by S. M. Boyce
Kara bit her lip. It would only make matters worse to let Twin know that she’d seen everything, but a single, selfish thought kept her rooted in place: Twin had brought her sister back. If Kara could create lavender fire in her palm on the first try, there was nothing stopping her from learning how to do this too, even if it took time. There was nothing stopping her from bringing her mom back.
Twin reeled around, glaring into the woods and wiping her face with wet hands. “Who’s there?”
Kara looked at the snapped twig below her foot. In her envy, she hadn’t even heard the sound of wood breaking. She couldn’t escape without Twin seeing her, so she took a deep breath, walked out from her hiding place, and leaned against the tree.
Twin groaned and pulled herself out of the spring. “You again.”
“I’m sorry. I just wanted to help you. I thought you would want someone to talk to.”
Kara meant to stop there, but her mouth continued without giving her a chance to think first.
“Twin, that was your sister, wasn’t it?”
“You don’t understand.”
“I know that was her.”
“It wasn’t, not really.”
“Teach me how to do it. Please, Twin.”
“Absolutely not! This is an addiction, Kara. I can’t stop.”
“I don’t care what you think it is! I have to see Mom again. I’d give anything for that.”
“No.”
“Please!”
“No! Your mother is dead!”
Kara gasped as she studied the hatred in Twin’s face. The forest weighed on the silence that followed. Kara narrowed her eyes, scowling to suppress the urge to cry.
“My last memory of my mom involves blood and a body cast, Twin! Sometimes, I can’t even remember her face. Please. I need to see her one more time. Just once.” Kara covered her mouth as the tears started. Guilt ate into her and stung every inch of her body.
“No.”
Kara shoved the girl's shoulder, and Twin buckled under the blow. “You brought your sister back! You have to teach me how to do it!”
“It’s not real, Kara!”
“I don’t care!”
“That—that thing was not my sister! That was nothing but an empty memory, and I become weaker every time I see it. I lose that much more of my resolve to keep going. It kills me every time I watch her face become nothing but reeds, and yet I am completely lost and alone until I see her again! She was everything I had left!
“I’m not strong, Kara,” Twin continued, her voice softening. “No one expects anything from me. I am a jester, a joke, a bubble that floats around and makes people laugh. No one has ever taken a moment to find out if I’m all right. I’m not. I’m weak. But vagabonds lead hard lives, and an addiction like this will destroy you. Everyone expects you to be the hero, so act like one!”
Kara leaned back against the tree, bile shooting into her mouth. Memories of the crash flooded her mind: the blood on Mom’s seat; the beads of broken glass on the dash. Kara’s knees shook. Rage and hatred and anger and guilt all festered within her.
“If you’re weak, Twin, it’s because you won’t help someone who needs it!”
Kara raced back through the trees and left Twin in the clearing before the girl could respond.
There was no path to follow anymore. The trees were only a few feet apart, and the low branches pulled Kara’s hair as she bolted through them. She didn’t stop, not even when her throat stung and she gasped for air. She tried to remember the shape of her mom’s nose or the way her eyebrow twisted when she was angry, but there was a void where the memories should have been.
She tripped over a root and dove into the ground, skidding on a slick layer of dead leaves. Her knees shook, and she couldn’t push herself to her feet. Instead, she scooted over to the nearest tree to catch her breath, unsure of where she was or how long she’d been running. The trees all looked the same: tall and naked for the first dozen feet before their branches stretched upward. A blood-red sun broke through the canopy.
Her heart rate slowed until the pounding in her head became manageable. She could hear the wind again, as well as the leaves that crunched beneath her whenever she shifted her weight. A waterfall roared behind a patch of trees somewhere to the left.
She stood without debating her choice and followed the noise to a cliff, where the waterfall rushed into a dark blue pool below. Her mind cleared bit by bit as she watched the sun glitter against the surging water. A thin trail led toward the waterfall and out onto a ledge behind the cascading sheet of water, where the shadowed hints of a cave appeared through breaks in the steady stream. She headed closer to see for herself.
Moss and slime layered the trail when the dirt ended and the slippery rock began. Her boot slipped more than once as she inched her way across it, but she relished the distraction and slid into a shallow cave after a few minutes of heavy focus and tip-toeing.
The air in the cave was ten degrees colder, and a refreshing chill spilled over her as she stepped inside. The humid air smelled like rain-drenched grass after a thunderstorm, and moisture condensed on her nose as she looked around. The roof was eight or so feet tall, so she could easily stand, but it wasn’t very deep; even the dusk’s fading evening light was enough to illuminate every nook and cranny. Loose hair stuck to her neck in the humidity, but at least the small boulders in the cave were dry enough for her to sit on them. She found a stone that had a smooth curve to it like a chair, as if someone had sat there a million times before her.
When she was as comfortable as one can be when leaning against a rock, she rubbed the pendant and summoned the Grimoire into her lap. The sunlight wouldn’t last much longer, so she massaged her eyes and accepted that she would spend the night outside.
“Can I bring back the dead?” she asked the book.
The pages flipped in answer.
It’s possible.
Her heart leapt. “How? How do I do it?”
The pages flipped again.
The Vagabond forbade his followers from bringing back the dead.
“Just tell me how to do it!”
The page turned.
No. Strength comes from learning lessons that are difficult to bear, and death is one of the hardest to embrace. There is a world which follows this one and once it’s seen, we aren’t meant to return. This is one of the balances which can’t be distorted. That sort of disharmony throws whole worlds into disarray.
To keep the dead in this life is selfish. You must believe that they are in a better place, no matter how soon they were called there. Those who are strong will live with the memory of their loved ones until they too may join them some distant day. Death is part of the ultimate balance. It’s to be left to nature’s command. Remember that grief is a necessary pain. It’s your only way to heal. To starve it will destroy you.
Kara finished the last sentence as the final rays of sunlight set behind the forest. Dusk settled into the cave as she closed the Grimoire and held it to her chest. She couldn’t debate with it if she couldn’t read its answers.
The waterfall’s delicate curtain swayed on a breeze. The twilight soothed her. Crickets chirped to the heartbeat of the gushing water. She closed her eyes and listened to the lullaby, but the crunch of rocks beneath feet disrupted the song.
She jolted forward and listened again, trying to sift through the ensemble of water and wind. Sure enough, there was another snap and a shuffle. Someone—or something—had begun along the path to her waterfall.
Kara scooted against the wall closest to the noises and pressed her body on the rock. The sharp crags of the cave pulled against her tunic. Her mind raced. She didn’t know if she was even in Hillside anymore. It could be a yakona or even a wild animal, just coming home after a hunt to find a dirty little human armed with a big red book.
There was only one way in and out; she was trapped. She could trip whoever it was and send them over the waterfall, which would give her enough time to scoot
out along the edge and escape. It was a short enough fall that they probably wouldn’t be hurt.
The crunching stopped, and she heard a deep breath. She held hers. A head appeared around the corner, its short black mess of hair framing a handsome olive face.
“Hey there,” Braeden muttered.
“I was about to whack you with the Grimoire,” Kara said, setting the book on the floor with a relieved sigh.
He laughed. “I’d be honored to receive such a beating, but I apologize if I startled you.”
“It’s fine.” She sat back against the smooth boulder and Braeden sat across from her, grinning as she settled against it. Her eyes stung.
“You know, of all the places in Hillside, I was pretty surprised that you came here,” he said.
“Why?”
“This is where I used to come to be alone. I doubt that anyone knows about it, not even Gavin. I always find the noise comforting.”
The coursing water rushed over them, its echo reverberating through the rock as if to prove his point.
He cleared his throat. “I also apologize if I was curt with you down at the lake. I had a lot on my mind.”
She sighed. “It didn’t help that I was trying to pry into your life. It’s not my business, so I guess I’m sorry, too. We’re even.”
“That works for me.”
“So how did you find me?”
“I track things for a living.”
“Ah, right.”
The rush of the waterfall overtook the small cavity. In the hush, Kara’s mind shifted everywhere: the cave and its dank honeydew smell; Twin, sopping wet and screaming that there was no bringing the dead back; her mother’s hand releasing its grip seconds before the hospital heart monitor flat lined. Kara’s cheeks flushed more with each passing image, so she grasped desperately for the next available memory: her conversation with the Vagabond.
There were three more pieces to that map, and finding the old ghost’s village was as good a distraction from the pain as any. It was purpose and a sense of direction. If the other kingdoms wanted her to visit anyway, it was the perfect chance to find the map corners without letting anyone know what she was doing.
At some point while she was lost in thought, Braeden had closed his eyes. A thin smile played on his lips as the water roared over them. He might not be able to go to the kingdoms with her, but at the very least, he might have some advice.
She opened her mouth to tell him about the map, but her words fell flat. Her gut twisted at the thought telling anyone about the village. The hair on her neck tingled, just as it had when she’d found the Grimoire.
She held her tongue.
“You okay?” he asked, eyes still closed.
“Not really.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really,” she repeated.
“Would you rather be alone?”
“No. Sort of.” She sighed. “Yes.”
“I’ll leave you, then.”
He shuffled out of the cave, the retreating crunch of his footsteps adding to Kara’s lullaby of rushing water and crickets and wind.
The Grimoire shook from its place on the floor. Its cover parted when she glanced over to it, as if something was wedged beneath its pages, so she flipped it open. A wrinkled handkerchief lay on a blank page, a plain “V” stitched into its corner.
“Thanks,” she said. The knot in her throat tightened as she picked it up, and memories flooded back to her without warning.
Her mother had already looked like a corpse in the ICU, with all of those hoses and tubes keeping her alive. Kara’s hand ached from her mom’s unconscious grip, but that wasn’t the punishment. The real torture came when she woke up and tried desperately to speak, even though her mouth was always too dry. When she looked around, she’d seen everything and recognized nothing.
Kara didn’t know which of her parents’ deaths hurt her more. Her dad’s face had contorted in unimaginable pain when Deirdre stole his soul. The expression hadn’t faded, even when he was a corpse on the living room carpet. She didn’t know how, but he’d somehow controlled the isen long enough to tell her he loved her.
That, she had not deserved.
Twin asked me what my most influential memory was, but I have no idea. It has to be Mom or Dad dying, but how could I possibly pick one?
She leaned back against the rock wall and closed her eyes, rubbing her temples. Maybe it wasn’t something she could choose for herself.
Sleep came without much of a warning, circling her mind until she pressed her cheek deep into the smooth boulder she’d so unknowingly borrowed from Braeden. Her last fleeting thought before she slept wasn’t about Twin or her mom or even her dad. As she let the exhaustion take her, she realized she’d forgotten to ask the Vagabond for his real name.
The Waterfall
When Kara woke still in the cave behind the waterfall, she covered her eyes with a hand to shield them from the blinding sun. She lay on the floor, the handkerchief stained and stretched over the Grimoire as if it was a pillow. The waterfall diluted the sun into a haze as she looked out on the brilliant morning. She shoved the handkerchief into her pocket and rubbed the clover pendant to wish the Grimoire back into the stone.
The day was even brighter when she ducked out onto the path and hiked back to the cliff. Empty forests loomed on all sides, and as she looked around, she started to wonder if Braeden really had left. That was, at least, until she found him asleep on a boulder the size of a car.
He sat up and rubbed his eye. “You might not want to walk much farther. I always set quite a few traps before I sleep on a rock.”
“Do you often sleep on rocks?”
“Sadly, yes.” He laughed and offered her a seat beside him.
“I hope I didn’t worry anyone,” she said, pulling herself up onto the boulder.
“Of course you worried people. You’re the Vagabond. You’re priceless. Richard almost rallied the army. The Queen had to assure everyone that you were safe as long as I found you.”
Exhaustion stung the skin around her eyes, so she didn’t respond. She was flattered and insulted all at once at being considered “priceless.” She wanted to say something, anything, but every time she looked up, the sun made her eyes sting and water. Relief pooled in her temples whenever she closed her eyes. He set a warm hand on her back.
“Did something happen yesterday, Kara?”
She wanted to rest her head on his arm and just go back to sleep, but she leaned back on her palms instead. When she didn’t answer, Braeden brushed her shoulder with his. She glanced over and shook her head.
He nodded and slid off the boulder without another word, offering her a hand once he was on the ground. She took it and slid off as well, but he motioned for her to wait as he took a few steps toward the forest. The woods were quiet. Besides the rushing waterfall, there weren’t any sounds. The birds didn’t sing, and even the wind had disappeared overnight.
He lifted a hand to the forest and bowed his head. Sharp hisses sprang from the underbrush in response, and the bushes rustled. Gray light snaked through the trees. The silence broke all at once. Birds chirped, and leaves scraped each other as if on cue.
“What was that?” she asked.
“Those were the traps I mentioned. I needed to release them, so that no one would run across them later on accident.”
“What happens if someone gets caught in one of them?”
“That isn’t something you want to know,” he said. He forced a smile and led the way back to Hillside.
No one in the castle acknowledged that Kara had disappeared for a night without telling anyone why. No one asked what made her run off, or even mentioned that she’d left at all. Braeden assured her this was out of respect for her privacy, but when she went to the dining hall, the averted glances of the soldiers suggested something more. The conversation lulled when she passed, and more than one Hillsidian stretched across two places, making their half-filled tables seem f
ull. So, in the week after that first breakfast back at the castle, she brought her meals to the waterfall and spent her time training by Braeden’s boulder.