Neverseen

by Shannon Messenger

  Councillor Emery closed his eyes to moderate the thoughts of the other Councillors, and Sophie bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.

  “What are your demands?” Councillor Emery finally asked.

  “Let us go!” Sophie said.

  “Yes, we figured that. What else?”

  “Full pardons for all of us, including Prentice!”

  Emery gritted his teeth. “That is not an option.”

  Sophie leaned toward the jagged beam of light.

  “Stop!” Bronte shouted. “Grant them the pardons! That cache must not fall into anyone else’s hands.”

  “So they break our laws with no consequences?” Emery asked.

  “Expel them from Foxfire,” Bronte suggested.

  Councillor Alina snorted. “That goes without saying! They need a proper punishment, not a slap on the wrist.”

  “Then send us to Exillium,” Sophie said, hardly believing the words as they came out of her mouth.

  Mr. Forkle couldn’t believe it either, and filled her mind with a plethora of objections. Oralie was shaking her head as well.

  But it would give them a chance to find out more about the Psionipaths who’d gone there.

  It was also too late. Councillor Emery accepted the deal.

  “What of their leaders?” Alina asked. “Surely we’re not letting them go.”

  Do not worry about us, Mr. Forkle transmitted to Sophie.

  But she wasn’t leaving anyone behind.

  “They’re coming with us,” she said, moving her foot closer to the light.

  Councillor Emery sighed. “Fine, we’ll grant a temporary reprieve—and resume our hunt tomorrow.”

  “And Prentice?” Granite asked. “He does not belong here.”

  Emery frowned at the bubble cage. “Rumor has it you’ve captured one of the Neverseen. We’d be willing to make an exchange.”

  “Deal,” Mr. Forkle jumped in. When he saw Sophie’s surprise, he transmitted, Prentice is more important than Gethen.

  “Very well,” Councillor Emery told them. “Bring your prisoner to Lumenaria at sunrise tomorrow for the trade. Are you done?”

  “What about Oralie?” Sophie asked.

  “I can handle myself,” Oralie promised.

  “She can,” Bronte agreed. “So hand over that cache, Miss Foster, and you may leave.”

  “The cache isn’t part of the deal,” Sophie said. “Otherwise how do I know you won’t betray us tomorrow?”

  When they started to argue she moved toward the light. “Does that mean you’d rather I take this to the goblins? Or maybe the gnomes?”

  The last word triggered the strongest reaction yet and left Councillor Emery waving his arms for silence.

  “If you leave here with that cache, Miss Foster,” he warned, “you will be accountable for its protection. And should you fail, the consequences will be far worse than Exillium.”

  “I can handle it,” Sophie said.

  Emery glared at Oralie. “So be it. And you can find your own way out of Exile,” he told Mr. Forkle. “We’ll give you ten minutes, then the guards will restrain anyone in the halls.”

  “We’ll be gone in five,” Granite promised as the Councillors raised red crystals up to the light.

  Before they glittered away, Councillor Alina’s eyes met Sophie’s.

  “You’re forgetting that Exillium is for the Unworthy,” she said. “You’ve just banished yourself and your friends from the Lost Cities—permanently.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  PHYSIC IS TREATING Fitz right now,” Dex told everyone as they rushed into the boys’ tree house. He sat on the floor, his legs curled into his chest, staring at the flickering fire pit.

  “Can we see him?” Sophie asked.

  Dex shook his head. “She said I should stay out here because it was going to get messy.”

  “I’m his mother,” Della said. “I can handle messy.”

  “I can as well,” Mr. Forkle said, following Della down the hall.

  “Will you be okay?” Granite asked Sophie, Biana, and Keefe. “The rest of us should get back to the Lost Cities to avoid suspicion.”

  Sophie nodded, wishing she could leap away with them—but she was banished.

  She could never go home.

  Never see her family or friends again . . .

  She wanted to curl up in a ball on the floor—or at least pace anxiously back and forth like Keefe and Biana. But Dex’s eyes were rimmed with red, and tears stained his cheeks.

  “Hey,” she said, sitting beside him. “You okay?”

  Dex wiped his runny nose. “My invention caused all of this.”

  “No, that was the Council,” Sophie corrected. “They set the trap. And Fitz’s injury really was an accident.”

  “Still, if I hadn’t rushed to attack—”

  “You were trying to help,” Sophie told him. “No one blames you for that.”

  “I know my brother won’t,” Biana promised as she sat on Dex’s other side.

  Dex didn’t look convinced.

  “So what’s Physic like?” Keefe asked, sitting next to Sophie. “Did it seem like she knew what she was doing?”

  “I don’t know,” Dex mumbled. “Normally I’d think someone wearing a sparkly mask and calling themselves Physic was crazy. But it’s the Black Swan, so . . .”

  Sophie sighed. “She better be as good as Elwin.”

  “If she’s not, we’ll sneak into the Lost Cities and kidnap him,” Keefe promised. When she didn’t smile, he nudged her with his elbow. “Aw, don’t worry too much, Foster. Fitz didn’t look half as bad as you did during your last few brushes with death, and you’re still with us—though maybe you two could cool it with the almost dying thing, okay?”

  “I agree,” Mr. Forkle said, striding into the room. “Physic has things stabilized if you would like to see Mr. Vacker.”

  Sophie’s knees shook so hard Keefe had to steady her on her way to Fitz’s room.

  “Relax,” Keefe told her. “You’ll be back to Sophitz in no time. I bet . . .”

  His joke died on his tongue when they slipped through the doorway and caught their first glimpse of Fitz. He was shirtless and unconscious, his chest covered in a black spiderweb of veins. Della sat beside him, holding a silver compress against his forehead.

  “I killed Wonderboy,” Dex whispered, not helping things.

  Keefe tightened his hold on Sophie’s shoulders.

  “It looks worse than it is,” Physic promised, adjusting her mask, which looked Mardi-Gras style, with black swans painted around the eyes and purple jewels rimming the edges. The same purple jewels had been woven into her long, thin braids, and dotted along her dark skin. “I’ve already sealed the wound,” she added. “And I have the damaged tissue repairing. Now we just need to get the venom out of his system.”

  She fished through a golden trunk, pulling out handfuls of tiny bottles. “This will make for a pretty awful day,” she warned as she emptied a vial of dried leaves into her palm. “But I’m guessing that’s probably true already. Now, which one of you can help me?”

  “Foster volunteers!” Keefe said, then whispered in her ear, “You’ll feel better if you help.”

  “Ah, it’s the moonlark,” Physic said as Sophie stumbled forward. “Glad we get to meet—though I wish I weren’t stuck behind this mask. I’d tell you my real name, but then I’d face the wrath of that one.” She tilted her head toward Mr. Forkle, who did not look pleased. “See those serums I took out?” she asked, pointing to a cluster of vials on the bed. “Pop the lid on the purple one and hand it to me. Then uncap the green and blue and wait until I’m ready.”

  Sophie did as she instructed, and Physic smashed the herbs in her other hand until the leaves formed a pulp. “Okay, on three I need you to pour those on his chest at the same time I pour this one. Got it?”

  Sophie nodded.

  On “one” Physic sprinkled the leaf-mush all over the veiny spiderweb.

  On “two
” she massaged the pulp into Fitz’s pale skin.

  On “three” they both drizzled the syrupy elixirs all over the leaves until every single bit of the spiderweb was covered.

  “That will draw the venom out of his skin,” she explained as she wrapped Fitz’s chest with a roll of silver silk. “And this”—she dusted off her hands and poured a vial of thick yellow sludge under Fitz’s tongue—“will get it out of his system. It will make him vomit. A lot.”

  “Don’t we need to get him a bowl or something, then?” Della asked.

  “Way ahead of you.” Physic pulled out what looked like a shiny silver handkerchief and shook it a few times, turning it into a bag big enough to hold a bowling ball. “Keep this sealed tight when he’s done. I need an uncontaminated sample.”

  “You want a bag of Fitz’s barf?” Keefe asked, snapping out of his daze. “Wow, that’s even too gross for me.”

  Physic shrugged. “It’s not even in the top ten grossest things I’ve done.”

  “What’s in the top ten?” Keefe asked.

  “I’ll tell you another time.”

  “Wait, are you leaving?” Biana asked as Physic closed her trunk.

  “Only briefly. I need to run to the apothecary to pick up one more supply to make sure none of this leaves a scar.”

  “Are you going to Slurps and Burps?” Dex asked. “My dad will get us anything you need. I could even go with you to make sure.”

  “You’re sweet to offer,” Physic told him, “but that would ruin my incognito thing.” She adjusted the tilt of her mask and glanced at Mr. Forkle. “You know it’s only a matter of time before I slip and use my real name, right? But today I’ll play along. And I actually need to go to a gnomish apothecary,” she told Dex. “They have a much better selection of feces.”

  “Is that in the top ten?” Keefe asked.

  “Not even close. And speaking of gross things, someone needs to stay here with Fitz and make sure he doesn’t choke on his vomit.”

  “Fun as that sounds,” Keefe jumped in, “I have a project to work on.”

  “And what project would that be?” Mr. Forkle asked.

  Keefe’s eyes darted to Sophie before he said, “I . . . might have remembered something.”

  He slipped out the door before Mr. Forkle could ask more questions.

  Physic left too, but not before she warned them that Fitz looked ready for “Retching round number one.”

  “So we’ll take turns?” Sophie asked, feeling less than excited.

  “Actually, why don’t you let Della go first,” Mr. Forkle said. “You and I need to talk. Now.”

  The sound of Fitz’s violent vomiting felt oddly appropriate as Sophie and Mr. Forkle paced in front of the common room campfire.

  “You’ve been lying to me,” he said. “You should’ve told me about Kenric’s cache. And you definitely should’ve consulted with me before you volunteered for Exillium.”

  “I didn’t lie, I withheld,” Sophie said, using his earlier excuse against him. “And it’s not like you tell me anything—or involve any of us in your decisions.”

  Mr. Forkle rubbed his temples. “I gave one of your memories back.”

  “And I swore fealty. But that doesn’t make us equals, does it? All you guys do is boss us around.”

  “And all you kids do is push.”

  “Because we have to!”

  Mr. Forkle’s sigh ran so long, Sophie was sure he’d pass out from lack of breath. “What would earn me more trust?” he eventually asked.

  “A name would be nice. Physic is willing to give us hers and she just met us.”

  “Have you considered that it’s easier for her because she’s just met you?” Mr. Forkle asked. “She’s never had to lie straight to your face.”

  “And continuing to lie makes it better?” Sophie countered.

  The most endless silence in the history of endless silences followed.

  “Fine,” he whispered. “Have it your way. You want my name?”

  It took Sophie several seconds to remember to nod.

  “Very well, then.” Mr. Forkle paced the room twice more.

  When he finally spoke, his voice had turned soft and whispery, a ghost in the shadows. “You also know me as Sir Astin.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  SIR ASTIN,” SOPHIE repeated. “As in . . . my Level Two Universe Mentor.”

  “That would be me, yes.”

  She tried to picture Mr. Forkle looking young and pale with long blond hair, but her brain refused to cooperate.

  His new whispery voice did sound awfully familiar, though . . .

  “How else do you think you got assigned the list of stars to find Elementine?” he asked.

  The room tilted sideways—or maybe that was Sophie.

  She needed to sit.

  That Universe assignment had changed everything. She went from being the slightly weird “human girl” to Project Moonlark. She’d also had to face a Tribunal, and the Council had ordered her to keep a memory log, and she’d had to be descryed by Councillor Terik and . . .

  “Wait—Sir Astin testified at the Tribunal that the lists for that assignment were given at random,” she argued.

  “Of course I did! I couldn’t exactly say, ‘I’m with the Black Swan and this was part of our plan!’ This is what I mean, Miss Foster. Disguises require lies. I had to be so careful of every word I spoke to you, every gesture I made, to be sure I didn’t remind you of this.” He waved his arms around his Mr. Forkle-shaped self. “You’d just spent so many years seeing me every day, I knew the slightest cue might trigger a connection. And up until that Universe assignment your mind had been so sweetly unsuspicious. I was there simply to build your confidence as you struggled to adjust to life at Foxfire. Wasn’t my session one of the few you didn’t worry over?”

  It definitely had been.

  “But . . . Sir Astin was surprised when I showed him the bottle of Quintessence.”

  “Well, yes, because I never thought you’d bring it to Foxfire! Or carry it around in your satchel, letting it get shaken and jostled all day! It’s amazing you didn’t blow the school to pieces. That was when I learned to never make assumptions about what you’ll do. I’d foolishly figured you’d run straight to Alden. Just like I’d figured Mr. Dizznee would have you two wearing protective gloves—proper starlight bottling procedure. Instead you burned your hands and called for Elwin, and then you showed up to your session and plopped the bottle on the table. Of course I panicked! I knew I’d have to make a report to Dame Alina, and you’d face a Tribunal, and all kinds of other consequences we could’ve avoided if you’d gone to Alden.”

  “Oh.” Sophie stared at her hands, remembering the burns. “So . . . you really were Sir Astin?”

  “I still am Sir Astin. Mind you, he’s taking some time away from Foxfire now that you’re a Level Three. But as far as our world is concerned, Sir Astin is off mapping stars.”

  Sophie wasn’t sure if she wanted to cry or laugh. All the time she’d spent wondering about him, and he’d been right there, teaching her for two hours a week.

  “So . . . should I call you Sir Astin now?” she asked.

  “I’d prefer you didn’t. It’s easier to compartmentalize my life. When I’m here, I’m Mr. Forkle. Though you are welcome to tell the others.”

  “Oh, I will.” Even if part of her still struggled to believe it.

  She kept replaying her Universe sessions, searching for any clue that might have given him away. But there were none. He’d played his role perfectly.

  “Are you satisfied now?” Mr. Forkle asked.

  “Satisfied” wasn’t the right word.

  It all felt a little anticlimactic. She’d asked. He’d answered. He hadn’t even taken one of those callowberries and morphed into Sir Astin. And she couldn’t think of any of the “slips” he’d mentioned earlier.

  “Is that your only identity?” she asked. “Or are there others?”

  “Sir Astin is the only on
e I’m willing to share.”

  “How many are there?”

  He sighed. “One for my actual life. Another for a role I’ve taken on. Another for the fertility doctor I played to your human parents. I couldn’t be their doctor and their next-door neighbor, after all—but I’m assuming you already guessed that.”

  She nodded, even though she hadn’t really thought about it.

  Yet another layer of weirdness to her life.

  “And that’s all I’ll say for now,” Mr. Forkle said firmly. “Can you accept that?”

  Sophie studied his eyes, still not seeing Sir Astin staring back at her. “You’re not Alden, right?”

  Mr. Forkle laughed. “Even with every elixir ever made, I could never be that handsome.”

  He had a point.

  “What about Tiergan?” Her telepathy mentor had always been a mystery. And he’d been close with Prentice.

  “You can stop guessing. Even if you get it right, I’m not going to tell you.”

  “So that’s a yes, then?” she pressed, not sure what she’d do if it were true.

  “I’m not Tiergan. And that is the last thing I’m going to tell you.”

  “No, you have to at least tell me if I’ve met the other yous.”

  “I most certainly do not. We’ve talked enough about me. It’s time for you to share. Can I see Kenric’s cache?”

  Sophie’s palms turned sweaty as she handed him the marble.

  “I can’t believe you’re carrying it in your pocket,” he said.

  “What am I supposed to do with it?”

  “That’s what we must figure out.” He held it up to the light. “Oralie was very brave to give this to you.”

  Sophie swallowed a lump of guilt. “What do you think her punishment is going to be?”

  “It’s impossible to know. She’s crossed a line that has never been crossed. But she knew that when she gave this to you, so I’m sure she’s prepared. Oralie is far cleverer than you know. It’s easy to underestimate the quiet beauties.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Keefe said, striding into the room.

  “You are many things, Mr. Sencen, but quiet is not one of them.”

  “So you’re saying I’m a beauty?”