“Drift!” Rook scrambled over to her friend’s side. She touched her shoulder and turned her until she was lying on her back. Drift’s eyes blinked open, but her face was as pale as Fox’s had been. She stared blearily up at Rook.
“Bad landing,” she said. “Need to work on that.”
“Are you all right?” A quick inspection told Rook that Drift wasn’t bleeding or bruised, which was a miracle. She was exhausted, though, as if the slightest touch might knock her out.
“I’m fine. I think.” Knees wobbling, Drift used Rook’s shoulders to pull herself to her feet. “We don’t have much time. We need a door out of here.”
“What? We can’t leave,” Rook said, staring at Drift in disbelief. Now that she knew her friend was all right, all her earlier anger and fear returned. “How can you even think that? Fox is in terrible danger right now. He could be…He…” She didn’t say it, but she imagined the giant spiders closing in on Fox’s hiding place.
“I know, Rook, but I had to get us out of there.” Drift looked as miserable as Rook felt.
Well, good, Rook thought darkly. “How could you?” she demanded. “You just abandoned Fox and your mother! Who does something like that?”
“Stop!” Drift snapped. “Don’t you dare say I abandoned Fox! As if I wanted to leave him behind. As if it didn’t tear my heart out.” She finished in a whisper and wiped her eyes. “Rook, I did it to get you away from Dozana, so you could use your power to get out of here and find help.”
“Help,” Rook said, incredulous. She wrapped her arms around herself. “Where am I going to get help? Who’s going to risk coming into the Wasteland to save us? To save exiles?”
“Well, we have to do something!” Drift said. “You need to tell the constables what Dozana’s up to.”
“Do you hear yourself?” Rook demanded. “You’re asking me to turn your own mother in to the constables. They’ll lock her up again!”
Drift shook her head, furious tears spilling from her eyes. “That woman’s not my mother,” she said. “I may not remember my mother’s name or face, but I know she’s not heartless and cruel and…” Drift’s voice caught on a sob. “Don’t you see? Even if she was my mother…Rook, she wants to risk your life. I can’t let her do that. And if her plan goes wrong, she could destroy the whole city!”
“But she said I can get us all home!” Rook burst out. She opened her mouth to say something else, but Drift’s expression was so shocked that she thought better of it.
She fell silent, gazing around to see where they were. Despite only having a limited amount of power, Drift had managed to fly them some distance across the Wasteland. The floating forest was much closer now, and Rook could even make out the lakeshore. The waves lapping the sand were brown and full of sludge. There was nothing left of the portal site but two narrow pillars of blackened stones—the remains of what had once been the legs of an archway.
Drift’s hand rested on her shoulder. Reluctantly, Rook turned to face her. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” Drift said. Her voice was calm, but her eyes were dark pools of anger. “You want to do it, don’t you? You want to risk opening the portal and possibly destroying the city in the process.”
“I never said that!” Rook shook herself free of Drift’s grasp. “But what if Dozana’s right? What if the portal doesn’t explode and instead leads us home?”
“And if you’re wrong? You don’t have to imagine what might happen”—Drift spread her hands at the ruin around them—“this is it! Only it will be so much worse. Rook, I know you want to go home, but this isn’t the way.”
“What other way is there?” Rook countered. “Vora is where we belong, Drift, or have you forgotten that?” Even if they wanted to make a home here, this world wouldn’t let them. “Here, everyone sees what I can do and they’re afraid of me.”
“That’s not true,” Drift said, shaking her head. “Remember what Mr. Baroman said? Not everyone is out to hate us. Even Jace was being friendly. You just have to give people a chance to get to know the real you.”
“Who is that, Drift?” Tears streamed down Rook’s face. “All I know about myself is what other people say I am. Dangerous. Unstable. I have no idea who I was in my old world. How am I supposed to find out who I am in this one?”
“I—I don’t know,” Drift admitted, her voice trembling. “But I thought we’d find out together. We lost so much, I just wanted us to be our own family and be happy. I thought you wanted that too.” She shook her head and cleared her throat. “This…this isn’t getting us anywhere. We need to focus on rescuing Fox.”
Her emotions still reeling, Rook nodded. Drift was right. No matter what Rook wanted for her future, at this moment the most important thing was making sure Fox was safe.
Rook took out her chalk and looked doubtfully at the rubble piles surrounding them. “I don’t know if I can draw a door on anything,” she said. “And I don’t know if my magic will pass through the red wall. You heard what Dozana said. It may not work, or the magic might warp and send us anywhere.”
Drift put a hand to her forehead as if she was dizzy again. She sat down on the ground. “All right, let’s think a minute,” she said. “If we rest here for a little while, maybe I can get enough power back to fly us over the red wall. Once we do that, you can draw a door.” She moved her free hand over the ground as she spoke, absently drawing patterns in the mud.
Rook followed the movement of her hands. Even hurt, distracted, and afraid, Drift was making art to calm herself. She drew a star, a leaf, a miniature fox. Seeing it, Rook’s heart squeezed in her chest.
We’ll get you back, Fox. I promise.
But as she watched Drift draw the pictures, the smooth lines and the gentle curve of the fox’s ears, Rook’s skin tingled. A ghost of an idea flitted through her mind.
Lines in the mud. Lines that connected, formed shapes, made pictures. Art created from almost nothing. It didn’t matter that Drift had no paintbrush or pencil to sketch with—anything could be made into a canvas.
Weren’t Rook’s doors created in the same way?
Rook sprang to her feet, startling Drift into smudging her lines. “What is it?” Drift asked. “Did you hear something?”
Rook shook her head. “I should have thought of it before,” she said, testing the idea out in her mind. Yes, it could work. It had to. “There are all kinds of doors, right? I mean, I make a different one every time.”
“Yes,” Drift agreed, but she was clearly confused, her brow furrowed in consternation. “What are you thinking, Rook?”
“I’ve been thinking too much, that’s the problem,” Rook said, raking a hand through her hair. She stuffed her chalk back in her pocket and dropped to her knees. “A door in a wall, a normal everyday door you just open and walk through—that’s all I’ve ever tried to do. Sure, I’ve created different shapes and sizes, but I never thought about changing the door itself.”
It was easier to demonstrate to make Drift understand. Using her finger, Rook drew a circle in the mud roughly the size of a wagon wheel. As she worked, she thought of the danger they were all in, how much they needed help. She willed the door to take her to someone who could help them, even if it meant going to the constables.
When the two ends of her line met, the magic churned within Rook, answering her call. Dozana was right. The power, the depth of it, was greater than she’d ever felt before. She sat back on her heels, summoning a smile for Drift.
“A trapdoor,” she said proudly.
And it was. The lines in the mud rippled as if something small were tunneling beneath the earth. With a loud pop, a beam of golden light burst from the ground. Rook covered her eyes against the light, and when she looked again, the trapdoor was complete.
It was made of simple wood planks with a rusted iron ring to open the door. Rook reached out and ran her hands over the s
mooth wood. It wasn’t a warped, twisted thing like the door she’d created into the Wasteland. It certainly looked like it would be easier to open. Maybe the Wasteland’s power had made her stronger, stabilizing her doors instead of trying to pull them apart.
“But won’t we still have to pass the red wall?” Drift asked, staring at Rook’s creation.
Rook nodded. “Sort of, but we’ll do it underground,” she said. “We let the magic tunnel beneath the red wall, far enough down that it won’t be affected by the dampening magic.” At least, that was where she hoped the magic would take them, down deep and up again. It sounded impossible, but magic was all about impossible things.
She grasped the iron ring and pulled up the trapdoor.
Below them, there was a tunnel of pure darkness. Rook bit her lip and leaned as close as she dared to the threshold, straining to see where it led. But the blackness was impenetrable.
“What do you think?” she asked, looking up at Drift.
“I think we have to risk it,” Drift said. “If it gets you out of the Wasteland, no matter where you end up, you can open another door to go and get help.”
“I can?” Dread filled Rook as she realized what Drift was actually saying. “Wait a minute. You’re coming with me. I’m not leaving you here by yourself!”
“You have to,” Drift said sadly, “because I have to stay here and find Fox and Dozana, help protect them from the spiders if I can.”
“No!” Rook cried, not caring if her shout drew every monster in the Wasteland. “It’s too dangerous.” And I can’t do this alone, a soft, scared voice whispered inside her. She and Drift had never been separated before, not like this. Whenever something went wrong, they stayed together. They were stronger together.
“I’ll be all right,” Drift whispered. She leaned forward and pulled Rook into a quick, tight hug before letting go. “So will you. But you’re going to have to trust.”
“Trust what?” Rook asked, misery welling up inside her. Drift was asking the impossible. “I trust you. I trust Fox. Isn’t that enough?”
“No,” Drift said. “You have to trust yourself and try to give this world a chance.”
Lay all of her hopes on the threshold of a door, and see if the world would trample them, Rook thought. But it wasn’t just her hopes this time. Drift and Fox were putting their lives on the line too.
She met Drift’s eyes. “I’ll come back,” she said. “No matter what, even if no one will come with me, I’ll be back to get you.”
Drift grinned, the expression lighting up her face for a moment. “You better,” she said. “Otherwise, I’m stuck here with Fox. When he wakes up, you know he’ll probably be starving. He’ll be trying to eat cheese out of my hand every chance he gets.”
Rook knew Drift was trying to make her feel better, but as she gazed down into the darkness of the unknown, a shudder went through her. She scooted closer to the trapdoor, letting her legs dangle over the edge. She said, without looking up, “Will you give me a little push? I—I don’t know if I can do it otherwise.”
“Sure,” Drift said hoarsely. “Take care, Rook.”
“You too.”
Rook braced herself as a gust of wind came up behind her, blowing her hair around her cheeks. Releasing the sides of the trapdoor, she let the air nudge her forward into the hole.
ROOK FELL THROUGH DARKNESS, THE air growing colder. The only sound was the raspy echo of her breath. She had never traveled so far before without finding her way to…somewhere.
Then, out of the blackness, a flock of white, fluttering shapes surrounded her.
Birds. Dozens of them, soaring and wheeling through the air, their wings brushing her face as they flew past.
But something wasn’t right about them. It took Rook a second to realize it was the birds’ wings. They weren’t made of feather and bone—they were just paper, like the folded birds Fox had created. The air filled with a dry flapping sound, like wind turning the pages of a book.
Rook stretched out a hand, trying to grab one. She almost had it, but her fingers slipped across something wet, and came away stained black. It was ink. The sticky substance dripped from tiny scrawls of writing that covered the bird’s paper belly. She reached out again, but the bird flew away, and the flock vanished back into the darkness.
Rook flailed her arms and legs, searching desperately for something to grab onto, to stop her plunge through the endless night.
Just when she thought she was going to fall forever, the world suddenly went white, and Rook hit the ground, the air whooshing out of her lungs. She pushed herself up, realizing as she did so that her fingers were no longer smeared with ink. Had she been dreaming? Where had the birds gone? She rolled onto her back, trying to catch her breath.
A thick white mist covered the world. It was as if Rook had landed inside a cloud. She couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of her face. She felt the ground next to her to see what she’d fallen on.
Wood. She was lying on a wooden floor in the middle of a fog.
Was she at the docks, or just near the harbor? That might account for the heavy fog, but why was it so cold? Rook shivered, releasing a thick cloud of her own breath.
“Somebody give me a report! What was that thing?”
“A pelican, ma’am, swear it!”
“You’re not seeing pelicans up here, Gavin! Don’t be stupid!”
“Nate, I’m telling you, it crashed into the deck somewhere. Just get your lazy bones up and look for it!”
The voices echoed from the depths of the mist, startling Rook. She sat up, clutching her knees against her chest. Should she try to escape? But where could she go? The mist was so thick she had no idea which direction to run.
“Pelican hunt! Pelican hunt!” another voice shouted.
“It’s not a pelican!”
Now Rook was confused. She was sure the very first voice she’d heard had been a woman’s, but the rest of them sounded like children of varying ages.
“That’s enough! Everyone get ahold of themselves.” The woman’s voice punched through the fog, calm and commanding. “Cassandra, give us a hand, if you please. We’re on approach to the manor, and I want to see what we’ve picked up.”
“Aye, Captain!”
Then, to Rook’s shock, the mist around her abruptly dissipated, revealing white sails, masts, and the elegant lines of a ship’s main deck.
She had landed near the harbor after all. Or maybe they were out at sea. There was still too much fog surrounding the ship to tell.
Blinking, Rook slowly stood up. The woman whose voice she’d heard was standing on the quarterdeck, her form partially obscured by a long red leather coat and hood. Tight coils of salt-and-pepper hair escaped on either side of her face.
Arranged in a semicircle around her were six children. The youngest was an olive-skinned girl who couldn’t have been more than eight, and the oldest was a pale, lanky boy with a missing tooth who looked to be about fourteen or fifteen.
This was not what Rook had expected at all.
Apparently, the strange crew hadn’t been expecting her either, because as soon as the children clapped eyes on Rook, they all started talking at once.
“Where’d she come from?”
“Captain, it’s an intruder!”
“A stowaway!”
“You’re right—she’s definitely not a pelican!”
The woman held up a gloved hand, and the children instantly fell silent. Her gaze swept over Rook, assessing her. She peeled back her hood, letting it drop to her shoulders. “Hello there,” she said. “I’m Captain Danna Poe, and you’re standing on the deck of the Chase. Where did you come from, girl?”
Danna Poe. The name was familiar somehow, and so was the woman’s face. The image of mischievous dark eyes, light brown skin, and the thick, coiled hai
r streaming around her cheeks stirred Rook’s memory. She stared, when suddenly it hit her where she’d seen that image before.
Her face was the same as the woman in the Wanted poster that day in Gray Town—Red Danna was her name.
And she was a sky pirate—or at least, she had been a pirate, when ships could still fly.
Rook slowly backed up, inching toward the nearest railing. She didn’t know what was about to happen, but the woman had said they were on approach to some port. If she threatened her, Rook could jump overboard and swim for it.
“Hey, watch it!” one of the children—the youngest girl—shouted at Rook. “You’re gonna fall!”
The others were moving toward her now. Rook grabbed the railing, turning to look down at the sea.
But there was no water beneath her, no waves lapping gently against the hull. In fact, there was no sign of anything except clouds, and beyond them, a faint glimpse of solid ground—thousands of feet below.
Rook gasped. They weren’t in the harbor or sailing the White Sea. This was a skyship, and somehow, impossibly, it was still flying.
Rook spun, no longer thinking of running. What was the point? There was nowhere to go. Instead, she surveyed the deck, searching for the animus crystal that was making the ship fly. She finally spied it mounted on a pedestal behind the mainmast. To her shock, it gleamed with an inner red light, the light of a vessel fully charged with animus.
But how was that possible? There was no one left in Talhaven who could charge the animus crystals. Only the powerful adult wizards of Vora could do that, and they were all gone.
At least, that was what she’d thought, until she met Dozana.
The children spilled across the deck, surrounding Rook, while the captain trailed behind. Rook met the woman’s eyes. They were not particularly friendly, but somehow Rook sensed the captain wouldn’t hurt her. Maybe it was because the children didn’t seem afraid of her—or afraid of Rook, for that matter. They chattered nonstop, peppering her with questions.
The Door to the Lost Page 15
