Such A Secret Place (Stolen Tears Book 1)

by Cortney Pearson

  I liked her better when she was kooky and not quite so all-knowing. “Like what?”

  “You’re the one foreseen in a vision. You’re the one who will free the severed races. You will bring down the Arcaians.”

  “I’ll what?” The entire forest seems to collapse all over again. Bring down the Arcaians? I’m one person. And I can’t do half of what Talon can. How am I supposed to stop a whole fleet of soldiers?

  I laugh. “Look, can you direct me to the exit? I think you’re mistaking me for someone else.”

  “Regardless of what you think,” Nattie says in a contradicting tone, “you were led here.”

  “No, I ducked through to get away from that soldier.”

  “Everything happens for a reason, Ambry.”

  Not this. Her arguing sets me off. “But I’m no one! I didn’t want them to choose me.” To be honest, it’s caused some major havoc in my life. “I just want my brother back! Can't they choose someone else?”

  Nattie’s smile makes her look like a wrinkly dog. The nymph beside her chuckles and smudges a tiny finger under his gourd-shaped nose.

  “Wizards are the rightful rulers of the people,” the nymph says in a solemn voice. He’s so much smaller than the rest of them. His wings make a whirring noise like someone fluttering their tongue. “The Arcaians are tearing everything apart, and Solomus’s spell hasn’t helped either. Creatures have so few freedoms as it is. They should be allowed to cry.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” Like getting out of here. If we’re gonna do the crazy talk, go back to the me-stopping-the-Arcs part.

  “It’s only logical,” Nattie says, almost condescendingly. “It’s all linked. Years ago, Solomus ruled as Imperial Wizard. But he was usurped from command by the Arcaians. Solomus’s magic wasn’t strong enough to hold back an army, not with the Arcaians’ equipment and technology. At the time the Arcaians were fairly new to our land, but they rose up with more force than anyone thought possible. They had a weapon no Itharian had ever anticipated.”

  The Xian claw. She isn’t saying anything I haven’t heard from history lessons at school.

  “People didn’t know what to expect from them. The Arcaians ganged up on the wizards, took their magic, killed others and forced Solomus to step down.

  “Filled with shame and anger, Solomus went into hiding. But he didn’t flee to Xavienke with his daughter and the few remaining wizards. He—”

  “So it's true. He’s still alive?”

  “He is alive,” the nymph says in his high-pitched voice. “And so is his granddaughter, the maiden wizard.”

  “If that’s true then…” I fade off, unable to think and speak at the same time. “Then he could be found. He could…”

  Remove the spell.

  “Solomus wanted revenge on the Arcaians. He made plans with a man named Craven.”

  “Plans to do what?” I ask, wondering where this is going. It’s enough to keep my mind on track, after learning the truth. I can’t believe he’s alive.

  “That is irrelevant. What matters is that Craven didn’t come through on his part of the deal. Solomus was so angry at Craven, felt so betrayed, he lost control. In his anger he conjured a powerful spell—more powerful than even he knew he was capable of—to punish Craven. Unfortunately, Solomus was young and a tad inept. He didn’t realize that the spell had gone wrong. Without meaning to, he affected every living creature in Itharia.”

  “So you’re telling me the spell blocking our emotions was a big mistake?”

  The human sitting at the far end continues. He’s broad-shouldered and his long brown hair is tied at the nape of his neck. He holds a staff in one hand. “It affected Feihrians, humans, and nymphs alike. Sirens were immune to the spell. And the Arcaians already had talismans to protect them from our magic. To this day Solomus doesn’t know how he did it. Or how to reverse it.”

  I stare at the Firsts, unsure of what to say. I’ve had plenty of history lessons, but I’ve never heard this. The wizard is alive, and his spell was a fluke? Now they have my genuine interest.

  I sniff. “I still don't understand. What does this have to do with me?”

  The man with the staff rises to lean heavily on it.

  “Tears are at the center of it all,” he says. “Solomus’s daughter had a baby who was not only a wizard, but a Seer. Craven heard of the girl’s birth, but he waited for what he thought was the timely moment. About three years ago, Solomus left the girl in the care of a neighbor for a few days. Craven came out of hiding and kidnapped the girl Seer. While in his clutches, she had a vision so potent it caused tears to break through. The most powerful tears ever shed.”

  The man pauses as if waiting for me to say something, but I’m too busy mulling everything over.Wizard’s plan of revenge gone bad. Instead, he takes that revenge out on the one who messed up the original plan, except even that backfires and he ends up screwing us all over. Got it.

  “The girl’s name is Jomeini. The maiden wizard. She Saw this upcoming civil war; Itharians pitted against their kinsmen. Those tears pushed through her block for a reason, Ambry. Jomeini Saw you in her vision. The tears were cried for you.”

  I push away at nothing as if motioning to stop a moving vehicle. The air becomes harder to breathe, and I have to force my brain to process. Did he just say what I think he did?

  “It is up to you to break the spell,” Nattie concludes.

  “What!” She never said anything about breaking the wizard’s spell. “If Solomus couldn’t do it, how am I supposed to?”

  “You have to drink those tears. No one else can. You have to use them to break Solomus’s spell.”

  “But…why me? I tried to drink them, and they burned me.” She can’t be serious. My thoughts leap, escaping every time I try to nail one down. The tears are unresponsive, and I wait for them to confirm her words.

  Nattie gestures to the lovely siren sitting poised and upright and goes on. “Whether you want it or not, you have a role to play in this war. And for that reason, we have a gift for you.”

  I’m still trying to keep track of all the things she said. Me stopping the Arcaians, breaking the spell…something about a prophecy. Right. I’ll just add those to my list of things to do, right under Rescue Ren and Learn How to Fight.

  The siren rises. She’s breathtaking, with slanted features and long, slender limbs. Spindly yellow wings peek over her shoulders. She’s the only one of them who remains unwrinkled. Even her feet are graceful as she makes her willowy way toward me. All I can do is stare, she’s so beautiful.

  “The magic removing that most vulnerable, tender aspect of any creature was dark and unnatural. Not of this world. It was called on in a fit of anger, and even we don’t have the power to undo it. But we do have this. To give to you.”

  Her porcelain, ice-cold fingers place what looks like a glass teardrop, dangling from a silver chain, in my hand. The amulet fits perfectly in my palm. Chilled like her fingers, it’s crystal clear, and sparkles in the sunlight filtering through the trees.

  “What is this?” I ask.

  “Tears cannot be fabricated, though we tried our best,” says the siren. “The liquid we created merely crystallized, and this was the result. The teardrop can’t do much on its own, but we think you might find it useful when the time comes.”

  “When what time comes?” They tried to make tears?

  I tromp past the siren toward Nattie, dangling the teardrop out to her from its delicate silver chain. The crystal sends out beams of colored light from the sun’s reflection.

  “I don’t want this,” I say, feeling torn. “I don’t want any of it.”

  Nattie ignores the teardrop and rises from her throne, her gray hair sweeping behind her calves. She cups her withered hands to my cheeks, bestowing on me a loving, grandmotherly smile.

  “That is not up to you,” she says.

  My teeth clench, and I smack her hand away. “I’m making it up to me.” I drop the teardrop.
It lands on the grass.

  As I turn away the earth trembles beneath my feet, knocking me to my knees. My arms dart out as I teeter, trying to keep my balance. Grim clouds take over the sky, stealing the rising sunlight while bitter cold air drifts onto my skin and in my nostrils. The rumbling earth groans.

  “Then you will die in here,” Nattie calls through the discord, “just like everyone else who was foolish enough to enter despite my warnings.”

  I nearly lose my balance on the trembling ground. The shaking displaces the circle of trees, uprooting them. “I don’t understand. What makes me so different from any of them?”

  “Because,” she says, somehow able to keep her footing. “No tears depended on any of them. But these depend on you. To rescue them. To keep them from being drunk by the wrong person.”

  The tears let out a feeble moan, stabbing it into my spine. They sound dejected. And helpless. My heart sinks to my ankles. I throw out my arms for balance again over the shaking earth and then slide in for the teardrop. The minute my fingers rake the upended dirt and meet the slinky coil of the teardrop’s chain, the destruction stops.

  I stare at the disrupted soil, minutes ago so green and lush, and catch my breath.

  “Tyrus is the wrong person,” Nattie says through the absolute silence. “Craven is the wrong person. Anyone besides you is the wrong person.”

  I rise to my feet, dusting my hands along my pant legs. “That doesn’t make any sense. I’m pretty sure the tears don’t want me drinking them either. They scorched my hand when I tried.”

  Nattie lifts her chin. “You must find a way. Tyrus wants to give his people our magic. Craven merely wants to rule in Tyrus’s place. Trust me when I say none of us wants either of those things to happen.”

  My throat is so dry I can barely swallow. This is it. She’s right, and I know it. Gingerly, I lift the delicate silver chain and hang the teardrop around my neck. It settles under my shirt, cold against my skin.

  Her voice comes to me from across the tumbled ground. “We give you our blessing, Ambry. Don’t be discouraged. And for angels’ sake, child, don’t give up.”

  An enormous gust of wind blinds my eyes, and when I’m able to open them again, the Firsts are gone. My muscles throb, my lower back aches, and blisters tear at my hands and feet. My hand goes to my shoulder where the soldier’s knife skimmed my skin. Blood cakes, lining a sliver in my shirt.

  I wonder how long I was in there. The sun is out now. Had to be all night, at least.

  The rubble is back. Debris, left from a fallen forest. The rich, dark smell of soil drifts upward from the fallen pines and spices.

  They’re all mistaken. They think I’m some angel-called heroine, that I have some power they don’t? I sink onto a tumbled log, wipe sweat from my sticky forehead onto my sleeve, and pull the teardrop from my shirt. Light dances through its crystal facets, creating rainbows.

  I can't deny how beautiful it is. But I still don’t see what I’m supposed to do with it. They said the world rests on my shoulders. They said I have a role to play in this war.

  Despair sinks in at the thought. The only role I want is to find my tears and get my brother back.

  I claw my way through the bracken and bramble. I guess since Nattie, the siren, the nymph and those two men delivered their message, they can move on now. The least they could do was get me out of this mess, though.

  My shirt catches on a notch in the collapsed beech bark, tearing a hole in the fabric. I jam my fingers into the mossy bark, cursing. The smell of lichen stews with the frustration in my chest.

  When I finally reach the boundary of the mangled forest, I see Talon standing feet from the trees, peering into them, one hand on a fallen trunk and one on his belt. Concern covers every edge of his face, and he bobs slightly as if trying to catch a glimpse of me.

  “Ambry!” he cries.

  My heart fills my entire chest. There are too many trees in my way. Every breath, every nerve I have is geared toward him.

  He catches sight of me scrambling and immediately climbs his way across fallen tree trunks to meet me. The scars scribbling his arms are prominent in the direct light.

  “What happened to you?” he asks in astonishment. He glances from me to the fallen foliage around us. “The forest crumbled like someone ran over it with a giant lawn trimmer. I was sure you were dead.”

  He grips my arms. Energy pulses from him as if he wants to pull me to him but is holding himself back.

  “How did you know where I was?” I ask, fighting the same urge to hug him.

  “Nattie told me to wait here for you.”

  “She did?” How? it hasn't been that long since she delivered her message to me.

  The teardrop hangs from its chain beneath my shirt. Instinct tells me to leave it there. All of this was planned. Talon wasn’t supposed to go into those trees with me. He’s not supposed to know what happened in there, either.

  I know I can’t tell him. I can’t tell anyone.

  Talon supports me and helps me back in the direction of Nattie’s hut. The bodies of the Arcs are gone, and so is her squat hut with its crumbling chimney. No traces remain that anyone was here at all, only a fire pit with fresh wood as if she left it for us.

  “What the—?” Talon circles the wood, brow bent in confusion.

  The leaves rustle against a silent breeze, and along with them a seeping calm washes over me.

  “I think she’s gone, Talon,” I say.

  He blinks at me a few times, looks around at the blanket of trees, then back to me. And with a shrug, he throws down his pack.

  “I did some scouting. It’s no wonder we haven’t seen more soldiers since that attack. We’re closer to Valadir than I thought.” Angels, I love his accent. “Should only be a day’s journey and we’ll be there.”

  A day to my tears. The humming grows more insistent than ever, as if they’re also excited. Tyrus hung me in the air like a towel last time we met. I hope I’m more up to it this time.

  Speaking of Tyrus. "How did those soldiers know where we were? Do you think they'll be back?"

  "I'm not sure," Talon says, fumbling with the pack on his back and removes the rolled-up sleeping bag from its straps. Wadding it under his arm, he wanders toward the shade, his boots crunching against the bramble.

  “Feeling sleepy?” I ask, my mouth twitching.

  Talon stops and speaks over the cliff of his shoulder. “No, but I should think you are. You’ve been up all night.”

  I blink, waiting for fatigue to settle in. I stretch my arms and blink several more times. My muscles stab and pinch slightly, but not more than they have any other day. The sun peeks through in patches, landing on my arm.

  “I’m fine, actually,” I say, my voice cloaked with surprise, considering how I fought a capsizing forest and discovered I’m the potential savior of the world. No biggie.

  “Are you saying you’re ready for today’s strength training?”

  My momentary lightheartedness drops. That’s all he’s had me doing for the past few weeks. That, and helping me call my magic. I want to move on from squatting and lunging, from pushups and sit-ups. I want the fighting—especially if Tyrus and his men are still after us. And once I get to Ren, I’ll need to know more. I ran like a wimp from those soldiers last night.

  “When am I ever going to be done with these?” I grumble. I sink to the ground and extend my legs. Pressure builds along my sore stomach. I’m sick of strength training, but I lower my torso and lift my legs. My ab muscles screech at the compression.

  “It’s like I’ve told you. We do strength training every day. Even I do it every day.”

  I force myself to keep working. The strain from crunching my midsection takes all of my energy, and I just breathe. Makes me wonder what he thinks watching me exercise like this.

  “But today we’ll add something more when you’re done, okay? I promise.”

  More? His promise is motivating—I know he wouldn’t give his word l
ightly. I ignore the gritty dirt, push out a heavy breath and force myself to continue the leg lifts with Talon barking reminders at me.

  “Employ your magic,” he orders, stalking around me as I switch, doing pushup after pushup, lunge after lunge. Fifty? One hundred? I lose track. “Using magic will help you form muscle faster.”

  It’s only been in the past few days that he has me combine magic with the physical exertion, and it’s such an effort to get my magic to come while doing these. One more thing to concentrate on. I puff and pant, and my arms and legs quake, but I close my eyes and call my stream to life. It ripples through me like a cold rapid.

  “Send it to your muscles,” Talon says, his voice turning from demanding to soothing. “Concentrate on becoming stronger. Magic will fill the deficiencies in your muscles. It will give you endurance.”

  The magic trickles through and pools in my limbs, and slowly the jiggly, unstable state of my muscles harden. I’m not panting as hard or even shaking anymore. Energy pulses through me, and I find myself starting again with crunches and leg lifts, doing the entire set one more time. Talon sinks to the dirt and joins me, his heavy, concentrated breaths in sync with mine.

  We make it through the second set, and Talon sinks to the earth. I wipe my forehead and face him. Sweat glistens in the sunlight, burnishing his skin, and he breathes over his knees.

  “No bad, graundai.”

  “What did you call me?”

  “Graundai. It means ‘strong one’ in Liachle.”

  My forehead hardens. He persists as if trying to convince me.

  “It’s a good thing. It means even though you haven’t been doing something for long, you’re learning fast and you’re learning well.”

  “You know Liachle?” The ancient Ithillian language? I didn’t think anyone but wizards knew even a few words. The Ithillians were wiped out years ago from a blood plague. None of them even exist anymore.

  He dusts his pants. “Not much. It’s just a term my…family…used.”

  “Your family?”

  He doesn’t answer, just drapes his wrists over his knees. This is my chance—I need to word it well.