Everafter Song
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“The surgeon healed it.” He hauls me against him in a mighty hug.
“My sisters told me what happened. You did well, Everley Donovan.
You did well.”
He sets me down, and I notice Jamison seated behind Redmond. I
push past the giants and help him up. He’s in need of a shave and clean clothes, but unharmed. He pulls me against him in a quick squeeze.
“How did you and Redmond get here?” I ask.
“The spriggans were guarding the skystalk on behalf of the elven
queen. They brought us here after they caught us.” He leans back to
look at me. “The giantesses told me you caught Markham.”
“I shot him. The elves seized him and took him captive.”
One corner of his mouth turns up. “You did your part to put a stop
to his wicked ways, Evie. More than your part.”
I would feel happier had I turned him over to our queen, but
Markham is no longer on the loose, and that’s a feat worth celebrating.
“Commander Asmer, where is the prince?”
She points at a big iron door down the hall. “He’s never getting
out of there.”
The door is secured with so many bolts and locks that I lose count.
But the commander must not know the prince very well, or she wouldn’t make such a guarantee. Escaping is what Markham does best.
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Chapter Seventeen
Dishes of colorful fruit and vegetables are set out on tables in the garden. The celebration of the capture of the prince is a strange way to follow up our imprisonment. On our walk from the oubliette to the
garden, Osric explained that his queen held us captive in preparation for being witnesses in the trial, so we wouldn’t flee. The dinner spread is magnificent. Gnomes push serving carts laden with pastries and
cakes and place them opposite dishes of herb potatoes and savory pies.
Redmond and Corentine nearly trip over one another to get to the
custard tarts first. Mistral strolls after them, her arm through Neely’s, basking in their reunion. Jamison bypasses the food to pour us glasses of whisky. We sip drinks as the sun sinks over the orchard.
“Queen Imelda asked me to testify,” I say.
Jamison finishes his drink in one swallow. “She asked me too.”
“I’m nervous.”
“All you have to do is tell the truth.”
“The truth has never made a difference before.”
Jamison guides me to sit on the ledge of the fountain. The stone
centerpiece, a sculpture of Eiocha cradling the seven worlds, trickles clear water into the base. “You’re worried Killian will get away?”
I keep seeing him on top of the train car, daring me to shoot him.
“Markham has never been bested, Jamison. It’s unlike him to get caught, at least not intentionally.”
Emily R. King
“You think he wants to stand trial?”
I pull my shoulders up to my ears and hold them there before drop-
ping them again. “I don’t know.”
The magenta sky reflects off the snowcapped mountain, turning the
ivory peaks the same soft color. Jamison frowns at the stunning view. Is he thinking about his bargain with the sea hag? When will he tell me what Muriel showed him? I want to give him the chance to tell me on
his own, or at least wait until we’re alone to ask him.
“How long do you suppose we’ve been gone from home?” he pon-
ders aloud.
“Time passes the same in every world except the Land Under the
Wave.”
“So, a couple of days,” he concludes.
I can guess he’s concerned about the happenings at home, about
whether word of our nuptials was discovered. I wonder if the Fox and the Cat and the others can manage to stay in hiding until after the trial.
Across the way, Osric speaks to Dalyor. He touches the guard’s
shoulder, attentive and engaging. He’s answering with words instead of his customary grunts. A pair of guards bring a bushel of green apples to the greenway behind the fountain. A couple of elves choose a piece of the fruit while others ready their bows and arrows. Jamison and I watch Osric join them and set an apple on his own head. Dalyor backs up and cocks an arrow in his bow.
“Osric isn’t going to . . . ?”
Jamison answers, his voice low and bemused. “I think he is.”
The giants lumber over to watch the game. Osric is so still I dare
say he isn’t breathing. Dalyor pulls back on the arrow and lets it fly. The arrowhead pierces the apple straight through and tosses it off Osric’s head. Osric picks up the impaled fruit and takes a bite. The giants cheer and laugh.
Queen Imelda strides into the garden, and their laughter dies off.
The air fills with a tenseness that puts an end to the festivities. The 156
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guards quit playing the game with their arrows and disperse. Imelda
reclines in a red cushioned chair that the gnomes carried out for her and picks grapes off a platter.
A moment later, Commander Asmer announces that it’s time to
take the giants home by way of the infinity sandglass. Jamison and I go to give our farewells.
Corentine crosses her arms over her chest and glowers at me. “You
could have told me the prince meant to wake our warrior ancestors.”
“I didn’t know if you would agree with him or not.”
“Why would we want to repeat our ancestors’ mistakes? We must
look forward to a day when the curse is lifted.” Corentine pulls a paper out of her pocket—Jamison’s contract with the sea hag—and hands it
to him. “I believe this is yours.”
“Oh. Ah, thank you.” He quickly tucks it away. “Where did you
find it?”
“My sister and I took it off Everley.”
I evade eye contact with Jamison; otherwise, I may not be able to
stop myself from demanding he tell me what the sea hag showed him
about his future. We will speak about this later, when we’re alone, so he can explain in private why he would do something so stupid as to agree to give away a month of his life for fortune-telling.
Mistral thuds over and drapes a red wool shawl she knit over my
shoulders. The color matches my gloves. “For you, dearie. Visit us at any time. You’ll always be welcome in our home.”
“It’s beautiful, Mistral. Thank you.”
Neely scoops me up in his constricting embrace. “I’ll miss you,
poppet. Will you miss me?”
“How could I not?” I croak.
He sets me down, and I spot Captain Redmond waiting off to the
side. He tips his head at me in farewell, and I march over to him.
“What? No goodbye?”
“You appeared to have plenty already. I didn’t want to overtax you.”
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I start to turn away, then stop. “Why did you collect clocks when
they’re forbidden in your world? Everyone else there despises them and what they stand for, yet you sought them out and brought them aboard your ship.”
Redmond presses his lips together and glances down. “My father
never thought Father Time was to blame for our banishment from
Avelyn. He blamed our own kind.”
“So, you love clocks because of him?”
“You could say so, or you could suppose that I’m not a very good
giant.” His eyes glint with mischief. “Or maybe I’ve learned the importance of time.”
“Are you baiting me, Captain?”
“I wouldn’t think of it, Ticker.” He nudges me with his elbow,
nearly knocking me over, and thuds away.
C
ommander Asmer escorts the giants out of the garden. Jamison
and I wave farewell until they’re out of sight. Then I scan for Osric, but he has left too. Coincidentally, or perhaps not coincidentally, so has Dalyor.
A string quartet files into the garden and sets up in front of the
fountain.
The queen waves us over. “I’ve arranged a private recital for you.”
She lies back on her chaise and pops another grape into her mouth
while the string players set up. “Lord Callahan, have you reconsidered my offer about selling your pianoforte?”
“I haven’t, Your Majesty.”
“Pity. Do you play?”
“I play the violin.”
“Perhaps you can perform for me.” The queen flourishes a hand,
and the string quartet begins the everafter song.
Jamison falters a step, then walks to the fountain in a daze and sits, his attention fixated on the musicians. I join him and watch his total captivation with the haunting music. Queen Imelda shuts her eyes and 158
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hums along with the melody. Unlike the prior times I heard this song, I no longer find myself allured. The music feels sinister, infectious, almost parasitic with how it clings to the soul and coaxes an unnatural sense of relaxation, dulling one’s awareness. I’m glad when the players reach the middle of the tune and trail off.
“I’m afraid that’s all they know,” Imelda says. “Exquisite, though,
isn’t it?”
I give a noncommittal nod. Jamison’s attention remains far away,
still tied up in the song.
“Are you all right, Lord Callahan?” asks the queen.
He doesn’t respond. I touch his knee, and he jolts slightly.
“Thank you for the private recital,” he says softly. I don’t know
where his thoughts have gone, but I grow impatient to speak to him
alone.
“We’ve had a long day,” I say, rising. “We should rest.”
“Yes, of course.” Imelda signals, and Commander Asmer reappears,
returned from taking our giant friends home. “The commander will
show you to your quarters.”
We return inside and travel quietly through the hallways to our
doorways. Jamison’s room is next to mine. I loiter in the corridor outside, waiting for him to divulge something—anything—about his con-
tract with the sea hag or his moment in the garden with the queen, but the commander also lingers. Giving up, I bid Jamison good night. He
kisses me on the cheek and goes into his quarters.
Asmer motions at my doorframe. A white light flashes by her hand,
then disappears. “You’re free to move about the chateau,” she says.
“Don’t bother looking for your sword. I cast an enchantment to hide
it, and I can hear what you’re doing from down the hall.”
“An enchantment . . . ? You’re also a sorceress?”
“We cal ourselves enchantresses. Our powers are tied to the Land of Promise, which emanates more creation power than any other world.”
The commander leans against the wall and points out a marking of a
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hemlock tree on the floor by my door. “Our runes ward off evil. The
symbols come from an ancient alphabet—”
“I’ve heard of the tree alphabet.”
She cocks her head. “The enchantment I just removed was to pre-
vent you from spirit jumping. Did it work?”
“I suppose so. How did the queen know I can spirit jump?”
“All Time Bearers can. Queen Imelda likes me to keep an eye on
them for her.”
“You’ve been watching me?”
Commander Asmer grins, then pushes away from the wall and
strolls off.
I slide into my softly lit bedchamber and stare out the window for
I don’t know how long, my emotions and thoughts bouncing around.
My mother used to say that when you don’t know what to do, stay still until you do. But stillness isn’t going to fix my apprehension. I kneel in the middle of the room, choosing a position of humility for the importance of what I’m about to do. Ideally, I would wait until I have my sword, but tomorrow’s trial will not wait. What happens to Markham
will affect everything. Our futures are tied.
My breaths match the cadence of my clock heart. Each ticktock
softens as my spirit rises out of my body. My soul doesn’t burst out as it once did, jumping to sky-high levels, but peels away little by little. I hover over myself, watching my body’s quietness, and soar through the wall into Jamison’s room.
He’s lying in bed, gazing at the ceiling. I float over to him and drift down closer, my body parallel to his. His breath catches.
“Evie?”
I gaze into his eyes, seeking a connection, evidence that he can see me. He stares in my direction but doesn’t fasten on me. Having him
here, close yet disconnected, uncorks my fears.
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“I saw you die,” I whisper. “You were on a battlefield, alive one
second and gone the next. Did Muriel show you? I want to ask you,
but I’m afraid you’ll say yes.”
His lips part, his gaze pensive.
“I wanted to tell you about my spirit jumping, but I don’t wish to
worry you. You have so many responsibilities now. This should be my
burden to bear.”
He frowns, and our stares connect for a second. The moment is
fleeting yet long enough for me to feel seen.
“Jamison?”
“I . . .” He shakes his head at himself and rolls over into his pillow.
I hang over him as he drifts off to sleep.
I float up through the ceiling and into the night. Moonlight casts
shadows into the orchards and vineyards. I float higher, the ground
shrinking and shrinking below me, and search the heavens for a path
to the Everwoods. My spirit remembers the way and quickly leads me
there. I land on the pathway of daisy petals and hurry down the line of lighted globes, straight to the end.
No one else is around, no pixies, sprites, or gnomes. No Father
Time either. I’m alone as I look into the final sphere.
Within the light plays a picture of these very surroundings. I see
myself in the Everwoods, bleeding on the ground. Markham stands
over me, holding a burning torch. He touches the torch to the lowest branch of the nearest elderwood tree. A fire ignites in the boughs and races upward and outward, leaping from treetop to treetop and raining down flames that set the undergrowth ablaze. Soon, the prince and I
are ringed by an unstoppable inferno.
I stumble back. This cannot be what’s to come. I bump into an
elderwood tree and lay my palm against the velvety bark. The trees’
collective voice, said by one, said by all, rumbles through my mind.
The forest will burn.
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My clock heart spins faster. I succumb to its momentum and let
my ticker lift me up and away from the Everwoods, into the heavens.
Every burning star reminds me of the blinding flames I saw devouring the sacred grove of elderwoods, destroying creation power hungrily,
mercilessly. I flee from them, from the light. Away from the constella-tions, the comets, the searing radiance of the cosmos. At last, the soft glow of my spirit is the only light I can see. I hold a hand over my spinning ticker and tarry in the expanse of nothing for so long I lose track of where I am, which direction I came from, how long I’ve lingered.
Shadows move in front of me. I reach for my sword and remember
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too late—I’m unarmed.
A long, rounded figure wriggles out of the night, slithering toward
me. “Are you lost, little clock? Can I help you find your way?”
Her gravelly voice sends tremors through me. “I’m not lost. I’m on
my way home.”
“Home,” the cythrawl hisses, winding her wormy body around me.
“Why would you go back to your world where time wages a war against
your body, barraging you with age and decay? Stay here with me where time cannot harm you.”
Her tail hits my shoulder. She’s so large and long, snakelike, I cannot discern her total length, but her outline resembles a mammoth
worm. “I know who you are.”
“Oh?” She sounds pleased. “Did they tell you I am older than the
worlds? I have seen the beginning and will bear witness to the end.”
“You’re the Destroyer.”
“We are all part creator, part destroyer. Eternity is not sameness
and stagnation. Eternity is molding what once was into what will be.”
The cythrawl slides closer. “The end of your life is nearing. Will you let someone else decide when you are born, when you will die? Or will you stay here and choose for yourself what becomes of you?”
“All I will become if I stay is your next meal,” I state.
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“Such a death would hold more purpose than your corpse rotting
away in the ground, feasted on by maggots. I can give your death meaning, little clock. Let me take away your worries and pains. No more time beating against you, wearing you down, tick by tock. Rest with me, and time will accost you no more.”
The cythrawl lunges. I drop down beneath her coils, and she snaps
after me. I dart right, then left, her jaws closing behind me. She cuts me off. I pull back, but she’s behind me as well, her long, winding body encircling me.
Her teeth sink into my arm. Icy heat shoots through my spirit, so
cold it burns. I pull free, cradling my throbbing wound, and spot a tiny beacon in the distance.
I fly toward the light. The cythrawl charges and chomps after me.
My wound turns cold, then numb, the icy poison spreading out from
the bite mark.
Up ahead, the beacon becomes a cluster of stars, and within them,
the worlds of Avelyn. The cythrawl pursues me with relentless snaps and hungry growls. She nears the lights and shrinks away. I go faster toward them, and she falls behind.