Marcus drew back from the heat of her gaze. “I hoped that . . . I didn’t want to believe . . .” He looked from the fire to Kyja and swiped a hand furiously across his own eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me you did?”
“What are you talking about?” Kyja gulped, trying to keep from outright sobbing.
“Did you think I wouldn’t figure it out eventually?”
Blinking until her blurred vision cleared, Kyja realized that Marcus was as angry as she was. He stared at her, his right fist clenched into a ball, his left hand squeezed together like the claw of a bird. She wasn’t the only one that felt the horrible burden of guilt. She remembered the helpless feeling of watching the mimicker nearly kill Marcus shortly after they met because she had no magic.
“It’s not your fault,” she sniffled. “Besides, you nearly saved her with that fire.”
“Stop it!” Marcus shouted. “Stop lying. It was you all along. With the bike on the trail. With the kids on the playground. And now here. Did you get magic at the same time I lost mine? Was it the snifflers? Is that why you didn’t tell me?”
The bike? The playground? What was he talking about? Kyja shook her head, unsure what he wanted from her. “I don’t have . . .”
Marcus pounded his fist on his hips, tears streaming down his face. “Why did you pretend I was doing it? Why did you let me think I was losing control? Why didn’t you just say, You’re a cripple whose only thing going for him was that he had magic, and now that’s gone too? Be honest. I have nothing, and you have everything.”
He wasn’t making sense. Sure, Marcus was struggling with his magic, but he’d regain control over it in time. He had to. He was the one ordained to save Farworld. He had the mark on his shoulder to prove it.
So what did he mean about letting him pretend he was doing it? Didn’t he understand that she, of all people, knew what it was like to have no magic? Once, for a brief moment she’d thought she did have it—at least a little—when she’d made a hairclip move. But it turned out it was Riph Raph, watching over her shoulder. He’d been the one who . . .
With a sudden burst of understanding, she realized what Marcus was saying. But that was crazy. She pointed where the fire had been. “You don’t think I did . . . that?”
“Of course you did,” Marcus blurted, his face red and contorted. “You made the fire rise up to save the fairy. You stopped the bike from falling when you lost control. And you were the one who created the wall of flame when the kids were picking on us.”
“No, I didn’t.” Kyja shook her head. “Don’t even joke about that kind of thing.” All her life she’d wanted magic—more than anything. Having none had made her an outcast. Worse than an outcast. It had made people see her as infected, dangerous—someone to avoid on the streets and keep their children away from because whatever she had might be catching.
Only Master Therapass had accepted her—because he knew the truth. The Goodnuffs had taken her in but made her sleep in the barn, just to be safe. The only friends she’d had were adults. She’d dreamed about magic, begged for it, worked at it, prayed for it. But she didn’t have magic. She never would. To think anything else could only lead to a disappointment too great to bear.
Marcus pulled a flaming stick from the fire. He jabbed the branch into Kyja’s face. “Look out!”
“What are you doing?” Kyja screamed and jerked backward, raising her arm against the skin-crackling heat. The flames turned into a swirling vortex, shooting toward the roof of the cavern before disappearing with an audible pop.
“You did that,” Marcus said, shoving the stick back into the fire.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Jaklah said the Keepers use snifflers to suck away magic from some people and give to others. Just my luck that they took away my magic and gave some to you instead. Maybe it was an accident when Screech attacked the sniffler right when we jumped.”
Could it be? She had felt something when the sniffler attached its suckers to her skin, but she’d just assumed it was the revulsion of the attack. No, what he was saying was impossible. She was from Earth. She couldn’t have magic.
Marcus wiped his cheeks and ran his fingers through his hair. “It took me a whole day to learn enough air magic to keep a stick from hitting me in the head.” His pained grin looked more like a grimace. “You figured out fire magic without even trying.”
She stared into the fire—willing it to grow, to move, to go out. Nothing happened. It was exactly how it had been when she’d spent hour after endless hour trying in Terra ne Staric.
This was stupid. Why get her hopes up again? The kids were right. She was a freak. Not for being immune to magic. But for trying to be something she wasn’t—to fit in with the very ones who’d rejected her and teased her mercilessly.
I won’t, she thought, gritting her teeth. I won’t try to be like them. I won’t let them convince me I’m less than they are because I’m different. She stared defiantly into the fire. A pair of eyes stared back. A head rose out of the flames, then a body with wings and a curling tail.
“Holy macaroni!” Marcus shouted, scooting backward.
Was she doing that? Had she created a flame creature? Go up, she thought. The imp flapped its flaming wings and rose into the air. Spin around. The creature gracefully pirouetted. She was doing it! She was using fire magic. She imagined a second imp. Instantly another appeared by the first. Then a third and a fourth. Four flaming imps zoomed around the dark cavern, diving and looping at her command.
She was doing real magic—powerful magic. It felt wonderful! For the first time in her life, she was seeing the world through a pair of eyes she didn’t even know existed. The thrill of energy flowed through her body. If she wanted to, she could—
“Arghhh,” Marcus groaned.
Kyja jerked her attention away from the imps to see Marcus curled in a ball, vomiting near the entrance to the cavern where he’d crawled. At once, the flame creatures disappeared, and with them the energy that had surged through Kyja.
“What’s wrong?” she called, running to him.
“Sick,” he groaned, motioning for her to stay back. “Just give me—” He threw up again, coughing and choking.
Kyja had been so caught up in the death of the fairy and in trying her newfound magic, she’d completely forgotten how sick Marcus was getting by the minute. “We have to get you out of here,” she said.
Marcus rolled onto his back and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his robe. “Don’t know how we’re going to do that. The test was to save the fairy. We failed.”
Kyja looked at the lifeless figure still cradled in her arms and gently set her on a piece of bark. Had they failed? Was that really all there was to the test? There had to be some way to try again—another chance. A cold wind blew through the cave entrance, brushing her bangs back from her forehead.
What d-o-o-o y-o-o-o-u exp-e-e-ct? They’re hu-u-u-mans.
Kyja looked at Marcus. “Did you say something?”
“Uh-uh,” Marcus groaned, covering his eyes with his palm.
A warm breeze gently caressed her skin. It reminded her of summer days standing on the tower balcony in Terra ne Staric.
You have to admit, they-y-y-y tri-i-i-ed.
“Did you hear that?” Kyja looked around the dingy cavern and out the entrance.
“Hear what?” Marcus pushed himself up onto one elbow.
“I don’t know. It sounded like someone whispering—but from far away, carried on the wind.”
They both sat silently for a moment.
“I don’t hear anything,” Marcus said. “Probably just wishful thinking.”
Had she imagined it? The words had been clear, but they didn’t sound as if they’d come from human mouths somehow.
Again an ice-cold breeze swirled about the cave. We shou-u-u-ld take her-r-r no-o-o-w. She’s as good as gon-n-e.
Not unti-i-i-l sunse-e-e-t.
Marcus sat up. “I heard something. Was that you?”
&
nbsp; Kyja shook her head, listening intently. Like the wind soughing through the treetops, it was easy to miss if you didn’t concentrate on it.
Why-y-y-y-y w-a-i-t? A wind—too cold for the summer day outside—licked at the flames of the fire. It is ho-o-o-peless.
“What is it?” Marcus asked. “Another monster?”
“I don’t think so.” Kyja didn’t know what it was. And yet, this whole thing seemed vaguely familiar. What did she know about fairies? It seemed important to recall everything she’d learned about them in academy. Fairies lived in almost all climates. They gathered during the autumn and spring equinoxes, but spent much of their time isolated.
“Who’s there?” she asked, peering into the late afternoon.
A breeze that seemed to carry the warm scent of flowers and fresh berries rattled the leaves of the trees. They-y-y can hear us-s-s.
Kyja tried to think. There was something significant about when fairies died, but she couldn’t remember what. Dead fairies were never left to be eaten by animals—she knew that for sure. Something came for them—something gathered them home so they could receive a fairy funeral. Something to do with directions. Something that reminded her of the cold and warm breezes blowing through the cave.
“The North Wind and the South Wind,” she said. That’s what it was. When a fairy died, the North Wind and the South Wind picked up the fairy’s tiny dead body and returned it to the birthplace of all fairies.
She-e-e-e has-s-s named us-s-s-s, blew the warm gentle breeze.
I told you-u-u-u we should not-t-t-t have stayed, chopped a cold blast.
She-e-e-e has-s-s named us-s-s-s, and we are hers to command.
Unsure of what she was doing, Kyja spoke. “Please, you must help us.”
Must, must, must-t-t-t-t-t. Humans are so-o-o-o-o demanding.
An ice-cold gust cut straight through Kyja’s robe, and she wondered if she’d said the wrong thing. But a warm puff of air tickled her ear.
What is it you desire, child?
Kyja held the dead fairy out in her arms. “She was killed by a tribrac.”
That is-s-s-s why we are here, chil-l-l-d. To return her to her own kind.
“But she can’t die,” Kyja said. “We were supposed to rescue her, but we got here too late. Isn’t there something you can do? Can you . . . bring her back to life?”
No-o-o! thundered the Arctic North Wind.
Kyja’s heart sank. Marcus, who had been propped up on one knee with what looked like a trace of hope in his eyes, dropped his head to his hands.
We can-n-n-not, sighed the South Wind. But you mi-i-i-i-ght . . . if-f-f-f you hurry-y-y-y.
Chapter 31
Heart and Song
Tell us what to do,” Marcus said. His head pounded, and his muscles felt like they’d gone through a meat grinder. But he wanted to do something—needed to do something—to convince himself he wasn’t as useless as he felt.
“She’s not really dead?” Kyja asked.
She is de-e-e-ead, the North Wind said.
But she-e-e-e need not stay-y-y dead if you return two things.
Although their voices sounded the same in tone and pitch, Marcus imagined the North Wind as male—a thick, black cloud flinging around hailstones and blizzards. He pictured the South Wind as a warm breeze on a summer day—maybe somewhere in Georgia—that dried the sweat from your brow as you sat on a porch swing. He was sure she must be female.
“What are the two things?” he asked.
Her heart and her son-n-n-g, the South Wind whispered.
“Her heart?” Kyja asked.
Marcus pictured a beating organ stored in a bottle of formaldehyde. How could the fairy have been alive without it, and how could they get it back in her? The thought gave him shivers.
All fairies-s-s-s keep their hearts stored safely away-y-y-y, or they leave them in the possession of their true lov-v-v-e, for occasions such as this, the South Wind said. It will look like a glowin-n-n-ng blue liquid in a tiny crystal jar with a glass stopper.
That didn’t sound too bad.
It will be hidden in her sanctum. On the peak of an un-scalable s-s-s-slope, the North Wind added.
Okay, maybe a little bad. “How are we supposed to climb a peak that can’t be climbed?” he asked. “That’s impossible.”
Finding her hear-r-r-rt is the easy part, the North Wind blustered.
A fairy’s song is her most sa-a-a-a-cred posession, the South Wind said. She protects it with her li-i-i-ife, for it is her essence—her soul. Without it she-e-e-e becomes nothing.
“Where does she keep her song?” Kyja asked.
Inside her. Her song is-s-s-s not a thing, although she may-y-y-y keep a symbol that represents it. To discover a fairy’s song, you must know what she-e-e-e values above all e-e-e-e-lse.
“Wait,” Marcus said. “You’re saying we have to figure out what she loves? How are we supposed to do that? If you haven’t noticed, she’s not talking much.”
You must see-e-e-e inside her, said the South Wind.
A cold rush of air sent bits of dirt, rocks, and other detritus skating across the cavern floor. You mu-u-u-st return her song and her heart befor-r-r-re sunset.
“Sunset?” Kyja looked out the entrance. “That’s only a few hours away.”
I told you it was ho-o-opeless.
“I’ll get the heart,” Marcus said. “Maybe I can find a crevice or something to climb up the slope. I’m good at wriggling through small spaces. You figure out the song. You’re better at feelings.”
Kyja only looked at him.
“What?”
“You’re in no condition to climb a mountain.”
“Don’t tell me what I can’t do,” Marcus spat. He looked for his staff, but it was nowhere in sight. He must have dropped it in Mr. Z’s study. He’d have to go without it. Ignoring the pain, he put one hand against the cave wall and pushed himself slowly to his feet. Digging his fingernails into his other palm, he took first one step, then a second. Agony shot from his ankle to his hip then up his spine with each faltering movement, but he refused to let it stop him. “I. Am. Fine.”
On the third step, his leg gave out, and he fell face first to the ground—the air whooshing out of him as he landed on the stone floor. A spasm of coughing shook his body. When he looked up, Kyja was walking out the cavern entrance.
“Come back here!” he roared, balling his hands. “At least let me go with you.”
“Once I get the heart, I’ll help you find her song,” Kyja said. Without a backward glance, she disappeared into a thick stand of trees.
Marcus crawled back to the fire and waited there, occasionally adding another log, sure that Kyja would realize her mistake and return. How could she climb a mountain by herself? She was scared of heights. What if she was attacked by wild animals? What if she needed help? But after nearly an hour had passed, he realized she wasn’t coming back. Why would she? He couldn’t keep up with her.
And now she was the one with the magic.
You are no-o-o-o-ot well? the South Wind asked after another racking series of coughs shook his body.
“No,” he said, resting his head in his arms. Beside him, the fairy lay cradled in a piece of bark where Kyja had left her. He tried not to look at her. Seeing the pale, lifeless body just reminded him of his failure to save her.
You do not try to find her-r-r song while your frien-n-n-nd searches for her heart.
“What would be the point? Kyja will scale the peak, come back with the heart, figure out the song, and I’ll sit here doing nothing.” Just like she’d solved the puzzle while he was asleep. He could say anything he wanted about how smart he was, how brave, how strong. But the truth was, without magic, he was pretty much useless.
He looked outside the cave entrance. The sun was dropping lower in the sky. There couldn’t be more than an hour or two before sunset. He looked back at the fairy. She didn’t appear how he’d expected a fairy to look. No upturned nose or pointed ch
in. In movies, fairies were practically supermodels with wings. This one looked like an ordinary person, only smaller.
Fairies help the fores-s-s-st, the South Wind said. They urge plants-s-s-s to grow in the spring, and show animal-l-l-ls where to find food during the long, hard winters.
That surprised him, too. He’d always imagined fairies tossing pixie dust, the bells on the tips of their pointy shoes ringing as they flew around giggling and causing trouble. He didn’t know they did actual work. “They must have powerful magic.”
No. In fact, they-y-y-y have very little magic at al-l-l-l. That may be why the tribrac was able to cap-p-p-ture her so easily.
Marcus looked again at the tiny figure. How much courage would it take to patrol a forest full of blood-thirsty creatures, when even the smallest of them could probably rip you limb from limb?
“Do you have any idea what her song might have been about?”
No one kno-o-o-ows, except for her, the South Wind whispered. You can only discover it by looking into her soul.
Sorry, he thought to himself, I left my X-ray soul-viewing glasses at home. Still, he looked at the still figure and tried to imagine what she loved. The forest, of course, or she wouldn’t have spent all her time flitting around the mountains. And animals, maybe. What would she sing about?
I’ve been working in the forest, all the live-long day? No, that was totally lame.
The problem was, all he could think of were jingles and sappy country songs, and he didn’t think the fairy worried about cleaner dishes or spent lots of time in bars wondering why her ex-boyfriend left her for a younger woman with a nicer car.
“Why did she come here anyway?” he asked, touching the fairy’s tiny cold hand. “Was it part of her . . . job?”
No, the South Wind sighed. It would be much too-o-o-o dangerous.
“Did the creature capture her outside and bring her here?”
I doubt th-a-a-a-t. In the open, she could easily elude a tribra-a-a-ac.
So she didn’t come here because she wanted to, and she wasn’t captured. What did that leave? As tiny as she was, the only reason she’d come here was if . . . if the tribrac had something she wanted badly.
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