“You would not have an easy time of it,” Wes points out. “Rulers are not often deposed.”
Helos frowns, the lines of his face no longer echoes of laughter and light. They are hard lines now, serious and severe. Weighted.
Sharp as antlers.
“Surely genocide would be reason enough,” he says.
Wes doesn’t contradict him.
Magical beings dying west of the river. Humans dying to the east. When will it be enough?
“Let’s keep moving,” I say. “I want to finish this.” The sooner we get the stardust to Telyan and warn the court, the better.
At the allusion to Finley, Helos’s face transforms into something softer and sadder. Without a word, he leads the way onward.
And doubles the pace.
* * *
We reach the riverbank three days after fleeing the compound.
The water is as imposing as I remember, the riotous current churning violently as always. The roaring grates loud enough to block out my fantasies, at least. To Helos’s and my surprise, it’s Wes who identifies the place we landed first. Even from a distance, he recognizes the curve of the shoreline and the thicket of reeds near the water’s edge. Though he tries to shrug it off, it’s obvious he’s proud of himself, and somehow the sight draws me further from my despair. Like a small ray of sunlight peeking through the blackness. I laugh for the first time in days.
We slow our pace now that we’re getting so close, not wanting to overshoot the stretch where we’re supposed to attract the Niav watchmen with smoke signals. We keep our eyes trained on the opposite shore as we walk, waiting for the city to come into view.
When the first buildings appear on the horizon, it’s immediately apparent that something is wrong.
An enormous cloud of smoke funnels up from the earth, swathing what we can see of the city in an unearthly shadow. River breeze carries the stench of flames right to us.
Niav is burning.
TWENTY-SIX
“Fortune save us,” I breathe.
“What’s happening?” Helos demands. “Did a fire break out?”
I think of the people we passed in the street. Minister Mereth in her palace atop the hill. Did anyone make it out in time?
Mangled limbs. Bloodless lips. Death, death, dea—
“No,” Wes replies, both hands behind his neck, staring as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Unaware of the nausea stroking my throat. “Look there.”
I can’t make out what he’s pointing to, but Helos can.
“A flag.”
Wes swears softly and starts to pace. “Eradain.”
“What?” I exclaim, close to retching. “You’re sure?”
He nods, and the smoke stuns us into silence. Niav, attacked. Glenweil’s capital, burning. That realm is still neutral, at least officially. Has Jol’s patience with opposition simply expired?
I face the others, stomach plummeting. “Do you think he’s already attacked Telyan, too?”
Helos pales, but Weslyn only looks at me, like he’s thought of this already. “We have to find some way to cross,” he says firmly. Though his voice sounds calm enough, I see the fists bunched at his sides. “We cannot go this way now. We don’t know if anyone will be awaiting a signal anymore, and we don’t want to risk encountering someone from Eradain.”
I see his point, and I think I agree, but—“There’s nowhere else to cross,” I say miserably.
He stares at me beseechingly. “Is there truly nowhere else? Nowhere opposite Telyan?”
I open my mouth, then close it again. “I mean, the river is narrower there. But it runs through a gorge, and the current’s just as strong.” He remains silent, and I realize he’s waiting for me to make the decision. Helos is still staring at the opposite shore. “I suppose we could at least look,” I relent. My brother appears as hopeless as I feel, but he nods anyway.
With a final glance at the burning city, I lead the way back along the shore, retracing our steps from only moments before. The quiet stretched between us has turned ominous. His family is in Telyan, I think wretchedly. Not just his people, but his family. The ones he loves most in the world and would do anything for.
Let them all be safe. Please, let them be safe.
At one point, Wes loses his footing in his haste, but otherwise there are no mishaps on the despondent trek south. We travel a few steps into the tree line, just in case someone is keeping watch on the other side. After a while, the Purple Mountains decorate the opposite shore, the forested peaks standing sentinel in the sunlight. From this distance, they do indeed look purple-tinted, and it’s a beautiful sight, so at odds with the danger only a short way to the north.
But despite our strenuous pace, we’re losing the race against the sun. By the time we’re nearly parallel with the peaks, it’s sunk below the horizon.
“We’re going to have to stop for the night,” I say, bringing the group to a halt. Wes takes another couple of steps forward, but I grab his sleeve. “We stand little enough chance of making it across as it is. Attempting it in the dark would be suicidal.”
He wants to object. I know he does, but he can’t. Not this time.
“We’ll start again at first light,” I promise.
He opens his mouth.
“First light,” I repeat, firmly this time.
He holds my gaze a long while. The fear he’s trying so hard to disguise is breaking my heart, but I can’t back down. I won’t. I wait until I see his shoulders drop, feel the muscles relax beneath my grip. When the rest of the fight has finally left him, I release his arm.
* * *
We reach the gorge by midmorning.
It’s a foreboding sight. The land on our side of the river is still dotted with sun-stricken pines, but the other side is barren, a few scraggly bushes comprising the only vegetation beneath the mountains. Far below, the river rages southward with its usual fury. The drop on both sides is dangerously steep, too steep to climb down or up. Helos and I exchange a look.
“Let’s keep going,” I suggest, attempting to convey greater confidence than I feel. By some perverse turn of events, it seems it’s become my job to keep their spirits up. That used to be my brother’s role.
Neither of them responds. Instead, we follow the curve of the cliff face in a gloomy silence, keeping an eye out for any descents that look promising.
As we walk, the walls of the gorge do begin to shrink, albeit gradually. The river narrows as well, more so than I remember. It won’t be much farther now until we reach the edge of the Vale, and the Elrin Sea beyond.
As time passes, it becomes clear that this is not going to work. A shallow bank has emerged far below on the opposite shore, but even with that and the rather drastic narrowing, the current still races as wild as ever. Perhaps it’s possible we could make it across, but it would be a huge risk.
A few paces directly ahead, the earth melts away in another severe drop. Beyond, brilliantly blue water stretches as far as the eye can see, glistening in the sunlight. We’ve reached the sea.
On the opposite shore, Telyan continues on farther south, the land curving slightly to the east. Eventually, it will sharpen to a point. This is the edge of the Vale, though, and the end of the road for us.
Wes chucks a stone in frustration, anger slipping through a crack in his usually controlled veneer. Helos says nothing, just sinks to the ground with his pack against a tree. We have only two choices now: risk flagging down Jol’s soldiers, or risk the raging current.
I’m tempted to join Helos on the ground. Instead, my gaze sweeps the gorge once more, searching for a solution that is not there.
I won’t fall apart, I tell myself, images of Finley hurting, Geonen’s daughter hiding, Andie sitting cross-legged in a cage—all of them—flashing across my mind. I have seen death, and given it, and I won’t condemn my friend to that fate. I’ve kept to the outskirts of the world, but I won’t leave others to do the same, won’t perpetuate the cycle any lon
ger. That kernel of conviction, new and delicate and flickering, sparks to life once more, warming me like a shield against the misery and the injustice of how we could survive imprisonment and actually retrieve the medicine we set out to find, only to be thwarted so close to home.
Home.
The thought is a shock. My entire life, I have thought of Helos and myself as little more than wanderers, orphans with few friends or any place to call home. We lived in uncertainty for so long that part of me always feared Telyan wouldn’t be more than a short stint.
The city hasn’t been kind to us. Helos lives in secrecy every day, hiding his true nature, while I’m criticized for mine more often than not. But it’s been four years. Helos and I both have jobs we love and a place to live. We have a royal family who will be indebted to us upon our return. More than that—they may even want us around. King Gerar defended me when everyone implored him to send me away. Finley befriended me when no one else would. Violet understood me well enough to know exactly what to do to strengthen my loyalty and resolve: she hugged me. And Wes—he’s not the person he was nearly a month ago. He’s my friend.
And I’m not the same girl. I’m done with sticking to shadows, done with accepting abuse without retaliation. Maybe I can make Telyan a kinder place for us after all. Maybe I can make it a proper home.
This hope, more than anything, is enough to make me desperate.
“Please,” I whisper. Scarcely more than a breath.
For a few heartbeats, there’s nothing save the sound of a few lonesome birds and the river below. And then I hear it: creaking, breaking, crashing.
Helos leaps to his feet, and the three of us charge forward, heading north once more to locate the source of the crack now echoing through the gorge. It doesn’t take long.
A tree has fallen across the ravine.
For several long moments, we just stare at it, blinking stupidly.
“What are the chances of it falling right where we needed?” Weslyn asks, clearly wary.
“Coincidence,” Helos says.
Wes appears unconvinced.
“Remember,” I tell him. “You can’t anthropomorphize the magic. It doesn’t take sides or grant favors. The only driving force it has is to survive.” I pause, considering. “And given the number of magical beings they’re slaughtering at that prison, I wouldn’t blame the Vale for feeling threatened. The land itself felt wrong in that place. Even the mountain was cracked.”
Helos pivots toward me. “What did you say?”
“The mountain was cracked. You must have seen it.”
He stares at the gorge for an endless moment. Then he tilts his head toward the ground, marching a few steps away, then back.
“Helos?”
“A crack in the land,” he says, in an agitated manner. “Magical people and creatures being murdered. Magic feeling threatened, appearing east of the river. You,” he switches abruptly, smacking Wes’s arm with the back of his hand. “You must have had plenty of tutors growing up in a castle. What did they teach you about the origin of magic? Why did the Rupturing occur?”
Weslyn’s eyes narrow, and I feel rather tempted to shove Helos myself. “The energy beneath the surface became too great,” he responds in a low voice, like he’s annoyed he has the decency to answer. “The magic broke through and fractured.”
“It fractured! Magic couldn’t survive where it was, so it erupted and cracked the land.”
“So?”
“Magic will always fight to survive,” I murmur, starting to catch where Helos is headed.
“This is it,” Helos says. “The disturbance the king told us to search for. The source of the magic east of the river.”
“I don’t understand,” says Wes.
“Rora had the measure of it. Eradain begins taking steps to eradicate magic from the Vale, and a mountain fissures at the site where magic’s hosts are being killed. Those two facts aren’t coincidence. They’re linked.” He turns to me. “You’re right, I did see the crack. I just didn’t think anything of it.”
“What are you saying?” Weslyn asks. “Another energy event split the land without anyone noticing?”
“Not the land. The mountain.” Helos scrapes his boot across the ground. “Think about it,” he presses. “Magic fights to survive. If it felt truly threatened, it would try to preserve itself. And what better method to try than one that has worked already? Jol thinks he’s preventing another Rupturing by eliminating magic from the continent, but he’s only making the problem worse. The land is already cracking again, only less dramatically than last time. Except the fracturing magic still needs a place to go.” He folds his arms tightly before him. “And this time, it seems the hosts are no longer compatible.”
“Oh,” I exhale. Wes twists toward me. “The Fallow Throes.”
A gust of wind sweeps through the gorge, and I bow my head against the worst of it. The thinner branches and leaves on the fallen tree flutter like insects in the gale. Helos is right—this must be why magic surged across the river.
“Those papers I found in the compound dated back to several months ago,” I say. “That’s when people started getting sick, around the time Jol’s compound started functioning.”
“But Fin only became sick a few weeks ago,” Wes points out, massaging a kink in his shoulder. “If the mountain cracked months ago, how could its magic still be affecting people?”
“It would take a long time for the pieces of an event like that to settle,” Helos reasons.
“Months?”
My brother shrugs. “Illnesses affect people differently. Maybe it takes longer to surface in some than others.”
“Or maybe the mountain wasn’t the only crack in the land,” I say. “Maybe there have been smaller ones we haven’t noticed.” My gaze falls on the fallen pine spanning the gorge. “Like this tree.”
An uneasy silence hangs in the air.
“Look, debating this is not going to help the afflicted right now. We have the remedy they need, and we’re lingering too long. We need to cross.”
Wes examines the tree bridge and the yawning emptiness below, his expression heavy with apprehension. “Are we going to try that?”
I roll my shoulders back, already determined. “Yes, we are.”
Before anyone can object, I step up to the edge. The trunk is wide, about the length of my arm across. But it’s round and flecked with branches, and the drop is a long way down. I don’t fear heights—spending part of life as a goshawk will have that effect—but even I feel a little dizzy at the sight.
“Rora,” says Weslyn, just as Helos says, “Hang on.”
“Listen.” I cut them off, swiveling to face them. “It’s either this, or we swim across. The latter has a larger chance of ending in drowning.”
“This could still end that way,” Helos snaps.
“But it’s the less likely of the two.”
He doesn’t appear impressed by this reasoning.
“Why don’t you shift?” Wes suggests. “You can fly across.”
The words spark the old guilt, along with anger. A picture of Helos dropping below the surface flashes through my mind. Never again.
“We’re not separating,” I say, insistent. And we’re all making it across, I add silently, unable to bear the thought of any alternative. “Besides, I still have to get my pack over there.”
Before they protest again, I step around the towering roots and out onto the trunk.
The first couple of steps are not so bad. It’s when the ground beneath the tree falls away that moving forward becomes a lot more difficult.
Walking ever so slowly, arms spread wide and occasionally gripping a branch for balance, I tell myself this is the same as crossing a log on land. My feet wouldn’t slip then, and I would be moving much faster besides. No reason they should fail me now. A gust of wind buffets my hair, abruptly dousing my imagined words of comfort. It wasn’t strong enough to interfere with my balance, but who’s to say the next one wo
n’t be?
What about the boys?
“Do you think I should crawl instead?” I call without looking back, determined to keep my voice as relaxed as possible. I’m desperately afraid for both of them, neither of whom have a winged fail-safe should they fall.
“I was about to ask the same thing.”
It’s Wes’s voice, much closer than I expected it to be. I pause and glance behind. He’s joined me on the log, arms stretched out and bare where he’s rolled his gray sleeves above the forearm.
I thought I was nervous before; it’s nothing compared to how I feel now.
“Are you okay?” he asks, searching my face briefly before his eyes are drawn back to his feet. The river rages far below, a roaring beast of churning waves and blue-white spray.
For so long, masking my emotions from him was simple. Routine, even. Now it’s an effort to school my features into a calmer palette. “I was just thinking about the wind,” I say, turning forward again, as casual as if discussing the chance of rain later in the week. Anything that might temper his terror, though my own heart is ripping a hole through my chest. “It would be harder to knock us off balance on all fours.”
He doesn’t reply immediately. Then, “I’m afraid to lower myself down.”
“Okay. Let’s keep going like this for a while. Helos?” I raise my voice at the end.
“I’m here,” he calls back from farther away. “I don’t know if it’s strong enough to hold all three of us. I’ll go last.”
Good, I think. My nerves can’t handle both of them on this tree bridge at once.
Our pace is agonizingly slow, but eventually we reach the midway point. The second stretch looks harder; there are several more branches around the top half of the tree, and the trunk narrows visibly. “Halfway there,” is all I say. From behind, Helos shouts encouragement.
We’re only a quarter of the way from the other side when it happens. Another gust of wind kicks through, this one much stronger than any that have come before.
I wobble.
An arm strikes out, quick as a viper, steadying me. But the movement throws off Wes’s balance, and he cries out. I whip my head around and reach for him, just as he goes down.
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