by Everly Frost
She’s in her element, reveling in the ability to let loose like she hasn’t in hundreds of years.
“Freedom!” she whoops, laughing as she soars above us, creating a white slipstream and waving her hands around like some kind of magic wand. “Thunder! Lightning! Wind! Rain!”
Poor Llion thinks I’m making the storm. I don’t dare use my power with Baelen so close, not with the danger of drawing him out. Especially now that I’ve unlocked the barrier inside my mind. I have to concentrate on not reacting to the pull of electricity, the charge in the air, the sharp patter of rain, and the thunder that rattles my rib cage in a way that makes me want to join the Storm in flight. Her rage is contagious. My body tingles where I press against Baelen’s back, but I clamp down on that feeling before his body reacts to mine.
I have to wait.
The disadvantage of creating such good camouflage is that I can’t see the ground or any of the landscape below us. What I know of Erador is that it is a spider web of mountains, all connected to each other like veins in a body that stretches on and on. Every single one of the mountain ranges connects and eventually leads to the heart: Mount Erador. I wish I could see the mountain formations as we fly over. I read once that the rocks are every color: deep mossy green, dark blood red, mulberry purple, and even indigo blue.
We’ve been flying all afternoon and it must be nighttime now. At this speed, we should reach Mount Erador by midnight. The perfect time for creeping around unseen.
Hours later, the Storm’s enthusiasm hasn’t let up. She soars down to my level but keeps her voice low, reminding me that Llion can’t hear her. “We’re a few minutes away from Mount Erador. Do you want me to cover us while we land?”
I give her a firm nod. Getting here is only half of the equation. I need her to keep hiding the Phoenix until we get back from the springs and can leave again.
She grins. “My pleasure.” She soars beneath the firebird, spreading a thick mist as she goes and the bird follows after her, beginning its descent. The rain eases up as the mist takes over. I catch a glimpse of a dazzling city before the spray rolls over us again. The image of the city far below is tinged with blue, not the golden flame of lamplight like we have in Erawind, but an iridescent glow of spider webs.
I ask the Phoenix, Are there any guards around the mountain?
I sense a wide opening at the side of the cliff but no life forms around it, the Phoenix replies. The palace is several hundred feet to the right and well-guarded, but your destination is clear.
That worries me. If Howl built his palace close by because he covets deep magic, then I would have expected guards to be placed all around the mountain, especially around the springs. Maybe they’ve taken cover from the Storm?
We’re here, the Phoenix says as we touch down. I’ll keep a lookout for danger. Leave Baelen with me until you know it’s safe.
I can’t see more than a few feet in any direction, barely making out the shape of a cliff face on our left hand side, let alone some sort of entrance into the side of it.
Llion lifts off the Phoenix’s back, but keeps his wing beats to a minimum so he doesn’t disrupt our foggy cover. Jasper and I slide to the ledge while the Storm hovers above us, maintaining a cloak of mist. I glance across the nearby edge but again, I can’t see far. For some reason, I thought there would be stairs up to this place; I have to remind myself that gargoyles simply fly to high places.
“This is where we part ways, Lady Storm,” Llion murmurs, tapping his fist across his heart in a gesture of gratitude that an elf would give. “Thank you for transporting me here. I will get myself—and my wife—out on my own.”
“You don’t have to do that alone,” I say, even though we already had this conversation before we crossed the border. “If you find her tonight, come back to this spot. We can take you with us when we leave.”
“I don’t think finding her will be that easy. And getting her out is going to be even harder.” He shakes his head, but lowers it in a gesture of friendship. “May we meet again, Lady Storm.”
“I hope we do, Llion. In better days.”
Jasper draws near as Llion flies away into the mist. “Worst case, he is discovered and creates a diversion for us,” he says, stating the grim reality matter-of-factly. “But I hope that doesn’t happen.”
I spin away from the cliff’s edge, my nerve endings firing. I’m so close to healing Baelen, so close to seeing him open his eyes again. “I don’t like how quiet it is here. We need to move fast and leave quickly.”
The Storm descends to my side, leaning forward and squinting. She grabs my arm, stopping me before I can move. “There’s something over there…” She peers through the thick mist she’s created, crossing ahead of me and disappearing into it. Silence follows her and then…
A sharp pain shoots across my chest. At the same time, I hear her gasp, followed by a sob. I feel her pain as if it’s mine, but it’s not physical. An electric shock.
“Something’s wrong…” I run through the thick fog with Jasper on my heels. The Storm’s silver dress blends with the mist ahead of us, but there’s a clear patch in front of her right up to the wide entrance in the side of the mountain. Her feet lower to the ground, her wings drooping low as if they’re both broken.
A substance stretches over the entrance from side to side. It’s thick and taut like some kind of elasticized fabric.
“What is that?” I whisper. And more importantly: how do we get through it?
The Storm’s voice scratches against the silence. “Wings.”
The breath catches in my throat as Jasper approaches the substance, stopping a safe distance from it. He doesn’t look for long. He spins back to us, head held high, but he can’t hide that he’s closed his eyes. “It’s made of gargoyle wings.”
Horror races through me. The hairs on my arms stand on end. “What kind of monster would take gargoyle wings and do that to them?”
“It must be Howl.” Jasper opens his eyes but keeps his back to the atrocity behind him. “The wings have been melded together and fused to the sides of the rock. There are no gaps. There’s no way through.”
I whisper, “No need for guards.” We can’t cut through gargoyle wings. Llion’s dagger is the only weapon strong enough to break through and he’s already flown away. My mind races as I consider whether I can somehow remove a shimmer beetle husk from my armor and use it as a knife. All the while, I push away the horror I feel about cutting through these wings. I’m not sure if I can… I remember what Llion said about hurting a gargoyle’s wings, about it being a terrible thing. Just the thought of it feels wrong.
The Storm wobbles beside me before she drops to her knees. “If they’re melded together… he must have a heartstone.”
Worried by her shock, I kneel beside her, even more concerned when she leans into me for support. It’s not like her to show any weakness. I’m not sure why she’d be so afraid of a heartstone, or what that has to do with the wings in front of us, but she’s visibly shaking. “Talk to me, Storm.”
She shudders, clutching my hand. Jasper moves to her other side, kneeling, but he doesn’t touch her.
The Storm says, “When elves and gargoyles first came to this place, the bravest among them gave their lives to create the world around us: the division of earth, then the moon, sun, mountains, plants, and animals. But when they gave their lives, they left their hearts behind. Those are the heartstones.”
This is news to me. Each elven House has a heartstone of a different color. Baelen’s House has the most revered of the elven heartstones—a gorgeous crimson rock the size of his fist. But the idea that they were actually once hearts of real life elves… I glance at Jasper. He looks as confused as I am.
I shake my head, saying, “The heartstones are objects of magic created by the ancient spellcasters…”
“No, Marbella. They are objects of deep magic that were literally the hearts of the ones whose sacrifice made our lives possible.”
“I was never told this.” I shoot a questioning glance at Jasper, needing to confirm: did he know? When he shakes his head, I say, “The Elven Command hid this knowledge from us.”
“Or else it was lost over time,” Jasper adds, willing to give them the benefit of the doubt, but I know the Elven Command better. They deliberately kept information from me in the past, including the fact that I was entitled to own land.
The Storm says, “The elves gave a heartstone to each of the elven Houses, but the thirty gargoyle heartstones are buried beneath the mountains. This was for two reasons: the first was to fortify our foundations, to keep our land strong—which the heartstones have done for a thousand years. But the second reason…”
She points at the barrier over the entrance without looking at it. “We have no spellcasting here because gargoyles can’t conjure spells like elves can. Only our Priestesses can use deep magic—and then only to defend someone. But our heartstones… they are fundamentally different to yours. Your heartstones contain deep magic that can be drawn out for particular tasks, such as revealing the truth of your heart, Marbella, during the trials for your hand.”
“And the gargoyle heartstones?” I ask, not sure if I want to know the answer.
“The gargoyle heartstones can be used as weapons. To do whatever the holder desires.”
My gaze shoots to Jasper. I exhale. Slowly. This is not good for so many reasons: Howl and the Elven Command being two of the biggest. Right now I’m hoping that Jasper is right and the Elven Command doesn’t know about this.
Tears track down the Storm’s cheeks. “The location of each gargoyle heartstone was hidden because of the devastation the stones could cause. But those wings... the way they’re fused together... That can’t be done by fire or glue. Our wings are our shields. Until Llion used his arrows today, no known substance could cut them, let alone melt them.”
Jasper frowns in the darkness. “You’re saying that Howl must have dug up a heartstone?”
“It’s the only conclusion I can draw.” The Storm meets my eyes. “If he has, I made a terrible mistake telling you to come here. You can’t stay. You need to leave while you still can.”
“No.” I pull away from her. “You said this was the only way to heal Baelen. I can’t walk away now. I need Llion’s dagger. I have to cut through, heal Baelen, and then we’ll get out of here as fast as we can.”
“No, you need to—”
“I’m not leaving until Baelen is healed!” My shout is too loud. Too reckless. There aren’t any guards at this spot, but I can’t see how close Howl’s palace is and the Phoenix warned me that there are hundreds of guards around it. I squeeze my mouth shut and my eyes closed as anger and fear rage inside me. I’m surprised I’m not shooting electrical sparks everywhere right now.
The Storm’s voice turns cold. “You cannot cut through the wings, Marbella. They don’t belong to you. They were taken from living gargoyles. Don’t you see?”
I open my eyes. She’s pointing.
She demands again, “Please, can’t you see?”
I follow her finger to the thick curtain of wings. It shivers a little in the breeze until I realize… there is no breeze. The Storm has kept everything still so that the mist remains thick. I take a step closer and it dawns on me what Jasper saw that made him look away. The wings shiver again. They are… still alive.
A twisted sound cuts off inside my throat. I jolt backward. I can’t touch them. I can’t cut through them. Pain shoots through my heart. “There has to be another way inside.”
“There’s no other way,” the Storm says, her shoulders and wings slumping. “That’s what makes this so cruel. Nobody can access the springs. Nobody can be healed.”
“What do I do now? How can I help Baelen?”
“What about the High Priestess?” Jasper asks, even though we all know he’s clutching at straws. “Could she help him?”
The Storm shakes her head. “She could have stopped the Elven Command from hurting him but she can’t heal him after the fact.”
“Then… how…” I can’t speak. I can’t feel. I’m numb from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. I’ve come all this way and now I have to turn around and take Baelen back, with no way to heal him. His state of suspension won’t last forever. I can’t watch him die a slow death.
I want to scream and shout but I can’t because it’s so quiet.
So very quiet.
Wait…
Phoenix?
I wait for an answer, my heart in my throat. A scratching sound reaches me through the mist, but there’s no reply.
Phoenix!
I grab my weapon, spinning in the direction where we left the Phoenix with Baelen. “Something’s wrong.”
Jasper draws his sword, waiting for me to make a move.
The Storm hovers. “I don’t sense anything…” An alarmed frown puckers her forehead. “In fact I sense nothing…”
“Storm, I need to see the Phoenix. I want you to lift the fog.”
In response to my request, the Storm lifts the white vapor around us. It floats upward like a soft blanket to clear the space between us and where the Phoenix landed. The firebird is still there, but its body is twisted at a strange angle, its head turned away. Baelen floats upright beside it, appearing the same as when I left him.
I race toward the Phoenix. Its neck and head are pressed down against the stone, its talons scratching back and forth, pressing, trying to get up.
Phoenix, speak to me!
Silence greets me as I round it, balancing at the very edge of the cliff to see its face. Its eyes are wide and staring.
If it wasn’t for its talons scrabbling at the stone beneath it, I would think it was dead. But that can’t be true because it would have ignited. I don’t know a lot about the Phoenix—it’s the only one of its kind—but I do know that when it dies, it ignites into flame and will rise again when it chooses.
A whisper reaches me. It’s like a far off wind chime. It’s the Phoenix’s voice, strained and forced. It says: Out… there.
I can’t see anything beyond the ledge and suddenly our cover feels like a cage. Without the Phoenix to warn us about approaching threats, my inability to see is a dangerous weakness. Still, I should have been able to hear anything that could be out there. Jasper too.
“Storm,” I whisper as she and Jasper draw level with me at the cliff’s edge. “I need to see.”
She rises from where she’d bent over the Phoenix to examine it, worry creasing her forehead. She brushes her hand across the air in a slow circular motion. The fog lifts again, the thick white cloud rising away from the edge of the cliff.
Shapes move in the darkness beyond. Many… many…
A gasp catches in my throat. My stomach plummets.
Layers and layers of gargoyles wait for us beyond the edge, beating the air to maintain a holding formation from one side of the cliff to the other. They’re close enough that if I leap from the edge, I will crash into the first line of them.
A second and third line holds formation behind the first. I estimate there are nearly a hundred gargoyles, all of them dressed in armor and bearing weapons made of glinting steel. They cover the air overhead, up and up, all the way over to the rock face behind us: a swarm creating a thick barrier preventing any thought of escape.
Just waiting for us to realize we’re surrounded.
10. Marbella Mercy
A small army beats the air, but where I stand, it’s completely silent. No sounds reach me. Not the clinking armor, not the vast whirling wind they must be creating with their wings. It’s as if we’re enclosed in a sound bubble.
“Marbella.” Jasper keeps his voice low, soothing, and it anchors me, stops me from spinning into panic. “Stay calm.”
“I didn’t hear them, Jasper. I didn’t sense them. The Phoenix can’t talk to me.”
“We’ll be okay.” It’s such a simple statement. I meet his gentle eyes, knowing that within moments, he will turn to ra
ge, because he will fight every one of these gargoyles if he has to. And I will fight right beside him.
Jasper shifts his gaze, focusing on the panicking Storm. “Elyria.”
She’s frozen beside me, shaking her head as if she’s gone into shock. “I didn’t… I can’t… hear… feel…”
Jasper says, “I’m right here. You’re okay.”
He has the same effect on her that he has on me, but if anything, for her it’s more intense. Her focus swings from the army that’s about to tear us apart to Jasper. She visibly relaxes and I’m grateful. The last thing we need is for the Storm to turn into a wobbly mess.
The wall of gargoyles parts to allow another gargoyle to fly through. He is much larger than the others. In fact, he’s as tall as Baelen, his thick arms and legs bulging with corded muscles. His eyes are black ochre and his features are chiseled: square jaw, perfectly shaped lips, and a cleft in his chin. His wings are shot through with veins that run emerald green.
A rock rests against his bare chest, attached to molded metal straps that cross his shoulders. It’s the same size as an elven heartstone, but colored deep mossy green. He must be King Howl.
Cassian flies close behind him. He nods his head in my direction in a single downward beat as if to point me out. When Cassian speaks, I don’t hear him. I don’t hear anything.
The King flies right up to the cliff’s edge, within touching distance, surveying us: the prone Phoenix, Jasper gripping his sword, and last of all: me. The way he glosses over the space between us tells me he can’t see the Storm. It’s a small blessing.
A smile crosses King Howl’s face as he runs his eyes from my head to my feet in a way that makes me shudder. His lips part. He speaks and it’s impossible not to read his lips as he says: Well, fuck me.