into the ground. Tibron’s eyes widened.
“Is that a pit? How did it get here?”
Shevia shrugged. She sat at the edge and dropped down, feetfirst. She fell a distance not much greater than her own height. She was in a tiny cave as wide as her outstretched arms. A large crack gaped on the ground between her feet.
Tibron slipped into the pit and crouched down to his heels, looking around. “I don’t like this, Shay-Shay.”
Lowering herself carefully, Shevia bent low over the gap until her face hovered just inches above it. Once, she’d put her arm down the crack to try to feel the bottom. She hadn’t found one.
“Hello, friend,” she whispered into the crack.
The warm scent of her friend’s breath wafted over her. She breathed it in, enjoying the sour mixture of burned sandalwood and holly. She smiled, and felt her mind relax.
“Shevia,” said Tibron, his voice more tense than before. “What’s that smoke? Back away.”
More smoke rose from the vent, and Shevia gladly breathed it in. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and a strange, happy feeling tingled across her body. She sat up and looked at Tibron. Colors swirled around him, along with a silvery mist. She saw him age as he sat there, looking at her with concern. His face filled out, then grew wrinkles. Gray hair spread through his black, and a matching beard grew upon his face. She felt sadness come from him, followed by a mournful and deep love.
“Shevia,” he said. “Come away from—”
“My friend says you’re the best of my brothers,” she said. “You should try more. You let Tevon control you too much.”
Tibron’s eyes narrowed. “We’re going home.” He grabbed her wrist, but without thinking Shevia rolled it and shoved his arm away with her free hand. Tibron snatched his bruised wrist away, shocked by her quickness and strength. The smoke from the vent filled the little cave now, silvery and bright. It filled Shevia’s lungs, and her mind. Her friend’s voice filled her. She didn’t speak words that Shevia could hear, but her mind was suddenly filled with her comforting presence, and with that came understanding.
As the smoke filled her lungs further, the cave melted away. There had never been this much before. A small trickle in the past, enough to make her dizzy and hear her friend, but not much beyond that. Now, as her mind fuzzed, she floated above her little Thornwood, looking down on it as a bird might. To the east her parents’ house towered on top of the hill. The skies raged in confusion as the sun and moon spun around, each dancing and competing to shine longer than the other. Lightning flashed, and storms raged for mere seconds before the cruel sun blasted them away.
She breathed in again, and rushed to her parents’ home. In the ballroom she saw a feast laid out on a table. Her friend nudged her, whispering urgently to her. Shevia gasped and her whole body shook. She wanted to scream but couldn’t. Her father’s face lay on his dinner plate, his mouth opening and closing like a caught fish trying to breathe. He convulsed as inky green lines clawed up the sides of his neck and across the backs of his hands. Mother lay nearby on the floor, also gasping for air.
Shevia’s body shook once more, and suddenly she saw Tibron, holding her by the shoulders. The cave coalesced back around her.
“Shevia!” Tibron screamed.
“Tibron,” she managed.
“What happened? Your eyes turned … I-I cannot describe it. What is this smoke? What were you thinking in coming here?”
“Tibron, listen to me.”
Her brother began climbing up through the hole above, pulling her close to his body as if afraid she would slip away. “I should never have let you go in. We won’t tell Mother or Father of this, but I will make sure they know to bury this cave.”
“Tibron!” Shevia screamed, and slapped him, hard. He was bigger than her, and already thick and strong for his age. But her slap snapped his head around, dazing his eyes. He stared at her, gaping.
“We have to warn Mother and Father,” she said, strangely calm. “The Obais are going to murder them.”
* * *
Mustering her courage, Shevia burst into the dining hall, Tibron behind her. She had expected him to argue with her the whole way back to the estate, but he’d been strangely subdued. Whatever it was, she could not worry about him right now.
A chandelier hung from the high ceiling, casting lights across the long table. Cilla’s staff had set out the family’s best feastware. One of her parents’ house servants—Miqo, a girl just a few years older than Shevia—moved between the Obais, pouring drinks. Unmuth, tall and imposing even in his old age, stood guard with his hands behind his back.
Shevia’s mother spied her immediately, her eyes narrowing until they were as sharp as daggers. Moments later, the rest of the hall’s occupants looked up. A pang of fear raced through Shevia. So many powerful adults were here! Her gaze was drawn, as if pulled by a strange force, to a figure standing against the distant wall, drowned in the fading light of the early-evening sun. He loomed from the corner in black robes trimmed with gold, and held a wooden staff half again his height. Gold studs gleamed in both his ears, matching other pieces of jewelry that surely made Shevia’s mother twitch with envy.
A Mystic.
Beside him, equally as dazzling and strange, stood a lizard-like creature in padded armor. The laghart! Its slitted eyes pierced her, and its tongue flicked out, whipping the air once, twice, before vanishing back into its scaly face.
Shevia heard her father clear his throat. She tore her attention away from the intriguing guests and looked at him. “Ah, Shevia, my little swan,” he said, “I missed you today.”
Shevia knew her mother would be glaring at her still, so she avoided looking at her. Four richly dressed men sat at the table. The oldest and fattest was glaring at her from behind a thick beard. He must be
the one in charge.
“I believe your little swan was asked to remain in her room,” Mother said in a cool voice. “She ruined one of her dresses earlier today, and it appears she did so again.”
Shevia looked down at her dress and saw that, indeed, her effort to flee the Thornwood had caused her to catch her dress and, in a few cases, even draw blood.
“Father,” she began.
“Your daughter is quite precocious, Chovin,” the old, fat Obai man said. His cheeks wiggled as he spoke, but the amusement in his voice didn’t reach his eyes.
“Father, I need to talk to you. It is about—”
“Whatever you need to tell him can wait,” Mother interrupted. Her tone was dangerous now, and normally Shevia would have realized she had gone too far. “And you, Tibron. I expect more from you. I am disappointed.”
Father waved a dismissive hand. “It’s fine, Ivushen,” he said to Mother. “What is it you want to tell me, Shevia? Make it quick. Master Obai and I have business to settle this evening.”
“He is going to kill you.”
Mother’s gasp was the only sound before silence gripped the dining hall. A tense moment passed; then Father laughed, nervously looking at his guest and then giving his daughter a hard stare. “You’ve had your fun,” he said. “Now apologize to our guest, and go back to your room. We’ll speak of this later.”
“Children and their silly games,” Obai said with a chuckle.
Shevia’s cheeks burned. “Keep your noise in your fat face!” she snapped.
Mother burst to her feet, eyes aflame with rage. “Unmuth, take this child out of this hall!” The punishment would be severe, perhaps worse than anything Shevia had ever received.
She didn’t care.
Matching eyes with the old, fat man, Shevia found a new strength she’d never felt before. It came from knowing that she was right. That, no matter how much Mother whipped her later, there was a certainty that she knew beyond all doubt: if she didn’t stop him now, Master Obai would kill her whole family before the night was done.
Unmuth closed in on her.
“I saw it,” Shevia said, surprised at how calm and grown-up her voice sounded. She could feel her friend’s presence, not beside her exactly, but back in the Thornwood, watching, encouraging her. “They poisoned the wine. It’s already in your cup, Father. And yours, Mother. They came here to kill you.”
“Careful, girl,” Obai said to her, his tone dangerous. “I’ll forgive your foolish youth, but you tread on dangerous territory.”
Unmuth reached for her, but Tibron stepped in and blocked his path. “I’m sorry, Unmuth,” he said. “My parents need to hear this.” It was the first time her brother had spoken since she’d told him of her friend’s revelation. Did he really believe her?
Her mother was beyond words. Her stony face had turned purple with rage.
Shevia snatched up her father’s wine goblet and shoved it in Obai’s face. “Drink it. Prove me a liar.”
Shevia’s father stood up. His loving exterior melted away. “Take her, Unmuth! Tibron, stand down or you’ll share your sister’s punishment.”
Little beads of sweat formed at Obai’s hairline. His eyes darted, just briefly, to the corner where his Mystic and the laghart warrior stood.
“I will not be part of this ridiculous game! Chovin, if your children are this grotesque, then I daresay I am inclined to believe they learned it from you.”
“Drink the wine, Lord Obai,” Tibron said.
Obai slammed the table with his fist and hefted himself from his chair. “I will do no such thing! You go too far! Let’s go, Ahg-Mein! Xather! Get the carriage.”
Shevia straightened her spine. “My friend says you never intended to sell the Darkmire Mines to Father. That once you poisoned him, you would blackmail Duke Yinto in order to claim Father’s resources. My friend says you are a coward. And she says you will not survive this night.”
Obai lifted his arm to backhand her, but Unmuth leaped forward and caught it.
“You have destroyed your family, brat!” Obai spit.
Why did nobody believe her, ever? Was it because she was young? She would prove to them that she was not just a silly little girl.
The merchant-lord’s eyes bulged as Shevia tipped her father’s wineglass to her lips and drank a heavy sip. The wine tasted disgusting, but she forced herself to swallow. Why did adults drink this? It tasted like—
Her stomach clenched and she gasped, dropping the glass.
Her mother screamed.
It felt as though a creature with sharp claws tore at Shevia’s stomach. Her throat clenched, denying her air. She reached to her neck, and saw deep green lines inking their way across the backs of her hands, creeping like vines toward her fingers.
Around her, the hall erupted into chaos. She sensed people fighting, and swords flashing. She couldn’t follow any of it, but she sensed Tibron standing above her, wielding his dagger protectively.
Shevia wished she could be in the cave, in the heart of the Thornwood, with her friend who spoke to her, and helped her see things nobody else could see. As her vision faded, Shevia saw Obai’s Mystic watching her calmly. He did not move to help her, nor did he seem concerned with the fighting erupting around him. He cocked his head sideways, as if observing a bird with a broken wing.
Shevia struggled for breath, but she was not afraid. Her friend had promised she would live past today. This, no matter how scary, was just the beginning of their friendship.
FIVE
LAGNARASTE
Pomella and her horse crested the low-rising hill outside of Oakspring. She tugged Quercus’ reins, pulling him to a halt. The gelding shook his mane, clearly glad to be resting. Sweat rolled down Pomella’s forehead and the back of her neck.
She hadn’t planned to return to her old home, but the night of her visit to the Rolling Forge she’d received a message in the form of a flamebird.
In the deep hours of the night, she’d awoken to an urgent pressure upon her consciousness, similar to the feeling of being watched by an unknown observer. At first she’d tried to dismiss the warning, but the sensation grew until she’d slipped out of bed, trying carefully not to disturb Berrit, and gone to the shuttered window. Within moments beams of light shone through the window slats, visible only to her Mystic eyes. She threw open the shutters and a line of fiery smoke blazed into the room.
Not unlike her hummingbirds, the flamebird was larger, about the size of a canary, but formed entirely from living silver flame. Pomella had known immediately who sent it. Only Vivianna could conjure such a fay creature and harness it as a messenger.
Alighting onto her palm, the flamebird had chirped once, twice, then released Vivianna’s voice, which filled Pomella’s mind.
Pomella, I hope you are well. Word reached Kelt Apar this evening that there’s trouble in the village of Oakspring. Somebody there is seeing fay creatures. Normally, I would look into it, but with Crow Tallin approaching, Mistress Yarina needs me here to prepare for the arrival of the High Mystics. She asks you to handle this issue immediately. Grandmaster gave no objection. May the wind and Myst go with you.
Its task complete, the flamebird had leaped from Pomella’s hand and puffed back into Fayün, leaving her to fret over her return home.
Seven years had passed since she’d left home, and other than a single letter to her fathir to let him know she’d become a Mystic apprentice, she’d communicated in no way with anybody from her old life.
A storm of fears churned in her stomach. The last time she’d seen her fathir, he’d been enraged. He’d called her stupid, worthless. If he’d had his way, she would’ve never left home, and quite possibly never sung again. She remembered that night she’d left. To illustrate how foolish she was for wanting to become a Mystic’s apprentice, her fathir had told the story of how when he was a young man he’d found a wandering Mystic and begged him to let him become his apprentice. The Mystic responded by threatening, and possibly be
ating, her fathir. Pomella had never understood how any Mystic could do such a thing. It seemed to go against all the lessons she’d been taught.
Noting the tension in her body, Pomella took a deep breath and brought focus to herself. She sensed the Myst stirring around her. True knowledge of the Myst comes through letting go, her master Lal sometimes said. And letting go hurts.
She dismounted, nearly twisting her ankle in the stirrup. Quercus turned to look back at her with irritating patience.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Pomella grumbled to the horse. She’d grown more accustomed to riding over the years, but it still didn’t come to her as easily as it did to Vivianna. Likewise, the gelding had miraculously learned to be tolerant of her clumsy habits.
Pomella lifted her hair off the back of her neck, hoping to catch a cool breeze. A fluttering feeling of dread rippled through her as she gazed down on her old village. The little farm community sat nestled not far from the wide and swiftly flowing Creekwaters, which drifted out of the Mystwood and the towering slopes of MagBreckan. A cluster of homes encircled what she recognized as their village green, although its grass had browned for the summer. Farther out, a loose ring of dwellings marked the only real border Oakspring could claim. The top of Ilise AnCutler’s waterwheel peaked above the tree line near the Creekwaters, and Pomella could hear the slow plodding sound as the wheel dipped and lifted from the current.
It was definitely Oakspring. But beyond the familiar markers, it didn’t look like home anymore. Several new houses stood where none had been before. Hinder AnMere’s farm in the northeast appeared divided now, partitioned evenly by a low stone fence. Perhaps he’d died and there’d been an inheritance dispute? More sheep dotted the hillside than Pomella remembered, but no sounds came from the smithy.
She thought of Sim, and as always, a rainstorm of emotions surged through her as she recalled his familiar face. Oakspring couldn’t be home without him. It seemed like it had been the life of the stars since they’d strolled together across these very hills, mingling hands and shy glances before growing comfortable enough to share their thoughts and hopes. Nobody had known her as well as Sim had. She’d forever appreciate how he’d followed her when she went to the apprentice Trials. It’s possible she wouldn’t have survived those nightmarish few days if he hadn’t been there to inspire her.