“Any guesses where this leads?” I ask, the musty air itching my nose.
“None whatsoever.”
“Grand.”
We follow the passageway for so long, I lose track of how far we
have gone. Elderwood Manor is a massive estate, but we must have trod the whole length of it by now. We finally come upon a brick wall with no markings.
Jamison searches for a way out. “This can’t be right.”
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Emily R. King
I study the walls to our right and left, running my fingers over
them, and locate a marking of a holly tree near our feet. Under the
engraving is a notch in the brick. My breath snags at the sight of a big beetle running away, but I slide my finger into the notch and pull.
Clicking noises go off like a spattering of gunfire, and dust rains
from a crack appearing in the wall. Jamison pries the door open, and we step into a dim room. The large quarters are skimpily furnished with a bunk, a dressing cabinet, and a stool. A narrow rectangular window is high over the bed, too far to see out of.
“We’re in the groundkeeper’s quarters.” Jamison passes me the lamp
and kneels to rummage around under the bunk. I listen at the exterior door, my ticker thunderous in the charged quiet. He pulls out a spade.
“Here it is! This is what I was looking for.”
“A shovel?”
“Our former groundskeeper fended off thieves with a shovel this
size.”
We slowly open the exterior door and sneak out. The day has gifted
us with sunshine and a parade of fluffy white clouds. Jamison leads us around a corner of the manor toward the stables and drags me back
again.
An elf guard is posted outside the stables.
“Blaggard pricks,” Jamison says.
“Wait, look.”
Someone creeps up behind the guard and knocks him over the head
with a shovel. I suppose gardening tools are good for more than digging.
The elf goes down, and his attacker disappears inside the stables. We dash across the clearing and in through the same door.
A shovel swings at my head. Jamison raises the spade between us,
and the tools connect.
“Good sin, Osric,” he says, “you nearly took Evie’s head off.”
“I thought you were guards.” Osric lowers the shovel. This encoun-
ter could have gone worse. He also carries a short sword. “I stopped 58
Everafter Song
by the library. Claret said you’d left, so I came here. I was afraid you’d gone without me.”
“How did you get out?” I ask.
“I told Dalyor I was going for a walk.” Osric tosses Jamison a pistol and passes me a pouch of Radella’s pixie dust that we’d been saving in case we found ourselves in a pinch. “Saddle up.”
Jamison prepares a horse for the two of us while Osric and I saddle
his. “If we hurry,” says Jamison, “we can be up the skystalk in less than an hour.”
“We cannot be brash or we will wind up dead,” says Osric. “The elven guard will have the skystalk surrounded. We will never get past them, and even if we could, we would be mad to go to the giants’ world without someone guiding us.”
“Who do you have in mind?” I ask.
Voices sound outside.
Jamison launches into his saddle. I sheathe my sword and vault
onto the horse behind him. Osric mounts up as well, and we ride out
of the back of the stables just as three elven guards rush in. Arrows stream past us, lodging in the doorways. I lean forward into Jamison, hugging his waist, and hang on. Our horse gallops us away from the
manor, away from the skystalk, away from the peace that the prince of elves has again stolen.
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Chapter Eight
Jamison and I lead the way on our horse down the riding trail. Osric bounces in his saddle behind us, his hat low over his surly eyes. We have been riding for two hours, and the elf looks no less vexed to be on a horse.
We travel the edge of the cliff through the late-summer colors of
yellowing green and dull gold framing the coastline. A stony beach
spreads out below, fringing the base of the limestone cliffs and blending into the sparkling blue-gray sea. We pause at a lookout to peer over the ledge.
Between the beach and the top of the cliff, suspended in midair, is
a patch of kaleidoscopic sky as big as our horses. The radiance is almost imperceptible, but when the sunlight catches it at the right angle, the brilliancy shimmers every color of the rainbow, simultaneously dazzling and otherworldly. To the plain eye, the prism of light could be a trick of the imagination. But this isn’t the first portal I have encountered, and it won’t be the last one I will depend on for travel between the worlds.
I dismount first, then Jamison gets down. We sidestep up to the
drop-off, pushing into the sea winds, and peer over at the subtle patch of iridescence.
“Why are the portals always in inconvenient places?” I bemoan.
Everafter Song
“Creatures would wander through them without a thought other-
wise.” Osric slides awkwardly off his horse, his grip tight on the saddle, and rubs at his sore legs.
Jamison touches my elbow. “You don’t have to come along.”
“I’ve survived the Land Under the Wave once,” I say. “I can do it
again.”
Osric holds down his hat before a gust of wind sweeps it away.
“No one is here,” I say. “You’ve no need for a hat right now.”
“I surely do. I found a gray hair on my head this morning—and a
wrinkle!” He yanks off his hat to show me.
I examine his flawless, youthful face. “Where?”
Osric points to the tiniest wrinkle along his hairline. “I’m ration-
ing my dosages of cider until I restock my supply. The effects of the charm apples have begun to dwindle.” He drops his voice to a sheepish whisper. “I’m aging.”
He’s nearly six hundred years old. All things considered, he’s out-
lasted time rather well. “Maybe this is a good time to stop depending on the charm apples for your youth?”
“And let time ravage me? Never. I’ve no time to grow old.” Osric
shoves his hat back on his head and scans the cliffside. “We must go and come back quickly. Time moves slower in the Land Under the Wave.”
“Then let’s get to it.” I back away from the stone ledge. Every portal to an Otherworld is a leap of faith. Fortunately, for this journey, we’ve no need to seek out a whale to swallow us.
Jamison and Osric back up beside me. The three of us stand in a
line facing the cliff, the portal out of sight below.
No one budges.
The sword of Avelyn warms and vibrates in my hand, urging me to
go. I cannot move my joints. I worked hard to return home from the
Land Under the Wave. Never did I imagine I would willingly go back
to that inhospitable world.
“Fine.” Osric sighs. “Let your elder show you how it’s done.”
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Emily R. King
He takes off running and leaps over the cliff, one hand on his head
to hold down his hat, and drops out of sight.
Before I can think too deeply about what I’m doing, I sprint after
him. “Bloody bones!” I curse and jump.
A brisk wind whooshes up at me, wailing past my ears. Osric has
disappeared without a trace. The rainbow of light stretches beneath me, translucent, gossamer, flimsy. I can see the ground through the band of multicolored radiance. My boots meet the opening of the portal, and
the scent of the sea grows stronger. Feet, legs, hips, chest. I hold my breath and plummet out o
f this world.
The next thing I see is Osric’s outstretched arms. He catches me as
he would help someone step off a chair. We landed on a raised platform built on a barren hilltop. The structure was erected beneath the portal for ease of travelers coming and going.
The mild evening sky hosts a backdrop of stars pinned with an
enormous bone moon. I’m uncertain of the local hour, except that it’s nighttime.
Jamison lands beside us and folds forward, grasping his stomach.
Portal travel has left him woozy. “We’re back?”
“We’re back,” I confirm.
A swelling breeze snaps at my cloak. The winds of this world con-
stantly punish those of us who don’t dwell under the waves. My hair
tangles in the shell brooch still pinned to my cloak. I take off the shiny treasure and stow it in my pocket.
“Are you certain Captain Redmond is the best guide?” Jamison
asks, still bent in half from nausea. “Mundy’s been locked out of the giants’ world for decades. He may not be a reliable resource any longer.”
“Do you know any other giants we can ask for help?” Osric counters.
Neither of us offers another solution. Captain Redmond is one of
the only giants we’ve met who was banished from the Silver-Clouded
Plain and made a home in another world. He isn’t a man-eater, but that doesn’t mean he’s fond of humans.
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Everafter Song
“I thought not,” Osric says. “Collect yourself, Jamison. We must
be swift. You and Everley don’t want to come back to the Land of the Living and find you’ve been away several months like you did last time.”
No, we certainly do not.
The three of us thump down the stairs of the platform to the rocky
ground. I half expect to encounter the boggart, the sinister-looking guardian of this portal, but the ghoulish hooded figure doesn’t show himself.
We waste no time trudging down the arid hill to the lantern-lit vil-
lage of Eventide. With less than a third of the houses occupied, the place feels sparsely cared for and abandoned. Eventide is a haven for cast-aways—pirates, traders, and those, like Redmond, who were banished
from the Otherworlds. Four ships are moored off Merrow Lagoon.
Included among them is the Undertow, the captain’s vessel.
“How do we find the captain?” Jamison asks.
“After the disturbance Mundy caused in the village, trying to pre-
vent us from leaving, there’s only one place he could be,” Osric answers.
Osric is Captain Redmond’s former first mate, so I trust his judgment.
The trail weaves down the hillside to the upper levels of the village that ring the lagoon in half-circle tiers. Strings of azure lights lit by effervescent plankton mark the underwater trails and highways that lead down into the deep, far below the surface of the water, to the merrow king’s castle at the bottom of the sea.
Osric’s arm shoots out, blocking our path and motioning for us to
halt. Ahead, stalking in the shadows, a strange figure comes our way.
The creature’s bony legs are emaciated, all tendons and kneecaps, and its upper body, from navel to crown, resembles a fish. Big, round black eyes bulge from either side of the finperson’s head, and serrated teeth protrude from its puffy lips.
We duck behind a shed and hunker down. Osric draws his short
sword, and Jamison readies his pistol. The finperson marches past, a musket held between its bony fins for hands. Since when did finfolk
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Emily R. King
start wielding firearms? The last time we were here, they carried tridents and were contending against their sworn enemies, the merrows, for
underwater territory.
I start to get up. Jamison tugs me back down again. Two more
finfolk, also armed with muskets, patrol the road up the way.
“The transition of power has begun,” Osric whispers. “The finfolk
occupy their new territory.”
Good sin. It’s really happening.
In one of his more asinine moves, Markham promised the merrow
king residency in the Land of the Living and exclusive rights to our seas.
As elves are appointed stewards over our world, Markham felt that the decision was within his authority. The finfolk—his allies—will benefit by taking possession of the Land Under the Wave, which, apparently,
they have already begun to do.
“How long until the merrows leave for our world?” Jamison asks.
I search my memory of the prince’s conversation with King
Dorian—the ruler of the merrows. “Markham said they could claim
their new territory after the next full moon.”
We gaze up at the swollen moon above.
Osric swears under his breath. “Looks like the full moon is
tomorrow.”
A day in the Land Under the Wave equals a month in the Land
of the Living. We have approximately thirty days before the merrows
infiltrate our seas and target us with their nightly song of enchantment, luring victims into the water to drown or enslave.
My anxiety is wound so tight I startle when Osric gives the signal
that our path is clear to go. The finfolk patrol everywhere, muskets leaned against their shoulders, their ugly, toothy sneers and bulbous eyes nightmarish. Osric waits for openings, then we dash from shadow to shadow. Eventide was already quiet when we were here last. Now,
with the world occupied by the finfolk, this drought of activity in a prominent seaside port is downright eerie.
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Everafter Song
Finally, Osric hunches behind a large single-story building and tells us to wait here while he creeps around to the front. He comes back a moment later and waves us forward. We sneak to the front of the building and take turns peeking inside the closest window.
Captain Redmond sits behind bars with his crewmate and fellow
older giant, Neely. The pirate giants are locked up with members of
their elven crew from the Undertow. Some of the elves wear headscarves marked with their ship’s symbol, a sandglass over a skull and crossbones.
In terms of dress, none is as polished as Mundy. He sticks out in a black velvet jacket with a scarlet satin lining, his long hair combed and tied back from his scruffy face. Neely looks just the same as before, with his simple cotton clothes and wiry gray hair.
Four finfolk guard the cell from inside the prison. Their leader,
who colluded with Markham—I never caught his name—sits in a chair
by the door. He’s the only one armed with a trident and a pistol. His underlings carry muskets.
We return to the back of the building.
“What do we do now?” Jamison asks.
“We use the dust,” Osric whispers. “Captain Redmond and Neely
are sitting on a bench on the other side of this wall. Everley, will you do the honors?”
“Happily.” I remove the pouch of pixie dust from my pocket and
sprinkle a pinch on the clay bricks at about eye level. An opening as large as an egg appears, as if a hole were drilled through the wall.
Osric whispers through the opening. “Captain Redmond?”
A big eye appears.
“First Mate Osric?” asks Neely. “Is that poppet with you?”
“Yes, it’s me.” Though I can only see his eye, I can tell by Neely’s bright tone he’s glad to see me. “Get the captain, would you, please?”
Neely disappears, and Redmond looks out the hole.
“What are you riffraff doing here? Haven’t you caused me enough
trouble?”
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Emily R. King
“We need to speak with you,” Osric replies. “Turn around and lea
n
against the wall, or you’ll draw attention from the guards.” Redmond grumbles but does as he’s told. “Mundy, we need your help.”
“My help? How about you help us? Queen Imelda found out about the prince’s bargain with King Dorian and threatened to align with the finfolk if one merrow enters the Land of the Living, which, of course, King Dorian didn’t appreciate. He attacked the finfolk’s border, and they retaliated by seizing Eventide with firearms from smugglers.”
Their internal strife could mean safety for the Land of the Living.
The merrows may abandon their designs to invade. I doubt they can
triumph against the finfolk and the elves.
“As for you lot,” the captain snaps, “since I was betrayed by my
former first mate”—I glance at Osric—“my life has been nothing but
strife. My pet crocodile passed away, my clock collection was destroyed, and my ship was commandeered. The finfolk slaughtered most of our
crew and took the last of us hostage.”
“Blame Prince Killian,” Jamison says. “This civil war is his doing,
and now he’s found a way into the Silver-Clouded Plain. The elven
guard is searching for him. Queen Imelda said she wants to bring him to justice, but we aren’t convinced.”
Osric tenses at the mention of his queen and our first impression
of her.
The sound of a door shutting draws me to the corner of the build-
ing. I look out at finfolk walking away from the prison. I creep back to Jamison and Osric.
“A pair of finfolk have left,” I report. “They’re going toward the
lagoon. Just two remain inside. Their leader and one underling.”
Captain Redmond doesn’t want to hear from me. We have a tumul-
tuous history. He put me in his clock collection and tried to sell me and my friends to traders. In return, I injured his crocodile. But Redmond is the guide we need. He has the self-assurance of a leader and the gump-tion of a pirate.
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Everafter Song
“Captain,” I say, “you told me once that you didn’t think you could
find a way back to your world. This is your chance. You and Neely can go home.”
My ticker counts out the seconds of silence. Each beat feels as
though it lasts a whole minute. Why is he taking so long? He’s wasting our time.
I shift my lips over the opening. “If you won’t help us, then Neely
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