“Don’t push me, thief. Should my hunger return, I doubt I could resist. But the blood pact is a sacred oath, more binding than gold or silver. Failing one is the reason I am here, and I do not intend to return soon.”
Whitney took the knife, sticking his tongue out as he wiped the blade. “What happens after?”
“You trust me, as Darkings did.”
“You. An upyr. You’re growing on me, but I’m not sure I’m there yet. Here is one thing, but back home?”
“You gave me six years of sunlight and peaceful dreams when you could have turned this place into madness incarnate. You pulled me out of the water when you could have left me for Dakel.”
“Six years!” Whitney threw his arms into the air. “Six years I’ve been waiting for a thank you. Man, was that worth it. Sora, you can let me out now!” he shouted to the sky.
Kazimir wasn’t amused. “It is my only offer, thief.”
“Ah, screw it.” Whitney drew the faintest line of red in the center of his hand. “I’ve always wondered what it felt like for her anyway.” He clasped Kazimir’s hand and felt nothing. He wasn’t sure why he was expecting some rush of energy.
“That’s it?” Whitney asked. “No sacred words or prayers? Torsten had a million.”
“The blood says all.”
“Well, speaking of wastes of time. I’m going to go see to my map before I do something stupid and ruin your good time.” He downed his ale and tossed it into the well, listening as it clanged off the walls then splashed. "Perhaps tonight's the night I get out.”
Kazimir nodded to him, then returned to staring up at the night sky. “Perhaps indeed.”
“Fare thee well, fair upyr,” Whitney hollered. “I hope I never see you again!" He bowed, spun on his heels, and headed down the road. Pillars of smoke rose from all the chimneys in the peaceful little town.
“Goodnight, Father Torsten!” Whitney called out as he passed by the ruined church. The out-of-place priest didn’t even acknowledge him.
He said hello to a few more townsfolk on his way home. They were people whose names he’d never even bothered to learn growing up, but now he knew every soul in Troborough. He knew how long they’d been there. Hell, he knew what most of them had in their homes as he’d been invited into plenty. Nothing worth stealing, that was for sure.
He paused by the gate into the Fierstown farm. Lauryn was out front, hanging up some clothes to dry. He wasn’t sure why Rocco was always so rude about her weight. Sure, she wasn’t a beauty like the Queen of Glass, but she would make this Hamm a lucky man if he ever grew the courage to ask her out.
She acknowledged him, and he her, then he continued on. Around the back of their land stood the small cottage he’d built for himself shortly after Rocco died, when things got too somber for his taste. Lauryn crying, Young Whitney making things worse—Whitney couldn’t concentrate on his nighttime activities without quiet.
The cottage was shoddy, slightly crooked, with gaps between every plank. The roof was perfectly set—he’d had plenty of practice—but that was about it. Still, as he opened the creaky door, there was no denying it was one of his favorite possessions he’d ever had, honest or stolen.
The table wilted to one side. He owned only a single chair, and while most of the home was hand-built, he’d admittedly bought it from Lauryn. After the stress of helping construct Rocco’s wheeling chair, he was done with chairs. The whole place was one room, though, he never had guests.
“All right, where should we check tonight?” he asked himself as if anyone was listening. He lit a candle, then looked at his pantry which was mysteriously unlocked. He nudged open the doors with his foot. He never kept any food inside, only his map which wasn’t there.
“What the…” He placed the candle down and scoured the tiny compartment, looking under shelves. “No…no…no…” He even lifted the loose floorboard he hadn’t bothered fixing. “No, don’t do this!”
His map was gone.
XXIX
THE MYSTIC
Fading into sleep and waking in a new place was becoming a feeling all too common to Sora. She lay upon something soft and could feel Aquira breathing softly on her lap, her warm body making Sora sweat. Sora guessed she was in her quarters. Her eyelids protested movement, so she stared at their insides, a soft pink glow shining through and no shadows of movement. She was alone.
She’d dreamed of Whitney, of the voice she’d heard in Elsewhere twice now, and was more convinced than ever that he was alive and lost in that realm. She remembered the desperation in his voice, calling out to her. He would have to hold tight until she figured out how to access Elsewhere without sacrificing some poor orphan child.
Stirring slightly, she stopped as she heard two others outside her door speaking in hushed tones. She couldn’t see them, but she’d begun to notice a chilling sensation whenever the spectral mystics were around. And despite Aquira’s warmth, her feet were cold.
Sora focused on listening to them even though her head was foggy. “She’s not ready,” the voice said, unmistakably Madam Aihara Na.
“She summoned fire in a day without blood,” Madam Jaya replied. “Healed a fatal wound in herself. Nobody has done that so quickly since—”
“I’m aware. She also couldn’t help herself from healing Kai while weakened, when he was in no danger of dying. She could have killed herself, just like...”
“But she didn’t. You always say that time is short, that the age of the Glass is coming to an end. We can’t rebuild our Order in this state, you know that. We are too weak to instruct through example; our bodies too close to leaving this plane for good.”
“Patience, dear Jaya. You preach it to her, and forget it yourself.”
“You are wise as always Master, but excuse me for saying this: I think your fading essence has made you blind to see the risks if we are not honest with her. She’s headstrong, impetuous. She's already seen and done too much, more than ever we thought she would when she was sent to hiding.”
“She asks too many questions, just like someone else I knew.”
“And if we hold back, we risk driving her away. Not in my lifetime has there been one so strong in her bond with Elsewhere. She should understand why she is here, who she is—should have the same knowledge as the rest of us.”
“You know the risks of showing her the truth. In her past lies clarity, but also the knowledge to open Elsewhere, in which she’s displayed far too much curiosity. She’s still too considerate. Too stuck on the foolish idea that she can save everyone, and I can see it in her heart, that extends to those who are lost.”
“But Ancient One—”
“Enough,” Aihara Na said sternly. “We cannot risk a breaching of our realm. Not when there are those so desperate to break free. You heard who Sora saw within, and she is not strong enough to withstand it.”
“Then perhaps just something. Not the full truth, but at least who her mother was.”
“I will meditate on it, Jaya. For now, continue training her with the bar guai once she is rested. Only when she masters the basic elemental magic held within the runes will I consider showing her the true breadth of her ability.”
“Yes, Ancient one.”
There were no retreating footsteps, but Sora took the silence to mean that they were gone. It took all her willpower to stay quiet when they mentioned her mother. All of a sudden, everything that had come to pass since she and Whitney left Yarrington felt worth it. She’d wanted to travel to Yaolin City to figure out who she was, and apparently, the real answers were far below her in the Well of Wisdom. And not just that, but the secrets to opening Elsewhere.
All she had to do was stay quiet and train with her new masters until they thought she was ready—masters who’d lived for centuries and grown indifferent to human emotion. It could be years; years of Whitney lost in Elsewhere with Kazimir until he went insane or the upyr killed him, if that was even possible there. The Whitney she knew couldn’t very well avoid eith
er for too long.
“Aquira,” Sora whispered. “Aquira, wake up.”
The wyvern’s yellow eyes peeled open from beneath her two sets of eyelids, and she hopped across Sora’s chest to lick her face.
“I’m fine, girl,” Sora said. She sat up. Moving her head made her woozy. She reached up and didn’t feel a bandage, but it was clear she’d hit her head hard. Either her masters couldn’t mend the pain within her rattled skull, or they chose to leave it as a reminder of how impulsive Sora had been.
And if they were going to hold back from her, it was time she proved them correct. It was what Whitney would do. If she was going to save him, it was time to do more than just think like him. She needed to start acting like him.
“Aquira, how would you feel about going on another adventure?” Sora asked.
The wyvern screeched.
“Yeah, I know, me too.” She tossed the covers and slid her feet off the side of her bed. She had to take a moment to settle her head, then stood. She looked down, pleased that the intrusive mystics hadn’t undressed her at the very least. She gathered her belt, and this time hooked her knife to it. Just in case.
Aquira swooped in front of her, landing on the dresser, then released a throaty clicking noise.
“Don’t worry, girl. I’m not going to fight them,” Sora said. “You heard them; they think I’m special, which means even if they catch me, they won’t hurt me... I hope.”
Aquira’s head and tail drooped.
“I may fit in here, finally, but I have to take the risk. It’s the least he deserves.” She straightened her kimono and made sure her knife was secure. Her fingertips brushed the bar guai. Madam Jaya had been relatively kind to her and she hated to disappoint anyone. But she’d stood idly and watched after Aihara Na cut Sora’s arm open and left her to bleed out, while Aihara Na pretended to sacrifice an orphan simply to make a point.
“Maybe I was meant to be more than some orphan blood mage,” Sora said to Aquira. “But if it means becoming like her, maybe I don’t want to.”
She extended her arm for Aquira, then noticed the bumpy scar running up her wrist from where Aihara cut her. Evidently, she hadn’t healed herself enough to get rid of it. Before Aquira hopped up to her shoulder, she decided she’d keep this scar and never feel self-conscious. This one wasn’t like the others.
She stopped at the door and glanced up at her friend on her shoulder. “I’m glad you’re still with me, Aquira,” she said. “Tayvada would have been proud, no matter what they claim he wanted.” She nestled her cheek against Aquira, and then they strode out into the hall.
Through the windows along the spiral stairs, she could see the colorful smoke settling over the lake from the all the fireworks during the weeklong Festival of Ghosts. She had figured them magic, but now in the daylight, she realized that they came from boats sitting on the lake, shot out of strange tubes.
Not magic at all.
Above it all, she could see the pale silhouettes of Pantego’s moons in the blue sky, inching closer toward covering the sun and reminding Sora of what this night meant in the Glass Kingdom. The Dawning. She’d forgotten that the Gyuan Jie ended at the same time. Forgotten entirely that the Dawning was coming, she’d so lost track of time.
“Ah, Miss Sora.”
She whipped around, looking as guilty as one could possibly look even though she only descended stairs. A mystic she hadn’t met—or rather whose face she hadn’t yet seen from under drawn hoods—stood before her, his face dignified and eyes distant. He appeared far older than Madam Jaya, his cheeks pockmarked from age, and his hair a wispy tuft of gray on top of a pointed skull.
“My apologies for startling you,” he said, bowing.
“That’s all right, Master…”
“Huyshi,” he said. “I am glad to see you are feeling better.”
“I am, thank you.” She lowered her foot to the next step, and he walked beside her. She kept a brisk pace that didn’t appear to tire him in the slightest.
“Training is never easy, but I would not presume to know what you’re going through. It is unique for you as it was for us all.”
“Did they stab you?”
“I can’t heal. Never could. Even with the bar guai,” he pointed to her chest. “I went to drastic measures to try and learn, but it’s not for all of us to play with matters of life and death.”
He wiggled his sleeve, and out of the corner of her eye, Sora noticed his left arm ended at a stump above his bicep. She slowed. She’d been in such a rush she wasn’t sure how she’d missed it.
“They did that to you?” she asked, incredulous.
“Gods no. I cut this limb to pieces trying to find the power, it got infected, and I had to go to a human physician in Yarrington—of all places—to have it properly amputated. Now, I keep it as a reminder that we are not invincible.”
“Sometimes it doesn’t feel like that.”
“I understand that better than most.” He stopped at a landing, and Sora found herself stopping with him. He didn’t have a kind face, but he did his best to force an unnatural smile. “I didn’t find this place and start training until I was sixty years old. It has been a century since, and I remain one of the weakest ever to sit upon the Council. But we are all that remains. Stay the course, Sora. Learn all you can.”
He extended his only hand and lay it over Sora’s bar guai. She found his presence so comforting that she didn’t fight it, and Aquira didn’t even growl. He closed his eyes and inhaled. “The gods’ Gift is strong in you. I know it is difficult, but you will rule this place. You will help usher in a new age of mystics, and we old, soulless leeches will fade into the mist.”
“You truly believe that?” Sora asked.
“The Well of Wisdom shows what has been and what might come to pass. The future is in constant motion, but we have seen great things for you. Great things.”
“What if I don’t want greatness?”
“Those who reach such heights rarely do.” He opened his eyes. “For now, keep growing, learning. Madam Jaya awaits you in the training room. She taught me everything I know about the mystic arts. I resisted too hard because I looked twice her age, but you’re in good hands. She has two of them at least.” He smiled, then turned and strolled down the hallway onto whatever level of the tower they were on.
His words gave her pause. All her life, she’d felt like she never belonged, yet here, everyone seemed to have been waiting a lifetime for her to arrive. Can I really just throw that all away?
“I have to,” she said, more to herself than Aquira. “For Whitney.”
She continued down the stairs until she reached the common area. The servants were inside preparing supper. She noticed Kai among them, carrying a sack of flour to the back room, in perfect health.
She pressed on before he turned and noticed her watching. She passed by the training room. Madam Jaya sat legs folded in the center, meditating, looking as if she were floating within an all-white sea.
There were no guards to keep her from the glowing door of the Well of Wisdom at the bottom of the stairwell. She peeked around the corner and didn’t spot any of the mystics either. They trusted her, or they trusted that their gate could not be breached.
“Okay Aquira, here we go,” she said.
The wyvern screeched.
Sora stepped before the great stone doors, large enough to allow a giant passage if one of their kind could even become a mystic. “Aquira, watch the stairs and screech if you spy anyone,” Sora said.
The wyvern chirped, then pushed off her shoulder and landed on the railing. She stared intently upward, never letting her sight waver.
Sora tried waving her hand at the door as she’d seen Aihara Na do. As expected, it failed. So, she pressed her palms against the cold stone, hoping to feel something. Nothing.
She looked within as Madam Jaya had taught her, found nothing still. She lay her ear against the surface and heard nothing.
She sighed. “There
has to be a way.” She started to pace in front of it, thinking about every word the mystics had spoken to her from the moment she met Aihara Na. She knew there had to be a hint somewhere. “Think, Sora. Think.”
She ran through the events of the last few days in her mind over and over. Lord Bokeo was the gatekeeper, but that didn’t seem to mean this gate, only introduction to the Secret Council itself. Still, she kept going back to him. Tayvada, Aquira, all the things that had been placed in her path to lead her here.
“Tsu shensughu ywen zhun tahuet feng yaris tsu weyong ywen hou,” she said aloud, her eyes going wide. Those were the first words she’d spoken in Panpingese during the vision Aihara Na gave her. “’The spirit of the gods is found in the one with the will of fire.’”
“Aquira,” she spoke with vigor, finding that raging inferno within. At the same time, Aquira returned to her shoulder and stared into her eyes. It broke her concentration, and she was about to tell the wyvern to return to the stairs when she recognized the coincidence.
“Together?” she said. Aquira bobbed her frilly head. “Okay.” She spoke the wyvern’s name again, louder this time, and the rune in her chest began to glow. The flame danced up her arms, and she extended both palms to focus it into the center of the doors as a stream like liquid, molten lava. She could feel the sweltering heat against her face. Aquira growled, then blew fire into the same spot.
In her mind, she brought herself back to all those memories of fire, both of pain and triumph. She saw herself defeating Redstar, razing Winde Port to the ground, and in the midst of that, saving Torsten from Muskigo’s wrath. She saw Troborough on fire, with her too late to save it or Wetzel. And she recalled how it led her back to Whitney.
She didn’t just think about those moments, she traveled there. She could literally taste the ash on her tongue; feel it brushing against her shins, great gusts of wind blowing hot against her. And as she did, her chest stung, the pain excruciating. The rune in her bar guai she’d come to understand as fire, grew so bright, that between it and the dual streams of flame, she couldn’t see anything when she opened her eyes.
The Redstar Rising Trilogy Page 107
