by Marissa Burt
No wonder Liza pitied him. “Jack,” Wren gasped.
“You look terrible,” Simon said as though he were making a log note.
Jack rolled over on one side, dislodging the pillows and giving them his back. “I said no visitors.” He pulled the blanket up over his bony shoulder.
“Jack, are you okay?” Wren crept around to the other side of the bed. “Baxter said you were getting better. That you were healed.”
“Baxter’s wrong.” Jack flipped away from her.
“But—” Wren began, but Jack immediately cut her off, pushing up on one elbow and lashing out at her.
“Why did you come here, Wren? To gloat?” He spit out the words like they were poison. “Liza says Fiddlers have been lurking outside every day. Have you been with them?” He pointed a skeletal finger at Simon. “You, too. Don’t you have some other unique specimen to observe? Instead of poor, stupid traitor Jack?”
“Simon,” Wren said. “Can you give us a minute? Wait outside and let me know if Liza comes back.”
Simon stopped staring at Jack and stared at Wren.
“Please?” Wren asked, hoping to forestall Simon’s litany of questions. For once, Simon didn’t demand logical reasoning for her request. He gave her a sharp nod and disappeared.
“Jack,” Wren said after Simon was gone. “This isn’t like you.”
“What do you know about what I’m like?” Jack’s mouth twisted down into a frown. “You followed me to the gateway, and now you think you know all about me?”
“I know Boggen tricked you.” Wren sat gently on the edge of Jack’s bed. “Just like he tried to trick me.”
Jack didn’t say anything, but he sank back against the pillows.
“I know about the mental hospital,” Wren said, looking not at Jack but at the worn edge of the blanket. “I know what Boggen promised you. I know that you were lonely and desperate, and he came to that awful place and promised you a home—a place to belong. I understand why you did it, Jack.”
“Who else knows?” Jack demanded.
“No one,” Wren said simply. She hadn’t told the others what the Ashes had shown her about Jack’s past. She figured it was Jack’s story to share and had decided to leave it out of the narrative she gave the Council. “I told them that Boggen had you under a spell to make you do what he wanted.” She shrugged and looked up at Jack’s too-skinny face. “I mean, isn’t that the truth? Boggen did have you under a spell.”
Jack heaved forward, his breath coming in dry, hacking coughs. And then Wren realized that he was laughing. At her. “Aw, so little Wren is going to pity me now? Lucky me.”
Wren didn’t say anything. She knew that what Jack had done was wrong. He had deceived them all, lied to every last Fiddler, including her, in order to get what he wanted, not to mention the fact that he had risked the well-being of everyone on the planet in order to win Boggen’s approval. But Wren also knew it could just as easily have been her. She, like Jack, had dreamed of Nod, and when the most powerful Magician in ages had reached out to her in her dreams, she had found it nearly impossible to resist. How much more difficult must it have been for Jack, who had been desperate for someone to notice him? To believe in him? She pushed aside her defensiveness. She knew that somewhere in that husk of a person was the boy she used to know, her friend.
“Boggen used you, Jack, and had he lived, he would have simply thrown you away afterward.” She swallowed and didn’t turn her gaze from Jack’s haunted blue eyes, which seemed too large for his face. If kindness wouldn’t motivate Jack, then it was time for some tough love. “Don’t throw yourself away by rotting down here in this sickroom. You’re a Fiddler apprentice. Act like one.”
Jack sighed, and it sounded like he had been holding in all the air in the room. “What’s the point?”
“What do you mean?” Wren asked, alarmed. Jack had loved everything about being a Fiddler.
“I mean,” Jack said, and his voice cracked on the words, “how can you be an apprentice when you can’t use the stardust anymore?”
“What?”
“It’s gone,” Jack said. “I can’t work the magic anymore. I’m burned out, or at least that’s what Liza says.”
Wren felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. You could lose the ability to work stardust? She would never forget the first moment she had learned there was magic in the world and that she could play it. It was as if everything had gone from a 2D black-and-white comic to a vibrant three-dimensional world. How could one survive going back?
“Oh, Jack,” she said in a low voice. “Is Liza sure?”
“Go away” was all Jack said, slumping under the covers. “And don’t come visit me again.”
Wren didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t very well tough-love Jack into helping her now that she knew what really ailed him. She got to her feet and moved silently toward the door. “I won’t visit until you invite me,” she said, promising herself that she really could do that. “But”— she paused, one hand on the door handle—“when you’re ready to talk about Nod, I need your help. Something awful is happening there. I saw it in a dream.” She shut her eyes and pulled the door open. It was her last shot. If Jack really had given in to despair, there was nothing she could do. She was halfway through the door when he spoke.
“Wait,” Jack said. “Tell me about the dream.”
Wren breathed a sigh of relief, turned back around, and allowed herself to remember the dream. She didn’t like to, especially because of the way it had morphed into new landscapes on Nod, one after another, but always with the horrifying pursuit of the spiders.
Simon reentered the room through the half-open door and perched on the corner stool, his notebook flipped open. Even though he had already heard about the dream earlier, he took meticulous notes, overriding Wren’s objections with the claim that “anything could be significant.” Wren closed her eyes, letting the dream wash over her, describing the scene in detail as she imagined her way back through the burned-out city and to the edge.
“The edge? The edge of what?” Jack’s voice interrupted Wren’s recollection, but she kept her eyes closed and tried to remember the details.
“The edge of the land,” Wren said in an even voice. “It might be a mine. Or maybe a quarry. Whatever it is, it’s definitely man-made and bigger than any excavation I’ve seen before.” She described the device to them with as much detail as she could remember and then forced herself on to the spiders. If she could get all the words out, she’d be done, and perhaps she wouldn’t need to relive the dream again. She shivered as she thought of the way the beasts had scaled the wall opposite her, the tentacle-like reach of their steel-plated legs. She heard again the screeching calls they made to communicate with one another. And the screams.
“There were people on the other side of the chasm.” Wren’s voice cracked at this part. “I just stood there. I watched them hunt the people, and there was nothing I could do.”
“Did the people see you? What about the spiders?” Simon asked.
“Yes.” Wren nodded and opened her eyes. “At least I think the people saw me. I know the spiders did.” She explained how the spiders had seemed to chase her through the dream world, the same way Boggen had once before. “It was like they knew I was a Dreamer.” She dropped to the edge of the bed and looked at Jack. “We’re both Dreamers, Jack. I know that’s how Boggen communicated with you.”
“Did it smell different?” Jack asked in a small voice. “Nod smells cold.”
“Yes!” Wren seized on this. “Jack’s right. It smelled like Nod.”
“You can identify smells in your dreams?” Simon chewed on the end of his pencil.
“The point is,” Wren said, ignoring Simon’s speculative look, “what’s happening in the dream is somehow happening on Nod.” She felt her body relax, as though she had been carrying a weight for a long time and was only now noticing how tired she was.
“I bet the fence of spikes was built to keep th
e spiders out,” Simon was saying. “And the spiders are clearly not organic beings. Where did they come from?” He had drawn a sketch based on Wren’s description. It was eerily accurate. Panels of metal that had been bolted together formed a bubble-like body out of which sprouted eight furry legs. The underbelly of the torso was made of something clear as glass, with another similar section where the cluster of eyes were. “And what about the device? Where did it come from?” Simon ran his pencil over his far inferior sketch of the device. Wren didn’t think it was possible to capture the scope and detail of that on a piece of paper.
“It’s a well,” Jack said, putting out a hand to reach for Simon’s notebook. “There’s seven of them on Nod.” His words sounded raspy.
Wren nodded slowly. Her hunch had been right. Jack did have information that would help her. “What does the well hold? Neon? Phosphorous?”
“It’s a well of magic. What else?” Jack barely got the words out before a coughing fit overtook him. “Boggen’s trying to refine the stardust,” he croaked. “The colony of Nod is on a very Earthlike planet, which is why the Magicians chose it, of course, but they didn’t foresee the stardust problem.”
“What problem?” Wren asked. “Couldn’t they find any meteorites like we have here in the Crooked House?”
“They could find them all right,” Jack said, pouring himself a cup of water from the pitcher on his bedside table. “But after a while it didn’t do them any good. Most of the stardust became corrupted somehow, and not too long ago, what little was left of the good kind began disappearing.” He took a long drink. “Now the wells are nearly empty.”
“Disappearing?” Simon’s eyebrows knit together. “Like evaporating?”
Jack shrugged. “How should I know?” He studied Simon’s sketch. “Do you think Boggen told me every detail of what was happening on Nod?” His mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “He only told me enough to get me to agree to help him.” He yawned. “Now will you two leave me alone? I need to rest.”
“You can’t be tired,” Simon said in his matter-of-fact voice. “It’s a physical impossibility. You’ve been lying in bed for a month.”
Jack shot him a withering look. “And what exactly do you think I should do? Get up and go to apprentice lessons so I can watch everyone else use the stardust?”
“Guys,” Wren said, trying to get them back on track. “Nod, remember? The stardust there is disappearing?” She looked at Jack. “And corrupted? Did Boggen say what that meant?”
Jack shook his head, but Simon paged back through his notebook. “Didn’t you say the stardust at the gateway was corrupted? I thought that was the whole reason the Council was going there. What if the same corruption—”
“Simon.” Wren cut him off and darted a look a Jack. The last thing she wanted was for Jack to hear that they were going to the gateway.
“What aren’t you telling me? Why are you really here?” Two spots of color appeared on Jack’s cheeks. “Is this about the stupid gateway again? And the Council interfering? Cole told me that there was no way that creepy William was going to be able to conduct his research on me. He promised me.” Jack was wide-eyed now, sitting up and pulling his blankets higher as though that would protect him from something awful.
“Wait,” Wren said. “You’re subject number thirteen?” She didn’t need to see Jack’s reluctant nod to know that she was right. She shivered. “No. Cole and Mary are on your side. They won’t let William have you.” She leaned toward him. “But surely there’s more you can tell us about this corrupted stardust. Come on, think!”
“I have thought.” Jack’s voice was hard. “Don’t you think I’ve thought about it every minute since that stupid gateway? You came here for my help—you, of all people—the least you could do is say thank you and then leave me alone.”
Wren prickled. “What do you mean you of all people?” Did Jack think it was her fault that he couldn’t work the stardust anymore? “You’re the one who helped Boggen. You’re the one who opened—”
“Just stop already, will you, Wren?” Jack sounded furious now. “I know exactly what I’ve done, and I know exactly what it’s cost me.” Jack slouched down and pulled the covers all the way up to his nose.
Wren shut her mouth with a snap. She hadn’t meant to let her emotions get the better of her. She felt the little box of trapped feelings quivering inside her, leaping about at the thought of Jack being angry with her when he was the one who had helped Boggen, but she forced it to shrink back to its usual quiet state. She took one step toward the lump on the bed. “I’m sorry, Jack. I really am.” She spoke to the top of the comforter and the tip of Jack’s nose.
The covers were silent. Jack didn’t even move. “Good-bye, Jack,” Wren finally said, and she turned to follow Simon out of the room.
FOUR
I sing, I sing
From morn till night.
From cares I’m free
And hid from sight.
Wren,” Cole said, greeting her with a smile. “You’re right on time.”
Wren stifled a yawn. She and Simon had talked over what Jack had said and what her dream might mean until the very minute she had to say good-bye and go meet the Council. Now she was regretting her lack of sleep. Wren had followed the Council’s instructions carefully, slinking through the passageways of the Crooked House in predawn stillness, and arrived at the hidden cavern without much incident.
Across from her stood the ship that was obviously intended to take them to the gateway. Beyond the ship was a yawning hole that opened up to a starry sky and a view of the valley Wren had never seen before. They were somewhere on the far side of the Crooked House, where aurora colors were just beginning to flicker across the landscape.
The ship itself was compact but impressive, with a wooden body shaped like an oblong tub. Ropes and wires stretched up to a balloon that ran the length of the vessel. Triangular sails sprouted from the sides—Wren guessed that these were to catch the energy of the aurora—and in the back was one massive propeller.
“You must fall asleep with the stardust apportioned here,” Cole was saying to Astrid. He held out a finely worked silver compass that had two scales dangling from chains on either side. The apparatus looked vaguely familiar to Wren, and she wondered where in the Crooked House she had seen it before.
“This device allows a non-Dreamer to reach out to a Dreamer while he sleeps,” Cole said. “Make your first attempt no later than twelve hours from now. And then try every subsequent hour.”
“I will do as you say.” Astrid spoke in a low, firm voice. She was the Council member Wren knew the least, but Wren had no doubt she was as brave and focused as the rest of them. She would need those qualities. Astrid was the only Council member who was staying behind to keep things running at the Crooked House.
“We will be able to travel the aurora tonight and then will return on a subsequent night. So look for us here each morning at dawn,” Cole said, skimming over some papers Astrid had handed to him. “If anything goes amiss . . .” He paused, one hand hovering over the paper. “You know what to do.”
Wren swallowed hard at those words. If anything goes amiss! The last time she had flown the aurora she had been so intent on stopping Jack she hadn’t thought of the danger. But now it hit her full force. She was about to fly through outer space. To an unknown galaxy. In a spaceship that looked like it belonged on the high seas of the Caribbean. The wonder of what it meant to be a Fiddler hit her anew. She was going to be up there, among the stars she had studied for so long, warping through space like her favorite sci-fi characters.
“Feeling all right?” Mary said, coming up behind Wren and laying a hand on her shoulder.
“Never better,” Wren said with a grin. “When do we leave?”
“We should board now,” Mary said, giving her a warm look. “Your service to the Crooked House will not go unnoticed.” Near the ship, William, the third Council member who was traveling to the gateway, was conducting a
last-minute diagnostic. He tugged on cables and muttered to himself about sail circumference and properties of stardust energy, giving Wren a gruff nod as she followed Mary to the rope ladder looped near the bow. Mary carefully unwound it and began to climb, stopping only to flip open the hatch that led to the main body of the ship. Then she turned to Wren. “Welcome aboard.”
The airship seemed little bigger once they were inside. A polished ramp led up to the main deck, which was built of what looked like weathered wood planks, strengthening Wren’s impression of an old-fashioned pirate ship. On the upper level, a control panel was situated alongside a multigeared wheel connected by thin ropes to the sails. Dials and pressure readers encircled this, and a familiar-looking star map was pinned under a protective plastic cover. The sails themselves seemed to be made of canvas, but the blue-black glimmer of their stardust coating revealed that they weren’t ordinary sails at all. Below stairs there was a small galley, a cramped captain’s cabin with a seating area arranged around a table filled with books and maps, and a collection of small cabins with bunks for sleeping and even smaller closets laden with supplies.
Mary showed Wren to one of the cabins. “Make yourself comfortable, dear,” she said, consulting the small hourglass that always hung at her waist. “Departure time in a quarter of an hour. I’ll be in the captain’s cabin if you need anything.” Once Mary had left, Wren explored her cabin. There was a snug bed that fit the length of the room, and opposite that was a rather large window shaped like an octagon. Wren opened the plated shutter, revealing a breathtaking view of the night sky. The stars were brilliant, beckoning her closer with their hazy flickering, and she could see the glow of the aurora growing brighter against the horizon. No sooner had she settled in than she heard a clanking sound and the deep rumble of Cole’s voice, blending with the higher nasal tones of William’s. Someone shouted muffled orders. Then the door to her cabin opened and closed before Wren could even respond with surprise.