by Sacha Black
“I mean it, Rita, you’re not broken,” I say, and pat her back. “You’re perfect the way you are.”
My stomach coils; I’m not sure if I’m saying those words for her benefit or mine, but they have the desired effect because she smiles at me.
“How many days’ walk is it?” Bo asks.
“Half a day, maybe a full day if I’m slow.”
“Then let us give you some supplies,” I say, more to Bo than Rita.
Bo cocks her head at me but agrees.
“Thank you,” Rita says, tears welling in her eyes.
Bo's figure drops to the floor, and she sprints away. I rub Rita's back, " I mean it, Rita. I've been there, I had a broken Binding too, remember?"
“I know,” she says, giving me a teary smile, “I knew you of all people would understand.”
Bo's back within a couple of minutes. She's panting and carrying a small green rucksack in her wolf mouth. The air around her figure ripples and contorts as she shifts into her Fallon form.
“It’s got water and food supplies, and this,” she holds up a fabric roll, “a sleeping bag. To keep you warm if you don’t make it by nightfall.”
“Thank you,” Rita says, “I won’t forget it.” She hugs us both, squeezing me for a little longer than necessary. Then she hobbles off toward the border in the opposite direction.
“Should we have let her go? She’s all on her own,” I ask Bo.
“Did you see the look in her eye? She’s not going to give up till she finds the rebels and makes Trat pay.”
“Yeah,” I say, feeling a strange sense of solidarity. “Something tells me she’s going to look for Tiron too. If he hasn’t already found his way to the rebels.”
“What makes you say that?” she asks.
“Because it’s what I’d have done for Trey. That’s the thing about true love – you always find your way back to each other, no matter what.”
Twenty-Two
‘Scrying – the ability to see future events.’
The Dictionary of Balance
‘Visions – Ambiguous. Limited flashes, glimpses, dreams of potential futures. Usually bestowed upon the ‘seer’ by the Balance. Warnings.’
The Dictionary of Balance
“Who was it?” Trey asks, as we rejoin him and the small group he’s brought back.
“Rita,” I say, then pull him off to the side, “she and Trat aren’t doing so well. Do you remember the group Felicia talked about in Stratera Coffee? She said Sheridan’s Balancer ran off to join a group of people whose Bindings were ineffective.”
“The rebels?” Trey says far too loud.
“Shh, and yes. That’s where she’s gone. And honestly, Trey. You should have seen her. She was a mess. Trat was hurting her.”
Trey’s eyes burn dark blue. "Stop." I say, putting my hand on his back, "Rita's doing what she needs to. I think she needs to process what happened to her, and we should respect that."
“He needs to pay.”
“I know, but something tells me Rita’s going to make sure he does.”
“What’s happening to the flowers?” Bo asks behind us, so Trey and I rejoin her, Arden, and Jacobs.
Jacobs pushes the sleeves of his long green sorcery robes up. His hair is mousy blond, long and dead straight, tied in a loose knot halfway down his back. The knot itself is green ivy and weaves through his hair and under the collar of his robes, and I can't help but wonder what it's attached to. I realize now I'm closer to him that he's middle aged, but his skin is supple, and he looks a lot younger than he is. But when he turns to answer me, the worry lines in his brow suddenly age him.
"Fallon Luchelli was right." He raises his wand, and the dead plant, now held in a transparent Stasis Orb, hovers up from the ground.
“It’s dead?” I ask. “How?”
“We don’t know. But the CogTrackers are reading high levels of Imbalance.”
“And the patch of earth,” Bo says.
Jacobs nods. “We’ve covered the patch in a mini isolation dome to stop it from infecting any other patches of the forest.”
“Is it Alteritus?” Bo asks.
"No. That's restricted to Keepers. This is not something we've seen before; we dug the patch, and it doesn't end. It's like the source is coming from the ground, from Trutinor itself."
My spine prickles, flashes of my nightmares, a broken decaying Trutinor, replaying.
“Trutinor’s dying?” I whisper, more to myself than the others.
“Well, I think that’s a bit dramatic,” Jacobs says, laughing in a way that sounds more like he’s sniffing. “But it certainly looks like it might have a case of eczema or a cold.”
“This isn’t a joke,” I snap.
I don't hear his response; the air stills, and the sound of their voices muffles as the memory of my dreams crystalizes and makes my chest hurt. There's a hand on my arm; I'm being guided away, toward the valleys and the rest of the lead group. When we are some distance away, the fog of panic dissolves. A cool clean sense of clarity radiates from the hand on my arm, up into my shoulder, and into my head.
“What was that about?” Trey asks.
“This is how it happens. Piece by piece until the sky is burned maroon with Imbalance, and Trutinor is dead.”
“In your dreams, you mean?”
I nod and look up at him, “This is how it starts…”
He squeezes my arm. "I'm sure there's an explanation," he says. But I don't have one, and neither does he, so we fall into silence. I wonder if Sheridan's had any luck looking for answers today and pull out my CogTracker to drop her a message.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Any news?
To: [email protected]
Hey, Sheridan,
Any news? I’ve had a worrying development. Just north of the forest, barely 100m across the border, there’s a spot of dead earth. A Guild Sorcerer said he thought it was a case of eczema, but given my dreams, I don’t buy it.
What do you think it means? Any research news on what you think my dreams mean?
E x
We walk in silence for most of the next two hours. Conversation is limited to asking if each other is okay and stopping for water or breaks. After our third water break, I check my CogTracker. Sheridan’s replied.
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: Any news?
To: [email protected]
Eden, I hate to say it, but this does change things. Until now there’s been nothing to indicate your dreams are manifesting.
I stop reading, gooseflesh running down my arms. There were signs, inconsistencies; I just didn't put two and two together: the anomalies in the air in Stratera, the temperature off a few degrees here and there. I keep reading.
I still maintain that given you're not a scryer, it's highly unlikely you're using scrying abilities. But. I have found something, and it's not good news. There's a case: twins. They lived almost a thousand years ago. Sadly, for them, no one took them seriously until it was too late. They were only children, ten years old and they weren't scryers. They had vision-like dreams, or I should say half-dreams. Each twin saw half of the vision, and it wasn't until a dream Keeper examined them both and pieced the visions together that they realized what it was. They saw war. But not just any war, the Siren-Mermaid War. By the time the information was taken to the Council, it was too late. Karva was already dead.
I don’t want you to panic. I’m not convinced you’re experiencing the same thing. But I do think we need to take this further. I know you’ll want to take it to the Council, but I’m not sure that’s the right answer either. I can’t say it on CogMail. But I think you should visit my home. Tell them. They can help. The rebels.
* * *
I'll keep digging and come back to you. Hey, chin up, this indicates it's about Trutinor, so at least Trey isn't about to pop his clogs…
* * *
Too soon?
&n
bsp; * * *
Sheridan
I laugh, as inappropriate as it is, but I’m relieved this isn’t about Trey. I drop her a quick note back thanking her for the information and mentioning the anomalies I’ve been sensing.
I tell Trey the news from Sheridan, and he smiles, “Do I get to say I told you so now? You’re stuck with me for the rest of your life. I’m far too stubborn to die.” Then he leans down, scoops me into his arms, and kisses the worry away.
We continue climbing up the Eris foothills, which rapidly turn into steep rocky mountains. As the air cools to an icy chill, it makes my chest burn and my breathing labored. Walking goes from difficult to grueling. After another thirty minutes, we reach a plateau, and to my relief, Arden has made camp.
A transparent dome, much like the one from Ignis City when there was an outbreak of Alteritus, and it needed quarantining, covers most of the plateau. This time, it doesn't require proof of Balance to enter. As we pass through the transparent perimeter, it brushes against my skin like silk fabric, and a wave of heat hits me.
"I've never been more grateful for heat in my life," I say to Trey as we maneuver around several Sorcerers using wands to erect tents and set fires to cook dinner. We're assigned a tent each. I argue for a two-person tent, but one of the Sorcerers says there aren't any and tells us to go to the cooking area for dinner.
Bo is huddled with The Six. She looks like the general she is, her black leather uniform, fitted and paneled with enchanted armor that shifts with her. She's attached her fighting prosthetic leg this evening as opposed to the leg she wears to Stratera. This one is more streamlined. The cogs are inlaid into the smooth metallic surface, and it doesn't click and whirr like her other one. The Six are all in matching uniforms: smooth leather, silvery armor, and epaulets that display their rank over their fur cloaks.
Bo addresses them each individually, "Obert and Angus, you take the first watch shift tonight, Markov and Delphine, you're up next, and I'll do the early morning one with Vega."
I tense as I catch Delphine staring at me and wonder how the border is. Maybe I should confront her while we're here. Although Nyx said she’d denied any part in the Shifter attacks. I decide that Mother would have wanted to confront her, but Father would have made her wait, stick to the diplomatic negotiations. Bo continues to lay out various options, plans, and tactics for capturing her brother. She reiterates about five times to capture only, no kills. Trey joins her, swinging his arm around her shoulder. "Evening, boss lady," he says.
She rolls her eyes and grins, "What do you want, Luchelli?"
As I disappear toward the fire, Trey says, “Sadly, nothing fun, I figured we should discuss border control in the East.”
The fire’s large and burns in the center of the cooking area. I can’t help but edge closer to it, drawing off the occasional ember to play with, manipulating and poking it to form an arc, then an orb that I bounce in my palm. A body hovers near my shoulder.
“Israel,” I say, startled. “Are you okay? I’m sure this isn’t easy for you.”
Israel is tall and stocky, his white-blond hair worn in the same topknot at Victor, the sides of his hair shaved with cutthroat accuracy. Thick furs line his back, and he's wearing his customary leathers underneath.
“I am okay, Maddison is less so.”
“I’m sorry…” I say, knowing full well her pain is my fault.
When he doesn't respond, I feel awkward, so I make conversation, "I'm pleased the treaty is still in force. Father would have been proud. I know there are still some tensions, but it's promising progress."
He doesn't respond to that either, so I fall silent. After a while, he clears his throat, "I… I wanted to ask you something."
He fidgets with the fur on his cloak, uncomfortable with whatever it is he needs to ask.
“Of course, anything.”
“We wondered if you’d had any more engagement with Victor? We all saw the CogTV episode, but we’ve heard nothing from him since he returned. It’s breaking Maddison’s heart.”
"Oh, I see," I say. Bo had said that Victor hadn't been in touch with them, but I hadn't considered the implications. I toy with not telling him that Victor found me; I've only told a handful of people. But guilt gets the better of me.
“I’ve seen him once,” I say. “In Stratera, he was trying to steal a book.”
Israel’s back straightens, his face hardening, but I’m not sure if it’s because he’s angry or if the rapid blinking is because he’s trying not to cry.
"Israel, I should explain before you get your hopes up… He's not coming back; he is dead. The Last Fallon is employing some powerful ancient magic to keep him here. She's controlling him, and he only came to me because she wants me to do something for her. I am certain that if he had free will, he would come home..." I pause because he won't like my next words. "I know this won’t be easy to hear, but I suspect when the Last Fallon gets what she wants, he will have to go back to Obex." I wait for a response, but he can't look at me, and I’ve run out of things to say. I leave him by the fire, alone with the pain I'm responsible for causing him. As I walk away, I'm sure I see a tear run down his cheek, but he turns his back on me.
Twenty-Three
‘Wars are not won by those who brandish weapons; wars are won by the silent heroes you never see coming.’
Balance Proverb
The elder Sorcerers use magic to keep the spit roast rotating until the chicken is crisp and ready to eat. They dish out strips accompanied by boiled rice and water that's tinged orange with a purifying liquid. Chatter around the fire is mostly tactical, discussing the files Kato and Hermia have sent alongside the best ways to capture Victor and what potential magic he will use. As night falls, exhaustion sets in; the last two days have felt like a week. Trey and I return to our tents. I'm about to climb in when I notice Maddison and Israel. They stop speaking and turn to me. Each one gives me a small smile, which I return with a nod. This, I think, is at least progress from Maddison. I kiss Trey goodnight and slide into the tent next to his. I check my CogTracker one last time; Kato's sent an estimated projection of Victor's movements. He should pass us tomorrow morning.
Sleep must arrive at some point because I wake to my body rocking from side to side in slow wave-like movements. My eyes fly open, the sudden realization that I'm neither meant to be rocking nor moving. But as soon as I sit up, a cloth is placed over my mouth, and a sweet chemical stench fills my nose. My body falls limp, and a veil of darkness descends over me.
I’ve no idea how long I’m asleep for, or who took me, but when I wake, I keep my eyes shut. I’ve been kidnapped. In the seconds before I was drugged unconscious, I managed to work that much out. If I want to stand a chance of escaping I need to gather as much evidence as I can about my attackers before they realize I’m awake.
I send out my essence; it roams the air, feeling, sensing, stretching as far through the wind particles as it can. It scopes out smells: the faint remains of baked bread and fried garlic – I can taste my kidnapper's dinner on the air. Wherever I am, it’s densely populated, not quite a city but more than a village. There are hundreds, maybe thousands of vibrations in the breeze, Keepers moving, busying themselves in the area. But in this room, there is only one body. They’re behind me. Their body heat is ruffling the air despite the fact they’re motionless – a Siren, I suspect, and probably to keep me calm.
I peel open my eyes. It's dark, still night. I can't have been asleep for long. The Siren moves and leaves the room; I catch the back of their head as I sit up. It's a girl, short and tanned, with long straight hair.
I scan the room; the roof is made of a creamy fabric, and the floor is a patchwork of rugs, like the bedding I'm in. It reminds me of the room I saw in Sheridan's dreams. Part of me wonders whether she's responsible for this. She told me to speak to the rebels, and given that we're not much further north than the Eris valleys, it's plausible that's who’s holding me.
The rest of the room is empt
y, except for the stool the girl was sat on, which is the remains of a tree stump, smoothed and worn into the shape of a bottom over years of use. There's no door, but the fabric of the tent I'm in serves as a flapping doorway. Who kidnaps someone and doesn't lock them up? I throw the covers off and run for the door, only to smack into an invisible wall. I bounce back, crumpling in a pile on the floor.
“What the f…”
"Good evening, Eden," a voice interrupts. I dust myself down and examine the voice's owner. A tall pale man with silvery white hair is stood in the doorway. His eyes are odd, a mix of silver and green, and his lips plump red ones. I have no idea who or what he is.
He enters the tent and gives me a hand to help me up. I eye him, then slap his hand away and stand up by myself. He smiles to himself, then says, "May I?" but doesn't wait for an answer. He pulls a piece of circular sticky fabric off my pajama sleeve. My fists ball, igniting with electricity. Who the hell does this asshole think he is?
“You can’t get out with it on, clever little bit of sorcery that.”
“Who are you?” I say, looking him up and down. There’s something so familiar about him, but I can’t quite place what. I decide he’s a Shifter; his blond hair and the faint limp in his walk makes me think of the First Fallon and her essence trace.
“I’m the leader here, Castor Jameson.”
I narrow my eyes at him; if he’s a leader then this must be the rebel camp. I shift backward, my feet slotting into a defensive position, fire exploding to life around my fists. “Okay, Castor. Where exactly is here?” I ask.
