by Natale Ghent
“I held her, once,” Kenji said. “But not for long.”
Skylark studied the hologram. “So … why should I be any different?”
“Why shouldn’t you be?” Francis said.
She thumbed the gold padlock. “They’ve got her locked in.”
“Then we’ll have to ask the curator for the key—politely.” Francis cocked an eyebrow at Kenji.
“Oh, I doubt they’ll give it to you,” the mouse said.
Kenji reached into his trench coat pocket and produced a small gold key.
The mouse squeaked with shock. “Where did you get that?”
“Yeah, where did you get that?” Francis asked.
Kenji smirked. “It’s a miracle.” He turned the key in the lock. There was a satisfying click, and the arm of the padlock popped up and swung to one side. He opened the glass door. The mist retreated cat-like to the back of the case.
“I don’t like this one bit,” Sebastian sniffed, clinging to Skylark’s hair.
“Go on and reach in there,” Francis said.
She hesitated. What if the Ephemeral didn’t like her?
“Go on. She won’t harm you.”
Skylark raised her hand, pausing for a moment longer before sticking her fingers in the mist. It felt cool and strange. It swirled around, pushing against her hand at first then wrapping around her wrist and drawing her in. “Hey!” She yanked her hand out. “It grabbed me.” She looked at Francis.
“You’re doing good,” he said.
“It feels funny.”
Francis winked. “She’s just being playful.”
Skylark poked at the mist. It curled around her finger. She laughed and offered her hand again, this time allowing the mist to take it.
Francis nodded with approval. “Feel around a bit—gentle like.”
She felt around. Nothing. Then her hand brushed against a string of sorts. It sent a charge through her fingers and she had to force herself not to pull away. “I can feel it,” she said. “It feels alive!”
Francis laughed. “She is alive. Keep going.”
Skylark reached deeper and found the bow. It shivered lightly against her palm. She traced the arc of its spine with her finger. It rose and dipped in a French curve. Mustering her courage, Skylark clasped the bow. It gripped back, forming to fit her hand. She drew it into the light, the bow trailing a veil of mist from the case. The Ephemeral scrolled through its rainbow of colours, humming in her hand like a honeybee. Skylark was ecstatic. She turned to Francis, triumphant. “I got her!”
Francis slapped his thigh with excitement. “You did it!”
Kenji whistled. “What did I tell you?”
“Ohhhh … so beautiful,” the mouse sighed.
“Keep looking,” Francis said. “There’s more.”
Skylark reached in and found a finely carved quiver made from the most fantastic material. It looked like leather, but shone like the belly of a fish. The quiver held a sheaf of silver arrows, straight and true. They hummed and glistened like the bow. Francis and Kenji exchanged astonished looks.
“Go on,” Francis encouraged her. “Try it on.”
Quick and light, Skylark swung the quiver onto her back. It hugged the curve of her spine, mimicking the colour of her shirt so that it rested nearly invisible between her shoulder blades. Its energy pulsed, bonding with her own, and she was struck by a profound sense of love and wonder. “I can feel its life against me! I think it’s … breathing.” She looked to Francis for confirmation but he seemed as surprised as she was.
The mouse shivered. “I can feel it too.”
Skylark tested the tension on the bow, plucking the string. It responded in a pure, high voice.
“There’s more yet,” Francis said. “Reach in there one more time.”
Skylark searched the mist. There was something else—a fingerless leather glove and laced armguard. When she took them from the case, the last of the mist came with them and dissipated. Without hesitation, Skylark stripped the gauntlets from her wrists and pulled the glove onto her right hand, pressing the hollows between her fingers until it was snug. She squeezed her other hand into the armguard. It wrapped around her skin, as cool and elastic as a snake. To her amazement, the ties retracted on their own, tightening the brace. She was delirious with joy. Could it possibly be true? Did this magical creature belong to her?
Francis clapped Kenji on the back. “Would you look at that!”
“It appears you are its owner,” Sebastian said.
“How does it feel?” Kenji asked.
Skylark thought she would burst with happiness. “Like I’ve found a long-lost friend!” She worked her hands, clasping and unclasping her fingers. She marvelled at the bow—she couldn’t take her eyes off it—its colours scrolling from blue to red to purple then green and every colour in between, including silver. Will she really help me control my power? Skylark wondered. Holding the bow close, she felt the weight of the moment pressing down on her. The bow had chosen her over all others. They would be together, forever, joined in united purpose against evil. She was no longer an outcast. She belonged. And with that great honour came great responsibility. “I hope I do right by you,” she said.
“Why don’t we go to the practice field and try it out,” Francis suggested.
Skylark slung the bow over her shoulder and it disappeared, matching the colour of her shirt as the quiver had done. Francis reached for her hand but she stopped him.
“I can’t wear training wheels for the rest of my existence,” she said.
“Right. I’m so happy for you.” He winked again and vanished.
She smiled at Kenji, expecting him to jump too, but he didn’t. He had the oddest look on his face, as though wrestling to find the strength to say something. He removed his glasses. It was the first time Skylark had really seen his eyes. They were blue—not like Fran’s sapphires—but dark and simmering.
“I know how hard it is,” he said.
She laughed. “What? This is the best day of my life.”
He took a step toward her. “I know where you were, Skylark. You have to let him go.”
“Who?” she asked. Then it clicked. He was talking about Poe. She turned her back to him, her throat tightening. “Don’t.”
The mouse stiffened. “Oh dear. This isn’t good.”
“It’s nothing,” she deflected, but she couldn’t hide the anger in her voice.
“You can’t have him,” he said. “He’s lost to you. You must accept it. If the Council found out …”
How dare he threaten her with the Council? How dare he get in the way of her love? She whirled around to face him. “And who’s going to tell them?”
The mouse groaned. “Let’s all just take a step back.”
Skylark stared Kenji down. He held her gaze.
“I know how you feel,” he said. “But you’re just torturing yourself. It’ll be easier if you make the decision to let go—especially now. The minute you held the Ephemeral, the minute she accepted you, the contract was signed. You have an obligation to her. You have to be more responsible now. You can’t go chasing after some human boy.”
The bow shimmered in collusion, scrolling through its colours again. The quiver nuzzled against her back. Skylark was unmoved. “You haven’t got a clue what I’m going through.”
“You’re wrong.” Kenji stepped closer. “I know all too well. It’s doomed, Skylark. Nothing can ever come of it. You have to pack up your feelings, put them in a box, and never open it again.”
“I can’t.”
“You’re forcing his soul into a loop. This boy you love … he’s only one incarnation of that soul. When you hold him so close, he can’t evolve beyond what he already is. He can never experience the full breadth of his soul’s expression. By being with him, by tying yourself to him outside of time, you’re preventing him from living out his life’s natural cycle. His soul will never grow beyond that personality. He will never reincarnate and become what he
is meant to become. He’ll be trapped, a butterfly inside a jar, for all eternity. You have to set him free, Skylark. It’s the right thing to do.”
She glared at him. “So he can end up like me? I don’t want him to evolve. I want him to stay the way he is.”
“It isn’t right to interfere with another soul’s journey!” Sebastian blustered, taking sides.
“You don’t mean what you’re saying,” Kenji said.
Skylark scoffed. She didn’t need his sanctimonious advice. “I mean exactly what I’m saying. Stay away from me, Kenji, or you’ll regret it.”
He wouldn’t stop. “You’re being selfish, Skylark. Think about what you’re doing. It’s wrong and you know it.” He reached for her arm. She ended the conversation by jumping in a burst of light and thumping down beside Francis in the practice field. Her robe furled around her. She hated that she reverted whenever she jumped by herself. She angrily popped back into human form.
“What took you so long?” Francis said. “I thought you got lost.”
“Ask Kenji.”
Kenji showed up an instant later, glasses and cool demeanour in place. Francis gave him a look, tugging at his beard. Whatever question he was formulating he dropped and got back to business. “Okay. Let’s get to it.” He jerked his head toward a new target standing next to the scorched crater where the old one had been.
Skylark drew an arrow from the quiver. It hummed and flickered in her hand. Fitting the arrow’s notch against the string, she pulled back, channelling her anger at the target. Francis nodded and she released. The arrow shrieked as it flew, ripping through the bull’s-eye and driving into the blackened trunk of one of the scorched trees, its fletching shaking like a feather duster. Skylark’s soul surged. She turned to Francis victoriously.
Francis and Kenji stared at the impaled tree. The old man cleared his throat.
“That was good.”
“Beginner’s luck,” Kenji said.
Skylark sneered. “Of course, you would know.”
“Now, now,” the mouse soothed.
“Can you do that again?” Francis asked. “Only this time, ease back on the throttle.”
Skylark drew another arrow from the quiver, secured the notch, pulled the bowstring and released. The arrow sang, hitting the target square in the eye with a satisfying thwack. She gave Kenji a self-satisfied look.
Francis beamed at her. “You’re born to it.”
“It was my idea,” Kenji said.
“Oh, you’re full of good ideas,” Skylark snapped.
Francis pushed back his hat. “Go ahead, hotshot, take credit. It was Skylark who pulled the trigger. The girl’s got innate skills.”
“Or was it the bow?” Kenji said. “The real test is whether she can keep her head and not do anything stupid under pressure.” He folded his arms. “Firing at targets is one thing. Shooting at demons—that’s a different story altogether.”
“Bring it on,” Skylark challenged him. “Silver and I are ready.”
“Ah, it’ll come with practice,” Francis said.
“Yes,” Sebastian chimed in. “Practice makes perfect.”
Skylark narrowed her eyes at Kenji. “I’m happy to practise.” She lined up and fired, the arrow streaking through the air and lopping off the top of the only tree behind the target that hadn’t been torched. She frowned.
“Don’t let him get to you,” Francis said. “He’s just jealous.”
“Am I?” Kenji stared smugly back, then jumped, leaving Francis and Skylark alone in the field.
“Good,” Skylark said. “I thought he’d never go.”
Francis grunted. “Who put a bee in his bonnet?”
“I thought she was doing fine,” Sebastian said.
“Sore loser,” Francis muttered. “Shall we continue?”
MURDER
Poe washed his hands in the river, the blood streaming from his fingers in loose red ribbons. He pulled off his shirt, plunged it into the water and scrubbed. Caddy sat on a stone, watching.
“How did you get separated from the group?” she asked.
He wrung the water from his shirt and examined it. The blood was stubborn, staining the fabric with pink splotches. He dunked the shirt back in the water and scoured it against a rock. “I ran in the opposite direction to make the Company men chase me. There were a lot of them and they split up. I doubled back to find the others and they tracked me. I hid and waited for an opportunity. Then you found me.”
And here we are, Caddy thought, searching for a way to begin the conversation neither of us wants to have. “That man … you killed him …”
Poe clenched his jaw. “Yes.”
“But the covenant …”
“Thou shalt not kill—you think I don’t know that? I wasn’t expecting you to show up, Cadence. I thought I was on my own. It came down to you or him. Which would you have preferred?”
It was her fault. He was right. If she’d listened to the other Dreamers, Poe wouldn’t have blood on his hands. “I couldn’t just leave you.”
“I would have been okay. You have to start thinking about your own safety. Things are worse than ever.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’ve never used dogs before. Something has changed. They’re more aggressive. The attack today … it was a full-scale assault.”
Caddy felt a twinge in her fingertips. The bad feeling was near. Please, not now, she silently begged. “Do you think they’re still out there?”
“If they were, we’d have seen them by now.” He inspected his shirt and kept scrubbing. “You can’t put yourself at risk for me, Cadence. It’s not good for you—or the group.”
The group. How could she tell him what she really felt? The group scared her, almost as much as the Company men. “What’s going to happen to you—with the group.”
“I’ll be punished.”
Her jaw dropped. “Punished?”
“The sin of the one is the sin of the many.”
“Those are just words.”
“Not to us.”
“What does being ‘punished’ even mean? What will they do to you?”
“I don’t know. There will be a judgment. This is a very serious offence.”
“I’m the one to blame,” Caddy said. “I should have never come after you. Surely they’ll understand the circumstances.”
Poe shrugged. “I knew the rules and I broke them.”
He was being so pragmatic. The whole thing was absurd. “Is that you talking … or Hex?”
He stopped scrubbing and stared into the water. “Hex is only doing what she has to.”
“And punishing you is part of that?”
“Yes, if need be. The Dreamers are on a set course. We’ve been following this trajectory for centuries.”
“Things have changed—you said so yourself. The Company men are using dogs now. It won’t be long before they kill us all. Then where will we be?”
“We have to follow the directive.” He wrung out his shirt and pulled it on, faint pink blossoms marring the fabric.
Caddy stood. “Something is really wrong with this, Poe. What good does it do to punish you? You did what you thought you had to. We can’t all run like scared rabbits and hope the dreaming will change things.”
Poe faced her, his eyes as dark and deep as oceans. “Our dreams are powerful, Cadence. Don’t ever doubt that.”
The mark on her arm began to ache. It filled her with disgust. “I don’t doubt it. But I do doubt Hex—and the wisdom of anyone who blindly follows her.” She thought this would make him angry. He just smiled.
“The Dreamers’ eyes are open, Cadence. When you look with your heart, you see clearly, and there is no room for doubt.”
More rhetoric. She didn’t want to hear it. “I wish I shared your conviction.”
Poe moved closer. She could feel the heat off his body.
“I can’t let anything happen to you, Cadence. I couldn’t forgive myself if I did. I’ll take
whatever punishment I have coming to me.”
She searched his face, and at last she understood. “I’m not Meg, Poe. Killing a hundred Company men won’t bring her back.”
He lowered his head, hands clenched, and for the first time she appreciated how truly vulnerable he was. In the years she’d known him at school he’d seemed so aloof, so immune to everyone and everything. Now here he was, standing in front her with his heart exposed. His wet shirt clung to his skin, accentuating his broad shoulders and the chiselled muscles of his stomach and chest. He was strong—strong enough to kill a man. He couldn’t save Meg. But he could save her. And he was willing to, no matter what the cost. This realization stirred something in her heart. She reached for his hand.
“Poe …”
He pulled away. “We should find the others.”
Caddy followed him, wanting to continue their conversation. The moment was lost, so she spoke around it. “The knife the Company man carried … it was strange.”
He walked in silence, and she thought he wouldn’t answer, but then he spoke as though nothing had changed. “It’s called a punyal. It’s a type of dagger.”
He’d gotten his edge back. This was the Poe she knew from school. Caddy skirted around some tree roots.
“It looked old.”
“It is. The Company men come from a very old order—as old as recorded time. They have their traditions, one of which is to pass weapons from man to man. We’ve seen them with everything—scimitars, bayonets, Second World War trench knives—even blades of fractured obsidian.”
“Obsidian … that’s a type of stone, right?”
“Volcanic glass,” he corrected her.
They cleared the hill, moving toward the jagged mouth of the rock where she’d hid with April.
“And the Dreamers?” she asked. “Are they as old?”
“Yes. As long as there have been those who embrace the Dark, there have been those who anchor the Light.” He pointed to a clump of cedars. “Is that where you and April called the Dreamers?”
“Yes.”
They pushed into the stand of trees and he took her hands. His energy flowed through her like a current. It made her feel light-headed. “Poe,” she said, trying to bridge the distance between them. “I won’t tell the others about the Company man.”
