Was it possible that this was the work of Master Therapass? He knew for a fact the wizard couldn’t cross from Farworld to Earth. Kyja and Marcus were the only humans who had ever made the leap without the use of dark magic. But maybe it was some kind of message. Marcus had to get into the room.
He tried the door and wasn’t surprised when the brass knob turned barely a quarter of an inch before stopping. The monks had been very clear that this room was off limits. He’d never thought to question why a simple bedroom should be forbidden—until now.
Marcus peered into the small keyhole. Changing the state of things—hot to cold, on to off, or, in this case, locked to unlocked —required the power of air. He wasn’t nearly as familiar with that magic, but one of the few air-magic scrolls Master Therapass had given him had a spell that might be able to disengage the inner workings of a lock. The scroll was in his bag, but he’d read it so many times, he nearly had it memorized.
Gripping the knob in both hands, he focused on changing the lock from closed to open. Magic didn’t require words, but he’d found that he could focus his powers if he used little poems.
“Currents of air, wind, and sky,” he said quietly. “Through this keyhole quickly fly. The way I must go has been blocked. Help me to undo this lock.”
It wasn’t much of a poem, but he could feel it working. A soft breeze brushed by his cheek. The doorknob rattled, started to turn, then stopped. He reached up and tried the knob. Still locked.
Had the elements rejected his request? He’d managed to lock and unlock the door to his own room before. But maybe because he was trying to break into a room the monks had forbidden him to enter, the air elementals had refused his request.
Somehow he needed to communicate the importance of his need. Focusing his thoughts again, he tried to convey how important it was that he open this door. Surely the elementals would understand why he had to break into a room if it was the only way he could escape the Dark Circle.
“My need is great; I ask once more. Help me to unlock this door.”
The power of air magic swirled around him, and, for a quick second, he felt something else. It seemed to be a response to his magic—coming not from inside the lock, but from behind the door. Almost an echo of his request bouncing back at him, reflecting his magic in a way he’d never experienced.
The knob rattled ever so slightly, followed by a soft click. Somewhere behind him, footsteps echoed; Marcus glanced over his shoulder. Someone was coming. Quickly, he turned the knob. He pushed the door open, wheeled inside, and swung the door shut behind him.
Inside the room, he pressed his ear to the closed door. Had he been seen? Or heard? When several minutes had passed, and no one came to check the door, he breathed a sigh of relief. Now to see what was in here.
He turned around, but was disappointed to find the room almost empty. It was a tiny cell, as barren as his own. The only furnishings were a bed—stripped of its blankets and sheets—a tall standing mirror, and a plain wooden desk. Nothing that could have accounted for the power he’d felt.
He wheeled over to the desk and tried one of the drawers, expecting them to be locked. Instead, they slid open, and inside were all his missing things—scrolls, papers, a pair of smelly socks. Everything he’d thought he’d misplaced over the last few weeks was tucked neatly into the drawers of the desk.
How did all of his things end up here? He looked around the room, searching for a clue. Other than his socks and scrolls, there was nothing out of the ordinary here. It was just an empty room with an old desk, the standing mirror, and a plain bed. But then why would someone go to all the trouble of locking it up? He glanced at the mirror—the only thing that looked out of place. Monks weren’t exactly known for their vanity, so there weren’t many mirrors in the monastery. Maybe something was hidden behind it.
His hopes were quickly dashed when he realized there was no place behind it to hide anything. Even the mirror was useless. At some point, the glass inside the ornate frame had been removed. He peered through the empty oval and found only a dusty baseboard. There was nothing here. Nothing at all.
With a sigh, he spun his chair around. One of the wheels bumped the mirror, and it started to tilt forward. Afraid someone would hear the crash, Marcus reached out to catch it. His palm met the edge of the frame, steadying it.
As his fingers wrapped around where the glass should have been, he felt something he thought he never would again. It was a jerk, deep in his stomach—like a hook caught somewhere in the middle of his gut, pulling until it seemed like he was turning inside out. Marcus gasped as the world spun. A giddy excitement raced through him.
He was jumping!
Chapter 5
Window to the Soul
Master Therapass released Kyja so quickly, she barely had time to get her feet under her before hitting the ground.
“I . . . I can explain,” she said, straightening and smoothing her robe.
“It was my fault,” Riph Raph blurted. “I told her to do it.”
Master Therapass flicked his right hand, and suddenly Riph Raph was lying on his back in the center of the room, his legs bound with silver string and an apple stuffed in his beak like a pig ready to be cooked. “I have no time for stories,” the wizard said sharply. He glared at Kyja. “And no patience for thieves.”
He held out his hand, and Kyja meekly returned the glowing circle. She opened her mouth to explain, but realized there was no explanation. Riph Raph had been right; she should have shown the wizard the note as soon as she found it and asked for his help. She wondered if she’d lost his trust for good. Looking at the ground, she reached into her pocket, took out the note, and handed it to him.
“What’s this?” Master Therapass drew his glasses from the sleeve of his robe and balanced them on the end of his nose as he studied the scrap of parchment. He read the message, turned it over and examined the back. “Where did you get this?”
“I found it on my bed yesterday morning, after you told me I couldn’t . . .” Kyja chewed her lower lip. “After you told me I couldn’t use the aptura discerna.”
“Do you have any idea who put it there?”
Kyja shook her head. “It’s just . . . I thought it was a riddle. I figured out that it’s talking about a shadow, and I thought—I thought . . .” She wiped a tear from her eyes, trying hard not to cry. She wanted to be strong. She wanted to do the right thing. But lately she didn’t seem to know what the right thing was anymore. “I’m so sorry.” She sniffed.
The wizard’s eyes softened. He placed a hand on Kyja’s shoulder. “Now, now, there’s no need for tears. I know you were only worried about Marcus.”
Kyja bunched up the front of her robe and dabbed at her eyes with it.
The wizard lifted the parchment to his nose and sniffed. “Odd.”
“What?” Kyja asked
“The ink. It has a strange aroma I’ve never smelled before.”
Kyja hadn’t noticed. “I thought maybe the note was a clue about how to get Marcus safely through the realm of shadows.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” the wizard said.
“The riddle talks about shadows disappearing at noon and in the middle of the night.” Kyja swallowed. It had all made sense to her at the time. Now, as she tried to put it into words, the whole thing seemed sort of silly.
But Master Therapass was tugging at the tip of his beard, his eyes thoughtful. “Go on.”
“I thought that maybe the riddle meant that if those are the times shadows are at their weakest, maybe they’re also when the realm of shadows is the least dangerous. I thought I could try pulling Marcus over at midnight. To see if it worked.”
Master Therapass frowned. “Making guesses like that is far too dangerous. You could have put Marcus’s life in danger because you had a simple hunch.”
Kyja pressed her lips together, her eyes feeling hot again.
The wizard sighed. “Would it help if I let you see for yourself that Marcus is
safe?”
Kyja nodded. “Oh, yes!”
“Very well. I had thought it would be easier if you could keep your mind on other things, focus on something other than the boy. But it’s clear I was mistaken.” He laid the aptura discerna flat on a nearby table.
Still trussed nearby, Riph Raph mumbled around the apple in his mouth, his yellow eyes bulging. “Grprut turhurg ribe bor.”
Master Therapass glanced at him and snapped his fingers, releasing Riph Raph from his bonds. “Try to stay out of trouble.”
The skyte flew to Kyja’s side and pouted.
As soon as she looked into the aptura discerna, Kyja’s heart began to pound. Was Master Therapass right? Would she be better off not seeing Marcus? Maybe seeing him would make it harder to wait until he could be brought safely over. Maybe she was being selfish.
But the wizard didn’t understand. Kyja had always had a special connection with Marcus. Sometimes she could almost think his thoughts, feel his feelings. She knew how frustrated he had to be by now. And she did have a strong feeling that he needed her help.
As she looked into the window, the colors began to mix and blur, taking on a hazy pink hue. She tried to remember everything Master Therapass had taught her about using the aptura discerna. First, she had to clear her mind. She had to push aside all negative emotions—fear, anger, disappointment. She wasn’t angry, and disappointment wasn’t a problem. But to let the window look inside her, she’d have to get rid of her fear. That would be harder. If she hadn’t been afraid for Marcus, she wouldn’t be here in the first place.
Instinctively, her hand went to Riph Raph. They argued sometimes, but ever since she’d rescued him as a baby, the skyte had been her best and most loyal companion. “I’m sorry I got you into trouble.”
Riph Raph rubbed his head under her chin. “It’s all right.”
She tried thinking of happy things. Riding the motorcycle across the roads of Earth while Riph Raph cowered in terror. Floating down the Noble River with Cascade. Watching the skyte catch fish. Finding Marcus safe in Land Keep. A little at a time, her breathing evened and slowed.
Riph Raph edged around to look into the window, where the pink haze was slowly clearing. “Let him be all right,” Kyja whispered under her breath.
As the pink disappeared, Kyja made out a small room. Marcus’s? She saw a bed, a desk, and a mirror. There, beside the mirror, Marcus’s wheelchair was turned on its side. But where was Marcus? Her breathing sped up, and as it did, pink began to swirl back into the window, clouding her view.
“Relax,” Master Therapass said. “Clear your mind.”
But she couldn’t. Where was Marcus? She’d come to the window looking for him. The aptura discerna had found his room. Why not him? Her heart thudded. Why wasn’t the window working? The image began to fade.
“Show me Marcus,” she demanded, reaching for the aptura discerna. “Show him to me.”
But the room disappeared and a terrible certainty filled her chest. Something had happened to Marcus. Something horrible.
Chapter 6
The Is
When Marcus was three or four, he’d dreamed of going to the ocean one day. Cold wind blowing in his face, waves crashing on the shore. He’d never made it to the ocean, but he thought he must be there now.
A rhythmic roaring filled his ears like waves pounding against a rocky beach, and a bitterly cold gray fog swirled around him. He shivered so hard the back of his head repeatedly knocked against the icy ground.
“K-Kyja?” he groaned, opening his eyes. “Where are you?”
Where are you?
Where? Where?
Are? Are?
You?
His words echoed back from all directions at once. Only they didn’t sound like his voice, more like someone repeating what he’d said. He tried pushing himself to a sitting position, but the smooth stone beneath him was so bitterly cold, it numbed his fingers as soon as he touched it.
He yanked his hand back and blew into his cupped palms, trying to warm them. Where was he? And how long had he been there? He could remember reaching for the mirror. The tug in his stomach. After that . . . he wasn’t sure. Kyja must have pulled him over to Farworld. If she did, though, where was she?
He tried to peer through the thick clouds swirling around him, and for a moment thought he caught a glimpse of blue eyes to his left. But the mist closed in again too quickly for him to be sure. “Hello?” he whispered, fear tightening like a belt across his stomach.
“A seeker,” a papery voice said from somewhere to his left.
A voice that sounded exactly the same spoke from his right. “A finder.”
The fog in front of Marcus danced, and he briefly caught sight of a face staring back at him. It was hard to tell what the face looked like; the features were . . . fuzzy.
“A wise man.”
“A fool.”
The voices came from all around him.
Marcus hugged his arms across his chest, trying to stave off the icy gray curtain leeching the heat from his body. His teeth chattered so violently, he could hardly speak. “W-who’s th-there?”
“I am a supplicant,” said the voice behind him.
“I am a prophet.”
“I am a stranger.”
“I am a friend.”
A terrifying thought occurred to him. What if this wasn’t Farworld at all? Could he somehow have launched himself into the realm of shadows? He tried to stand before realizing he’d left his staff in Elder Ephraim’s room along with his wheelchair.
With each breath, clouds puffed from his mouth and nose; he was amazed to see tiny crystals of ice forming on the hairs of his arms. “I have to get out of here.”
Four different voices shouted at once. Or was it the same voice coming from four different directions? “Leave as you wish! You have been given a gift! Use it wisely! Spend it carefully!”
“What gift?” This was crazy. He had no idea where he was or who was talking to him. Something jingled in his hand. He looked down to see four gold coins in his palm. Where had they come from? He hadn’t been holding them before.
At the same time, the roaring stopped, and the mist cleared. Marcus looked up to see that he was in the bottom of a deep, round pit. The walls were solid ice, so high he could barely make out a small gray opening hundreds of feet overhead. A frigid wind whistled down on him as if he were in the middle of an arctic wilderness.
The walls looked like waterfalls had flowed down them once, but now they were frozen solid. The silence was so complete that he could still hear the roaring, which had been abruptly cut off, echoing in his ears.
No one else was in the pit with him, and he saw no way for anyone to get in or out. So whose were the voices he’d heard? Then he saw them. Trapped in the waterfalls were four old men, their penetrating blue eyes locked open behind clear ice. Each wore a long, gray robe and had a beard to his waist. It was impossible to tell for sure, but from where he sat, they looked identical. It was as if they had all stepped into the water right before it froze. They all stared at him.
Marcus ran his tongue across his upper lip, and the cold made it stick for a moment. He looked down at the coins. “What am I supposed to do with these?”
None of the men said anything. How could they? They were obviously dead.
He turned the first coin over. Something was engraved in the center of it: two letters, I and S.
“Is?” he whispered.
At the sound of his voice, the waterfall to his left came to life. The previously frozen water crashed into a small pool at its base. Mist flowed from the pool. The roar of the falling water buffeted his eardrums. A hand reached through the mist, and before Marcus could think to pull away, it dragged him into the water.
Marcus was in his wheelchair again, sitting in Elder Ephraim’s room. Everything looked the same. The desk. The bed. The glassless mirror. His backpack lay in his lap as though he’d never been pulled into the mirror at all.
H
ad he? Or had it been an illusion caused by whatever magic had moved his things?
“Good choice,” a voice said.
Marcus spun around to see a boy about his own age, leaning against the wall by the door.
“The wisest people choose the Is,” the boy said with a smile.
“Who are you?” Marcus asked, wheeling his chair backward. “How did you get in here?”
The boy shook back a lock of blond hair and laughed, his amazingly blue eyes sparkling. “I’m your guide. You brought me here.”
Marcus stared at his own arms and legs. He wasn’t wet. And despite the fact that he could clearly remember almost freezing to death, he wasn’t cold. Could the boy have made him believe that he was in that place with the frozen old men? Marcus had nearly convinced himself he’d never gone through the mirror at all, when he realized he was still gripping the gold coins.
“I’ll take that,” the boy said, reaching out a hand.
Marcus looked at the four glittering circles. The one reading Is still lay on top of the others. “The Is,” he whispered. “You said the wisest people choose the Is.”
“Of course. No worry what might or might not happen down the road. No regrets over what took place before. The here and now is the best place, I think.”
Marcus didn’t understand, but he thought he was beginning to. “Are we in the . . . Is? ”
The boy laughed delightedly and nodded like a proud parent seeing a baby take its first steps.
Marcus looked around the room. It looked like Elder Ephraim’s quarters, but maybe that was part of the magic. “You said you were my guide. Did you bring me here?”
The boy laughed again, but this time shook his head. “No one can bring you to the Is. You’ve always been here. Once you pay me, I can make sure you stay forever.”
Now Marcus was confused all over again. “If I’ve been here all along, why would I have to pay you to stay?”
Footsteps sounded from outside in the hallway. “Marcus?” a voice called. They’d found him. Was Principle Teagarden here already?
He was trapped. He had no way to get to his motorcycle. No way to escape. He turned to the boy. “Can you get me out of here?” He jingled the coins in his hand. “I’ll pay you.”
Air Keep Page 5
