Neverseen

by Shannon Messenger

  More gnomes gathered along the river, lined up in neat rows like crops. They sang as one, demanding justice, their earthy voices echoing off the jeweled walls.

  A row of goblins had stationed themselves in front of the gnomes, creating a blockade of rock-hard muscle. Sophie couldn’t tell if they were trying to protect the gnomes, or stop them from entering the diamond courtyard where a stage had been set up for the Council. Either way, one goblin toward the center was the biggest, grayest, gobliniest sight for sore eyes ever.

  “Sandor,” she whispered, wishing she could tear through the crowd and tackle him. But that would be the kind of crazy security risk he’d give her a never-ending lecture for.

  Sandor didn’t show any scars, and when he moved, she saw no sign of a limp. It seemed too much to hope that he could survive a fall like that with no permanent damage. But maybe Elwin was that good.

  The crowd of elvin onlookers kept a safe distance from the goblins, stretching into the city and scattering among the jeweled buildings. Sir Astin led them to a ruby tower off to the side, with graceful arches lining the bottom floor that gave them enough shadows to hide in and still have a perfect view of the stage.

  Sophie searched the crowd, hoping to spot Fitz. But she saw no trace of any of the Vackers. The only face she recognized was Jensi. He stood with his parents and an older brother Sophie had never seen before. Several guys with long greasy ponytails stood at Jensi’s side, and Sophie wondered if that meant Jensi had gone back to hanging out with the group Marella had nicknamed the Drooly Boys. She wished she could catch his eye and give a small wave, but she knew he wouldn’t recognize her.

  “There’s my mom,” Dex said, pointing to a woman with amber-colored hair. She looked so much like Edaline, it took Sophie a second to notice Edaline standing next to her.

  “I can’t believe she brought the triplets,” Dex said, laughing as the three wild-haired kids ran circles around Juline and Edaline.

  “I guess everyone’s here,” Keefe mumbled. “Even him.”

  Sophie followed Keefe’s gaze to where his father stood with the goblin guards, ordering a small group of them to divide off and cover the stage.

  “So he’s back in charge of security,” Keefe said, his voice as dark as his mustache.

  “He regained his title recently,” Sir Astin explained, “after those maps—and the guards he recommended—saved the alicorns from the Neverseen’s latest attempt at capture.”

  “Wait—what?” Keefe asked, and Sophie was forced to tell him what little she knew.

  “Great,” Keefe grumbled. “Guess I can add that to the list of awesome things my mom is doing ‘for me.’ Or was doing for me. Or . . . whatever.”

  Sophie reached for his hand, hoping he wouldn’t pull away. He twined their fingers so tightly it cut off her circulation.

  “Don’t look now,” Dex whispered, “but I spy Stina.”

  Sophie followed the tilt of Dex’s head. “Ugh—you have to be kidding me!”

  Of all the people they could’ve ended up standing near, they had to wind up right by the Heks family? Stina had tamed her frizzy hair into a sweeping braid and wore a loose gown that made her look much more statuesque than gangly. But her scowl definitely hadn’t changed.

  “Is that Marella?” Dex whispered, pointing to a petite girl next to Stina, leaning against an arch, unraveling one of the tiny braids in her long blond hair.

  Marella had befriended Stina not long after her falling out with Sophie, and Sophie was sure she’d done it to spite her.

  “We should be careful,” Sophie said, pulling Dex and Keefe deeper into the shadows of their archway. “If any of them recognizes us, I’m sure they’ll turn us in.”

  “I wouldn’t be so quick to judge the Hekses—or Miss Redek,” Sir Astin said under his breath. “The Heks family has proven there is more to them than we once thought. And as for Miss Redek, has she never told you about her parents?”

  “No,” Sophie admitted. Dex shook his head as well.

  Marella gossiped about everyone except herself.

  Sophie stole another glance at the couple standing with Marella. Her dad had wide ice blue eyes like his daughter, and her mom had the same unruly hair. They looked normal enough.

  Sir Astin leaned closer. “Her mother suffered a traumatic brain injury when Miss Redek was barely a toddler. It’s unclear exactly what happened—though many suspect an abundance of fizzleberry wine came into play. All we know is that Lady Redek fell off the balcony of their house and cracked her skull. Elwin did all he could, but some wounds cannot fully heal. At times her emotions get overloaded. I remember one conversation I had with her, she laughed, cried, and screamed at me in a matter of minutes. She drinks elixirs to manage it, but it still takes its toll on her family. In fact, young Miss Redek keeps trying to manifest as an Empath in hopes that she can help her mother gain further control. A couple of months ago we thought her mind had finally cooperated, but it turned out to be a misunderstanding.”

  “A couple of months?” Sophie whispered, realizing that synced perfectly with the time Biana manifested as a Vanisher.

  That was the day she’d first noticed Marella not acting like herself—and not long afterward, her and Marella had their big fight. She’d thought Marella might’ve been jealous because she’d said once that she wanted to be a Vanisher too—but that must’ve been something Marella had made up to cover her secret. Now Sophie wished she could run over and apologize for not understanding. Or go back in time and be a better friend.

  An immense fanfare reminded her why they were there, and her pulse sped as all twelve Councillors glittered onto the stage. Their jeweled cloaks and circlets glinted in the sunlight, but this time it didn’t make them look regal. Compared to the gnomes in their overalls and grass-woven dresses, the Council looked frivolous and cold.

  Oralie stood between Bronte and Terik, and Sophie could see the unease in their stance. Even Councillor Alina’s confident smile was missing.

  “Thank you for coming today,” Councillor Emery said, his eyes focused on the gnomes. “As promised, we’re here to answer your many questions. But we’re going to start with the main one. Why were you kept in the dark about the plague? We did have a reason—one that was not actually our choosing. We kept the secret because your ancient leaders begged us not to tell you. In fact, it was their dying wish.”

  He paused to let the news rustle through the crowd. Even Sir Astin seemed surprised to hear it, and no one seemed to know how to react.

  “Keeping our promise has been one of the greatest challenges we’ve ever faced,” Emery continued. “But we felt it was important to honor the word we gave. We still feel it’s important, which is why we must at least ask that you leave the matter here, trust that we’re following the wishes of your leaders, and return to your lives.”

  Murmurs rose among the gnomes, swelling into angry shouts, and Councillor Emery held up his hands. “We assumed that would be your reaction. So be it. We’ll provide the whole story—though it is not a happy one. It goes back five thousand years, to the time you lost your homeland.”

  Councillor Bronte stepped forward. “I was an Emissary when Serenvale was overthrown—newly appointed. In fact, Emissaries were a new thing for our world. I suppose that’s not a detail you’d consider relevant—but what is relevant is that our hearts were broken when your refugees arrived in the Lost Cities. Their stories of famine and bloodshed inspired immediate action, and I was ordered to contact the ogres and make it clear that the only way to avoid war was to commit to a treaty. At first, the ogres cooperated, and agreed to meet under a truce. King Gowg—the ogre king at the time—even invited us to Serenvale. Councillor Fallon Vacker went with me, as did both of the gnomish leaders. But when we arrived, we began to see the depth of our dilemma. Serenvale had been destroyed. The Eventide river ran with polluted water, and the trees had all been torn from the ground. Even if the ogres surrendered the land, there would be nothing for your people to
return to.”

  Angry shouts erupted among the gnomes, and Bronte paused to allow their rage before he continued.

  “Our goal was still to negotiate peace,” he said. “To ensure nothing like this would ever occur again. So with your leaders permission, we continued our treaty negotiations. But the ogres refused to consider our demands. We were preparing to return to the Lost Cities, when King Gowg invited us to dine with him. He claimed it would be a chance to better understand one another. I cannot tell you how much I wish we hadn’t agreed. The conversation was as horrible as the food, and he ended dinner with an ultimatum. He told us in three weeks we would see that he had the upper hand in these negotiations. We returned to the Lost Cities and prepared for an attack. But nothing changed and the deadline passed uneventfully. We were determining our next steps when we received word that your leaders had fallen ill.”

  Bronte’s voice cracked, and he had to clear his throat several times.

  “I’m sure you don’t need me to describe their symptoms. It was the same plague we face now. And it had spread to their spouses, as well as the trees they’d taken up residence in. At first, we didn’t understand the connection. We thought they’d encountered a new pathogen in our world, and we kept the quarantine quiet to avoid panic. The only gnomes who knew were the healers who worked with our physicians, searching for a cure. None of them could find the mysterious parasite. And then King Gowg paid Lumenaria a visit. That was the first time any of us heard the word ‘drakostomes.’ ”

  The word sounded heavier on Bronte’s lips, as though it were a burden he’d been carrying for far too long.

  “The drakostomes are an accident of nature,” he whispered, and yet the sound still rang off the jeweled buildings. “A force that was never meant to be unleashed. Had your people not lost Serenvale, it’s likely the plague would’ve remained undiscovered. But the ogres stole your homeland, tore down your beloved Panakes, and split open their bark.”

  A sharp gasp echoed through the crowd.

  “Yes,” Bronte told them. “The trees of your legends were real. And their fall unleashed the greatest danger your people have ever faced. We don’t know how the ogres discovered the parasite—or how they infected your leaders—but King Gowg assured us he’d harvested enough to infect the entire gnomish population. He also insisted that there was no cure.”

  The crowd erupted, both elves and gnomes shouting in anger and grief and disbelief.

  “That was our reaction as well,” Bronte said. “But King Gowg claimed that the only substance able to resist the drakostomes was the bark they’d once been preserved in. And he took quite a lot of delight in explaining that he’d burned every last piece of the Panakes in order to harvest the parasites.”

  Bronte let that sink in before he added, “That was when he gave us an ultimatum. We could surrender to his demands, and he would swear never to unleash the plague. Or we could sacrifice the entire gnomish species.”

  “It’s important to note,” Councillor Emery jumped in, “that the King’s demands were surprisingly manageable. We assume that was because he feared war. He knew he would lose if he pushed us too far. So he made demands that would still give him the advantage, but that we would be willing to accept. The choice was clear, even if it still pains us all these centuries later.”

  “Our decision was made with the full support of the ailing gnomish leaders,” Bronte added. “Their only request was that we protect the rest of the population. They asked us to house your people within our borders, knowing the Lost Cities were the only place the ogres would dare not tread. We promised that any gnomes who chose to live among us would be able to go about their lives any way they wanted. We have been incredibly grateful that you’ve chosen to assist us while you’ve lived here, and share your produce—but that was never a requirement. And it never will be. Our only desire is to shelter and protect your species.”

  Unease settled over the audience, no one sure what to say. Eventually a gnome braved the question no one else wanted to ask. “What happened to those infected with the plague?”

  The Councillors reached for each other’s hands, and a moment of silence passed.

  “Our physicians never ceased searching for a cure,” Bronte promised. “But they were unable to produce one. With their final breaths, your leaders made us swear never to tell anyone what had killed them. They didn’t want your lives darkened by the shadow of the ogres’ threat. And they didn’t want any other creatures to discover the drakostomes existed, for fear they’d find a way to unleash them. Their only other request was that they be brought to Lumenaria to assume their final forms—a silent testimony to the ogres’ atrocities. You know them well, though you likely have not realized. They asked us to call them the Four Seasons Tree.”

  The crowd’s reaction to the news was a mix of shock, horror, and anger. But their shouts soon faded to cries of mourning.

  “So is the Four Seasons Tree like a Wanderling?” Sophie whispered to Sir Astin. “Where some of their DNA gets incorporated into the seed after they die?”

  “No, when gnomes meet their final end, they stand rooted to their final resting place. They’re plantlike in life, and truly plants in death.”

  “Please tell me every tree isn’t a dead gnome,” Sophie begged.

  “Not every tree. But generally the most spectacular ones.”

  Sophie doubted she could ever walk through a forest without feeling sad again. Meanwhile, the crowd’s grief seemed to be morphing into a single cry—a demand for justice so loud it shook the Pures. Sophie could see Councillor Emery fighting for control, but the crowd was whipping into a frenzy. Roots stretched out of the ground and pulsed with a thumping beat, fueling the gnomes’ furious chants.

  Finally another Councillor stepped forward—a male Councillor with a shock of black hair pulled into a ponytail. He cupped his hands around his mouth and made a sound like screeching tires and squealing children and yowling cats all competing to see who could be the loudest. It rippled through the air, leaving stunned silence in its wake.

  “Thank you, Noland,” Councillor Emery said as Noland reclaimed his place among the other Councillors. “Having a Vociferator in our ranks comes in handy. And we understand your anger. We hear your cries for action. But the fact is, a cure still has not been found. Over the centuries we’ve researched every parasite that ever affected a tree. And we’ve searched high and low for another Panakes. Both efforts have been unsuccessful. We did manage to create medicines that are slowing both the progress of the plague and easing the symptoms. But they’re not enough to risk any action that might lead to further infestation.”

  “So those infected have no hope?” someone shouted, and Sophie could’ve sworn the voice was Calla’s. “And the ogres get away with murder?”

  “For the moment, the only answer we can give is ‘yes,’ ” Emery said sadly. “We cannot punish the ogres for using this weapon without risking that they’ll attempt an attack on those of you here in the Lost Cities. Even if we increase security, we know too little of how they spread the plague. And all it would take is one case to trigger an outbreak.”

  More angry shouting followed, and Sophie braced for Councillor Noland to unleash another sonic scream. But the ground in front of the stage rumbled first.

  The goblins scrambled to regroup, forming a circle around an enormous brown beast crawling out of the earth.

  King Dimitar, the ogre king.

  SIXTY-ONE

  KING DIMITAR LOOKED every bit as ridiculous as Sophie remembered, between his riveted metal diaper and his hairless gorilla-shaped body.

  He also looked extra terrifying.

  He wore no cape or crown—just a series of swirling tattoos across his forehead, and yellow stones set into his earlobes. But everything about him testified to his kingship. He moved with authority and confidence, as though he knew he could defeat the goblins towering over him without even needing his evil-looking sword.

  If barbed wire were as t
hick as King Dimitar’s head and sharpened to a wicked point, it would look a lot like his blade. A single stroke likely wouldn’t just kill someone, it would disembowel them.

  “Oh, relax,” King Dimitar said in his painfully familiar voice as the goblins pointed their curved swords at his chest. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.”

  “And if your presence was welcome, we would’ve invited you,” Councillor Emery countered.

  King Dimitar smiled—a cruel curve made jagged by his pointed teeth. “You accuse me. That’s invitation enough. If you’re going to insinuate that my people are behind this plague—”

  “Do you deny it?” Councillor Emery interrupted.

  “I don’t deny that the drakostomes exist. Nor that they are one of my favorite possessions. But tell me this: Have you found any signs of ogres at the sites of the infestations?”

  The Council’s silence made his smile stretch wider. “That’s what I thought.”

  The gnomes resumed their cries, hurling insults and accusations. Councillor Emery called them to order before he told the king, “Evidence can be missed.”

  “Or it can never be left in the first place.” He stalked closer to the goblins, forcing them back a step before turning to the crowd. “Your rebels came to me with this grand scheme for domination. I’ve simply sat back and watched it unfold.”

  “He’s right,” a new voice shouted from somewhere high above them.

  Gasps echoed through the city as a black-cloaked figure waved from the roof of an amethyst and emerald tower. Even from that height, the white eye symbol on his sleeve taunted them.

  “I wouldn’t move if I were you,” the figure told the goblins scaling the walls to arrest him. He snapped his fingers, and a sphere of neon yellow Everblaze sparked to life over his left hand. “You just rebuilt this city, didn’t you?” he asked the Council. “I suspect you’d prefer not to do it again. Especially since this time I hardly think you can count on the gnomes to help.”