Neverseen

by Shannon Messenger

  “Congealed selkie skin,” Mr. Forkle said. “I’ve just signaled the dwarves below to take out the slice I sent them. A tredgeon will soon find the smell irresistible and create our tunnel.”

  Sophie had no idea what a tredgeon was, but she had a feeling it was better not to ask. Instead she said, “Does that mean the dwarves are working with us again?”

  “A handful of them, yes. And they are incredibly generous to do so considering Yegor passed away yesterday.”

  Sophie’s heart felt like it had been dunked in ice water. “He was the dwarf injured on Everest, wasn’t he?”

  Mr. Forkle nodded.

  The fury made Sophie shake—or she thought that was the reason, until she realized the ground was shaking as well. Seconds later she noticed a giant bump racing toward them, but when she flinched back, Mr. Forkle told her, “Remain still. And make no sound.”

  He tossed the selkie skin to the center of their small space, just as a huge iridescent claw popped out of the sand. A second claw followed, along with way too many squirming legs and antennae and some sort of giant glowing opalescent shell.

  The tredgeon gobbled up the selkie skin and burrowed back into the sand, leaving a gaping tunnel.

  “Our path awaits,” Mr. Forkle said.

  “Isn’t that thing still down there?” Sophie whispered.

  “Probably. But it’s perfectly harmless.”

  “It didn’t look harmless.” In fact, Sophie was pretty sure those claws would feature prominently in her nightmares.

  Still, she followed Mr. Forkle into the tunnel. Every shift of the sand made her jump, anticipating a tredgeon attack.

  “Easy, Foster,” Keefe told her, offering her his hand.

  She took it. “You’re shaking. . . .”

  “Uh, yeah. Giant claws could come popping out of the sand any second!”

  “Honestly, have you two never seen a sand crab before?” Mr. Forkle asked.

  “Teeny tiny ones I caught in the waves when my parents took me to the beach,” Sophie said. “Is that what those things look like when they’re bigger?”

  She scratched her arms, feeling like the time she’d seen a butterfly under a microscope and deeply regretted ever letting them land on her fingers.

  “Actually, tredgeons are much prettier,” Mr. Forkle promised. “The dwarves esteem tredgeon carapace above any gem. King Enki’s crown is carved from a single piece.”

  “That’s . . . super gross,” Keefe said.

  Mr. Forkle ignored him and they moved in silence, until the tunnel brightened with flickering blue light.

  “Is everyone ready?” Mr. Forkle asked.

  Keefe flipped up his hood. “Bring it on.”

  Their plan was simple: pretend to break into the chamber, and hope Gethen believed he was being rescued. Mr. Forkle had already alerted the guards so they’d know to play along.

  “There it is,” Mr. Forkle whispered as a round door came into view. It looked like a giant abalone shell with swirling blotches of blue, green, and silver.

  Keefe moved to the lead.

  “Remember, if at any point you need to abort, cry swan song and our guards will get us out,” Mr. Forkle told him.

  “I can handle it,” Keefe promised.

  Sophie hoped that was true. The warning Mr. Forkle had given Keefe a few days earlier kept echoing through her head.

  One should never rely on their enemies to give them hope.

  “Here goes nothing,” Keefe whispered, then shouted “NOW!” and rammed his shoulder against the abalone shell, slamming the door open.

  The next few minutes were filled with more screams and bangs and crashes than a summer blockbuster movie. The dwarven guards made an excellent show of resisting before collapsing to the ground with defeated groans. Keefe shouted orders in his mother’s voice and threw open another abalone door, revealing a thick net of dried kelp.

  Sophie backed away as Mr. Forkle shattered his balefire crystal against the crackly leaves. Blue sparks showered the kindling, filling the cavern with thick, salty smoke. The fire burned hot and fast, and then it was gone. As the smoke cleared, Sophie got her first glimpse of Gethen hunched against the wall, bound, gagged, and blindfolded. His black Neverseen cloak was gone, revealing a wrinkled shirt and military-style vest. Yet he still bore the Neverseen symbol on a wide black band tied around his bicep.

  “Gethen, wake up!” Keefe-as-Lady-Gisela shouted. “Time to go—someone untie him.”

  This was the trickiest part—the moment where everything could unravel.

  Gethen had likely been trained to wait for some sort of code word in case of traps like this. And they were hoping all the excitement would have him thinking about the word. Sophie and Keefe needed to amp up the charade while Mr. Forkle plucked the code word from his mind.

  Keefe shouted more commands in his mother’s voice, and Sophie set to work removing Gethen’s gag. The fabric was soaked with drool, and Sophie felt her stomach lurch as the slimy moisture coated her fingers. She wiped them on his wrist bonds as she removed those next, her eyes fixating on the crescent-shaped scar on Gethen’s hand. The mark had been a present from the dog Gethen used the first time he tried to kidnap her, and it had faded since the last time Sophie saw it.

  Why did he get to heal, when the hurt he’d caused would never go away?

  She was so focused on the scar, she hadn’t noticed that Keefe had come up beside her. So she jumped when he shouted, in Lady Gisela’s voice, “Polaris!”

  Mr. Forkle nodded at Sophie, confirming that was a word he’d found in Gethen’s mind.

  “Polaris,” Keefe repeated. When Gethen didn’t stir, he slapped Gethen’s face. “Didn’t you hear me? I said Polaris!”

  Keefe went to hit Gethen again, but Sophie grabbed his wrist and pointed to Gethen’s hand, where two fingers had begun to twitch.

  “That’s right,” Keefe said in his mother’s voice. “Wake up, we have to get out of here.”

  Gethen moaned and thrashed, knocking off his blindfold.

  Sophie had about three seconds to celebrate their victory. Then Gethen’s lips cracked with a smile as his eyes settled on her. “Sophie Foster. Just who I wanted to see.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  YOU DIDN’T HONESTLY think you could fool me, did you?” Gethen asked, laughing as Mr. Forkle scrambled to pull Sophie away from him. “Apparently you did. That’s hilarious.”

  He tossed his blond hair out of his face, revealing a black eye from where Sophie had Sucker Punched him during his capture. His nose also looked swollen and crooked. Sophie hoped it was broken.

  Her fingers curled into a fist—ready to pummel him again—when he told her, “Thank you for untying my hands. I probably should’ve waited until you’d untied my feet, too.”

  “There’s no way you can escape,” Mr. Forkle said, motioning to the fire-scarred doorway. Half a dozen dwarves stood in a tight line with melders trained on Gethen’s head.

  “Do I look like I’m trying to leave?” Gethen asked. “I honestly haven’t minded my visit here. I do my best thinking when I can tuck my consciousness away. I only came back because I couldn’t pass up a chance to chat with Miss Foster. Plus, I couldn’t take another second of your charade.” He turned to Keefe. “Your mother will laugh when she hears about your performance just now—though clearly some of her preparation has taken hold.”

  “Preparation for what?” Sophie demanded.

  Gethen’s smile dripped with ice. “Can’t ruin the surprise. He’ll find out soon enough.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think I will, seeing as how my mom is dead.”

  Sophie was stunned at how calmly Keefe delivered the news—almost as stunned as Gethen was to hear it.

  “Another part of the trick?” Gethen asked.

  Keefe leaned closer. “You tell me. Some gnomes saw her all cut up and bleeding and being dragged into the mountains near the Lake of Blood. We’re assuming the ogres had her killed because she let you get captured.”
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  “That does sound like something King Dimitar would do,” Gethen said quietly.

  “You really think Lady Gisela is . . . ?” Sophie couldn’t say the last word.

  Gethen stared at the ceiling. “How would I know? I’ve spent the last days locked away in my own mind. I told you I’d been trained for this.” He turned to Mr. Forkle. “I feel you poking around, by the way. Your telepathy isn’t nearly as clever as you think. Hers is, of course.” He winked his unbruised eye at Sophie. “Too bad she doesn’t know how to use it.”

  “I know plenty,” Sophie snapped.

  “STOP!” Mr. Forkle grabbed Sophie by her shoulders. “Do not—under any circumstances—attempt to read his mind. Do you understand me?”

  “Forkle’s right. I can feel too much hope coming off him.” Keefe slammed Gethen into the wall and pinned him by his neck. “What were you planning to do to her?”

  Gethen wheezed for breath.

  “Let him go,” Mr. Forkle ordered.

  Keefe hesitated before he dropped him. Gethen doubled over, clutching his throat as he hacked and coughed.

  “You’d make this a lot easier on yourself if you’d just answer our questions,” Sophie told him. “Tell us what the Neverseen were doing in Brackendale.”

  “Brackendale?” Gethen asked.

  “Don’t play dumb. We found your stupid force field around the tree,” Keefe snapped.

  Gethen’s brows shot up. “That is . . . unexpected.”

  “We also met one of your buddies,” Sophie added. “He thought he was so special with his Psionipath tricks.”

  “He is special,” Gethen said. “I recruited him myself.”

  “But he’s not supposed to be taking action yet,” Mr. Forkle said. “Is he?”

  Gethen’s eyes narrowed. “Very good. Your pathetic telepathy scraped out one secret—a worthless one you already know most of. Yes, we have many timelines. And yes, it looks like one has changed. All that means is everyone’s roles will soon be much clearer.”

  “Why are you looking at me?” Keefe asked, backing up a step.

  “Why do you sound so afraid?” Gethen countered. “Wouldn’t it be nice to finally feel useful—not that you haven’t had your moments. But someday you’ll be more than just the wannabe rebel. Once you stop trying to impress the Black Swan’s little doll.”

  “SHUT UP!” Keefe shouted.

  “Oh, come on. Haven’t you always wanted to hear that someone believes in you?” Gethen asked. “We do. Or rather, your mother convinced us that we should.”

  “Maybe we should go,” Sophie said when she noticed how hard Keefe was shaking.

  “Yes, I think that’s a good idea,” Mr. Forkle agreed.

  “Not yet,” Keefe said, stalking closer to Gethen. “How long have you known my mother?”

  “She joined us not long after she got pregnant with you. Puts things in perspective, doesn’t it? All the lies you believed. All the clues you missed. And now she could very well be gone and you’ll never get to know why. Unless I tell you.”

  “You’re a monster,” Sophie growled.

  “Said the living lab experiment. Tell me, did he spark your life and then freeze you and keep tweaking?”

  “Of course not!” Mr. Forkle turned to Sophie. “Any tweaks I made to your DNA were done before your inception. I implanted your embryo immediately.”

  “Okay,” Sophie said, not sure why he seemed so upset by the idea. Humans froze embryos all the time. And either way, she was still an experiment.

  But for the first time, she didn’t care.

  She stalked closer. “If whatever they did to me makes it so I can stop you, it’s worth it.”

  “You may inconvenience us occasionally,” he sneered. “But you will never stop us.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Mr. Forkle told him. “She’s done an excellent job keeping you distracted. And now I’ve found the information we came for. Looks like the next stage of your timeline will be in Merrowmarsh.”

  Gethen’s jaw dropped.

  “I can divide my consciousness,” Mr. Forkle said with a smile. “One part of my mind was being rather obvious while the other slipped past and dug out what I needed. Clever enough for you?”

  “It’d be more clever if you had any chance of stopping what’s happening.”

  “There’s always a way,” Mr. Forkle said, dusting off his hands. “Oh, and we’ll also be removing that bludgeblot from your nails so we won’t have to worry about your friends tracking you.”

  Gethen snorted. “There’s no way to remove bludgeblot—that’s why the ogres use it. Burned like the sun when they painted it on.”

  “Well then. I guess we’ll just have to remove your nails entirely. Our Froster will be by soon to freeze them off. So I’d recommend you go back to that place you’ve been hiding and hope your pain receptors stop working.”

  Gethen shouted threats as they left, but the warnings were as empty as his sandy cell.

  His final words to Keefe were the only ones with any impact.

  “You’re choosing the wrong side, boy. You’ll regret it when you see your mother’s vision realized. But then it’ll be too late.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  YOU GUYS DON’T look so good,” Dex said as Sophie and Keefe stumbled back to the girls’ main room. “What happened?”

  Sophie didn’t know where to begin as she collapsed into the nearest chair. Keefe flopped onto the ottoman next to her and stared at the ceiling.

  They’d had to use light from Marquiseire to leap home, and the unmapped star’s glow felt like getting sliced and diced by a shattered disco ball. But Sophie’s unease had much more to do with the fact that Calla and Blur were on their way to Merrowmarsh—another Neutral Territory—to investigate, while Mr. Forkle had left to get Squall so she could freeze off Gethen’s fingernails.

  The latter task haunted Sophie more than the first, making the black swan pendant around her neck grow a million pounds heavier. She knew they had to stop the Neverseen from finding Gethen, but . . . wasn’t what they were doing to him torture?

  Della crouched in front of Sophie and turned Sophie’s face from side to side, then squeezed Sophie’s cheeks, giving her a fish face.

  “What are you doing?” Sophie asked—though it came out more like “Wharyoooing?”

  “Attempting to fill in for Elwin. He gave me a Sophie Survival Kit, as well as a separate list called Crazy Messes That Sophie Will Find A Way To Get Herself Into.”

  Sophie sighed as Della fished a huge collection of crumpled papers from her pocket, each covered in Elwin’s messy writing.

  “Here it is,” she said after flipping through several. “Light poisoning. Symptoms include fatigue, severe dehydration, bluish tint to the gums, and glints of sparkle in the irises.”

  “Poisoning?” Sophie repeated. “And wait—what about my irises?”

  “It means your body re-formed with light particles still in it. Not surprising considering you were leaping with the unmapped stars.” Della handed Sophie a mirror. “See what I mean?”

  “Great. My eyes look like alicorn poop.”

  Della laughed. “It is a strange effect, I’ll admit. Even stranger how it makes Keefe look like a Vacker.”

  Della was right. The shimmer in Keefe’s eyes made them look teal for some reason.

  “Always wanted to be part of the family,” Keefe mumbled. The sadness in his voice broke Sophie’s heart.

  “Are you okay?” she whispered.

  Keefe shrugged and scooted away from her.

  “You’ll both feel better once you take Elwin’s remedy.” Della opened a huge medicine cabinet—which Sophie had thought was just a big shrubbery—and studied the shelves of small glass vials. There were elixirs, balms, and poultices in every color. Della handed them each a tarlike vial and one that looked a lot like snot.

  Sophie uncorked the black one and took a whiff. “Ugh, this smells like Iggy burp.”

  “Here,” Della said,
giving them each a bottle of Youth. “Wash it down with this. You need it for the dehydration, anyway.”

  The slightly sweet water helped a little. But Sophie could still taste the burpy medicine even after she’d swallowed. And the snotty elixir tasted like a bug smoothie.

  “So are you guys ever going to tell us what happened?” Biana asked. “Because I think Dex is going to explode if you don’t.”

  “Hey, don’t put it all on me,” Dex argued. “If Biana twists her hands any tighter, she’s going to pull off one of her fingers.”

  Biana blushed. “I guess we’re all a little worried.”

  Sophie turned to Keefe. “Do you want to tell them?”

  He shook his head. “You’ll do a better job.”

  Sophie doubted that, but she did her best to sum up everything Gethen had said. Every word seemed to make Keefe slouch smaller.

  “You know he was just saying that stuff to get in your head, right?” Fitz asked him.

  “Well, mission accomplished.” Keefe rubbed his temples so hard, he left red marks on his forehead. “I mean . . . according to him, she was in the Neverseen my entire life. That means every memory I have of her is a lie. Every. Single. One!”

  Della wrapped an arm around him. “I know it’s hard, Keefe—”

  “Do you? Because I can’t imagine any of the perfect Vackers being longtime traitors.”

  The silence felt painful.

  “Sorry,” Keefe mumbled. “It’s not your fault she’s evil. And don’t try to defend her—there’s no debating it anymore. I mean, don’t you realize what this means?” His eyes darted to Sophie. “My mom was probably part of everything that went down with Jolie.”

  The words were a punch to the gut, and Sophie knew Keefe could tell. Jolie’s journal had mentioned a woman communicating with her when the Neverseen tried to recruit her. She’d also mentioned a woman being there the night the Neverseen tried to force her to set fire to a human nuclear power plant. Either could’ve been Lady Gisela—or both.

  “Do you have any theories for the ‘vision’ your mom had for the future?” Sophie asked. “Or what this timeline is with the Neutral Territories?”