by Anne Bishop
She could feel the connection between her landscapes and the rest of Ephemera breaking, setting these pieces of the world adrift, anchored only to one another.
Ephemera. As solid and strong as stone, as delicate as a dream.
And if she was successful, the dream would not become a nightmare.
She just didn’t know how she was supposed to fight something like the Eater of the World. And if she did manage to find It and fight It, she didn’t know how a single Landscaper could win that fight when it had taken so many like her to contain the Eater the first time.
“Stop dithering,” she muttered. “You’ll reach that battle when you reach it. You know what needs to be done now.” She turned around and walked to the front part of her gardens.
She hadn’t spent the past hour wandering the paths in order to decide where to put the statue that would anchor Nadia’s home. She already had an access point to her family home—a bed of flowers she had grown from seeds and cuttings from Nadia’s personal gardens. Near the front of the bed was a large piece of slate. She’d always intended to use the slate as a foundation for some kind of decorative ornament, but she’d never found anything that felt right.
Going down on her knees, she set the statue on the slate, turning it this way and that until she had it positioned exactly the way she wanted it. Then, with her hands resting on the statue, she called to Ephemera and altered the landscapes, breaking some bonds and forming others, rearranging the pieces and shaping new borders and boundaries.
The sun was low in the sky when she finally sat back.
Some strange pairings. Some unexpected borders. She didn’t always know why two seemingly different landscapes resonated with each other, but she didn’t doubt what she’d done.
Getting to her feet, she took a deep breath, then clamped a hand over her mouth when the exhalation came out as a sob. No. She couldn’t waver. This next task made her sick at heart, but she couldn’t waver.
Clenching her fists, she strode deep into her gardens to an odd little bed that sat alone and contained nothing but one heart’s hope plant and a brick.
She rested her fingers on the brick and felt the Dark nibbling around the edges of this small landscape. The Eater didn’t recognize what this was or why the Dark currents didn’t quite resonate with the Dark in the rest of the city, but given enough time, It would.
Pulling the piece of towel off her shoulder, she spread it on the ground in front of the bed, then picked up the brick and wrapped it in the towel.
Racing to finish this task before the sun set, she picked up the wrapped brick and ran to the sheltered horseshoe of rock where she kept the boat the River Guardians had made for her. Theirs were the only boats that could survive this part of the river.
Getting into the boat, she sat on the front seat, the wrapped brick in her lap, and emptied her mind of everything but the boat and the river.
The boat had no oars, no sails, no tiller. The will and the heart supplied those things.
Slowly, smoothly, the boat slipped out of the horseshoe of calm water into the churning power of the river. It cut across some currents, followed others, balanced and driven by the task of the person it held.
At the edge of that tangle of currents, she willed the boat to stop. Immediately a circle of calm water spread out around it.
Picking up the brick with both hands, she held it over the water.
It had been a foolish thing to do, decided in a moment of youthful anger and seasoned by the need to answer a need.
Opportunities and choices. A bitter farmer who still had a seed of kindness in him. She’d fed that seed a glimmer of Light, a ray of hope. He’d taken that glimmer back to a place in the city that was full of dark emotions and had sparked another glimmer. And another. And another. Kindness fed on kindness, and the Light grew. A few months later, when the resonance of that little piece of the city called to her, she’d crossed over and taken the brick to be her access point so she could continue to guide the currents of Light. She’d gone back a few times over the years to keep the resonance of that small landscape balanced, gambling that she wouldn’t run into Sebastian’s father, who was the only wizard who might recognize her.
Now…
She had to let them go—those people, that beacon of Light. Having a landscape within the walls of Wizard City had always been risky. Now it could endanger all the landscapes in her care. It could be the chink in the wall that gave the Eater of the World a chance to attack the stronghold of Light.
Her hands shook as she lowered the wrapped brick into the water.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Tears ran down her face. “I’m sorry.”
Why? something whispered. Why give them up? You worked so hard to help them. Don’t you want to help them?
Of course she wanted to help those people.
Then let them stay protected. Let them stay in the garden.
She felt it then—a Dark current that didn’t resonate with her. A malice behind the words assuring her she didn’t need to do this.
With a cry of anguish, she let go of the brick.
It sank fast, but the river’s currents cleansed it of all trace of her before it reached the bottom.
She huddled in the boat for a while, scared to the point of feeling sick.
She’d almost wavered. Even knowing that little landscape could be a danger to all her other landscapes, she’d almost wavered. Because something had gotten in just far enough to try to lure her into making an error. It had arrowed in on her own reluctance to abandon those people, sending them back to the mean existence they’d known when only the wizards’ influence had touched that part of the city. If she’d taken the brick back to her garden, the Eater might have found a way to use that small landscape to attack Sanctuary.
Weary to the bone and half-blinded by tears, she sat up and focused her will on guiding the boat, allowing no other thoughts until the boat was safely moored in the horseshoe of calm water.
As she stumbled her way to her house, she kept wondering if she’d truly done the right thing by letting that landscape go—or if this was her first failure in the battle to save the Light.
Chapter Thirteen
The moment he opened the back door and stepped into his kitchen, Sebastian felt uneasy. He put a hand back to stop Lynnea, then stood still, listening. A rhythmic plink…plink coming from somewhere inside the cottage, but that was an ordinary sound. It was the feral muskiness that troubled him. Not a bad smell. Alluring in its own way. Seductive, even. But not familiar. Not something that belonged in his home.
Moving warily, he went to the small table, found the box of matches, and lit the oil lamp.
Nothing in the kitchen looked out of place, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that things had been lifted and put back almost where he’d left them.
He put a finger to his lips, then crooked that finger to tell Lynnea to come in. When she reached him, he cupped a hand around the back of her head and brought his mouth close to her ear.
“I think someone’s been in the cottage. I have to look around. If I tell you to run, you get out of here, go back up the path. Focus on reaching Nadia. Nothing but Nadia. Understand me?” He waited until she nodded before he stepped back, his lips brushing against her cheek as he moved away from her.
After taking the biggest kitchen knife from the wood block, he moved into the living area.
Plink…plink.
The lamp in the kitchen didn’t offer much light, but it was enough for him to make out the shapes of the furniture. Pausing at the table in front of the couch, he lit another lamp.
Nothing there that shouldn’t be there.
With the lamp in one hand and the knife in the other, he approached the bedroom, not sure he’d be able to hear anything over the pounding of his heart.
Nothing looked out of place there, either, except…
The bed was neatly made—exactly as Lynnea had left it before they’d headed out to the Landscapers’ Sch
ool. But the bedroom reeked of that muskiness, and there was an indentation in the middle of the bed, like someone had lain there.
Staring at it, he had the oddest sensation, as if something inside him recognized the intruder. Something that came from instinct, from blood and bone, not the intellect.
One thing he knew with absolute certainty: He didn’t want Lynnea anywhere near that bed.
Plink…plink.
He followed the sound into the bathroom, watched the water drops fall into the sink. After a long moment, he set the lamp down and turned the faucet to stop the drip.
The little stove that heated the water tank was cold, as it should be, and nothing was out of place. And yet…
We can’t stay here. The cottage was less than a mile from the streets that made up the Den. Distant enough to give him the separation he’d needed but still an easy walk. Now the isolation weighed on him. They were alone out here, too far away from help of any kind.
Maybe he would have risked himself and stayed here, but he wouldn’t risk Lynnea.
Coming out of the bedroom, he saw Lynnea standing in the doorway between the living area and the kitchen. She was trembling, but she held a knife in one hand.
“What is it?” she whispered.
He shook his head and checked the other downstairs room, then climbed the stairs to check the empty rooms on the second floor. Bedrooms, but he hadn’t needed the space, so he’d done nothing with the rooms except sweep the floors and wash the windows twice a year.
Hurrying back down the stairs, he said, “Whatever it was, it’s gone now.” He paused. “But we can’t stay here.”
“Do you have a carry basket? I can put the food Nadia gave us in that, and you can use the travel bag she loaned us for your clothes.”
“There’s a basket in one of the bottom cupboards. I’ll—” As he looked at the wall, the pain in his chest was so fierce he struggled to breathe.
His framed sketches. If he had to give up the cottage and never come back, it would hurt. He would miss it, and the home he’d made here, but the sketches were a part of him.
“You have to take them with you,” Lynnea said.
Her words were a balm and yet scraped his heart raw. “Can’t. We’ve already got all we can carry.”
“You can’t leave them here, not knowing what might happen to them.”
“We can’t carry them!”
She got a look on her face that reminded him of bull demons at their most stubborn.
“We’re taking them.”
His heart was bleeding already, and that stubborn look combined with that prissy tone of voice made him want to scream.
She huffed. “Don’t you have a handcart?”
“No, I don’t have a handcart,” he replied in a nasty imitation of her tone.
“Then how do you haul wood for the fires or take care of chores?”
“There’s the—” He stopped. Thought. “There’s a wheeled barrow in the shed out back.” One wheel and long handles. They could load it up, and he could pull it behind him.
“Fine,” Lynnea said. “You get the barrow, and I’ll find something to wrap the sketches in.”
She went into the kitchen, then came out with the lamp and marched into the bedroom.
“Don’t use the linens on the bed,” Sebastian said.
The look she gave him was sharp enough to strip off several layers of skin.
“Daylight,” he muttered as he stomped out to the shed. Women were definitely easier to deal with when sex was all you wanted to give and take.
By the time he pulled the barrow out of the shed and returned to the cottage, she’d already taken the sketches off the wall and wrapped them in a sheet. The package looked bulky to him, but he wasn’t about to say anything that would add to her snit, so he unpacked the food from the travel bag Nadia had given him and went into the bedroom to pack up whatever clothes he could fit into the bag.
Returning to the kitchen with the bag, he discovered she’d packed the food into the carry basket along with his perk-pot, grinder, two mugs, and the bag of koffea beans.
“The barrow’s not that big,” he grumbled.
She just sniffed.
The weight of the basket surprised a grunt out of him as he lifted it off the table, which made him grateful he wasn’t going to have to carry the thing all the way to the Den.
Not that he would tell her that.
It took some shifting, but he got the travel bag, the carry basket, and Lynnea’s pack into the barrow. Which left the sketches to balance precariously on top of the pile.
Lynnea came to the kitchen door, her arms wrapped tightly around the bulky package.
“Here,” he said, reaching for the package, “I’ll—”
“No!” She twisted her body, blocking his attempt to take the sketches. “They could get damaged in the barrow. I’ll carry them.”
“Don’t be foolish,” he snapped, reaching for the package again.
“No! I’ll. Carry. Them.”
“Suit yourself. But don’t start whining when your arms are aching.”
Her lower lip quivered, and he thought she was going to give in. Then she stiffened up and gave him another of those skin-scraping looks.
Why couldn’t she be a rabbit again for a little while? “Could you at least get out of the way so I can extinguish the lamps?”
He waited until she stood beside the barrow before he went into the kitchen. He snuffed out the lamps, then stood in the dark.
“I’ll come back,” he whispered. “If we’re both still standing when this fight is done, I’ll come back.”
Then he walked out of the cottage, locked the door, lifted the barrow’s handles, and began trudging down the dirt road toward the Den with Lynnea walking beside him.
By the time she saw the lights of the Den, Lynnea’s arms were aching. The framed sketches would have been awkward enough to carry over any distance, but the other things she’d wrapped in the sheet made the package bulky in a way that defied any attempt to shift her arms to another position.
But she refused to let Sebastian see any hint of her discomfort. He’d argue to leave the bundle behind, maybe promising to come back for it after they got settled into his room at the bordello. Maybe he would have gone back for the bundle, and maybe it would have been there when he did go back, but she wasn’t about to trust something so important to “maybe.”
Did he think she hadn’t seen how much the thought of leaving the sketches had hurt him? They were more than pencil markings on paper. He would have been leaving a piece of his heart behind—and he might never have gotten it back.
So she kept her chin up, ignored the looks Sebastian kept giving her, and repeated over and over, I am a tigress.
Until that day when Pa had tried to force her to do the sex thing, she had never disobeyed an order. Wouldn’t have dared disobey an order. Now here she was defying Sebastian, a man who made her feel things that were both wonderful and scary, because she knew in her heart that she was right.
Funny how something inside a person could change in so short a time.
A moment after they reached the Den’s main street, someone shouted, “Sebastian!” And there was Teaser, loping toward them, looking happy and relieved—until he saw her. Then he skidded to a stop.
“I’ll meet you at Philo’s as soon as I have Lynnea settled in our room,” Sebastian said.
Teaser glanced at her. “But…I thought—”
“Things changed,” Sebastian snapped.
Something flickered across Teaser’s face—uneasiness? doubt?—but was gone before she could put a name to that feeling.
“Right,” Teaser said. “You got your room key?”
Sebastian nodded. “But there’s an extra key at the desk.”
“I took that one.” Teaser shrugged, as if it meant nothing. “Been keeping the door of my room locked. Yours, too. If you need to put anything into the chiller, you can get into my room through the bathroom.”
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Sebastian gave Teaser a long look, then nodded again.
After giving her a hesitant smile, Teaser headed down the street.
She and Sebastian followed at a slower pace. Now that she was almost to a place where she could set it down, the bundle weighed more with each step.
When they reached the bordello, Sebastian shouldered the pack, then opened the front door for her before hefting the travel bag and carry basket.
The man behind the desk just watched them as they crossed the lobby and started climbing the stairs.
“Don’t you usually lock your doors?” Lynnea asked as she watched Sebastian fish the key out of his pocket and turn the lock.
“For privacy, but not to keep someone out when I’m not here.”
As soon as he pushed the door open, she hurried to the bed and, with a quiet groan, set down her bundle. Then she turned to face him, hoping her smile looked genuine.
He just stood in the doorway, staring at her. Then he brought their bags and baskets far enough into the room to close the door.
“You have to talk to Teaser and Philo,” she said, becoming more and more nervous about the way his green eyes stared at her. “If you just tell me what a chiller is so I don’t go looking at things I shouldn’t, I can get things put away here.” Especially the things she didn’t want him to find just yet.
He walked up to the bed and, firmly but gently, pushed her aside.
“Sebastian.”
He unwrapped the sheet…and said nothing. Her heart pounded as he brushed his fingers over a wooden box and the leather carry case that held the sketching paper.
He opened the box, then closed it again.
“My cousins gave me this box a few years ago. Charcoals and leaded pencils in different weights. Aunt Nadia gave me the colored chalks.” His fingers brushed the leather case. “Can’t get this kind of paper in the Den. Not even on the black market. Aunt Nadia or Lee used to get it for me from one of the big cities, but there’s no telling if that place is within reach anymore.”
He looked at her, and in his eyes she saw the struggle to hold back a flood of emotion. Even the trickle that was breaking through the dam of self-control left her breathless.
