by Kevin Sands
I ignored her curses as I ran back to the Dragon Temple. Returning made me realize just how much destruction we’d wreaked.
I had no idea how long the place had stood here—thousands of years, Gareth had said—but it had taken just minutes to bring it down. Mr. Solomon’s staff had blasted much of it into rubble. The beam from the Eye had crumbled the rest. Even the death of the Lady in Red had left scorch marks all over the place.
It had ended Mr. Solomon, too. There was nothing remaining of the man. His robe had disintegrated with him, and the tome of spiraling symbols had burned when the Lady in Red exploded.
But his staff was still intact, resting on the ground behind the altar. It occurred to me: maybe it had power we could use. Even if not, it could prove to be valuable. I decided I’d better take it.
I reached for it hesitantly, wondering if it would shock me, or turn me into a mouse. When I grabbed it, it felt heavy and cool to the touch. Otherwise, it seemed an ordinary staff.
As for the Eye, it still lay where I’d left it, in the moss. I picked it up. It was smooth and slightly warm. I took it back up the stairs.
Gareth looked surprised as I thrust the dragon staff into his hands. Then everyone watched, uncomprehending, as I held the Eye above Lachlan’s chest.
“All right,” I said to it. “Heal him.”
Nothing happened.
Meriel turned to Foxtail. “He’s lost his mind.”
Foxtail put a hand on her arm. Wait.
“For Artha’s sake,” I said to the Eye. “Tell me what to do. If you want me to come for you, you have to help me. Tell me what to do.”
It remained silent.
Was this some sort of Spirit joke? If Shuna wouldn’t say, and the Eye couldn’t say, how was I supposed to use it to—
Of course.
It was the last thing I wanted to do. In fact, if anyone had even suggested it, I’d have told them where to go. But now I understood.
Everything has a price, the Old Man had always said.
“I hate it when you’re right,” I said to him.
I pushed the eyepatch the girls had made for me up to my forehead. Then I brought the Eye up to my empty socket.
The stone grabbed me.
It nestled firmly into my skull. And this time, I knew, there was nothing that would make it let go. I blinked
and suddenly I could see again. Through my own eye, I saw the world as I always had: the trees, the ground, the sky. Through the Eye, I saw the rest of the world that lay within: Light, energy, and secrets. Magic.
And life.
I looked down at Lachlan. As I saw him, so, too, now, did I see the essence of him. His life force. It pulsed like blood through his veins, a bright, cheerful red.
But it seeped out, too, through the hole in his stomach. I looked, and as I saw that light bleed into the ground, what I really saw was him dying. His soul, sinking into thin grass, mixing with the life that surrounded us.
Except . . . I looked closer. And I saw, trailing away from him through the dirt, a barely visible thread, so thin, so faint, I almost wasn’t sure it was there. But it was. And it led down the path, toward Carlow.
“Pick him up,” I said to the others. “We have to hurry.”
Meriel was practically apoplectic. She’d been saying that for the last twenty minutes. “Where are we going?”
“To save Lachlan’s life.”
“How?”
I looked at the trail, as it led off into the distance. And I told them the truth.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But whatever it is, it’s that way.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It takes a lot of magic to put a book together. I’d like to say thank you to the following wizards:
To Jenny Bak, Lynne Missen, Daniel Lazar, and Suri Rosen, all of whom offered insights that made this story immeasurably better.
To Ken Wright, Mia Alberro, Miranda Shulman, Krista Ahlberg, Amber Williams, Theresa Evangelista, Lucia Baez, Brianna Lockhart, Lauren Festa, Tessa Meischeid, Michelle Millet, Delia Maria Davis, Vikki VanSickle, and Sam Devotta at Viking, Penguin Random House, and Penguin Random House Canada.
To Cecilia de la Campa, Torie Doherty-Munro, and Alessandra Birch at Writers House.
To Edel Bhreathnach, and to the monks at Glenstal Abbey for their linguistic assistance.
And finally, to you, dear reader: thank you for helping Cal and his friends pull this gaff. But the job ain’t done yet . . .
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Since escaping from university with a pair of degrees in theoretical physics, Kevin Sands has worked as a researcher, a business consultant, a teacher, and a professional poker player. He lives in Ontario, Canada. He is the author of the bestselling Blackthorn Key series.
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