by Clayton Wood
Do it!
“No!” Simon shouted, leaping to his feet. His voice echoed off the stone walls, then went silent. He stood there, cheeks damp, clutching the porcelain fragment so hard it bit into his palm. Uncurling his fingers, he saw blood there. Simon slumped back down on his stone cot, staring at the bloodied porcelain.
Then he gripped it between his fingertips, bringing its sharp edge to his left forearm…and sliding it straight across.
He winced at the sudden sharp pain, watching as a thin trail of blood welled up from his skin as he cut himself. A shallow wound, barely more than a scratch. But the pain soothed him. Focused him. And unlike everything else in his life, it was something he could control. It was the only thing he could control.
Because you’re weak, the voice accused.
“Shut up,” Simon whispered, gripping the fragment harder. He brought it a little higher up on his forearm, pressing it more firmly against his skin. There was a sudden pinch as it broke his flesh, and he drew in a sharp breath.
Don’t cut yourself, the voice told him. Cut them.
Simon heard footsteps coming down the hallway, and sat bolt-upright on his cot, folding his arms over his lap and hiding the porcelain fragment. One of the prison guards strolled by a moment later, barely glancing Simon’s way before continuing down the hallway. The guard vanished from sight, his footsteps slowly fading.
And Simon let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
The voice in his head went mercifully silent, leaving Simon alone in his small jail cell. The last room he’d ever sleep in. For in two days, he’d be sentenced for his crimes. Painting without a license. Painting an unapproved Familiar.
And murder.
“It’s not my fault,” he whispered to himself, rocking back and forth again. “I didn’t want to.”
But he knew even as he said it that it was his fault. And he had wanted to, in the moment. That he was defective, screwed up. Someone even Vin…even his father…couldn’t love. He deserved to die. To be strung up by the neck and hanged, as he surely would be in two days’ time.
And now all he could do was wait.
Unless…
Simon’s eyes went to the pulsing vessel at his wrist…and then to the fragment of porcelain. He swallowed in a dry throat, his heart thumping in his chest.
Don’t.
Simon ignored the voice, bringing the fragment to his wrist, over the artery.
Don’t!
The fragment flung out of his hands, slamming into the wall and ricocheting off. It fell to the floor…and slid all the way to the bars, stopping there.
Do it again and I’ll leave, the voice warned.
“No!” Simon blurted out. “Don’t leave me, please.”
The fragment laid there by the bars, then flew right at Simon of its own accord, landing back in his hand.
Be patient, it soothed. We’ll survive.
“How do you know that?” Simon whispered.
We always do.
Chapter 9
The Misty Marsh was so muggy it was gross, even with Gideon’s magical lantern keeping the fog at bay. Bella’s clothes remained perpetually damp, condensation beading like sweat on her skin. She wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve for the umpteenth time as Myko led her and Gideon through the wall of fog surrounding them, the muck sucking at her shoes with every step. There was a rotten smell in the air, enough to make her queasy.
“So who’s this Collector?” she asked. “And why was he after Grandpa?”
“The Collector is a very wealthy, very powerful man,” Gideon answered. “And like all wealthy and powerful men, whatever he has is never enough.”
Bella waited, but Gideon didn’t elaborate.
“You didn’t answer my second question,” she accused. He smirked.
“Remember what I said about asking more than one question at a time?”
“Right,” Bella grumbled.
“Ten years ago, your grandfather was teaching at Blackthorne, and you and your mother went to visit him,” Gideon told her.
Bella frowned, recalling the story Grandpa had told her. Of how she’d gone to the college he’d taught at, visiting him in a huge library with Mom. How she’d run amok smelling the books.
“Then the Collector attacked Blackthorne,” Gideon continued.
“Why?”
“He wanted to steal Blackthorne’s treasure trove of paintings and books,” Gideon explained. “You see, Blackthorne is part of the Pentad, a vast kingdom…of which your grandfather and I are citizens.” Gideon sighed then. “Against all odds, the Collector succeeded.”
“So he owns Blackthorne now?”
“Correct,” Gideon confirmed. “Those were his guards that you met outside of the library, and his soldiers that tried to stop us from escaping into the Misty Marsh.”
Bella looked around, guessing that the Misty Marsh was where they were right now. As apt a name as any, she supposed.
“And the two men you met – the ones you know as Stanwitz and Reynolds – were also the Collector’s men,” Gideon revealed. “They’ve spent the last decade hunting you down.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Bella protested. “Why would anyone hunt us down? We’re nobodies.”
“Oh, on the contrary,” Gideon retorted. “Your grandfather is Thaddeus Birch, the most famous author alive…and one of the greatest Writers to have ever lived.”
Bella slowed, then stopped, staring at Gideon uncomprehendingly. First of all, Grandpa’s last name was Brown, not Birch. And she couldn’t possibly imagine him being anywhere near famous. Then again, Stanwitz had called Grandpa Mr. Birch, before he’d…
She pushed the thought away.
“I know it’s hard to believe,” Gideon stated. “But Thaddeus – your grandfather – was a great writer, even more powerful than the one who wrote the book you were lost in. You see, Writers have magic a bit like Painters do. Tell me…have you ever read a really good book and gotten lost in its pages? Or perhaps even felt that it was real?”
“Well yeah, I guess.”
“Books here do that literally,” he explained. “When the Collector attacked Blackthorne, your grandfather grabbed a book from a pile on one of the tables there…a book he knew very well. The Chronicles of Collins Dansworth, an old, boring classic. He read it with you, Bella. And when you read a magical book, and get lost in its pages, you vanish from this world and appear within the world of the book.”
Bella frowned, processing this.
“So when I read the book again…”
“You reversed the magic, and left the book, returning to the library exactly where you’d been ten years before,” Gideon finished. “Thaddeus did it to save you,” he explained. “He hid you within that book for ten years, Bella. Even as the Collector sent teams of bounty hunters to search every book in that library for you.”
“You mean Reynolds and Stanwitz.”
“Among others,” Gideon agreed. “They didn’t get to your book for nearly a decade, but once they did, it was only a matter of time before they found you. Your grandfather knew that.”
“That’s why he never left the apartment,” Bella realized. She felt woozy, and had the sudden urge to sit down. But there was nowhere to sit; she felt something soft brush up against her left side, and realized it was Myko. She leaned on the wolf a bit.
“It nearly drove him mad, staying in that apartment day after day,” Gideon continued. “Year after year. Waiting for the Collector’s men to close in on you two. At first he refused to even let you go to school, but eventually he relented. You needed as normal a life as possible.”
“You visited him in the book then,” she guessed. Gideon nodded.
“Thaddeus and I have been best friends for a very long time,” he revealed. “Long before you were born, in fact. When I heard about the attack on Blackthorne, I traveled here and went undercover, working for the Collector.” He sighed. “I spent nine years in that damn library
, getting lost in book after book until I finally found yours…and your apartment.”
“How come I never saw you?” Bella asked.
“We couldn’t run the risk of the Collector’s men finding you and interrogating you,” Gideon answered. “If they had, you would have given away my identity.”
“But you visited?”
“On occasion,” he admitted. “Only when it was safe to do so, which was seldom. Most of the time I was under surveillance by the Collector’s men. I couldn’t risk leading them to the right book. It took me nearly nine years just to find it…and I prayed they never would.”
Bella shook her head, thinking of poor Grandpa holed up in that awful apartment. Sitting at his desk day after day, alone while she was at school. Trapped in a prison of his own making.
Those aren’t police officers Bella. They’re bad people.
She swallowed past a lump in her throat, blinking moisture from her eyes.
I’m not crazy Bella.
But deep down inside, she’d thought he was. A little bit, anyway. And he’d been right all along. Suffering in silence, unable or unwilling to tell her the truth.
“Why didn’t he tell me?” she asked. Gideon sighed, lowering his gaze.
“He wanted to, believe me,” he answered. “But if he told you the truth, and the Collector’s men got to you, they would’ve forced it from you. And you would’ve led them straight to Thaddeus.”
“I wouldn’t have told them,” she retorted. He gave her a look.
“You’d like to think so,” he replied. “But believe me, they have their ways.”
Bella took a deep breath in, then let it out, trying to collect herself.
“So why were they after us?” she pressed.
“Your grandfather is the greatest Writer alive. As powerful as paintings are, books might be even more powerful. You see, when one person reads a book, its world becomes real to them. But if enough people read a book, and it is written with exceptional skill, its world becomes real to everyone.”
“Huh?”
“When you read a regular magical book, you go into its world for a time, until you read it again. Then you come out. But when enough people read a book written by a very powerful Writer, everything in that book – its lands, its characters – becomes real in this world. Permanently.”
“Wow.”
“Your grandfather’s books are some of the most popular and beloved of all time,” Gideon explained. “And one of them created an entire kingdom in this world…a place called Havenwood.”
Bella’s eyes widened.
A dragon circle
White and good,
Will one day rise
For Havenwood.
The simple rhyme that opened the door to her happy place, a safe haven from an otherwise uncaring and colorless world.
A chill ran down Bella’s spine.
“Havenwood is the one place the Collector can never conquer,” Gideon continued. “And it was your mother’s home. Your home. It’s my job to bring you there…where you’ll be safe.”
Bella nodded mutely. It was just like Grandpa to hide so much meaning in a few words. The numbers to unlock their front door had been the combination to the safe that contained the book that had been the key to bringing her here…and Havenwood was the ultimate goal.
Havenwood meant home.
“The ability to create entire places and people in this world is a power the Collector would very much like to have,” Gideon stated. “And a power that, if it worked against him, would be a grave threat indeed.”
“So he was…scared of Grandpa?” Bella asked. It was ludicrous to imagine anyone being scared of the man, after all. He was a lovable, absent-minded teddy-bear. But Gideon nodded.
“Your grandfather was not a man to be trifled with.”
Bella lowered her gaze as she walked, shaking her head.
“I thought I knew him,” she murmured. “But I guess I didn’t.”
Gideon slowed, then stopped, turning to face her. He tucked his rolled-up painting in his armpit, then put a hand on her shoulder.
“You didn’t know his past,” he replied, “…but you knew his heart. He was every bit the man you thought he was…and more.” He smiled. “Thaddeus Birch was not only the finest Writer alive, but also the finest human being I’ve ever met.”
Bella nodded, swallowing past a sudden lump in her throat.
“Where are we going?” she asked, wanting nothing more than to change the subject.
“We’re leaving the Misty Marsh,” Gideon answered. “Then we’ll need to brave Devil’s Pass before we get to Havenwood.”
“Devil’s Pass?”
“You’ll see,” Gideon promised. The way he said it was a bit ominous for Bella’s liking, but she didn’t press the issue.
They walked in silence for a time, hopping over a few small puddles and splashing through the ones that were too wide and deep. Myko had no problem traversing these, of course; the few he couldn’t leap over, he simply glow-dashed across.
“How does he do that?” Bella asked.
“He uses the power of moonlight,” Gideon answered. “I painted Myko to absorb moonlight. He can use it to moon-dash in any direction in a perfectly straight line, like a ray of light. Or even bounce off of reflective surfaces like light can.”
Bella thought back to how Myko had flown her over the giant statue…the one that had somehow come to life.
“Why not just ride him and have him fly us to Havenwood?”
“It would drain Myko too quickly,” Gideon explained. “He can only hold so much moonlight.”
“So why not paint him to have unlimited moonlight?” she pressed.
“Magic is like an unruly child,” he declared. “It needs limits. And if you don’t set those limits when you’re painting, you’ll live to regret it…if you live at all.”
Bella frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“You’ll see,” he promised. Which meant it was the end of that discussion. Bella sighed, gazing at the dome of fog all around them. It swirled at the edges of the lantern’s mysterious power, as if waiting for a chance to attack. She felt her mind going inevitably back to Grandpa, and cleared her throat, desperate to distract herself from her morbid thoughts.
“What is this place anyway?” she asked. “Why all the fog?”
“The Misty Marsh wasn’t always like this,” Gideon admitted. “We believe it was once the home of an ancient civilization, a city of huge stone temples and underground tunnels. Legend has it that they worshipped water, and that a great Painter among them created a magical chalice. When the Painter drew it out of the painting, the chalice began to fill with water. An endless supply of pure water.”
“Huh.”
“The people were overjoyed, and the chalice was set in a large underground temple somewhere in the ancient city. Night came, and everyone fell asleep. The next morning, the entire city was flooded.”
“From the chalice,” Bella guessed. Gideon nodded.
“They sent the Painter back into the temple to retrieve it, but it’d floated away through the underground tunnels that ran through the city. Scouts tried to find it, but no one could. And the water kept coming, until the city had to be abandoned.”
“And then it made this marsh and all this fog,” Bella reasoned.
“Correct.”
“All because of one painter,” she mused. “Wow.”
Gideon stopped, and Bella stopped beside him. He turned to her, putting his stump on her shoulder.
“Wielding magic is a grave responsibility, Bella. One governed by three great laws…the first of which is the Law of Unintended Consequences.”
Bella frowned.
“Huh?”
“The first thing any creator must learn is that there is magic in what they do. And magic is a great, wild power. A vicious beast that will turn on the careless in the blink of an eye.” He grimaced then. “And believe me, the Law of Unintended
Consequences doesn’t give a damn about good intentions.”
He turned away abruptly, continuing forward.
“Magic needs limits,” he stated, waving his cane for emphasis. “If you don’t set those limits when you’re painting…”
“You’ll live to regret it,” Bella grumbled.
“If you live at all,” he agreed.
They continued their journey in silence then, the squelching of their shoes and Myko’s paws in the muck the only sounds. Bella found her mind wandering, processing everything that had happened since she’d sat down in the city library back on Summer Street. To think that everything she’d experienced since she was six – her whole life, almost – had been a fiction, mere words in a book…
It was too much to wrap her brain around, that none of it had been real.
Don’t think of it as real and not real, she reminded herself, glancing at Myko. The wolf was plenty real, yet had been created. Magic had made him real, just as magic had made the book she and Grandpa had been lost in seem real. Her apartment had been real. Her classmates. Even Mrs. Pittersworth. But they weren’t real like she was, or like Grandpa was.
They’d been made, not born.
Eventually Gideon led them to the ruins of a huge stone building, its great gray walls covered in a thin carpet of bright green moss and pale yellow lichen. They passed through a doorway into one of the few intact rooms, which was flooded with a foot’s worth of water. They waded across to the very center of the rather large room, and Gideon muttered to himself. The painting he was holding unrolled, becoming flat. It showed the same scene as before, of course.
“See those arrows and that spear?” he asked. Bella nodded; they were scattered on the hilltop in the painting. “Take them out.”
Bella hesitated.
“Me?”
“That’s right,” Gideon replied. “Come on, we haven’t got all day.”
She stepped up to the painting, staring at the arrows. Then she crouched down, holding a hand up to the painting’s surface. She touched it gently with her fingertips, fully expecting them to press against the canvas.
But they passed right through.
