The soldier obediently moved forward and removed the irons on Colm’s wrists. As soon as they slid off, he opened his arms and gathered his sister against him. She pressed her face into his shoulder. Some muffled words slipped out against his shirt.
“It’s all right,” he said. “It’s all right—I’m happy, Mona. I’ll miss you. But I’m happy. And you’ll be happy, too.”
She pulled back and waved at her face, splotched pink. She turned to me.
“Don’t let him . . . I don’t know, write himself into oblivion. Sometimes you have to remind him to eat.”
I smiled and took her hand. “We’ll both look out for each other.”
She dotted her face with a handkerchief. “You’ll come to the wedding, too?”
“If you want me to.”
“Yes.” She straightened a little, her voice a little steadier. “Yes, and we’ll have plenty to talk about by that point.” Her gaze traveled to the ship, and she paused.
“Gemma,” she said. “Are you sure about all this? I know you can build your university, it’s just—to dismantle your monarchy?”
I smiled. She’d been largely silent on the matter since I’d introduced the idea—I got the sense she was processing exactly what it would take for she herself to consider making such a decision.
“I’m not meant to be a queen, Mona,” I said. “I never was. I don’t like it. But I do want to help rebuild Alcoro—and I hope I’ve found the way to do it.”
“I’ll say.” Ellamae clapped me on the shoulder. “Maybe we should give it a shot in the Silverwood.”
Valien paled behind her.
Ellamae hugged me with the same force she’d shown Colm. “Take care of yourself, Gemma. We’ll see you soon.”
I returned her hug, and then exchanged one with Rou and the others in turn. Finally, with a look at Colm, he and I both turned toward the gangplank.
A deckhand was about to take my trunk onboard, and I swiftly retrieved the chestnut box with Celeno’s ashes inside and held it in my arms. The Lumeni soldiers who had come along as part of Colm’s exile sentence lined the end of the dock to where the gangplank began. They shifted a little—many were obviously struggling to keep their faces expressionless. Colm picked up his bag, and I heard him quietly sigh.
We had almost reached the first of the soldiers when Mona’s voice blurted impulsively behind us.
“Attention.”
The soldiers reflexively straightened, their chins lifted and their shoulders back.
“Present arms,” she ordered, her voice a little cracked.
In a single movement, their fingertips hinged sharply to their temples. I clutched Celeno’s ashes to my chest. Colm ducked his head, ran a knuckle under his eye, and then returned the salute as we both passed among the honor guard to the ship.
On the deck, the wind blew cold but steady from the north. Commands were given to cast off and lower sail. One of the sailors took up position at the capstan and belted out the beginning of a heave away chanty. As voices across the ship joined his, I crossed the deck for the little berth that belonged to me under the quarterdeck. Inside, I crouched down and settled the chestnut box securely next to my trunk.
There would be grief and mourning in Alcoro, there would be weeks of smoke and undyed linen. Someone—one of the acolytes—would give lengthy last rites as his ashes were interred in the sacred cliffside. I would cry until I was exhausted. But I looked forward to what would come after—a rest. Finally, a quiet, a calm, under a kindling evening sky. A rest for him, and for me.
We couldn’t go back.
We could only go forward.
But maybe forward would be all right.
I placed my hands on the pearly stars on the lid of the box.
“I’ll see you at home,” I whispered.
I went back out into the wind and the singing and the bright morning sun. Colm stood at the port rail with the two senators, looking back out at Blackshell and waving to the others down below. I passed him and went to the bow. The Beacon was shining against the western cliffs. Already some of its cascades had started to thaw, and a frozen sheet had reformed over the part I’d broken away on our way out of the cave.
I turned my gaze down the river, where the sun streamed up from the coast. It would be lighting the rim of the canyon, turning it yellow and gold and amber under the dusting of snow. I closed my eyes and breathed in, almost able to smell the sage and juniper on the wind. The ship rocked with its first forward momentum, and I gripped the hull.
I’m a creature of the Light, I thought. And I know it imperfectly.
It was a relief. And it was heartening. I tucked a few strands of my hair behind my star band and loosened my cloak a little, letting the wind blow against my bare neck. Swaying with the movement of the deck and the beat of the chanty, I opened my eyes and watched as the bow pointed down the river to the sea.
Acknowledgments
And here we are—the end of the trilogy. So many people deserve endless gratitude for the progress and completion of this series, so let’s get started:
Thank you to my agent, Valerie Noble, of Donaghy Literary Group, for being the first to take a risk on these characters, and for seeing the trilogy to its close. Thank you to my editor, David Pomerico, for your tireless work on refining and strengthening the manuscript. I am especially grateful to both of you for seeing the potential in this story even when it didn’t come through the first (or second . . . or third . . . ) time.
Thanks to my publicist, Michelle Podberezniak, my copy editor Libby Sternberg, Jena Karmali, and all the Harper Voyager team for your dedication and hard work.
To fellow ranger and ex-Carlsbad guide Ben Hoppe, and the other adventurers—Patrick Holladay, Amanda Chivers, Gil Molina, Ila Hatter, and Caitlin Clark—who shared their cave experiences and helped make Gemma’s journey through the mountains more vibrant. Thanks also to the rangers of Wind Cave and Jewel Cave for bringing those places alive for me.
I’d be remiss if I didn’t thank the rangers, staff, and volunteers of Oconaluftee Visitor Center, Great Smoky Mountains NP, summer season 2017, for being unwitting victims of my three-month deadline extension. Thanks for bearing with my frazzled distraction and for shouting after me when I forgot my flat hat or radio. At least the rewrites kept me away from the elk.
To librarians everywhere, but particularly those in the Anderson County library system—thank you for being powerful champions of books and readers. Y’all are truly magic.
Thanks, as always, to Caitlin Bellinger—for everything. I can’t put into words how much you mean to me. Thanks also to Anne Marie and the Martin clan for your continued support.
To my family, thank you, especially to my parents—my mom for patiently dissecting Gemma’s actions and motivation, and my dad for fueling and informing her role as an entomologist. I knew joining you dumpster diving for cockroaches as a child would pay off someday. Okay, I didn’t know that, but clearly it has, so high five for that.
To Will, thank you. To my girls, thank you. Thanks for making this endeavor your reality as well as mine. I love you.
To you, reader, for accompanying these heroines on their journeys—thank you. Take care of yourselves. Take care of each other. Do good work. One crisis at a time.
About the Author
EMILY B. MARTIN splits her time between working as a park ranger and an author/illustrator, resulting in her characteristic “nature nerd” fantasy adventures. An avid hiker and explorer, her experiences as a ranger help inform the characters and worlds she creates on paper. When not patrolling places like Yellowstone, the Great Smoky Mountains, or Philmont Scout Ranch, she lives in South Carolina with her husband, Will, and two daughters, Lucy and Amelia.
www.emilybmartin.me/
Facebook.com/EmilyBeeMartin/
@EmilyBeeMartin
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By Emily B. Martin
Woodwalker
Ashe
s to Fire
Creatures of Light
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
creatures of light. Copyright © 2018 by Emily B. Martin. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins Publishers. For information, address HarperCollins Publishers, 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007.
Digital Edition JANUARY 2018 ISBN: 978-0-06-268883-5
Print Edition ISBN: 978-0-06-268897-2
Cover art and map by Emily B. Martin.
Harper Voyager, the Harper Voyager logo, and Harper Voyager Impulse are trademarks of HarperCollins Publishers.
HarperCollins is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Publishers in the United States of America and other countries.
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Creatures of Light, Book 3 Page 38
