Fates (24 page)

T
he blackness in her mind, the fog, began to break apart when Corinthe heard the soft strains of music again. The familiar melody calmed her. A gentle current lifted her body. When her head broke the surface, she inhaled deeply. The air was fresh and carried with it the scent of flowers.

The scent of home.

Her mind felt clear, unclouded. Refreshed. When you truly believed in what you were doing, it came naturally. The burning sensation in her limbs receded slightly. She sank her hands into the soft sand of the river's bottom and slowly dragged herself to shore.

At the edge of the water, she paused and looked down at her reflection. Her head was haloed with soft purple light from the sky above her, and her skin practically glowed.

Her breath hitched in her throat.

Home.

The word whispered across her mind, enveloping her in warmth.

She almost couldn't believe it—she hadn't fulfilled the final act, and yet she was here. Not transformed, though—she was still in her semihuman form. But already, the healing winds of Pyralis were working. They sang through her blood, a decade full of pain, an ache that had lodged itself in her bones, in her teeth, behind her eyes. It was so close, so close … If she did what was expected of her, she'd be a Fate again, so soon she could taste it. That was what Miranda had promised, what the marble had indicated: her own knife. The rising sun in the background as the knife flashed in the air before coming down. One life lost, one fate fulfilled. And yet …

She gasped. It felt as if she had been holding her breath forever; only now was the weight in her chest truly eased. The sense of relief, the release from pain, was like joy. The scrape on her cheek had faded, and her tangled hair softened when a light breeze teased it into a loose braid. She looked younger, healthier again. She could feel the hornets' poison loosening its grip on her. … She would soon be strong again. Capable of fulfilling her task once and for all, restoring the balance of things, regaining her proper place. She looked
almost
like a child. Innocent.

But she wasn't innocent anymore.

Something had changed inside her.

She glanced at the unnatural hue of the sky. It was too light. The vast purple sky was webbed with red, as if dawn were breaking.

Corinthe felt fear lodge in her chest. She had not yet fulfilled her task. She had altered the flow of the universe.

She had already altered the fate of one boy.

The universe, she had learned, contained ripples and grains of doubt. Just like the marbles, destiny wasn't flat and one-directional. It was round and could be seen from infinite different angles, full of shifting, swirling gradations. Every rule seemed to have its exceptions.

And this was one of them.

Because she had made her choice.

Beyond the stone walls that surrounded the Great Gardens was the flower that could save a life, though it would kill whoever plucked it.

Corinthe no longer had any regret or doubt. Just a sadness swelling inside her, making her feel lightheaded, weightless, as though she were disappearing. The decision felt as intimate and essential as her own name.

The balance of the universe still had to be set right—which meant someone had to die.

She turned away from the river, pulled by an invisible force inside her. A force that had nothing to do with the power of this place; a force that was all her own. It amazed her how simple it all was, really.

Pyralis was filled with endless walks of flowers—great, tangled stretches of vivid green fields, bursts of wildflowers, forests dappled in twilight. This world was an island surrounded on all sides by the river, and the Great Gardens were at its center, walled off, forbidden. There was a spot, though, a gap in one portion of the wall, where a Fate might just wiggle through. Alessandra, one of Corinthe's sister-Fates, had found it one day and showed Corinthe. Together, they had slipped beneath the wall, but Alessandra had grown scared when they came face to face with the giant statues in the Gardens, and Corinthe had had to lead her back out.

It was said that the statues, the Seven Sisters, had once been real beings who had displeased the Unseen Ones in some way. Corinthe had never given it a thought until now. For the first time, she wondered what their great sin had been. What had they done to deserve being locked in that stony, monstrous state?

Maybe they simply wanted something they couldn't have. Something not destined but found. Like Luc. Luc, who had risked everything to find a flower that would save his sister.

Risked everything for love.

As she made her way to the Gardens, through a field spotted with flowers in colors she had not seen, except in her imagination, for ten years, she found it difficult to breathe through the thickness in her throat. How she had missed all this. Everything was so familiar, and also so strange. The air was quiet, buzzing only with the soft hum of the fireflies and the sighing of the wind. No laughter, no voices, no car horns and screeching wheels and doors slamming and …

Life. No life.

Not a single animal rustled the grass; no Fates, either. They must have been farther down the river, bent over their tasks, perhaps trying to correct the balance she had disrupted.

Even now, she could see that the sky above her was lightening quickly. The violet had faded to a dull gray. There was a fine line of gold at the horizon, and Corinthe suddenly remembered her first sunrise: crouching on the roof, watching the explosion of light and the noise that seemed to come with it as Humana shook itself awake.

She thought of Luc. She wondered what it would have been like to watch a sunrise next to him. To wind her fingers with his and walk down Marina Boulevard together. But there were some things that just couldn't be, no matter how you looked at them.

The chaos had started to invade Pyralis. Day was coming, bringing not just the heat and the light but the passage of time. And in a place of timelessness, a place of eternity, time was a cancer. It would eat away at the edges of this world until the Gardens wilted and died. Until Pyralis disappeared completely.

Tall grasses whispered against her skin, sending shocks of life through her, a constant, pulsing reminder that everything was connected, that everyone had a place, that nothing ever truly ended. Here, she didn't even have to stitch; the life flowed through her and she swam inside it, as though moving through the river.

She made her way deeper into the island, into the lushness, following a well-worn path that led straight to the main entrance of the Great Gardens. Straight to the soul of Pyralis. She felt buoyed by certainty, almost floating.

She passed the stone maps of the universe, ever shifting, and treaded lightly across the plains of white tea flowers she and Alessandra used to play in. Corinthe stopped for a minute, almost certain that she heard Alessandra calling her name. She spun around. No one was there.

The path left the tea field behind, and she passed through a thicket of overgrowth. She could feel that she was getting close. And then the path arrived at a towering iron gate, permanently locked. It connected the walls of the garden. Impenetrable. Here she could feel the pulse of the place surging through her veins, making her almost delirious. She ran her fingers over the lacy ferns that crowded the perimeter of the main gate. Then she found the place where a fiery red patch of grass grew among the ferns. She followed a path of stones that led into thick growth, going by a hundred-year-old memory, an intuitive language that allowed her to feel her way, always and forever, through Pyralis, like a bird wheeling south in winter.

The ground seemed to rise up beneath her feet and lead her deeper into the ever-thickening foliage around the edges of the stone wall, and she became so entranced by the healing, seductive energy that flowed through her here that she almost didn't see it at first: the gap.

She felt a pang in her throat. This was it: the secret entrance Alessandra had discovered all those years ago. The stone wall was overgrown with vines and tall grass, but this tiny portion had been somehow disrupted, dug up. Crumbs of stone and dust lay mingled with the verdant mud at the base of the wall.

A strange feeling came over Corinthe. Why hadn't any of the other Fates ever discovered this break in the wall? Why did the break exist at all? Could it be that the Unseen Ones had known of it forever … that its presence was a temptation, a test of faith to see who would obey the rules and who would break them?

Or was it possible that this, like so many other things Corinthe had encountered in the last few days, was an anomaly, an accident? Like the faulty marbles, like ripples in the river. Perhaps the great plan was made of water and not stone: it changed, flowed, and adjusted.

Corinthe touched the broken section of the wall—she knew which stones were loosest, and began to move them aside. Then she crouched down to crawl through the narrow hole.

The Gardens contained every flower, every known plant in the universe, and for a moment Corinthe was almost overwhelmed by the smell on the other side of the wall: a hot, heady, intoxicating scent of growth crowded on endless growth. A narrow rock path spiraled through the garden, down to its very center, and Corinthe followed it, her heart beating fast. She almost feared that each footstep, however quiet, might waken the Seven Sisters, send them running after her.

At last the path ended, and Corinthe found herself standing at the edge of a great grass amphitheater. At its very center grew a single purple bloom.

The Flower of Life.

The petals, exactly eight, were each as long as her forearm, extending from a pure white center. For a second, she couldn't move. She almost felt as if she could cry again. She was here, at last, after all of her years of exile, all of her tasks, all of her trouble. This flower would save her, in its own way.

Again, the simplicity of it all struck her as somehow funny. Easy. Painless.

With the pain in her legs gone, all she could feel was the beating of her own heart. She was kneeling in front of the flower before she could register that she had moved. She was filled with a feeling bigger than joy or sorrow—an emotion so strong it renewed her strength and purpose.

She reached out and wrapped her fingers around the stem, right below the petals: the only flower that would ever grow, the only thing that could save her, here, underneath her fingers. She gasped. The flower's pulse was so strong it almost knocked her over. She could feel her hand burning.

She would die, but it would be worth it. Because Luc would save his sister. It would be Corinthe's gift, to thank him for what he had given her.

She had finally found something more than fate to believe in.

T
he sounds of the partiers had long ago receded as the cave faded into darkness. Luc ran. He ran for what felt like hours, though the world around him remained dark and freezing. He ran blind and yet he didn't stumble, not even once … and despite his guilt, the path in his mind was so clear, so certain. His legs moved without any effort, and as he ran, he felt all the exhaustion and fear of the recent past sliding down his back and away. He grew stronger, fiercer, faster. It was more intense than any sprint he'd made across the soccer field.

He felt, for the first time in a long time, free.

As he ran, he thought about Jasmine. The compass grew warm in his hands. He would find a way to return it to Rhys. He shouldn't have stolen it, but he knew, intuitively, that this would lead him to Jas.

Jasmine.
When she was five, she would demand horsey rides from him for hours at a time.

When she was eight, she'd wanted to see a real live monkey at the zoo and would not stop asking until he took her to see one.

And when she was fourteen, he had finally told her the truth about their mom.

Jasmine was all he had.

He
would
find her.

Luc dove into the frigid river—the one that flowed in two directions at once. The river of darkness. He knew what to expect, but the feeling of drowning consumed him and, for a second, took his breath away.

But he knew how to do this.
Don't fight it. Just … feel your way. Listen.
And so he listened, and inside his palm, the archer spun and spun and … finally stopped spinning. The water faded to air that was thick and humid.

Sounds trickled into his awareness. The low drone of bees. A soft gurgling he couldn't identify.

He blinked the dizzying fog from his vision when he felt solid ground under his feet. He stood in a lush green forest, threaded with mist. Enormous trees towered above him, forming a canopy that barely allowed light to penetrate. In front of him was a clearing filled with huge flowers—just like the image Corinthe had shown him.

His mouth went dry. It had happened so fast this time.

He was here. In the Forest of the Blood Nymphs. This had to be it.

“Jas?” He called out his sister's name, and as though in response, he heard a strange whine coming from above him—like the whine of a thousand mosquitoes. Goose bumps broke out over his arms. This world was all wrong. It was filled with growth, but it felt off, like death and decay.

He moved into the clearing, watching carefully for signs of movement, for predators that might be lurking behind the thick foliage. Nothing.

And then his heart stopped.

He almost didn't recognize her. Her eyelids were translucent. The roots of her hair had turned blue, and her face looked tight, drawn, like that of a much older woman. Thick veins ran over her face and down her neck, covering her shoulders like spidery tattoos.

“Jas?” he whispered.

She didn't answer. Didn't even stir. Luc felt the pressure of a panic unlike any he had ever known. This was worse than seeing in her in the hospital—worse than the drive there, half blind, shoeless, not sure whether he would find her alive or dead.

“Hold on, Jas. I'm going to get you out of here, okay? Just hang on.” He didn't think she could hear him, but speaking made him feel better. He pulled hard on the vines that encased her, but they almost seemed alive—they resisted him, tightening around her instantly.

He spotted a vine, thicker than the rest, that had pierced the skin of her wrist just below her jasmine tattoo. Without hesitation, Luc pulled the knife from his back pocket and slashed through it.

A horrible screeching filled the clearing. The remaining vines released her at once, and the flower began thrashing, as though it had been injured. The treetops exploded with movement and sound.

Jasmine slumped forward. He wrapped an arm around her waist, steadying her. She was unconscious, but he could feel a faint pulse in her neck. He quickly slid the knife into his belt and hefted her in his arms as though she were a child.

Somehow, he had to get Jas to the Gardens, to the flower that could save her life. Rhys hadn't told him what to do if he managed to find his sister.

Suddenly, two creatures dropped lightly out of the trees. He stopped. Turned. Two more creatures landed soundlessly behind him.

They had to be Blood Nymphs. Their bodies were translucent, and they had flat, inhuman eyes. Luc could see the veins running with different colors under their skin, and he felt his stomach lurch.

He tried to sidestep one of them and it let out a shrill whine. The other three joined in, and soon the canopy above them was filled with the sound. Luc looked up. There were hundreds of them, massed in the trees, skittering over the branches like overgrown insects.

Jas stirred in his arms and groaned.

“You can't have her.” Luc's voice, miraculously, didn't falter. He hitched her higher onto his shoulder with one arm and with the other fumbled to extract his knife from his belt.

A nymph with pale yellow skin hissed at him, revealing sharp teeth. Luc slashed through the air and the nymph drew back, but only for a second. The whine above them was like a stake driving cold fear into his back.

And then the trees began to move and sway. He noticed one tree that did not look like the others—its leaves looked like shards of sky, and it didn't move like the rest.

Could it be a Crossroad?

He backed toward it as vines began to unwind from the tree trunks, slithering across the ground toward him. One of them began snaking around his ankle, and he reached down instinctively and slashed at it. The vine withdrew, spitting a thick black liquid into the grass, and immediately the other vines began to crowd him, a circle of twisting, ropy snakes.

And it gave him an idea.

As the vines writhed upward, about to form a cage around him, Luc pricked his finger with the knife.

Instantly, a hush fell over the nymphs—they were fixated on the tiny drop of blood on his finger.

He could practically feel their hunger. Their eyes dilated.

And then they lunged for him.

Luc, hauling Jasmine over his shoulder, stabbed the knife into the trunk of the tree behind him—the one with the blue leaves. He stepped onto the knife, which formed a kind of rung, and heaved Jasmine over a high branch. Just at that moment, the Nymphs dove straight into the cage of vines.

They were trapped.

The Nymphs' squeals and whines grew wild.

Luc had climbed over the higher branch and removed the knife from the trunk. Then he grabbed Jas's limp body and climbed even higher, into the blue leaves. As he did, a feeling of familiar dizziness overcame him.

As the trees hissed and the trapped Blood Nymphs screamed, Luc's fingers closed around the compass.

He thought about the Flower of Life, his only hope. He pictured the vivid bloom, the slender purple blossoms, the white center.

It wasn't working.

And then he thought of Corinthe. He saw her lips in her head, her vivid eyes, the way they went from stormy gray to the subtle softness of violet. He felt her soft hand in his, the tangle of her hair on his cheek.

He felt a sudden explosion of light, a bright burst in his mind.

Still he held Jasmine tightly in his arms.

And then the light went out, and they were on an island in the middle of the sky.

Luc could hardly breathe. It wasn't exactly night—closer to dawn—but they were surrounded by more stars than he had ever seen when he and Jas snuck up onto the roof and made a game of spotting constellations.

“Jas, look,” he whispered, but his sister didn't stir.

He knew he had to hurry, but instinctively, he sought out the familiar constellations—Andromeda, Pegasus, Orion. For companionship. For luck. They were all there, just like in his world, but none were in the correct order, as though a great hand had reached up into the sky and rearranged the puzzle pieces, and for the first time since he was a very little kid, Luc almost felt the urge to cry.

“Which one is the flying horse, again?” Jasmine asked.

Luc pointed out Pegasus, ran his fingers over each star, and drew a picture for her in the sky.

“That looks nothing like a horse,” she scoffed. “The only thing that even looks close is the Big Dipper. I mean, this one is supposed to be a bear. Seriously?” She pointed a finger at the constellation in the library book they'd checked out earlier.

“You have to fill in the blanks with your imagination. See how they show you a real bear here, and then where each of the stars falls inside it?” He traced the outline on the page.

“It still makes no sense,” she said. And then, after a pause: “Show me another one.”

Luc went through the book, page by page, illuminating the drawings with a flashlight, pointing to the corresponding stars in the sky. They stayed on the fire escape until dawn. Jasmine had nodded off earlier, but Luc tucked his sweatshirt around her and let her sleep. Then he sat there in the quiet, staring up at the stars.

Luc inhaled. Strangely, he no longer felt afraid. He felt peaceful, certain.

He would save Jasmine.

Maybe Corinthe was right after all. Maybe it had all been fated this way.

Tiny fireflies darted around over his head—and yet they were not just fireflies, and seemed to be filled with light far too bright for their tiny bodies. Flowers in colors Luc had never seen, never even imagined before, bloomed everywhere. Their aroma made the air feel thick against his skin.

He heard the faint echo of girls laughing, and it seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. He heard, too, the sound of rushing water. He shouldered through a wall of lush, unfamiliar plants, and found himself standing at the top of a majestic waterfall that seemed to flow directly off the edge of the world.

Hundreds of tiny silver marbles bobbed in the waves.

This was it—the place Corinthe talked about.

Pyralis Terra.

His chest hitched. “We did it,” he said to Jasmine. Her breathing was shallow, barely audible. “Just hang on, okay? For me. Almost there now.” His voice broke and he cleared his throat.

At the edge of the stream, he laid Jasmine down gently on a soft patch of moss. He hated to leave her, but they were running out of time; she was so pale, and her lips were almost purple. He had to find the flower quickly, and he could move faster if he was unencumbered.

He reached out and smoothed a lock of dark blue hair away from her face. For a second, his throat tightened up. He remembered how she used to fall asleep on his shoulder on the car rides back from San Jose, when they went to visit their grandparents.

“I'll be right back,” he said, even though he knew she couldn't hear him. “I promise.”

Then he straightened up. He was close—so close. He just needed to find the flower.

A makeshift path of white rocks was studded in the ground, and he followed it. It was as though he
knew,
instinctively, where he needed to go. Everything about this world felt intuitive, fluid, as though he'd been here before, or seen it in a dream.

He pushed deeper into the crowded growth. Enormous ferns brushed his shoulders, like the touch of gentle hands. He accidentally nudged a pink, bell-shaped flower, and the air filled with a heady, sweet scent that made his head swim—like the pine tree on Christmas morning.

He felt almost drunk and had to force himself to concentrate.

The path ended abruptly at a gated entrance between a pair of enormous stone walls. Seven huge statues confronted him, three on one side of the walkway, four on the other, towering above him like sentries. They had to be over ten feet tall, and all had women's bodies, but their faces were completely blank except for half-crescent slashes to indicate mouths.

Despite the fact that they had no eyes, Luc got the sudden impression that they were watching him, and he shivered as he passed under their shadow. Beyond the gate, he saw a riot of blooms; this must be where the flower grew. He pushed hard on the gate, but it wouldn't budge. He shoved harder, leaned all his weight against the heavy iron fretwork, and still it held strong, although he couldn't see any signs of a lock. He stuck an arm through the gap in the bars but lost hope of slipping through the gate—he was far too broad, even turned sideways.

If he couldn't open the gate, he would just have to climb it. Luc jumped and grabbed hold of one of the iron bars.

Then it began to shake.

No. The ground began to shake.

There was a heavy grating sound, and for one wild second, he thought he'd found a way to make the gate open. Then he saw an enormous shadow passing over him, and all the hairs on his neck stood up.

Luc dropped back to the ground. He turned. His heart stopped.

The statues had moved.

The statues were
alive.