by Kaylee Rymer
She nodded slowly and fixed her gaze on the birds again. “Yeah.”
SOMEHOW IN THE NIGHT sleep found her. The sound of distant waves crashed, and seagulls continued to cackle high above.
A hand shook her.
She opened her eyes to find Weegel kneeling beside her. Ivora had fallen asleep on the ragged blanket as she wiped the dirt off her cheek.
“Come with me,” he said.
“What?”
He walked to the door, and moonlight spread over his face.
Ivora staggered to her feet. “Where are we going?”
Weegel placed a finger to his lips. She nodded, understanding the signal.
He led her through the backstreets of the city. A cold mist soaked the night air, and she shivered, hovering close beside him. They walked several more streets until Weegel stopped and pointed towards a high wall.
Ivora gasped. Turrets stood erect against the navy sky, stretching as far as her eyes could see. “I’ve... never seen a castle before...”
“It’s more of a battlement,” he replied, “but never mind. Let’s go.”
They tiptoed across a quiet cobblestone street. Houses lay empty on either side. It seemed all the occupants were asleep.
They slunk through more streets until they directly faced the wall. Ivora craned her neck. It had to be a hundred feet high.
Weegel walked along the bottom until he came upon a small tunnel, big enough to fit them both inside.
A strong, putrid smell pierced Ivora’s nose, and she gagged. “Ugh, what is that?”
“Brine mixed with sewage. The people of the city dump their waste into the river and let it flow out to sea. Look,” he pointed at a small stream guzzling into a trench. “The city has hundreds of these channels.”
Ivora’s stomach turned, and she tried to avoid looking at the little stream.
“Just try to keep to one side of the tunnel, and you should be fine,” he said.
Weegel stepped inside. Ivora pinched her nose and followed in after him. The stream ran along one side as they clung to a wet stone wall. Even though the smell was foul, Ivora’s heart wouldn’t stop fluttering. The sea was mere feet away, and her nerves were a jitter.
Would it be exactly as she expected?
The water fell out of a hole up ahead. Weegel stopped and looked her way.
Ivora stared wide-eyed. Distant crashing could be heard from outside, and her heart-rate increased.
Unfortunately, a wall blocked their path.
“You won’t be able to see much from here, I’m afraid. If you crane your neck far enough, you’ll catch a glimpse of the sea,” Weegel said.
Bars covered the hole, making Ivora feel enclosed like a prisoner. She peered into the murky water. It wasn’t too deep. At best, it would reach her ankles.
Ivora sat at the edge of the bank and jumped down into the water.
“Ivy!”
And she predicted right. The water only reached her ankles.
Slowly, she lifted her dress and walked towards the bars. All the breath left her lungs when she saw the large expanse of water on the other side. The moon mirrored on the water’s surface, rippling and flowing like a great white ball, and the horizon hugged the sky.
She turned light-headed, and she fell against the bars, staring down into the black depths below. White waves crashed against the cliffs, spraying mist her way, and she laughed.
Saltwater dripped down her cheeks, and she rubbed it in, enjoying the cool biting chill.
Tears stung her eyes next, but not over the smell. Sure, it wasn’t as blue as she imagined, maybe a dark indigo, but it was still the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
“I finally made it, Mother and Father.”
17. Weegel
Weegel found it hard to sleep that night. Ivy looked too perfect beside him, an expression of pure bliss on her angelic face.
Instead, he listened to her gentle breathing and smiled to himself.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the moment she saw the ocean for the first time. The way her eyes sparkled at the sight of the waves was enough to make his heartbeat rise.
Every moment had been worth it. So what if he risked his neck just to see the happiness on her face? Her happiness equated to his now, and he had no idea how that happened.
One thing he knew for certain — he was in big trouble. Every time he thought of Ivy his own dreams became more distant. It was as if they belonged to someone else, another worcog who was slowly morphing into a stranger. Soon Weegel wouldn’t even be able to recognise that worcog anymore.
Did he even still want to go north? It was true he was better off fleeing the country than living a life of a fugitive, but what would Ivy do? Where would she go? Would he even see her again?
The last thought made his organs twist into a knot, and he swallowed, shaking it away.
Morning light seeped in through the boarded-up window, painting Ivy’s face a soft orange, and he watched her for a while.
Somewhere in the distance seagulls cried. Soon the entire city would wake, so it was best they got a move on, but he didn’t want to disturb her. She looked too peaceful.
The light brought out the texture of her lips, and he was tempted to lean over and kiss her awake like they do in fairy tales, but he kept his distance.
He focused on her closed eyes instead. Thick lashes rested against smooth cheeks, and he lost himself amongst her features again.
She started to rise, fluttering those perfect lashes.
“Sleep well?”
She opened her eyes and smiled. “Yes. I dreamed of waves.”
Weegel detected sadness in her tone, and he sighed and shuffled closer. “You’ll see the ocean again soon, I promise.”
She produced another sweet smile, but it never reached her eyes this time.
The ocean wasn’t the only thing on her mind, and he wanted to reassure her too she would see her parents again. Only he couldn’t. How could he when he didn’t even know where they were?
Ivy still wouldn’t tell him what happened back at Chars-town, and he felt a little hurt. Did she not trust him?
One way or other, he would find out. Hopefully, Stannog got the message across to his cousin.
Weegel rose to his feet and clicked his spine in place. His muscles were stiff from lying on a hardware floor all night, but he felt fine otherwise.
Ivy seemed a little out of sorts too, but her face was content and relaxed. Pleasant dreams can have that effect.
They wound back through the alleyway and entered the main streets of the city. Horse-drawn carriages plagued the streets, while people bumped into one another, hissing and jeering insults.
He steered Ivy through the throngs, keeping a firm hold on her sleeve. She tensed under his grip as a few passersby gave her strange looks, and he hauled her away faster.
Finally, they found the market in a gated area and walked inside. Men occupied stalls as people gathered along the lanes.
Colourful accents filled the air, and every face they passed came in a different shade. The men from far-off lands sold peculiar meats. Weegel could only guess what animals they’d once been. One cooked creature had a long tail and eerily human-like hands.
Ivy stood with her shoulders hunched and her arms wrapped tight around her body. All the new sounds and odours must be overwhelming her. She avoided the gaze of a large swordfish in a fish monger’s stall, and Weegel winced over its fishy smell. He’d never been much of a fan of seafood either.
He directed her to the fruit and vegetables, and they soon stumbled upon a rainbow dotted lane.
Ivy stared in awe. “Oh my goodness... I’ve never seen so much fruit.”
Weegel gave her a toothy grin beneath the scarf. “Told you you’d like it here.”
Ivy clapped her hands in glee and dashed off towards a stall.
Warmth spread through Weegel’s chest as she picked up various fruits. His heart thumped inside his ears, drowning out the sounds of
the market, and he struggled to breathe. A seasick sensation washed through him, and he couldn’t understand for the life of him what it was.
Ivy appeared beside him, carrying two mangos, and he stepped back before her scent completely enveloped him.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“N-never better,” he lied. “Let’s have a look at some of these fruits.”
Weegel led her down the lane, keeping his distance. They picked out pineapple, banana, kiwi, and a strange pink fruit covered in spikes. Next, they passed an apple-stall, and there was the rider from yesterday. Weegel hurried along, avoiding eye contact at all costs.
They packed six bags in the end, carrying three each. Ivy had also packed a generous amount of oats for her porridge obsession, several bags of nuts, and an assortment of greens. She had insisted on paying for it all with her ten gold lions, but Weegel decided to pay instead. In total it cost him fifteen gold suns, disguised as lions, but it was a good investment. Now Ivy wouldn’t starve.
“Just make sure you make them last,” he said.
She beamed at him. “I will, and thank you.”
They walked past a noisy lane bursting with animal sounds. Ivy glanced at Weegel with pleading eyes.
He sighed. “Fine, but we’re not taking anything home.”
She squealed and ran off like an excited child. Monkeys howled in cages, some with manes like a lion, and others with painted faces. Luminous parrots squawked and cursed in human tongue.
Ivy stopped to stare at a rolled-up creature. Tough scales covered its body like plates of armour.
“What is it?” she asked.
Weegel read the sign. “Pangolin.”
“I never knew animals could look like this,” she said, turning to look at the next stall. “Look!”
Weegel followed her gaze, and his stomach gave a loop. “Animals of the Great White North,” he whispered.
Creatures from his ancestral homeland.
She dragged him over and they stumbled upon a beautiful collection of white animals. Hares gawped out from a tiny crate. An owl hooted upon a stand, and a fox lay curled up fast asleep.
It was hard to fathom that these little creatures could withstand some of the harshest conditions of the world. Even now, this far down south, their coats were readying for the winter.
Weegel glanced at the towering seven-foot man beside the stall. The merchant had a black beard down to his waist and wore the thick fur coat of an ice-bear. Weegel had once sighted an ice-bear along the northern coast of Liona. It had been at least twelve feet long and walked on paws the size of his head. A true northern beast. Stories told of how ancient worcogs disembowelled the bears and ate the intestines straight from the body.
He wondered what time the merchant would set sail to the north. This could be his chance. He had the necklace...
Yet one look at Ivy convinced him not to. He couldn’t leave her alone.
She stopped before a box of moving snowballs and gasped. Weegel moved closer and found a dozen pure white kittens scrambling inside.
They had black tufts for ears, bobbed tails, and thick white paws.
He dropped his bags and picked up a kitten. It had a bright pair of blue eyes, and it reminded him of Billy.
Billy had once been this small too, a million years ago.
“Thousand gold lions.”
Weegel looked up at the merchant. “Excuse me?”
The merchant pointed at the kitten. “Blizzard Cat. Highly endangered. Thousand gold lions.”
He put the kitten back in the box. “Like anyone has that kind of money,” he whispered to Ivy.
They left the stall.
Weegel gazed at Ivy, noticing the big smile on her face. “What are you grinning about?”
“You’re a cat lover,” she teased, poking his shoulder.
He scoffed. “No, I’m not. Worcogs don’t need pets. Humans perhaps, but not worcogs.”
Her smile widened. “If you say so.”
Weegel rolled his eyes as they headed towards the gate. “The market doesn’t close for another five hours. We’ll head back to the hideout, or try to get an earlier ride out the city. The decision’s all yours. What should we do?”
Ivy wasn’t listening. Instead, she focused on a pair of middle-aged women by the market entrance. One looked a little like her dear mother — round-faced, with a mane of bushy brown hair.
“I hear the girl’s dead,” one of them said.
“Maybe it’s for the best,” the woman who looked like her mother said. “I hate to think about what they’d do if they found her. I have a daughter the same age.”
“To think she survived all this time, only to perish so suddenly. I’d never have dreamed. The Princess Ivora, alive all these years.”
Bags dropped to the floor, and Weegel whirled around. Ivy stared ahead, eyes glazed and expressionless.
He waved a hand before her, trying to get her attention. “Ivy?”
She came to and turned his way, skin as white as snow.
The hair on Weegel’s neck pricked on end. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m... fine.” She bent to pick up her fruit, hands shaking.
Weegel looked around the market. People glanced their way, watching Ivy confused. He lowered his hood and bent down to help her.
The shrill whinny of a horse burst through the lane next, and Ivy stiffened. A mounted member of the king’s guard rode past, his beetle-like armour glistening under the sun.
Weegel hung his head, trying to avoid the patrol’s gaze. He’d been hiding for many years, so he was good at avoiding recognition, yet his stomach still grew tight.
The crowd made way as the patrol passed. He uttered no thanks, merely looking ahead as his face was smug and impassive.
Weegel had never seen a guard more sly. He had thick red lips in the shape of a grimace, and greasy blond hair. He looked to be sixteen, the same age as Ivy. This must be his first patrol, observing the common folk of the strands.
His horse trampled one of Ivy’s spiky fruits, and a fleshy white pulp squirted out from inside. Then he disappeared around a bend, and Weegel gazed at Ivy.
She stood still, eyes wide and alert.
“You can move now. The patrol’s gone,” Weegel said.
She rose to her feet, her legs as unsteady as a baby deer. “Oh.”
They left the market. Weegel wasn’t surprised when Ivy told him she wanted to leave. The patrol seemed to have unsettled her.
They found a cart in a quiet side street and climbed inside. Only the driver caught them this time, and they held their hands up guilty as charged. But they were shocked when the man burst out laughing and introduced himself as Bret, a lover of peaches.
He even helped them hide by rolling them up inside his canvas, and once again they rode right under the guard’s nose.
Once they were off the city road, Bret unfurled the canvas, and Weegel and Ivy rolled back out, wheezing and panting.
Bret talked about nothing but peaches. Ivy sat on his right while Weegel sulked at the back, chomping on a peach.
“We grow many kinds of peaches back at my father’s farm. There are furry peaches, the most popular kind, squashed peaches, not so popular, spotted peaches, again, an acquired taste, and purple peaches, highly rare and my most favourite.”
“Purple peaches?” Ivy asked, looking puzzled.
“That’s right. Grown on nothing but love.”
She feigned a smile. “They... sound wonderful.”
Weegel frowned at her. “They sound wonderful.”
Ivy returned his scowl.
Weegel took another chomp of his peach, chuckling to himself. Bret, the lover of peaches, was obviously deranged as well as cheerful.
They reached the eastern road by nightfall, and Weegel had never been more relieved. Bret had started telling them about how his peaches grew faster when he played his guitar.
“Farewell, my humble passengers,” Bret said. “Maybe one day you can com
e to my father’s farm and see his magnificent peaches for yourself.”
“We doubt it,” Weegel mumbled, waving a hand as Bret drove away.
“That was mean,” Ivy said.
“So. He’s outlived his usefulness. Now let’s go. We still have a three-hour walk ahead of us.”
A poster caught Weegel’s attention on the side of the road. He moved closer, expecting to see his own scowling face, but he found a flaxen-haired girl with heart-shaped lips instead.
His stomach coiled. He’d recognise those perfect lips anywhere.
Ivy came up beside his shoulder and drew a loud gasp. Weegel couldn’t look at her. His head wouldn’t stop spinning as everything he’d feared about her had come true.
She was on the run after all.
“She’s been lying to you. How can you be so blind? She’s not to be trusted.”
Weegel ripped the poster off the tree and stared at the face of the girl he thought he knew. Finally, he turned her way.
Ivy’s frightened, confused eyes mirrored every emotion swirling inside him. He held up the poster, his arms shaking. “Is there something you want to tell me, Ivy?”
The same vacant eyes she’d adopted at the market returned, and she looked away. “I... have nothing to say.”
She wandered off into the forest. Weegel bore a hole into the back of her skull, eager to find out what was inside that pretty blonde head of hers.
No more secrets, no more lies.
18. Ivora
How could she be a princess? Ivora, a humble girl who grew up in a cottage? She had pet goats for goodness sakes.
Princess Ivora, Princess Ivora, Princess Ivora. No matter how many times she repeated it, it still didn’t sound right. She’d always been Ivora Hammersmith, the daughter of a blacksmith and an eccentric witch.
To think of her name next to a title so grand made her cringe. Princesses were beautiful and smelled of jasmine. They didn’t have dirty fingernails or owned dresses covered in patches.
