The Rise of Winter, page 12
I nodded. “Okay,” I said, “I’ll do it. I’ll prove Cano and Arctos are wrong about my family. I’ll make up for what my father did. And if I have to make up for the rest of humanity at the same time—then that’s what I’ll do.”
Chapter 28
FOR THE NEXT FEW DAYS, I WORKED HARD ON MY TRAINING, FOCUSING on what Pteron was trying to teach me, no matter how strange the task. And believe me, some of the tasks were very strange.
Like the entire morning I spent blindfolded in the grove while he threw oranges at me.
“See the oranges with your mind’s eye,” he commanded.
The only thing I saw was a bunch of bruises the following day.
Next, he had me jumping through an obstacle course in the basement with the lights off. While I didn’t find my inner eye there, either, I did find that we had a lot of breakable things in the basement.
On the third day, there were no more games, only the expectation that I wouldn’t use my eyes the entire day. Breakfast, lunch, dinner—eyes closed. Up and down the stairs, getting dressed, showering—eyes closed. Going to the washroom (awkward, by the way)—eyes closed.
Every time I tried to cheat for even the tiniest fraction of a second, Pteron somehow knew.
“Eyes closed!” he’d bellow from the other room. Which was especially creepy while I was peeing.
But not all the training was in vain. I definitely wasn’t Granny—I couldn’t get from point A to point B in the house without knocking my shins on at least one footstool (Pteron kept moving the furniture to make things more challenging), but I was starting to see something. Hazy, faded, unclear somethings—but somethings nonetheless.
At night, Granny would sit with me in bed and teach me to use my Imperia. There were many forms of energy, she said, but fire was a good place to start. So, we sat and practiced calling the flames.
By the second night, I recreated the tingling sensation in my hands. And by the third night, I got my hands to glow a dull yellow. It wasn’t until Granny had left my room on the fourth night that I was finally able to get a tiny spark to ignite. I was very excited until I dropped it on the sheets and singed a black hole in them.
Oops! All in the name of saving the world, I suppose.
Although my training was progressing well, there was still an air of concern hanging over the house. Felinia and Catharia had left shortly after our arrival, saying they were going back to reassess the damage in the Red Woods. I’d made them promise they would bring back Proctin, rescuing him from his horrible brother, but after four days they still hadn’t returned. Even Granny and Pteron looked worried—though neither would admit it.
On the fifth day, it rained, which meant we couldn’t train outside. Even Granny and Pteron had trouble using their Aminoculus in the rain, their minds’ eyes muddled by the surplus of energy in the air. So instead we sat inside, and I practiced conjuring my Imperia.
It was nearly noon when the back door flung open and two soppingwet Guardians entered.
Felinia shivered, her skinny legs quaking beneath her as she muttered something about her beautiful coat. Catharia appeared unfazed by her wetness, looking as regal as ever. I jumped up and grabbed a blanket from the couch for Felinia.
“What news do you bring of Lupora and the Red Woods?” Vulpeera asked when we were all gathered in the living room.
Felinia and Catharia exchanged nervous looks. “The Red Woods are gone—every last tree burned to the ground,” said the condor.
Granny and Vulpeera looked stunned. I wanted to slip between the boards in the living room floor and disappear. If only there were a power to make myself invisible.
“The wood was dry, and the flames spread quickly. It was all we could do to get the animals out,” Catharia continued. “If this rain had come a few days earlier it might have saved us a lot of trouble.”
“And what of Lupora?” Vulpeera asked.
“She has moved her pack to the woods by Grander’s Bay. She would not hear our plea, and I fear there is no point trying to reason with her right now. She has sworn vengeance on the girl and is amassing an army of sympathizers as we speak.”
“With so many animals calling the Red Woods their home, she will not have trouble finding them,” Felinia added.
“What about Arctos?” Vulpeera asked. “Lupora has always listened to him.”
“Arctos is back at Mount Skire. The humans are making another push to blast their path through the mountains and are closing in on Mount Skire. Even if he wasn’t angry right now, his paws are full.”
“And Proctin?” I asked.
“The least of our worries,” grumbled Catharia.
“He’s being held in a small prison by the water of Grander’s Bay,” Felinia said. “Too far for us to make any attempt at a rescue.”
“This isn’t good,” Vulpeera said, shaking her head. She was getting stronger every day, but she still spent most of her time lying on the living room couch. “It will take time to round up the Guardians and our supporters—Lupora could be here by then.”
She looked up at Pteron, who seemed to be pondering everything from the corner of the room.
“We will need to take Winter somewhere safe to continue her training,” he said. “Allow time for Lupora’s temper to cool, and then we will see if we can reason with her. A lapse in Winter’s training at this point would be detrimental, especially with the progress she is making.”
“Where could we take her?” Vulpeera asked. “Back to the Cove? Lupora will have blocked the path.”
“Not the Cove,” Granny said. “There’s a better place—one where the wolves won’t be able to reach her.” The animals’ ears perked. “To the island of Pitchi,” she said, “with her uncle and cousin.”
“I can’t go to Pitchi!” I protested. “Not without Proctin! We can’t just leave him. You saw what his brother was like!”
I looked from Felinia to Catharia.
“Perhaps we can talk with Cheelion,” Felinia said. “He is heading to Grander’s Bay to keep watch on Lupora from the water. The prison is near the shore. With luck, he may be able to free your raccoon friend.”
“Thank you, Felinia.”
Granny clapped her hands together and stood. “Then it’s settled. You will go to Pitchi to stay with your uncle and continue your training. If we hurry, we can get you out of here before Lupora’s crows have eyes on the house.”
“Yes, it is a good plan,” Pteron said, nodding. “Winter, war was on the horizon long before the Red Woods burned. The dark creatures are disgruntled, and without a united Guardianship, they have grown stronger. It is up to us to remind them of the strength and guidance of Terra. To do so, we will need a leader. A strong leader. You can be that leader—I have no doubt. With patience and practice, you will learn the powers of the Guardians and become a skillful and formidable Terra Protectorum.”
He stared at me with his dark eyes. “With patience and practice,” he repeated, with a stern smile.
PART 3: THE ISLAND
It is night, and the forest around Grander’s Bay is dark and cool. The waves lapping on the rocks and the gentle breeze through the pines are the only other sounds as two creatures talk quietly.
“How could you have missed her?” the first creature snaps. “She’s had no training, for Terra’s sake!”
“She wasn’t alone,” growls the second creature. “Your own Guardians were there, protecting her.”
“Never mind,” scoffs the Guardian, “we missed an opportunity, but there will be others. She is young and untrained, but if we don’t act quickly she will grow stronger by the day.”
The second creature steps forward into a narrow moonbeam cutting through the canopy. Its pale white fur catches the silvery light. “Young,” it scoffs. “She is a child! As I have said all along, Terra is a fool.”
The Guardian stiffens at the comment. “Terra is no fool,” it retorts. “Her judgment is simply clouded. A dark fog has shrouded her view. That cloud walks on two legs and claims to be ruler of Terra Creatura. We must remove that cloud. We must remove the humans.”
The wolf runs her sharp claws over a dead log on the forest floor, tearing long gashes in its side. “The girl has destroyed my home,” she says. “I want nothing more than to kill her myself.”
The Guardian nods. “It will be easier if you do it.”
A twig snaps nearby, and the creatures turn to look in the direction of the sound.
“What was that?” the wolf hisses. “Are there more of you lurking about?”
“No,” the Guardian says, “it was nothing, a squirrel. I am alone. Now listen closely—the girl is at this moment heading for an island off the northern coast. She will stay with her uncle while she trains. Take your army there, surround the island, cut off all routes of escape, and prepare. I will think of a way to bring her to you.”
Chapter 29
IF YOU EVER GET THE OPPORTUNITY TO VISIT OLPORT, THE CAPITAL city of Nacadia, I highly recommend that you don’t. Once a fur-trading post, the city grew considerably with each passing year. Every summer I returned, there were more people, more cars, more smog. The water was a little murkier, with more garbage floating in the foam, the smell a little more pungent. It wasn’t surprising. Most of the Society’s factories operated in Olport, and a steady stream of smoke poured from their chimneys.
The only reason I went to Olport was to get to Pitchi, a tiny island across the channel where I spent all my school holidays. The island was shaped like a teeter-totter, sloping upward from the west to the east, where it ended in high cliffs. Atop those cliffs stood a lighthouse, warning incoming ships of danger. My uncle and cousin maintained that lighthouse year-round, living in the small cabin at its base. They were the only people who lived on the island, likely because of the rocky terrain and relentless wind, but when I wasn’t being pestered by my cousin, it was a nice enough spot to spend my vacations.
As I sat on the docks waiting for my uncle, I watched the people bustling about the wharf. It was market day, and blue-tarped stalls lined the docks, selling everything from local produce to otter-pelt hats, a common fashion in the city. I must have been daydreaming, because my uncle’s boat was nearly at the docks before I noticed him approaching. Uncle Farlin stood behind the wheel, waving and smiling like a lunatic, and I couldn’t help but smile back.
My uncle didn’t even tie up the boat before leaping onto the dock and running toward me. He picked me up in a giant bear hug that squeezed the air from my lungs and the nervousness from my heart. I’d missed him. Even the smell of fish guts on his overalls was oddly comforting.
When he finally put me down, he took a step back and looked me over.
“You’ve grown,” he said.
“It’s been three months.” I laughed. “I haven’t grown.”
“Then I’m shrinking.”
Uncle Farlin was a tall man with wide shoulders and a shirt that was always dirty. His face always bore stubble, and you could count on there being some sort of fish guts splattered over his rubber boots and overalls. When he wasn’t working on the lighthouse, he was out on the fishing rig. Either he never changed, or he owned ten pairs of identical overalls. When I was younger, I used to wish Uncle Farlin was my father. He was funny and kind and had big, gentle eyes that sparkled in the sun. I wanted eyes like that. Instead I was stuck with my weird cat-eyes, just like my cousin, Alectus.
A boy, strikingly similar to my cousin, climbed from the boat. He had the same dark hair, same elfish face, same green feline eyes, but it couldn’t be Alectus … could it? Why was his hair slicked back and combed? Why was he wearing a clean white button-up shirt and a pair of dress pants? And most importantly, why had he just gotten off the boat?
My cousin never went on the boat. He had a desperate fear of water from an incident when he was very young. The story went that Alectus had been swimming alongside my uncle’s fishing boat—not a smart idea, with all the dead fish in the water—when he was attacked by a shark. The men on board rescued him, but there was no saving his lower leg. He’d had a prosthetic foot ever since. I’d only seen him on the boat a handful of times, and when he was aboard, he always looked ill. Because of this, he was essentially trapped on the island.
And he hated the island.
There was nothing for him to do, so when I was around, he occupied his time tormenting me. When we were little, it was minor pranks—dead fish in my bed, beetle larvae in my soup, clothes hanging from the treetops in the morning. As we’d gotten older, his pranks had gotten nastier. The summer before, he’d tied me to a tree with a fishing net. This would have been harmless had he come back and untied me, but instead I’d spent the night alone in the forest. When Uncle Farlin had found me the next morning, he’d been as close to furious as I’d ever seen him. Which was not very angry at all.
That was part of the problem.
Uncle Farlin was too nice to get angry, so Alectus had no boundaries. He was like a feral animal with free reign over the island. Most of the time he looked so unkempt you would have thought he was raised by wolves.
So the clean-cut boy getting off the boat couldn’t be my cousin.
“Winter,” the boy said, approaching. “It’s so nice to see you!”
He had the same limp as Alectus, but when he wrapped his arms around me, I smelled cologne.
Cologne?
No one my age wore cologne. Alectus and I were supposed to be in the same grade, but he’d dropped out of school because he wouldn’t cross the channel. He was homeschooled by Uncle Farlin, meaning I’d never seen him open a book. And my cousin would never say, “it’s so nice to see you.” A punch to the arm and a sneer, with a “what the heck are you doing here?” maybe, but not “it’s so nice to see you.” That wasn’t Alectus.
After an awkward embrace, the boy stepped back. “Here,” he said, “let me get that for you.”
I was too stunned to stop him from taking my bag. He turned and walked back to the boat.
“Betcha weren’t expecting this?” my uncle said, nudging me and pointing after the boy.
“Alectus?” I asked.
Uncle Farlin nodded. “There have been a few changes around here. Come on, I think you’ll like them.”
I followed my uncle to the boat and was surprised when neither he nor my cousin went to set up the sails. Instead, Uncle Farlin sat beside me while Alectus went to the back of the boat, toward a large metal object that was fastened to the stern.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“It’s called an outboard motor,” Alectus said. “It runs on petrol. There are only ten boats in the harbor with them. They’re one of the latest inventions of the Society.”
“A motor?” I asked. “Like a car?”
“Yep.” Alectus nodded. “Like a car. They make travelling over water much faster.”
“How on earth did you afford that?”
Uncle Farlin smiled proudly. “Your cousin has made some helpful connections.”
Connections? I thought, with the Society?
“How did you—”
I was cut short by a deafening roar as Alectus pulled a cord to start the motor.
Chapter 30
THE ONLY WAY TO ACCESS PITCHI WAS FROM THE LOWER END OF the island—the western end. In other words, the end furthest from the lighthouse. This meant a long, slogging, uphill walk to the cliff tops every time I arrived.
The lower half was covered in dense forest, accessible by a small dock, and there was a narrow path cut through the trees, leading up to the lighthouse. I knew Pitchi well—every nook, cranny, and trail—and as we got off the boat and started walking, I knew exactly where each intersecting path went. The first led to one of my favourite spots on the island, a small pond hidden in the trees where I had spent many lazy days watching dragonflies and reading. The next two paths went to the north and south ends of the island, where Uncle Farlin liked to fish.
“So,” I said, as we walked, “what’s been happening around here?”
Uncle Farlin smiled. “You didn’t even recognize him, did ya?”
“Honestly, no. What’s with the new getup, Alectus? You look … civilized.”
“It’s part of my uniform,” Alectus said, walking a few steps ahead.
“Uniform for what?”
“He’s got himself a job,” Uncle Farlin interjected, beaming with pride. “He works for the Society now. A real big shot.”
“You work for the Society?” I asked in disbelief. “That outfit’s a little fancy for working in a factory, isn’t it?”
Alectus scoffed. “I don’t work in a factory.”
“You don’t?”
Alectus shook his head. “I work in Sir Maychin’s manor.”
“Sir Maychin’s manor? You mean the big white castle at the centre of the city?” I had never been to the building but I could see its three white towers pointing high above the city.
Alectus nodded.
“But isn’t that where Sir Maychin lives and works? I’ve heard he has an office there and won’t leave for weeks at a time.”
“He sure does,” Uncle Farlin said, “and guess who cleans that office?”
“I do more than clean the office,” Alectus huffed.
“Like what?” I asked.
“All sorts of things—stacking books in the library, clearing the dining room, making sure guests know where they’re going. I’ve already got a promotion. Now I’m serving tea in the sitting room. It doesn’t sound like much, but it’s an important job. I get to hear lots of private conversations. Plus, I’ve made some helpful connections with a few high-ranking members.”
“I’m impressed,” I said, hopping over a tree root to keep up. “What kinds of things have you overheard?”
Alectus turned to me, his eyes bright. “Technically, I’m not allowed to say. It’s all very hush-hush. But I’ll tell you this—the Society is planning to build a road right through the mountains. Sir Maychin is heading the operation himself, and they’ve already started blasting. He thinks that by early next year, they’ll break through. He plans to lead a team to explore the Forgotten Lands, and he said if I’m still in good standing, I could potentially be picked for that expedition.”
