Amid Wind and Stone

by Nicole Luiken

  Her father harrumphed disbelief and left, but Audrey’s throat tightened at the thought of airships independent of the wind. The Siparese would love to conquer Donlon.

  Donlon had better, swifter airships and long-winded navigators like her father. Sipar had a bigger population and industrial capacity. Nearly all the clockwork and gears came from Siparese manufacture.

  Sipar was a giant that had swallowed up most of the mainland. If it had truly turned its eye on Donlon as its next conquest, there would be war. And her father, as Admiral, would be right in the thick of it.

  (find a mirror)

  Audrey fussed with the ribbon holding back her short hair. Had a curl sprung free? She excused herself from breakfast and checked her coiffure in her dressing table mirror.

  (look into the mirror)

  Her reflection had long hair. Disoriented, Audrey touched her own short curls, but the image in the glass didn’t copy her movements. Her reflection also wore a dark dress in a plain style.

  This is wrong. Breathing rapidly, Audrey backed up.

  (wait!) Her reflection held out a hand beseechingly.

  Audrey could hear the voice inside her own head. What was happening? Was she going mad?

  (you’re not crazy. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just wanted to talk to you.)

  Audrey fled the room, and the voice stopped, but the same thing happened again while she was changing dresses for tea. Shaking, she turned her back to the mirror and finished dressing. If it wouldn’t have perplexed the maids, she would have draped a sheet over it.

  (you can’t avoid me forever)

  But the voice in her head sounded frustrated, not amused, which gave Audrey heart. She hurried out of the room.

  (please, your world may be in danger!)

  The door shut, cutting the voice off.

  Hatefully, the strange girl with Audrey’s face appeared again in her cup of tea—(look into the mirror)—and then in the polished silver cover that kept the main course warm at suppertime.

  Her mother frowned at her. “Why do you keep leaning to one side? Sit up straight.”

  The reflection reappeared and quickly took advantage of her forced attention. (my name is Leah. I am your otherself. I live on a different Mirror World. you probably don’t know anything about the Mirror Worlds or the True World. once upon a time there was a god named Aesok… no, never mind, I don’t have time for the whole story. just trust me, there are four Mirror Worlds: Fire, Stone, Air, and Water. I live on Fire; you live on Air.)

  The tale that followed, of Volcano Lords and dragons and evil sorceresses, was all nonsense, of course, but fascinating in its own way. It was far more detailed than anything Audrey could have invented. But the voice was inside her own mind, so she must be coming up with it somehow…? The thought made her head ache.

  The constant monologue also made her keep missing conversational cues at dinner.

  Her mother set down her spoon. “Are you feeling well, Audrey? You don’t sound at all yourself.”

  Audrey almost seized the excuse to leave the dining table, but, winds, she’d only eaten a bowl of broth, and she could smell her favorite meat pie underneath the silver cover. A surge of anger stiffened her spine. She wasn’t going to let her reflection drive her away from her supper.

  Finally, the footman removed the silver cover and silenced her otherself. The voice’s absence was a relief, but Audrey found herself preoccupied throughout the meal. Her otherself’s words troubled her.

  “Leah” had told her about her dead soul mate, the son of a Fire Elemental, who could turn into a dragon. She’d said that the boy had an otherself on Audrey’s world and would be the child of an Air Elemental—it was obvious to Audrey that she meant The Phantom. Leah had further said that The Phantom was in danger, that the evil sorceress Qeturah—who was an otherself of The Phantom’s mother—planned to kill The Phantom in order to drive his father, the Air Elemental, into a rage. Qeturah believed the Air Elemental would then wreak havoc and shatter Air World—Audrey’s world. It was all very confusing and dubious, but…

  Audrey didn’t want The Phantom to die, only to stop stealing.

  Her throat dried. What would happen if her father arrested The Phantom? Would The Phantom be tried and executed for treason? He might die at her father’s hands instead of Qeturah’s, but it would still have the same result.

  Audrey had a terrible feeling that by “Air Elemental,” Leah had meant the Grand Current. Zephyr had said that one of The Phantom’s names was Child of the Grand Current. Audrey had assumed that was figurative. But if The Phantom’s father was literally the Grand Current… Donlon relied on the Grand Current’s steady wind stream for its merchant traffic, for its defense from Sipar, for, well, everything. The thought of the Grand Current becoming unstable or dangerous, frankly, terrified her.

  Her stomach curdled, and she couldn’t finish her meat pie. Nor did she sleep well.

  Finally, Audrey came to a decision. She climbed out of bed and stood in front of her dressing table mirror until the image of her in her white ruffled nightgown wavered, and her otherself replaced her in the glass.

  “Very well,” Audrey said. “I’ll try to warn The Phantom about Qeturah’s plans.” And while she was at it, she’d find out who he’d sold the papers to. If he refused, she’d hand him over to her father. “Can you tell me how to find him?”

  (call him through his element, Air. he won’t be able to stay away from you,) Leah said confidently. (you are soul mates.)

  Audrey doubted that, but she opened the shutters and Called Zephyr. “Can you take a message from me to The Phantom?”

  “Yes!” The breeze danced around her as if happy at the prospect.

  “Ask him to meet me during the parade on the Queen’s Birthday.” The germ of an idea came to her. “Tell him I want to hire him to steal something.”

  Chapter Seven

  The Cathedral

  Stone World

  “So Mistress-Who-Must-Never-Be-Insulted,” the red jasper gargoyle said, “are you certain this is the direction you wish to go?”

  Dorotea frowned up at him, struggling not to let his height intimidate her. “Of course I’m certain.” Three passages joined to the Cathedral, the nearest from Stone Heart Cavern, so they were retracing her earlier steps.

  She walked another few paces before thinking to ask, “What makes you think I’m going the wrong way?”

  He shrugged. “Three people are walking down this tunnel toward us. But perhaps they are your friends coming to meet you?” He mocked her with his lifted eyebrows, yellow eyes cruel.

  Her heartbeat accelerated. She could not be caught with him! “Hide,” she commanded.

  “As you wish.” A flash of fang.

  He laid both hands on the tunnel wall and melted—no, not melted, shaped –the stone with his fingers as if it were clay or water. The excess stone was pushed to either side, thickening the wall. He created a recessed niche, then stepped inside.

  She could hear footsteps now. “Hurry,” she urged.

  The excess stone flowed back out and across the opening. The wall had almost closed over when Dorotea realized her own mistake. “Come out as soon as they’re past”—but he wouldn’t be able to see them—“or if I knock three times.”

  A snarl twisted his face as she evaded his trap, and then the wall smoothed over, leaving only a bump in the tunnel wall.

  Hearing male voices approaching, Dorotea pushed her father’s slipping left bracelet back up past her elbow so that it was hidden in her sleeve.

  “In all likelihood, the alarm was caused by a boulder disturbed by yesterday’s earthquake finally falling down. Still, I think it prudent to check it out.” The man’s fancy speech made her think he might be an Elect. “And, of course, the tunnel will need to be drained. My servant Burt will take care of that. He’s done it before.”

  “And a right ornery pain it is, too,” another man, presumably Burt, muttered.

  They rounded the cu
rve and came into sight. Dorotea pressed herself against the wall, politely getting out of their way.

  Two men walked abreast—a short Elect, identifiable by his green robes and tinted eye-shields, and Gerhardt, the broad-shouldered, leather-clad leader of the Stone Heart Clan. A third man followed two steps behind. He must be Burt. Dorotea would have known him as Unskilled by his large callused hands and weathered face, even without the black U tattooed on his cheek.

  “Poor Burt hates the water trap.” The Elect sounded amused.

  Burt spat on the ground. “That’s cuz the lever to open the drain is way down in one corner. Always takes me four dives to find the bloody thing.” A little gray threaded through his curly hair, but the Unskilled servant looked wiry and tough.

  Dorotea sagged, relieved that she hadn’t permanently damaged the passageway and that false alarms were common.

  “If you’re so sure the alarm was set off by a falling rock, why do you need me along?” Gerhardt objected.

  The Elect tugged at his greasy goatee, looking annoyed. “Likelihood and probability aren’t the same as certainty. These alarms are usually false. Let’s say the alarm itself implies only a 5 percent chance something disturbed the gargoyles. But when you factor in the 50 percent probability that the two recent blackouts were caused by sabotage from that crazy woman Above, then the chances of something drastically wrong with the gargoyles rises to 25 percent.”

  Sabotage? What crazy woman?

  “That’s where you come in,” the Elect continued. “Unless Stone Heart Clan has lost all ability and wishes to change your clan name to Miners?” he needled.

  Dismay made her stomach lurch. If they gave the Cavern of Traitors more than a cursory glimpse, they would see the empty spot in the corner. So much for her plan to quietly return the gargoyle to the cavern afterward.

  One problem at a time, she coached herself. First save Marta, then worry about getting away with your crime. Hopefully, the time they spent draining the tunnel would give her a chance to reach the Cathedral.

  Gerhardt stopped swearing when he saw Dorotea ahead. An awkward silence fell.

  Pass me by.

  But she wasn’t that lucky. The Elect held up his hand, and they all stopped. He frowned. “Girl, why are you wet?”

  Gerhardt rumbled with amusement. “This pathway also leads to the hot springs.”

  “Yes.” Dorotea bobbed her head in agreement, aware of her pounding heart. “I’ve been to visit the hot springs.” It was what she’d always planned to say if questioned.

  “Why?” the Elect persisted. “It’s the middle of the day. Shouldn’t you be working, helping your parents?”

  “I—I—” Dorotea stumbled over her tongue, searching for an excuse.

  Gerhardt crossed his arms. “Elect, look at her. She’s a pretty girl. I imagine she was meeting a boy. The hot springs are a popular trysting place.”

  Skinny-dipping in the hot springs with a boy? Dorotea blushed crimson, but held her tongue.

  “That doesn’t explain why her clothes are wet,” the Elect said peevishly. “Bathing naked is the whole point of the hot springs, is it not?”

  Dorotea cringed, caught between the twin horrors of being apprehended and being thought promiscuous. “I—I changed my mind about—about the boy, and he pushed me in. That’s how my clothes got wet.”

  “You see?” Gerhardt said to the Elect. “Can we go now?”

  The Elect pouted, an odd expression on a grown man. “Not yet. You’re Artisan Clan, aren’t you, girl? Who is your father?”

  Would Gerhardt recognize her father’s name as former Stone Heart Clan? “My father’s name is Martin,” she lied, giving him her stepfather’s name instead. “Please don’t tell him.”

  “I will judge if it’s appropriate to tell him or not,” the Elect said coldly. “Let us proceed.”

  Go away. Dorotea studied her feet, so they wouldn’t see her expression.

  Burt lingered a moment, frowning. “He didn’t hurt you, did he? The boy?”

  Dorotea shook her head, letting her wet hair fall forward over her face. Under other circumstances, she might have appreciated his concern, but right now, she was wild for all of them to just leave. “I’m fine, I promise. Just wet. I want to go home and change my clothes.”

  “Burt, hurry up!” the Elect called from five paces ahead.

  Burt jogged off.

  Dorotea walked in the other direction until the curving wall hid her. She waited, breathless and sick.

  She’d made a terrible mistake. She shouldn’t have given them Martin’s name. It would lead them straight to her once Gerhardt discovered the missing gargoyle, and they would demand to know the name of the fictitious boy to corroborate her story.

  She was doomed.

  Don’t think about that. It will be worth it if you can save Marta.

  If the Goddess listened to her plea. If the Goddess was angry enough to cause the quakes, would she care about the life of one little girl?

  Dorotea inhaled on a sob, then clenched her fists and lifted her chin. She couldn’t afford to think about this now. Time to retrieve the gargoyle.

  Finding the bulge in the wall was harder than she’d expected, but on her third knock, the stone opened up, and the gargoyle stepped out.

  She fought a shudder at the sight of stone behaving like living mud. She backed up a step, still daunted by how tall and broad-shouldered the gargoyle was.

  “Visitors gone?” he rumbled.

  “Yes,” Dorotea said shortly. She didn’t want to talk about how much potential trouble she was in. “Let’s go.”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  The hair on the back of her neck rose at the not-so-veiled menace in his tone. She wished she’d made him precede her; she disliked not being able to see what he was doing. But it would smell like weakness if she reversed their order now.

  “Tell me if you hear more people approaching,” she commanded him. He had a vested interest in avoiding recapture, but she didn’t trust him.

  Fortunately, the passage was seldom used, and the gargoyle only had to hide in the wall one other time. Dorotea pretended to be picking a stone out of her shoe as an elderly couple shuffled by on their way to the hot springs to soak their old bones.

  She grew more and more anxious as they approached Stone Heart Cavern. She needed to cut across it to reach the passage to the Cathedral. But people would be gathering for the noon meal. The gargoyle would be seen. Why hadn’t she thought this out better, realized the gargoyle would need to go to the Cathedral, and woken him when everyone was sleeping?

  Because doing something, anything, had been better than sitting at Marta’s bedside, waiting for her to die.

  Should she tell the gargoyle to hide and then return for him at False Night?

  But because of her stupid slip with Martin’s name, the Elect might come looking for her. She only had a slight lead on them. She had to keep moving, get to the Cathedral now. Maybe if they just ran for it?

  No. People in other caverns might scream and get out of the way of a gargoyle, but Stone Hearts had been the gargoyles’ masters. Someone would try to stop them, and then she’d either have to surrender or order the gargoyle to hurt the person. Unacceptable.

  Which left only one option: she was going to have to let the gargoyle out of her sight.

  She turned so abruptly, she almost hit her nose on his stone chest. “You said you can move through the rock?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “Then I want you to swim through the floor of Stone Heart Cavern and meet me in the tunnel that goes from there to the Cathedral.” She frowned, struggling to think of a landmark. She hadn’t taken the passage from Stone to Cathedral since she was a child. Since her father died and she and her mother moved to Artisan Cavern. “I’ll be ten strides from the entrance.”

  “I won’t be able to tell where the entrance is without poking my head up to see,” the gargoyle objected. “It would be faster if we just arranged to
meet in the Cathedral itself.”

  Dorotea frowned. He was trying to trick her, of course, but the risk of meeting in the Cathedral wasn’t that much greater than in the tunnel. And it did have landmarks. She just had to be careful how she worded her command.

  “Agreed. You will move through the rock, silently and out of sight. You will take the most direct route and move at a speed no slower than walking.”

  A flicker in his expression told her he’d intended to make a detour.

  “Do you know where the grotto is?” The grotto was a small alcove off to one side of the main cathedral and had the added advantage of being out of sight.

  He nodded.

  “When you arrive at the Cathedral, position yourself in the stone three feet to the left of the grotto, thin the wall to the Cathedral so you can listen for my knock, then emerge at my signal.” What else, what else? “If I don’t arrive within a day’s time, you will return to the Cavern of Traitors—formerly known as the Cavern of Gargoyles—at a good pace and surrender yourself. If you disobey me in any of these things, you will suffer terrible pain.”

  The gargoyle scowled down at her.

  She smirked, quite pleased with herself.

  “What do you want me to ask of the Goddess?”

  She didn’t want to tell him about Marta yet. It seemed too much like begging for pity. “The earthquakes are getting more and more frequent,” she said instead. “The caverns have grown unsafe. I need you to ask the Goddess why She is angry and how to stop the quakes.”

  He snorted. “You’re wasting your time.”

  “Why?” Sudden suspicion filled her. “You can do it, can’t you? Talk to the Goddess?”

  He crossed his burly arms. “Oh, I can. But why should I?”

  She blinked. “Didn’t you hear me? The earthquakes are growing stronger. Soon they’ll pull the caves down on our heads, and everyone will die.”

  “Every human will die,” he corrected, his eyelids shielding his gaze.

  A bolt of fury sizzled through her at his callousness. “You will relay my message because I order you to,” Dorotea said harshly. “Go now!”