The snow flurries onto the wood floor as we stumble into the farmhouse. Jacin lays Aster near the empty hearth, and I hurry to wrap him in his blankets and cloak. I'm elated to see we've managed to keep him dry. The rest of us are soaked. My boots kept my feet dry, but Idyne is in slippers; with the extra weight, Jacin sunk deep into the snow, and water marks his pants up to his thighs; and in the slushy, shifting mess, we all fell several times. I shudder, imagining being in the High Valley mountains for weather like this. It's shockingly difficult to regain your feet in snow without someone pulling you up. There's nothing to push on that doesn't give way. Had any of us been alone, I don't think we would have made it.
"Is there any firewood?" I glance over my shoulder.
"There's that chest," Idyne says.
"And I think there's some in the barn." Jacin slides down the wall, shoulders slumped. His breath fogs in the air while Sean watches him, eyes narrow.
My lips press together as I survey our wet, exhausted group. "I'll go get it."
I start to rise, but Idyne points at Aster. "Stay with him." She starts to head off, but I stop her and tug off my boots.
"Here. At least take these."
She flashes a grateful smile as though I'm the one doing her a favor and heads back into the snow. Soon, we get a fire stoked up, people change clothes, and we settle as much as we can in an empty house. My stomach grumbles, but I ignore it. "We need to set a watch," I say, dripping water past Aster's lips.
"Why?" Jacin, warming his hands at the fire, glances over. "I told you, the townspeople won't come here."
"We can't know that," Sean grumbles, hunched into his coat. "Only an idiot wouldn't keep an eye out."
Jacin bristles. "So are you volunteering to go out in the cold and play watchman?"
Sean barks a laugh. "Exactly how small is your brain?" He stands. "There are windows upstairs."
Jacin's lip curls as he steps forward. Idyne shoots to her feet. "Boys, boys." She shoulders in between them. "No need to get feisty."
Over her head, both men glower.
"Jacin," I call. "Why don't you take first watch. You should have a good view upstairs, and I'm sure the chimney pipes enough heat to make it bearable. We'll switch off."
He glances over at me, and his face softens. "Alright."
"I think we should watch in pairs," Sean says, still eyeing Jacin.
"What, I'm not trustworthy enough?" Jacin steps forward again, running into Idyne's outstretched hand. "If it weren't for me—"
"Yeah, yeah, and we're all real grateful." Sean crosses his arms. "I just think two sets of eyes are better than one. Don't you, Leavi?"
As I open my mouth to object, Idyne says, "Great! It's settled. Now, you two scurry off and try not to get into any trouble." She ushers them out of the room, and grudgingly, they both go.
I look at her wide-eyed. "What was that?"
She shrugs. "If they're going to fight, they're going to fight. Better to do it up there than trampling him." She points at Aster.
My protests die away as I look at his too-still form. His breath barely shakes his chest now. Idyne rocks on her heels. "How is he anyway?"
Back turned to her, I fiddle with the things in my bag, looking vainly for something else to use as a blanket.
"Leavi?"
My lips press together. "Not good."
"Oh." Her voice is quiet. "You think he's...?" Dying. I know that's what she means, but she doesn't quite say it.
"I don't know," I lie. "We'll just have to wait and see." Wait and see how long he clings to the slip of life left in him.
"Oh," she says again.
I'm quiet, watching Aster breathe.
"Well. I guess I'll go get some more firewood..."
She's backing toward the door as I turn around. "Idyne?"
"Yes?"
"Don't you..." I twist my hands in my lap. "Don't you do magic too?"
She hesitates. "I do." Her eyes flick up and to the left. "She is not them. Hush."
"Idyne?" Worry twists in my stomach.
A tight smile brightens her face. "Leavi! Yes, I do magic. But..."
I tense, waiting. No matter if Aster wouldn't want her casting on him, no matter that he doesn't trust her, no matter that I shouldn't either. If she can save Aster, we can sort the rest out as it comes.
Her foot arcs across the wood, and her braids shake a little. "Not that kind of magic."
My breath punches out of my lungs, but I nod, looking down.
"Travel, transformation—" She cuts off, foot sweeping the floor again. "That's more my sort of thing." I can't help but feel she's left something unsaid, but the door slips quickly shut, and I turn back to Aster. The loss of blood has drained the color from his almond skin, and his face is scarily peaceful. He reminds me of the enchanted princes of fairy tales, waiting to be awakened by some act of heroism or true love.
A strangled laugh escapes my lips. Maybe that's exactly what it is. After all, we do live in a fairy tale now, don't we? A fairy tale where black-robed villains taunt maidens off roofs, heroes capture the evil witch, and magic slowly curses men to death.
Aster's cloak catches my attention. If magic can create a curse... maybe it can also break one.
Fear licks into my stomach like fire. "No." I already told Aster I wasn't doing any more magic. Not again.
But if I don't try something, he will die.
Lips pressed together, I peel back blankets to reveal his cloak. No more waiting. No more sitting idly by. No more letting fate, or nature, or whatever outside force wants to control me and those I care about, take its course.
If Aster dies, it will not be because I simply let him.
I slip his Book out of his pocket and pull its cloth off. As soon as my fingers touch the leather skin, the Voices start rustling in my head.
"Look who's back..."
"I'm not here for pleasantries."
"How rude," they drawl. "How uncalled for..."
My fists clench as I try to reign in my swirling emotions. Aster needs a clear head right now, not one alienating the only people with answers.
If they are people.
I shudder, and I swear they snicker at me. "I need your help."
"We assumed. Why else would you come to us?"
Repressing the urge to bicker, I draw in a steadying breath. "Aster's sick."
"Hm..." Their voices drop to a whisper I can't discern. "You may continue."
Their cool detachment washes away my shallow patience. "You need to tell me how to fix him!"
"Oh? We do, do we?" Dread slinks into a pit in my stomach. The Voices susurrate like the webs of a thousand spiders, single tones spiking up like pinchers. The sound snaps toward me again, and I flinch. "We have just the spell for you..."
The pages of the Book flip, flying faster than my eyes can keep up with. Startlingly sudden, they settle, resting on one still, open page.
My eyes roam over the words, searching for the promised answer, but finding nothing but the Book's foreign tongue. Frustrated desperation fills me.
The silence in my head is full, as if the Voices are just waiting for me to have to turn to them again. I hate being played. But I don't have another choice—if this game ends with them winning, so be it. If I don't play, I've already lost. My lips twist. "What do I need to do?"
It feels as if they smile at me like open-mouthed eels—sharp, spiny teeth gaping and sinuous, sinister body twisting. "Get some powder."
Doubt floods my veins like poison. The first time I listened to them, I wound up in a situation beyond my control, in pain and incapacitated. The second, I almost died.
I grit my teeth. We play to the end.
I pull out Aster's bag of powder. The warm glow of their satisfaction is like sitting slightly too close to a fire. "Now, repeat after us..."
Just like last time, the letters in the Book light up for me to follow along with, and I do, words tumbling out of my mouth, fingers making the motions they're instructed to, slightly beyond conscious control. I feel like a living marionette, captured by the power of the Voices, the power of the spell, unable to accomplish anything beyond mechanical, rhythmic obedience. Determined to save Aster, I don't even try to fight it.
As the spell keeps going, though, and going, and going, panic taints my numb submission. I'm not going to be able to finish it. Confident horror drips through me as my energy drains like water in a tub, sucked away faster and faster, ready to disappear with a twist of sudden finality.
The world vanishes in a flash of blinding nothing as the last word slips from my lips.
* * *
In front of me lies an open field, vibrant blue grass swaying in the wind. The sun hangs in a tranquil, pale yellow sky, no cloud to somber its brilliance. I never thought much about what the afterlife would look like because I didn't figure such a thing existed. I never believed in ghosts or any supernatural claptrap that doomsdayers cook up to guilt a stone-mark out of passersby. To me, a body was organic matter, nothing more; personality was simply neural stimuli and natural experience. There was nothing transcendent to last beyond that.
I suppose I owe all those people I scorned an apology.
The grass rustles behind me, and I spin to see Aster, just a foot away. Grief and regret flood my mind. Did he know he was alone when he died? Was he confused by the hard floor beneath him? Was he cold? Was he scared? "Aster." I stagger forward. "I—I'm so—"
His hand cuts through the air. "Leavi, what have you done?"
The reprimands of a million childhood failures could never prepare me for that horrified accusation. My mouth gapes, frozen in the impossibility of explaining.
Regret immediately washes over his face. "It—it will be okay," he assures. Taking a breath, he runs his hand through his hair. "I'll get you out of here," he promises. His attention is on something else, though, eyes somewhere on the horizon.
"Get out of here? Where—" I wrap my arms around myself. "Where are we?"
His gaze finds me again, and he sighs. "We are in the Laeazí," he says. "The 'Meadow,' I think, in Avadelian."
My hand presses against my mouth, relief sweeping through me. So we aren't dead. At least, not yet. I force my hand down as I survey Aster. The place's name sounds innocuous enough, but some sort of inevitability hangs in his manner. Levelly, I ask, "What exactly is wrong with a meadow?"
A wry smile lifts his lips. "Nothing, in most cases. But this isn't any meadow. The Laeazí, it is... I do not know how to say it. A pocket of space in a different... reality. Different realm." The grass ripples as he crosses toward me. "The world is like a house with many locked rooms. Most people wander through the house without ever knowing that there are other rooms because they cannot get into them. But if you have a key—like the spell you cast—you can open the door, and then you're somewhere you have never seen before. The Laeazí is one of those locked rooms." His lips press together. "The problem is, whenever people go in here, one fewer comes out. Someone has to stay behind to send the others back to their bodies."
I hold my hands in front of me, sky casting a yellow shine on my skin. "We're not in our bodies?"
His head shakes. "These are... projections. Parts of us. Pictures of us. Our bodies are back in the Material Realm."
I stare at him for a shocked moment. My mind is still processing when something moves against the horizon. "What is that?"
He squints, then opens his eyes wide. "Not what. Who." Without answering, he hurries that way, and I rush after him.
Foreign, argumentative words fly between the figures, but as we get close, they startle and turn, eyes fixed on Aster.
The first of the pair, a young woman in a silver circlet and gossamer dress, gasps. She looks like Aster's fairy twin; they have the same golden glow, the same refined cheekbones and high brows, the same small, rounded noses. The main differences arise from coloring—her hair is lighter, and her irises are a piercing blue instead of his warm brown. She gathers her skirts and hurries to hug him. "Aster!"
When she steps back, her companion, a hawk-nosed man in finery and a blue cloak, simply nods at him. His analytic eyes sweep over me. I swallow, strangely sure he saw straight through to my bones.
"Sela. Agraund," Aster greets, voice choked. He asks them something in his language. As the woman rattles off an explanation, a sorrowful shadow gathers in Aster's eyes.
Agraund steps forward, interrupting the other two. His words are logical and measured, and at the end of his brief speech, he gestures to me.
Aster shakes his head adamantly, tone respectful but decisive. Face troubled, Agraund continues speaking.
I desperately wish I knew what was being said. There's a gravitas to the conversation that cautions against not paying it heed.
Whatever Aster has decided, though, he's uncompromising. He makes some assertion again.
A soft frown creases Sela's face. "Aster," she says regretfully. It doesn't seem like the kind of address meant to persuade, but simply to lament.
He smiles gently at her and inclines his head, comforting words passing his lips. She brushes his cheek, then suddenly, turns away. Aster tears his gaze from her and dips his head deeply to Agraund.
The man seems rueful, but there's something slippery about it, like he's glad whatever it is isn't happening to him. He grips Aster's shoulder, murmuring something, and then steps back.
I grab Aster's arm. "What's going on?" Part of me already knows the answer, but I need to hear him say it, if nothing more than so I can argue him out of it.
He turns to me, and I let go. "We were trying to decide who would have to stay." I can almost see gears turning in his head as an idea begins to form.
I tip my head slightly, considering him, words heavy in my mouth. "And what decision did you make?"
He pauses. Throat bobbing, he asks, "Do you trust me, Leavi?"
Shocked, I can only answer, "What?"
Words more insistent, more desperate, he repeats, "Do you trust me?"
"I—" Do I trust the boy who helped me when I stole from him? Who saved me when I slipped and caught me when I fell? Despite the uncertainty of the situation spiking fear in my heart, trust is the least of the things I owe him. "Yes, Aster. I trust you."
His lips lift in a smile, but a note in it rings bittersweet. He nods once, decisively, and the expression clears. "I have a plan," he tells me confidently, voice lowered so the others can't hear.
"A plan," I repeat, the words almost a question.
He nods. "Yes." He pauses for a second, then reaches forward and squeezes my hand once, quickly, before stepping a few feet away.
There's something off about this situation, something dangerous, like watching a performer balance an upright plate on the tip of his finger. Any second the china could crash to the ground and shatter, but right now all you can do is stand there, breath trapped in your throat, watching. Believing in the skill of the performer.
Trusting.
Aster calls out in the magic tongue. His raw, commanding voice appeals to the sky, head tilted back, palms turned up. My stomach drops, but I remind myself of his promise. He's not sacrificing himself. He's not going to be the one to stay here. There's some trick to it.
The peaceful sky begins to swirl, a widening whirlwind forming above Aster's head out of the firmament itself. The maelstrom glows from within, its light source hidden by the churning clouds and static electricity coursing down its surface. The wind whips Aster's hair as it reaches for him, but he holds still, voice still raised to the sky.
It's against my every instinct to hold my ground, to let this storm extend its fingers toward the boy in front of me, to not try to drag him to some modicum of safety. There must be some trick to it.
Almost as if the winds themselves heard me, the eye of the storm shifts course, drifting toward where I stand with Sela and Agraund. I look at them, panicked, but neither of them seem shaken. Sela looks pale, but stands confidently, and Agraund, despite the remorse in his eyes, simply looks calm.
As the winds reach us, they soften, brushing my skin almost like a mother caressing her child. Now directly above us, I can see the center light, a warm, peaceful thing, expanding as if to come cradle us.
I manage to tear my eyes away from it to find Aster, now done casting, just standing, staring at us. The emotions on his face reflect the storm he called, his eyes pained but resolute. He catches my gaze, and something in his expression breaks. His lips move, but I can't hear it through the wind's roar.
I'm sorry, he mouths.
Then I'm bathed in a blinding pulse of light.
He lied, I realize, hollow. He lied. There was no plan. There was no mastermind idea. Just a simple choice, a simple sacrifice. His life for ours.
He lied.
As quickly as the light washed over me, it retracts, hesitating.
Agraund calls out to Aster, accusatory almost, but Aster seems as confused as the rest of us. Before he can respond, a chorus of voices whisper over the winds. Their volume is level, yet despite that, I can hear them clearly, and in Errelian even.
It's the Voices from the Book. A chill runs down my spine.
"We cannot allow you to remain here, young prince. We will take the girl."
The eye of the storm contorts and expands, winds buffeting me out of its umbrella and dragging Aster in.
"No!" he shouts, voice almost lost over the tempest. He fights the storm, trying to reach the edge. "It was my spell! I forbid you to take her!" Face twisted in determination, he gestures in wide, swirling rings, as though imitating the storm. The winds rage harder, pushing me across the meadow grass, but Aster gestures sharply, and the air snaps flat.
"Fine, boy." Disgust permeates their voices. "If you bar us from taking her, you give us no choice."
Aster sags in relief, but then with one powerful arm, the storm pushes Agraund out and pulls me in. Horror soaks Aster's face. "Stop!" he screams.
"You are more useful to us than your uncle." With that simple, cold explanation, my world coalesces once more into inky nothingness.