by Peter Joison
Ember pushed Celeste away. ‘No, Celeste! What about Turner? We have to do something. He’s our Ring for Christ’s sake!’
Celeste looked back at the door. ‘I’m not sure if I should say anything yet …’
‘Celeste!’
Celeste crossed her arms. ‘OK. Look. From what we’ve already decided we won’t be going after Turner. No rescue. To go into the Grimshade you need the protection of an ice shield from a water or sky elemental, which would only last seconds. The heat is too strong. We could do it if we knew exactly where he was in the Grimshade, but we don’t. We tried coming up with ideas, but nothing can be done, Em. I’m sorry.’
Ember couldn’t believe her sister. Were they just going to sacrifice Turner? How? Why?
She was seething. Celeste put a hand on her sister’s arm. ‘Em, calm down. I can’t do anything about it. He’s our Ring, our Ellring, and if there was any way to save him I’d be there already, but there isn’t. So we have to prepare for the fight of our lives. It’s all we can do. I know you’re upset, but before you do anything rash, go for a walk, have a nap. Just calm down. And please, please, don’t burn anything.’
Burn anything? Ember wanted the whole damn place to explode in flames. And an even more terrifying thought—she wanted to slap her sister. Instead she turned and ran off down the corridor, tears stinging her eyes.
She barrelled down the stone spiral staircase, across the entrance hall, pushed through a group of little girls—future Vordenes—and out into the bitterly cold Northern evening. And still she ran, not caring where she was going. Turner? Turner? Don’t give up, she thought. Please don’t give up.
*
Turner’s train crashed. He tumbled over and over, every bone in his body breaking, shards of glass pierced his body, until finally the rolling stopped, and he lay still. He heard other passengers shrieking, crying for help. The pain was immense, and he wondered when he would die. But somewhere in the torn wreck of the train came a woman’s cry. ‘Turner! Turner! Come on. I need your help! Wake up, Turner!’
‘Ember?’ Turner came back to consciousness slowly. He opened his one good eye, but for a moment it was all a blur. As his vision cleared, he realised he wasn’t in a train wreck—no, it was much worse—he was still in the Grimshade.
Someone shook him. ‘Turner! Come back to me, Turner.’
His eye focused. ‘Ember?’ It was Ember. She’d come to save him!
Ember looked up at the sky. ‘The Scathers were about to attack. You have to be awake, alright? No blacking out again.’
Turner raised himself up into a sitting position. The sky directly above them was a mass of swirling Scathers, like the inside of a black tornado, but they were leaving, circling like a large flock of birds, and flying away.
Ember double-checked the sky. ‘They’re leaving. That was close.’ She held out her hand and helped him stand. But he was weak, shaky and spent. His legs almost buckled under him.
Turner went to hug her. ‘Em! I’m so glad …’
But instead of the embrace he was expecting, Ember stepped back. ‘No time for that, Turner … dearest, we need to get going.’
What was wrong with her? Turner’s body shook with the effort of standing and he wobbled on weakened legs. His mind felt like porridge, and he found it hard to think clearly. Ember was here. We’re in the Grimshade. We have to leave.
‘Let’s go home, Em,’ he croaked, his throat dry and rough. He reached out his good arm, took a step, but fell to his knees and cried out in pain. Everything hurt. He couldn’t think. His head was bowed, and he stared at the black glassy stones at his knees. He needed to get up. Ember was relying on him. He needed …
‘God damn it you rotten piece of meat! Do we have to carry you?’
He looked up, unsure. His vision swam. Blackness. He squinted through the pain. ‘Ember?’
But it wasn’t Ember. The fell lifted and the Vordene monster stood before him.
‘Emmmber?’ One of its faces mocked. And another, ‘Emmber?’ And a third face twisted into view. ‘Ember?’ Now they all spoke at once, a guttural squawk, ‘Ember? Ember? Emmmmber?’
Turner stared down at the dark rocks. He was tired. Tired of running away, of giving up. He decided then and there he wouldn’t die. He was going to live. Live so he could personally destroy this hateful creature.
Iron-like hands grasped at his arms and legs and lifted him. Two or three of the monsters arms held Turner roughly against the ropey texture of its body. It oozed a disgusting oily sweat, stinking of shit and rancid meat. Turner didn’t struggle; he had no energy left. And although the monster’s grip on his broken arm was excruciating, he gritted his teeth and did not cry out. No more crying out. No more wanting to die. Whatever happened now he decided, he was going to get through it and get back to Ember.
The monster began to march down the rocky hill, dislodging glossy stones in small avalanches. The uneven gait tossed Turner around like a rag doll. With his head pointed down, he could see the ground as it passed, as well as the occasional splatter of blood which dripped from his side onto the black stones.
He was going to kill the monster—if he didn’t run out of blood first.
*
Brooke sat on the edge of a bed in one of the castle’s large dormitory halls. The great hall-like expanse had been used by visiting Vordenes for centuries. Two rows of old iron beds rested against the ancient stone walls. The ceiling was a lattice of intersecting heavy black timbers. Concessions to comfort had been made, long rugs, elaborate wall hangings and bedside tables with ornate lamps.
Apart from Brooke, the large space was almost empty. There were two pregnant women sitting on a bed at the far end of the dormitory, both from Becca’s Well in Dover. The occasional small laugh came from their direction but Brooke shut them out. She hadn’t moved for over half an hour, and sat, staring at her hands. Her thoughts swirled in dark, bitter circles.
Brooke heard steps close by but didn’t look up. And then there was somebody sitting on the bed beside her. Finally, Brooke turned. It was Aunt Brenna.
‘Hello, you poor tormented soul.’
Brooke said nothing, she looked away. She didn’t need Aunt Brenna’s teasing right now.
Brenna brushed some of her blonde hair over her shoulder, and straightened the folds of her medieval-looking blue gown. She sighed. ‘It may seem like the end of the world right now, girly, but … Oh. It might actually be the end of the world, mayn’t it? Slipped my mind. Nevertheless, by sitting here moping you’re not doing anyone any good, least of all yourself.’
Brooke stared at the bedside lamp.
‘Let me tell you a story,’ said Aunt Brenna. ‘Once there was a beautiful Vordene girl. She was a water, so you and I both know she had something special. She had recently gone through the Grand Initiation, and was now a High Vordene. At the ripe age of seventeen the world was hers. She could do anything. She was much better than all those little tykes scampering about the castle. She knew she was. Prettier, smarter, older, more powerful in every way. But the little ones didn’t think the same as she did. They teased her, and stuck out their tongues, even after she became a High Vordene.’
Despite herself, Brooke was listening.
Brenna plucked a non-existent hair from her gown. ‘Where was I? Oh yes. The little terrors. This beautiful High Vordene thought she would teach them a lesson. Make them appreciate her. She snuck into one of the dorms where five of the worst offenders were sleeping. And she wove a Lost incantation around them. The girls disappeared from their beds. “Let them stew on that,” thought the young woman. They would be lost in body and mind in a dark swamp, wandering, beyond hope. In a couple of days she’d return them. Or so she thought.’
Brooke was openly watching Aunt Brenna now, her eyes wide.
‘The young High Vordene went back two nights later and sang the Song of the Found …’ Brenna smiled at Brooke. ‘You know the one. But alas, the little girls didn’t return. She tried again. Nothi
ng. She came back the next night. And the next. Of course you would think that by this time everybody in the castle would be searching for the girls, but here’s the thing about a Lost incantation. In it, you are truly lost, forgotten, vanished from the minds of all who knew you. So the little one’s only had one young woman to help them back. By the fifth night she gave in, and went to her sisters and aunts and told them everything.’
Brooke’s pulse was racing. She blinked away tears.
‘The beautiful High Vordene girl was not denigrated. She was not yelled at. It was worse than that. Her sisters and her two aunts looked at her with sorrow and shame. And they cried for their evil sister, and daughter. They cried for her! The two aunts took the new High Vordene sisters to the little girl’s dorm and we … they sang the Song of the Found, this time with their spirit animal, and brought back the little ones from the Swamp of Forgetting. The little girls were like ghosts. They couldn’t speak for weeks. They stayed in bed the whole time, their eyes … their eyes dark, deep pools. When one of them finally spoke, they asked why nobody had come for them. Why hadn’t we … the High Vordene come for them? None of us had an answer of course.’
Tears spilled over Brooke’s cheeks. She sniffed. ‘You?’
Brenna was silent for a moment. ‘Of course me. Of course. And I’ve spent the rest of my life trying to make up for my mistake. My sisters forgave me over time. I left behind the old boastful, bumptious me and strove to become something better. Help whenever I could, be there for the others, never expected praise or begrudged those that got it. I think I succeeded. Yes, they forgave me, but I never forgave myself. We must learn from our mistakes, or be ever on the brink of a new one.’
Brooke wrapped an arm around the older woman and placed her head on Brenna’s shoulder. They sat like that for many heartbeats.
Finally Brooke broke the silence. ‘The girls … did they recover?’
Brenna sighed. ‘They seemed to. We helped them as much as we could. Forgetting enchantments, that kind of thing. But …’
‘Yes?’
‘They grew up of course, those five little girls …’ Brenna paused, and looked at Brooke with almost panic in her eyes. ‘And they became the Cardiff Vordene.’
Shock ran like knives through Brooke, and she thought her heart would break. ‘No.’
Aunt Brenna’s head hung low, and she said through sobs, ‘Yes. I’m afraid so. So, no one can blame only you for all this. Although we have no way of knowing how much of what I did contributed, I’m still partly to blame.’ She took Brooke’s shaking hands in hers. ‘Remember this: we all swim in the river of hope and risk, unless someone breaks the dam, and chaos reigns.’
Like Brenna, Brooke’s head was bowed, her long hair covered her face. ‘We broke the dam,’ she whispered.
*
Ember sat on a stone wall, its dark flat stones dotted with lichen and moss. The day was quickly losing its light and a cold wind blew, causing her tears to flow horizontally across her face. She looked out across the treeless cow pastures to the Loch of Stenness in the distance. Its choppy waters the colour of the darkening sky. Castle Stenness was at her back, and the wind made everything hard to hear, but she knew Skye was behind her before she spoke.
‘Em?’ said Skye.
‘Celeste sent you, didn’t she?’ Ember said over her shoulder.
‘So what if she did?’ said Skye. She lifted herself onto the wall and placed an arm around Ember’s back.
Ember stared ahead. ‘I know she’s here as well. Tell her to go away.’
Skye took a look over her shoulder, but didn’t say anything. Ember turned. There she was. The betrayer. Brooke stood about forty feet away.
Ember’s face was savage. ‘Leave me alone Brooke! Get out of here!’
Brooke didn’t move. She stood, her hands clasped, staring at Ember. Ember felt her pulse rise. Brooke needed to be taught a lesson. Her fury took hold and she jumped from the wall.
‘Em! No!’ yelled Skye.
But it was too late. Ember raised her arms, sparks danced, and a fireball grew between her hands. No longer thinking Ember released the flaming orb. It shot across the field and exploded around Brooke in sparks and flaming lightning. In a moment it was gone.
Brooke stood within an ice dome, her hands in front of her, untouched. She released the hold on the dome and it fell away. ‘Ember! Listen to me!’
Ember could feel Skye tugging at her arm, but shrugged her off. Ember raised her arms again. Another fireball grew between her hands, but before she could throw it, she and Skye were knocked off their feet. Ember flew backwards, landing on the damp grass, her breath taken away. Skye lay next her. Both were covered in snow. Ember sat up.
Brooke walked up to them, another basketball-sized snowball growing between her hands, her face fierce. ‘I don’t want to fight, Ember.’ Her face softened and the snowball dissipated in a white puff.
‘Listen to her, Em. Please,’ said Skye. She stood up, brushed herself off and held out a hand to Ember.
Ember wasn’t going to take the hand, wasn’t going to do anything they wanted, but the snow was melting and wetting her clothes. She took Skye’s proffered hand and stood. She stared at Brooke.
Brooke’s chin quivered. ‘I’m sorry, Ember. So sorry. Sorry for being a bitch for, like, ever … sorry for hating you and Turner … and sorry beyond words for starting all this shit.’ Tears streamed down her face. ‘I will spend the rest of my life regretting what I did, and trying to make it up to you. Truly.’
Ember looked away, over Brooke’s shoulder to the castle. What had Celeste said? If they knew exactly where Turner was, they could rescue him.
Brooke sniffed, and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. ‘Ember?’
Ember snapped back. ‘What was the last thing you said, Brooke?’
‘I’ll make it up to you?’
‘No. After that.’
‘Truly?’
Ember’s mind went into high gear. ‘True …’
‘What?’ said Brooke.
‘True. The True. Turner and I were just there this morning. I remember …’ But the more she tried to catch the thought, the more quickly it eluded her.
‘What, Em?’ asked Skye.
‘I remember the True spirits … talking to us. There’s something … important.’
Ember turned to Skye. ‘We’re going to the True.’
‘What?’ said both girls at once.
‘I need to go back,’ said Ember, talking to Skye. ‘I think it’s important. And if there’s even a slight chance this could save Turner and stop the apocalypse or whatever it is, then I think we should do it. Don’t you?’
Brooke held out her hand. ‘I’m in.’ Ember ignored her.
‘Ember,’ said Brooke, not dropping her hand. ‘I said I was sorry. I mean it. I’ve never been more serious. I need to make it up to you. You’re my sister. We can’t fight anymore.’
The three girls’ hair blew like silk ribbons in the gusty wind. Ember pulled some of her hair behind her ear. She looked at Brooke’s outstretched hand for a moment longer, and then took it in her own. ‘OK. Make it up to me. And no more Bitchy Brooke.’
Brooke smiled gratefully. ‘OK. I’ll be good.’
Skye looked from sister to sister, and pulled them both into an embrace. ‘Yay! We’re BFFs!’
Ember smiled. ‘Not quite there yet, Skye.’ But she was willing to give Brooke a go. Or at least she was willing to put it aside so she could concentrate on helping Turner.
The wind whistled through the stone wall.
The three pulled apart, and Skye said, ‘So … the True? I don’t see the point.’
‘If we knew exactly where Turner was,’ said Ember, ‘if we could home in on him somehow, you could both use your ice powers. Double ice domes, zap to where he is, grab him before your ice shields melt. And I think … I think the True can help with the homing part. We can use the castle’s well, zip to the True and find out what we need to …’<
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‘Whatever that is …’ said Skye.
‘And be back before anyone even knows that we’ve gone.’
Ember and Brooke looked at their sister expectantly. Skye’s eyes darted from one girl to the other, her lips drawn into a sharp line, but finally her eyes softened. ‘OK. Let’s go!’
CHAPTER NINE
THE MAIN ENTRANCE hall was empty. Ember knew the little ones would be at dinner now. The girls strode across the sandstone tiled floor. Directly under the main staircase was a heavy arched door. Brooke waved a hand at it and it opened easily.
‘I remember trying to get that open when I was five,’ said Brooke. ‘Me and my friend Avon. We tried every enchantment we knew. Which was basically none I guess.’
The girls wound down a narrow stone spiral staircase. ‘Why did you want to get to the well?’ asked Skye.
‘I thought the well would take us back to our real mothers.’
Skye shook her head, but her eyes were full of understanding. ‘Oh, Brooke.’
No one spoke for the rest of the descent. The three reached a high-roofed, stone-lined room—the well room. The well itself was a round stone water-filled circle in the centre. In each corner stood columns etched with intricate medieval carvings of the five elements.
Ember, Skye and Brooke stood around the well. Any small sound they made was amplified and echoed off the walls.
‘Shouldn’t we leave a message with one of the carers?’ asked Skye.
‘The carers are nothing more than glorified kindergarten teachers,’ said Ember, ‘and a bunch of gossiping old busybodies. Within minutes of telling a carer, Celeste and the others would know.’
‘I guess …’
‘Stop worrying, Skye,’ said Brooke. ‘This is much bigger than getting in Madam Celeste’s bad books. Much bigger.’
Skye chuckled and held out her hand. ‘You’re right. Let’s go.’
Brooke held out her other hand to Ember. Once again Ember took a moment, but finally reached out and grasped her sister’s hand. They both gave a little smile.
Ember stared at the well. ‘To the True. On three OK?’ Her sisters nodded. ‘One, two ...’