It read like a storybook. There were characters, a narrative, love interests, and the history of kingdoms Jo had never heard of but could tell the author expected the reader to already be familiar with. As a result of this format, Jo could clearly draw a picture of the Age of Magic in her mind.
She could see the dense primordial forests that seemed to shimmer with fogs made up of starlight and magic. She could see the homes of the elves, bleached and offset with fantastical fabrics and decorative windows. Everything was so clear to her, it was as if she was remembering, rather than reading it in a storybook.
As impressive as all that was, Jo continued to find it unhelpful. The story boiled down to a simple structure: a war of gods, a dangerous weapon, and the gifting of it for safekeeping until a hero could wield it. Jo ran her fingers over the page, the Elvish script magically making sense before her eyes even if its true meaning remained hidden.
Her fingers landed on a single word—arrow. If there was one word that was repeated more than any other in the book, it was this one. It felt significant, real to her in a way that even transcended the deep knowing of the story’s setting and characters. There was an echo of something deep in her that grabbed hold of it and made her eyes stick every time they landed on it.
It hit Jo all at once. She snapped the book closed, stashed it under her chair, and headed back the way she came. She passed by Eslar’s door, pausing for just a brief moment. Had he intended her to draw these connections all along?
She was giving him too much credit. If he had wanted to help her, he would’ve helped her—not sent her on some cryptic wild goose chase. Jo continued on her way, unable to contain a chastising “tsk” for the elf’s bad behavior.
Once more, Samson was startled to see her, but at least he wasn’t agitated by her presence—a key step up from Eslar.
“Hello again, Jo.”
“Hey, there’s something I wanted to ask you. . . can I come in for just a second?”
“Oh, of course.” For the second time in a day, Samson moved aside for her to enter. However, this time, Jo closed the door behind her. “What is it?”
Jo looked to her right, to the door that led to his bedroom. In there was a smaller worktable and on that worktable was a series of feathers, wood, and metal arrow tips. His name, he had told her once, was Samson Fletcher. Fletcher, for his past profession.
If anyone would know about the arrow, and the Age of Magic, it would be him.
“I was reading a book Eslar gave me.”
“You were reading a book?” She didn't know if the confusion on his face was because of the fact that she was supposed to be working on the wish, or because she was reading a book. Either way, Jo decided to cover her bases.
“Yeah, I know, it's not like me, but this wish has got me really hung up, and I was looking for a distraction for just a minute to clear my head. I tried to go to Eslar himself—” no point in hiding it, she figured “—but he didn't seem to really want to talk.”
“He hasn't been very talkative since. . .” Samson couldn't bring himself to say Nico's name. But it hung heavy enough that she had no illusions as to what was unsaid.
“Yeah, well, after that failed, I picked up the book he gave me. Have you ever read it?”
“Which one?”
Jo felt instantly silly. Eslar had hundreds of books, no doubt, and Samson had had a lot of time with the elf over the years. “It’s a book about a hunter and an arrow. . . It was the arrow that got me thinking, actually. Thinking about you.”
“What about me?”
“Oh, I don't know. . .” She stalled, hoping he would just happen to blurt out the information she needed. He didn't. “I know you were a fletcher before, right?”
“I was.”
“Do you know the story then?”
“I do. I think.” Samson walked over to his worktable. He kept his head down and began tinkering away as he spoke. His words started out strong, but they grew fainter and fainter. “It’s the one about bringing down the goddess, right? Most people from the Age of Magic knew that one.”
“So it was a common story?” Jo asked, eagerly trying to keep the conversation going.
“I guess you could say that.” Samson paused, clearly giving it some thought for the first time. “Most people knew it, at least.”
“Do you know where it came from? Was there any truth to it?”
He looked up, startled.
“No I-I don't, I’m sorry.”
“No, Sam, it’s fine. . . Like I said, I’m a little bit work crazy, I think.” Jo forced a laugh. “Nothing I say is making sense, just ignore me.”
“It's all right.”
“Anyway, I should go back to it.”
“Did you need my help for anything else? Because I. . .” The way his words reached a sudden halt and the long pause had Jo's mind immediately filling in the blank. She remembered what he had said about his magic earlier and the way it wasn't working right.
“No, you’re great, Samson—” She emphasized great. “I should go.”
Once again, she was leaving Samson’s room as abruptly as she came. He wore confusion on his face, but at the very least he didn’t look offended. It seemed like they were all willing to forgive certain lapses in etiquette lately, for the sake of having their privacy.
Jo folded her arms as she started back for the recreation room, thinking over the information Eslar and Samson had given her. There were the pillars worlds were supported on, and the Elvish rituals used to feed them; there was a magical arrow, and the unknown hero destined to wield it . . .
Jo’s mind was so busy processing her conversation with Samson, picking apart every possible conclusion, that she didn't even notice she was on a collision course until it was too late.
One moment she walking with determined strides, and the next she was stumbling, grabbing the wall for support. Instinct had her reaching out, trying to catch the other person before they could tumble due to her complete blindsiding. Her hand closed around a bicep, toned and hard.
Yeah, like she was really about to offer Takako support. The woman could likely break her in two if she wanted.
“I’m sorry,” Jo said hastily. “I was totally gone, I didn't even see you.”
Takako shook her head. “I was looking for you.”
Chapter 12
Wanting In
“You . . . were looking for me?” Jo asked slowly.
There was nothing subtle about the way Takako was studying her—inspecting, more like. The woman may as well have been wearing a sign that said, “I have questions and suspicions.” But Jo didn’t know what the answers to those questions would be yet, and until she did, she was ready to play dumb.
“Yes.”
“How’d things go at the police station?” Jo asked, trying to mask her disappointment at Takako’s presence. She’d been hoping for more time.
“As well as to be expected.” Takako took one step backward, as if to be less imposing. It didn’t work.
Jo’s attempts at small talk were going over about as well as a candle in a typhoon and she looked for a hasty out. “I should get back to working on the wish. . . Unless you needed the rec room for anything?”
“No, I don’t.” Despite saying she had no further business, Takako continued to linger.
“Great.” Jo pulled off her bracelet, ready to retreat into the recreation room.
Takako caught her wrist right as Jo placed her watch on the shelf. She leaned in, dropping her voice to a whisper. Jo had a sense of what the woman was going to say before the words traversed her lips; there was only one explanation for how she was acting. “I know something is up.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jo whispered back.
“Don’t play dumb. I know you and Wayne have something going on right now.”
“Wayne and me?” Jo blinked in surprise.
“Wh—no, no, not like that.” Takako rolled her eyes dramatically and leaned closer. “I kn
ow you’re both hiding something.”
Takako had only spent a few hours with Wayne and it was that obvious. Jo swallowed hard. Game time decision—lie, or bring Takako in on it. She studied the woman’s face, as though the answer would be written somewhere around Takako’s cheeks.
Takako was strong and clearly knew how to keep her mouth shut, given her past profession. She was also newer to the Society, like Jo. If anything, she was likely even less attached to the “this was how its always been” thinking than Wayne, making her a potentially easier-to-gain ally.
“Not here.” Jo glanced down the hall. She had intended to motion to Pan’s door, but her eyes fell on Snow’s.
The last time Jo had spent any time with him was right after Nico’s death, and that whole period was a blur. After the tears had faded and grief set in, Jo didn’t want anyone. It was an ache so deep that she didn’t even want to be consoled about it.
Then there was the wish, not more than a few days later. All of which put her on the track that had led her to where she stood now—a place of secrecy and suspicion. Eventually, she would have to confront Snow. He was the only one who could give her the true answers she sought, or confirm whatever she found. It was too soon, though. She needed to find out more on her own, and face him when she was armed with more surety and knowledge.
“Inside,” Jo whispered, pulling Takako into the recreation room. Jo took a deep breath, wondering where to begin. “I have a plan.”
“Of what kind?”
“I want to bring down the Society.” Jo waited for a reaction. When there was none, she said, “You don’t look surprised.”
Takako tipped her head back, looking at Jo over her lower eyelashes. Even though Takako was shorter than her, she felt taller in that moment—like a teacher assessing a student. Her black eyes betrayed nothing.
“I had a feeling.”
“How?”
“You didn’t think you were the only one angry at the status quo after Nico, do you?”
Jo glanced behind her, confirming her desk chair was there, before falling heavily into it. She laced her fingers, suddenly feeling like this had become a business transaction she hadn’t asked for but definitely wanted.
“I didn’t take you for the type to stand against orders,” Jo confessed.
“I’m a soldier, not a robot.” Takako’s eyes fluttered closed and she gave a soft sigh, the tension in her shoulders easing some. “I’m a soldier by choice, at that. But this fight . . . I was drafted into it. And I don’t know if I can trust the place my orders are coming from anymore.”
“I think Snow is as much of a prisoner as we are.” Jo was a little too eager to rise to his defense.
Takako made a soft humming noise, but didn’t comment on the matter. Instead, she asked, “What’s your plan?”
“I’m still working that out,” Jo confessed. “Wayne is helping buy me time, so I can work on the side.”
“Where are you starting? Give me the debrief of what you have so far.” Tactical. Jo could use a mind like Takako’s. By the moment she was appreciating her decision to let Takako in on her machinations more and more.
“So far, I’m trying to grab information on the Society. I’ve gone and asked Eslar and Samson about some things . . . but my leading theory is that there may be something to the fact that the lore of the Society lingers across the ages.”
“You mean the fact that even when the world is rebuilt, the information about a Wish Granter and circles to summon him lives on?” Takako clarified.
“Exactly.” Jo nodded. “Why? Why does that live on when everything else can get destroyed and rebuilt?”
“Because the Society needs wishes to survive?” Takako surmised.
“Yes, but . . . is it Snow that makes sure it lives on? Or is it something else?” Jo shook her head, not wanting to return the topic to Snow. “Furthermore . . . there’s the Age of Magic.”
“When Eslar and Samson are from.”
“Indeed.” Jo began pulling things up on the computer, pleased to see that her set-up was exactly how she left it. . . including the still-fried monitor. Jo cast a wary eye, but didn’t give it too much attention, as if that would tempt her magic to act out again. “There’s other lore, about gods and mythologies, that has lingered through the ages, like the Society. Well, not quite like the Society. Information on the Society seems to remain in perfect condition. This other lore seems to be fractured while still persisting. I’m thinking maybe there’s something in there.”
“Like what, specifically?” Takako crossed to the futon across from Jo’s desk. She gave a little bounce, pushing on the seat, clearly impressed by its comfort.
“I don’t know yet. It’s still formulating in my head. . .”
Takako folded her hands, resting her elbows on her knees. “If we operate under the assumption that the mythology of the gods persisting has something to do with the Society. . . Then are you saying you think the Society has something to do with these aforementioned gods?”
Demigod, a step up from prince. Jo recalled the words from when Snow had first told her snippets of his history. A demigod was ruling their Society. Demigod. From the Age of Gods. Surely, that was significant.
“Maybe. . .” Jo said slowly. “Maybe I am. Maybe there’s something to lore, memories, divinities, that lingers through the ages even after the Age of Gods.”
“Age of Gods?” Takako arched her eyebrows.
“Oh . . . it came before the Age of Magic.”
“Where Snow is from, then,” Takako said without missing a beat. At Jo’s surprise, she added, “I figured it was a reasonable assumption, given how close you are.”
Jo nodded, turning back to the monitors. She didn’t want to talk about Snow. And yet. . .
“Does he know?”
“What?” Jo’s fingers stilled and she looked over her shoulder as though she’d been caught red-handed.
“Does Snow know what you’re doing?”
“Not yet,” Jo confessed.
“When will you tell him?” Not if, when.
“I don’t know.” Jo shook her head. “I don’t want him to stop me.”
“Good.” Takako leaned back on the couch, giving her an approving stare. “Don’t let him stop you, then.”
“I won’t,” Jo vowed, though she wasn’t sure who she was reassuring.
“All right, then, where shall we begin?”
From there, Jo told Takako everything. Well, almost everything. For some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to mention the desk, or monitor. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Takako; she just wanted more time with her magic, more time to mull it over and figure it out.
Jo wanted more time for everything. But like their watches, time was ticking, a rare and precious thing that they were never going to get back.
BTCOTS NOTES 4
Takako=Genius.
(Find her if short hand doesn’t make sense)
Hachiman (Japanese divinity of Archery & War)
Bow + War blended
Back to Eslar’s book? (God of Hunt, not war there)
Samurai worshiped
“God of Eight Banners” for 8 heavenly banners for a legendary Emperor
Eight banners = first Society reference?
BUT Only 7 lineages. Count snow?
Chapter 13
Nowhere Safe
Jo hadn’t made nearly as much progress as she’d hoped.
Takako had stayed for a good few hours, helping brainstorm and culling through suggestions. But she eventually left, not wanting to arouse suspicions about them spending so much time together in seclusion. Alone, Jo looked through things that she hadn’t told Takako about—namely related to destructive magics. But that was short-lived.
She alternated between seemingly futile research on ancient magics and mythologies, and mind-numbing attempts to understand AI coding that most people spent years—decades—learning.
Her mind felt overwhelmed, every circuit shorted and blacke
ned out from electrical fires she couldn’t find the energy to put out anymore. Her magic, and her own basic knowledge, had made understanding the programming language possible, but utilizing it was another matter entirely. Especially since that wasn’t the only thing on her mind.
By the time Jo finally allowed herself a break, it was morning and fourteen hours straight since she’d last entered the recreation room. She wanted to believe it was her work ethic that had kept her locked away for so long, but she’d be lying to herself if she said that was all.
She wanted to have answers. She was tired of being left in the dark and wanted to emerge triumphant. But she left the rec room as in the dark as her still-broken computer monitor.
The gelatin blob Jo had transformed into oozed out into the hallway.
Everything felt heavy, fuzzy. She shook her head and leaned against the door as she pulled her watch from the shelf. She’d given every bit of energy she’d had and poured it into her research. And for what? Overall, it felt like a whole lot of nothing.
She headed to the kitchen, drawn by the smell of food. Unsurprisingly, it was Samson bustling about. But the sight of him, where it had once brought joy, now filled Jo with a lingering sense of worry.
How was his magic doing?
That worry was edged out by the sight of the full island. Partaking in Samson’s lavish spread was every member of the Society—every chair occupied but two (hers, and Nico’s). Snow was among them, talking casually to Eslar as he picked at the fruit on his plate like a noncommittal bird.
But that wasn’t the biggest shock. The biggest shock was Pan. She sat on the far corner, slowly stirring her coffee with her bright pink straw, chin in the other hand and a little shit-eating grin playing on her lips.