A high-pitched laugh came from behind him, and he spun. It echoed, and he turned again. Soon, the sound surrounded him, feeling vaguely familiar. Suddenly, a horned head popped up from beneath the barley field. Its golden yellow eyes gleamed as it cackled. It was dark, so Whitney couldn’t make out its features as it climbed free of the ground, but he immediately recognized the satyr.
When he, Torsten, and Sora were in the Webbed Woods, they’d encountered the beasts and only survived through the interference of Redstar disguised as Uriah and his dire wolf, Gryff.
Gryff wasn’t around to help this time.
Another satyr arose, snickering. Then another. And another still. They soon surrounded Whitney and were closing in. One spoke, its voice sounding feminine, but distant and difficult to understand.
As they grew ever closer, their features began to form, and Whitney blanched.
“Sora?” he whispered.
Each of them looked the same, and each of them looked like her. They were arm’s length away, and he felt the heat of their breath. One opened its maw, and its Sora-like features began melting away and their faces morphed into thousands of little bugs. Some flitted around, snapping their tiny mouths at him. Instead of the expected buzzing sound, their collective wings mimicked Sora’s voice, and it sounded pained.
Whitney felt something crawling on his leg and looked down. Spiders covered his feet and ankles. He tried to shake them off, but he couldn’t move. His heart pounded, his clothing, soaked with sweat. He wanted to throw up but couldn’t.
The flying insects swarmed, swirling around him. His vision was now completely obscured, shrouded in total darkness. From within the darkness, a giant spider emerged. As his eyes followed from the ground up, the legs and thorax faded into the body of a woman. She was completely naked.
Bliss, the spider queen and the One Who Remained.
He tried again to run, tried to do anything. He opened his mouth to scream, and it was immediately filled with hundreds of bugs. He felt them teeming on his tongue.
Bliss spoke, and his gaze met hers, but once again, instead of the face of Bliss Whitney had encountered in the Webbed Woods, Sora’s stared back at him.
She charged him, and when he fell backward, his world went black again.
Someone screamed Sora’s name, hysterical.
After a few shouts, Whitney realized it was him. His eyes protested but finally shot open, and he was staring into the glaring sun, surrounded by blue skies. He heard himself, his younger self, talking to him, but couldn’t make out the words. Then he heard another voice. When he shifted his eyes, all he saw was a giant white blotch. He blinked, trying to focus.
“Why is he screaming my name?” the voice asked.
“I don’t know. Say, Mr. Willis, why are you calling my friend’s name?” Young Whitney asked. “How do you know her? Are you okay? Where’s your friend?”
Big Whitney sat up. Finally, he could see clearly, and he was face to face with Sora, exactly how he’d remembered her looking as a kid. From her hair and her scrawny frame to her stunningly amber eyes.
“Why are you calling me?” Sora asked.
“I was dreaming,” Big Whitney said.
"Ick." She looked repulsed. “About me?”
“I—I don’t. No, I have a friend named Sora, too.”
“You do?” Sora asked. There was something in her voice Young Whitney wouldn’t have noticed, but Big Whitney did. Hope.
Whitney cleared his throat and stood. He stared at the little girl, the spitting image of Sora—because it was her. It was every bit her as the woman he’d left on a ship in the middle of Trader's Bay. Every bit her as the one who’d saved him from Redstar… twice.
“Mister? You know another Sora?” Young Whitney asked.
“Yes,” Whitney said, clearing his throat again, and tussling her hair. “She’s beautiful, just like you.”
Little Sora blushed.
Young Whitney scowled. “Gross,” he said.
“Be nice, Whitney,” Sora said. “Didn’t he take credit for that dumb stunt you pulled yesterday?”
“Yeah,” Big Whitney said. “I’ve been waiting for a thank you.”
“A lot of good it did...” he grumbled. “Come on.” He grabbed Sora by the arm. “Let’s go.”
“It’s almost supper time, won’t your mother—”
“I need a break from their sad faces, and besides, that guy’s too old for you.”
“Stop it!” Sora punched Young Whitney in the arm before they ran off toward the creek, though not before he shot Big Whitney another dirty look. The sight of them together made Whitney’s eyes well up.
“She used to punch me like that,” Whitney whispered as they skipped away.
Whitney wiped sweat from his brow, still shaken up from the vision. Then he swatted a bug on his neck. He stuck his tongue out as he wiped its guts off on his pants.
He decided that his younger self was right; a break was in order. He made his way to the house, drawn by the scent of a fresh cherry pie. The back door was always open, and he let himself in.
“Mrs. Fierstown?” he called. It was weird calling her that, and he’d, more than a few times, almost called her ‘ma’ already.
“Where’s your friend?” Rocco asked. The day after his injury, Whitney and Kazimir carried a bed down from upstairs and set it up in a downstairs room with a window that looked out over the farm. He’d barked all morning for Young Whitney to get to work before passing out in his bed, subdued by herbs brought over by Wetzel.
“Not sure. Probably off skulking in shadows,” Whitney said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know,” Whitney snapped.
The words hadn’t any sooner left his lips than he’d regretted them. Memories of being badgered by his father returned, and he couldn’t help himself. He braced, waiting for his father’s wrath.
“Fine.” Was all Rocco said, which pissed Whitney off more. If he'd lashed out like that when he was a child, he’d have a painful date with a belt.
“Fine?” he questioned. “That’s it? Fine? If I’d have said that to you twenty years ago, you’d have threatened to tear my ass from my hind or some crazy thing that made no sense. Fine?”
“Twenty years ago? What is wrong with you, boy? The sun… the heat's getting to you. You’d better rest.” Then he muttered under his breath, “Nobles.”
“Are you yigging kidding me? Rest? Since when is anyone allowed to rest around this gods-damned farm?”
Whitney was now directly in front of Rocco and shouting in his face, spittle speckling his lips. The fact that the man was laying down and couldn’t even get up completely escaped him.
“Enough.”
Kazimir appeared out of what might as well have been thin air and stood between Whitney and Rocco.
Rocco’s fists were clenched along with his jaw. “I thank you for this kindness, but get your friend some water and shade or you’ll both be without a bed tonight, that understood?”
“Maybe we’ll just—” Kazimir gripped Whitney by the arm and shoved him outside before he could finish.
“Yes, sir,” Kazimir said. “It’s just the sun, I’m sure.”
Rocco gave Whitney one last glance, then closed his eyes, moaning. “I knew they couldn’t be trusted with this,” he grumbled.
Kazimir gave Whitney another push on his way out the door.
“Get off me,” Whitney bristled.
“If you insist on acting like a child, I will treat you like one,” Kazimir said.
“If you haven’t noticed,” Whitney said, voice still raised, “the child version of me is down there by the river. He’d leave now if he knew what’s good for him. Take Sora with him.”
“A roof. Fresh food any time. I would have killed to grow up in a place like this. I did kill.”
Whitney stared for a moment, then huffed. “You don’t get it. The bastard is impossible.”
“Excuse me?”
/> “My father,” he spat the word from his mouth like it was a bit of maggot-filled meat.
“You get him crippled, now complain about an attitude you instigated?”
“This isn’t really…” Whitney drew a long breath. “He and I just shouldn’t be in the same place for long.”
“Well, this was your idea. ‘Simple and easy,’ you said.”
“You don’t understand,” Whitney whispered, shaking his head.
“What, a Glassman who hates his father? You’re as predictable as the day I caught you.”
“Do you have any idea how predictable everything about you is? Just cos you’re a bloodsucking demon doesn’t mean you have to look like… like this.” He flattened his palm and lifted and lowered it, gesturing like he was showing off a cow at market. “You’re the spitting image of my childhood nightmares.”
“A nap in the dirt wasn’t enough? I should kill you where your stand.”
“It wouldn’t count,” Whitney retorted.
“What?”
“That’s right. This ***fool*** is starting to figure things out. You can’t toss me away and leave me here, can you?” Whitney scoffed. “Your Sang-whatever Lords won’t count it as dead and clear your blood pact. That’s why you’re following me around like a hen. Hoping we come out of this crazy place side-by-side.”
“My desire was the orphan mystic. And neither you nor this foul place will keep me from her.”
“Well, there she is!” Whitney smirked, gesturing back toward the river. “I may be many things, but I know how to sniff out a liar. I’ve learned from the best.” He nodded in the direction of his younger doppelgänger. “You’re scared to fail. No, wait… you think the sandwind Lor—”
“Sanguine ,” Kazimir growled.
“Whatever. You think they’re keeping you here as punishment because you went too far and still couldn’t get the job done. Killing Tayvada, bloodletting Sora. They know you’ve been naughty.”
Kazimir’s features twisted with rage. Whitney placed his hands behind his back so a part of him could twitch with fear while the rest of him stood strong. He’d taken his gamble, and now he had to stick with it. He laughed.
“Ruthless Kazimir is superstitious!”
Kazimir’s whole body tensed and Whitney prepared for another blow to the head. Instead, the upyr stalked away. “When I do get out of here and find your friend, thief, know that I’m going to drain her in the most painful ways imaginable.”
“If you find her. Far as I can tell, we aren’t leaving this place, and the Sora here doesn’t know mystics from cow dung.”
Kazimir didn’t stop walking.
“Hey! Where the yig are you going?”
“I’m done arguing with a child," Kazimir answered without turning around or stopping. "I’m going to rest for the first time in longer than I can remember. You can handle this problem yourself.”
“What is wrong with you?” Whitney asked, following him into the dark barn. “You’re a gods-damned upyr, and you’re acting like a trained house cat.”
“When you’ve been here as many times as I have, you learn a thing or two. No one is saving you. Nothing you do will make anything better. Play by their rules, and you might get along easy. I’m not a cat, and I’m sure as this is Elsewhere not an upyr anymore. Not here, at least.”
“Well, you might give up, but I won’t. I’m going to get out of here. I’ve escaped the Glass Castle more times than I can count—and that was just in the past few months.”
“One day and you nearly got yourself kicked out of here. Tell me, what do you think you’ll be doing in Elsewhere if you can’t handle farming. Hanging from the Eye of Iam to be picked out by ravens for all eternity. I see no other possibility for you. This isn’t the Glass Castle. You’re playing in the territory of angry gods now.” Kazimir laid down on the hay and closed his eyes.
“Yeah well, these gods haven’t met me. I killed a goddess, and I’ll kill every one of them if I have to. I’m done playing. I won’t waste any more of my life here.” Whitney picked up a sickle, slammed the barn doors open, then started off toward the edge of the property.
“You’re wasting your time,” Kazimir said, having abandoned his hay to follow.
Whitney ignored him. He thought he could handle playing the helpful stranger, but it was clear that was a bad idea. He had them—bad ideas—from time to time, albeit very rarely. He crossed back through Troborough. As usual, nothing was going on. Whitney heard some of the townsfolk discussing the latest gossip, and almost all of them seemed to be talking about what happened to Rocco and the strange travelers kind enough to help him like that was the biggest thing that had happened in all of their lifetimes.
“I’ll give you a game,” Whitney grumbled. “Damn, lazy upyr tricking me into sitting around doing nothing.” He swung the sickle in anger, and the townsfolk gathered outside the Twilight Manor stared at him.
“Just a mysterious traveler passing through!” he shouted.
Their heads turned with him. It made his skin crawl. Even the priest version of Torsten watched him though he had no eyes.
Whitney held his breath and picked up his pace.
“Ferryman!” he shouted as he walked down to where they’d been dropped off in the river. Wetzel’s shack sat far to the left of him, roof covered in moss and a broken water-wheel off to the side. The old codger fumbled with something out back, cursing to himself.
“Ferryman!” Whitney yelled again. He sloshed into the water and looked from side to side, as if the boat would appear, completely repaired.
“Yigging exile,” he cursed. He looked back toward town and saw that a few of the townsfolk had gathered atop the hill, still watching him, whispering to one another. He snapped the sickle shaft over his knee and stormed up passed them, pants soaking wet.
He found the town stables to be empty, wondering why he’d ever thought there’d be a convenience like horses in Elsewhere. So, he marched down the main, western road on his own, doing his best to ignore all the prying eyes of anyone he passed.
“Not going to wait around in this dump,” he grumbled. “I’ll go where things happen.”
He stopped at the edge of town, rolling hills before him. Eventually, the dirt road would intersect with the grand, stone-paved Glass Road which led straight to Yarrington. He turned back. Dozens of townsfolk were now congregated, Wetzel among them, and out-of-place Torsten, even Lauryn, staring at him like she had no idea who he was.
“Have a good eternity,” he said, performing an exaggerated bow, then set off down the road. Just as a smile crossed his face, he slammed into something he couldn’t see, and collapsed to the ground, his tailbone landing on a rock. Pain shot all the way up his spine and further. His nose hurt… his whole face hurt.
“What the…” He popped back up and crept forward with his hand flat. It pressed against an invisible boundary. He whipped back around, brow furrowed, and all the townsfolk began to break away.
“Drunken fool,” one said.
“Poor, lost soul,” said another.
Whitney patted the unseen surface separating him from the Glass Road, taunting him. He sensed a shadow creeping up on him.
“Wonderful,” he said. “We’re stuck here, aren’t we?”
He turned, and Kazimir stood in the road. They’d spent the entire day bickering, but now Whitney saw an unfamiliar expression on the upyr’s face. It seemed like pity.
“You’re starting to get it,” Kazimir said.
“There has to be a way out.”
“Not for you.” Kazimir walked by him and stretched his hand through the invisible wall. The world rippled around his fingers like water as it passed through.
“What the!” Whitney nudged him aside and slapped his palms against the same part, only for them to be blocked. “No, there has to be a way out.”
“There isn’t.”
“You’re a yigging liar!” Whitney kept going, skirted along the barrier and running his hand along
it as if it were a wall. “There’s a way out; there’s always a way out.” He kept going, running now, until he found himself back around on the other side of Wetzel’s shack, shin-deep in the river.
“What kind of place is this!” Whitney shouted. He kicked at the water, then fell to his knees.
“I’ve been trying to tell you,” Kazimir said. “I have all of Elsewhere I could be, but I’m staying here because this is your Elsewhere, and just as you are unable to leave, the wianu are forbidden to enter.”
“So, you’re scared?”
“The beast exists beyond life and death. Only it can destroy me, and I have too much left to do before I die.”
“If it can kill you, doesn’t that mean it can do the opposite. You know, send you back?”
“I do not know. We do not face them here by choice, where they’re at their most powerful.”
“But you can leave? You can go find one of the fallen gods or whatever and tell them we don’t belong here.”
“And they would care not. For you do belong here, and I belong nowhere.”
“I don’t. You were there, on that ship. We didn’t die.”
“But you’re here, and only the dead inhabit this place. Mistake or not, your soul is in exile. Never to return.”
“You said it yourself. You’ve been here before many times. Not just when you closed your eyes.”
“It is the nature of becoming upyr. To become of both realms as the wianu is. Untethered. The newest of us always pass through this place, and encounter all its challenges as their minds come to grips with what they are. Knowing I was going to wake from this nightmare as the Sanguine Lords saw fit, I never cared.”
Whitney looked up at him, tears in his eyes. “So now you’ve come to gloat?”
“No. Seeing a man grasp for purpose when there is none, even if it is you, brings me no pleasure. You’re dead Whitney Fierstown. There is no going back. The Sanguine Lords punish me, but not because you failed to die, but because I wasn’t the one who killed you.”
The Redstar Rising Trilogy Page 85