roll my eyes at no one, and because the red stone does absolutely
nothing, I throw it back into my bag. I readjust my harness, the wet
leather cold on my skin.
I take a precarious step on the grass, hoping it doesn’t give
beneath me. The ground is solid, the grass dewy, like it rained not
too long ago though there isn’t a single cloud in the sky.
I wait for the call of birds, the whisper of insects, the rustle
of hooves behind bushes. Something, anything that would let me know I
am not alone in this place.
But I am alone, with only the trail ahead of me, a clear dirt path
leading inland.
With every step I take, I wish for the familiar sound of Brooklyn
sirens-the ambulance kind, not the magical kind-blaring down Surf
Avenue.
I use my dagger to hack off a branch. In two strikes, the wood
breaks and falls at my feet. Shimmering liquid seeps from the wound
like honey. I let it fall on my open palm and it spills until the bark
starts to heal itself, and slowly, the limb shows the tiniest sign of
growth.
The branch at my feet has lost the color of the tree it was a part
of. The leaves wither instantly and I slice off the bark so it feels
like I’m holding a super long bone. A smile pulls at my mouth when I
think of what my friends back home would say of my oversized staff.
Then I keep walking, periodically hitting my staff between bushes to
check for wildlife or anything else that might be looming in the
shadows.
I walk.
And walk.
And wait.
And think. Maybe I should go back and search for my friends. Maybe
I’m on the wrong island shrouded by magical mist. What if Kai and
Brendan are still out there? No, they’d want me to keep going. What if
Arion is dead and washed away to surf and tiny bits of flesh? Why
don’t we leave our whole selves behind? Why do we become nothing?
My head snaps up when I hear the rush of water. There’s a
waterfall nearby and waterfalls mean rivers. So then where the hell is
the River Clan?
The waterfall is a spill of sunset colors. I scoop some water in
my hands. It smells of the most intangible things, like dreams and
promises. My tongue is as dry as bricks, and my throat raw and
scratched. I drink the water in my palms. I fill up my bottle for
later. I stick my head right into the waterfall, the weight of it
pushing down and beating over my head. I let myself sink down on the
slick boulders, and when I move my hands to push my hair back, I’m
surprised at the stubble and remember that it’s gone.
When my skin begins to feel numb, I make my way back to my
backpack and freeze. I can feel something or someone watching me. I
hold out my dagger and wade toward the bank. A panic floods me when I
start wondering what kind of creatures live on this plane. I’ve seen
shapeshifters and dragons and manic, crazy-ass split-tailed mermaids,
so why not a ten-headed bear with a unicorn horn?
“I know you’re there,” I say.
Then I notice the strange ripples on the bank. Tiny frog-like
creatures tinkle like glass when they hop. One of them breaks from the
pack and lands in the water in front of me. I scoop it up. Its strange
rubbery skin tickles. It stares at me, like it wonders who I am and
what I’m doing here. I can see its insides, the tiny heart and lungs,
and whatever fly it just ate. It ribbits then jumps back into the
water. So much for my multiheaded unicorn bear.
But there’s still a lot of land that I haven’t seen and I don’t
know what’s waiting for me there. For all I know, I’m not headed in
the right direction. For all I know, everyone I know is dead and I’m
never going to find the River Clan or get out of this place. My watch
is dead at 11:53 a.m. and the white sun and purple moon haven’t moved
an inch, but it’s still getting dark. Maybe there’s a dimmer switch
somewhere.
When I realize I’m talking to myself, a wet splash catches my
attention. A fish, long and large like salmon but with rainbow-colored
scales, floats on the stream. Bubbles trail out of its gaping mouth.
The eye is the size of a quarter. It’s dead. It had to come from up
there in the waterfall because it surely didn’t fall from the nearby
trees.
“Great,” I say, holding it across my palms. “I’m making the fish
suicidal.”
This is so fucked up but I’m hungry. I should have eaten when Blue
offered, and the guilt is a knot in my stomach.
I pick a spot inside the first line of trees where the spray from
the waterfall doesn’t hit and a row of boulders make a natural
fortress. Inside this forest, I stand and look up at the canopy. The
trees go up for what feels like miles, hiding the bipolar sky.
Okay, you got this. For a fire, you need some wood. I didn’t come
all this way to freeze and starve to death on an island outside of
time. The leaves are still damp, which will prove the most difficult.
I lay my fish on a flat stone the size of a dinner plate. A real
merman would sink his teeth into the fish, but I’ve never been a fan
of sushi. I gather large rocks and make a ring around my pile of
sticks.
I stare at my fish.
I stare at my rocks.
I have this sinking feeling of inadequacy.
And then I grab my scepter and hold it by the hilt, pointing it at
my unlit fire pit. I search for the spark, the power, the thing that
has made me special for the last couple of days, and it isn’t there.
When Kai said unstable, I didn’t think that would apply to my big,
ancient weapon. It was working just fine when I fought with Kurt-
“Why are you doing this to me now?” I ask it.
Then I throw it on the ground.
I grab my backpack and fling it away from me, the contents
spilling over fallen leaves and wet moss.
I take a swing at the tree.
What the fuck has this tree ever done to me?
Nothing.
But I hit it again. It hurts like hell. But this is the kind of
pain that I can take. I hit it again and picture Kurt’s face. Nieve.
Archer.
Warm blood trickles down my hand and wraps around my wrist. I
picture my grandfather, the king-his face that looks just like mine.
My eyes. My mother’s eyes. Everything he told me was a lie. He didn’t
choose me because he wanted to. He chose me because he couldn’t choose
Kurt. Instead, he made Kurt my guardian. Some guardian he turned out
to be.
I’m spent. And I can’t feel my hand. The tree is untouched,
unhurt. The bark is red with my blood.
I can’t uncurl my fingers. Shaking, I go back to the water and
wash my wound.
I go back to my camp and retrieve my things. I hold the red stone,
wondering why Shelly would want me to have this. She must have known I
would need it. I rub it, feeling stupid at the thought that it’ll
produce a genie. Instead of a cloud of smoke that grants me wishes, I
feel its heat. I strike it against a stone on my fire pit and there it
is-the spark. I strike it again, and the spark turns into a flame.
My non-cut-up, non-bruised good hand is on fire.
I drop the flaming stone into the fire pit and make a second trip
to the waterfall. The breeze carries a strange sound with it-soft
laughter. I concentrate on singling it out, but there’s still no one.
I settle on the fact that the breeze is alive and laughing at me.
I can feel the dregs of the healing water from the springs of
Eternity healing my burn. The water here doesn’t heal instantly the
way the water from the Springs did. And the last bits that I drank
before the battle seem to be exhausted. That’s the end of Eternity.
Back at my camp, I take Triton’s dagger and scale the fish, as