Heart of Farellah: Book 3

by Brindi Quinn

  “I am sorry. I assumed that Scardo had already-”

  “I SWEAR! THE MORE TIME YOU SPEND AROUND THESE SAPES AND . . . AND OTHER BREEDS, THE MORE YOU BECOME ALIKE THEM! HOW DISGRACE-”

  “Good.”

  “What?!”

  “I said, it is good that I have become alike them. It is a fact that I am proud of. You need not be such a carper. Your words are like fire-spit and they are tiring.”

  “What is this you have said to me? A CARPER!?”

  “I think he means ‘bitch’, dear Rend.” A mocking smile rode Ardette’s mouth.

  Grotts and Kantú replicated the gesture, smiles creeping while their eyes grew wide with shock. Trib, on the other hand, was too busy with the strings to become engaged, Scardo appeared very uncomfortable with it all, and Nyte was staring into the mist, his expression unreadable. Only Darch shared in my reaction.

  He too was gazing at Rend with a sad sympathy. It was a look she had to have hated, but she deserved ever bit of it.

  “ENOUGH,” I said adamantly. Firmly. Strictly. An exercise of authority? Maybe. But Rend deserved at least that one word – even if she detested me for it.

  I offered it because I knew. I knew what she was going through. Wasn’t it her firm belief that Nyte had carry out his ‘duty’? That he must? That he was meant to die for the sake of the Westerlands and thus, their people? She understood that he had to save them no matter what. That it would be dishonorable, treasonable, and ‘foolish’ for him to back out of something so sacred. But knowing that – holding steadfast to that stubborn notion– meant that she also had to have been ailing. How could she not be? She firmly believed that at the end of this she’d lose her would-be fiancé, her kin, her protector, her . . . whatever he still was to her. Did she still love him? Probably. At least in some ways. Any amount of love, even the smallest inkling . . . how tormented that must’ve made her.

  “Enough,” I said again.

  Rend looked like I’d just called her a ‘carper’ myself. “Dare you defend me, Evil-”

  “You too. Enough.”

  Rend’s breath through her nose was like a bull, but she said nothing more – only stomped away to the opposite end of the buggy.

  Darch put a hand on my shoulder. I looked to him, and he too said nothing, only gave me a nod. One bobbed nod of approval . . . I think. Then he said,

  “I’ll see about a map. Also, there’s another thing we’ve got to discuss, guys.”

  “What’s that?” asked Grotts.

  “Trib’s going to need a break at some point, right? It’d be best that at least two of us learn how to maneuver the buggy. Rend and Nyte are out for obvious reasons. It’s only a manner of time before they’ve got to cast the barrier. You guys can feel it too, right? That feeling of sadness?”

  “Yes.” Scardo nodded. “I can feel it, and I agree wholeheartedly with your proposition, Darch. Nyte’s also to stay on detection duty, as well, correct?”

  “Mm-hm. Aura’s out too. We’ll need her strength in case of an emergency. I’d like to learn – I really would – buuuuut there are certain complications keeping me back.”

  “Complications?” asked Kantú.

  The cries. Those cries of the mist.

  “It’s a secret.” Darch winked. Then he clapped his hands together. “That leaves Scardo, Grotts, Ardetto, and Kantú. So, who’s it gonna be?”

  “I think I won’t,” Ardette said plainly. He slumped against the boat’s side in a lazy heap to solidify the statement.

  “Alrigh’, ya lazy lech. Guess that leaves you an’ me.” He patted Scardo on the back.

  “Hold on a sec!” Kantú wiggled her nose, and it’s possible her bottom lip also started to quiver, but I couldn’t be sure. “What about me!? I want to learn! It looks fun to play with those strings!”

  “P-play?” said Scardo.

  “I know ya’d do a great job, Kantoo, but I think yer a little too short ta reach some of ‘em.”

  “Yes!” agreed Scardo, grateful for some excuse – any excuse – to keep Kantú from commanding the transport. “Too short. Far, far too short, I’m afraid. Apologies, Kantú.”

  “Awwwww.” She gave both of them a disappointed whine.

  I hoped she wouldn’t notice just how short our current pilot was.

  That settled, Darch, Grotts, and Scardo hurried to speak to Trib about a map.

  Left to ourselves, I grabbed Nyte’s hand and pulled him down with me into a lazy slump similar to that of Ardette’s, who was a short distance away most likely fiddling with something.

  “Aura?” said Nyte after a moment of peaceful silence.

  “Yes, Nyte in shining armor?”

  “Are you referring to me, Miss Havoc?” he asked, grinning. “Because I sport not armor.”

  I, too, grinned and threw him a fakely-exasperated, “Never mind.”

  He tapped my chin, but then his finger stayed and was joined by the rest of his hand. It slid up my jaw until arriving at its destination: my cheek. There, he cupped my face tenderly and said,

  “I am sorry.”

  “Sorry? For what?”

  “I am sorry to have caused a level three. I did not mean to-”

  “Wait. ‘Level three’?”

  “Is that not what just transpired?”

  I understood then and I giggled. “Honestly, I have no idea.” The giggling continued.

  “Oh,” said Nyte, chewing over my reaction. I was still giggling, and it caught him. “It is not a common phrase amongst Sapes, is it?”

  “Not at all.”

  “So, she is just-”

  “A little dee-doo if you ask me.”

  “And that means . . . ?”

  “Again, no idea.”

  “Ah. I understand.” He chuckled. “I am grateful that you are uncomplicated to understand. Most of you are, but I will admit,” –he lowered his voice – “it was difficult to decipher Grotts at the beginning.”

  “Trust me, that’s not just you.”

  I leaned against him and felt tired, and he held my hand and let me rest my head on his shoulder. But though I tried to sleep, I couldn’t. The mist was calming and the ride was smooth – there hadn’t been need for a ‘PULL’ in a while – but my mind was active. Too active to let me rest. Nyte noticed.

  “Is there something in your thoughts?” he asked.

  “Yes, actually. Lots of things.”

  “May I hear them?”

  “Of course.” At least he asks. “I was just thinking that, well, I’m worried about what’ll happen when we encounter a Feirgh. It’s got to happen sometime, right? In the buggy we’d be able to outrun it, but what if we stop again? Or what if this thing runs out of juice? Or what if a swarm of them overtakes us? We’d need to be able to combat them somehow. We need a plan. If singing in my head worked back there, then what about whispering an ariando? Will that work too? I’ve done it before at Druelca. If I just barely sing, then maybe Lusafael won’t be able to hear. What do you think?”

  “I am afraid that I do not know. It would be wise to tell Darch of your thou-”

  “Terribly sorry to disappoint, but it won’t work.” Ardette had been eavesdropping. It was annoying. However, in this situation – where I needed his information – I’d let it slide. “You see, my pit, it isn’t the volume – it’s the waves of your songs that makes you a liability.”

  Liability. He knew how much I hated that word. Again, I resisted the urge to tell him off and instead asked, “The waves?”

  “Mmmm. That’s why talking is acceptable. Or something to that effect.”

  “Oh.”

  There went that idea.

  “Well then, what are we going to do?” I asked.

  “When the two crazies hear them coming, we’ll simply run the other way,” said Ardette.

  “But what if we-”

  “Yes, yes, get swarmed and all that nonsense? I heard you. I suppose we’ll just pray that we don’t.” Ardette lifted his eyes to the sky.
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  “Pray?”

  “Naturally.”

  And he was serious. Entirely. Since when was he so stoic?

  I shifted my gaze to Nyte to get his unspoken opinion, but Nyte didn’t have an opinion to give. The Elf was preoccupied, holding his temple and leaning forward in confused discomfort.

  “Nyte! What is-”

  “P-PULL?” But he didn’t sound very certain. “Or-?”

  “WHAT?!” yelled Trib, pulsing the wings.

  “NO . . . Do not.”

  “Well, which is it?!”

  The boat went up and then back down, but it had been pointless. There’d been no obstacle for us to dodge.

  “I do not-” Nyte rubbed his forehead. “Something is different!”

  Uh-oh. Different couldn’t be good.

  “Gone insane, have you?” said Ardette. Then, feeling haughty, he turned to Kantú. “Why does it seem like he’s always going insane? Do you women honestly find that kind of thing alluring?”

  Kantú gave him a sweet, absent-minded smile and shrugged.

  “STOP!” Nyte leaped up. “SIMPLY CEASE THE BUGGY!”

  “WHAT?!” yelled Trib. “Why?!”

  “Because I can no longer read the air! There is something different!”

  Trib released the two strings in either hand, and just like that, the buggy halted and fell. Kantú was flung from her seat. Ardette jumped up and grabbed her before she could topple over the side and into the foggy surroundings. I’d have met a similar fate, had it not been for Nyte’s firm grip on my shoulders.

  “Pray tell, what was that!?” spat Rend, charging at Trib.

  “Hey, hey.” Trib held up her hand in defense. “Don’t go pointing that judgmental finger at me! I had absolutely nothing to do with this. It was your kid cousin that went all spazoid.”

  Rend instantly stopped her rant. “Kid?”

  Ardette laughed. “I prefer ‘boy’, but at least dear Trib understands where I’m coming from.”

  Rend pulled back her lips and let out a guttural snarl. Trib ignored both of them.

  “Aaaaanyhow,” she said. “Mind explaining what that was about, Mr. Nyte? Oh, and for future reference, telling the pilot to ‘STOP’ without warning isn’t ground.”

  “I am sorry. I did not know what else to yell in such a situation. It is just . . . there is something unusual about the mist before us, and I am afraid that I can no longer detect obstructions. When I realized, I feared that we might collide with something. I could not allow that to happen.”

  “What do you mean you can’t detect things, Nytie?” asked Kantú. “How come?”

  “Because there is something large . . . I think. Something large is ahead of us, and it is blocking the . . . the din. All of it.”

  “Ya don’t say.” Grotts smoothed back his hair and turned to Scardo. “Could be what we were just discussin’.”

  “Do you believe so?” asked Scardo. “I suppose that might interrupt his detection.”

  “Guys?” I said. “Care to share?”

  “Right. Eh-he. Welp, turns out that stain on the map is actually somethin’. Bergra’s marked a few of ‘em on Trib’s map too.”

  “And?”

  “They’re geysers!” sang Darch, swinging his feet. He’d been sitting on the buggy’s highpoint near the strings, observing the rest of us. The sudden fall hadn’t disturbed him, apparently.

  “Geysers?” said Nyte. “Might I take a look?” He reached for the wrinkled paper in Trib’s hand.

  “Yup, geysers!” Darch leaned forward with mouth hidden behind hand before adding, “Water spouts out of them, you know.”

  Ardette groaned.

  “But here’s the good thing about them,” continued Darch at normal volume, “they’ll keep the mist back! They’ll clear an area for us! A mistless refuge of sorts!”

  “Keep it back?” asked Nyte. “How can you be certain?”

  “Uncle’s told me about them, of course! But we didn’t visit any when he took me to the crossing that one time.”

  This comment appeared to have triggered something within Ardette because he pulled himself straight from a listless, slouched position and resumed his earlier slinking – walking toward Trib like she were a tasty morsel for his taking.

  Gross. Cut it out.

  Jealous?

  No! It’s just . . . ish

  Right.

  “Oh yes,” purred the Daem, “another scrap of intel you’ve been keeping from us, dear Trib. How is it that uncle’s managed to make it through all of this without an insane Elfly detector? Surely, there were ‘obstacles’ in the way of your little boat then too?”

  “We didn’t ride the wind buggy when we came through last time!” She let out a hoarse laugh. “We walked! It was actually preeeeetty easy! Come on, kids. Think about it. The main reason people stay out of the Mistlands is because they’re scared of the dead and all that hullabaloo! But wouldn’t you know, we didn’t even see a single Feirgh when he took me through?! I mean, it’s not like we had an evil angel out to get us, after all!”

  Seriously? Trib thought it was ‘easy’ to cross the Mistlands? ‘Easy’ to reach the afterlife? ‘Easy’ to do something so taboo and ridiculous sounding?! And what, they’d just hoped they wouldn’t run into a Feirgh? That was crazy – probably the craziest thing I’d ever heard. How was it even possible?

  Ardette wasn’t convinced either.

  “Uh-huh. Is that so?” he said. “And why has dear uncle been traveling to the mist, anyway?”

  “Yeah, Trib,” added Grotts. “And last I heard, he’d only made it in a bit. If he’s actually been through, why didn’t he tell the rest of the gang? Kugar didn’t know a thing about it! And when I talked to ya in Crystair . . .”

  “He’s been trying to keep it a secret, Grottsard!” But then, for once, her voice fell. “He goes to visit Deca.”

  “Deca?” said Kantú.

  “His son,” mumbled Grotts, a solemn shadow crossing his face.

  “Oh . . .”

  “That’s why he’s been traveling into the mist?” I said. “To contact his son? That’s . . .” It was sad. It was more than sad.

  Trib nodded, ushering in a few moments of weighted silence.

  I’d have done the same thing back then. Back when I’d been searching for the truth about Illuma. Had I known there was a way to contact her, or at least a way to know for sure, I’d have definitely done it. How different things were now. How different now that she was the enemy. No, not her. Her shell. Her tattoo-branded, mist-infused, Lusafael-corrupted shell was the enemy.

  Lusafael . . . . . . I will kill you!

  The others were undergoing that same reflective, almost respectful silence, thought mine had turned to a quiet riddled with rage. These emotions swirled about us, mixing with the moist fog. Rumination and rage: whichever the air held more of, Kantú was the one to break it.

  “Wait! Does that mean-?” Her nervous, squirrel-ish twitch started up as if on cue. “Is his son a Feirgh?!”

  “No, no, no,” said Darch, hopping down from his watching place. “Feirgh are those that become distorted by the mist – unable to or unwilling to cross. However, at the point of crossing it is possible to contact those that have already crossed.”

  “Like ghosts?” The twitch intensified.

  “No.” Nyte shook his head. “Souls. Is that correct, Darch?”

  “Exactly!” Darch beamed, and then, like always, there was that finger – that pointed finger of matter-of-factness that Ardette hated. “They can reach the borders from their celestial resting place.”

  “That is all fine, but do you not agree that this is no time for idle speech? It would be wise to take the rest of the way to the geyser slowly, would it not? Until my cousin’s detection is no longer hindered.”

  Wow. Rend was actually posing something helpful? Had she ever actually ‘suggested’ anything before?

  “Geyser? Water?” said Ardette, pouting a little. “So I take it we’
ll be getting wet, then? Charming.”

  Darch clapped him on the back. “Not with Pietri’s enchantment on our tents! You’ve got nothing to worry about, Ardetto!”

  Trib and Kantú joined in, infected by Darch’s jolly excitement.

  “Yo-ho!”

  “Aaaalright!”

  But Ardette’s face had taken on some sort of peculiar expression.

  “Tent . . . s?” he repeated. “Oh. Right.”

  ‘Tent . . . s’? That was weird. And I couldn’t figure out the expression. Not only weird, but worrisome.

  Ardette knew that I knew that something was off, but he brushed it aside. “So that also makes it an all right place to make camp, I assume? And when will be arriving at said destination?”

  “At a reduced speed, I estimate that we will reach it in slightly less than an hour,” said Nyte.

  “Because you calculated the last one so splendidly.”

  “The marking on our map was off. If this one is accurate,” – Nyte pointed to the map still in his hand – “we should reach the geyser in-”

  “Splendid. Try to stay chipper until then, shall we?”

  Chapter 5: The Geyser

  “ARDETTE!”

  Slightly less than an hour had delivered us to the geyser’s side. Water bubbled and shot from the center of a large hole in the barren land. The water itself was misting, but somehow, the mist of the geyser was purer than the unnatural mist of the Mistlands, and it pushed aside that foggy whiteness and made room for its own clear, sparkling spray. Thus, a large dome, free from sad mist, rained with a light sprinkling of water. Still, I couldn’t see the sky through the overhead white.

  “ARDETTE!” I shouted again. “YOU BASTARD!”

  It made sense now. Now I understood: ‘Tent . . . s’. There were no ‘tents’. There was only one.

  “What? Tent’s gone missing, has it?”

  Yes, the flower-patterned tent I’d shared with Nyte had mysteriously disappeared. Nyte was furious. I was furious. Nearly all of us were furious with Ardette.

  “That puts us down to one!” seethed Scardo. “How are all to fit inside one tent?! It was cramped as it was!”

  “We’ll snuggle,” said Ardette dryly.