by Brindi Quinn
“I’ll pass.” I looked away, and turning self-conscious, said, “And enough with the ‘you don’t like me’ crap. I told you, we’re friends.”
He stared up at me. “I suppose we are. Then would you do something for me?”
“Hm? What sort of ‘something’?”
But before I could agree to anything, he grabbed my hand and brought it to his right horn, which was only faintly visible through his messy hair. The horn felt hot, but it was quickly cooling.
“Is it hot from that,” – I didn’t know what word to use – “spell?”
He nodded. His usually bright red eyes were darker than normal, nearly blood-red. I wondered if it was a side-effect of the magic.
“Um, what did you want?” I asked, curious as to what the ‘something’ was.
He chewed his lip and asked, “Can I have a little of you?” His voice was different than usual, earnest.
“What?! H-have a little of me?” What are you asking me?! I had an impulse to throw his head from my lap, but the look he gave me made me refrain. He was entirely serious.
“For my horns,” he said.
“Horns? What do you mean?” I studied his face for ill-intent, but he seemed to be in a moment of surrender, like he was at my mercy or something.
“Like this.” He closed his eyes, and my hand turned to ice on his horn.
“Ah!”
When he opened his eyes they were brighter. It was weird, but it was kind of like he was using my power the way I used Nyte’s.
“Did it bother you?” he asked quietly.
I shook my head. It wasn’t a lie.
“Then . . . may I have a little more?”
I nodded.
Once again my hand chilled.
Is it right for me to share my spirit like this with him?
But I didn’t try to stop him. This time when he opened his eyes, they were their normal cherry color. He looked back up at me, his expression still earnest.
I realized then that there was something genuine to the intimacy of the moment. It was the first time it wasn’t forced, wasn’t an act. I had a feeling this subdued person was the real Ardette, and . . .
I felt something – a very small something – tweak in my chest.
“Can I stay here?” he whispered.
“Stay here?” I asked. Despite my best attempts, my cheeks grew hot.
His eyes widened. “Have I won, then?”
“Huh? No! Of course not!” What? Impossible. I wanted to run, but I was trapped by his heavy head in my lap. “Get up!”
“But my cherry pit, don’t you long to stay with me?” He flashed one of his masking smiles.
The small tweak completely died.
“No way,” I said firmly.
I forcibly helped him sit up and then left him in Grotts’ care and went to check on Rend. She was slipping in and out of consciousness, coherent enough only to mutter a few words:
“My gratitude.”
Gratitude? It was something I’d never expected to hear from the proud Elf, and I doubted she’d meant to utter it aloud.
“Scardo, should we set up the tents?” asked Nyte a while later.
I looked around. Day had quickly faded to night, and the already dim jungle had darkened to black.
Scardo studied the space and nodded. “I suppose this is as good a spot as any.”
Thus, we made camp just beyond the falls for the night, our enchanted tents blocking out most of the thunderous splashing. Despite the chaos that’d played out, it was the first night in a long time that I went to bed feeling entirely refreshed and clean.
But that content feeling wouldn’t last long; for that night while I slept, I had another unnerving dream.
I was in the cavern of mirrors again, but something was different. I wasn’t deep in the cavern; I was at its mouth, facing outward.
Come back . . . A phantom voice called from behind me.
I shook my head, somehow knowing that the voice was accompanied by the red light.
I can’t stay here. It isn’t safe. That red light wants me.
It would be safer for me away from the cavern. Away from the jeering grins of the mirrors. I walked out into the night, and I was at . . .
Our campsite?
We were still camped by the Waterfall of Sorrow, but the water was silent. The falls had ceased. I looked over and saw our two tents. Scardo was keeping guard out front, but he’d dozed off.
I heard someone crying. I looked out over the water and saw a black figure standing on the opposite side of the pool. Its cries started as hushed whimpers, but while I stood and watched, escalated to moaning sobs.
What’s wrong? I spoke, but the words didn’t sound. I’d like to help you if I can.
I stepped into the shallows of the water and trudged toward the figure, which was now doubled over and heaving hysterically.
Are you okay?
The figure stepped out of the shadow, revealing for the first time who it was.
Are you . . . me!? Another me?
The surrealism of the situation hit me when I realized I was staring at an image of myself. It was like I was looking into Miss Danice’s full-length mirror – except, the reflection was moving on its own. The other me reached out her hand, and I walked to her. I could see her tears. They weren’t clear, but like drops of silver mercury.
Why am I crying?
I reached out my hand to take the other me’s, but my hand fell through her, and I was grasping at nothing because the image had completely dissipated into feathers. They fell to the ground all around me.
I opened my eyes.
It was morning, and I was covered in feathers.
Chapter 13: The Magir
“You really didn’t hear the feather lady?” I asked.
Kantú and I spent most of the following afternoon trying to sort out just what’d happened in the middle of the night, though she wasn’t much help since she’d apparently remained asleep for the whole thing.
Kantú shook her head. “It’s really, really weird. There were definitely feathers, so it couldn’t have been all dream.”
“I know. There didn’t seem to be a message, though, like there usually is when she speaks through you. Or maybe I just didn’t catch it?”
“Are you gonna tell anyone?” She looked over at Nyte.
I shook my head. “No. They all have other things to worry about.”
Rend and Ardette had fully recovered, and I didn’t want to bother them with another strange occurrence – at least, not until I could figure out the dream’s meaning.
This whole Spirit of In-between thing still made me uncomfortable.
Unknown help from the beyond? Something just didn’t seem right. It’d been one thing when the spirit had communicated through Kantú, but now that it had moved directly through me, I understood just how powerful the unseen being was. What was its motive for helping us? For leaving us clues? Last night’s dream had been creepy, to say the least, but did it too contain some clue I wasn’t getting, or was the spirit flat out messing with me now?
Thinking about it all made me edgy.
I walked for some time under the canopy beside Kantú, deep in thought and not really paying attention to the low-hanging vines around us until one slapped me in the face.
“Grrr.” I growled at the vine and swatted it away.
After everything that had happened, I half-expected it to grow a mind of its own and ensnare me like the ones from my dreams, but it did no such thing. It simply retaliated from the momentum of my push and came swinging back at me. I dodged it and moved on.
I win.
The fight with the vine snapped me out of my trance of dull, wandering contemplation. I looked around, ready to take on any more vines that sought to challenge me.
“Huh?” I’d been preoccupied all afternoon, but now I realized that the jungle had substantially thickened since we’d left the Waterfall of Sorrow. Yes’lech lies through the thickest part of the jun
gle . . . . Were we getting close?
Kantú and I continued on, following closely behind Grotts and his bug-squashing hammer, but travel soon became difficult because the trees grew increasingly denser. The new compactness of the trees gave birth to a multitude of vines akin to the one I’d battled, and with more vines, came a wider abundance of insects, much to Kantú’s chagrin. Grotts’ hammer couldn’t keep up with them all.
“Icky!” Kantú grabbed me and used me as a shield to plow through a particularly thick row of wall-like vines.
I accepted the role and tried my best to deflect any bugs that might have otherwise ‘gotten’ her. It worked, and I shielded her that way for a while, but as the trees grew closer and closer together and more and more vines filled in the jungle space, it became impossible for me to knock them away from her fast enough.
Sensing my frustration, Grotts said over his shoulder, “We’re almost there.”
“Almost there?” squeaked Kantú.
The vine walls kept coming, even thicker than before and to the point where it was no use even trying to swat them away; we were being swallowed.
I reached out and clasped Grotts’ shirt for fear of getting lost in the stringy green strands. Kantú held tight to me, and Grotts pulled us both along through the dripping arms that enveloped us. Together we swam this way through the last leg of the jungle.
“Ishy! Get away!” The bugs were unavoidable now – they were frenzied that we’d disrupted their homes – and Kantú whimpered behind me whenever they dropped onto her.
“Just a bit more!” Grotts’ words were barely distinguishable.
I’d lost sight of the rest of the group, but I could barely hear their muffled grumblings somewhere through the sloppy vegetation.
Nyte? Where are you?
“Here we go!” Grotts gave one last, great tug, pulling us through the final vines. I tumbled out into an opening where there were no vines, and Kantú rolled forward onto me.
I heard the sound of rough wave furiously licking rock before anything else.
I pushed Kantú off and then stood and speechlessly stared ahead.
She wriggled about on the ground, trying to get the tag-along crawlies off.
“Grottsy! When you said the thickest part of the jungle, I so didn’t think you meant . . .” But her words trailed off when she looked up and saw what I was staring at. She scampered next to me and joined in my amazed gawking.
“Wow,” I muttered.
The jungle had opened up just enough to make room for a great stone fortress, the size of every cottage in Farellah put together. It was unlike any structure I had ever seen. Ivy-covered and immense, it sat on the very edge of a steep cliff overlooking the ocean. The rocky coast was violent and intense, and unlike the gentle waves of Farellah’s sandy beaches, but it was still comforting. It still reminded me of home.
The jungle canopy had blocked out the sky for so long that I’d lost track of time. It was dusk. The backdrop of ashy sky added to the fortress’ already alluring mystique, shrouding various eerie ivy-covered statues that dotted the grounds in a soft darkness.
“Beautiful.” It was an understatement, but I hadn’t yet found a word to describe something so mysterious; so intense; so breathtaking.
Grotts took a deep breath. “Ah, home sweet home!” he boomed.
“It is about time.” Rend was pacing impatiently just ahead of us. Nyte was next to her, kicked back against a rock like he’d been lazing about. Clearly the vines had been a much easier obstacle for the two nimble Elves.
“Are you guys all right?” Nyte ran forward and placed his hands on our shoulders. “We were becoming worried.”
“Hmph.” Rend crossed her arms. Somehow I doubted she was included in his statement.
“We’re alrigh’, but where are the other two?” Grotts looked around.
On cue, Scardo and Ardette stepped through the massive wall of vines that encircled the fortress’ clearing.
“My, my, it appears we are the last to arrive,” said Ardette, brushing himself off.
Scardo bowed low. “Are you all right, Miss Heart and Kantú? I apologize that we became separated.”
I started to answer, but Ardette dramatically waltzed over, swooped in front of Nyte, and interrupted me.
“We have been apart for too long, my cherry pit.” He leaned in close and stared deeply into my eyes. “Did you miss me as I missed you?”
“Not really.” I shooed him away.
He pretended to pout. “Still nothing? Not even a hint of swoon? Alas, do you take pleasure in my turmoil?”
“Cease it, Ardette.” Nyte narrowed his eyes.
“Testy as usual, hm?”
“Come along now. They’ll be waitin’ for us,” said Grotts. He clapped Ardette on the back to urge him along, but what would’ve been a light tap for a normal person, came out as a hard blow for a man of Grotts’ strength.
Ardette had just started some smart remark, but upon the blow’s impact, he stumbled forward, teetering awkwardly and looking as uncomposed as I’d ever seen him. A rare smile slid across Rend’s stern mouth.
Rend thinks it’s . . . funny?
Nyte stared at her, dumbstruck and as surprised as I was at the crack in her hard exterior. The smile lingered for only a moment, for Rend caught Nyte’s stare and stiffened back up, reverting to her old stony self.
Rend and Ardette?
I didn’t have time to contemplate it further, for at that moment, a hooded figured shuffled out of the towering wooden doors of the fortress and bounded across the grounds toward us.
“Is it you?! Have you really returned?!” It was a man with a voice that was soft and young.
“It’s us, Darch.” Grotts waved a massive hand above his head, bearing his chipped tooth in a wide grin. He and Scardo hurried to meet the man called Darch.
Darch wrapped his arms around them. “It’s good to see you, friends!” He looked up. “And you’ve brought guests!” He turned anxious. “Did you bring her? Did you find our salvation?”
Our salvation? I groaned at the thought of another fan.
“We did, indeed.” Scardo tipped his head in my direction, his silky voice carrying a hint of pride mixed with excitement.
Darch lowered his hood and walked to me. His eyes were wide; a brilliant, azure color. He was young and bald and sported a pair of boxy spectacles.
“Are you Aura Rosh?” His soft voice wavered – like he couldn’t contain himself. He beamed at me, his dark face lit with excitement.
He’s this excited to meet me? I was taken aback by this blatant enthusiasm, but I tried to act normal.
I nodded, smiling lightly. “I am. And this is Kantú, Rend and Nyte.” I gestured to the rest of the non-Yes’lechian guard. “It’s nice to meet you. Darch, is it?”
I stuck out my hand to shake his, but he wrapped his arms around me, picked me up, and spun me in a circle. When he set me down, his face was positively brimming with joy.
“I’ve waited so long to meet you! I was always so jealous when the others returned with tales about you! Ardette, she’s even more beautiful than you thought, isn’t she?”
Again with the beautiful? How should I approach this awkward situation? Ardette smiled smugly.
“The others?” I asked, trying to gain composure after being whisked around by a complete stranger, though it seemed things like that were becoming an everyday occurrence.
“Uh-oh.” Darch ignored my question, and his face became concerned. He reached out and grabbed my ears, one in each hand and then closed his eyes.
I was too flabbergasted to protest. I squinted at Kantú. She shrugged and tried to suppress a chitter that ended up escaping anyway.
“What is it?” Scardo scurried up next to Darch.
“I told them you should have taken me with you!” Darch sounded frustrated. “If you had a Magir along, you would have realized she’s being tagged!”
A Magir? Tagged? Great, this new acquaintance would be as
confusing as the rest of them.
“Tagged?” Nyte looked at me, fretful. I couldn’t tell if he knew what that meant.
I shook my head out of Darch’s grasp.
“Um, could you please explain what are you’re talking about? What’s a ‘Magir’? What do you mean I’m ‘being tagged’? Those ‘others’ that you mentioned . . .”
But my voice trailed off when he stuck out his pinky and brought it up to my forehead.
“Ah? Darch?”
From there, he traced a circle just above my eyebrows, gently drawing his finger along my skin.
He was insane. Definitely insane.
“Shhh,” he shushed. “We’ll get that spirit away from you, don’t worry. Caring for the soul happens to be my specialty.”
“Spirit?” Kantú piped up. “The feather lady?”
Darch turned to her, piqued interest on his face, but didn’t remove his pinky. “The feather lady?”
“What’s happen . . . enin . . . ining . . . ,” I asked, growing faint as he circled his finger around again. What are you doing to me?
“Grotts, come take her . . . ,” said Darch, and his voice was fading.
Circling . . .
“What are you doing to . . .” Nyte’s words were angry, but then that too sounded foggy.
Still circling . . .
Grotts scooped me up, and I saw Ardette peer over his arm at me. “Don’t be frightened. I’ll protect you . . . cherry . . .”
Cherry?
But his voice fragmented before I could catch the rest of it.
Circling, circling, circling . . .
Ardette’s eyes were red, but now they were cherries.
No . . . I’m the cherry.
No, silly, you’re the cherry pit.
I am? But then who’s the cherry blossom?
Nyte is, of course.
That’s right. He’s my meadow.
My thoughts were muddled as I drifted off into hazy sleep.
~
“Aura?”
The circling was over. I was in a bed. It wasn’t the hard ground of the tent. It wasn’t a lumpy cot. It wasn’t someone’s arms. It was a soft, squishy bed with thick quilted blankets and two down pillows.
