by J. M. Lee
“Naia, what . . .” When Amri saw the dim blue light rising from her hands, he changed his question: “You’re going to try to heal it? I don’t know if that’s a good idea . . .”
The blue light in her hands pulsed with her heartbeat, in time with the shining of the Crystal. She and the Crystal—the Gelfling and Thra. They were connected, mother and child. Not like the monsters who had come from another world and ruined everything.
“They came here and told us lies. Told us they would protect the Crystal and did the opposite. They broke it and lost the shard. This isn’t even their land—who are they to break the heart of our world, and then call us the traitors and rebels?”
Amri put a cool hand on her shoulder. Gently, but firmly.
“I know, but—”
“Even though they were powerful and frightening,” she went on, “I always thought they could be stopped. I always thought that if we were strong enough—if we lit enough fires, if we united the Gelfling. If we did everything Aughra and Thra told us to do, we could stop them. But now I know we can’t. We can’t kill the Skeksis, because we can’t kill the Mystics. We can’t stop them. I can’t stop them.”
“But the Crystal is so big, Naia—so much bigger than you. Healing is giving. If you try to heal it, you might give up too much—”
“I still have to try. Even if Gurjin took most of my power to heal me, I’ve got to have a little left. Enough to do something.”
“Naia, wait—” He grabbed her wrist, but she pushed past him, thrusting her hand full of healing light against the purple-tinted spire of crystal. “No!”
He threw himself against her, but he was too late. Energy bolted through their bodies like lightning, sucking her breath from her lungs.
When she came to, she was slumped against the cave wall, Amri beside her. They’d been knocked across the tiny cavern by the arc of light that had come from the vein.
“Amri,” she said. She shook his shoulder.
“What happened?” he mumbled, reaching up to touch the scratch on his cheek.
“Hold still. You’re hurt.”
Hurt. Because of what she’d tried to do. The light faded from her hand as guilt seeped out of her stomach. She willed it to return. Willed it and, at the same time, hoped Amri wouldn’t notice the dull panic throwing itself against the inside of her chest. The blue light flickered, and she swore under her breath. If she couldn’t even heal Amri, then how could she possibly have thought she could heal the Crystal?
“It’s not working,” she whispered.
“Naia, it’s fine,” he reassured her. “I’ve had my share of bruises and scratches from cave rocks.”
He touched her wrist, gently pushing her hand away. She helped him to sit up, and together they gazed at the blighted crystal cluster, the only thing that lit the tiny cavern. He pressed his hand against his cheek, though the bleeding was already slowing. Naia’s stomach hurt. She couldn’t even heal a tiny scratch—they were lucky it hadn’t been worse.
“I’m sorry,” she said again.
He reached out to her, eager to leave but unwilling to go without her.
“Let’s just get out of here,” he said.
She agreed by taking his hand. The two of them left the cluster of slowly darkening crystal behind, buried deep in the wall of the cave like a bad dream.
CHAPTER 8
The two of them climbed up the edge of the valley to walk along the upper ridge on the way back. The Skarith Land sprawled in every direction, radiant in every color. To the north were the lush greens and blues and purples of the endless Dark Wood, punctured on the west side by the deep black Castle of the Crystal, rising like a claw from the ground. To the northwest, beyond the castle, was a shining gold sheen that marked the Crystal Sea desert; to the northeast, the gray, craggy Grottan mountains and the high hills where Aughra’s orrery was perched like a bell-bird’s nest. And at their backs to the south were flat, rolling plains of yellow-green grass blotted with patches of violet and pink wildflowers. Far beyond the Spriton Plains was dense fog that pulled at Naia’s heart. The Swamp of Sog, the southernmost border of the Skarith Basin.
It was an easy journey, compared to the steep cliffs in Ha’rar or the dangerous, sharp crags in the Caves of Grot. Naia tried to enjoy it. Tried to let the beautiful wonder of their world take away the tired defeat that gnawed at the bottom of her stomach.
“If we’re here, south of the Dark Wood,” she murmured, trying to ease the silence, “you must have been on the river with urSan for a long time.”
Amri nodded, folding his arms. Naia watched him stare out over the magnificent vista, his cheeks and ears slowly turning pink. Although she never thought he could be mistaken for a Vapra, pale cheeks that blushed quickly were an endearing something he shared with the Silverlings.
“Please forgive me?” she asked again. He had barely responded when they’d been in the cave.
He met her eyes, though there was still something shielded about him. Even after what they’d gone through in the cave.
“Of course I forgive you,” he said. “We’re friends.”
“Friends?” she repeated. An embarrassed laugh wormed its way out of her throat. “Oh.”
Friends. Of course.
“There you are!” Kylan grunted, slightly out of breath as he climbed on top of a boulder, up ahead between them and the central heart of the valley. “Come quickly. urVa is awake!”
Naia and Amri exchanged glances, then ran after their Spriton friend.
urVa was indeed awake, though his eyes remained half closed and his breath barely moved the dust that drifted in the sunbeams. The others made room for Naia when she arrived, moving swiftly to where urVa’s head rested. His hand trembled when he reached for her, and she held his big hand in both of hers.
“Little Gelfling . . .”
“You’re awake,” she whispered. “urVa, what happened? Who did this to you?”
“Indeed . . .” For the first time, he seemed to recognize her, his dark eyes catching a glimmer of light. “Oh, Naia. There you are. How goes the lighting of the Gelfling fires?”
“We’ve lit three. The Gelfling hearths burst into blue flames and etched the story . . .” Naia sighed and stroked a lock of urVa’s pale hair. “I wish you could have seen it.”
“The blue flames will make whole what was once undone,” the Mystic said. “Will seal what has been sundered.”
Naia clamped her hands together. “Will . . . seal? Aughra called them the fires of resistance. Why not the fires of rebellion? The fires of revolution?”
“Because this is not about war. We cannot forcefully remove the darkness in others. We can only find balance with the darkness within ourselves . . .”
“But the Skeksis—” Naia interrupted herself when she heard her voice rising. She closed her mouth and took a breath. “How are we supposed to win if all we do is resist?”
“Resistance . . . is a word with many meanings,” he replied after a long, ponderous thought. “This world is ill. Its heart has been infected. When an organism senses an infection, it reacts in response. Healing elements that might not have been present before.”
“Menders,” Amri whispered. urVa nodded.
“Yes. Menders. That is a fine term. You see, over time, the organism develops a resistance to infection. Because of the menders. The fires . . . are part of Thra’s process of resistance . . .”
Everything he was saying reminded Naia of her training in healing. Her mother had not limited her teachings to vliyaya, of course; there were many ways to heal, not all of which involved using precious life-essence magic. Medicines and herbs, knowing how bones were arranged in the body. Remembering which brightly colored flowers were poisonous, and of those poisonous ones, which could be converted to salves when boiled or burned or left in the sun.
“Thra is an organism, like
a Gelfling or a tree,” she said. “The menders are its way of trying to heal itself. The fires are the sign. Like . . . like a fever. An indication that the body is sick and trying to recover, and a way for the body to fix itself. And resistance . . .”
“Yes,” was all urVa said. “As when the body builds a resistance to an illness which once plagued it. You menders. Will endure the deterioration caused by the Skeksis. You will find . . . the way.”
Naia’s eyes stung. “I don’t know, urVa. I don’t know how we can do it. We can’t destroy the Skeksis. Not if it means destroying you, too. It wouldn’t be right.”
urVa folded his fingers around her hands so they were safe in his palm. To her surprise, he chuckled, an old, slow, familiar sound.
“For every one,” he said, “there is another.”
The old mantra settled onto Naia like a comforting quilt. Hands enclosed in his, warmed by the light coming from above, she felt the knot of anger in her stomach loosen. Shedding its coils. There was no doubt in the Archer’s voice, as fragile as it was.
“Another way,” Naia echoed. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “We’ll find another way.”
“Very good, my little Naia,” urVa said. Then his eyes closed, his head growing heavy and still again. Naia stroked his mane and sighed.
“I’ve been asleep for too long,” she said. “But urVa still believes in me. In us. It’s time we make a plan and continue on our path.”
“Even if we know now that we can’t kill the Skeksis?” Tavra asked, raising a brow.
“Yes,” Naia said. What was done was done, and it was time to set her sights ahead, again. “We will find another way. And in the meantime, we will light the fires and unite the Gelfling.”
They left urSu to tend urVa, walking in silence. Gurjin glanced at the cut on Amri’s cheek, sighing and shaking his head, though he didn’t ask about it. After that, Amri lagged behind, but Naia let him. She didn’t know what to say to either of them right now.
They found a place near the cooking fire, where one of the Mystics stirred a large cauldron. Gurjin stretched his arms out as they all took a seat in the soft sand.
“We’ve discussed our options a bit while you were recovering. Kylan, would you like to do the honors?”
“Oh!” Kylan chirped, bright and eager to dispel the dreary mood. “Yes. Naia, it’s so wonderful. urSan’s been sharing her maps and charts with me since we’ve been here. She has maps of every region she’s traveled in the Skarith Land. Up and down the Black River, into the desert—all along the Silver Sea and the Sifan Coast.”
He took his book from his traveling pack, along with a few other rolled map scrolls. Naia could understand the figures of the land that were drawn on the map, though she couldn’t read any of the writing. Where the maps in Kylan’s book had always seemed digestible, small regions illustrated in heavy detail, urSan’s sprawling scroll seemed to encompass the entire world.
“This is the valley where we are,” Kylan said, pointing. “Near the headwaters of the Black River. We’re very near Sami Thicket and not far from Stone-in-the-Wood. And I’ve marked here, and here, too. Domrak and Sog.”
Naia nodded. “The four clans we haven’t visited yet. The Spriton, the Stonewood, the Grottan, and the Drenchen.”
Gurjin sat on Kylan’s other side and traced a line with his finger. “Exactly. Domrak and the Swamp of Sog are equally distant, but in opposite directions. It makes sense for us to split up.”
“No,” Naia protested. “We’re stronger in numbers.”
“But we’re more than we were,” Gurjin said. “You and I need to get back to Sog. Kylan can come with us, since Sami Thicket is on the way. Onica, Tavra, and Amri will go to Grot and Stone-in-the-Wood. It makes the most sense.”
Naia looked at the map. From where they were now, there was a path that went north toward Stone-in-the-Wood and Domrak, and a different one that went south through Sami Thicket to Sog. Staying together would more than double their traveling time. She hated it, but Gurjin was right.
“Well . . . what do you think, Tavra?” she asked, hoping the seasoned soldier might have a compelling reason for them to stay together. Tavra reviewed the map, cupping an elbow in one hand and tapping her cheek with the other. But when Onica touched her shoulder, leaned in, and whispered something in her ear, Tavra looked away from the scrolls and parchments. Instead, she looked at Amri, then Naia.
“I think Amri should go with the three of you. Onica and I will go north without him.”
“But he’s Grottan,” Gurjin insisted, even though Amri still hadn’t said anything, not even about his own fate. “Don’t you think he should go north with you? To meet with his clan?”
“No,” Tavra said with an air of finality. “I can navigate Domrak without him. The mountains will be infested with Arathim, and the Skeksis will be scouring the Dark Wood and the pathways to Ha’rar. It will be easier for us to travel alone. And after that, Onica and I must return Tae’s body to Maudra Ethri and the Sifa in Cera-Na, where she can rest until her mind recovers. It will be a long and harrowing journey.”
Gurjin bunched up his face. “But—”
“Therefore, we will go alone. The rest of you will go south to Sog.”
“Maybe we should let Amri decide,” Onica spoke up. Kylan nodded and all eyes turned to the Shadowling.
“Onica’s right,” Kylan said. “Amri, what do you want to do?”
Amri’s ears flattened at the attention, thin lips quirking nervously. Naia thought for a moment he would say what she didn’t want him to: that he preferred to part ways with them and go north. That maybe whatever had changed between the two of them would propel him even farther away from her.
It’s just as well, anyway, she thought. She wasn’t his maudra. He should do what he felt was best. She was ready for him to say just that when he cleared his throat and sat up straight.
“If it’s all the same, I’d like to go south to Sog,” he said. “Tavra’s right. It’ll be easier for them to travel in a smaller number. And I’m really only familiar with Domrak. The Dark Wood, even Ha’rar and Cera-Na—I won’t be any help there.” In the end he shrugged and added, “Anyway. I’ve always wanted to see the Spriton Plains and the Swamp of Sog.”
Tavra nodded with approval. “After we meet with Maudra Fara and Maudra Argot, light the fires of the Stonewood and the Grottan, Onica and I will make our way back to Cera-Na.”
Naia realized Tavra was dressed in traveling gear, with new sandals made of dusty tan suede and hemp rope. She and Onica were preparing to depart soon.
It was a sad and sudden realization. Naia wanted to hold on to Tavra and Onica, so tight they could never leave her side. She had come to rely on them both, regarded them as older sisters. But she also knew that it was the right thing to return Tae’s body to Maudra Ethri, where her mind could heal in safety with her clan.
“It will not be goodbye forever,” Onica said, reaching out and squeezing Naia’s hand. “We’ll surely meet again when all the fires are lit and the Gelfling gather to confront the Skeksis.”
Naia nodded, glum but understanding. This was the way that made the most sense, even if it meant saying goodbye. At least she didn’t have to say goodbye to Amri.
Naia realized everyone was watching her, even the two Mystics who had sat on the other side of the fire, quiet as the stones that lined the valley. They were all waiting for her. Though Tavra was the warrior daughter of the All-Maudra, and Onica a Far-Dreamer who could speak to Thra. Though Gurjin had been a soldier at the Castle of the Crystal. Though Kylan had learned every song ever told in all of Gelfling tradition, and though Amri could hear the voices of the earth and knew all the wisdom stored in the Tomb of Relics. Though the gift of healing had been taken from her, leaving her angry and confused. Though all these things, it was Naia’s response they waited upon.
“Then
that is what we’ll do,” she said.
“Very good,” Tavra said, rising. “Now that we’ve charted our course, Naia, would you come with me? I’d like to have a word with you alone.”
CHAPTER 9
When they were out of earshot from the others at the cook fire, Tavra knelt below a tree. A moment later, her eyes closed and her chin drooped. She fell fast asleep, and the sapphire spider stirred, detaching from Tae’s neck and creeping down her shoulder. Naia knelt beside them, shaded by the tree’s wide leaves, and held out her hand so Tavra could stand in her palm, close enough that she could hear the crystal spider’s quiet voice.
“Would you try . . . dreamfasting with me?”
In answer, Naia closed her eyes. She pictured Tavra in her Gelfling form, tall and elegant, with pale skin and long silver hair streaked with lavender. She opened her mind to dreamfast, using the memory of Tavra’s true nature to guide her.
Though she had a different form, Tavra had not forgotten this most essential Gelfling tradition. The dreamfast began almost immediately. In her mind’s eye, Naia saw them in the valley of stones, Tavra seated across from her, dressed in her Silverling armor. Sword at her hip, gossamer wings at her back like a cloak of prismatic ice. Naia smiled.
“How are you feeling?” Tavra asked in the dreamfast.
In the place where their minds were linked, where the dream-space existed only between the two of them, Naia’s emotions were a jumble. She held back as much as she could, but as soon as she opened her mouth, everything rushed out.
“I don’t know,” she confessed. “I’m going to keep trying. I don’t know how to give up, and urVa seems to think I can find another way . . . but what if I can’t? Everyone is following me, but I’m not even sure I know the way myself. Not even Gurjin seems to trust me right now. I feel like he’s holding back.”
“Gurjin is trying to look out for you,” Tavra said mildly, as if she didn’t care either way whether Naia believed her.
