Lucia did me the favor of remaining quiet for a few moments, as if seriously considering my questions. A lesser friend would have chuckled at my rapid-fire questions and immediately reassured me that my fears were unfounded.
“I don’t know all the answers you seek,” she said. “But Matu assured me Vené had no ill will toward us.”
“But—”
“Either way,” Lucia continued, “It will do no good to fret over him. Either he will take us to Nyth, or he will not.” She sat with me a while longer, and then she ushered me into the carriage.
Vené had taken the cushions from the benches and formed them into a mattress on the floor. A thick blanket lay over the top. Lucia made sure I was snug before closing the door. Another click told me that she’d locked it.
I lay awake for a long time, thinking about her words. Either he will take us to Nyth, or he will not. I appreciated her candor, but it only tightened the knot in my stomach.
#
Grandmother’s voice wraps around me, whispering my name. I jolt awake, blinking to find my bearings. My farmhouse bedroom comes into view, and Grandmother beckons to me from the doorway. In her hand she bears a flickering candle. Before I leap from bed, she moves down the hallway.
The light goes with her, casting pools of fire against the wooden planks. She pauses for nothing as she exits the house through the back door. She practically skips down the steps and continues into the large garden behind our house. I follow quickly, my breath steaming before me in the chill of the night.
“Grandmother,” I call. “Where are we going?”
She neither answers nor turns. Her purpose seems to be singular, and it’s to flee. The candle gutters in the wind, and Grandmother cautiously cups her hand around it. I follow her for what feels like miles. My legs are younger and stronger, and I should be able to keep up. But I find myself falling further and further behind.
When I can take it no longer, I call, “Grandmother! Can we not rest?”
She continues on without so much as a backward glance. I press on after her until my foot comes down on something sharp. I cry out, expecting Grandmother to come running to see what has happened. She doesn’t. She’s so far ahead of me now that the candle provides no light.
I look down at my foot and gasp. My blood pulses from my body, lighting the sky with a beat of crimson every second. I stumble backward as if I can escape my own limb.
I recognize the light surrounding me, bleeding from me as song-magic. Every step I take will leave a magical imprint behind. My trail will be easy for the hunters to follow.
“Come, Echo,” Grandmother whispers, and I jump to my feet, expecting the pain to come now that the shock has faded. It doesn’t, and I take a tentative step. The blood-light is gone and so is the wound. I marvel at it as I sprint after my grandmother.
We march for days, through grasslands, past the city walls of Umon, and into the southern hills. The candle never burns out. Grandmother never stops; in fact she seems to gain strength the further we go. But I’m tired beyond words. We board a ship with violet sails and begin to cross waters so wide that I cannot see the other side.
A power calls to me, an ancient strength I recognize. The magicians of Relina, their songs and authority stemming from ages past, send their influence reverberating through the sky, which lightens the further we go. It turns from navy to eggplant. This magic feels like home, like a warm blanket on a cold night.
When we dock on the sandy shores of a jungle land, a man waits to greet us. “Ski’i,” he says to my grandmother, who suddenly looks forty years younger. “Welcome home to the land of your birth.”
Grandmother weeps and steps onto the sand. She embraces Grandfather and together they journey up the beach without me. I scramble after them, sure they’ve forgotten to include me due to the joy of their reunion. The sand gives way to brush and trees as they walk arm in arm.
Eventually they come to a village hidden among the towering trees. They weave through the structures, neither looking right nor left. The largest dwelling bears a doorknocker of exquisite gold, and the door looks as though it will break from the pressure of pure magic contained behind it. There is no doorknob.
Grandfather knocks on the door, his hand pale in comparison to the brightness of the gold. The door creaks open, and he and Grandmother’s faces are bathed in the most beautiful light. Soft and pale pink, it welcomes them with a song of gladness. They step into the rosy light and vanish from my sight.
I blink away the spots in my vision only to find the door closed and the magic gone. I run toward it and pound my fists against the wood. It isn’t so brittle now, and I cannot produce even so much as a dent.
I sob against the door, unwilling to accept that Grandmother led me to her native land of Relina only to forget me the moment she arrived.
Her voice whispers my name, and I silence my crying.
“Echo, you must unlock the door,” she says. “Use the key.”
“What key?” Rising desperation threatens to unseat me again. A shape forms to my right, and I spin toward it. “Mother.” She turns and races into the hulking trees, disappearing as fast as she came. In her place, a man forms. My father.
People I have only seen in paintings and envisioned through stories haunt me. Surely this place has turned me mad. That, or my exhaustion from following Grandmother for so many days without rest conjures illusions. I shake my head to rid it of such things.
“Unlock the door,” Grandmother whispers again, her voice more urgent than before. The smell of smoke joins her voice, singeing my nose and causing me to shrink against the door.
“I cannot,” I cry to the indigo sky. “There is no doorknob. I have no key!” The crackle and snap of flames meets my ears. The fire advances quickly, devouring the trees and houses in the village. Smoke clouds reason. Do I even own a key?
“Relina is a magical land,” Grandmother says over the roar of the flames. “Unlock the door.”
Heat assaults me. Smoke chokes my throat, and I cannot sing the spell I need to splinter the lock. The door behind me is solid; solid, and without a doorknob.
“Echo,” Grandmother cries now. “Unlock the door!”
#
I sat up, my heart beating wildly against my throat, Grandmother’s words lodged in my mind. Only a moment passed before I realized I was living in the nightmare I’d just experienced. My next breath filled my lungs with thick smoke, while the edges of the carriage felt like liquid fire.
I lunged for the door, burning my hands as I gripped the latch. It wouldn’t swing; Lucia had locked it. Grandmother’s plea made sense now.
Unlock the door.
But I had no key.
Relina is a magical land.
I sang a low note, weaving it into a higher melody. An unbinding spell. The door latch lowered, and I tumbled out of the carriage just as the bottom fell through and fire licked inside. The air outside was clouded with smoke so dense I couldn’t see my hand in front of me. I pressed my cheek to the grass and took a cool breath.
When I opened my eyes, I stared into the unmoving face of Lucia. Panic etched the lines around her nonblinking eyes, and her mouth stretched open either in surprise or a scream, I couldn’t tell. I clawed my way backward, strong grief singing through me at the sight of her lifeless body. I heard her laughter, saw the excitement on her face at the prospect of dancing at my wedding, remembered the strength of her fingers as we sewed together.
A sob burst from my lips. I took her hand in mine, feeling like I was falling and could not catch myself. “Lucia.”
The threatening pop of fire filled my ears as I composed myself. I certainly couldn’t stay here, and I knew of no song-magic to call back the dead.
I inched toward the tent. Ragged flaps of fabric burned; the rest had deteriorated to ash already. I couldn’t spare time to search for Vené’s body—I wondered if I would even find it.
I wove an enchanting charm—one that would cause the smoke to remai
n longer than usual—with a protective song that would conceal me until I found somewhere safe to hide.
Trembling, and with the soles of my feet feeling raw, I plunged my fist into the earth. I sang under my breath, asking the magic to guide me.
An uncomfortable tug began in my gut and pulled into pain. I twisted on the ground until the strain of magic ceased. I stomach-crawled in the direction the magic had turned my feet, hoping that the seeds of wicked magic Gibson had planted were not ripe enough to influence me.
After an agonizingly long time, I touched the smooth bark of a tree. I staggered to my feet, leaned against the trunk for support, and looked back the way I’d come.
A great inferno reached into the sky. Anything under it was already burned and gone. The tent. The carriage. The food. Lucia. Everything.
I turned and ran into the night.
Thirty-Two
I kept the magic at the back of my throat, never letting it fully settle into my body. It pushed and pulled, directed and corrected as I chased shadows through the forest. I desperately needed something to eat to replenish my strength, and a soft bed sounded wonderful.
But I had neither, and if I valued my life, I couldn’t pause to lament such luxuries. My bare feet stung, but I didn’t slow my pace. I imagined myself leaving magical footprints, the same way I had in the dream. I realized the dream depicted real-life places, people, events. I remembered the vastness of the magic I’d felt in the land of Relina; it felt as imposing as the High King’s power.
When the day breathed life into the night, I allowed myself to stop. I fell against a thin tree trunk and sank to the ground. I lay there, taking stock of the parts of my body I could feel. My heart pounded in my chest and head, proving I still lived.
My leg muscles knotted and twitched, angry at being abused for such a long time. My back stole the chill from the forest floor as it pressed into the solid ground. My breath steamed into the fall morning. My stomach growled, unhappy it hadn’t been fed properly before this escape.
When my breathing calmed and my heart stopped throbbing, I pushed myself up. Five more paces and I’d emerge into a clearing. I crawled to the edge of the trees and examined the landscape. A patchwork of streams crisscrossed each other, flowing across the clearing away from me and deeper into the forest on the other side. Over there, the trees started out wiry and thin like the ones barely sheltering me now, but they soon grew to become black, needled things that hulked over the land.
I’d heard tales of this place as a child. The river that flowed through Iskadar ran this way, meeting several other tributaries as it continued north. They converged at a place the hunters called The Last Hope, because it was their final chance to find game. Beyond the forest sat a mountain range.
Past the mountains spread the country of Nyth.
#
I stepped lightly with shoeless feet, making hardly a sound. By the time the sun shone overhead, I’d left the rivers far behind and had been winding through the tall pines of the forest between Umon and Nyth for hours. The ground had been inclining steadily for a while now.
I’d thought briefly of breakfast, and I had a vague idea of what would be safe to eat among the forest foliage, but I didn’t stop. I felt an urgent need to get out of my country before another day passed. Though Nyth didn’t seem like a safe haven, right now, it was my only option.
My middle felt painfully hollow as I wandered in the direction my magic took me. I listened to it, like hearing the sighing of the breeze through the trees. The farther I walked, the more nervous I became. I kept telling myself to take one more step, one more step, and I’d find food. Finally, many steps later, I came upon some blueberry bushes. I gathered as many as I could in the apron of my dress, popping them into my mouth as I went.
When I’d eaten my fill from the bushes and had picked as much fruit as I could carry, I turned around to get back on track. I stopped immediately at the sight of another human being.
A man stood between two trees, weaponless but wielding a hard look in my direction. “Princess,” he said, both syllables filled with threats.
I held up my purple-stained fingers, clutching my outer skirts with my other hand. “I’m gathering fruit for the harvest celebration pie.”
“The High King wants you alive, Your Majesty. I won’t hurt you.” But his smile suggested otherwise. The sound of approaching footsteps met my ears as the man turned. I dropped my berries and opened my mouth to song. The man flew backward with the force of the wind I magicked into existence, and I ran. I pushed through the blueberry bushes, running blind in this forest where the trees looked identical.
My muscles could not keep up this pace for much longer. They hadn’t had proper rest, and a few handfuls of blueberries didn’t give me the strength I needed. Using a strong dose of elemental magic only brought me nearer to unconsciousness.
Help me find somewhere to rest, I pleaded, sending my prayer to the skies, to Castillo, to Grandmother, to anyone who might be available to hear. The trees grew right up to a sheer rock wall, and I pivoted toward Nyth and pressed on. I scanned the rocks, high and low, searching for somewhere to hide. My steps slowed; my breath grew ever ragged. Still, I saw nothing that could conceal me from those hunting me.
A sob gathered in my throat as the rock bent slightly east. I followed it, limping now, and spied what looked like a cavern about two thirds of the way up the wall. Quickly, before I could lose my nerve and my shrinking advantage, I chanted an elemental spell and rode the wind up to the ledge to see if I could find shelter there.
I fell to my knees and reached out into the darkness. My fingers met only air, and I scooted forward, searching for the end of this cave. I found the wall and twisted until my back pressed against it. I used my remaining breath to seal the cavern’s entrance and for good measure, I hummed a protective spell with the last of my energy.
Thirty-Three
When I woke, Cris’s welfare weighed heavily on my mind. Despite the reason, I was pleased he was my first thought.
Darkness loomed beyond the entrance to the cavern, and the cold stone cut into my body. My head pounded, and I wished for one of Lucia’s tonics, which only served to remind me that she’d never prepare such things again. I wished for the opportunity to sing her safely into death, wrapped in a comforter of magic and peace.
I dared not leave the cavern in the dark, yet I couldn’t fall asleep again. I spent the remainder of the night wishing I could see the stars, and planning how I could make it to Nyth without food.
The thought of walking made my throat tighten. My power gurgled in my body, almost gone. I wouldn’t be able to perform another spell, no matter how simple. Gradually, the darkness turned gray, and I worked up the strength to force my body to move. I managed to scoot myself to the entrance of the cavern, where I dangled my legs off the edge. The fall would hurt. I might even meet my death in just a few short moments. That, or I’d starve to death in a day or two.
My fingers clutched at the unforgiving rocks. I sucked in a deep breath, and hesitated a moment longer.
A noise I couldn’t quite place met my ears. I slid back into the cavern, took shallow breaths, and exercised all my control to keep my voice from throwing the last dregs of magic into a spell.
The steady clomp of horses’ hooves mingled with the muted footsteps of the stranger. I didn’t possess Matu’s powers; I couldn’t tell who approached or what their intentions were. I hoped they would pass quickly, so I could get onto my death.
The footsteps stopped. I heard nothing for a few seconds. Then a male voice called, “Who’s up there?”
I inhaled and held my breath.
“I can tell you are two breaths from dying,” he said.
“Do you have any food?” My voice scratched against my throat on the way out. I hoped he would have water, too.
“Echo?”
I lunged toward the overhang and peered down. A strange laugh bubbled through my throat. “Matu.”
He
took a pack from the horse and scaled the wall. He peered into my eyes. “It is you.”
“How did you get here? What happened to Cris? Is he all right?” I took in his peculiar riding coat, his whole boots, the bulging pack. My head felt so light, and when I blinked, a white edge formed around my vision.
“You need to eat.” He opened the pack and shifted a few things inside. He handed me something, but when I dropped it, he brought it to my lips with his own hands. “Eat, Echo.”
The meat he offered tasted too salty and took a long time to chew. After that, he made me eat dried apples and then he offered me his canteen of water. With every bite and every passing second, my strength returned. “Tell me what happened to Cris.”
“He and Solis arrived safely in Nyth,” Matu said in his quiet manner. “The High King was most pleased. He sent a search party to look for you. Cris asked me to find you first. He’s most concerned about your safety.”
A surge of fear reminded me that a great deal of my strength had returned. The rumors of hunters with orange eyes ran through my mind.
“I don’t possess the ability to determine their intent,” I said. “But the search party didn’t appear friendly.”
“That they are not,” Matu said.
“How did you come to be here?”
“I’ve been wandering this wood for a couple of days, just moving wherever the magic directed me. I think the horse wondered what in the world I was doing.” He produced a rare smile, and I returned it.
“What happened to you?” he asked. “Where’s Lucia?”
My breath caught in my throat, and I didn’t have to speak for Matu to understand. He placed one hand on my leg. “I know she meant a great deal to you.”
I related my experience with the fire. “I don’t know if we were betrayed. Vené wasn’t there that I could see.”
Matu sighed heavily. “Our drivers were chosen specifically, yet somehow they had both been poisoned in their allegiance. Cris and I didn’t discover Vené’s treachery until we arrived in Nyth.”