Aster Wood and the Child of Elyso (Book 4)

by J B Cantwell

  I wondered if my desire to find my dad, which seemed to be growing with every second that ticked past, meant that I really would have an easier time finding him.

  Suddenly, I couldn’t wait to get there.

  I held out one hand, and Cait looked up at me, taking it.

  “I’m sick of walking,” I said. “What do you say we just get this over with?”

  She tore her eyes away from the mountains, met mine. Then, let out a big sigh.

  “Okay,” she said. “Let’s do it.”

  Not for the first time, I was pushing her to do something she didn’t really want to do. Though at least she didn’t seem frightened like she had before. In fact, fear hadn’t crossed her face at all since that first day on our own. Realizing this calmed me, and I turned to take in the mountains, myself. Somewhere up there, my father awaited. I wondered if he knew that I was coming for him. If he had any sense of what was happening in the world around him, or the worlds far off.

  Or if, like Jade and so many before her, he was already lost within the grasp of the Corentin’s evil.

  By evening, we were high in the Sierras. That morning we had finished off the last of our water, carrying now just the empty plastic jug I had taken from Grandma’s bag before we had left. I had counted on finding water in the mountains, but I hadn’t thought it all the way through. Somehow, I had expected these mountains to resemble the Rockies we had just come from. Vast and wild and mostly uninhabited, but full of life and opportunity for food and water.

  But these were not the Rockies.

  What I had failed to realize, to connect in my brain, was the fact that it hadn’t rained in the western part of the country for decades. Just because we were up high, safe from the haze, didn’t mean we would easily find everything we needed. Now, as we stood on the jagged peak of one of the many mountains and looked out across the range, I realized that we were in more danger than that which the Corentin’s pursuit brought.

  The place looked like a bomb had been dropped here. The trees, millions of them, still stood, blanketing the mountains that stretched for miles in every direction. But the green needles I had expected to see draped from their branches were long gone, withered and fallen, probably long before I was born. My tongue moved across my dry, cracked lips as I searched helplessly for some sign of water. But everywhere I looked I saw nothing but rock, sand, and the long-forgotten skeletons of trees, a memory of what the world once was.

  Cait was sitting in the dirt, too tired from the jumps to do anything but stare blankly into space. I knelt before her and gripped one of her ankles, pulling it gently to stretch out the taught muscles of her calves. She lay back in the dirt, groaning. I moved to her other leg, and after that each of her arms in turn. Finally, she sat up, pointing.

  “It’s not far,” her voice croaked. Her lips were as dry as mine, and I watched as her tongue stuck out, trying to wet them.

  “I think we should keep going,” I said. The sun was setting already over the mountaintops, and a thought had occurred to me sometime in the past hour.

  If Dad’s up here, he must have water.

  I only knew two things for sure. My father was somewhere in these mountains. And he was still alive. Cait wouldn’t have been able to see the connection if he had been dead, I was certain of that. If he had been here for all the months we thought, he must have found a way to survive. He had to have water.

  “How many more jumps, do you think?” I asked.

  She stared into the distance, but I wondered if she saw anything at all. I was surprised when she answered.

  “Two more,” she said.

  “Two jumps?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  She got back to her feet, seeming eager now, herself.

  We jumped.

  She adjusted the trajectory of the direction I pointed the link. We jumped again.

  Nothing.

  This entire forest, what felt like this entire world, was covered in the same, dead mass of branches and fallen needles, blown into dust by the relentless wind that whipped across the mountain range. My heart fell.

  But Cait perked up. She set off away from me, walking down the mountain as if she had made this same journey a hundred times. Intrigued, I followed, my stomach picking up a flock of butterflies as I realized who was at the end of this hike.

  Soon, we came to a clearing, and several buildings came into view. The place had been hidden by a rise in the side of the rock, but now each structure was revealed.

  I wanted to stop, wanted to stand there for a while and let my mouth hang open with the disbelief I felt. Now that we were here, I allowed myself to realize the truth, that I hadn’t been entirely sure Cait would be able to get us here at all. I had been desperate, thinking that maybe I could turn us back towards home if we failed. Part of me hadn’t really believed, not for sure, that one five-year-old little girl would be able to find a place so remote, so specific, without adult help.

  Now here we were.

  But where was here?

  In no time, she was at the base of the hill. Remnants of a gravel driveway crunched beneath her feet, and she turned back to see what was taking me so long, impatient.

  “Come on!” she yelled.

  I broke into a run, unable to contain my excitement any longer.

  Together, we approached the largest building. Signs hung from the outer walls, indicating restrooms, entrance, a gift shop.

  “Wait,” I said, pointing to the sign hanging from the bathroom door. I pushed it open, and a pile of dust that had gathered from the crack beneath the door floated around the room. I turned the tap on the faucet, desperately hoping for anything, even just a trickle of water.

  But nothing came out.

  I checked the toilets, just to be sure, and when I found them dry I tried the other bathroom, the drinking fountains, every possible source of water I could find.

  Finally, when it was clear that we were going to stay thirsty, I let my shoulders fall with disappointment and moved on. Cait, less perturbed by our lack of drinking water, skipped up ahead to the main entrance.

  The front door, clearly having been forced open some time ago, stood ajar. I paused, watching Cait’s little feet disappear around the corner. Then, with a feeling that was half terror, half excitement, I followed.

  I ran after her, suddenly feeling like a very young child.

  “Dad?” I called. My voice sounded younger than I would have liked.

  No answer. I turned, walking through a long hallway. Cait had paused, staring around, and seeing we were alone, I did the same.

  The whole place was covered floor to ceiling with framed photographs. Men. Hundreds of different men, the photos taken during different years. They sat in rows, some wearing helmets, some holding pickaxes. A few smiled. Most stared stoically ahead into the lens of the camera.

  Something about those faces held me transfixed, and I couldn’t move from the space as I looked deep into every face.

  1932.

  1918.

  1938.

  With a shudder, I realized that every single one of them was now dead.

  And I realized what this place was.

  It was a gold mine.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I wasn’t surprised. Not exactly.

  But I was impressed with the size of the place. This was no small hole cut in the side of a mountain. This place was huge.

  “Aster!” Cait shouted from some other passageway. I hadn’t even realized she had left my side. My heart thudded as I followed the sound of her voice. Had she found him?

  “Cait?” I called.

  The space was dim, and I had to use my hands to feel along the wall towards her.

  “I’m back here,” she said, very close now.

  My breathing caught in my chest. Somewhere back here Cait had found my father. I was sure of it. Any moment now we would be staring at each other for the first time in more years than I could remember. I tried to think of what to say, but my
mind stayed blank as I inched along the corridor.

  Slowly, something came into view. At first I gasped, thinking it was him, but as I got closer I found I couldn’t put my finger on what it was I was seeing. A thin shaft of light was shining through the open doorway. I bumped into Cait in the darkness.

  “Where—?” I began, but I was unable to finish the thought. Why hadn’t he spoken?

  “Look,” she said.

  My chest deflated as I realized it wasn’t my father she had found, but something else entirely. But when I saw what it was, my heartbeat resumed with a vigor and, oddly, fear.

  Before us stood a huge pane of glass, shattered from floor to ceiling. Aside from the point of impact, most of the pane stuck together like an enormous puzzle of glass shards. Behind it, several photographs stood propped against the back wall.

  Photographs of gold.

  Several large rocks, some the size of grapefruits, were once displayed here. The bases on which they had rested were empty, but the photographic proof remained.

  “These are pictures,” I said, my voice quiet. “Photographs. Remember when I told you about photographs?”

  Beside me Cait sucked in her breath, understanding.

  I stepped aside, to allow more light to reach the images. If only we had gotten here sooner. If only the huge stones that had once been here were now in our possession. We could leave this dead place and be done with it. It would have been more gold than I had ever seen in my entire life. More than, I felt sure, anyone in the Fold had ever seen. More than Almara or Brendan or Kiron or anyone ever could have dreamed of finding.

  The rocks in the images were rough, unrefined and displayed in their original state. The biggest image, the one in the center, showed a stone that reminded me of a sea creature, its tiny tendrils stretching out from the center as if the gold was a creature searching for oxygen.

  It was breathtaking.

  This had once been a safe. These stones, so valuable both then and now, had been taken from it by force. It must have been a display case when this place had been a museum. A heavy metal door stood ajar, but the glass had once protected the contents of the giant vault. Now, a thousand tiny pieces of it lay strewn about the floor, and a hole just large enough for a greedy hand to reach through was punctured through the center of the pane. I wondered who had taken the gold. Why they had thought to. Between starvation and acid rain, wouldn’t the thief only have had basic survival on their minds?

  But the thing that caught my attention most, that had me itching to break through the rest of the glass, was not the old images of the gold that had once sat on these shelves.

  It was the large framed map that rested behind where they had once sat.

  Copper Creek Gold Mine, the little placard glued to the front of the glass read. An intricate lattice of lines ran up and down the map, showing where the most valuable tunnels had been dug into the mountain. We might have missed the opportunity to snatch the larger stones that had once rested here, but with a map like that we would be well on our way to finding the rest of the gold we needed.

  I folded my hand into a fist and tapped it on the glass remaining in the door frame. Surprisingly, it rattled in its frame. It was clearly heavy, but not well set. I was surprised that the treasure that had once been encased here had been protected by nothing but a thick pane of glass.

  I wanted that map.

  But I didn’t want to shred my arm against the jagged glass the thief had left behind.

  I thought of the men in the photographs, some of them holding pickaxes.

  “Wait a minute,” I said, thinking. “If this place is a mine, there must be tools around here someplace. Come on.”

  I turned and ran from the room. As I rounded the corner into the entryway, I squinted as the brightness of day stung my eyes.

  “Where are you going?” Cait asked.

  “We need some tools,” I explained.

  I ran through the gift shop, still stocked with tiny samples of gold that must have come from this very mine. I paused, then dashed behind the counter, collecting the little trinkets and stuffing them into my pocket. It wasn’t much, barely enough to make a link or two, but every little bit would help. Then, when I had every minuscule gold nugget I could find, I headed for the door.

  Outside we found more buildings scattered around the place. Workshops of all sorts dotted the landscape, and my heart thudded as I recognized a variety of metal tools, once displayed as artifacts, still intact. No rain had fallen here in ages, and the tools were in relatively good condition.

  I grabbed for the first one I saw, a large pickaxe with a pointed end, and headed back inside. Cait, who seemed to be thinking marginally more clearly than I was, grabbed a couple of helmets with battery powered lights set into the brims and followed behind. She had seen the pictures of the men, I realized, some of whom had their helmet lanterns lit.

  When we walked back through the gift shop, she twisted a little dial on the helmets. One of them came to life, a dim, wide beam of light shining from the attached headlamp. She held it out to me, then shook the other helmet, tapping on the side of the bulb. I laughed.

  “I guess you’re getting used to electronics, after all,” I teased.

  She glanced up, smirking, but could not get the helmet to light.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “We’ll just use this one for now.”

  I put the helmet on my head, feeling like an idiot, but being too focused to care much. With the ax in one hand and Cait’s hand in my other, I walked back through to the gold room.

  I paused for a moment. Something about this place was so silent, so precious. It was almost like being in a church, long abandoned.

  But I couldn’t wait forever.

  “Get back,” I said, and Cait took several steps backwards.

  I raised the axe over my head, got ready to swing.

  “Wait!” Cait cried.

  I paused, irritated.

  “What?” I growled. I had been so close.

  “What if the glass shatters?” she asked. “Your eyes.”

  I hadn’t thought of that, and immediately I regretted my impatience. I looked around the room, lit now by the faint glow of the headlamp. There was nothing here I could use to shield my eyes from shards of glass, though. Then, a thought popped into my head, and I snorted with laughter.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Come on,” I said, gesturing for her to follow me.

  I led her back to the doorway.

  “Turn around, and cover your eyes, okay?” I said. “If it blows out, the glass could make it this far.”

  She did as I instructed, holding one hand up over each eye as she scooted herself farther out into the adjacent room.

  I raised the ax again, but this time my posture was different, calculated. It was a stance I had learned many months ago, back in a forest clearing, with an old friend I’m sure never dreamed I could use the skills he was teaching me for something as wild as this.

  I pictured a tree, wide and fat, before me. The ax felt too weighted on one end, and I adjusted it automatically. I imagined the cracks in the tree bark where in reality there was only glass. And I let the ax fly.

  The ax rocketed across the room with great speed, and when it hit the glass, the pane did not shatter.

  Chink.

  The heavier side of the blade stuck into the glass, just as it might if it really had been thrown at a tree trunk.

  I laughed, happy that my old talent for ax throwing was still with me.

  “You can open your eyes,” I said, walking back into the room.

  I grabbed the ax handle and began wrenching it out of the glass. It had stuck fast into the shattered glass, but the pieces hadn’t broken free. Some sort of film had been applied, either to keep the shards from hurting people in the event that the glass was broken, or to deter thieves, making them think the glass would be more trouble than it was worth.

  It didn’t deter me.

  I wrestled with
the handle, pulling and pushing on the glass until, finally, a piece of it two feet square peeled away out of the frame in one big sheet of diamond shards.

  “We’re going to do this,” I said, my stomach fluttering with excitement.

  Cait was just opening her mouth to speak, when an ear splitting sound echoed throughout the room. It rattled within my skull, so loud I felt sure it would turn my brain to mush. An alarm. I dropped the ax and held my hands over my ears. Cait did the same. I stared around, looking for the source of the offending noise, but saw nothing.

  “Come on!” I shouted over the blaring, and I made for the exit.

  Once outside, I let my hands drop away, sticking my fingers in my ears and jiggling them around, as if by doing so I could stop the ringing I now heard.

  “What was that?” she asked.

  “An alarm,” I said. I thought that maybe I was talking too loudly, but I could barely hear my own voice.

  “What set it off?”

  “We did,” I said.

  I looked around, trying to think of something to stuff into my ears so that I could go back in to retrieve the map. Then I saw the look on Cait’s face, and I stopped my searching.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  Her eyes had gone wide and blank, and I felt sure she was seeing something only she could. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

  “Is it—is it him?” I asked.

  Slowly, she nodded. She turned, making her way not back into the building, but around it.

  I followed, all of my intentions fading away like smoke from a fire. The safe. The gold. The alarm. The map.

  For this task, no map was needed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  I ripped the helmet from my head and thrust it over her straggly hair.

  “You go first,” I said. “I’m right beside you.”