by Amy Bearce
“I’m sorry! I was staring at the ceiling! My fault,” cried Corbin.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry,” she said. Corbin bumping into something or someone wasn’t new. As she pushed herself up, her gaze sharpened. “You guys, look at this stonework. Why is the center circle a darker stone than the rest of the floor?”
Corbin lit the oil lamps along the wall, and Nell examined the floor more closely.
“Maybe they were artistic,” Corbin suggested.
That didn’t feel right. Nell shook her head. “There aren’t any other floor decorations in the whole building. And the sun should have faded it through the skylight, not darkened it.”
Corbin knelt and examined the floor. He pulled out his boline knife and picked at a strip of clay-like grout that edged the inner stone circle. The strip came out in one smooth chunk, leaving behind a clean separation. A deep and clear line appeared all around the center circle as he worked.
He broke out in a grin. “Well, look at that. We found something!”
Nell said, “It’s probably just a trap door to the wine cellar, down in the damp.”
A heavy pressure grew in her, though. Like an itch she couldn’t scratch. There was something important about the circle, but she couldn’t explain why she felt so sure. This unexplained knowing bothered her. It smacked too much of magic.
“There might be a way in to whatever that holds, but the Dragon won’t put off his attack while we excavate here. We’ve got to go.” She forced the logical words out, but her voice lacked the strength it usually held.
“Magic is rising around us right now,” Micah said. “Can’t you feel it? With all respect, we must find out why.” He placed his ear against the wall and tapped it, eyes closing in concentration.
Nell’s mouth went dry. More magic? She already had plenty, thanks.
Corbin winked at her, easing some of the tightness in her chest.
“Are you using magic to search?” Phoebe asked Micah.
He laughed, his dark brown eyes sparkling as he paused. “No, I suspect a trap door in a building so old will be mechanical. I’m no builder, but I’ve worked with the mountaineers who use many contraptions to move giant fallen trees from the forest path.”
“We can all help then.” Phoebe stepped forward to examine the wall, too.
Tristan fell in beside her, their heads bent close. They prodded each crevice near them, their unique tattoos on display as their bare arms moved quickly along the wall. Tristan’s flying birds and Phoebe’s merfolk tattoos were so different yet perfectly matched.
Nell gave in with a huff. The trip wouldn’t continue until this mystery was explained, not now. Everyone was too excited.
She scanned the room, noting the carvings and the spaces while keeping her gaze soft and open, willing the knowledge to come to her in the way it sometimes did when she was tracking, be it pheasant, squirrel, or wild boar. It was a level of observation she was rarely conscious of, but she knew to trust it. Maybe this rising magic would help speed the process if she let it.
One of the carved cubby holes in the round room seemed to be slightly uneven from the others. Shaped… wrong. Different.
An urge to reach inside it teased her fingers. Her body surged with energy as if it might walk over there of its own volition. Without thinking, she tensed her muscles. She’d accepted the voice of prophecy using her as a mouthpiece, but she wasn’t keen on it using her body like a puppet, too.
It wouldn’t hurt to look, though. Then they could get a move on.
As soon as she made up her mind, the itchy feeling dissipated and her body relaxed.
She walked over and reached up to the cubby hole. It was too high to see inside. What if a snake was in there? But she hadn’t come this far to quit now. She shoved her hand inside, fingers questing, and brushed a lump with smooth edges. She pressed on it and hoped she wasn’t making a horrible mistake.
loud creaking filled the chamber. Nell stumbled back with a jerk, and Corbin steadied her with a firm hand. The others gasped at the unexpected noise.
The circle in the middle of the room dropped down, scraping stone, revealing a short tunnel with a ladder. A whoosh of air flew through the rotunda, bringing with it scents of melted wax, cinnamon, and paper.
“What do you think?” Sierra whispered.
The tingling along Nell’s spine grew. “I think we have to see what’s down there.”
Phoebe groaned. “It’s in the dark. In a basement.”
“Just wait for us here, Phoebes,” Sierra said, but Phoebe pressed her lips together and peered down into the darkness.
The new space became pitch black within a few feet, so Nell lifted an oil lamp from the wall. When she returned to the opening, her nose twitched, but there was no smell of mold. Odd, so close to the sea, but the tiny chamber must have been tightly sealed.
Or magically sealed?
She shivered again.
A deep part of her, perhaps part of her woven with the voice, insisted that they explore. Demanded it. The others waited, as if everyone knew this space was meant for Nell.
She peered into the opening. “It looks like some kind of library. I’m going down. Corbin, can you give me a hand?”
He reached to her without hesitation and took her lamp.
If only everyone was as trustworthy as Corbin. She lowered herself into the hole. Then, taking back the light, she inched down the ladder. The climb down was easy―the room was situated exactly under the one above. A curving table lined the entire circular wall of the room. Books stood in tall stacks and papers were spread about, as if waiting for someone to return.
Memories not her own flashed along Nell’s mind, of this exact building with the door to the secret room wide open. Instead of the room being dark and empty, it bustled with life. Women in deep red robes came and went, consulting scrolls and books. The mood was intense but peaceful. Filled with purpose. Sacred. She lost her breath at the images, so real she almost expected to see a red-robed woman smiling next to her.
The memories felt eerie, like waking up from a dream and being uncertain if you were still dreaming or awake. Yet part of her unfurled toward the idea with longing. The sense of belonging, of purpose. Being not a mouthpiece, not a chess piece, but a chess master.
Corbin’s voice broke into her flood of memories that could not be memories. At least not hers. She’d never been here before.
While she stared at the images seen only in her mind, the others had joined her in the small space, even Phoebe. Corbin carried his own oil lamp. The two lights wavered in the darkness, mingling and casting long shadows along the curved walls.
“Nell, look at this,” Corbin’s voice stayed low but vibrated with urgency.
On the wall above the table, his fingers hovered over a carving of a longsword over a giant tree, with wavy lines coming out from the blade.
Corbin whispered, “It’s the sword of Aluvia―it has to be. The tree, the sword, the flames. The people who were here must have known about it. Maybe they wrote about it!”
Nell blinked, and the room swam.
Another memory that couldn’t be hers flooded her mind, starkly vivid: a silver sword with flame billowing from the blade. Superimposed on it came an image of a tree, impossibly tall with deep green leaves. A woman with a red cloak held the sword aloft in both hands, fire crackling wildly around them both. Nell felt power humming down the blade into the hilt. Her clenched palms stung.
In response, her throat tightened, and words poured out for all in the room to hear. “The fiery sword can rekindle that which has been extinguished. It can bring victory, but the cost will be high. Choose wisely.”
Nell gasped and came to full awareness with a jolt. For the space of a heartbeat, it was almost as if she had been two people. Or many people. Not pushed aside. More like… a joining.
Shock stole any words she might have produced.
She’d never held that sword, but her memory produced the perfect image of it, far
beyond what her imagination could make up. Deep-gold handle. Bright silver blade. And orange-red fire flickering all around it. As if she had lived that experience.
“But how do we find it, exactly?” Corbin asked. “Does the voice know?”
The voice seemed done for the day, but Nell couldn’t gather wits enough to tell him.
Sierra grabbed a thick volume that lay off to the side of the stacks on the table. She ran her fingers along the book. “No dust.”
The leather cover creaked as she opened to the first page. Her jaw dropped, and she looked up with a gasp. “This is from over five hundred years ago. When Port Iona was established.”
Phoebe looked over Sierra’s shoulder. “Does it tell this building’s purpose?”
Sierra shrugged and handed the book to Corbin. “This is your expertise.”
He sat on the floor with the wide book spread across his lap. An artist’s illustration covered the two pages in rich color, the paint pristine. “Look at these people. They must’ve been the ones who stayed here. See how they’re all lined up in front of this building?”
Nell glanced at the painting, and her gut trembled. Women in red cloaks. Like the ones she had pictured. Goose bumps marched up and down her arms.
She was losing her mind.
“Let’s just find what we can about the sword and get going. Fast,” she urged.
Magic was always suspect in Nell’s book, though if it improved a weapon, she could accept it. But having some other presence inside her, talking to her, making her see things? That wasn’t the kind of magic Nell was excited to experience.
The others pulled down books, flipped through pages. Nell stared at the carving on the wall. The sword looked plain and simple… except for that bit about the fire. She snorted and joined in the search.
Much of the information they found was practical: making this potion or that, properties of certain herbs, lists of magical creatures. Corbin noted that blue dragons were never mentioned.
Some of the information seemed like rules guiding the group of women, who remained separate from everyone else, going about their job without others much noticing. No interference, no distraction. Nothing to sully the purity of their purpose, whatever it was.
A lonely life, thought Nell.
Finally, after an hour or two―hard to tell inside the tomb-like building―Phoebe crowed with excitement.
“I think I found something!” she called. “This sounds like there was a special sword forged by the women who lived here. It had some kind of magical fire, and after the death of their last high leader, the remaining women felt the flames were too dangerous, so they hid the sword away, buried it at the highest point of the Ice-Locked Lands.”
For once, the weapon in a story didn’t capture Nell’s attention. She was stuck on the red-robed women. “If they focused on magic instead of combat, what were they doing with a sword, much less a flaming one? And if they were real, why haven’t we grown up with stories of them?”
And yet if they weren’t real, why did she have memories of them in her head? Not a question she was willing to ask out loud. Not yet. It made her sound crazy even to herself.
Corbin answered, his eyes fixed on the illustration. “Maybe there’s more to our history than we have even guessed, history we’ve lost. But whatever they were, none of them are here now. It might be that none of us can safely use that sword, not even you, Nell.”
Nell examined the book’s careful illustration. The blade was narrow, almost delicate, but she bet it would all but sing in the hands of its owner. Her heart panged at the thought of it held by another.
“A sword like that would turn any fight into a glorious battle.” The words dropped from her lips without intention.
Corbin bit his lip. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
His words were like a kick to the gut, but before she could react, the voice spoke to her.
My sword will bring healing as well as justice. The voice slid through Nell’s mind slower this time and brought a peaceful balm to her heart. She could almost feel a hand brushing down her hair, cradling her cheeks as a mother would. The whisper didn’t seem strange at all, or frighten her now. It soothed her.
As if in a dream, she lifted the book up and flipped through it. The final back pages had a map drawn by hand and a short bit of writing scribbled in a cramped style. Nell hadn’t known she was looking for it, but once she saw the hand-drawn map, her heart thudded with recognition. She simply knew the red-robed women had written this.
Sierra and Corbin were debating the nature of the magical flames, but Nell interrupted. “Corbin, what language is this? And isn’t this the Ice-Locked Lands?”
The argument cut off and everyone crowded around the open book to stare at the map.
Corbin studied the short phrase. “It seems to be in some sort of code or ancient language, maybe. I bet I could figure it out if I needed to. But, yes, the map shows the whole continent down there, with a lot more detail than the maps I’ve seen.”
“Like landmarks and where to go!” Phoebe piped up. “Those red areas might be unsafe for walking, see how there’s a dotted path to follow around them, and look―that’s a little tree drawn at the top of that mountain. That must be where the sword is! The Tree of Life!”
Nell had no way to explain her certainty that the women in red had left this book as a guide.
Yes… the whisper curled through her.
“How high is that mountain, though? And can we even get up to the highest peak if no explorer ever has, even with a map?” Sierra said doubtfully.
Sweat prickled her brow. It was use this map or risk wandering around in a frozen land without a clue. Not a choice, as far as Nell was concerned. Those who never took chances never took the victory, either. Time to move forward.
With the decision made, her nerves settled despite herself, like fluttering wings going still. “The voice will guide us and help me with the sword. It’s never let us down yet. If I can trust its magic, you can, too.”
She lifted her palm to Corbin and waited, hand extended, facing him. The others fell silent and looked quizzically at them. Corbin’s eyes closed, and when he opened them, they were filled with resignation. He reached his hand to hers and pressed, palm to palm.
He was no fool, this boy she loved, and he knew the stakes were higher than just one girl.
Corbin wove his fingers through hers before he spoke. “I’ll believe in the voice within you. But more than that, I’ll believe in you.”
“We all do,” Micah said.
Tristan and Phoebe nodded solemnly.
Sierra said, “Until the end. We all stand together.”
Love tightened Nell’s throat. They were so loyal, so full of goodness and light. It made her fiercely glad that, in the end, the one holding the sword was the one most likely to die, magic or not. She’d rather it be her than any of them.
Sierra cleared her throat. “Okay then. Nell, do you feel anything else left for us here?”
Nell searched inside. The itchiness was gone now. Well? she asked the voice though it felt awkward, as if she were expecting her mirror to talk. Nothing replied, but she felt a sense of closure and chose to trust it. “I think it’s time to head south.”
They opted to take the one book with them, protected by another waterproof bag. The sentences scrawled on the last page were clearly added on later. Corbin wanted to try translating it, in case the message involved the sword or its magic.
Nell would be glad to get out of the building. The feelings it evoked were too strange, too powerful. She couldn’t think about what those not-her-memories could mean. She’d think about them later. Talk about the images with her friends later. Just not now.
When they made their way to the square, the sun was much lower in the sky. Nell was prepared to head straight to the Ice-Locked Lands despite her empty stomach, but a crowd was gathering.
Finally. The citizens of Port Iona had come.
But this time
, they were not happy.
A haunting silence rode the summer breeze, like the storm about to break. The faces along the street were drawn and angry.
“I don’t think they’re here to say thanks. Let’s send the fairies to wait by the sea,” Nell whispered. “No sense in anyone getting killed if Queenie loses her temper when you do, Sierra.”
Sierra snickered, but the fairies left in a swirl toward the sea. A flash of white shimmered near the water’s edge, far into the distance. Nell squinted but couldn’t tell what it was.
No matter. Time to take the initiative.
“People of Port Iona! You are in grave danger! A man comes to siege your city; you must prepare to defend yourselves! The voice says we can stop him, but we must travel far to reach an extraordinary weapon first.”
A door swung open across the street.
“You!” the butcher’s wife hollered. “You’ve brought a curse with all these messages of saving the fairies!”
“Our message was what saved you in the first place,” Nell replied, voice cool.
The woman’s face contorted with rage. “That man, the Dragon. He told us he’d return on the full moon. That’s tonight! His bloody dragons will kill us all when the sun goes down.”
“Not if we make him king!” someone in the crowd said.
The butcher in his leather apron came alongside the angry woman. “I have no wish to serve another like Bentwood. What can you do to keep us safe? Some far-away weapon won’t help us now.”
The woman muttered, “Nothing. She can do nothing.”
Another man yelled at the butcher from the window. “Shut your wife up! She’ll bring suffering down on all of us! The crew told us not talk to them!”
“When it’s your wife up all night weeping, let’s see how you feel,” the butcher snapped.
“None of us want to die, you old fool. But talking to fairy fanatics is the fastest way to bring death now! A fairy sting won’t stop them dragons.”
Nell glanced back at the man yelling from the window, and something along the horizon caught her eye. Another flash of white, just visible between the buildings, like a curl of hazy fog. What was going on?