Rival Magic

by Deva Fagan

  “Some sort of vine, maybe?”

  But as we moved closer, I saw it was something far more unsettling. The threads were woven in vast spirals, sweeping in enormous filmy curtains from tree to tree. Spiderwebs. My skin crawled at the sight, and yet I couldn’t look away. The woven patterns drew my eyes, shifting with half-formed images I couldn’t quite make out. I started to bend closer, to get a better look, when Moppe gave a shriek, pointing ahead to a bundle of twigs caught in one of the webs.

  Except it wasn’t a bundle of twigs.

  The bones poked out knobby and pale from the shimmering strands of webbing. A thighbone, a jaw, one gaping eye socket. And most disturbing of all, a hand that seemed to be pointing back the way we’d come. Like a warning from the dead, telling us to retreat before it was too late.

  I coughed, trying to clear the quiver from my throat. “Do you want to go back?” I asked.

  Moppe swallowed, her eyes enormous. “Do you?”

  Part of me did, desperately. But I wasn’t going to be the first one to admit it. “No. Of course not.”

  “Good. Then let’s keep going.”

  There was a bit of a clearing ahead where the path split. One trail rambled away to the left, the other to the right. I considered the two options. “Which way now?”

  Moppe crossed her arms, looking uncomfortable. “You go left and I’ll go right,” she said. She’d already started along her path before I registered what she was proposing.

  “Wait! No, we should stick together.” The goat gave a bleat, as if he agreed with me.

  Moppe halted, half turning. “There’re two paths. There’re two of us.”

  “But what about the nightmares?” I said. “What if you run into yours? I should be with you.”

  She waved a hand. “I’ll be fine.”

  But she didn’t look fine. She looked nervous.

  “Are you sure—”

  “Yes! I don’t need your help.”

  The words stung like the pinching bites of a swarm of beach flies. “Oh,” I said, my throat going tight with disappointment. I’d actually started to think we were a team.

  Uncle Goat gave another bleat, nearly tripping me as I started to pace away. “You heard her,” I told him. “She doesn’t need me. I guess we’ll just see who gets to the Speakthief first.”

  I strode off along the lonely left trail. There were more spiderwebs veiling the trees on either side, some of them bulging with gruesome bundles, but I kept my gaze straight ahead. I could make out a faint prick of starlight. I must be near the peak.

  A branch snapped behind me.

  I froze, praying I’d only imagined it. Was this my nightmare? My pulse pounded. My mouth felt dry as chalk as I waited for the forest to test me. What would it be? Reliving Florian’s death? My childhood phobia of ants, thousands of them crawling over me?

  Another crack, loud as cannon fire against the strange silence of the forest. My nightmare was right behind me.

  “You’re not real,” I said, fighting the urge to turn. “I’m going to ignore you and keep going, so you might as well just give up.”

  Something hard butted my legs. I looked down to find a pair of slitted gold eyes glowering up at me.

  My nightmare was a goat.

  He butted me again, harder. All right, so maybe this wasn’t my nightmare.

  “Ouch!” I danced out of the way before he could bump me again. “What is it?” I asked. “Where’s Moppe?”

  The goat bleated, giving me a look of severe disapproval. “What?” I demanded. “What am I supposed to do? She’s the one who insisted we go different ways!”

  Then I heard it. A thin sob, from somewhere in the distance. I didn’t think. I just ran, pelting toward the sound. “Moppe?”

  I raced back down the trail, lungs gasping, searching the dim shadows to find her. Back to the clearing, then up the right-hand trail, with Uncle Goat galloping beside me.

  There!

  She was standing just ahead of us. A few silver strands of webs tangled in her hair and plucked at her arms, which she raised trembling above her head. Her eyes were wide, not seeing me. Sweat and tears ran down her cheeks, and her breath came in quick, desperate puffs.

  The goat bleated at me.

  “I know!” I snapped. “But how do I help her?” What sort of spell would free a person from a nightmare?

  The goat bounded over to Moppe and began nibbling at one of the threads wound round her left hand. “The web?” I asked. “That’s what’s causing it?”

  That, at least, I could help with. I flew to Moppe’s side, brushing away the silvery webs that frosted her dark hair. The world shifted.…

  Color bloomed around me. The air turned brighter. I could smell the sea. Hear the nearby crash of waves. Shapes ghosted into solidity.

  And now I could see why Moppe’s arms were trembling. Now I understood the desperation in her face.

  She held an enormous boulder, sharp and terrible, above her head. It was impossibly large: a chunk torn from a mountain, craggy and brutal, large as a frigate. Her arms strained, sweat slicked her dark curls, as she struggled to keep it aloft.

  “I can’t do it,” she panted. “I have to put it down.”

  “No,” said a voice. I turned, to see a tall, dark-haired woman with dusky olive skin. She watched Moppe with a fierce certainty, as if the power of her gaze could fill the girl’s bones with iron. “You have to do this on your own, Agamopa.”

  “Help her!” I cried, but neither of them appeared to hear me.

  “Mother, please,” begged Moppe. “It’s too heavy.”

  I stared again at the tall woman. This was Moppe’s mother? The sea captain? She was dressed like a sailor, with close-fitting breeches and tall boots, and a loose white tunic. But how could she just stand there, watching Moppe struggle?

  “You don’t have a choice,” said the woman, her voice tinged with sorrow. “It’s your destiny. They’re all counting on you. See?”

  She gestured to the sand beneath the great boulder. The dream had shifted. A dozen kittens tumbled and mewled around Moppe’s ankles.

  “You must remain strong, Agamopa,” said the woman. “You know what’s at stake. If you give up now, you doom them all. But I believe in you. I always have.”

  Moppe’s ragged gasp tore at my heart. Her arms stiffened, locking tightly into place. She was trapped. She couldn’t set the boulder down, not without crushing the kittens. All she could do was stand there, forever, holding up that terrible weight.

  “Please, Mama. I need—I need help!”

  The woman shook her head. Her voice was heavy with regret. “I’m sorry, Agamopa. No one can help you with this. The burden is yours alone.”

  “Rot that!” I snarled. “There must be something we can do!”

  If I could get the kittens safely out of the way, she could set down the boulder! But when I reached for the tiny squirming bits of fluff, my fingers slid through them as if they were mist. I couldn’t affect the dream.

  A chunk of the boulder cracked away, slamming down onto the sand, missing one of the kittens by a whisker. Moppe gave a despairing cry. She’d closed her eyes, and her lips were twisted in agony.

  All the bones we’d seen along the trail seemed to rattle in my ears, like the drumming of a funeral procession. If Moppe didn’t break free, she was going to become just another withered bundle. There had to be some way to break her out of the nightmare. Some way to change it!

  “It’s just a dream, Moppe,” I said. “You’re not really here. You’re in the Forest of Silent Fears. Please, wake up!”

  She only shuddered.

  “You’re a wizard, Moppe,” I told her. “You don’t have to accept this. You can change it! Let me help you!”

  “I—I have to do it alone,” she quavered. “Mama said it’s my destiny.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” I snapped. “Listen to me!”

  Moppe blinked, opening her eyes. She was listening. Now if only she’d act!
>
  “Stone,” I said. “Shrink. Like your nose. Shrink!”

  A flare of hope glimmered in her eyes. She murmured something, too soft for me to hear.

  “Louder!” I urged her.

  “Stone! Shrink!”

  The great boulder began to dwindle. Only a few inches at first, but then faster, until it seemed to be melting like ice in warm water. A few more heartbeats, and it was merely a pebble, gray and harmless in the palm of Moppe’s hand.

  She stared at it, wide-eyed, her breath still ragged, as it faded into nothing.

  All around us, the dreamscape began to dim, colors and light fading back into the shadows of the forest. The tall woman melted away with a breathless huff. One last mewling cry shivered through the woods.

  Then the nightmare was gone. Moppe drew a long, trembly breath.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  Moppe dusted her hands together. “A nightmare, obviously.”

  “I know that,” I said. “But what did it mean? You didn’t actually get trapped under a giant boulder, did you?”

  Her expression froze, her eyes fixed on some distant point. She gave a small shake of her head. “No. I just have a lot of… responsibilities.”

  I frowned. “You mean your sisters.”

  “Right,” she said quickly. “My sisters. I need to take care of them.”

  “Can’t your mother help at all?” I asked hesitantly.

  “She’s busy. And besides, she knows I can do this. She’s counting on me.”

  “But you said your mother’s a sea captain. I don’t see why you needed to take the job working for Master Betrys if—”

  “That’s right,” she said sharply. “You don’t see. Because you don’t know what it’s like for people who aren’t you. People who don’t have a mother on the council and coin dripping out of their ears. People who still remember that we’re Medasian, not Regian, and are willing to fight for it.”

  “Fight for it? You mean like the criminals who killed my brother?” I took a step back, crossing my arms.

  She hissed through her clenched teeth. “No. I mean people like my father, who was just trying to harvest enough spiny-shells to make a living and ended up tossed onto a prison ship because the dyehouses claimed he stole from their territory. Territory that the council had reallocated without telling anyone! Tell me who the real criminals are, Antonia.”

  “I…”

  She looked at me then, eyes bright and fierce. My tongue turned to lead. I shook my head. “I’m sorry.”

  She turned away. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s just go.”

  I stared at my toes, pressing into the green moss. I could apologize a hundred times, but it wouldn’t make it right. All I could do was try to be better.

  But when I raised my head to tell Moppe that, she was gone. So was Uncle Goat. And the forest.

  11

  IWAS IN A BALLOON. Or rather, a basket, suspended by strong cords beneath an immense, billowy bubble of crimson cloth. Below, spread out like a grand tapestry, lay the glory of Medasia. Green mountains, blue seas, and a ribbon of pale beach between them.

  “Look, there’s Mount Zalon!”

  The familiar voice jolted my chest, like the slamming of a door when you thought you were all alone in the house. I spun to see a young man perched along the basket wall. A young man with green eyes and a dazzling smile. “Florian?”

  “Hullo, Ant,” he said, hooking an elbow around one of the cords and leaning out over the dizzying drop. “Isn’t this grand?”

  “Careful!” I squeaked, dashing over to drag him back into the safety of the basket.

  But he was too quick, scrambling away from my grasp to stand atop the basket wall. The wind rumpled his dark hair as he grinned out across the perilous, beautiful expanse so far, far below. I caught my breath, holding it as my heart thudded.

  “I’m fine, Ant,” said Florian. “Don’t worry. It’s too nice a day for worries.”

  Of course he was right. Look at all the birds, swooping and wheeling against the bright blue sky without a care in the world. They looked like crows. Except… was there something odd about their beaks? Strange how they flashed silver in the sun. “Florian, come down. Please.”

  “Don’t fuss at your brother, Antonia.” My mother sat serenely in a gilt chair against the other side of the basket, watching me over the rim of her steaming teacup.

  I glanced back at the strange crows. “But Mama, he—”

  With a sharp screech, one of the birds dove at the balloon. A harsh sound tore the air. The basket heaved, listing to one side.

  I smashed into the woven wall, all the air shoved out of me. I could only give an aching, wordless cry as Florian fell from his perch.

  Panic sent me scrabbling for the edge of the basket, my throat jammed tight with hope. He was there, clinging to one of the ropes! “Hold on!” I called, straining to reach him.

  Above us, black wings tore through the air. The crows swirled around the crimson balloon, silver beaks snapping.

  No, not beaks. Shears. Each bird had a pair of sharp silver blades where its beak should be. And with every swoop, they sliced into our balloon. Bits of crimson silk fluttered down, speckling the air like drops of blood.

  Desperate, I shoved myself over the edge of the basket, reaching for Florian’s hand. I could save him! Please, let me save him!

  But my fingers clasped on open air. He spun away, falling, falling, falling.

  The balloon lurched again, tipping me out of the basket too. I clung to the edge, hanging over the perilous void, agony and loss ravaging through me like a wild beast. My brother was gone.

  “Antonia!” called a voice.

  I dragged in a ragged gasp as a face floated into view. It was a girl with curling dark hair, riding a… flying goat? I must be imagining things. That was ridiculous.

  But the girl didn’t go away. She flew closer, reaching out, trying to grab at my hand. Her fingers slid past mine, as if she were a ghost, and she cursed.

  “You’re not real,” I said. “You’re riding a flying goat.”

  “And you’re getting attacked by crows with scissor-beaks!” the girl spat back. “I’m trying to help you, Antonia! You need to listen to me. I’m Moppe. Remember? This isn’t real!”

  But it was. I had never seen anything more real than the look in my mother’s eyes as she leaned out from the balloon, looking down at me. The ravaged ruin of her happiness.

  “Where is he?” she demanded. “Where’s Florian?”

  “He’s gone, Mama.” I barely managed to croak the awful words out. “Please. Help me!”

  My grip was getting weaker. I couldn’t hold on much longer. And now the crows were diving at my hands. Black wings slashed across my face. Silver shears sliced at my arms, leaving painful crimson lines. “Please, Mama!”

  But she only stood there, staring down at me, her eyes sharp with accusation. “Why? Why should I bother saving you? What use are you, if you can’t bring him back?”

  “I—I can’t. I don’t know how.”

  “Then you’re useless to me.”

  “I’m your daughter, Mama!”

  Her expression turned remote. “I don’t want you, Antonia. I want Florian. And you can never return him to me.” She backed away.

  A tortured sob wrenched from my throat. One of my hands slipped free of the basket. I dangled over the empty air, alone and abandoned.

  “Don’t listen to her!” shouted the girl on the flying goat. “You don’t need her help. You can save yourself! You’re a wizard!”

  A tiny flare of warmth kindled in my cold chest.

  “Come on, Antonia. I know you’ve got a thousand words crammed into your skull. Use them! Antonia. Rise!”

  “Antonia,” I said, as my grip slipped free and I began to plummet down, down, down. “Rise!” I screamed.

  And suddenly, I wasn’t falling anymore.

  Moppe’s warm fingers dug into my shoulders. Her dark eyes lanced into mine, trans
fixing me. I dragged in a shuddering breath. What was happening?

  The world shifted back to darkest night and looming trees. The scissor-beaked birds, Mother, the balloon, all of it was gone. All of it except for the faint scream of someone falling endlessly. Still, Moppe’s eyes held me steady, demanding my focus, until even that soft cry finally dimmed.

  “We’re trying to find the crown,” she said. “Remember?”

  The truth fell back into place. The crown. The Forest of Silent Fears. Nightmares come to life. Oh. I gasped, understanding.

  Moppe released me. My shoulders felt cold without her grip.

  “Sorry,” I said. “It just seemed so real.”

  “I know,” she said, leaning back against the trunk of one of the nearby trees. “Did your mother really say those things about your brother? Because if she did, I swear I’ll blow her nose up as big as the island.”

  I stared at the moss, studying the frothy puffs that clouded around my feet.

  “No.” My voice slipped into a bare whisper. “But I know she thinks them.”

  Moppe pursed her lips, as if fighting the urge to argue.

  “Let’s keep moving,” I said. “We must be getting close. But this time we stay together. Unless—” I hesitated. “Unless you still hate me.”

  Moppe rolled her eyes. “I don’t hate you.”

  “My mother sent your father to prison. I mean, practically. And I humiliated you at the gala and got us both expelled. No wonder you didn’t want me to see your nightmare.”

  “That wasn’t why I wanted to split up. I mean, I did kind of hate you after the gala,” she admitted, with a wry grin. “But really, I was… well, who wants other people seeing their worst nightmare?”

  I nodded. I understood now. I was glad that Moppe had saved me, but even so, I felt vulnerable. She knew a piece of me now that no one else did—not even Master Betrys.

  “I won’t tell anyone about your nightmare,” I said.

  “Me neither. And… I’m glad you came. I might have been trapped there forever if you hadn’t made me see the way out.”

  I managed a wavering smile. “And I would have ended up murdered by scissor-birds. I guess we make a pretty good—”