Falling to my knees, I pulled the ornate knife from the sheath at her belt, then pressed a hand to her shoulder. The book, a literal book, had to come out of her. “Still, Josephine. Lie still.”
“It hurts. Please.” Her words were a panic, but her writhing body stilled.
I pushed her blouse up, exposing her back. With a single slash, I cut her flesh from hip to hip. The book, impossibly large, poked out of that slit. I slid my hands under her skin and grasped the book by its sides. It was slick, like the scales of the shantak I’d fought. I refused to let go. Sliding one arm farther under Josephine’s skin almost up to my elbow, I caught the corner of the book. I eased it downward and out from under her skin.
The book resisted, catching on something within my patient’s body. She gasped in pain and clawed at the ground. “Please,” I whispered. I don’t know who or what I begged to help me, but providence heard and the book acquiesced. My hands found purchase and the book slid out of Josephine’s body. At the last moment, it stuck and I yanked as hard as I could. The book released Josephine with an audible pop that she echoed with a moan of relief.
I rocked backward and hit the ground with a hard thump. The book—that had seemed so big—pressed against my body, the size of a bible but only half as thick. I pulled it away from me, expecting to be covered in blood, but the book and my shirt were clean.
She still lay on the ground, panting, laughing, crying. Her back was unmarked and unmarred from what had just happened. Even though I’d cut her and the knife I’d used lay discarded at her side, her tawny-beige skin was smooth. I couldn’t believe it. “Are you well?”
Josephine pushed herself to her knees and brushed the dirt from her clothes in an absent gesture. She twisted around and looked at her back, touching the unblemished skin. Her smile was beatific as she gave another sigh. “I am free. You have freed me.”
I looked down at the book in my arms. Its blank cover now revealed a title in that script that was both so familiar and alien. I could almost understand it. Almost.
She touched my shoulder and offered me a hand up. “I knew I needed you on my journey. Thank you for having the strength I did not.”
I accepted the hand and the compliment as gracefully as I could. While Josephine seemed much more balanced, I felt off kilter. As if I stood on an unseen boat. “Now that I’ve done this, we need to get the book back to its rightful owner.” Josephine did not ask for the book—her duty, her responsibility, her burden—and I did not offer it.
Josephine pointed down the path toward the colorful woods. “Perhaps…perhaps this has pushed my doom farther away.”
I breathed slow breaths. “As soon as we give this back to its owner, we will speak, you and I, of the Black Wind and why you believe it means your death.”
I wanted to talk about the Black Wind, to continue our session, but I couldn’t. Not while I held the book. My mind was too full. I glanced at the book’s cover again. I could almost understand what it spelled out. In the back of my mind, the book whispered, tempting me to open and read it. To understand. To know. To become one with it. I now understood the real reason Josephine read the book.
I resisted its temptation with years of study instead of play, years of discipline instead of whim, years of refusing immediate gratification in order to gain my heart’s future desire. Still, the book called to me even though I knew that path was madness.
I didn’t know how long I could resist its whispered pleas. Here, in my hands, was true magic. I was curious. So very curious.
Chapter 10
There are moments when action becomes instinct and instinct becomes action. Without knowing how or why, you intuit what you need to do and you do it. There is neither thought to consequences nor thought to retribution. There is the obstacle and an epiphany regarding what needs to occur. It is only after the deed is done that you can reflect upon your actions and determine if they were correct or not. For me, these moments are rare. I both adore and loathe them.
Josephine walked with a light step ahead of me. I let her lead the way as I silently recited poems, quotes, and lectures to keep the whispers at bay. All the while, she chattered as if at a social tea. I listened as close as I could and responded when I could utter the appropriate words. There were only so many things I could do at once.
“This has always been one of my favorite places in the Dreamlands. Ever since I was a little girl. This is where I met Malachi and Luke and Mimi and Playful and so many others. The valley is safe. That is why it exists. The danger comes from traveling to or from it. That is when things happen. At the transitions.”
Josephine’s voice had taken on an earnest, childlike quality. As if she were regressing to childhood. I worried. Now, I carried her duty and burden because I needed to. Would I be able to get her to take responsibility for herself once more? There is a freedom in handing one’s life over to another in authority. Especially after you have experienced the heaviness of duty and adulthood.
Especially one as heavy as the book I carried. I pulled it from me to look at the incomprehensible writing on its front again and was surprised that I could read it. The Glyphs of the Eltdown Shards and the Binding Language. There was no author listed. Just the title.
I was learning by osmosis. This realization kept me from opening the book to look for the name of the author. I’d never encountered a book that was dangerous to hold. Then again, I’d never traveled to another world before. It was strange how calm I felt now that I’d accepted the impossible.
Hugging the book once more, I looked to my surroundings. We’d entered the forest, its huge trees towering cathedral-like above us. Leaves crunched underfoot, but the dirt path was clear of debris. It wove its way through the trees toward a building in the distance.
“Is that the Red House?” My heart sped up and hope flooded through me. There was an end to the journey.
“Yes. Mimi should be there.”
“Who’s Mimi?”
Josephine paused, tilting her head. “Oh! Mimi is my friend. The one who gave me the book. She will know what to do now.”
As one, we hurried our steps, all but running toward the house in the distance. Around one large tree, the path became a straight line and I could see why the building was called the Red House.
Sitting in the center of a small glade, the house had red walls and white trim around the doors, windows, and eaves. The roof was covered in slate grey tiles that reflected the red-tinted sunlight that shone down upon it through the trees. If the forest were a cathedral, this was its chancel. Was an altar within? Outside, sitting on the wide, white porch, was an old woman. She watched us come without a sound. Only the rocking of her chair told me she was alive.
Josephine ran ahead. “Mimi! Mimi! I made it back.”
I slowed my steps to watch Mimi and Josephine meet, not wanting to interrupt. Their voices carried as if I were next to them.
Mimi stood and embraced Josephine. “So you did.” She held Josephine at arm’s length. “You’ve grown, girl. But not as much as I had expected.”
Josephine touched Mimi’s greying hair. “What happened? Why…why are you so old?”
“It’s been years…decades…for me here. I’ve been waiting. Time passes differently in the Dreamlands. You should remember that.”
My heart and my feet stuttered to a stop. This was something I hadn’t known or considered. How much time had passed back in my world? Josephine’s next words soothed my worry.
“But, it’s only been a couple of weeks. How could it have been so long for you?”