by P. D. Kalnay
“Incredibly valuable. The wyspire is worth many times its weight in gold. I’m not sure if anything is more inherently valuable.”
“Not even the Blood of the World Tree?”
Ivy’s head spun from the horizon. She stared at me, hard.
“How do you know of that? Did you learn about it from one of your grandmother’s books?”
“Not exactly,” I said. “I sort of discovered it on my own.”
“Nothing is more valuable than the Blood of the World Tree. I wish to hear how you discovered it.”
Ivy was looking at me as though she was trying to see the back of my head—through the front. I spent the next while telling her how I’d found the solidified Blood in the basement of Glastonbury Manor, and what I’d done with it. By the end, she had one hand on her necklace and her mouth was hanging open.
“You all right?” I asked.
Gran and Mr. Ryan had been surprised too, but I’d largely forgotten about the Blood, not having any more available.
“Jack, I’m the granddaughter of the King and Queen of the one of the Great Houses. I’ve never seen a drop of the Blood. I’m not sure either of my parents has either, and they are old. The things you made, the power of this necklace…”
She fell silent and shook her head.
“I didn’t know,” I said. “I just wanted to make you something nice.”
Ivy laughed, somewhat hysterically.
“Nice,” was all she said, when her laugher came to an end. Then she returned to staring off into space.
Chapter 5 – Burning Down the House
My original plan, to leave our loot at the bottom of the stairs overnight, was spoiled my preternatural knowledge of an impending thunderstorm. The cask with the cakes wasn’t properly closed, and the sacks of what Ivy had described as ‘something like flour’ didn’t look waterproof. Ivy was brooding on the balcony, and the only available dinner was the triangular cakes. I climbed down and up the stairs until the cart was empty. I could have left the rope, but by then I figured it was only one more trip.
When I came back to our apartment, I discovered that Ivy hadn’t been idle. She’d baked small loaves of bread from the ‘flour’, and produced two bowls of mixed-sprout salad from the seeds, all while I’d made the last trips. We ate our dinner on the balcony. The loaves were tasty, and the salad was tangy and refreshing. I was tired and hungry, so half of my meal was gone before an obvious question occurred.
“How did you bake these?” I waved the heel of a little loaf at her.
“Two showed me how to use the ovens. They gather heat from the mountain if you ask them to.”
I’d have to check that out later. I raised my goblet of water, “And this?”
“Reservoirs that gather rainwater are cut into the mountain above and piped to the kitchen.”
That was nice. It would save on hauling water up those stupid steps. It was then that I realised I’d been less thirsty and less hungry since my transformation.
“Do fae need less food than humans?”
“Less food, less often,” Ivy said. “But we require other forms of sustenance in addition to food.”
“What kinds of sustenance?”
“It varies depending on one’s gifts and power. Those who are weakest are sustained mainly by food and drink alone. Those who are strongest must draw from the elements to sustain themselves. These are things children know before they take their first steps.”
She didn’t say it unkindly.
“How do you draw from the elements?”
“That’s like asking how to breathe or how to make your heart beat. You’ve been doing it since yesterday. Remember, I can see your aura.”
“What does it look like?”
I sensed all kinds of things now. Many of those things remained unsolved mysteries, but others weren’t. I could point to One, Two, and Three with my eyes closed. Same went for my knife and my shield, leaned up against the wall in my room. The necklace and hair clips were in the same category. As I’d lain in bed, the night before, I’d felt the forge deep below the island, and, in a vaguer sort of way, the winds swirling up above. I felt Ivy’s presence if she was nearby, but I’d have bet my life that sensation resulted from the vine tattooed on my wrist. In spite of those things, seeing auras wasn’t a part of my skillset.
“Your aura is golden,” Ivy said, “and fiery, and cold, but more than anything—golden.”
“Is that… good?”
Ivy laughed. Her laughter was nice to hear, even if it came at my expense.
“There’s no good or bad. An aura is what it is. Your aura is unprecedented, so I wouldn’t be able to make a comparison, anyway.”
“Well, you said everyone is different, so it would be unprecedented.”
“That isn’t what I meant. Everyone’s aura is different, the same way every fae is different. They each have a different face, different voice, and a different personality…”
“But?”
“But they have more in common than is different. Two eyes, a nose, a mouth, two arms, two legs. Men and women have differences that make them easy to distinguish up close. From a distance you can tell that they’re fae even when you can’t see the specifics. The same rules apply to the other peoples and creatures of this world, and their auras.”
“What’s so special about my aura then?”
“I can’t tell what you are,” Ivy whispered. Her hand strayed to the necklace. “Before you gave me this, I saw that you glowed. Now that I am so much more, I can see more…”
“I just meant it to be a gift,” I said for the second time that day. “The hair clips too.”
“I know, Jack.” Ivy smiled. “Your intentions are woven as deeply as the enchantments. I’ll do my best to be worthy of your gifts, and not to abuse this power.”
That’s a little melodramatic, I thought. Great power… great responsibility.
“OK, Spiderman,” I said, with a snicker.
Ivy punched my shoulder.
“It’s no joke. With this necklace, I could take your grandmother’s place.”
“Her place as what?”
“The most frightening woman in the history of our people. My nurses used her name to terrify me into behaving myself. It’s not an uncommon practice.”
“Gran is the fae boogeyman?”
“Bogaemaen are hideous creatures, but your grandmother would, as you are fond of saying, eat them for breakfast. Mabalain Stormborn Aerantial is the boogeyman of much of the First World.”
Boogeymen were real? I’d have to ask about that later. Ivy continued.
“Two of history’s biggest mysteries, are why your grandmother abdicated her throne, and whether she will one day return for it.”
Huh, I actually had the answers for a change.
“What’s that look for?” Ivy asked.
I couldn’t resist grinning.
“I know something you don’t know.”
***
Explaining about Gran, her reasons for living on Earth, and her hopes that I’d be able to facilitate Mr. Ryan’s triumphant return, took a while. Ivy had a lot of other questions concerning what she’d missed by not returning to Glastonbury Manor. She listened as I spoke of the things I’d made, Sir Andriel’s visit, and Mr. Smith’s death. What surprised her most were Gran’s seemingly altruistic reasons for travelling to Earth in the first place, and the existence of a World Tree portal deep below us.
“I’ve never heard of this society your grandmother is a member of,” Ivy said.
“She said it was a secret society and not to tell anyone.”
“You just told me about it!”
I shrugged.
“We decided on no secrets, before Gran told me, so…”
“Jack,” Ivy said it like a reprimand, but I could tell my words had pleased her.
“You’ve heard about the rest of it though, right?”
“Which part?”
“The titans, and the darkness, and thi
s Halros the–”
A tiny hand smacked me on the mouth and stayed there, blocking it.
“Don’t say his name! You’re an idiot.” That one sounded sincere. “Speaking the Destroyer’s name aloud! Didn’t your grandmother warn you?”
I couldn’t answer. Ivy pulled her hand back.
“She did, but how can the guy hear me across the island, let alone two worlds away? You can’t live your life afraid of superstitions.”
Ivy studied my face intently before asking her question.
“What’s a superstition?”
I gave her a long list of examples of the ridiculous things people believed in, from lucky numbers, to the dangers of breaking mirrors and everything in between. Ivy looked horrified by the time I finished my rant.
“You’re like a toddler carrying a torch through a field of dry grass,” she said. “I wish to sleep now.”
The sky took that moment to fill itself with lightning and immediately followed that up with thunder. Thick drops of rain pelted us. Ivy was upset, so I went back to my room without poking the bear.
***
By morning the storm had passed, and Ivy’s anger seemed to have blown away with it. At the bottom of the front steps, I tentatively returned to the evening’s conversation.
“How does someone hear their name from far away?” I asked. “Is it a magic First World thing?”
“Yes and no. A true name is a part of a person, like an arm or a leg. How big a part, depends on the person. Its power depends on the speaker and the one they name.”
“I say your name all the time, and you say mine…”
“Our names form little of our beings—of who we are. These are complex matters, but I’ll do my best to explain. A powerful enchanter might be able to affect us with only the knowledge of our names. I say might because our names carry small weight. Some beings consist of little more than their name. Learning that name gives almost anyone power over them, and so they guard their names jealously. A name may grow over time, through fame or worship, becoming a force unto itself or a tangible extension of the one named.”
We walked as she talked, with me towing the empty cart. Ivy looked over to see if I was paying attention. I was riveted. Satisfied, she continued the lecture.
“The titans predated this world we walk on and the Tree itself. Their names had time to grow. The Destroyer was worshiped by many, and, if the stories are true, some worshippers remain, scattered across the worlds. Bound above the Third World, he may be unable to answer his name, but should a person of sufficient power speak it, he can likely hear them. Drawing the attention of such a being is a foolhardy and unnecessary risk. Do you understand?”
“Kind of,” I said.
I was still unclear on what that risk might be. Ivy knew a surprising amount about that stuff, a thought which must have shown on my face.
“Jack?”
“You know a lot.” Damn, I should have tried to sound less surprised.
Ivy gave me a flat stare.
“What?”
“I was deciding whether to hit you.”
“Sorry.” Time to change the topic. “I was thinking we should destroy the wyspire”
Ivy stopped short.
“That warehouse is worth a fortune,” she said slowly, studying my face. “We might use it to bargain for many things.”
I gave my head a shake, unsure I’d heard her correctly. A horrible little doubt, that maybe I didn’t know her as well as I thought I did, crept into my heart.
“Are you crazy? You said it will addict and kill people, ruining countless lives!”
“I love you, Jack, even if you are an idiot.”
What?
She started off again down the road.
“So you do want to destroy it?”
“Yes. Few of our people would surrender the power that treasure represents–”
“Maybe you should have a little more faith,” I said. “What does the wyspire do exactly?”
“It brings immeasurable joy, for a time.”
“And then?”
“The happiness disappears, along with whatever happiness the user originally felt. The desire to return to bliss, leads to desperation to obtain more. If none can be found, those addicted end their lives.”
“All of them? Don’t some recover?”
“No. All who taste of the wyspire find despair in its absence. It’s the pure joy that every wysp feels: stolen, packaged, and sold.”
“You said the wysps die after?”
“Yes, as with those who use the wyspire, they take their own lives. Without a shred of joy or hope, a wysp will fly, like a moth, into the nearest flame. Those who make the wyspire keep a fire burning nearby. It’s very efficient.”
“Well, we may not be able save those wysps, but we can stop what’s here from getting out into the world. We can also stop any more from coming through Knight’s Haven. I’m sure the Houses will be pissed-off already about us shutting the gates.”
“Furious,” Ivy agreed.
“I’m OK with that.”
“Me too.”
Another thought occurred.
“Should we keep the wyspire for a while—to use as evidence?”
“Who would we show it to? Our people have no fine reputation to ruin.” She paused for a moment. “Perhaps, keeping a single box isn’t a bad idea. If we require proof of the wrong doing, we can produce it. The workshop has repelled centuries of intruders. It will be safe enough there. We should dispose of the rest before any others arrive, to remove temptation.”
Ivy seemed cheered at the prospect of destroying the stash of contraband.
“Let’s go do it now,” I said. “We have all the time in the world to explore the warehouses.”
“We need to figure out how, first.”
“I’ve got an idea,” I said. “I only destroyed a small part of the protection around the warehouse.”
I wasn’t a hundred percent sure I could do it, but I thought it likely.
***
A few of the small crates had toppled over inside the little warehouse, and I figured I must have unbalanced the pile in my haste to leave the day before. Careful not to touch any of the loose wyspire spread across the floor, I took a single, sealed crate and placed it on the cart. Then I towed the cart a long way back and told Ivy and the others to await me there. Once back in front of the doors, I calmed my mind and steadied my breathing. I don’t think the breathing actually did anything, but it helped me focus. The symbols around the warehouse were still there, but they were now dormant and loose like the frayed ends of a cut rope. I sensed that each had retained the power to gather and amplify heat from deep below. All they needed was a something to trigger them and to direct that heat. Given time to figure it out, I thought I could have replaced the damaged parts of the whole and channelled that energy inward in a mighty and cohesive blaze, creating a fire that would have melted stone and left no more than a scar where the building stood. That would’ve been cool, but maybe overkill for burning wooden boxes.
One-by-one, I ignited the sets of symbols with my thoughts and directed the heat inside. It wasn’t much different from lighting the candle in Gran’s sitting room, except the destruction that followed was intentional and larger in scale. When the contents of the warehouse were alight in dozens of places, I moved back to join my companions across the street. The little warehouse was burning merrily. By the time I looked back, tongues of multi-coloured flame poked through holes where the roof had collapsed. Not as cool as a hundred foot high pillar of flame, but it’d do the job.
“Thank you, Jack.” Ivy didn’t look away from the fire.
“You don’t have to thank me for doing the right thing,” I said. “Are you impressed with my fire starting skills?”
“The weakest petrathen can start a fire,” Ivy said distractedly.
I felt more heat than a regular fire should have produced from inside the warehouse. It was another case of not knowing how I knew; o
nly knowing that I did know. Freaky fairy instinct, I guess. Something bigger was building up inside.
“Ivy.”
“Yes?”
“We should run now.”
I grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled Ivy down the street. Normally, her shorter legs wouldn’t have been able to keep pace, but thanks to my bed-sheet-with-a-head-hole-cut-out toga, limiting my stride, it wasn’t a problem. We made it half a city block before the explosion came. I felt both the heat and the shockwave with my second sight, wrapping Ivy in my arms and pulling her to the ground before it arrived. Bits of rock fell around us, but luckily only a few small flakes hit my back. When the smoke cleared, I pulled Ivy back up.
“You never said wyspire was explosive,” I said.
“I doubt anyone ever burned it before. Now we know.”
I brushed ash from Ivy’s hair.
“Yeah, I guess we do.”
One, Two, and Three were climbing to their little feet. They looked undamaged, and we met them on the way back. The handcart had been knocked over on its side, and the last box of wyspire was on the road; neither was broken.
“I guess we should look on the western side now,” I said.
“What about the fire?” Ivy asked.
Small fires burned in and around the remains of the warehouse.
“This place is made of stone, and it’s been lit on fire a zillion times before. We can leave it.”
Chapter 6 – Old Junk
The warehouses on the western side were mostly picked clean, with a few notable exceptions. We found a wide variety of seeds that Ivy said would come in handy, crates of ornately decorated vases which probably wouldn’t, and assorted odds and ends I wasn’t sure about, even after Ivy told me what they were. The First World was proving to be a bizarre combination of ordinary and alien. As far as people stranded on an island went, Ivy and I were doing well. No one was coming to rescue us, but I felt as if I had all the things I wanted on Knight’s Haven already, minus more varieties of food. I told Ivy that as we climbed the steep, winding roads.
“There are many crops in the closest fields,” Ivy said. She sounded a little tired. “Our people don’t stint themselves for the years they live here. Most fruits have been harvested, but the plants remain. Since Sirean Silver Mantle didn’t burn the fields, I’ll be able to restore them. Food will be spoiling on the vine, branch, and ground shortly.”