It hops closers, its sharp beak nudging me.
“Is Finn all right?”
Another nudge is offered.
“All right, all right.” I force myself back onto my feet. “Can you lead the way to where they are?”
It chirps and lifts off. I reclaim my sword, wiping the blood off on the giant’s tunic. There is no hurrying, though. My legs simply won’t let me. But the bird of prey flies low, constantly hovering so I do not lose sight. Soon enough, though, darkness envelopes me once more as the moon’s light is blocked out by leaves. I’m stumbling, relying on hands against trees to keep me upright. It feels like a good half of an hour passes before a familiar blue light surfaces. And then, Finn’s body, still hovering over the ground, with the Wise Woman standing next to him.
“Is it done?” she asks.
“Do you mean, have I bested the giant?”
Her smile is faint in the dim blue light. “He was a bothersome creature. If anyone around here has a taste for human flesh and bones, it was him.”
There’s something in her tone, something that tells me she expected this meeting of queen and giant. “Was this a test?” I ask coolly.
“All quests have dragons that must be slayed,” she answers equally coolly. “And magic is never free.”
I paid her already, with a bottle of my royal blood. “Why didn’t you rid the forest of the giant yourself if there was such a concern over his proclivity toward eating people?”
“One would think that you, as a queen, would know the answer to that.” She reaches up and runs a finger alongside my cheek; red decorates the tip. Before I can say anything, with that finger, she draws something upon my forehead.
“Come. We still have a ways to go.”
I wipe my sweaty, bloody hand on my skirt and reclaim Finn’s. The blue orb dances closer to me, its light now soothing. Our journey is silent and slow, considering the state of my knees. There will be bruises for sure. There are most likely bruises now.
Finally, after what I guess to be another hour of walking, we arrive at a small clearing in the woods. Situated in the midst is large, flattened rock and nothing else. The Wise Woman flicks her hand once more, and Finn’s body floats over to rest upon the stone.
Above us, the falcon cries turn plaintive.
The orb circles me until I am dizzy, until my vision is nearly entirely filled with trails of blue stars. My body tingles; the braids upon my head loosen until my blood-stained hair swirls above me as if I was sinking in the ocean, drowning. With no word from the Wise Woman, I am compelled to drift toward the stone. The bluish orb now hovers over Finn, and in its pale, lovely light, I can see his dear face. The muscle within my chest constricts so very tightly.
I love him, I think. I love his goodness, I love his soul. I love how he thinks of others first, and how he risks much to protect people he does not even know. I love how he trusts me, and of how I can trust him when I once feared I would never do so with another. I love the way he kisses me, I love the way I feel calm and yet electrified with him all at once. I found him when I believed love was out of my reach, and I am all the more better for it.
We are partners. We are equals. We are, as he is so often to remind me, binaries of the very best kind.
The sound of a deep, intoning bell fills the clearing. This far into the woods, I have no idea where it comes from, but the countdown has begun. One, two, three . . .
“We will need the light of the full moon before the final stroke of midnight.”
I gently cup his face, staring down at the slope of his nose and the fullness of his lips. Four, five . . .
I love him, I think again. His story is not finished. Our story is not finished. I will save him as he saved me. I will do whatever it takes, even if it means slaying a giant.
Six, seven . . .
Slowly, gently, my mouth drifts to his. I whisper the depth of my heart a hair’s breadth away.
Eight, nine . . .
Then I kiss my beloved with intent.
Ten, eleven, twelve.
Thunder cracks overhead. Lightning pierces the ground in the clearing, not once, but twice. The cadence of the orb’s pulses grows stronger, brighter, its light cutting blindingly through the darkness. And then, miraculously, I am rewarded by blue-gray eyes slowly opening to look up in mine.
Blue-gray. Not black.
I press my forehead against his, shaking from the effort at holding back the torrent of emotions threatening to pull me under. I can no longer speak, I am so shaken. So I kiss him, kiss his dear, handsome face—I kiss his eyelids, I kiss his cheeks, his nose, and then his mouth over and over again. Eventually, hands, warm, strong, familiar ones, curl around my arms.
True love encourages you to live. Thank all the goodness in the worlds for that.
My name is whispered in confusion, and it is the best gift I could ask for. I wish I could tell him it’s all right now, that we’re going to be fine, that he’s safe, but all I can do is simply hold on. I’m not even embarrassed that tears of joy drip down my cheeks and onto his face.
Eventually, Finn says, his voice husky and oh-so-welcome, “Why does it feel like there’s a needle in my arm?”
I’m laughing. It’s raining, and we’re in the middle of a clearing, on top of a giant stone and there’s a dancing, magical blue orb above us, and I can’t help myself. I’m laughing, and he most likely believes I’m well on my way to Bedlam—or even the Pleasance.
“Because,” I say, kissing him once more, “there is.”
“We’re in a rain storm.”
“Yes.” Another kiss. “I have a lot to tell you. So much. But for now, tell me how you feel.”
“Fine. Tired, though. How did we get here?”
He’s speaking. He’s awake. I cannot help but wonder if I am the one whose feet no longer touch the ground. I am beyond intoxicated with happiness.
“We walked.” Yet another kiss. “Or rather, you floated.”
“What?!”
“Do you feel as if you’re yourself?”
“You’re not making any sense, Alice. Why—why are there cuts on your cheek? Is that—is that blood on your face? Your clothes?”
His eyes are not black. I must pray this is enough.
I help him up despite his protests toward self-sufficiency. The orb swoops closer, pulsing so bright I can see every detail on Finn’s face. Perhaps my madness and exhaustion and emotions color my perceptions, but I could swear it is as overjoyed as I am.
Above us, the falcon cries. I think I might just adore that bird. He would be a most excellent Wonderlander.
“Alice?”
I touch his cheek. “Yes, love?”
“Will you at least tell me who the lady behind you is?”
A savior, I think. “The twelfth Wise Woman.”
His forehead scrunches as he considers this. “Why does that name sound familiar . . . ?”
The woman in question moves closer. “We must head back. There are those in the woods who are best not to be met tonight.”
I can’t help but let out a weary laugh. “Worse than my last introduction?”
She’s solemn when she tells me yes.
I take hold of Finn’s hands. “Can you walk?”
It makes me deliriously content to watch him roll his eyes. “Why wouldn’t I be able to walk? Alice, you’re kind of worrying me here. Actually, you’re worrying me a lot. You look like you’ve been through hell.”
It was worth it. To see him here, awake, to hear his voice . . .
The Wise Woman approaches us, her eyes still milky white in the light of the orb. She says nothing but simply angles her attention toward Finn.
“Did it work?” I ask. “Is the spell broken?”
Finn’s alarmed. “Spell?”
“He is safe,” she tells me. “As long as you live, as long as your love holds true, he is safe.”
In the near distance, a wolf’s howl pierces the air. The falcon’s cries grow more frantic.
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“And if I fall?”
She does not answer.
“We need to go now.” I squeeze Finn’s hands before letting go of one. “I’ll explain all once we arrive at where it is we need to go.”
“The woods,” the Wise Woman says, “have many ears. It is best to remember that.”
Noted.
As before, we journey in silence. I do not let go of Finn’s hand once, and I must admit, it’s not so much for balance but more for assurance. He’s awake. He’s here. He hasn’t transformed. My feet and bones, so achy earlier in the evening, are no longer a concern. I feel his hand in mine. The brush of his shoulder against my body. And although I know he must be utterly anxious for answers, confused as to what’s transpired and why he awoke in a strange place, surrounded by sights he has most likely never seen before, but he does not press for them. The orb dances around us, its light so pure, so magical, it feels as if we’re being blessed and guarded all at once.
I do not stumble once on the way back to the cottage. Neither does he.
No one is asleep when we finally arrive at the cottage. In fact, the group of four I’d left behind bursts through the door the moment we are within twenty feet. The moment they do, the orb winks out of sight. Victor reaches his brother first, throwing his arms around him. “Jesus, Finn!” The doctor’s voice is thick. “Don’t—don’t do that again, okay?”
I go to release Finn’s hand, to give him space with his brother, but he merely holds on tighter. “Okay? Except, I don’t have a single clue what’s going on.”
Mary and the A.D. laugh, converging upon us until we are squished between their well-meaning arms. Even Grymsdyke scuttles back and forth between Finn and myself.
“Seriously, guys,” Finn gasps from the middle of the circle. “Can someone explain just what in the hell is going on right now?”
Once we are inside, our drenched cloaks and clothes hanging before the fire, we do. Finn insists Victor check me over for the scrapes and cuts, but I wave them off. Finn needs to be examined first. As he looks over his brother, Victor begins offering our story, as he was with Finn in 1905BUR-LP. I use the moment to pull Gertrude aside.
I do not dare to touch her, but I wear my heart on my torn and bloody chemise’s sleeve. “You have my deepest gratitude, even if you sent me to battle a giant.”
Her eyes are no longer milky white. Instead, they are once more brown and warm, albeit haunted. “When I was banished from the sisterhood, I vowed to continue helping those I could, even if it meant acting as a local healer and apothecary. My goal throughout the ages has never changed, even if those around me have.”
“The kingdom is lucky to have a champion such as you.”
The twist of the corner of her mouth is rueful. “Those whose intention are not pure do not feel as such. All blades are double sided, Your Majesty.”
Isn’t that the truth.
I drift back over to where my friends sit; the Wise Woman hovers in the background, tinkering with her bottles of herbs and potions. Finn reaches out and takes my hand in his once more as we unfold all that has occurred in the days since he fell prey to the Piper’s machinations. He listens quietly, absorbing it all. And then, in the end, when it is my turn to explain what has happened just this evening, I find I cannot quite do so in the presence of others. It feels too . . . personal, in a way. Too raw.
So I simply say, “I did what I had to do, just as you did for me.”
He studies me then, his eyes so serious in the firelight. A hand comes to cup my cheek, and there, in front of the others, he kisses me.
“I love you, my north star,” he murmurs against my mouth.
My lips brush his. “We’re binaries, remember?”
His chuckle sounds like heaven. The A.D. makes a lewd comment about us requiring a separate room if we were going to continue with such mush, considering what he just had to go through with Victor and Mary, and it only prompts more laughter to spill out of the both of us. Grymsdyke threatens to shut his mouth, insisting the A.D. not make crude comments about a Wonderlandian monarch, and it only leaves us laughing all the more. Soon, Finn eventually gets his way, and Victor tends to my superficial wounds.
The Wise Woman eventually encourages us all to sleep. Dawn is coming, she reminds us, but there is more to her warning than the simple motion of the earth spinning in the sky. No, a reckoning is coming, too. And we must be ready for it.
We lay on the floor before the fire once Gertrude excuses herself to the other room. Within minutes, the A.D., Victor, and Mary are all asleep. Grymsdyke settles into a nice web already constructed in one of the corners of the cottage. I curl closer to Finn’s body, soaking in the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath my ear. Curiosity gets the better of me, though, and I gently push his tunic up.
The pattern on his torso has faded a bit, less vivid but more silvery, but it is still there.
Now that I know what it represents, I trace my fingers alongside the swirls and designs. The bird—my bird, the one that flew on my banners. How could I not have noticed this? There are diamond shapes intertwined in the vines. Stars, too. All subtle, all laid out in a way that, upon first glance, one might not notice such details. But there it is—the representation of my love laid out across his chest and waist, like a giant tattoo.
“I wonder if it will continue to fade,” I whisper softly.
He lays a hand upon mine. “I hope not.”
IT’S STOPPED RAINING FINALLY, but damp fog has settled in its place. I watch Alice lean against the wooden frame of the cottage’s distorted window, staring out at the woods. It seems so still out there, so peaceful. But then, there’s always a calm before the storm, isn’t there?
I wish she’d tell me what happened last night, why she’s so bruised up like she is. But all she’ll say is that, when there’s enough time and we’re alone, she’ll explain it all.
“Do you have to do this right now?” I ask my brother.
He presses his cold-as-hell stethoscope against the skin covering my heart. “As a matter of fact, I do. We really ought to go back so I can do a full work-up on you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We’ve got a man to hunt. Besides, you checked me over last night, remember?”
“And I’ll check you over again today, and whenever else I damn well please.”
His eyes are bright, an all-too-familiar look for him, but I personally watched him take his protocol this morning, so I know he’s doing what’s necessary.
Nearby, a rip of a snore tears from the A.D. I wish I had my cell phone with me, because he’s drooling buckets. I didn’t sleep at all last night, though. I’ve slept enough. I just lay there and tried to process everything they told me last night, or at least, all they could before everyone nearly fell over in exhaustion.
I cannot believe we’re in 1812GRI-CHT.
“I’m fine.” I brush away the stethoscope. “Seriously. You ought to go see what Mary’s up to.”
“She’s interrogating the Wise Woman as they collect herbs, attempting to wheedle some of her potions out of her before we head out. Don’t try to change the subject. Magic notwithstanding, you were also stabbed not too long ago.”
I sigh. “It’s not like it was the first time, you know. I doubt it’ll be the last.”
He flashes a tiny pen light at one and then the other of my eyes, temporarily blinding me. “You really don’t remember anything after the alley?”
“It’s like I said, just bits and pieces of London. No Sara, no Sara’s house.” I remember what happened in the alley, though. Vividly so, especially how it felt to watch Todd finally pay for what he’s done—to the Timelines, to the innocent people who lived in the ones now lost, to my mother and my grandfather, to what he did to Alice. How I’d shoot him again if I could. But as for the rest . . . Nothing. Just snatches of carriages rumbling across London’s roads, flower girls desperate to make a sale, and the unsavory feeling of wanting to puke.
It pisses me off, having these
blank pieces in my memory. This is the second time I’ve been forced into some kind of uncontrollable sleep, and I’m pretty damn tired of it.
“I can’t believe you hauled my unconscious ass all around hell’s half acre, by the way.”
“If we hadn’t, you wouldn’t be awake right now. Is there any pain at the site of the stitches?”
I refocus on my brother. “None more than I normally would have.”
He grunts, but checks them anyway. “We gave you antibiotics once you were brought back to the Institute.” A finger gently pokes at the neat, black rows of thread. “Seems to have gotten the infection under control. I have another dose in my bag, just in case.”
“Stop. Just . . . Stop. You’re acting like—”
“Like what? Like you were on the verge of death?” His eyes harden. “Like Dad and I were scared shitless that we were going to lose yet another person we love to this bloody war?”
It’s enough to shut me up.
“Finn, he did think we both died. That arsehole destroyed the Timeline we were in. All that shite that was going down right before we edited out? The explosions, the lights in the sky, the earthquakes?” He shakes his head. “All those people that were around us are now dead. Gone. The Piper destroyed the catalyst in the middle of the Institute. Hypnotized our father, our colleagues. Our family. Nearly blew up Mary and Alice—both ended up in the hospital! Our father mourned us.” He shoves the light and stethoscope back into his bag. “I don’t think he’s slept more than a handful of hours since it all went down. The man is running on fumes right now.” He angles his head toward Alice. “Her, too.”
Sometimes, I’m a total asshole. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just . . . I’m hearing what you’re saying. I get that I was . . . out, asleep, ready to transform, or whatever the hell it was that was happening. But I promise you I’m feeling fine. Better than fine.” I reach out and grab his shoulder. “Thank you, though. For taking care of me, even when I know it had to be hard for you to focus.”
His eyes won’t meet mine. “I saw him, Finn. Or at least, I thought I did. At Sara’s.”
The Forgotten Mountain (The Collectors' Society Book 3) Page 19