Surprise flickered in his eyes; I felt a spike in his heartbeat, and that pleased me. I liked seeing him like this. Vulnerable, and tender. More boy than enchanter.
Before I lost my nerve, I slowly slid his shirt off his shoulders. Edan went very still, almost rigid. There was a tingle ripening in my core that wouldn’t quiet. A hunger I’d been suppressing for days, maybe weeks. The hairs on his chest bristled as I ran my fingers down him, and I placed the softest of kisses on his throat.
Edan’s breathing quickened. “Maia,” he whispered, almost a gasp. A question hovered on his lips, but I placed my finger over them before he could ask. I unfastened his belt, then moved for the one holding my robes together, unthreading my arms from my clothes until they tumbled behind me.
The wind swept across my bare back, and I shivered, feeling suddenly shy. Edan pressed a warm hand on my spine and drew me against him. He kissed me, exploring my mouth with his tongue, then tantalizing my ears and my neck until I was dizzy and feverish. Finally, when my knees weakened and I couldn’t bear to stand any longer, Edan eased me onto his cloak against the soft, damp earth.
Our legs entwined; then we became flesh upon flesh. All of me burned, my blood singing wildly in my ears, my senses soaring. Above, the stars faded behind the misty sky, and the sun fanned its light upon us. We melted into each other until the dawn slid into dusk, and the sun paled into the moon, and the stars, once lost, became found again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
We arrived at Lake Paduan three days later than scheduled, but they were three days I wouldn’t have traded for all the magic in the world. Admitting my love for Edan was like succumbing to a beautiful, rapturous dream and wanting never to wake. If not for Edan’s oath and my promise to the emperor, we might have forgotten ourselves completely and stayed forever by that poplar tree under the sun.
The morning we were to make our journey across the lake, I unrolled the carpet over the dry yellow grass. I heard Edan rustle behind me. Every time I saw him, my heart became fuller, yet heavier. A faint golden crown still rimmed his pupils; he’d just finished his night as a hawk.
“Good morning,” Edan greeted me, kissing my cheek. The fatigue weighed on him more heavily with each passing day. Sometimes, in the early morning when he slept, he would cry out from a nightmare; when he woke, his eyes would be almost entirely white.
He didn’t seem to remember. I knew it would only hurt him if I asked about it.
I unrolled the carpet at my feet. “Is this good enough?”
Edan surveyed my work. “It will do nicely.”
“Thank you.” I flexed my hands. I hadn’t realized how sore my fingers were from constantly knitting, knotting, and sewing. The magic scissors helped, of course, but only to a point.
Edan rolled up his sleeves, and the cuff on his wrist glowed slightly, the way my scissors did when they knew I was about to use them.
He knelt and touched the carpet, tracing its border with his fingertips.
Nothing happened. I could tell Edan was getting agitated, though he tried not to show it. His shoulders tensed, his brow creased, and he wouldn’t look at me.
Finally the carpet began to tremble, so subtly I thought I’d imagined it. Its fibers stretched, wiggling and vibrating until they hummed a low, deep song. I hoped I’d woven it strong enough to weather Edan’s enchantment.
Then, miracle of miracles—it floated. A mere inch above the grass at first, then higher and higher until it was level with my hips. My head grew dizzy from the impossibility of it. Familiar as I’d become with Edan’s magic, I’d never seen anything like this.
“After you,” Edan said, gesturing with a note of triumph in his voice.
Once we’d both settled on the carpet, it swerved up into the air, soaring until it scraped the clouds. I clung to the edge, staring at the hundreds of tiny islands dotting Lake Paduan below, lit up like stars in the misty sunlight.
“It’s so beautiful,” I breathed.
“Don’t let its beauty mesmerize you,” Edan warned. “This land is full of dark magic.”
It was hard to imagine that. The islands appeared lush with vibrant green trees and golden beaches. But I’d come to trust Edan’s warnings since our brutal days in the Halakmarat; I still had nightmares about baking in the sun and finding my canteen full of sand.
I followed his gaze to a group of islands covered in mist. I could barely see them, for the sky there was dark and the water murky. We dipped down, and I grabbed a tassel, glad I had taken the time to add them to the carpet. My excitement quickly turned to fear as the wind picked up strength.
“I made this too thin, didn’t I?” I cried. “We’re losing control!”
“It’ll pass—just hold on!” Edan shouted back, but something in the carpet ripped.
I let out a shriek as we plunged through low-hanging clouds.
“I’ve got you!” Edan yelled, hooking his arm around me. Reaching for a corner of the carpet, he twisted it as the wind hurled us across the sky and steered us toward a dark pocket of land. The mist was so thick there I could hardly see.
Violent gusts of wind tore at us until I couldn’t tell if we were flying up or down. Then the carpet lurched, and we plummeted. My gut was sinking and being crushed all at the same time. Cloth whipped behind me—Edan’s cloak or mine, I couldn’t tell. I could see the water beneath us, its hungry, bottomless depths roaring toward us, drowning out my screams.
I grabbed Edan’s hand. He started shouting, the same words over and over until his voice was hoarse. The carpet careened toward a shadowy stretch of land, but the wind thwarted it. Whether we crashed on land or on the sea made no difference. The speed at which we were falling guaranteed death either way.
Edan flung his arms up, and the carpet folded around us, tight as a cocoon, surging for the island. Once we were over land, the carpet hung back, fighting the wind. We hovered in midair, barely long enough for me to catch my breath.
Then we fell again, this time into a crooked tree whose branches pierced the fog. Down the trunk we slid, the coarse bark shredding the edges of the carpet.
We hit the ground with a thump, and fireflies fled into the misty fog above us.
After a long pause, Edan stirred. “Maia?” he whispered, rolling to his side to face me. “Are you hurt?”
“I don’t think so.” My neck tingled, but I could move my head and my limbs. “Are you?”
“Nothing’s broken.”
I peeled myself off the moist, cold ground. The carpet lay at my feet, beaten and battered, its yarn half unraveled. I wove my arm through Edan’s and pulled him up. Using magic had drained him, and he was breathing hard. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“No more close encounters with death, please,” he joked feebly. “I don’t have it in me to save you anymore.”
“Save me?” I retorted. “Vachir’s arrows would have made a pincushion out of you if not for me and my scissors. And don’t forget you were on that carpet too.”
“True, true.” He chuckled. “Save us, then.”
I hid a smile and shook the dirt from my sleeves. “Is this the right place?”
He looked around, his sharp eyes discerning things that lay beyond my field of vision. “It is.”
Through mist and shadow, the island revealed itself. A graveyard of dead trees, their arms gnarled and crooked, raked across the sky. Aside from fireflies, the only signs of life were vultures, ravens, and crows. How odd that their shrieks comforted me in this eerie silence.
Even the water, which had slapped against the shores from which we departed, had become oddly still. Only if I listened closely could I hear the waves whispering restlessly from afar.
A lone gust of wind hissed, rippling through my sleeves and bristling against the back of my neck. The fog was thick, but the stars above shone so brightly their light
cut through. They seemed so close, hanging in the sky even though dawn had broken just a short while ago. It disoriented me, how dark it already was on the island.
In the distance, I could see the shadows of a city’s ruins. I started toward it, but Edan pulled me back. “Don’t venture off,” he said. “Not here.”
Edan shed his cloak, but I kept mine. Goose bumps crawled over my skin, my fingers stiffened, and the cold air seeped into my bones.
The isle was larger than it had looked from above. It became even quieter the deeper inland we ventured, until not even the birds breathed.
“Was it this quiet the last time you were here?” I asked.
“Yes.” He pointed to a tower off in the distance. “They say that the god of thieves leapt from the top of that tower to steal the stars. Of course, back then, they were much closer.”
“Did you go inside?”
Edan nodded. “It was the last rite before I took my oath. When enchanters are deemed ready, we journey to the Thief’s Tower. On the night the blood of stars falls from the sky, we drink from the well there.” He cupped his hands to show me. “If we survive, the blood stains our hands and binds the oath.” He held up the wrist with his cuff. “And we must serve the ages with magic…for better or for worse.”
“How many don’t survive?” I wondered aloud.
“The blood of stars is not meant to be drunk,” Edan said, by way of a reply. “And this isle is full of surprises.” His tone darkened. “You’re going to hear things…maybe even see things that are…are not of this world.”
I swallowed. “I understand.”
“Don’t listen to anyone but yourself no matter what you hear,” Edan said quietly. “They’re ghosts. They will call to you, say things that no one else could know to lure you close. Do not touch them.”
I nodded. He had already warned me. “What about demons?”
Edan clenched his jaw. “No two demons are the same—but demons have magic, whereas ghosts do not.”
“But there might not be any demons here, right?”
“I pray not.” He hesitated. “I told you I had a teacher who became a demon. He was bound to these isles.” Edan reached for my hand. “If he is still here, he would be more interested in me than you.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“I’m not trying to make you feel better,” Edan reminded me. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”
Hand in hand, we passed through the gate into the city. Crumbled buildings lined what must have once been a street. Broken signs in a language I couldn’t read hung from shattered windows. Everywhere, I saw smashed glass and fallen bricks, even cups and kettles outside what must have been a teahouse. There were no bones, no traces of life. All was still.
Then I began to hear the whispers.
YOU! Enchanter…You shouldn’t be here. Turn back. Now. NOW.
“Edan,” I said, gripping his hand sharply, “did you hear that?”
Edan’s body was taut as a bowstring. “Just walk on,” he said. “Ignore whatever you hear. They feed on fear.”
I walked faster.
Turn back, enchanter. Turn back now or stay forever.
Perhaps the girl will stay with us. She’d like it here. More than you did.
My heart beat faster. Edan squeezed my hand, and it helped. I gathered in a deep breath and concentrated on the tower ahead of us.
Against the darkening sky, the Thief’s Tower resembled a beacon, except there was no light, no hope at the top. Its stones were even and straight, like kernels on a withered cob of corn, untouched by the destruction around us.
One step after another, we walked steadily forward—until I could make out the statues crouched by its door. Statues of the god of thieves, I surmised. Sunlight piercing the mist touched his eyes, making them glow as if from within.
Maia. Maia, you’re here.
I froze. I would recognize that voice anywhere.
Maia, breakfast is ready. Won’t you come join us? Have a taste.
Against my will, I sniffed. The fragrant aroma of chicken porridge, with fried dough, wafted invisibly through the air. That smell was so taunting…so real.
I couldn’t move. My legs were leaden.
“What’s wrong?” Edan shook my hand, pulling me forward. “Don’t stop walking.”
I stumbled after him. “That was my mother’s voice.”
“It wasn’t. Remember what I told you.”
“It sounded so much like her.”
Edan shook me again. “It wasn’t her.” His voice was stern.
Maia! You’ve found us.
I felt the blood drain from my face. “Finlei,” I whispered.
I started to turn, but Edan grabbed my shoulders. “Don’t look back. Promise me, Maia. You need to ignore them.”
I stared at him blankly. “Do you hear them?” I whispered.
Edan caught my hand. “Maia,” he said harshly, urgently, “they’re not the ghosts of your family. They’re trying to trick you. Be strong.”
I pursed my lips. My palm was sweaty against his, and I tried to pull my hand away but Edan wouldn’t let go. I am strong, I thought. I’ve always been strong.
Maia, Maia, my girl, my mother’s voice rang out. Don’t listen to him. He’s lying.
Maia. Sendo spoke now. Come to us.
Over and over, they called out to me. Mama and Finlei and Sendo. Why are you ignoring us, Maia? Dear sister. Speak to us. Come to us.
How I yearned to run to them! But Edan wouldn’t let go of my hand, and I remembered his warnings about ghosts.
“Don’t let go,” I whispered to him, “not until you have to.”
Edan nodded. He looked so tired, so withered. What was eating away at him here? What hadn’t he told me?
We walked on, climbing over fallen debris. Salt was strong in the air, salt and dust and little else. Gone was that smell of Mama’s chicken porridge.
Edan shook my arm. “Maia,” he pressed, “tell me about your brothers.”
He was trying to distract me from the ghosts. I swallowed, picturing my brothers. My real brothers. It hurt so much to think of them. “Finlei…Finlei was the leader. The brave one.” My voice shook. “Sendo was the dreamer.” Edan squeezed my hand, encouraging me to go on. “Keton was the trickster, the funny one…but not so much after he got back from the war.”
“And you?”
“The obedient one.”
“No,” Edan said. “You’re the strong one.”
The strong one. The one who held the seams of my family together.
I inhaled, hoping that would be enough.
All too soon, we arrived at the gate of the Thief’s Tower. The air was hollow, deathly still.
“I’ll wait for you here,” Edan said, lighting a candle and passing it to me. The flame flickered, even though there was no wind.
“What do I do?”
“It’s the ninth day of the ninth month,” Edan said. “The sun sits high in the sky, waiting for the moon to rise. Once a year, the two are reunited for a precious moment, linked by a bridge of starlight.” He opened his palm, revealing the third walnut. “When the bridge collapses, the stars will bleed dust from the sky, and some will fall into the well at the top of the tower. Collect what you can.”
Edan caught my sleeve just as I started through the gate. A wild look haunted his eyes, and his skin was so ashen I worried he might collapse.
“Only seek the blood of stars,” he rasped. “Do not be tempted by anything else.”
“Edan.” My eyes widened with concern. “Are you all right?”
“I will be,” he whispered. “Once you come back to me.” He pressed a gentle kiss on my cheek. “You are strong.” He managed a smile, but it was merely a turning up of his lips. “Go. Find the stars.”
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I climbed the stairs to the base of the tower. My steps echoed into the night, the loneliest sound I had ever heard. There was no door, so I simply walked inside, into a round, empty room, open to the sky. I felt like I was inside a spool of thread; there were no windows, and the walls around me had no edges or corners.
Where were the stairs up to the top? The room seemed to stretch the deeper I went inside. Its stillness reminded me of a temple, but there were no deities to worship. No incense, no offerings to the gods. And I no longer felt alone.
No, I heard voices. Voices humming…from within the walls.
My blood turned to ice. I recognized Sendo’s voice. He was singing. There once was a girl in blue. Her hair blacker than the night.
“Sendo,” I whispered. I strode quickly now, almost running.
She fell in love with the ocean, this girl in blue.
I stopped. Turned.
There, atop a stairway, stood my brother.
“No,” I whispered. “You’re not real.”
Remember how we sat on the pier, Maia? And I told you stories about fairies and ghosts?
“I remember.”
I miss those times. Sendo began to fade up the stairs, his voice sounding faraway. Will you come with me? Don’t leave me, Maia. It’s so lonely here.
While I began to climb up, the stars shot forth, and the moon emerged from the fog. It was a faint but luminous orb, a gleaming white marble slowly rising to meet the waiting sun.
As I went higher and higher, a wondrous, horrible thing happened. The chamber shifted. Gone were the gray, unpolished stones, the dank smell, the dust from the debris outside.
I was home.
I smelled it first. Baba’s incense: cloves, star anise, sandalwood—and cinnamon. Baba’s incense was always heavy on cinnamon. I inhaled, letting the scent enfold me until I was awash in it.
I whirled around. No, this wasn’t our shop in Port Kamalan. It was too large, too crowded. This was Gangsun—now I saw Baba was in the front, talking to customers, and Finlei was in the back, arguing with our supplier over a sheath of turquoise brocade that apparently had the wrong flowers embroidered on it.
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