by Sara Ella
Will it ever end?
As if in response, Ky begins to read: “The Scrib’s Fate by Dimitri Gérard.”
Wait, what? The same guy who wrote the journal I’ve been studying?
“‘Whence I fell, he left me there.
Lost, nay abandoned; what did he care?
I needed him; away he flew.
I loved him so; he ne’er knew.
When I revealed my soul, my heart,
He turned away; I watched him part.
Without him now, darkness descends.
Where it begins, my light does end.’”
Ky turns the page and continues, “‘Once upon a Reflection, deep in the Garden of Epoch, there shone a light lovelier than any human eye had ever beheld.’”
The Verity! Has to be!
“‘No human had ever ventured into the garden, for all mortals carry darkness within their souls. And light cannot reside with darkness.’”
This is it. Ky’s theory on the Void’s origin is based on this very story. I’m so catching on to this allegory thing. Something Ky said when I arrived on the ship empties from a pocket in my mind. “. . . light cannot remain light if in love with darkness. It is impossible.” I scoot to the edge of my chair. Tilt my head. Listen.
“‘One day a man happened upon the Garden. With a sharp wit and brilliant mind, he was called to be a Scrib, and he knew in order to enter the Garden he would be required to answer the riddle of the Fervor Dragon who guarded its gate.’” He licks his thumb, flips the page. “‘No one had ever solved the riddle. Three attempts were allowed, and three wrong answers forever ensued. Each who came before him was eaten alive by the Dragon, the consequence of an unsuitable response, never to be heard from again.’”
Shudder. Sheesh. Why even try?
“‘But as a treasure awaited anyone who could get past the gate, many came and tried their hand, risking their fate at the gate of Epoch.’”
Ah, treasure. What else? I shake my head.
Ky licks his lips.
A thrill darts through me. “‘The Dragon’s nostrils flared and her chops watered as she crooned, “What is invisible, but may be held in your arms? Heavier than all the water contained in the sea, but light enough to carry? Surpasses time, but dies with a word?”’”
That’s the riddle? Really? It’s so simple.
“‘Three attempts were not necessary for this particular man. Oh no. He knew the answer, for it is what he had searched for all his days.’”
The words trigger something inside. But I can’t put my finger on it. Not yet anyway.
“‘“True love,” the man replied.’” Ky pauses. Thinks something for my mind alone.
My heart is putty in my chest.
“‘The Dragon huffed her disappointment, for her supper would have to wait. She moved aside. Her scaly tail was, indeed, the gate guarding Epoch. She swung it open and the man entered.’”
This is way cooler than the stories Mom used to tell. What else have I missed growing up in the dull old Third? I’m so getting my hands on that book when we’re done. I’ve a feeling there are more stories just as epic. And if they’re all true? Even better.
Shifting and combing fingers through his hair, Ky reads, “‘The Garden was more beautiful than the man had surmised. Colors he did not know existed decked the flora and fauna. Roses the deepest shade of night bloomed. Trees with bark the color of honey grew tall and towering. The air was crisp, sweeter than the most pleasant of perfumes. Everything was so clear, as if the man had been blind his entire life and was just now gaining his sight.’”
I prop my elbow on the table and rest my face against my palm. My eyelids flutter south.
Ky’s voice lowers, awe weighing his next words. “‘The Garden itself was a treasure, and the man had no inclination to leave. He was entranced by the beauty of it all. Little did he realize he was not alone. No, the man was being watched.’” Ky turns another page. “‘Watched by a rainbow of light. A light with a voice like a song.’”
My breath hitches. I so nailed it. Rainbow light? I was the only one who saw the Verity’s true form when it deserted Joshua and Ky, became one within me. The swirling prism left me breathless. And the voice like a song? I never heard the Verity speak, but a Mirror’s song is created by a Kiss of Infinity bestowed by the Verity’s vessel. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Verity itself had a beautiful voice as well. Even the poem at the beginning of this tale has lyrics written all over it.
“‘The light was so entranced by the Scrib—the purest soul she had ever beheld—that a longing began in her own soul. She ached to hold the man, to love him, and kiss him, and die beside him. Her soul was the treasure, you see. A treasure any man would have been honored to receive. But it could only be given to one pure of heart and worthy. This Scrib was such a man. And so the light made a choice and took on humanity, sacrificing her perfect state for the flawed body of a mortal.’”
Intuition kicks me in the gut. Ky’s mouth turns down and he draws in a deep breath. I ready for what comes next, for the tragic end I’m sure will close this tale.
Another page turn. The last page. “‘She bestowed on him the most perfect of kisses, a Kiss of Infinity. But like all men, the Scrib carried his flaws too. Though he’d searched far and wide for true love, and though the light that had become woman was the most stunning creature he had ever seen, alas, he did not love her, and alas, her Kiss of Infinity was not returned.’”
Anger burns. Jerk.
“You can’t be forced to love someone, Em. A Kiss of Infinity comes from the deepest part of you.”
I can’t counter Ky’s thought. Because there’s nothing to say. He’s right. Again.
“‘So heartbroken was the woman that darkness descended upon her soul. The great power of the light within was twisted, and soon an evil that had never been known in the Garden formed. Such evil could not exist there. The woman had to rid herself of it or be forced to leave and ne’er return. So though she loved the man despite his unrequited sentiment, the woman had no option but to send the darkness into the one to whom her soul was linked. The Void must have a vessel and the Scrib was the nearest option.’”
The first vessel of the Void. Whoa.
“‘And this was the Scrib’s fate, cursed to walk the earth consumed with darkness crafted by the woman he did not love. Eventually he grew old and the darkness left him for another, latching onto one who loved the soul infused with light. The switch had to occur, for the light’s purpose was to be loved.’”
The Void enters the one who loves the Verity? This makes so much more sense. Ky and Joshua both love me, but my love for Ky isn’t something caused by the Verity. It’s not a result of some forced phenomenon.
I love him because I love him. I loved him before I linked my soul to his. I just didn’t know it.
“‘And the woman?’” Ky goes on, reeling me in to the final bit of the tale. “‘She suffered a fate far worse than death. For she remained immortal, doomed to wander the Reflections forever, lacking the one thing she’d eternally yearned for, the one treasure she had to offer but would not receive—true love. Bitter she became, and so the light could no longer dwell within her. Just like the man, the light abandoned her, searching for a pure soul in which it would thrive. It is said now only death can release the light, for it is through the death of an unloved soul the light abandoned its first vessel.’”
Ky shuts the book.
I sink back in my chair. A tear slides down my cheek and I swipe it with my sweatshirt. This is truly the tale of the Void and the Verity. And two things stand out among every other.
The man—he’d been searching for true love but could not find it. It’s Dimitri. He didn’t just write this story, this is his story. I’m positive. But what happened to the woman? If she remained immortal, is she out there somewhere? Destined to mourn the loss of love and light for all eternity?
What a horrible, despicable fate. My heart breaks for her, whoever she is. I ki
nd of hate Dimitri. His journal remains tucked into my jeans. The feeling of it against my skin causes my stomach to churn.
The second thing, and perhaps the most pertinent, is how the Void chooses a soul. The story says the darkness latches onto the soul who loves light, not the other way around. Which means it is not the one I care for most who took on the Void, but the one—ones—who care most for me.
Ky.
Joshua.
And here it is. The ugly truth. The only thing that can kill an Ever is a broken heart. Joshua is vulnerable now without his Calling, but even if he regains the power in his blood, it won’t matter. Because Joshua still holds half the Void, which means he loves me just as much as Ky does. No matter what he’s done, or the bad decisions he’s made, deep down Joshua still loves me. And breaking his heart? It will destroy him. If the Void doesn’t take over, the heartbreak will.
And then I’m sobbing, right here in front of everyone. Head in my hands, snot on my face, sobbing.
I will always care for Joshua, but it’s Ky I’ve grown to love.
And when Joshua realizes this, if he hasn’t already . . .
He. Will. Die.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Joshua
I tear off a piece of my shirt and wrap it around my cut palm. Stupid Fairies and their stupid lagoon infested with stalagmites.
I squeeze my eyes and blink away the blur. Instruct myself not to waver, to remain focused. I love El and she loves me. Taking off the ring means nothing. She was upset and confused. Any other would have acted the same. It’s the Void in my brother clouding her judgment. I cannot allow it to win. I must be vigilant, attend to the task at hand.
Deliver rose. Take mirrorglass bottle. Acquire final ingredient. Serve Elixir to El.
I stifle a cough with my hand. When I pull it away, blackened blood drips from my fingers.
“You get used to it.” Gage cleans his knife on his pant leg. “Same thing happened to me when Crowe injected the Void. You either learn to control it, keep the symptoms at bay, or live with it.” He props a foot against a stalagmite and double knots his bootlaces. “I selected the latter, of course. Thanks to your girlfriend it didn’t make much difference. Whatever she did to Crowe unfastened the Void from my soul. Give her my regards next time you see her, will you? I doubt she’ll hear it from me.”
What I wouldn’t pay to punch him in his rotten face right now. “You know, I’m getting sick and tired of your moronic comments, Jonathan. Why don’t you go throw yourself off a cliff?”
Gage laughs. “We are more similar than you care to admit, my friend. Seems you’ve chosen the latter as well.”
I pick up a stone the size of my tape measure back home and chuck it at him. He dodges it, diving into the fountain at the island’s core where we entered.
It is several moments before I’m able to follow. My throwing hand shakes and I grasp my hair to steady the trembling. Whatever Jonathan has done, it is unlike me to lose control. Bile burns my throat and I swallow, bounding into the water after him.
When I reach the Fairy Fountain this side of the Second, Isabeau waits in human form, Jonathan assuming an at-ease stance to her left. This time she reclines on a throne fashioned from twisted vines, Mine Fairies attending her every need. I produce the rose, but the expression she bears is less than satisfactory.
Fury widens her gaze and levels her mouth. She stalks over, snatches her prize, tosses it to the ground, and stomps on it. Then she shifts and transforms, becoming the Troll she truly is.
I back away and draw my sword. The familiar sound of brandished iron never grows old.
Isabeau fills the space, taller and wider than the maple tree at the Fountain’s center. “Is it so difficult to decipher a true rose from an imposter?”
I glance at the treaded flower beneath her giant feet. Real? Of course it’s real. The petals are crushed and the stem is cracked in two. I blink away the haze that fogs my vision. This is more than mere exhaustion. Am I falling prey to illness? My chest is tight, as if an anvil rests there, pressing in and making it difficult to draw an adequate breath.
“I asked you to do one simple task. One.” Her too-long fingernail is shoved in my face. “Yet you are no more competent than this lowlife Jonathan Gage.”
My gaze shifts right. A pulsing in Jonathan’s jaw lets on he is less than thrilled about his title. Perhaps I can use this to my advantage. It is no longer a question what he traded for his sight—for the Calling that healed him. He meant to offer up El, but that plan fell through. He is the Fairy Queen’s slave. I want to ask him if it was worth it, but I refrain.
The Troll growls an exhale. Her nostrils flare with each breath. Then she’s shrinking and slimming, softening into her woman state once more. “But I am nothing if not gracious.” She turns away and adopts her place on the twisted throne. Her dress cascades around her like a black waterfall, reminding me of the Void oozing through my veins. “You will simply try again. And this time you will not disappoint me. Do I make myself clear?”
I narrow my eyes. “Crystal.”
“Be gone then.” She waves her hand.
I do not waver.
Her eyebrows arch. “Is there a problem?”
“Why does it matter so much?”
“Excuse me?”
“If this rose is so important, the least you can do is inform me as to its value.”
Isabeau leans forward. “You think it wise to push me, David?”
“Have it your way.” I feign a quarter turn. She may be devious, but I’ve always been quick on my feet. “I only ask because knowing its worth may aid in my attempt to recover it.” I count down in my head. She can’t fool me. If this rose is of any significance to her, she’ll relay why. And perhaps then not only can I find it, but I can also use the blossom to my benefit before returning it to Isabeau, the supposed rightful owner.
“Wait,” she says, just as I knew she would.
I face her once more, ears alert to whatever comes next.
“I will tell you, David, but on one condition.”
Striking another deal with the Fairy Queen is probably not the wisest of choices. “You name it.”
“In our youth, Countess Ambrose and I shared a Kiss of Accord.”
“Go on.”
“I promised her the rose in exchange for her silence on a certain matter. Which is why I cannot simply retrieve the rose myself, otherwise our deal would be broken and I would die.”
What’s she getting at?
“Requesting you steal the rose is a brilliant plan indeed, but I keep wondering . . . what’s to deter my dear old friend from taking it back? You transferring it to my possession does not make it truly mine again.”
Her words are irksome, turning my stomach sour. Possessing something does make it yours.
“Yes, yes. El belongs to you. She was your love first. You own her . . .”
Incorrect. She’s free to make her own choices. She only belongs to me if she wishes it.
“Give her the Elixir. Get your wretched brother out of the way. Only then do you have a chance at winning her heart once more.”
I am working on it. Now, silence. I must hear what Her Majesty has to say.
“Her Majesty, is it?”
What? No. I only meant—
“Pay attention, Joshua. Her Majesty is speaking.”
My regard finds Isabeau.
“Did you hear me?” Her tone has misplaced its calm. “Why will you not respond?”
“Apologies.” I shove the shadow voice away. “If you will repeat what you last said.”
Her hands clench the arms of her throne. The vines cut her milky skin, causing her to bleed. But just as abruptly as the wounds appeared, they vanish.
She is the Fairy Queen, an immortal. But then what purpose would my Ever blood serve? It’s obviously not intended for her. Could it be for another? Her own immortality doesn’t mean her blood heals. Then again, she restored Jonathan’s sight by bestowing a Calling. I am
not quite sure how her powers function, or to what length they reach. Perhaps she only required my blood for her bartering collection. A valuable commodity if all the Callings revive. What would one pay or trade for my blood?
Need I even ask? A high price has always been placed on an Ever’s blood. It is the very reason I keep the seal behind my shoulder cloaked. Very few know the mark, and Evers would prefer to keep it that way. Not that I’ve met another like me. I’m a rare breed. Of course my blood would be valuable to Isabeau.
“I said . . . ,” the woman resumes, “the only way to ensure Ambrose does not come after the rose is to end her existence altogether.”
Kill her? Commit murder? “No.” I may have crossed a few lines, but that is one I am unwilling to trespass.
“Suit yourself.” Her shoulders lift. The Fairies fawn over her. Brushing her hair. Washing her feet. “You were the one who asked. It is not in my best interest to divulge the rose’s power.”
I weigh the options. Knowing the rose’s power could offer a clue as to where Ambrose might stow it. But am I willing to end another’s life for such information?
“Yes. Do it.”
No. Never.
I offer a mock salute, serves her right, then trudge back through the Fountain, thrusting my blade so hard into its sheath it rips a hole in the bottom. I heave and hold my breath as I hear Isabeau tell Jonathan, “Are you just going to stand there? Follow him.”
The water takes me under.
Commence round two.
THIRTY-NINE
Everything Looks Different
How did we get here? When did I switch from wishing for Joshua to having Ky on the brain? How did that even happen?
“Stop trying to deconstruct everything,” Ky says aloud now that we’re alone. His hand finds mine as we make the trek up to the city’s heart. “Go with the flow for once.”