by J. A. White
She approached the nearest block for a closer look and jumped back in surprise.
A man had been entombed inside like a fly stuck in amber. He retained the general appearance of a living person, but his preserved face was doughy, as though the bones beneath his skin had dissolved long ago. Kara imagined that the block was the only thing keeping him together, and that if she cracked it open the corpse would pour to the ground in a puddle of decayed flesh and muscle.
“What is it?” Taff asked.
“Don’t get any closer,” Lucas said, waving him away. He had taken a glimpse inside a different block and was bent over on his knees, his face ashen. “You don’t need to see this.”
Kara glimpsed inside a few more blocks and saw much of the same. The final moments of these people had not been peaceful. A soldier with his shield raised. A little boy covering his face with two hands. A young woman, either mad or oblivious, caught in midlaugh.
It was while Kara was looking at this last one that Taff, his curiosity finally getting the best of him, snuck up behind her and took a peek. He immediately turned away and buried his face in Kara’s cloak. It wasn’t often that he reacted so strongly to the horrors they faced on an all-too-frequent basis, and this need for comfort caught her by surprise.
“Sorry,” he said. “Monsters are one thing, but these people—that’s what death really looks like. Faces blank and everything gone inside. It just hit me that someday . . . someday soon . . .”
He’s thinking about what’s going to happen when Querin returns for him.
She rubbed his back gently.
“I won’t let him take you,” Kara said. “Not now. Not ever.”
“I know,” he said, straightening. He drew the magic slingshot from his belt. “I’m fine now.”
Lucas, understanding that the two siblings needed a private moment, had strayed to another corner of the room. He called back to them now.
“The gouges on the floor end in this room,” he said. “These people were all over the castle when Evangeline cast the spell that encased them in these blocks. It wasn’t until afterward that something dragged them all here.”
“It must have been the faenix,” Kara said. “But why?”
Taff gasped.
“Look!” he said, clutching Kara’s arm. “Those two girls over there have been angled together so that one looks like she’s whispering in the other’s ear. And those soldiers—the one with the sword and the one with the shield—could be having a fight! These people haven’t just been dragged here. They’ve been arranged. Like toys.”
Now that this pattern had been pointed out to her, Kara could see that it was true. The blocks had been placed together in groups of two or more, giving the impression that people whose paths might have barely crossed in real life were eternally arguing or walking together or sitting down for a meal. Those who did not conveniently fit into any of these forced groups waited along the walls like lonely souls at a dance.
“These poor people,” Taff said. “Why would it treat them like this?”
“It’s a monster,” Lucas said. “It doesn’t know what compassion is. Otherwise why would it have made this”—he struggled to find the appropriate word—“graveyard?”
“You’re wrong,” Kara said. “A true monster only cares about feeding and killing. It wouldn’t go through all the trouble of moving these blocks at all. That requires a certain degree of thought. We’re missing something here.”
Kara felt like she had all the pieces to a puzzle but didn’t know how to configure them in a way that made sense. One creature with countless voices. Bodies arranged like toys. Guard the chest. Remain in the castle. The answer was so close. If she could just sit down and think about it for a few minutes she knew she could figure it out.
The faenix stumbled into the room.
No time, Kara thought.
It was a new version: much smaller, with yellow eyes that glowed in their sockets and skin the color of a plucked turkey. The faenix took a few tottering steps toward them and then stopped, hacking pathetically until it spit out a glob of green phlegm.
“How did it change again?” Lucas asked. “We didn’t kill it.”
“It kept hitting itself against the wall until it died,” Taff said. “That’s why it got quiet so suddenly.”
“Why would it do that?” Lucas asked.
“Because it needed to hatch again into a version small enough to fit through the archway,” Taff said.
“And the glowing eyes are so it could see in the dark,” Kara added. “That makes sense.” She watched the faenix fall to the ground and struggle to rise again. “But why does it seem so sick?”
“Maybe it’s getting weaker,” Lucas suggested, raising his bow. “Maybe it can only resurrect itself so many times. Let’s find out.”
“No!” Taff shouted.
He was too late. Lucas’s arrow hit its mark. The faenix fell.
“What?” Lucas asked.
“Now that it’s here it needs a more powerful body!” Taff exclaimed as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s why it made itself so weak—as soon as this version died, it could hatch into something stronger! You just gave it what it wanted! Look!”
Something was happening to the faenix’s body. The scales rose to the surface and fused together, forming a new egg that quickly swelled in size, knocking down many of the red tombs and blocking off the only exit from the room.
The shell split apart, revealing a new version of the faenix curled into a tight ball.
It rose and seemed like it would never stop rising, unfolding itself until its head was nearly as high as the ceiling. Its scales had been replaced by brown skin with the half-melted appearance of dried mud, and there were no eyes on its face—these could be found only at the ends of the dozens of tentacles trained on the children. It wants to make sure it doesn’t lose us this time, Kara thought. Reaching out with two long limbs, the faenix pressed its claws against the upper walls of the castle for balance and stared down at them. Past the tentacles, and well out of reach, Kara caught a tantalizing glimpse of the red chest in its pouch.
She felt Taff trembling next to her.
“What do we do?” he asked, frozen with fear.
“I’ll distract it,” Lucas said. “Look for a way out.”
He fired two quick arrows. They hit the faenix in the chest with a disheartening lack of sound and sunk harmlessly into its body.
A tentacle whipped around Lucas’s ankle and tossed him across the room like a child’s toy.
“Lucas!” Kara screamed. She ran toward him, but the faenix shuffled over to block her way. A tentacle wrapped itself around her neck and squeezed tight. Kara gasped for breath and found none.
Please, she said, reaching out with her mind. Don’t do this. We mean you no harm.
But it was like talking in a crowded street, her voice impossible to distinguish among the thousand others. There was no way for her to build the necessary connection to the faenix that her magic required.
The room began to grow hazy. Darkness tugged at her with greedy hands.
“Don’t move,” Taff exclaimed, placing his slingshot against the tentacle.
He pulled the sling back as far as it would go and released it.
Kara fell to the floor as the faenix wailed in pain, throwing all its tentacles high into the air and inadvertently punching through the ceiling. Glass and sand rained to the floor. Kara saw a man-size shard dropping toward her and rolled to her right just before it shattered against the stone. Broken slivers stung the back of her neck.
“Come on!” Taff shouted, pulling her up. The faenix, trying to escape this sudden onslaught of glass, had forgotten about them for a moment. It’s distracted, Kara thought. This is our chance. Only there was nowhere to run. The walls were made of stone and the faenix was still blocking the only exit. Maybe we can climb on its back and onto the roof? Kara thought. No, that won’t work, especially if Lucas is hurt.
&
nbsp; She pulled Taff behind a pair of the red blocks: a man caught in a half yawn listening to another man yakking away.
What do we do? What do we do?
Kara heard a dragging sound. She risked a peek around the corner of their hiding spot and saw the faenix wrapping its tentacles around the red blocks, setting the ones that had fallen upright again.
“What’s it doing?” Taff whispered.
“Oh!” Kara exclaimed, the fear leaving her body. “I understand now! Poor thing!”
I should have figured it out before, she thought. But I was too busy thinking about the grim. What I wanted. Not this pitiable creature.
Kara took a seat on the floor, her back pressed against the red block, and closed her eyes. She knew what the faenix wanted now. So lonely in this castle for all these years. It didn’t arrange those people to glorify death. It was lonely and wanted to feel like it was surrounded by talking, laughing, living. The dead were its only companions.
Kara remembered a simple dinner when she was four years old. Sitting on Father’s lap while Mother told a story to Aunt Abby and Constance Lamb. The laughter and candlelight and warmth. They were so involved in their conversation that Aunt Abby burned the cake, but they ate it all anyway, every bite. It was a memory that Kara treasured, but she reluctantly sacrificed it to build a mind-bridge and heard the faenix screech with surprise as she slipped inside its mind.
Tears came to Kara’s eyes as she felt the depths of its loneliness.
It’s not fair, she said. Minoth was cruel to abandon you here for so long. Leave us the chest and go. Explore the world! I release you from your duty.
Kara gifted other memories of friendship. At first the faenix seemed to be mollified, but gradually its anger rose. Kara’s memories were just a tease of companionship, like looking upon a crowded city from a locked tower.
What do you want? Kara thought.
MY OWN, the faenix replied.
I can’t do that. It’s beyond my powers.
MY OWN. OR YOU WILL STAY HERE. FOREVER.
“Kara,” Taff said, his voice strained. Her eyes were closed, so she couldn’t see the tentacle around his neck, but she sensed its presence. “I dropped my slingshot. I can’t—”
“Shh,” Kara said. “I won’t let it hurt you. Everything’s going to be all right.”
“I’m . . . glad,” Taff choked, “you’re so . . . confident.”
Kara took a deep breath to steady her nerves and began to create the faenix a companion. It was different than it had been with Topper. She had molded the yonstaff from her own imagination, but here the building materials could only be found within the faenix itself, chosen from a thousand voices longing to be freed. Kara set out her strongest memories of companionship like a trail of breadcrumbs, trying to lure one of these half lives to fruition, but they remained in place.
A regular memory won’t cut it, she thought. It has to be something more powerful than that. Life-altering.
She knew the perfect choice, but she hesitated, not wanting to sacrifice it.
Let it go. You have to.
Kara remembered what it had been like to hold her baby brother for the very first time: the warmth of his body, the trusting eyes looking up beneath the folds of the blanket, the joyous feeling that she would never be alone again. In some ways, it had been the day that she was born as well.
Kara released the memory.
One of the voices in the faenix leaped at it eagerly, and once the hook was bitten Kara pulled back with all her might, trying to reel the disembodied entity into the world. Just as it had with Topper, this great expenditure of magic attracted the mind leeches like bystanders to a blazing fire. They clung to the bridge between Kara and the faenix, sucking away at her past with voracious appetites. This time, however, Kara was ready.
Get off! she commanded, shaking the bridge.
The mind leeches dropped into the void, taking several irreplaceable moments of Kara’s childhood with them.
Something materialized in her arms.
It was no bigger than a dog but looked very much like the original faenix, with black-and-red scales and chicken legs. Its glossy eyes were the color of finished pinewood.
“Welcome to the world, little one,” Kara said.
The larger faenix, upon seeing the babe cradled in Kara’s arms, instantly released its hold on Taff and screeched with desperate longing. Its voice rang through Kara’s head: MINE! MINE!
Kara rose on aching limbs and faced the creature.
“I’ll trade you the child for the red chest,” Kara said. She held out the little creature, now nibbling playfully on her finger. “Besides, you’re going to need room in that pouch of yours for this one. A fair exchange, don’t you think?”
The faenix roared angrily, and a large pane of glass shook loose from the ceiling and shattered against the floor.
WE MUST PROTECT THE CHEST, a cloud of voices screamed at her.
“You long for the child in my arms more than anything,” Kara said sympathetically. “But that command has woven itself into the very fabric of your being. You are incapable of disobeying it.”
WE MUST PROTECT THE CHEST. And then, softer, with a hint of regret: WE CAN DO NOTHING ELSE.
“I understand,” Kara said. She smiled as an idea formed in her mind. “But perhaps we can come to a compromise.”
Kara told the faenix her plan, and the creature, after a long moment of indecision, agreed to it. After all, it would not technically be disobeying the order that Minoth had imprinted into its brain. That was all that mattered.
Reaching into its pouch, the faenix removed the chest and pounded it on the floor until the lid burst open. Sheaves of loose paper spilled across the floor. Taff set to gathering them.
The faenix slid the chest back in its pouch.
WE MUST PROTECT THE CHEST, it thought.
“You do that,” said Kara, smiling. “Never let it out of your sight.”
She placed the tiny creature on the floor and it crawled toward the faenix, sniffing its leg with curiosity. As Taff finished gathering the papers Kara found Lucas, who rose shakily to his feet but was able to walk on his own. The three children made their way out of the ballroom. Kara looked back one last time and saw the faenix cradling the newborn and clicking softly in its ear.
She hoped it was a lullaby.
The children did not feel safe spending the night so close to the accursed castle, and so they flew Rattle south for an hour and then made camp. Though the sun had barely slipped beneath its covers, the two boys fell quickly asleep. Kara watched them, and the persistent worries that shadowed her thoughts slipped away.
The night is warm. We are together. All is well.
Kara wished that she could fall asleep beneath this unexpected blanket of contentment, but there was something that she needed to do first.
She shifted her attention from the sleeping boys to the pages of the Vulkera. Taff had bound them together with a rope crossed and tied at the center, and Kara used this knot to lift them now, careful not to touch the actual pages. She dropped the entire thing close to the campfire, so she could gaze upon them in the best possible light. It landed on the sand with a soft thud.
Grace took a seat just behind her. Kara studied the girl’s face, wondering if she would revert to her old ways in the presence of such magical power. There was no possessiveness in the girl’s eyes, however—only intense curiosity.
“There are fewer pages than in our grimoire,” she said.
“Only sixteen,” Kara said. “Taff counted. And it wasn’t our grimoire. We don’t share anything, you and I.”
“If you say so,” Grace said. “Are you going to cast a spell?”
“It won’t work.”
“Why not? You can tear pages out of a grimoire and still use them. We’ve both done it.”
“If it were that easy, then this is the only grim that Rygoth would care about. The Vulkera won’t work again until it’s restored completely.” Kara st
udied Grace’s face suspiciously. “Why? You thinking of trying to cast a spell when I’m not paying attention?”
“How many times do I have to tell you? I’m done being a witch!” Grace placed her hands on her hips. “Sometimes I feel like you just don’t trust me! Really, Kara, what have I ever done to you?”
Kara was about to say something unladylike in response when the crack of a smile split Grace’s lips.
“You’re joking,” said Kara. “That’s funny.”
“I thought so.”
“Anyway, these pages are useless without the other three grims,” Kara said.
“So then why won’t you touch the pages?”
“Because I can hear them,” Kara said.
Grace slid closer, her curiosity aroused.
“Is it a Whisperer?” she asked.
For a few moments, while discussing the strange inner workings of magic, Kara had almost felt a kinship with Grace, their previous history forgotten. But this current turn in the conversation forced Kara to recall Grace’s job in the Well of Witches: to whisper in the ears of those caught in the thrall of the grimoire, tempting them to do harm.
Never forget who she is, Kara thought, on her guard again.
“It’s not a Whisperer,” Kara said. “It’s not trying to get me to cast a spell.”
“Then what do you hear?”
“I’m not really sure. Whatever it is, it sounds like it’s really far away. Like I’m standing on a mountain listening to something happening on the ground.
“Maybe you could hear it clearer if you actually touched a page,” Grace offered.
“This isn’t a normal grimoire. I don’t know what will happen.”
“You’re scared.”
Kara turned to Grace. “You don’t hear anything?”
“Nothing. Then again, I’m out of practice.”
Even though Grace had gotten rid of her grimoire, Kara still had trouble believing that she had renounced magic forever. If they were going to continue to travel together, she needed to put her doubts to rest once and for all.
“Here,” Kara said, picking up the bundle by the knot. “Maybe you’ll hear it too if you get close enough.”