Reap the Wind

by Karen Chance

  And it didn’t look like the translation spell worked with this particular group of fey, because all I heard was chanting. Although there might be a reason for that, I thought, as a massive energy spear flashed into the hand of the fey on the outcropping. And then shot upward, toward the ceiling, where it burst into a thousand twinkling lights like falling stars.

  Beautiful, I thought again, mesmerized in spite of myself.

  Until I realized: these stars burned.

  Glowing embers started to fall like rain, hissing off the water and sparking off the rocks. But they didn’t hurt the crowd in the boats—no, they didn’t hurt them at all. Because they were just illusions.

  But we weren’t.

  And now the falling embers were falling down on us.

  The guard started making a terrifying screech and stomping on a bunch of rags that had just flared up. And that turned out to be the body of a third troll, who I guess wasn’t dead after all. Because he began moaning and thrashing and then hitting back and trying to put himself out.

  Which actually worked great, since there was plenty of water in the bottom of the boat to help.

  Because one of the embers had just burned a hole in it.

  Pritkin plunged a hand down into the spouting geyser, and it suddenly wasn’t spouting anymore. Or even flowing. More like pausing. And squelching. And then shifting and spreading out in the bottom of the boat in an odd, gelatinous way, as if the water had suddenly grown a skin.

  Which would have been great if another current hadn’t grabbed us a second later, sending us spinning and plunging and sinking and tumbling into a tunnel and down what would probably have been a terrifying stretch of underground rapids if I’d been able to see them.

  I mostly couldn’t.

  But I didn’t need to.

  Because I could hear: the massive roar and crash and hiss of what had to be thousands of gallons of water, all plunging down, down, down into darkness somewhere in the distance up ahead.

  “Oh, come on!” I screamed, not that it mattered, and not that anyone could hear me, including myself. Not over all the water in the world falling off the side of it. We’re dead, I thought blankly as the boat kicked into high gear. We’re so very, very dead.

  And that appeared to be the consensus, including among the trolls. The little guys stopped yelling and started rowing, but even their massive arms didn’t do much to slow us down. We were too close. And it wouldn’t have helped anyway, since the fey were still in pursuit, like splashes of silver on the cave walls behind us as they struggled to catch up to the raging current.

  So it was death by waterfall or death by drowning or death by fey, and the fact that the operative word in all those was “death” had me grabbing Pritkin by the leg, which was the only thing I could reach.

  “Yellow,” I gasped.

  “What?”

  “Yellow! Yellow!” I screamed, and really hope he heard me, because the translation spell didn’t change the way mouths worked. So lip-reading was out. But when I tried to drag my now-fifty pounds of sodden wool over the trolls to get at Rosier’s bag, and the little yellow patches inside, it seemed he got the idea. And grabbed it and started rooting around in it.

  And holding up a lot of useless junk that had probably cost Rosier a pretty penny but was about to be flotsam, along with what remained of our bodies if we didn’t—

  “There!” I screeched, spotting Rosier’s little yellow levitation patches, still in their plastic containers. “There! There! There!”

  Pritkin mouthed something I couldn’t hear, and I suddenly realized that he didn’t understand how to get them open. And I had one hand and no nails and damn child-resistant packaging; I always knew they were going to kill me someday. And it looked like that was today.

  Because when I glanced up, there was nothing in front of us but wind and mist and a whole lot of air.

  Chapter Forty-three

  We hit the turbulence at the edge of the cliff a second later, where thousands of gallons of water were all trying to be first over the rocks, and throwing up huge amounts of spray in the process. It was like being shot at by water cannons from multiple directions, and for a long moment I couldn’t even tell if we were right side up anymore, couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, could barely breathe, because of stark terror and because Pritkin was about to crush me in two. But it didn’t matter, not when I was out of ideas and we were plunging to our doom and—

  And—

  And—

  And it was taking a damned long time for us to go over already.

  I’d closed my eyes, but now I opened them to see a world gone white, with thunderous crashes and equally massive amounts of water being tossed around, like giants at play. And it just kept coming, soaking me and slapping me and threatening to drown me while I was still in the air, or at least on a boat stuck dangling over a hell of a lot of it. But not falling, not crashing—not yet, because the trolls, those wonderful, awesome, incredible little trolls, had wedged the boat’s oars in between two of the rocks that dotted the lip of the fall.

  And trapped us behind them.

  For the moment, anyway, but the oars were as old as the boat and I didn’t need to see them clearly to know they were straining. My heart skipped a beat, then another, and then felt like it stopped altogether as I realized that I had a reprieve I hadn’t earned and a hand clutching a lifeline if only I could get it open. And I got it open, biting and tearing and then staring around for somewhere to put the little patch, because these things activated fast.

  But everything was wet—everything, even the boards passing for seats. Which were getting hit with just as much spray as I was and which had already been damp from soaked clothing and soggy derrieres to the point that there wasn’t a single dry spot left, not even underneath. So I slapped it down on a wet one, shielding it with my body and praying.

  Only to have it float up like lunch on the space station, and how freaking stupid was that?

  “They couldn’t make these waterproof?” I screamed at Pritkin, who didn’t understand me.

  But he was looking at the little thing with renewed interest. And then at the nearest troll. And then back at me. And then—

  “Oh, holy shit!”

  But there was no time for debate; there was no time for anything. Except plunging over the side a moment later, when an oar broke and Pritkin grabbed me and I grabbed the boat and the bigger troll grabbed his buddy. Who wasn’t grabbing anything because we’d just stuffed him under the seats.

  And yes, I was going to hell, because we’d shoved the patch down his throat first. But I’d been to hell, and it beat the shit out of faerie. So that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that the patch that was supposed to work, that had just been working, damn it, wasn’t working now.

  Because the only thing that caught us as we spun into the void was gravity.

  For a moment, everything stopped. I didn’t see my life flash before my eyes because I couldn’t see much of anything. Just the spray crashing into the rocks behind us, bursting into the air above us, and then leaping out into the vast void ahead. And then we were following the droplets, arcing and dipping and falling and screaming—

  And hitting something and spinning and tumbling and catching.

  And then juddering and plunging and shooting ahead, like on a flume ride at the world’s most sadistic fair. Somebody was still screaming, but I didn’t think it was me this time since I couldn’t even seem to breathe. Or to think, except to wonder where all the water had suddenly gone.

  Because it had, like the world’s biggest faucet had just been turned off.

  Only no, I realized, shoving a mass of soaked hair out of my face and gasping for air.

  Not turned off.

  Just out of reach. Because the enormous fall of water—and God, it was freaking enormous—was still boiling away near enough to
keep on soaking us, but too far away to keep on killing us, because we were watching it from a vantage point out in the void. A vantage point made up of a tiny island of smoking wood and screaming trolls, because the patch, the goddamned wonderful patch, had worked!

  The boat turned lazily, wafted about by the air gusts coming off all that spray, and I realized that I was about to snap Pritkin in two, girly arms or not. But he didn’t seem to mind; he didn’t even seem to notice, maybe because he was busy noticing something else. And then so was I. And oh. My. God.

  I twisted around to get a better view. And then just sat there, wide-eyed and shaking. And staring at something that would have cost half a blockbuster’s budget to fake.

  But it wasn’t fake; it was just fantastic.

  The waterfall made up one side of a cavern that the term “humongous” might have been coined for. The other sides were dark rock spotted with patches of crystals and more waterfalls, small only in comparison to the mammoth we’d just fallen over. Some tumbled across rocky ledges fifteen, maybe twenty stories above our heads, so tall that they evaporated into the mist that was spawning rainbows in the air all around us before they could hope to hit down. Others started far below, spilling their water into something I couldn’t see, because there was some light leaking in from far above, but the bottom of the cavern disappeared into darkness.

  It was beautiful.

  It was beautiful.

  And breathtaking, not that I had any left. But I’d get it back. I’d get it back because we were alive—alive, alive, alive, and everything was beautiful!

  I looked up at Pritkin, who was standing just behind me in the prow of the ship. He looked pretty beat up, but a second ago, it hadn’t mattered. He’d been staring around with the same awe I felt, like a man who’d just stared death in the face and seen it shrug. But now the light had drained out of his face, and he wasn’t even looking at the cave anymore.

  He was looking at the waterfall.

  And the gleaming warrior that had just appeared on top of it.

  The fey was standing on one of the largest boulders, spray shooting up all around him, his long, too-white hair whipping wildly around his face. I didn’t know how he got there, because the rock was almost smack in the middle of the waterfall, not near any convenient stepping-stones. But I knew what he was doing.

  Because of course he was. Of course he was. Anybody else would have assumed that the fall would have killed us, but not the fey. No, they’d had to see what happened for themselves.

  And they were.

  Because our little flotilla was nowhere in sight.

  I craned my head around, but there wasn’t a single other beat-up boat anywhere. Damage, I suddenly remembered. The illusions Pritkin used didn’t hold up to damage. That must have been what the firestorm was for.

  And I guess falling over Niagara hadn’t helped.

  “I’m sorry,” Pritkin said, his hand clenching on my shoulder.

  “Don’t apologize,” I said, my voice shaking. “Don’t you dare.”

  “I involved you in this. They were chasing me, not you. I didn’t think, and I didn’t protect—”

  “I got myself into this. And I don’t need protection.”

  I looked back up at the fey. They never showed that nonexpression in the fairy-tale books, even the ones I’d had as a child, which had contained the grimmer version of the Brothers Grimm. They always had the—suitably ugly—villains snarling or glowering or slavering, filled with hate or malice. When the truth was, most of the ones I’d met were like the guy who mugged you in an alley and shot you even though it was too dark to see his face.

  Because why take the chance?

  As if in answer, another spear flashed into the fey’s hand, but this time, for the first time, it didn’t make me afraid.

  It made me furious.

  “You want this?” I grabbed the staff out from under the smaller fey’s butt, where it had somehow ended up. And then stood back up and screamed across the void, “You want this?”

  “You can’t mean to give it back to them,” Pritkin said, his voice tight. “They’ll kill us anyway—”

  “Like hell I’m giving it back!” I yelled, not because I expected pointy ears to hear me. I could barely hear myself over the crash and roar of the falls. But right then I couldn’t seem to do anything else. “I’m thinking maybe I’ll just break it. Is that what we want to have happen here?”

  And I guessed not. Because the fey suddenly found something else to do with that energy spear, which melted back into his skin. His eyes met mine across the void, completely expressionless. But then they slowly slid over to the staff.

  And, oh yeah. He wanted it all right. He wanted it bad.

  So picking us off wasn’t going to work with one of us holding it. Not unless he was willing to lose it, too. And it didn’t look like he was.

  “It’s mine now,” I told him. “Consider it compensation for what you assholes have put me through!”

  “Ohshit,” Pritkin said urgently, like maybe that wasn’t how you were supposed to talk to mighty fey warriors.

  And no, I thought, probably not. And then I thought, fuck the fey. What were they going to do? Kill me twice?

  I suddenly felt like laughing. “Everybody wants to kill me!” I told them. “Every-damned-body I know, for years. But, oh, look. Still here! Guess I must be doing something right, huh?”

  Pritkin was starting to look concerned, like he thought maybe I’d been hitting the bottle earlier. And it sort of felt like that, too. Giddy and strange and terrified and brazen, all at the same time. A whole crapload of fey warriors had been chasing a powerless Pythia and a not-ready-for-prime-time mage for what, most of an hour? So why weren’t we dead?

  “You suck!” I yelled, suddenly laughing, because why the hell not? “I know vampires who would have had me dead and drained and my scalp on their goddamned belt by now, and what are you doing? Nothing. You’re doing nothing! Because you know, don’t you?” I held the precious stick over the edge of the boat, just to watch the fey flinch. “If I let go, think you’ll ever find it again?”

  “Oh shit.” Pritkin sounded strangled. “That is priceless. And unique. And completely, completely irreplaceable.”

  “Guess that means he just lost, then, doesn’t it?” I said, watching the fey. Whose eyes had never left the stick but whose fist suddenly clenched.

  Aaaaaand okay, maybe those ears worked better than I’d thought. Because a whole line of fey suddenly appeared on the rocks, like they’d condensed out of the mist. And then broke, with no command I could hear, half of them staying put so we couldn’t go back the way we’d come, and half moving like lightning for the rocky cliff beside the fall.

  Because there was one, black as obsidian and worn mostly smooth from years of rivulets and constant fine spray. It looked like a death trap to me, but the parkour kings seemed to be navigating it like the rock wall at the gym.

  The kiddie wall.

  And it looked like we had ourselves a race, boys and girls. Which would have been fine, since it beat like hell being barbecued in place. There was just one small problem.

  The fey on the waterfall started lobbing spears at us.

  Okay, two small problems.

  And then we fell.

  Pritkin grabbed me, I grabbed the nearest troll, and he grabbed his buddy, who was still caught underneath the slats that formed the seats. Caught, but not liking it, not liking it one bit, and looking like he wanted to be anywhere else but here, which, yeah. And he was thrashing and we were falling and then the fey’s spear flashed by overhead, almost setting my hair on fire.

  Well, at least I know how to get down now, I thought insanely, right before we caught again.

  The trapped troll froze, halfway through a punch, and looked around, his eyes huge. And then got very, very still, as if he understood
that he’d done something to screw with the spell. But he obviously didn’t know what. And that meant he couldn’t control it, which was a problem since the fey clearly thought we could.

  That explained the barrage, which was falling on the far side of us like a glowing cage, to keep us from escaping and to drive us closer to the cliff. They weren’t trying to hit us; they couldn’t afford to hit us. But maybe that wasn’t entirely apparent to someone without a great vantage point.

  Like a guy stuffed under a seat, for instance.

  Another volley came streaming overhead, bright as fireworks in the gloom, the little troll screamed, and we fell. And this time, I didn’t think we were going to catch at all. We plummeted six, maybe seven stories, and then caught lopsided and slung around and almost turned over.

  Because our little floatation device was trying to make a run for it.

  It was kind of hard to blame him. He’d been ripped down from the roof, beaten and battered and almost drowned, and then forced to power our clumsy escape attempt. And now his friend had just started wailing on him.

  “Stop hitting him!” Pritkin was yelling, trying to prize one little guard off the other. “Stop hitting—”

  “If I stop hitting him, he leave,” the other guard panted. “He say, he not need us. He say, we can all go to earth for all he cares!”

  “That’s what we’re trying to do!”

  Pritkin grabbed the bigger guy’s arm, but not before he’d gotten a few good thumps in, and the little guard’s outrage at the attack made him forget about everything else for a moment. He swung at his friend, red faced and furious, and our ride abruptly evened out, became smooth even. I stared around, but I hadn’t imagined it. The little troll couldn’t freak out and fight at the same time, and if his nervous system wasn’t overloading, we weren’t falling.