Fates (14 page)

Please, please. Let this be a dream. Let me wake up.

His alarm would go off and he'd wake up to find Jas sitting in the living room, safe and sound. She'd laugh at the crazy dream he had, especially the part where she was trapped in some blood forest, then they'd head to the Mission, get some breakfast taquitos and coffee at Philz Coffee. Cream and sugar.

Mags's loud caw pierced his daydream. Still here. Still in this awful place, with the unbearable heat of the suns and the feel of sand underneath his nails.

They were only about fifty feet from shore. The same beach, the same cliffs stretched as far as he could see. In the distance, movement caught his eye. Luc shaded his eyes and squinted. A figure stumbled along, sinking every few feet to her knees before struggling back to her feet. Blond hair flashed in the sun, like a coin under the water.

Corinthe is responsible for your sister.

The words echoed in his head. Blood pounded in his ears.

“I need to get to shore,” Luc said abruptly. He couldn't let her get away. He even contemplated jumping back into the Figments and swimming.

Rhys must have sensed his intentions. “Don't try it,” he warned. “They might not drown you, but they wouldn't let you out, either. We'll be there in just a minute.”

Luc paced the length of the raft, impatiently watching Corinthe make her way to the cliffs. Rhys deftly managed the steering, apparently with the help of Mags's occasional caws—the man and the bird seemed to have developed some way of communicating. Within a few minutes, the raft bumped against a sandy bottom.

Luc jumped out and landed in the red sand.

“What about the map?” Rhys called.

Luc hesitated. But Corinthe was already climbing. He couldn't let her escape; she knew where Jas was. That was what the woman had said.

“Go ahead, go get her.” Rhys seemed to be smirking. “I'll poke around for it. Just give a shout when you've done whatever it is you need to do. Mags will hear you.”

“Thank you,” Luc said, and broke into a run.

By the time he'd made it to the base of the cliff, Corinthe had already gotten halfway to the top. Framed against the looming mass of rock, she seemed so small, so fragile, and he steeled himself against a sudden twinge of pity.

Luc took a deep breath and grabbed a piece of the jutting rock over his head. His arms and hands were still aching from his earlier attempt at climbing, but he was fueled with renewed purpose. Corinthe had done something to Jas. She was obviously a psycho. He would catch up to her, and he would get the truth out of her, no matter what.

Just as he began to follow her, she turned around and spotted him.

Even from this distance, Luc could hear her short cry of surprise. Before he could react, a rock the size of his head came tumbling toward him. He jumped off the rocks and out of the way, and the rock thumped into the sand by his feet.

Several more rained down, each larger than the last.

Small and fragile. Right. Luc wouldn't make the mistake of pitying her again.

Luc ran ten feet down the beach and started to climb. Hand over hand, he moved at an angle, safely out of the way of any more rocks Corinthe might loosen.

Thanks to the drink Rhys had given him, he felt strong even though there was still a faint pounding in his head. He climbed quickly, confidently, rapidly closing in on Corinthe. She reached the top only a few seconds before he did, and he launched himself after her, scrambling to his feet before she could attack him.

Luc tried to ignore the horrible welts marring her arms. Tried to ignore the cuts on her palms that were open and bleeding. How her feet were bare and covered with dirt, her jeans and T-shirt torn. She looked thin and pale and scared. Even her shadows looked short and huddled together.

What the hell had happened to her?

His resolve weakened a little.

And in that instant, Corinthe lunged at him, her teeth bared, like a wild animal. He easily sidestepped her attack and she fell past him, stumbling to her hands and knees, crying out softly. She turned over and tried to stand, but her arms collapsed and she landed on her back.

This time, Luc didn't wait for her to recover. Girl or not, injured or not, she was still trying to kill him. He was on her in an instant, straddling her waist, the knife pulled quickly from his belt and pressed against her throat. Her knife. Neither moved. They breathed raggedly together, staring at each other.

“Where's my sister?” he spat out.

She glared at him. “Let me go.”

He leaned into her a little more. “Tell me where my sister is or I'll kill you,” he said.

“Then kill me,” she challenged. Despite her obvious weakness, there was fire in her eyes.

“Don't think I won't,” he said. But he knew that she could see it: he was not a killer.

Corinthe grabbed his hand, forced the knife against the pulse that beat wildly in her neck. Her eyes glistened in the suns, turning a haunting shade of purple. She arched her back, lifting her chin so she was even more exposed to him.

She looked alone and lost and wild and beautiful.

Protect her.

The crazy thought came out of nowhere.

“Go ahead,” she said. “Because if you don't, as soon as I am strong, I will kill you.”

His hand shook, making the knife wobble. It nicked her skin and a tiny bead of blood welled up underneath her chin. He watched it roll down her neck and into her hair. His stomach twisted violently and he threw the knife aside.

He couldn't do it.

“Just tell me where my sister is,” he said, “and I swear I'll let you go.”

A look of pain—or disappointment?—passed over Corinthe's face. Her body tensed for one moment underneath him; she opened her mouth.

And then her lovely eyes rolled backward, her body relaxed, and she lost consciousness.

“Well, now. Quite some lovers' quarrel, ain't it?”

Luc turned around. Rhys was grinning widely. Mags let out a single caw, as though in agreement.

A
barely discernible buzzing floats through the air. Corinthe watches the fireflies in the purple twilight: thousands flicker over the river, mingling with the reflection of the stars on the water.

Sometimes, when she stares long enough, she can't tell which is which.

Corinthe takes a step closer to the water's edge. It is forbidden to touch the Messengers. But why? She thinks of the stranger who visited Pyralis once. “Don't stop asking questions,” he had told her—and now she can't stop. The question seems to burn a path through her mind, like the hot trails of the shooting stars that blaze across the sky.
Why why why?
And why do none of the other Fates wonder the same thing?

A strange hunger grows inside her.
Hunger.
A word she doesn't even know yet.
Why why why? Why can't I touch the light?
Then, suddenly, as though in response to her unspoken question, one of the fireflies darts past her. Before she knows what she has done, her fingers have closed around it like a Venus flytrap—a plant that grows both in Pyralis Terra and in Humana.

For one second, the wings beat against her palm. She's filled with feelings she has never known, feelings she has no words for yet. Ecstasy. Exhilaration. A sense of flying.

But then the firefly breaks free of her hand and she hears a tiny splash. A marble has fallen into the river. Bobbing along the surface, it starts to float downstream. One of the tarnished marbles. One that was not meant to stay in the river but to be rescued and sorted and delivered. This is what she is designed for, what she
does.
For all of eternity, she sorts the cloudy marbles from the clear—just like all the other Fates—rescuing the obscure and darkened ones, the ones that have been warped. These contain futures that may not happen on their own. They need help. That's why she culls them and gives them to the Messengers. There is an order, a set of rules. These are not broken—have never been broken.

Corinthe leaps into the water, feeling the strong pull of the current against her legs. The marble floats closer to the edge of the waterfall. She reaches out. The marble is so close. All she has to do is grab it.

Her bare feet slip on the slick rocks of the riverbed as her fingertips brush against the smooth surface of the marble … and just then, the current sweeps it away from her.

She watches in horror as the marble disappears over the edge of the falls, into the unknown space that surrounds Pyralis Terra.

The water continues to rush around her, but Corinthe can't move. She is struck with an icy dread. She has lost someone's destiny.

It might have been a death, or a birth, or a meeting, or a masterpiece. Whatever the story, it is now lost forever.

Suddenly, Corinthe is ripped from the banks of the river, flung into a swirling mass of darkness. She hears screaming. Her sister Fates: are they crying out for her?

“I'm sorry!” she yells, but her voice is obscured by the raging wind.

The pain is searing. Unrecognizable. Her skin is on fire.

Voices float around her, angry and sharp.

You have disrupted the balance.

You are the first Fate to disobey …

And you will be the last.

Then: she's on top of a building. A blaze behind her eyelids, scalding, terrible. Too much light. It's dizzying; it makes her want to throw up. Everything is loud. And the stench. The stench is awful.

“Come,” a soft voice says, and when Corinthe looks up, she sees a beautiful dark-haired woman in a flowing white dress. The woman crouches and places an arm around Corinthe's shoulders. Corinthe has never been touched in such a way before. She doesn't know what to make of it—of the closeness. The woman smells unfamiliar—like river silt, and flowers, and the dust of distant galaxies.

“I'm Miranda,” the woman says, with a smile that reveals a sharp, jagged tooth. “I've been sent here to be your Guardian.”

Corinthe stares at her. “Why me?” she asks.

“Because, my dear, you are very, very special.” Her new Guardian takes her hand. …

“Welcome back,” a strange voice said.

Corinthe opened her eyes and the vision of Miranda—and before that, Pyralis—receded, like a tide being sucked back by the ocean, leaving only a huge, vast sense of loss inside of her. Overhead, a light fixture hung from the ceiling: iron pounded into strips and twisted to form holders for a dozen white candles.

Something heavy was draped over her body, and she struggled to push it aside.

“Slow down,” the stranger said.

Corinthe turned her head and cringed at the sudden burst of pain behind her eyes. Bright sparks danced across her vision. He wrung out a cloth and reapplied it to her head. The coolness felt so good.

The room finally stopped spinning.

The man wore a light-colored shirt, open to reveal his tan, muscular chest. Shaggy brown hair hung to his shoulders, his cap pulled low. He wore a torn goggle on one eye, and there was a large black bird perched on his shoulder, its eyes glittering as it watched her. The bird cawed softly and the man reached up and fed it something from his hand.

“Excuse the dirt. I been out on the ocean for weeks. I need a good bath and a change of clothes.” When he leaned over to press a new cool cloth to her forehead, Corinthe noticed that his uncovered eye was completely white.

“What happened?” she asked. Her voice came out raspy and she swallowed against the dryness.

“You been out for a bit. Hot as desert and kicking in your sleep. Don't worry, I gave you something for the heatstroke.”

Corinthe closed her eyes. Her mind was still cloaked in darkness; her thoughts moved slowly, and she couldn't remember how she'd gotten here.

The gnome. The tree. The Crossroad. Flashes of pain. Towering rocks.

A knife …

Luc!

Luc pressing her own knife against her throat

Corinthe tried to sit up, but the room spun in circles and she soon gave up.

“Whoa now, not so fast. You're in pretty bad shape. You need to rest.” The man helped her to lie back, though he propped up her head with a pillow so she could finally get a good look at where she was.

“Who are you?” Her voice cracked and she ran her tongue over the sharp peaks of her dried lips. As if sensing her needs, the man handed her a small glass he took from a cart next to the bed.

“Water,” he said.

She took the glass, and after the first sips of cold water ran over her tongue, Corinthe couldn't drink fast enough. She emptied the glass in two long gulps, and she extended it for a refill.

“The name's Rhys,” he said as she drank greedily. “This is Mags.” The bird on his shoulder cawed and spread her wings so that feathers framed the man's head. “Show-off,” he muttered at the bird.

Though obviously some kind of cave, the room was well lit, outfitted with dozens of flickering candles. The bed she lay in was comfortably soft and set into a carved-out spot in the wall, as though a portion of the cave had been deliberately hollowed to accommodate it.

Thick rugs with bright patterns covered the dirt floor. Painted onto one of the rough walls was the image of a comet streaking across the sky. Colors exploded across the wall; a trail of bright orange and yellow flames streaked toward the ground.

Corinthe felt a sick feeling building in her chest. She looked away quickly, again struggling to sit up. But her arms refused to support her weight. The pillow under her head felt so soft, so inviting. It had to be the hornets' venom, working even faster than the gnome had predicted. The weakness terrified her—it was as though her body was turning against her.

An exhaustion unlike anything she'd ever experienced made her limbs feel like lead. It was hard not to give in to the pull of the enormous bed and simply close her eyes.

Was this what humans felt like when they needed to sleep?

“How did I get here?” Corinthe asked.

“We brought you here,” a familiar voice said.

Surprise gave Corinthe new strength. She forced herself to sit up and turned around. In one corner was a stone fireplace; Luc stood in front of it, backlit by the glow. It took Corinthe a minute to decipher the expression on his face.

Hatred. It had to be. The fierceness of his eyes, the way his arms were crossed, the set of his jaw.

For a second, Corinthe couldn't speak. “Why didn't you kill me?” she blurted out finally. Corinthe remembered, now, how she had all but dared him to kill her. Why hadn't he? She would have, in his place.

But immediately, a tiny flicker of doubt tickled inside her chest.
Would
she have? She had already failed to do so.

She forced the doubt from her mind. It was a mistake—nothing else.

“
I'm
not a killer,” Luc said. He crossed the room and stood next to the bed, and she found herself unconsciously shrinking away from him. It wasn't fear, though. The harsh accusation in his eyes bothered her in a way nothing had before. He thought she was a killer. But that wasn't true. Not really.

She thought of all the beautiful fates she had executed: the births and the last-minute redemptions, the children she had brought home after they were lost, the kisses and the reunions and the hope given to humans who despaired.

The patron saint of lost causes …

“You don't know me,” Corinthe said, and was surprised that her voice was trembling. “Don't pretend you do.”

Luc rolled his eyes. He didn't hate her, perhaps. He just didn't care about her at all. This thought knifed through her, suddenly painful.

“Look, I'm sick of your riddles. Just tell me what you've done to my sister.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Corinthe was growing frustrated. This fate was far different from anything she'd been tasked with. Complicated. Unclear. Things were supposed to be clear; that was the point of fate. “I didn't even know you
had
a sister.” Pain shot through her temples and she pressed her hands to her head, as though she could drive back the sudden ache.

Rhys bent over her and felt her forehead. “Still warm,” he murmured. “How long has the poison been in your blood?” he asked her.

“What poison?” Luc broke in.

Corinthe ignored him. “I'm not sure,” she told Rhys. “I—I can't remember very clearly.”

“
What
poison?” Luc repeated. He sounded almost angry.

“Looks like hornets' venom.” It was Rhys who answered. “Almost certainly fatal.”

Rhys placed a hand on her back and made Corinthe inhale. Then he felt the pulse in her neck. His rough hands were surprisingly gentle. When he rolled up her sleeves to explore her wounds, she let out a weak, guttural cry. The leeches had left dark welts all over her skin. Mags cawed softly, and even Luc went pale, which unaccountably gave Corinthe some small satisfaction. She refused to show fear in front of him.

“Leeches, eh? Not my first choice. But they'll do in a pinch. Probably bought you a little more time.”

“She's … she's going to die?” Luc stared disbelievingly at Corinthe.

“Might do,” Rhys said curtly. Corinthe's stomach tightened, but at least he was telling her the truth. “All depends.” His white eye seemed to fix on her, and she felt, strangely, as though he were staring directly
into
her. “Strange for someone like you. You ain't supposed to die, are you?” He had lowered his voice, so that Luc couldn't hear.

Corinthe couldn't answer immediately. He knew what she was? Or what she
had been.
She drew her hand away. “I was exiled,” she said in a whisper.

He patted her hand and leaned in close to whisper back, “Happens to the best of us.”

She wanted to ask what he meant—had Rhys been exiled, too? From where? But Luc took a step closer to the bed. She noticed that he refused to look at her directly. “Can't you just give her one of your vials?”

“What do you care?” Corinthe asked.

Now it was Luc's turn to ignore her. “You have to do
something,
” he said to Rhys. “You said you were a healer, right?”

Rhys shoved his cap back and rubbed his forehead, frowning. “I can't stop the poison, but I might manage to slow it down,” he said. “I need to head back to the raft. Got some pinches and potions out there.”

“I'll go,” Luc said, too quickly.

“You don't know what to look for, boy. You stay here and watch over our guest.”

Corinthe was about to protest, but Rhys had already turned and stumped out of the cave. Mags swooped after him.

Luc still refused to look at her and an uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Luc began to pace. Corinthe leaned back on her pillows, keeping her eyes on him. She felt a small spark of admiration. Luc was a mortal. He had traveled the Crossroad and been thrust into this awful world of sun and dust, and yet he was okay.