by Amy Alward
I retreat to a quieter part of the airport to call my folks. The guilt of leaving Grandad is already hanging round my neck like a chain. I wish I could tell my parents why I’m really here; I’m not used to lying quite this much.
Mum picks up within a few rings. ‘Hello?’ she says, a cautious edge to her voice. We’ve all grown weary of strange numbers, in case it’s a journalist on the other end of the line.
‘Hi Mum, it’s me,’ I say.
‘Oh, Sam!’ Her voice brightens. ‘Great to hear from you. How was the trip on the private plane?’
‘It was amazing! So fancy. How are things over there? How’s Grandad?’
I can almost hear Mum’s frown down the phone. ‘The doctors are concerned and – well – your dad didn’t want me to tell you but we found out that some specialist doctors had come to visit him as well. Your father wasn’t very happy about that because they didn’t ask for our consent, but the specialists only confirmed what our doctors have been saying, which is that it’s most likely complications due to memory loss. We wanted to take him home, but they won’t let us. They want to do more tests . . .’
Specialised doctors? Those must be the secret service agents that Evelyn mentioned to me. I think back to Zol’s offer. Even though I know there’s more to Grandad’s illness than meets the eye, I wonder if the synth medicine would help. I’m just on the verge of telling Mum when she changes the subject.
‘Anyway, make sure you take a lot of photos of Runustan to show us. You’re so lucky to be able to travel to all these places. Oh, before you go, here’s your sister. Be safe, sweetie. And call us often. I know you’re with the Princess, but you know we always worry about you.’
‘I know, Mum.’
‘Sam?’ Molly’s voice comes on the line.
‘Hi, Mols, how’s it going?’
‘Not so good.’ I hear a shuffling down the line, followed by the click of a lock. ‘I haven’t told Mum and Dad yet, but the gloves Evelyn got me are amazing. I just touched Grandad’s hand while I was wearing them and . . .’ Her voice drops to a whisper I have to strain to hear. ‘I think I know why he’s so sick.’
My heartbeat speeds up, and I struggle to keep my voice calm. ‘What do you mean?’ I didn’t realise my sister’s magic was so advanced that she could use the gloves to diagnose illnesses. She thinks it’s the gloves, but I know better. A powerful object can’t amplify a weak Talent. It’s all Molly.
‘Well, it’s not what the doctors are saying. Memory loss sort of describes it, but it’s more like something’s missing from his mind.’
Everything inside me screams to tell her, but I can’t. Not yet.
‘It’s like a piece has been taken from him. Do you know anything about it?’
I shake my head, but I’m on a phone. ‘No,’ I choke out.
‘Whatever it is, he’s getting worse, fast,’ Molly says, her voice curt. ‘If you were here, you’d probably see what I mean. But you’re not. Have fun on your posh tour.’ She hangs up.
The guilt isn’t a chain now, it’s a cage – and I can’t escape it. I stare at the phone in my hand for a few moments, until Kirsty calls my name.
The only thing I can do to ease the guilt is to do my best to help Grandad from here. I run and catch up with Kirsty and Zain. ‘Did you have any luck with narrowing down the centaur position?’
She sighs dramatically. ‘Oh, you know. Maybe down to the nearest few thousand acres.’ She cackles as my face drops. ‘Trust me, in an area as big as the Runustan Wilds, a thousand acres is good progress.’ She strides through the terminal towards the car.
‘We should be able to isolate their position once we’re in the Wilds, right?’ asks Zain.
‘Well, they’re not tracked in the same way as some of the other creatures. But once we reach my contact who lives on the edge of the Steppe, then we’ll be on the right track.’
‘Wait,’ says Zain, before we get in the car. ‘Since this is Emilia we’re dealing with, I want to check there aren’t any bugs – mechanical or magical – on the car. You can never be too careful.’
Kirsty rolls her eyes. ‘There aren’t any,’ she says, getting in the car anyway.
Zain removes his wand and whispers a few words too quiet for me to hear. An eerie blue light rushes from the wand, surrounding the car. After a few seconds, as the light doesn’t change colour, he puts it away. ‘Good to go,’ he says.
‘No kidding,’ replies Kirsty. She’s already strapped in the driver’s seat and consulting a large map. ‘There are ordinary ways of checking for bugs, too – not that you Talenteds take any notice. I did a sweep before you arrived.’
‘An hour before you picked us up.’
‘Guys,’ I put my hands up. ‘Please, let’s try and get along, okay?’
Kirsty takes a deep breath. ‘You’re right. We’ve got a long drive ahead – Zain, do you know how to sit still for a few hours? I know Talenteds often get bored without magic to entertain them.’ She blinks innocently but her tone is laced with sarcasm. Awkward.
‘On the plane, Zain was telling me something about centaur gatherings?’ I chip in.
To my relief, Kirsty puts her professional hat back on as she starts up the car. I climb in next to her and Zain camps out in the back. ‘Yes – and we’re in luck tonight as we should be able to find a gathering. Sam, do you know why?’
Apparently I should. ‘No?’
‘What time is it?’ she asks, as a prompt.
I look down at my watch, and something on it catches my eye. There’s an alignment that I haven’t seen before, something that must have happened during the timezone change. ‘Woah, I thought I had to wind my watch.’
‘You do, everywhere except for here. I know they teach us in Nova that we are the centre of time, space and the universe, but you should know better than that by now. Runustan is where time began. The peculiar magic of this country affects all our timepieces. Your watch will never be more accurate than it is right now.’
‘Wow,’ I say, staring at my watch as if it’s a foreign object.
‘The Runu people have always preferred to live in the Wilds as much as possible, even the Talented ones. So their magic is much wilder too – their objects look basic to our modern eye, but they’re powerful. Their people once ruled over a huge stretch of the continent, but once the Talenteds began pooling their magic into cities, the Runu way of life diminished. You’ll see the divide between city people and Wilds people.’
I look out of the window at Samar, and it looks like many other cities I’ve been to: big, wide streets, imposing high-rises, statues of important people. I cry out as we pass by a statue that looks like a centaur – but then I realise it’s just a man riding bareback on an enormous horse which is breathing fire from its nostrils. Wreaths of bright yellow, orange and red carnations have been wrapped around the iron flames.
Zain looks up. ‘Tonight’s the festival of the Fire Horse. That’s what you meant by a gathering.’
‘Exactly,’ says Kirsty. ‘So you have been doing your research after all. It’s good for us because the centaurs should be easier to find. But it also might make things more . . . interesting.’
I don’t like it when Kirsty says interesting. That normally means dangerous.
‘So did you bring an offering, Kirsty, or do we need to stop along the way?’ Zain asks. I catch his eye in the rearview mirror and he raises his eyebrows.
‘What do you think I am, some kind of amateur?’ She jerks her head towards the back of the car.
Zain cranes his neck to look in the boot. ‘Oh wow,’ he says. ‘What is it?’ I ask.
‘Two huge barrels . . . and maybe what looks like a box of fireworks?’
‘Um, are we bringing the centaurs beer?’ I look over at Kirsty.
‘Of course not!’ says Kirsty. ‘Whiskey.’
‘Oh,’ I say, as Zain nods his head in approval. ‘And the fireworks?’
‘Now those are just in case we need to make an entrance.�
�
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Samantha
THE MAIN HIGHWAY OUT FROM the city leads straight into the Wilds – the last refuges of natural magic, and home to most of the creatures and plants that form the basis of our potions. Without the Wilds, alchemists wouldn’t have any ingredients to work with – and the shrink of natural land to make way for cities has partly led to the rise in the popularity of synths. ZA argues that synths save the Wild land, but I think they give the world cause to undervalue it.
Thanks to the Princess’s connections, both Zain and I were issued new Wilds passes, so we breeze through the security checkpoints.
‘Here goes nothing,’ says Kirsty. ‘On to the Runustan centaurs.’
‘What if we fail with this herd?’ I sit on my hands to stop biting my nails. I’m so nervous.
Kirsty shrugs. ‘Then it’s about two thousand miles to the next closest sighting.’
‘Oh right, so no pressure then.’
‘None at all.’ She grins. ‘We’ll manage.’
Zain leans round my headrest to talk to Kirsty. ‘Have you ever met one?’
‘What, a centaur? Nope. Not much demand for centaur-related ingredients and besides, they have very long memories. No centaur has really forgiven humans since the Wilde Hunt fifty-odd years ago called for a centaur eye.’
‘Did a Participant actually kill one of them, then?’ I ask, horror in my voice. Murdering a creature for its parts is not in a Finder’s – or an alchemist’s – remit.
Kirsty nods, her forehead lined in a frown. ‘Yeah, we think so. No one’s owned up to it, of course. The international Finding community launched an investigation, in co-operation with several governments – including Nova’s – but there wasn’t much that could be done. As you well know, the Wilde Hunt is governed by its own laws. Even what Emilia was doing to you in the Hunt was not technically illegal. And anyway, fifty years ago the final cure . . .’
‘Was made by synthetic ingredients,’ I finish, the pieces of the story connecting in my head.
‘Exactly. So that poor centaur’s sacrifice was completely in vain. They really hated us after that. It destroyed the reputation of alchemists and Finders in one swift kick,’ says Kirsty.
‘So what makes you think the centaurs are going to talk to us now?’
Kirsty shrugs. ‘I don’t think they will. We’re looking for a particular centaur called Cato. As far as I can tell, he’s the only centaur who was around when your great-grandmother might have visited the herd. But he’s also the herd leader. I bet we’ll be booted out of there before we can open our mouths.’
Great. I slump back in my seat.
‘We’ve come this far, so we’re going to try,’ says Zain. I could kiss him for his optimism but instead, I settle with a smile.
It was a long time ago, but – as Kirsty said – centaurs have long memories. I just have to cling onto a tiny thread of hope. Because if this fails, I have no other leads. Back to square one.
A few hours into our drive, something beeps on the dashboard and Kirsty’s head whips towards it. She flips open the centre of the dash to reveal an old-fashioned radar, like the ones I’ve seen when Dad drags me out to look at old war submarines. There’s a blip on the very outer edge, and then it disappears. The atmosphere in the car is tense – but the machine doesn’t beep again.
‘What’s that for?’ I ask.
‘Look at the sky – can you see anything?’
I stare out of the window. The sky is piercing blue, without a cloud in sight, and the grass beneath it stretches for miles. It looks like a child’s painting of the world: green grass and blue sky meeting in a straight line at the horizon. It’s desolate and vast – whatever is on that radar screen, I can’t imagine it just creeping up on us.
‘It’s a dragon-o-meter,’ Kirsty says.
Dragon’s tooth – used in potions to settle disagreements. Also for boosting confidence (in correct dose).
My jaw drops, and I plaster my face against the window again. ‘Dragons? Like actual-real-life dragons?!’
‘Yeah. They’re rare but you can’t take too many precautions out here.’
‘You’re kidding me!’
‘’fraid not. But that bleep is still miles away. If it doesn’t come back, we’ll be all right.’
I try to ease the tension in my shoulders by tilting my head from side to side. I thought I’d be used to all this adventure after the Wilde Hunt, but it still doesn’t sit easily with me. It was only blind luck that saved me before. Luck . . . and a bit of knowledge. This time, I plan to be armed with as much knowledge as possible.
‘How long until we arrive?’ I ask Kirsty.
‘Oh, we’ll be driving for several hours yet.’
Plenty of time, then. I reach into my backpack and pull out a giant tome with a thick red leather binding. The corners of the pages are all tattered and, in spindly gold writing, the cover reads: CREATURES OF THE GREAT STEPPE. I found it in the Palace library – perfect for my research.
I open the book on my lap, debating for a moment whether to turn to the centaur page – or the dragon page.
‘Brought your library with you again, have you?’ laughs Kirsty. ‘You should buy one of those fancy e-readers with your prize money.’
I stare down at the heavy book. Kirsty might have a point.
I skip past the centaur page and instead, I read all I can about dragons.
Just in case.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
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[STICKY POST] NovaBlast says: WHO WILL PRINCESS EVELYN MARRY? Welcome to the mega-thread devoted to the most likely candidates for Princess Evelyn’s betrothed. If you are new to the thread, please use the search for your theory first so you don’t end up repeating something that’s been said a hundred times before. Will try to keep a running tally of the most popular options.
DAMIEN 7/2 *CURRENT FAVOURITE* – Age: 24,
Occupation: Popstar. Been papped at the Palace several times after the Wilde Hunt and he’s due to perform at the Laville Ball. *ETA* His newest single is called ‘Crown Calling’.
PRINCE STEFAN OF GERGON 7/1 – Age: 22,
Occupation: Second in line to Gergon Throne. Frontrunner before the Wilde Hunt but has dropped off the radar since then. The sensible political choice. If spotted on Royal Tour, his odds may increase.
*MYSTERY CRUSH* 7/1 – Age: ??, Occupation: ??
*DETAILS WANTED BUT BE PREPARED TO VERIFY SOURCE* Why all the secrecy? If he was a valid option, we would expect to see an announcement by now. One to keep an eye on.
ZAIN ASTER 20/1 – Age: 18, Occupation: Student. No longer single but still a likely choice if it comes down to the wire. Old friend of the Princess.
1304 replies
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Samantha
AFTER HOURS OF DRIVING, THE beautiful scenery in Runustan becomes monotonous, grass stretching as far as the eye can see, blue sky above us, like a catchy tune played over and over again until I beg it to stop. I close my eyes and try to sleep for the rest of the journey.
When Kirsty wakes me, I can tell we’ve arrived somewhere special. For one thing, there’s a huge lake spread before us, glittering in the high noon sun. It’s like an oasis, but instead of being in the middle of the desert, it’s in the middle of the grasslands.
On the shore of the lake is also the first sign of human civilis
ation we’ve seen – a circle of round tents, which Kirsty tells me are called gers – mixed with a few regular-looking brick buildings. ‘This is Lake Karst,’ Kirsty says. ‘And the village on its shores is called Karst too. It’s quite a popular spot for locals on their holidays but off the tourist track. We’ll stop here to meet my contact and to pick up gas and supplies on our way to the centaur herd. Who knows, if we’re lucky they might be close by.’
We’d demolished all our snacks on the journey, and as the smell of roasting meat drifts over to the car, my tummy rumbles. ‘I’m glad we’re stopping – I’m so hungry, I could eat a horse!’
Kirsty laughs. ‘Well, you might be in luck – horse is a traditional meat around here.’ When I grimace, she tuts. ‘Hey, no one turns their nose up at you for drinking that synthetic sugar crap they put in your speciality coffee at Coffee Magic – at least this is all natural.’
‘I know, I’m sorry,’ I say. If I have to eat some horse to be polite, I will. Or just say I’m vegetarian.
Kirsty jumps out of the car first, and she’s greeted by a young woman who has emerged from one of the tents. She’s wearing a long cream linen dress, tied at the waist with a thick piece of black leather. A pop of colour is provided by the intricately patterned scarf over her hair.
‘Nadya!’ Kirsty embraces the woman in a warm hug.
Zain and I share a look. ‘Does she know everyone, everywhere?’ he asks me, as we stand by the car waiting to be introduced. He lifts his sunglasses up into his dark hair, pushing it off his face. I grin as one of the unruly strands sticks straight up in the air.
‘I think so,’ I say, reaching out to fix the wayward hair. ‘That must be her Runustan contact.’
I stretch out my arms wide, taking a deep breath of the fresh, cool air. The gers have all been set up to face the lake, and the water is so crystal clear it looks like the facet of a diamond. At the water’s edge, some kids a bit younger than us are playing volleyball on a small stretch of beach, and there’s a shack nearby offering all kinds of motorised watersports adventures for adrenaline-junkies. ‘Want to join them?’ Zain says, with a wide grin. I shake my head. I’m so unco-ordinated at sports, I might as well have two left hands.
