Storybound

by Emily Mckay

  His breath brushes my ear and I have to suppress a shiver as I glance back at him. “What else would you call it?”

  “Weaving.”

  Weaving?

  He is clearly not weaving. Unless…

  “Do you think manipulating time is something so”—I search for the word—”so intangible that it looks different for every person who sees it?”

  Kane’s face is so close to mine, we are mere inches apart. I swallow and struggle to find my train of thought. “I see juggling because that’s how he described it to me. And you see weaving because—”

  “Because that’s how I always imagined it.”

  “Is that possible?”

  “Anything is possible.”

  Is anything possible?

  I close my eyes, just for a second, wanting the thing I can never have. Then, I open my eyes and step fully into the room of the timekeeper.

  Excerpt from

  Book Five of The Traveler Chronicles:

  The Traveler Undone

  Here’s the short list of things that really piss me off:

  Bad tippers

  Guys who let their dogs shit on other people’s lawns

  Anyone who picks on kids.

  You wanna guess which one Smyth is guilty of?

  I’ll give you a hint. Unless you count the hellhounds, he doesn’t own a dog. And I’ve sure as hell never sat down in a restaurant with him long enough for the bill to arrive.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  The magical energy around the timekeeper is so thick, I feel it pressing against my skin. The timekeeper’s magic streams out from him toward Gull Veston Island. It is so thick directly in front of him, I stop trying to move through it and instead approach from the side.

  The boy looks sickly and unkempt. His hair is too long. What should be thick curls is matted and dirty. His skin, which should be the color of amber, instead appears a jaundiced yellow.

  I crouch down beside him, placing my hands on the fat arm of his chair.

  “Morgan?” I say softly.

  How did I not guess this before?

  Timekeepers are incredibly rare. It’s some of the most powerful magic around. Plus, it explains why Morgan refused to come to the island. There’s a crap ton I don’t understand about timekeeping. But not having two versions of yourself in the same time, at the same place, seems like a no-brainer.

  “Morgan,” I repeat.

  Kane comes to stand behind me and puts a hand on my shoulder.

  Finally, Morgan’s gaze flickers in our direction. “Shh.” He throws up one of the balls, frowning before catching it. “This is very hard,” he whispers. “Don’t distract me.”

  “Yes,” I say. “I can see that it’s hard. Why don’t you take a break, just for a few minutes?”

  “I can’t,” he says, frowning.

  “Yes, you can.”

  His frown deepens, and I feel my heart tugging hard. He is so serious. So worried. So unlike the Morgan I know that it breaks my heart just a little.

  “I can’t,” he insists.

  “Why do you think you can’t stop weaving?” Kane asks, crouching down beside me.

  “Because he said I couldn’t.”

  Kane and I exchange a glance. We don’t need to ask who the “he” is in that sentence.

  “Did he say why you can’t stop?” I ask.

  Morgan concentrates for a few more seconds, throws the ball, watches it hang in the air, and then catches it again. Following his movements, I can almost—almost—see how this could be considered weaving. Smoothing down the strands. Every once in a while, the flick of his wrists intertwining them.

  “If I stop…” Morgan pauses once again to throw and catch the ball. “Bad things will happen.”

  “What bad things?” Kane asks.

  “Bad things will happen to my sister.” Morgan glances at us lightning fast, and there is anguish in his gaze. “She’s only six. And she’s my best friend. If I stop juggling, bad things will happen to her.”

  And just like that, the tug at my heart becomes an overwhelming crash. The weight on my chest is so heavy, I can hardly breathe, let alone talk, to reassure him.

  “If I stop keeping time, she will die. Within twenty-four hours, she dies. That’s what he said.”

  God damn it.

  And I thought Smyth was evil before. I had no idea. He has kept this boy, this child, trapped here in this room for more than a decade, doing his dirty work, with the threat that his sister would die within a day if he stopped.

  I don’t know whether or not keeping time is painful. The adult Morgan didn’t say. But I know it’s hard. I know it’s exhausting. And this child, this innocent child, has been doing it nonstop for years, all so that Smyth could have absolute control over this one tiny slice of the world.

  What kind of monster does that? What kind of monster allows a child to be in pain for his own benefit?

  The kind of monster that Smyth is. The kind of monster who doesn’t look monstrous at all.

  I don’t know how to make peace with being a Sleeker. I don’t know that I will ever be comfortable knowing that I was made to want things beyond my reach.

  I’m not good at wanting things. Certainly not things for myself. Because of my mom’s job, I’ve seen way more people die than most kids my age. I’ve seen people, better people than me, die painfully, horribly. It seems beyond selfish to want anything for myself beyond what I already have.

  I don’t know that I will ever be comfortable wanting things for myself.

  But in this moment, the thing that I want most is Smyth’s death.

  Because a man that evil cannot be allowed to live, let alone stay in power.

  And bringing down Smyth? It starts right here. In this moment. With freeing Morgan.

  “That man lied to you,” I say. “Your sister doesn’t die when you stop this. I know your sister. I know Ro.” I do some quick math in my head based on how old the grown Morgan is now. The number that I come up with is another blow to my heart. “You’ve been doing this for thirteen years. You have protected your sister long enough. She is still alive, all these years later. She doesn’t die when you stop. She goes on to live a long and full life.”

  And, I realize as I say it, that she must never know the sacrifice he made for her. If she knew that he had lived like this for thirteen years to protect her, it would kill her.

  I swallow down the anguish threatening to overwhelm me. “You’ve done enough to protect her.”

  Morgan looks at me, his frown deepening. “She’s alive?”

  “Yes.” I nod.

  He must not believe me, because next, he looks at Kane. “And if I stop keeping time—” He pauses long enough to throw and catch a ball again. “What will happen to me?”

  I have been so focused on Morgan, I hadn’t so much as glanced at Kane until now.

  The anguish I feel is reflected in Kane’s expression, in the pain in his eyes and the tightness of his jaw. “I don’t know. Not for sure. But I have a theory.”

  Morgan throws and catches the ball again. Cocking his head just slightly to the side he asks, “What do you think will happen to me?”

  “I think that if you stop keeping time, you will go back to when this all started.”

  “And Ro will still be alive?”

  “Yes. I know you when you are grown. You’ve been my friend for years. Ro has been my friend for years, too. And you never…” Kane pauses, and I am close enough to hear him swallow. “You never said anything.” He nods as if resolving the matter in his own mind. “I think you have to keep holding on to this moment. I think you have to let this happen. But you can choose to go back to the life you left when Smyth took you. You can still have your childhood. With Ro and your parents.”

  “I don’t know if I believe you,”
Morgan says softly. He looks down at the balls in his hand, frowning as if he is trying to decide what to do with them. The muscles in his arm tense, and I can tell that he is preparing to throw them again.

  “Ro may be your sister, but when you’re grown up, I’m going to be your best friend. I wouldn’t lie to you.” Kane reaches out and places his hand on the little boy’s arm. “You can rest now.”

  “That sounds nice.” Morgan looks up at Kane. “I am very tired.”

  “Yeah. I bet.”

  Morgan looks back down at the balls in his hands. After a long moment, he brings his two hands together. There is a moment of resistance when the two balls touch, and then they melt into each other to become one.

  Morgan looks back at the two of us and says, “I’ll hold on to this one.”

  Then, there is a pulse of magic through the air, almost like a shockwave, strong enough that it nearly knocks Kane and me back a step. When I get my feet under me again, Morgan is gone.

  The chair is empty. Every surface in the room is covered with years’ worth of dust. And outside the window, the sun is shining on Gull Veston Island.

  Kane continues to crouch beside the chair, his hands braced on the arm, his head ducked, his shoulders hunched against the burden today has placed on him.

  I have never been good at wanting things for myself, so when I reach out and place my hand on his shoulder, smoothing away some of the tension there, I tell myself that I am comforting him as well as myself.

  “All that time—” Kane shakes his head. “He never said anything. Never once.”

  “No, I don’t suppose he would’ve.”

  I think back over the events of the last few days, of the things that have happened since I met Morgan. He must have recognized me the moment I climbed into that limo.

  No wonder he wanted me and Kane to get along. No wonder he wanted us to rescue the princess. He knew everything was leading to this moment, here on Crescent Island. This was his endgame all along.

  After a long moment, Kane pushes himself to his feet. The past few minutes have aged him. Maybe not the way they have aged this room, but close.

  “What now?” I ask.

  Before Kane can answer, reality crashes back through the room, as the ear-piercing howl of a hellhound rends the air. Followed quickly by a crash so powerful, it shakes the floorboards beneath our feet.

  Excerpt from

  Book Five of The Traveler Chronicles:

  The Traveler Undone

  At the risk of sounding like a smart-ass…

  Oh, who am I kidding? Everyone knows I’m a smart-ass.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Kane and I share a look. “Hellhounds,” we say at the same time.

  We both run for the door as the entire house rattles.

  I skid to a halt almost as soon as my feet touch grass. While we were inside, three hellhounds made it on to Crescent Island.

  The princess is battling one close to the bridge, blasting it repeatedly, as it slides back toward the bridge of death.

  Beside her, Ro is crouched on the ground, both hands flat on the grass. A few feet away, a hellhound is perched on the cliff, desperately trying to get a footing. Ro’s eyes are closed as she ignores the hellhound just a few feet away. His massive paws dig into the earth. He snaps at the air threateningly.

  As we watch, Ro’s whole body tenses, and then the chunk of earth the hellhound is clinging to breaks away, and he tumbles to his death with an earsplitting howl.

  Kendal is fighting a third hound.

  The fight is a blur of fur and blood and claws and yelps of pain, so violent, it’s hard to see, let alone follow. It is the stuff of nightmares. The kinds of noise that are like jagged nails on the chalkboard of your soul.

  There is a spray of blood, a crunch of bone, the snapping of jaws, and then Kendal seems to break free from the fight, landing several feet away—fur damp, back arched, tail straight in the air.

  The princess dashes to Kendal’s side, hands raised, ready to blast the beast, though Kendal’s paralyzing venom already seems to be working on the hound. The beast sways, giving its massive head a shake as if trying to clear its vision.

  The princess blasts it, but it’s not quite enough to knock it over the cliff edge. Instead the enormous beast stumbles back a step before falling with an earth-rattling thud to its knees.

  An earth-rattling thud.

  A crack ripples across the jetty the princess and Kendal are standing on. It slices right through the ground between us.

  A tremor shakes the entire island as a chunk of land pulls away. The fissure widens as the earth and stone seem to growl and screech with pain. The entire cliff threatens to fall away, taking the princess and Kendal with it.

  I run toward them, but make it only a few steps before Kane’s arm wraps around me and jerks me back.

  “Let me go.”

  “No!” Kane yells. “Ro, do something!”

  There is no response from Ro. She is still on her hands and knees, palms still planted on the ground, as she does what she can to stabilize the splinter of land.

  The princess and Kendal whirl around. They both move toward us, but every step they take shakes the ground.

  Across the chasm, the hellhounds seem to realize that something has gone horribly wrong. They yelp with delight, and one of them lunges forward, planting his paws on the end of the bridge that is connected to Gull Veston Island. His action jerks the bridge toward them, pulling the chunk of Crescent Island with it.

  The ground tilts out from under the princess’s and Kendal’s feet. They fall forward, scrambling to reach solid ground.

  I watch, hopeless, as they fall into the chasm between the islands.

  I wrench myself out of Kane’s grasp.

  No.

  I am not helpless.

  I am a Sleeker, like my mother before me.

  And I don’t just want things beyond my reach—I can reach for things beyond my reach.

  My Sleeker arms, long and sinewy, snake out from my back and snatch the princess and Kendal from the air.

  I have them.

  But then they reach the end of the length of my arms and they snap out of freefall. I lurch off balance, landing on my hands and knees with a bone-jarring thud. Their falling motion pulls me forward and I slide along the grass. I dig in the heels of my palms trying to stop myself but it does little good. I slide, inexorably, closer to the edge of the cliff.

  The weight of them is tremendous. I feel as though my shoulder blades are going to be ripped from my body.

  My Sleeker arms are strong, stronger than I ever could have expected, strong enough to hold the weight of a Tuatha princess and a Kellas cat, but not strong enough to lift them.

  Not strong enough to bring them to safety.

  Behind me, in the corner of my mind that is not overwhelmed by the wrenching, burning, pain of holding the princess and Kendal in my arms, I hear Kane yelling something to Ro.

  And then I feel him behind me, wrapping his arms around me. Somehow, he lifts me up, gets in front of me, so that his weight blocks my momentum toward the cliff.

  “You have them,” he murmurs. “You can do this.”

  He believes this. He has faith in me.

  I close my eyes against his faith. Because I know the truth. I don’t have them. I can’t hold them both.

  Distantly, I hear the princess screaming, but the burning in my muscles blocks out everything but the pain.

  And then, there is a sharp burst of new pain in my brain.

  And I hear a voice—Kendal’s voice—speaking in my mind, “You cannot do this, child. You cannot hold us both.”

  “I can.” I don’t know if I’m saying the words aloud or speaking only to her. “I’m not losing you. I’m not letting you die.”

  “But you must. If
you can save only one of us, child, you know who it must be.” Somehow, Kendal’s voice is calm and soothing in my mind. “The princess must be protected. She must become Queen so that Kane can become King.”

  But I don’t want her to soothe me. I don’t want her to be logical. And I don’t want her to die.

  “Child, my death would be a small price to pay if the next ruler of the Kingdoms of Mithres could be chosen by a child of the Dark World and a dowtless Kellas cat.”

  There is an ominous popping noise from the area of my shoulders, like a bone being wrenched from its socket. The searing pain of muscle strain becomes a blazing fire in my joints.

  And still I cannot make myself let go of Kendal.

  But she makes me let go.

  For an instant, she is not only deeply in my mind, but I am in hers, and I see through her eyes. I see my dark Sleeker arm wrapped around her torso, tightly enough that she can barely breathe, but her legs are free. Her claws are free. In a moment filled with selfless love, and with endless loneliness, she reaches out a claw and scratches the arm that is holding her. And then licks it.

  I feel the venom in her saliva as it begins to work. Numbness creeps through the muscles of my Sleeker arms. I struggle to tense them, to will strength back into them, but my control is nothing compared to her venom. The loops around her body uncoil. She exhales and slips from my grasp.

  I am in her mind as she falls.

  It feels endless.

  Somehow, she pushes me out enough so that I do not feel the moment she hits the water below. I do not feel any of the pain as her body is smashed. I know only the moment she is gone.

  I feel her absence, sudden and abrupt. Brutal.

  In the void created by her absence, I feel the rush of her venom again, pulsing up my Sleeker arm into the rest of my body.

  If I don’t get the princess onto firm land, the venom will spread into my other arm and I will lose her, too. I can’t let that happen. I will not let Kendal’s death have been in vain.

  If she died solely so that the princess could live and rule this land by Kane’s side, then I will make sure that happens.