Such A Secret Place (Stolen Tears Book 1)

by Cortney Pearson

  I’ve never spoken to anyone who lived before the wizard’s spell was cast fifty years ago. My grandparents on both sides were dead long before I was old enough to know them.

  “I’m a softie. Just watching terrible things on the news,” her voice cracks, “would send me rushing for the tissues.” She reaches for one beside her tiny fridge. “See me blubber. The injustices of mankind go straight to my heart,” she adds with a tearful smile.

  The clear moisture pooling in her eyes and dripping down her cheeks…it’s so beautiful. And I want it.

  She grows stern and points a stubby finger at me. “But that doesn’t make me weak.”

  I shake my head, as if denying I thought it. Which I didn’t.

  “Empathy is a strength, girl. You want to know how to defeat an enemy? Find his weakness.” Her finger wags as she goes on. “That’s the Arcs’ biggest weakness. No empathy. Curse or no curse, those men have probably never shed a tear. Am I right?” she asks, turning to Talon.

  He’s been sitting in silence for some time. I take his look of contemplation and lack of response as an affirmation. Nattie gestures at him with pride.

  I wonder if Talon was raised by the Arcaians, if that’s why he can fight so well. How else would he know what their weaknesses are? In any case, it’s weird that Nattie would know. He’s never met her before today—that I’m aware of.

  “Mark me, this war will be just what the country needs.”

  “What do you mean?” Lots of people have been abducted because of this war—including my brother. Not to fight against an outside enemy, but to fight for the enemy.

  Nattie doesn’t seem to mind my accusatory tone. “Something’s got to drive people back into feeling. Empathy will give them strength. And I’ll tell you one thing, it’s not just because certain people are more privileged than others that they cry. Every person has it in him. Once they figure it out, their hearts will be unstoppable.”

  Unstoppable .

  The word charges into me like a bolt. Out Nattie’s window, I can see the nearby trees that morphed into the entryway, proving I’m far from unstoppable. Talon proves it regularly.

  Nattie claps, tearing my attention from the entryway. “Soup’s ready, dears. Ambry, slice me some of that cheese, will you? I always like cheese with my soup.”

  Though it wasn’t there earlier, a hunk of cheese rests on her cupboard beside a metal, handheld slicer.

  I carve in silence while my brain works over our conversation. From the way she talks, she must know the wizard personally. I’m dying to know if this means we’ll all cry someday like we’re meant to. I’ve felt tears burn so many times. I can only hope that crying brings relief.

  After carving off a few slices, the cheese slicer slips from my grip, cutting deeply across my thumb.

  “Ouch!” My eyes sting, that familiar empty sting, almost the way your stomach continues dry heaving even after there’s nothing left to puke up.

  In seconds, Talon is there, pinching my thumb to stave off the blood. He mutters words of healing, and silver streaks send shards of ice into my thumb. I stare at the smeared blood that’s jumped-ship onto Talon’s fingers too and wonder—if I could cry, what good would it do?

  It’s not like tears will make injuries hurt less. It’s just a natural reaction to getting hurt. So what’s the point? We still hurt, even without them.

  Well, not everyone hurts. At least, not all the time.

  Nattie’s words about dreams, about Solomus and the spell he cast, it all plays back through in my head. The comatose expression held by most everyone I come across. Only a few of us still hurt without tears. Only a few of us still feel. Maybe it is better this way after all, to protect people from the pain.

  The thought sticks for about as long as the flavor of kiddie bubble gum after a few chews. It’s not fair that tears can’t serve whatever purpose they hold. I think of my magic—now that I have it, I wonder how I ever lived without it. Tears have to be special things, important things, I’m sure of it.

  No tree protected from the scorching heat of the sun or the wind would ever grow as strong as it’s meant to, that’s for sure. People are the same way. Nothing should be held captive like that, held back from its full potential.

  “There,” Talon says. A pink scar and dried blood remain on my thumb. Though it’s healed, Talon glides his thumb over the back of my hand, not letting me go. His touch spreads, sparking out my thoughts. I have to concentrate just to breathe.

  “Have you…?” I swallow and stare at the edges of his leather gloves. “Have you ever…?”

  Talon stares at the cupboard, and I know this, like so many others, is a question that will be left unanswered. And I don’t blame him this time. It’s kind of a personal question.

  From what I understand, fifty years ago when tears were a normal occurrence—and weren’t magical in any way—it was considered below him for a man to cry. It will probably be even more shameful now, to admit tears have been powerful enough to break through a spell that meant for them never to happen again.

  Talon’s grip tightens almost painfully; he pinches the bones in my hand. I try to jerk away, but he holds me fast.

  “What—?”

  “Quiet,” he hisses, inclining his head as if trying to hear something. My hand cramps in discomfort. I manage to dislodge it from his. What’s worrying him?

  Nattie is so still I’ve almost forgotten she’s there. Her small eyes bulge wide with dread, and her skin almost matches the dull gray hue of her dress.

  I finally hear what he and Nattie have. Deep, male voices, circling outside the hut.

  “Taaaalon!” a resonant voice chimes. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

  My school picture beside a photo Talon drew Tyrus to us once. But he let us go. This can’t be his doing. He got what he wanted.

  Whoever it is outside, they’re not stealthy. “Keep your posts,” the deep voice commands. “We go in on three.”

  Nattie’s eyes widen. “What have I done?” she mumbles before flapping her hands in Talon’s and my direction. That same warm breeze from when we first met her gusts through her house, ruffling my hair. My head clears, and the question that’s been stalking my mind finally surfaces:

  What did she do to us?

  Talon and I followed her like lost puppies. She’s behind this—she trapped us here. Maybe alerted whoever it is outside.

  Talon rounds on Nattie. Never mind the fact that she’s fragile and aged, he rams her against the fridge, fingers around her throat. The potatoes boil over with a sizzling sound over the fire.

  “Why did you lead us here? Are you aligned with Tyrus?”

  The old woman’s head shakes. Her pupils are huge. “I—no! I only wanted to help! I didn’t know they were co—” She makes a choking sound. “No one knows where I live. You two need to,” choke, “get out of here.”

  The men outside kick the door. Talon shoves Nattie away, then turns to analyze the only exit and the window beside it. He puts his hands to his head as if thinking.

  A lump rises in my throat. I peer around, frantic, trying to find some way out. I edge as close as I dare to the window right as a man’s silhouette passes. I shriek and shoot magic from my fingers. It passes through the glass with a screech.

  With a thump, the man drops to the ground outside.

  Talon stares wide-eyed at me. Then his forehead smoothes. Resolve settles into his gaze.

  “Forget this,” he says, grabbing my hand and making for the door.

  Four Arcaian soldiers bombard us the instant we step outside. Talon turns lethal, blocking them from every side, keeping them from getting to me. My mind goes blank—they’re too much, too fast. I try to think of something Talon has taught me, some battle tactic, but so far all I’ve done are lunges and squats.

  “Run!” Talon tells me between fighting off two soldiers. The third lies lifeless on the ground, and the fourth dives straight for me.

  My heart shoots like an arro
w, and I bolt. Rising moonlight leads the way. Trees bare their branches, but I hardly notice. My feet lead me to the exact spot we were earlier. The half-peeled snake is still on the log.

  I sense the soldier behind me and duck just as he grunts. I miss his knife thrust by inches.

  His eyes are ravenous with hatred; I swear they burn red. Blood thumps at my neck, and my arms feel weak. I’m not sure what to do. Curse you, Talon, why haven’t you taught me how to actually fight?

  The soldier grins nastily, way too full of satisfaction. He’s got me cornered and he knows it. I peer at the trees behind him. No other soldiers in sight, but no Talon either. Not good.

  “Got you now,” the soldier gloats, and he lunges for me again. I shriek and drop behind my fists, rolling to the side. His blade skims my shoulder with heated teeth. I cry out at the pain. He whirls the knife around, determined to make his mark this time.

  I’m not ready to die, not like this. On impulse I reel away from him and make for the entryway in the trees, half expecting them to smash on me and block me out like they did to Talon.

  The soldier tails me, but the trees morph again, cracking and flattening. A look of terror crosses the soldier’s sweaty face.

  "Watch out!" I say in spite of myself. But the trees connect, crushing him before he can move. He lets out a wailing scream. I wince at his cries, at the nauseating sound of his bones cracking under the pressure.

  Half of his body hangs from between trees like a sconce decorating the wall, the tips of his fingers turning purple. Blood oozes down, puddling in the dirt. I choke down rising bile as his knife falls to the ground with a thump. Definitely not a way I’d want to die.

  I move one way, then another, searching for an opening. Vines slither along the archway’s trunks, but make no move to let me out.

  "Okay then," I mutter, working to rein in my unease. Now inside the blockade that at once saved my life and imprisoned me, I swallow and turn to face the enclosed forest.

  Trees spread thickly, blocking my view of any possible exit. I glance up to the stars. Though the area they cover is wide, I feel trapped in a cage, like I’m twelve once more, back in that small dungeon with my classmates while we all waited for our magic to grant us freedom. The worst part, though, is that being enclosed by these trees also keeps Talon from knowing where I am.

  The fresh, earthy air mocks my sudden, feverish urgency. I have to get out of here, find Ren. Talon needs my help to find the tears, I can’t desert him.

  Moonlight spears between branches, painting shadows along the tall wooden barrier. My stomach sours at the memory of the soldier being smashed by those trees. How did they even find us? I hope I don’t run into any more of them in here.

  Talon and I both suspected Nattie set us up, but considering the shock on her face when they showed up, I don’t think she knew they were coming either.

  I lean against a convenient trunk and stare upward at the branches sprouting at all angles, up, up, upward so only small slivers of sky are perceptible. There’s no sense standing around. I might as well try to find my way. Talon and I were heading south, but I’d head that way regardless. The tears are there.

  Besides, if Talon keeps in that direction too, maybe I can meet up with him somehow. I have no doubt he escaped. I remain weirdly calm. I try to keep a leash on my thoughts, not let myself worry over where I’m being led or if I’ll ever come out of this.

  A small creak comes from behind. I don’t move an inch, but my foot slips away from the trunk. My back stiffens. This time, as my perch tilts without my having so much as fidgeted, I’m sure of it. The trunk behind me shifted.

  I step away, rotating, sizing up the tall surrounding trunks which suddenly begin to teeter. The trees condense around me as if sniffing me, gauging my worthiness. A fly zings close to my ear. I duck my head, swatting it away. Then another and another, until the insects multiply, flocking around my head. I run to escape, but they follow with incessant, communal buzzing.

  Leaves fall at my feet with every step. The dirt rolls in my wake with a thunderous sound. The wind whips my hair from my neck.

  Distant cracking noises rise out around the trees, growing louder and more consistent. I pause, my back hitching as the sound comes nearer.

  And then trees clamor to the ground with earthquake effect. They topple all around me, croaking through the air. Wham! Wham! Wham!

  One tree after another hits the forest floor. Sweat flushes on my forehead, down my back, and in my palms. Panicked noises draw out from my my lips.

  The forest is folding in on me. I’m going to die. Talon was right—Nattie was right. I never should have come here.

  Flight mode kicks in, and this time, I really run for it.

  Dirt flies into my mouth. Something scrapes my back, and I screech as a tree hammers to my side, followed by another directly in front of me so I have to scramble over it. I trip. My palms slap the ground, nails digging into the moist earth.

  Trunks fall to either side of me, shaking my bones with their booming demise. I push up, pain screaming from my knee and my palms; something small bites my chin, but I shriek and quickly throw myself back down. A third trunk clatters across the other two, missing me by inches. The smell of shattered wood mixes with the coppery-rich taste of blood and dirt in my mouth.

  A lake shimmers in a patch of mist ahead of me. Water is my only chance now. I clamber to the bank, hold my breath as well as I can while hyperventilating with fear, and plunge. I expect the wet blanket to engulf me, to seep into my clothes, my skin, my breathing canals.

  And though I feel it, the wetness siphons away. Instead of being caught by dense water, I’m falling. Plummeting, as if I’m dropping from the sky. Air hits every part of me, making it difficult to breathe. I reach, desperate to catch myself on anything, and a transparent cloud becomes fluffy silk in my hands.

  The slick fabric heats against my grip and my fingers slip. The heat laps up my arms—as if the cloud turns to fire. I cling to the flames; the heat scorches its way down until it completely consumes me. I want to scream, but the burn isn’t painful.

  My feet hit the ground, hard. The impact jars my knees. The fire dies out. Ears ringing, I stumble onto strikingly cool grass.

  “What was that?” I ask aloud, though I know no one is around to hear me. The energy that was vibrating during my frantic escape stumbles, like it looks both ways and wonders where the danger has gone, and I work to control my breathing.

  After that, there’s no way I’ll ever get back. I have no clue where I am or what just happened. Or what direction I’m heading in, for that matter. A mist circles around my body, thicker than the fog on the night of Black Vault. Dirt and mud cake my skin. I can taste the sky on my tongue.

  “It was foolish to lose the tears, Ambry.”

  Winded, I spin, searching for the voice. My shoulders rise with every breath.

  “Who’s there?” I’m in the middle of a clearing. The trees are back, standing upright like sentinels, free of cracked trunks and debris. Sunlight touches my dirty skin, and I raise a hand to pluck crinkly leaves from my hair.

  “Who are you?” I ask, my popping veins starting to settle. I try to peer through the mist, to see who I’m talking with, but it’s like the air is filled with lace. “What do you know about the tears?” And what just happened to me?

  The magic in my marrow responds as if it’s receiving invisible, jolting injections, feeding it. It gels, thicker somehow, almost as if it’s being remolded. Cold and hot at the same time.

  “What’s going on?”

  My throat swells at the memory of crashing trees. I nearly died. What if one of the trees fell on me? Talon. Ren. I have to make it back.

  The familiar female voice goes on. “No creature has command of all forms of magic, except you. Now that you’ve passed through the elements, your magic will be different.”

  “Passed through what elements? Please, I just want to find my way out of this mess. Who are you?” I ask again.<
br />
  The mist clears, revealing a crescent-shaped line consisting of three humans, a nymph, and a siren, each sitting in their own high-backed throne. It’s strange to see the creatures of my world all in one place. Nymphs usually avoid humans. And I’ve heard of sirens, but I’ve never seen one before. Her pitch black hair reflects rays of sunlight like it’s sprinkled with dew.

  One of the three humans can only be an elusive Feihrian—warriors born with battle in their blood. One human I recognize by her sweeping gray curls and heavily wrinkled face.

  My mouth drops. “Nattie? But—”

  “I am the First Maiden Wizard. I have guarded this entryway since the beginning of Itharia. We knew that one day Itharia would have a dire need, that one would be sent who could make it through the entryway and set us free. We’ve been waiting a long time for you, Ambry.”

  I can’t wrap my mind around her words. “But the tears…?”

  “I have cried many tears, but none as powerful as those you carried.” Her cheery nature is gone, in place of this formal ruler.

  “But—” I say, confused. “But I don’t have them anymore.” The hum pricks my skull as if the tears are chastising me for that fact.

  “Yes, but you know exactly where they are, don’t you?” She gestures to the four other creatures beside her. They’re wrinkled like she is. All except the siren. “You wear their trace like perfume,” she adds.

  The tears whine against my spine.

  “Not just anyone can carry those tears. They have a will of their own. And they have chosen you.”

  My knees ache, and my ears are still ringing. I can’t get over it. All that trouble I went through—falling trees, the bottomless lake, the fire—it all led me back to Nattie. Disappointment and incredulity mix, and I push the feelings aside. “Tears don’t usually do that, do they? Choose someone?”

  “Tears aren’t usually selective, no. But these tears, tears that are more powerful than any known magic, the fact that they have chosen you says much.”