No Place Like Home, page 19
“Please be careful,” said Annabelle. Lan spun around.
Annabelle approached cautiously a few feet away, her knees scuffed, a hand on her knife hilt. Lan had not heard that wary note in her voice since their first day on the riverbank—at least not directed at Lan. Her eyes were creased in concern, and her body tense. Dimly, Lan registered Marlow free-climbing down the rocks far behind.
“I’m not doing anything,” she said. “This energy—it’s flowing to me on its own.”
“You don’t know how to hold it.”
“You’re the one who told me to practice.”
“Small steps, like what you’ve been doing with our supplies. The magic in this orchard is something else entirely.”
“Maybe I can learn.”
“Not here. Lan, you promised—”
But Lan froze. Roaring filled her ears. A scream died in her throat. Over Annabelle’s shoulder, she watched in terror as Marlow’s right foot missed a step and slipped off the rocks, taking the other foot with it. Annabelle turned to follow her gaze and gasped.
Even at the last second, Lan did not believe he would fall. For a moment, Marlow held on, his arms straining, dangling a hundred feet in the air. As if in slow motion, they watched his left hand give way—he plummeted faster than Lan could’ve imagined. Annabelle shrieked and ran toward him.
“Save him!” she cried.
“I’m trying!”
Lan’s gust of wind caught Marlow twenty feet off the ground but slammed him into the wall. She flinched, praying he’d managed to shield his head in time. He fluttered limply on the fading breeze and landed on the blueberry bush. Annabelle was already pulling him out when Lan reached them. Marlow groaned, clutching his side. His hair was damp with sweat. Lan was so relieved to see him conscious that she threw her arms around him.
“Are you okay?” she panted.
“I think my ribs are bruised,” he said weakly. “Missed my head when I crashed, though, luckily. That could’ve been it.”
“Sorry, but in my defense, you were doing fine dying on your own already.”
“I’ve never fallen...”
“We need to move into the trees,” said Annabelle, helping him up. “Do you hear that? The guards definitely know we’re here.”
Loud voices and clanging armor punctuated the enchanted orchard’s stillness. Someone was blowing on a shrill whistle. Lan half expected to hear the creak of the front doors opening. They hurried under the cover of the branches.
“This orchard is magic all right,” said Marlow, looking up as they moved.
“You can feel the residue, too?” said Lan. “It’s so strong. That blast was the most powerful thing I’ve done!”
“Uh, no, actually, I meant these trees don’t grow in the same climate, so it must be enchanted soil.”
“You’re a nerd.”
“Plants are cool! You didn’t complain when I made you all those flower crowns.”
Lan smiled and snuck a glance at him. He was paler than usual, but his expression was unwavering. His green eyes shone. Relief flooded her at the thought of their close call. If she hadn’t summoned that gale in time... But the magic had responded so easily! Asta was teeming with residue, far easier to work with than the forest’s. Lan could almost believe it was possible to control. What she might give for a bit of time to test it out.
They wove their way through the rows of trees but were forced to slow down as Marlow’s steps began to falter. Annabelle waved off his apology. They stopped in the shade of shrubby trees bearing fruit.
“Do we just let them find us now?” Marlow said, slumping to the ground.
“We should put up a fight when they do,” said Annabelle. “Make it convincing.”
Lan wondered whether Annabelle simply wanted an excuse to beat up Astan soldiers. It wasn’t a terrible idea. Part of her longed to see how she’d fare in a real fight with everything she’d learned from Phoenix. That razor-sharp focus was something she’d never felt anywhere else. She was pondering which weapon she’d choose, given a range, when she saw it: a red grenade-like fruit lay innocently on the bed of fallen leaves and dirt several feet away.
Cold descended on Lan as if she’d been plunged into an ice bath. Her body grew still. Marlow and Annabelle were busy talking. They had not noticed that the one thing that could change the course of her life forever was suddenly well within grasp. She reached for it, Zephyr’s words echoing in her head.
When it comes to crossing realms, the pomegranate’s what you’d want... Just one seed would do the trick.
Temptation rose in Lan. It was such a simple solution to all her worries. She could grab a handful, go back and forth between Silva and her world anytime she wished. Her heart swelled at the thought of taking lessons in Asta’s square and seeing Annabelle home to Sol. She could even stay with Marlow and grow older beside him. Of course, Zephyr had cautioned against its power, but he was no witch. He had never felt the magic of this orchard. Lan had only had one taste of what she was capable of in the midst of this much residue, and it’d been enough to stop death itself.
Lan turned the fruit over in her hands. The thin smooth skin felt too easy to puncture. Hundreds of seeds were tucked inside. Each contained the power that she had spent so long dreaming of, even from her days in Toronto longing to escape! She’d never be bored again. Lan could almost taste the sweetness already, the smell reminiscent of her days in Hà Nội and the trees in her grandparents’ yard. She ignored the others rising, calling her name. Her head felt fuzzy, her senses clouded.
Without another thought, Lan broke the pomegranate.
Tree Guardians (again)
An earsplitting crack shook the ground. Marlow and Annabelle dropped to their knees. The fruit, split in two, lay a foot away from Lan, its seeds glistening like rubies. She reached to grab it, but another ginormous rumble sent them sprawling. Somewhere close by, something very big roared.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Annabelle was shouting. She’d drawn her blade. “You promised me you’d be careful! Are you trying to get us killed on the spot?”
Lan got to her feet, confused, failing to fumble a response. Her head was still hazy, but her senses were suddenly acute. Everything sounded loud. Before she could manage a word, Marlow leaped to his feet. He grabbed his bow and pulled Lan behind him. She looked up. At once, she understood the source of the roar.
“What—?” said Annabelle, staring up at the shadow rising to block the sky.
“Tree guardian,” breathed Marlow. “That is a redwood.”
“What have you done?” cried Annabelle.
The wooden giant lumbered in their direction, as tall as the orchard walls themselves. Unlike the stone pines, the redwood guardian was humanoid and deliberate. Its bark was soft deep red. Slowly, as though time were no issue, it reached them in three steps and peered down, expressionless, with knotty holes for eyes.
Lan’s courage curdled like sour cream. Magic flickered faintly at her fingertips, but the guilt washing over her took center stage. What had she been thinking to risk their lives? She had helped them get this far only to screw it up at the last minute! Annabelle was trembling—in anger, fear, or perhaps both. Only Marlow held still, his bow drawn and steady. He waited for the giant to bend low before firing.
The shot landed squarely in its left eye. It reared. Lan took advantage of its moment of imbalance. She threw her arms wide and sent a barrage of fallen fruit rushing at its chest, exploding in a multicolored mess. When the giant stumbled, its footprints left gaping indents in the dirt.
The three of them scattered. Lan ducked behind a tree. The frantic sound of guards clamoring drew closer. As she regained her breath, preparing for another blow, Annabelle yelled. “Catch and run straight!”
Lan turned just in time to grab one end of the braided vine falling toward her. She ran. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Annabelle take off. Her slim form ran fast as a deer toward the giant and wove around its feet, the rope tangling through the trees behind her. Lan snuck a glimpse at the redwood guardian’s head as an arrow flew from somewhere to her left. It landed next to the other eye. She gripped the rope tightly and did not stop moving. Faintly, she heard Annabelle shout from far across the trees.
“Get ready! Don’t let go!”
The rope strained so tightly that Lan gasped, pulled several feet along the ground. Her hands burned. It was an impossible game of tug-of-war. Sweat trickled from her forehead and into her eyes. With a crash as loud as the one that marked his appearance, the tree guardian tilted forward and fell to its knees, trampling a dozen smaller saplings. Lan winced. She tied the rope to the nearest tree and bolted toward the creature.
“Annabelle?” she shouted. “Marlow?”
Trees sped past her. Lan could almost hear their voices, annoyed and accusing. Shadows flitted among the branches, sending chills. The nymphs that had lost their lives today were on her. No wonder they didn’t like to associate with strangers. Lan kept running even as guilt stabbed her. No one was in sight. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears. Cramps rippled through her stomach, but she barely noticed. Lan whispered their names again. No answer.
“Darn it,” she muttered. She slowed and moved closer to where the giant was groaning. It seemed to be rising, shaking the branches close by. Shadows of nymphs darted wildly. Several rows of trees away, Lan caught the unmistakable shining armor of the king’s watch through the trunks. Her panicked cry came out raspy.
Ignoring the pulsing of the orchard’s magic or her own head—she was no longer sure which—Lan inched forward until she was close enough to see the scene. The redwood giant knelt in a web of rope, looking dazed but unharmed. Its arms had been bound, but the vines were starting to snap. Lan hastily sent a spell to rebind and strengthen the restraints. In the commotion, no one seemed to notice.
Directly in front of the giant, Marlow and Annabelle stood back to back, weapons drawn. Metal flashed from the swords of a dozen guards surrounding them, yelling and drawing closer. Annabelle’s braid had come out. Matted waves of hair framed her face as she twirled. Lan stared. She looked like a picture-perfect giant-slayer. On the other side of the redwood guardian’s body, the soldier with the red plume on her helmet faced Lan, red hair visible underneath, waving her guards forward. She was frowning, one hand on her hip. Her expression was half shock, half grim determination. Lan turned and saw the soldier closest to her kneel to load his crossbow.
With the trees as cover, Lan crouched and crept up behind the guard. She rammed into his side. His bow dropped. The bolt flew wide. He dropped with a yell. Lan elbowed his helmet hard enough to bruise her arm. Before his fellow guards could reach her, Lan drew the fallen guard’s sword from the sheath on his side. He swiped at her legs from the ground. She jumped and spun in time to parry the first thrust from the guard rushing at her. Just like practice, she told herself, ducking the next blow.
An arrow landed in the shoulder of another guard. Someone was yelling, but Lan could not tell whom. She pushed through the startled king’s watch, straining to reach the others in the center. Movements came without thought. Then Annabelle was by her side. The guard between them fell with a kick to his chest. Lan had a moment to stare at the half-injured soldiers closing in before a sharp whistle cut through the chaos.
The woman with the red plume had raised her arms. This close, Lan could see her young face, freckles dotting her nose. Sudden heaviness settled around them like the air before a storm. Wind ruffled Lan’s hair. Even the redwood giant stilled. Marlow had drawn his last arrow, poised in wait. Lan felt residue pool at her fingertips but held back.
“You call it, Belle,” she heard Marlow say.
But it was too late. Before she could say a word, a whirlwind of leaves overtook them. The guards dropped first. Lan caught sight of red flower petals, just like her poppies’, whistling toward her face before the world went black.
Nebulo
“At least we’re in the same cell,” said Marlow, rubbing his wrists. The bruises around them showed signs they’d been cuffed on the way down, not that they’d been conscious. Lan had only come to minutes prior, and she was relieved the other two were not yelling at her for her moment of stupidity that had nearly taken their lives.
Their weapons were gone. Lan knew it was costing Annabelle to not comment on the loss of her knife. They sat in the stone cell behind metal bars. No sunlight reached it, which suggested they were far underground. Straining for a bright side, Lan wondered glumly, how many people could say they’d been locked in a dungeon? Certainly none of her classmates back home. Her stomach was grumbling, hunger making her knees weak. Annabelle was crying softly in the corner. Lan scooted over and held her in silence, thankful when she did not move away.
A loud clanging made them jump, disoriented. The redheaded guard with the plume was opening the cell door. Marlow was on his feet, ready to meet her.
“Good, you’re awake,” the guard said, beckoning. “Come.”
She did not bother to wait or cuff them but left the door wide open and walked down the hallway without a backward glance. Her black boots clacked against the flagstones. Exchanging a quick look, Marlow, Lan, and Annabelle hurried after her, jogging to keep up.
“Who are you?” asked Lan. “What’s happening?”
“I’m the king’s general. What’s happening are the consequences of your actions.”
“Where are you taking us?” said Annabelle. The guard took her time responding. They passed several flights of stairs in the torch-lit corridors.
“The throne room,” she said at last.
Lan inhaled sharply. She forced her face to remain impassive, but her insides were shouting in triumph. They’d done it! Marlow caught her eye, his lips turned up at the corner. Beside her, Annabelle sniffed and looked up, holding her breath. Lan’s stomach was doing flips again, terrified that one wrong move would break the spell and send them straight back to the cell.
The guard made a sharp turn, then stopped so brusquely in front of a wooden door that they almost ran into her. She spun to face them and glared, her eyebrows creased and her freckles inches away. Her red curls spilled out of her helmet, which she wore with the visor up.
“We’re about to exit the dungeons. Stay close to me. Think of running or fighting, and these are going back on.” She rattled the handcuffs attached to her belt. Then, she hoisted up the heavy metal bolt holding the door closed. It let out a groan as though it were being woken up too early. She shoved her full body into the door, which creaked open. When all of them had squeezed through, she rammed it back and latched the bolt.
Through the halls of the castle, they followed the guard, their shoes echoing on the marble in the wide passages. It was an ornate building, and Lan caught glimpses of Annabelle looking up at the tall pillars. Large windows flanked their walkway. Dark curtains, pulled aside by golden rope, revealed a clear blue sky over the green shrubbery of the royal gardens. She guessed it was the afternoon.
They reached the end of a hall, passing two servants in red outfits rushing past, and came to the doors of the largest elevator Lan had ever seen in her life. The guard waved her hand, and the golden doors slid open noiselessly. She ushered them in, stepping briskly. The doors closed at her nod. Instead of walls, the inside held mirrors, polished clean. For the first time since she had arrived in Silva, Lan saw herself fully, untouched by water’s ripple or grime from some dusty inn glass.
Her hair had grown longer and wilder than ever, falling loose of the rough braid from the night before. Her heavily tanned face was grimy and scratched, though she could not tell what from exactly. Annabelle’s red Academy shirt was torn and stained with orchard dirt. Yet, Lan was taller, her shoulders broader. Her reflection shocked her. Beside the others, she did not look entirely out of place.
Lan did not realize she was staring until the elevator bell dinged to signal their landing. She saw Marlow smile reassuringly at her in the mirror. The golden doors slid open. They crossed another hallway to the entrance of the throne room.
The first thing Lan felt was magic. It hummed as strongly as it had in the orchard, but this residue was restricted, like in the Cognitor’s cornfields or heart-eater’s grove. Lan could not use any of it herself. She flexed her fingers. Dark purple residue seeped in.
They stepped inside. The throne room was not large, but high ceilings created a spacious impression. Stained glass windows depicted scenes of knights with unicorns, fire-breathing dragons, centaurs, and nymphs. Marlow’s eyes seemed to linger on a dancing nymph in a white gown. The art cast colored shadows on the marble floor. Flanking the center aisle that led to the throne were two rows of guards in gleaming armor, their visors down so that no faces were visible. The throne itself was as lavish as the rest of the castle, raised on a platform and lined with gold leaf. Lan had never trodded anywhere that rivaled this place in grandeur, not even the Hà Nội Opera House.
But more remarkable still was Nebulo himself: a cloaked figure lounging casually on the throne before them. The man was bald, his skin unnaturally tanned and shimmery as though he were part illusion. A circlet of entwined golden vines rested on his head, his body draped in a midnight robe. His startling violet eyes held a certain warmth in them, which reminded Lan of the Cognitor’s. A smile crossed his dark full lips as he stared at them approaching.
They followed closely in their guard escort’s footsteps—the only sound that reverberated around the chamber. When they reached the dais, the king stood and extended his arms wide. He opened his mouth to speak. Lan looked to Marlow, expecting him to tell their story, but Annabelle got there first. She stepped forward. Her hands were planted on her hips, her chin jutting out.
