Otherbound

by Corinne Duyvis

  Nolan scrolled to the top of the website and studied the text again. The page didn’t say which hospital Nadi was staying in, but he guessed it was close to her family. Cape Town, SA. South Africa. He didn’t think it mattered. Even if Nadi had been in the United States, then what? Maybe he could’ve found a way to sneak into whatever care facility or private home she stayed at. He’d smother her with a pillow, the same way she’d smothered a three-year-old girl in that palace so long ago. He’d shove scissors into her stomach as she’d threatened to do to Pat.

  The thoughts nauseated him enough to roll his chair away from the desk and put his head in his hands, which smelled faintly of soap and the ramen noodles he’d brought up to his room earlier. He’d spilled some of the spices.

  He tried to hold on to his line of thought. If the choice came down to Nadi or Pat, to Nadi or Amara, Nadi or Cilla … Nolan would kill Nadi no matter how much the idea sickened him.

  Maybe not. He hoped not. At least he wouldn’t find out. Nadi was halfway across the world.

  He didn’t know which options that left.

  “I can’t eat breakfast,” Pat said.

  “Big night coming up, huh?” Nolan asked. The play debuted that evening. He’d almost forgotten.

  “I guess. What’s your excuse?” Pat flicked on his light and leaned in his doorway, a pose Nolan had gotten used to by now. She was herself again. No trace of Nadi. It’d been a day since her threat—how much longer did they have? “You didn’t sleep, did you?”

  “Not a bit.” The light hurt his eyes, and he grimaced, chugging down his fifth fake Coke.

  “Seemed like a good idea?” she said, mimicking the way he’d been saying that lately. Thank God, she could still joke. “You, uh, want to talk about what’s going on?”

  He considered it. “No. Thanks. How about you? Want to talk about butterflies in your stomach?” Or about Nadi?

  “Let’s not.” Pause. “They’re more like steamrollers. Oh, man. What if I mess up? There’ll be over a hundred people there. A hundred! I’ve never been in front of that many people before.”

  “You played that sunflower when you were five.”

  She laughed. A pang shot through him. Pat seemed so … normal. Had she recovered from Nadi’s possession so quickly? Or was she just a better actress than either of them knew? “Yeah,” Pat said. “I remembered all my lines, too. Go, me. Are you coming to the play?”

  “I probably shouldn’t. I’m sorry. I want to, but I need to stay with Amara. If I keep closing my eyes during the play …”

  “Mom would smack you upside the head.”

  “Yup.” Silence fell between them. It wasn’t a bad kind of silence. Not a comfortable one, either.

  “What’s gonna happen to you?” Pat asked. “If … things don’t work out?”

  It was the sort of silence inevitably broken by something awkward.

  Nolan rolled his soda can between his hands. Right now, Amara was on the ship back to Bedam, where she’d meet Ilanne. Who knew what’d happen after that? “That’s a very good question.”

  “Is it gonna get an answer?”

  He looked up with a tired smile. “You want to rehearse that ER scene one last time?”

  “Nah. I’m ready.”

  Nolan thought back to the last time they’d practiced. With two timelines to account for, it seemed a lot longer ago than it should. “I think so, too.”

  ou want us to save the anchor?” Ilanne said. “Give me one reason.”

  “None of this is her fault,” Amara said. “She’s been lied to all her life. About everything.”

  Ilanne leaned against an airtrain stop in Bedam. The sky was slowly lightening at the horizon, but the sun hadn’t peeked over the edge yet. A couple of seagulls stood on a nearby stretch of grass, stomping the earth to draw out their morning meal.

  Amara had found Ilanne quickly, and Ilanne had confirmed her theories, but none of that mattered if Ilanne wouldn’t help. And looking at her now—the sharpness of her face, the slouch of her skinny limbs—she could see the woman wasn’t impressed by Amara’s answer. She wasn’t impressed by anything.

  Amara felt the opposite. Every few seconds, her eyes fluttered over Ilanne’s clothes, and she wondered where she kept that knife of hers.

  We’re on the same side, she told herself. After all those childhood nightmares: We’re on the same side.

  Ilanne went on. “Nor is it the fault of all the people who’ve died in hurricanes, floods, earthslides, volcanic eruptions …”

  “We don’t even have volcanoes in the Dunelands.”

  “You think the backlash is restricted to here? Every storm or shake affects the rest of the planet, too. And there’s an easy fix.”

  “I won’t help you kill her,” Amara said.

  “Of course not.” Ilanne radiated disgust. “You’re one of them. How do you like that body? I don’t see why you’d go for a servant. Maybe you just like little Elig girls. Is that it?”

  “This is my body!”

  “Prove it. I can see your little guest in there right now. Have him take a walk.”

  “Why? So you can kill me as soon as I stop healing?”

  They stood there, fists balled and glaring. In the silence, dawnflies sang their high whistle. Finally, even though all of her screamed to either attack or run, Amara relented. “Listen,” she said, “we don’t have time for this. They might hurt Cill—”

  Ilanne’s hands gripped Amara’s so hard they hurt. “Don’t use that name. You know it’s not hers.”

  Amara tore her hands free. “It’s the only one I know.”

  “Don’t call the dead. Ever.”

  Amara rubbed her wrists where Ilanne had grabbed her. The skin burned. Her jaw set. “Nadi”—Amara had come up with a sign for Nadi’s name earlier, one similar to Nolan’s sign—“might hurt her. She might hurt my ‘guest’s’ family, too.”

  “Why should I care?”

  “Because we want the same thing. We need the travelers gone. Right now, we have Nolan’s cooperation, but if we take too long …” Amara left it there. She didn’t want to think about being responsible for Nolan’s family, whoever and wherever they were. Once his control ran out, his family was as good as dead. Until then, he could panic at any moment and send Amara running back to the palace without a plan, without a goal beyond keep my sister alive.

  “And what do you expect us to do?”

  “Us?” Amara signed an echo.

  “I called other mages the moment I heard your supposed princess was at the palace.”

  “You won’t make it inside without me—”

  “We can try. Then we’ll kill the anchor and cast a spell to block travelers for good, and our problems are solved.”

  “Listen!” Amara glared. She wasn’t supposed to glare at her betters, not ever. She was supposed to sit meekly and nod when she ought to and follow when she ought to and do everything to please the betters around her.

  Even now, part of her told her that. She hated that part of her. And she hated the world for putting it in her. She didn’t want to have to wait her turn anymore.

  “I’m returning to the palace.” Amara kept her signs measured, quick. She had to get through these words without letting Ilanne intimidate her into backing down. “Jorn will make us go on the run again, which means you’ll have easier access to Ci—to the girl you cursed. If you give me a tracking anchor and follow us, I’ll give you a chance to see the girl away from Jorn. Then you’ll do some mage thing to find out who cast the anchor spell—the spell that lets the travelers stay here. We can kill that person instead of her. We’ll end the spell that way.”

  “Whoever cast that anchor spell was possessed by a traveler at the time and is no more guilty than the girl. I’m not going to sacrifice one of mine so your little friend can live.”

  “And I’m not going to sacrifice her. We could”—Amara bit her lip as she spoke, staring at the seagulls on the grass—“we could make the traveler who cast th
e anchor spell leave their body. Then, while the mage is back in control, they can reverse the anchor spell.”

  “And how do you plan to get rid of the traveler?”

  Amara went silent. If Nadi had cast the spell, maybe they could trick her into returning to Nolan’s world. Nadi would make sure Ruudde’s body was guarded during her absence, though.

  Ilanne went on. “After this fiasco, I expect the ministers will want the anchor out of the Dunelands. The farther away you and the anchor are from us—from anyone who knows the truth about the travelers and might help you—the safer the travelers are. How do you plan to give us a heads-up when you’re sleeping in ancient Dit caves?”

  Amara wanted to argue, but Ilanne was right. The ministers would take extra safety precautions now that Amara knew about Cilla.

  “And if we put a tracking anchor on you,” Ilanne said, not satisfied with dismissing the plan when she could shred it completely, “what makes you think the ministers won’t detect and toss it? I won’t mix magic by putting it on you instead of your clothes.”

  “You mixed magic when you cursed Cil—the girl,” Amara said. “You’re lucky that—”

  “Lucky?” Ilanne spat. “The spell only worked on the third try, and even then it was watered down to that useless curse. She should’ve died on the spot. We lost two mages from the recoil of the first try and another one on the next. We barely stabilized the magic when it went haywire—then spent weeks cleaning up after the backlash. Don’t you dare call it luck.”

  Amara couldn’t give up. “I’m offering my help. Any help at all. But only if the anchor lives.”

  Ilanne watched Amara through thoughtful, narrowed eyes. She answered a long moment later. “You said Nolan could locate Nadi’s true body. If we identify which mage cast the anchor spell, can he find that traveler’s body, too? Nolan could threaten it in his world.”

  Amara hesitated. Can you? she thought at Nolan.

  In front of her, Ilanne stood tall, wiry-thin, as imposing as she’d ever been. Amara fought the impulse to step back. The last thing she wanted now was to surrender what little control she’d gained. Being away from Cilla and Jorn for so long—longer than ever before—made her feel freer.

  It also terrified her. She didn’t know what to expect from the rest of the world.

  Finally, Nolan returned, saying, “I got lucky finding Nadi, and then only after I got lucky discovering her name. If we can find this mage’s true name, and they live in my world, we may stand a shot, but …”

  “Can you cast a spell to find their body?” Ilanne asked. “This kind of magic ought to be detectable.”

  “No. We don’t have magic in our world.”

  “Of course you do. You’re a traveler. You are magic.”

  “My world doesn’t work that way. But I’ll do what I can. I—please help. I’m risking my sister’s life. Please.” Amara barely recognized the desperation in her fingers. No one cared about a servant’s pleas. She could only give in or fight harder.

  But all Nolan’s concern for his family bled into the pleading of Amara’s hands. It’d taken her so long to realize he even had a family. A life. What was it like? What was Nolan like? They’d never talked, not really. It had always been this: Nolan would speak. Amara would wait her turn.

  She wished they could talk face-to-face instead of this, instead of watching from behind glass as Nolan tried to convince Ilanne this was a risk worth taking.

  With a pang, Amara wasn’t even sure it was.

  Killing Cilla would be the end of it. There would be no more curse to endure. Nolan would stay out of her mind; Amara’s body would be her own. The travelers would fade, too, leaving long-possessed mages back in control. The magic abuse would end. All of it would. And Amara needed it to end so damn badly. She no longer wanted anyone to have a hold on her.

  But she couldn’t kill Cilla.

  When Nolan left her, Amara almost didn’t realize it. Not until Ilanne said, “This is the only way I can get your help?” and Nolan didn’t answer for several long seconds.

  It was Amara’s turn to decide. She nodded stonily.

  “All right. Get me into the palace. I’ll need at least a minute with the girl to identify the spell-caster.”

  “We’ll need …” Amara thought. The dawnflies sang louder. When Amara glanced up, she realized the sound wasn’t dawn-flies at all: it came from the branches drooping over her head, where a dewy spiderweb spanned the length of her arm. In its center, a spider stroked a single thread with alternating legs, drawing in dawnflies using their own steady whistle.

  The airtrain approached, hissing and gliding, tuning out the spider’s lure and bringing along the scent of rusted metal. Affronted, the seagulls took to the air.

  “We need a distraction,” Amara finally said. “Two. When are the other mages coming?”

  The way out was not to plead. The way out was to fight.

  om and Dad didn’t give a damn what he and Pat had talked about. “Don’t be ridiculous,” Dad said that evening. “You’re going to eat something, and you’re going to that play. This is important to her.”

  “Pat said it was OK.” Nolan pushed himself upright too fast, the mattress squeaking underneath him, and he blinked a couple of times to adjust. His head felt light.

  “Did you get any rest?” Dad frowned.

  Nolan had crawled into bed to be around for the conversation with Ilanne, but he didn’t exactly feel rested. “Sort of.” He plucked sweaty sheets from his legs. His heart raced. He talked too fast. “I meant to. It probably wasn’t enough. I should nap more.”

  “Nice trick,” Mom said. She’d been rushing back and forth through the hallway, talking on the phone to Grandma Pérez, but now stepped into his room. She slipped her phone into her back pocket. “You’ll avoid sleeping except when you’re expected at your little sister’s play?” She jammed a skinny index finger at his wardrobe door. “I’m not picking out clothes for you. If you can’t do it yourself within one minute, you’ll go to the school in your underwear. Got it?”

  It looked as if Mom had finally taken Grandma Pérez’s parenting advice. She didn’t look happy about it. Her stern expression was just the slightest bit off.

  Nolan wanted to argue. “Yes,” he said, thinking of her at the Walgreens, thinking of the pills they couldn’t afford flushed down the toilet by Nadi.

  At least Amara was still OK. She and Ilanne were gathering the other mages, which meant she was relatively safe, but being back in Bedam brought her far too close to Nadi and Jorn for Nolan to feel even the slightest bit comfortable about leaving her alone.

  Forty minutes later he trailed after his parents into Pat’s middle school, wearing his prosthesis for the first time in days. It itched with sweat.

  Out of habit, he smiled teacher-smiles at his old art and social studies teachers, who waited outside the gymnasium, fanning themselves in the evening sun. The heat inside wasn’t much better. Had the AC broken down? Was it just him? His heart was still going a hundred miles an hour. He needed his pills.

  Without a word, he stripped off his pinstriped shirt, happy to go with only the undershirt. It didn’t help against the heat.

  Bored-looking kids Pat’s age milled around, grumpy at spending their evening back at school, while parents sat in too-small folding chairs and fiddled with their phones and camcorders. Underneath it all was the stench of old sweat and gym clothes and that muffled, artificial gym smell. Rubber? Vinyl? He didn’t know, but the tarp did nothing to hide it—

  —Amara was sitting on dewy grass, absorbing the cool morning sunlight and watching Ilanne hover over a glass pane, the same as when Jorn had talked to Ruudde. Nolan wished he could lend her some of the Arizona heat. She’d probably faint—

  —he had to get out of here. He couldn’t be at a damn middle school while going through withdrawal and—and everything going on with Amara.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket. He wormed free from the crowd, shuffling toward the stage. The
folding chairs gave way to low gym benches, probably reserved for the younger kids. He fished out his phone, which showed a new text from Pat.

  Am backstage. I’m gonna screw this up!!!

  At least that gave Nolan an excuse to move away from the crowd. He nodded at another teacher, though he didn’t recognize this one, then at someone else who waved at him. It took him a second to recognize her: Sarah Schneider. Her hair looked different than at school. When she noticed him looking, her waves grew more enthusiastic, and her eyebrows rose in a hopeful question. Was she waving him over to sit with her? She must have a younger sibling in the play, too. Nolan swallowed an expletive at her timing, sped up, and belatedly realized he should’ve waved back. He moved around the stage taking up a third of the gym and ducked behind a black sheet, then up a small, portable set of stairs.

  “You shouldn’t be back here,” a friend of Pat’s—Claudia?—said, blocking his path.

  Nolan just showed her his phone.

  Claudia read the text and stepped aside with an exaggerated flourish. “Now Pat starts caring?”

  The backstage area was cramped, but at least it had a massive fan providing relief. Nolan didn’t pause to bask in the breeze, searching for Pat and mumbling apologies to oddly dressed preteens in his path. The one teacher backstage didn’t care half as much about his presence as Claudia did. Finally, Nolan spotted Pat near the stage, wearing an ill-fitting white uniform, her hair in an uncharacteristic bun.

  “Look,” he said. “You rocked those rehearsals. You’ll be fine.”

  “Look,” Pat said back. “I found fabric scissors.” She held them up. They flashed in the bare bulbs of the lights backstage.

  Pat no longer looked nervous.

  A girl Nolan didn’t know maneuvered past them to get to a stack of hats, and he barely noticed, too rooted to the floor to do anything but stare at the gleaming metal in his sister’s gloved hands. She’d lost one of her spikes. But even right before going onstage, even in her white nurse’s outfit, Pat stuck with her gloves.

  “Amara’s on her way back,” Nolan whispered.