Neverseen

by Shannon Messenger

  Knowing more about how the plague worked was a good thing. But it still didn’t feel like enough.

  “Someone needs to tell Shade Boy the role of Troublemaker with Daddy Issues is already filled,” Keefe mumbled, pulling her back to their conversation.

  “You could’ve told him that when you warned him about the Foster fan club,” Biana suggested.

  “Or not,” Sophie jumped in. “Seriously, why don’t you like Tam?” she asked Keefe.

  “What’s to like?” He pretended to flip imaginary bangs, deepening his voice before saying, “The only people who refuse readings are those with darkness to hide.”

  His impersonation was spot-on. But Sophie could hear a trace of something deeper behind the tease—the same thing she’d seen on Keefe’s face when he’d refused Tam’s reading.

  He’d turned into the boy in the boobrie dude’s tent again—scared and angry and lost.

  “I think you’ll change your mind when you get to know him,” Sophie said. “It sounds like you guys have a lot in common.”

  They’d reached the tree houses by then, and Granite was waiting in the girls’ common room, along with Della, who looked wrung out after another visit with Prentice.

  “The Council has decided to keep Silveny’s pregnancy secret,” Granite told Sophie. “And they’ve accepted your offer to help them communicate. In fact, they gave me some questions they’d like you to ask her today, so Vika can prepare before she visits.”

  “Vika Heks?” Sophie asked, her nose crinkling when he nodded.

  The last time Vika had been around Silveny, she’d tried to tie the alicorn up and drag her to her family’s unicorn preserve. But . . . much as Sophie hated to admit it, they probably were going to need Vika’s help. The Heks family had been breeding unicorns for centuries.

  Sophie sent out a call for Silveny, and within a few seconds her mind filled with Silveny’s exuberant greeting. Silveny confirmed that she hadn’t told anyone about the baby—not even Greyfell, which earned her a lecture about telling the daddy. She also said she was two weeks pregnant, and that the baby would arrive in forty-two weeks, during the blue moon. She then spent the rest of their talk begging for swizzlespice, and complaining about her new pasture.

  Apparently the Council had moved the alicorns away from the normal equestrian area and set them up in a much smaller meadow with blue grass that Silveny found scratchy and sour. Sophie promised to find out if there was anywhere else the alicorns could live—and to get her a double shipment of treats. And while Silveny was not thrilled about a Vika visit, she perked up when Sophie gave her permission to drag Vika through the mud like she had the last time.

  The next step was hailing Councillor Oralie to give her the update. Sophie’s stomach twisted as she gave the command to the Imparter.

  Oralie wasn’t alone when she answered. Councillor Terik stood behind her and explained that he’d been assigned to monitor the conversation, to make sure no treasonous activities were happening.

  Sophie studied their faces, wondering if she was speaking to the same Councillors who Tam had overheard in Wildwood.

  The idea made her insides twist even tighter.

  “Is something wrong?” Oralie asked.

  Sophie started to nod, but then her mind flashed to the night Oralie risked everything to give her Kenric’s cache.

  Terik was also one of her few steady defenders.

  “I’m just worried about the gnomes,” she said. “I don’t understand how this happened.”

  “Neither do we,” Terik murmured—and there.

  Right there.

  Sophie saw the fear, mixed with a tiny bit of shame.

  It only lasted a fraction of a second.

  But it had definitely been there.

  Which must mean the Council really had known—not that Sophie could prove it. And she was sure if she did, they’d claim they had reasons.

  Mr. Forkle had said the same, but . . . could any excuse be good enough for blindsiding the gnomes?

  “Did you hear me?” Councillor Terik asked, reminding her she was supposed to be listening.

  “Sorry, what was the question?” Sophie asked.

  “I asked how things are going at Exillium.”

  “Oh.” She bit her lip. “Do you really want to know?”

  “If we must,” Terik said, and the sigh in his voice made Sophie snap.

  Even if the Council did have a reason for keeping the plague secret—there was no excuse for the neglect Sophie saw every day at Exillium. So she told them about the physician’s lack of supplies, and how threadbare all the tents and mats and towels were, and how meager the food was at lunchtime, and how the Coaches were forced to rely on fear and suffocating rules to keep control without enough help.

  “You build entire cities out of jewels and live in glittering castles,” Sophie said, “but you can’t spare any medicine or food for a group of kids who are smart and talented and would try way harder if they weren’t constantly being told they’re worthless? What’s the point of having the school in the first place? It could be a valuable rehabilitation center if you supported it. But you’re letting it go to waste.”

  Silence followed her outburst, and Sophie braced for a lengthy lecture.

  Instead Oralie whispered, “You’re right. Exillium was originally created to be a center for alternative learning. I’m not sure how we lost sight of that, but . . . not anymore. Give me a list of everything they need, and I’ll get it—you have my word.”

  “Just like that?” Sophie asked.

  Oralie nodded. “Thank you for opening my eyes. Kenric would be so proud of you.”

  The name felt warm, and it relaxed Sophie’s nerves, untangling some of her knots.

  Kenric would’ve known about the plague, too. But he’d also been a good person—she was absolutely certain of that.

  So maybe finding the truth would show her how he was able to be both.

  “I’ve been thinking about legacies,” Calla said when she found Sophie outside the next day, letting Iggy have a few minutes of bug hunting time.

  Iggy had nearly ruined the replacement monocle pendant the Black Swan had given Biana—so Sophie had taken over imp babysitting for the day.

  “Legacies,” Sophie repeated, the word sour on her tongue.

  Weren’t legacies what people talked about when someone died?

  “I’m not despairing, if you’re worried,” Calla said. “And obviously I don’t have the plague. Still, I find myself wondering what I would leave behind, should the worst happen.”

  Her eyes dropped to Sophie’s moonlark pin, and the necklace gained about a million pounds of pressure.

  “I’d like to share something with you,” she whispered. “Will you let me?”

  “I . . . of course,” Sophie said. “But only if you promise this doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Being prepared is never a bad idea,” Calla told her. “No matter what happens, I won’t be here forever. And when I think of what I want to be remembered for, it comes down to two things. You. And my starkflower stew. So what better legacy could I have than to combine them?”

  “You’re not planning on cooking me for dinner, right?” Sophie asked.

  Calla laughed, and Sophie got a glimpse of why Keefe hid behind humor. Telling the joke had knocked loose the lump in her throat.

  She followed Calla into the forest to a wide, bulbous tree dripping with flowering vines in every imaginable color. Nestled up against it was a small cooking area.

  “Is this where you live?” Sophie asked as Calla started a fire within a circle of stones.

  “I live among the forests. But this is where I rest.”

  She hung a silver cauldron over the flames and brought Sophie a basket of vegetables. Some of them Sophie recognized. Most she didn’t. But Calla showed her how to slice them and add them in a specific order.

  The air filled with familiar scents—caramelizing onions, simmering garlic, spicy peppers—and deeper
earthier fragrances that made Sophie’s mouth water.

  “Gnomes don’t eat much,” Calla said, ladling in water in slow intervals. “But when we do, we want it to count.”

  She disappeared into her house and returned carrying two baskets, one overflowing with fresh herbs, the other filled with vials of colored powders. She made Sophie memorize each one, and the order it was added in. By the time she was done Sophie’s stomach was growling.

  “Final ingredient,” Calla said. “The most important one.”

  The starkflower could’ve won the prize for ugliest flower, between its curled, shriveled black petals and gray speckles.

  “For centuries we ignored them,” Calla said. “But one day a blossom landed in my cooking pot, and this happened.”

  She dropped the flower into the stew, and Sophie watched as all the color leeched out in streams of shiny black.

  “Shadowvapor,” Calla explained, fishing out the blossom with the ladle to show her how it had turned gleaming white. The petals had also plumped, making the flower lush and hearty.

  Looking at the pristine, shadowvaper-free flower reminded Sophie of the gleaming leaves of the Psionipath’s shielded tree.

  Had it looked so bright and healthy because the plague was feasting on its shadowvapor?

  “You look pale,” Calla said. “Are you feeling okay?”

  “Of course,” Sophie promised. “I’m just getting hungry.”

  She tried to smile as Calla served up heaping bowls of stew for everyone, and even remembered to invite Calla to join them for dinner.

  But all she could think about was that she’d had the person causing all this pain trapped in a force field right in front of her.

  And she’d let him get away.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  LET’S SEE WHAT torture Exillium has for us today,” Keefe said as they arrived on top of a blustery mesa. The desert basin below was nothing but cactus and scrub brush—no sign of the plague.

  They made their way to the campus, and Sophie barely recognized the place.

  New tents.

  New mats.

  Shiny new tables filled with . . .

  “Is that breakfast?” Fitz pointed to the platters heaped with pastries covered in pink jam.

  “Yes,” a voice said behind them, and they turned to find Sophie’s purple Coach. “We’ll be starting each day with a meal. And our lunch supply has vastly improved as well. I’ve also been told that six new Coaches are being chosen to assist us, as well as a team of goblin bodyguards for protection. Plus this.” She held up her new pendant—a leaping crystal with three glittering facets. “Our access to the Lost Cities is limited, but we as Coaches are no longer completely banished, to give us a better channel of communication. It appears the Council has decided to pay more attention to our program.”

  She leaned closer to Sophie and added, “And I hear we have you to thank, Miss Foster.”

  “You know my name?” Sophie asked.

  “It will be impossible to forget a Wayward with friends on the Council—especially one who triggered these changes. I’ve never seen anything like it in all the years I’ve been here.”

  “How many years is that?” Sophie asked, taking her small opportunity.

  “Coming up on fifty. Seems too long, doesn’t it?”

  Her Coach let out a wistful sigh, and Sophie tried to sound casual as she asked, “So does that mean you were one of the Coaches who ejected a rebellious Psionipath a few years ago?”

  Her Coach’s back straightened. “Why?”

  “I need to find him.” She moved closer and whispered. “He’s involved with what’s happening to the gnomes.”

  Her Coach didn’t move.

  Sophie wondered if she was still breathing.

  “You know who I’m talking about, don’t you?” Sophie asked.

  “I might,” her Coach whispered. “But he was ejected. That’s where my knowledge ends.”

  “What about his name?” Sophie pressed. “You know mine now. Did you know his?”

  “I’m sorry,” her Coach said. “I can’t help you.”

  “Do you know someone who can? Maybe the other Coaches?”

  “I can ask them. But I wouldn’t get my hopes up.”

  “I have to,” Sophie told her. “Hope is all we have left.”

  When she got home from Exillium, Sophie used the afternoon to study the maps Lord Cassius had found. She hadn’t told Keefe where they came from—and she didn’t want him asking too many questions—so she hid in her bedroom and spread them across the floor.

  There were maps of the Neutral Territories in the mix, along with maps of the Forbidden Cities and the Lost Cities. The Neverseen clearly had their eyes on everything.

  Sophie focused on the Neutral Territories, hoping she could find a pattern between the plague locations. Maybe then she’d be able to guess where the Neverseen would strike next.

  She rearranged the maps so she could see where everything was in relation to each other, and started with Wildwood. From there she moved to Brackendale, where they’d found the Psionipath’s tree. Next was Merrowmarsh, which Gethen had thought would be the next place. As far as Sophie knew, nothing had happened there, but she decided to count it anyway and assume the Neverseen’s plans had changed because the Black Swan posted a dwarven guard. After that was the Strixian Plains, where the family of infected gnomes had been found, and then the Starkrial Valley, where Physic’s apothecary had been closed because of the plague. Then Bosk Gorge, where Sophie had found the gnome. That was where the plague seemed to be spreading faster, so had the Neverseen changed something there—maybe to make up for the time they’d lost with Merrowmarsh?

  Or, Elwin had said the gnome had burns as part of his injuries. Could he have done something to the force field to unleash the plague earlier?

  After hours of plotting and arranging, all she really knew was that the plague seemed to be heading west. But there were dozens of Neutral Territories to the west of the last strike, so she was going to need more information to pin it down.

  “This is quite a project,” Calla said from her doorway. She held up a plate heaped with food. “You missed dinner.”

  Sophie glanced out her window, realizing the sun had almost set. She hadn’t noticed how dark her room had gotten—maybe her Exillium night vision training was helping.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled, turning back to her maps.

  “Take a break,” Calla insisted, handing Sophie the plate. “All of this will still be here in a few minutes.”

  Sophie wished it wouldn’t be.

  Why couldn’t it solve itself and go away?

  Calla sucked in a breath and unrolled one of the maps sitting half exposed on the floor. “This is the closest I’ve ever come to seeing Serenvale.”

  Sophie glanced over Calla’s shoulder and studied the map of Ravagog, with its jagged lines and blank, unmarked spaces.

  “You never lived there?” Sophie asked.

  “I’m too young. By the time I was born, the ogres had taken over. But I still hope to go there someday.”

  “Really?” Sophie asked. “Wouldn’t it be hard to see how much the ogres have ruined it?”

  “Yes,” Calla said. “But there has to be something left. So if I ever found the hidden path, I would take it.”

  “You mentioned that before,” Sophie said. “Is there really a hidden path into Ravagog?”

  “It depends on who you ask. There’s a legend among my people of a secret tunnel back to our homeland, a tunnel that can only be found by those willing to ‘embrace the heartache.’ I don’t know what the riddle means, but I’ve always dreamed I would someday solve it. I’m sure the path is treacherous—and I know it would only cause me sorrow. But I have to believe it’s out there, nestled in the lonely earth, waiting for me to try to find the Panakes.”

  The rest of the week was full of changes, but they only seemed to happen at Exillium. The Coaches started using their names—the purple Coach was na
med Coach Rohana, the blue Coach was Coach Bora, and the red Coach was Coach Wilda—and Waywards were encouraged to do the same. They started working with partners or in groups, which made the lessons much more manageable. And at the end of the lesson on Friday, masks and hoods became optional.

  “Never thought I’d see the day,” Coach Rohana murmured to Sophie as the Waywards tossed their masks into the ocean.

  Sophie turned to study her Coach, who had creamy brown skin and straight, shiny black hair.

  “Do all of these changes make you nervous?” Sophie asked.

  “Of course. Change always has rewards and costs. But, it will be nice to have more interaction with the Waywards—most of them, at least.”

  “I’m guessing you never found out anything about the Psionipath I mentioned?”

  Coach Rohana sighed. “Actually, I did. I found his list of transgressions, and it was far longer than I’d remembered. He’s not someone you want to encounter.”

  “But I have to,” Sophie told her. “Please, if there’s anything else you know . . .”

  Her Coach stared into the distance, her expression both weary and wary as she whispered, “His name was Ruy Ignis.”

  FIFTY-SIX

  RUY IGNIS,” DEX said, tapping on the screen of the Dexified Imparter, where he’d stored all the Exillium records he’d stolen. They’d met up in the boys’ common room to see what they could learn about the Psionipath.

  Dex handed the gadget to Sophie and she memorized every detail of Ruy’s file—not that it was much to go on. His parents both worked in Mysterium, but they’d been the ones to turn Ruy in to the Council, so it seemed unlikely he would be in touch with them. And his location was listed as “banished and ejected.”

  “I wonder if my brother knew him,” Fitz said, reading over her shoulder. “He’s a year older than Alvar, so he probably was a Level ahead at Foxfire. But they still would’ve crossed paths during PE and stuff.”

  “Do we have a way to reach Alvar and ask him?”

  “My mom might,” Fitz said. “Huh, it looks like Ruy got expelled when he was a Level Four, not long after he manifested.”