“It’s not fully plugged in,” I plow on, as if it’s an excuse. “I don’t think he knows that. Just the power cord. I ran out of time before I could arrange all the other tubes and things. I suspect he’ll fade over time anyway. But you could use it as leverage.”
Erik still hasn’t really responded. I shove my thumbs in my belt and only then do I realize my citizenship scroll isn’t there anymore. I must have lost it during one of the skirmishes.
“He’s likely already gained a lot of strength. Once he and Luc start working together . . . no one can stop their power.”
Erik nods.
I reach out my hand. “Thanks for everything. I mean that.”
He grasps my hand and shakes it. “Be careful out there.”
I laugh under my breath. “Right.”
He smiles, too, like we both know how useless the suggestion is. He surprises me by saying a quick prayer, and then he claps me on the back. With a sharp nod, we turn away from each other—him back to the castle and me toward the barrier.
When I reach it, the wheat field becomes clearer, like a lens bringing things into focus. It’s less rippled. I put a hand out to touch the barrier, and my fingers pass right through like going through a hologram. The only change I feel is a slight warmth from the wheat field that contrasts the coolness of this mystery land.
Thin threads of light spark around my wrist like they did around Heidi when she walked through that first time.
I take a breath and then a step. Nothing hinders me. The warmth of sunlight envelops my skin, and I resist the urge to sink down into the wheat and lie there with my eyes closed, pretending it’s a summer day. But then the sounds come.
Loud sniffs. Yaps. I open my eyes. The nightbeasts on the edge have noticed my presence. They’re thin and scattered. The skeleton of my dragon has become a haven for some sleeping nightbeasts, and their heads pop up and turn toward me as if I’ve made a noise.
I haven’t.
They smell me.
They sense me. Nightbeasts now come from the shadows all around, gathering and growing in number like a swelling flood. If I’m going to get out of this field alive, I need to make a run for it before they get too thick. I rest my hand on the crossbow for reassurance, but then remember I have no nightmist arrows. It’s useless against these creatures.
I break into a sprint. My heart pounds faster than my feet, and I try to match its rhythm with my pace, headed for the sparsest corner. My speed sends the nightbeasts baying and bounding toward my destination. On a whim, I yank some wheat stalks up by the roots.
Then I put on an extra burst and break through the field edge. I feint left then dart right all the while swinging the wheat stalks back and forth. A nightbeast lunges with teeth bared, but he ducks away from the whoosh of a wheat stalk. To my surprise, the other beasts seem hesitant, too, still chasing but not going in for the kill.
I keep running. They give chase. I’m losing energy and out of breath, but after several yards the nightbeasts must realize I’m not going to be a meal. Some slow. Some fall back. Then they suddenly start attacking each other and tearing one another’s flesh.
They resort to cannibalism because, while I hold this wheat—for whatever reason—they cannot touch me.
I dare to slow my pace, but not my vigilance with the wheat. They eye me from a distance, but the change in my pace does nothing to encourage them. Most have turned back to the wheat field already.
I stop altogether, grounded by curiosity more than anything else. I tear off one of the heads of wheat and rub it gently between my palms until the kernels separate, the same way as when I first encountered the field. Each kernel remains golden and glistening. I pick up one between thumb and forefinger and toss it toward the nightbeasts. It’s light, so it doesn’t go far, but it lands a few feet away from the nearest nightbeast—a strange badger of sorts—which darts back as though I’ve thrown fire at it. The badger then hisses at the kernel, turns its back, and rapidly kicks dirt over it.
Even covered, the nightbeasts keep their distance.
All of that from a single kernel.
I remember now how, when the children fell off the nightbeast dragon, a few final wheat kernels had fallen from my pocket. And then the cardinals came and saved the children. Were those actually from the kernels? Was the thing Stranna dropped from the sky actually a kernel and not a lit match?
I tuck the rest of the wheat into what would have been my money pouch, had I made any money during my time here. I ponder while I travel. Are these kernels like the rocks with light threads in them? Can I create with them? Now that I’m away from Castle Ithebego I’m not sure what I can make. I don’t want to use nightmist, even though it’s easy here. But it makes the roots come from my soles, and all it ever does is make me want to create more out of it with emotions I can’t control.
I liked my saber-toothed tiger and my hound dog. I was fond of them, and a little pang hits my chest at the feeling of betraying them by abandoning nightmist. But now that I’ve created with the strange light threads in the stone, I can’t go back to the other way.
I set off toward my destination. It wasn’t until I left the wheat field that I realized what that destination is. It’s not the coliseum. Not yet. I need a way to get past its fire.
So I head toward the Tunnels.
The Tunnels are far off, and on foot the journey is slow and conspicuous, especially if Luc and his tirones fly overhead. But the Vetters at the Tunnel exits—like James from when I first arrived—have a key to one of the coliseum gates. And I need a way in.
I break into a light jog, causing my body to pound in pain from my Real World injuries. I keep glancing toward the sky, waiting for Luc to show up, but there are too many buildings and broken towers around to get much of a view beyond directly overhead.
I reach the catacombs and swallow irritation. I was heading too sharply along the edge of the Nightmare. I need to go more toward the bottom edge of the map. I can’t make myself think of it as south because such cardinal directions imply there’s a sun to read them by.
But here this no sun. There is no direction. Only death and confusion and darkness.
I use my arrival at the catacombs to my advantage and hike up the incline to where the phoenix’s nest is. The phoenix isn’t here. I grit my teeth. Flying would be faster. And safer. But from here I do have a view of the coliseum. It’s distant, but close enough to reveal small specks circling the mammoth structure, like buzzards circling a kill, but none dive, and none seem to be carrying riders.
As I stare at the odd scene, there is a small puff of mist above. Three more buzzard creatures appear in the air.
They’re being created. By Luc. Chills trickle down my skin. They’re sky steeds, and there are enough for an army. The attack on Castle Ithebego is sooner than I expected.
I swivel my gaze to where the Tunnel exits should be, but they’re cloaked in gray cloud, the same as when I first arrived. It’s going to take hours to get there on foot. Where is the phoenix?
I search the skies to no avail. Did the buzzards get her?
I scan her nest for any threads of light or warmth or gold so I could possibly create something. Nothing but regular straw, colored the way it should be and not glowing the way the rocks do.
I reach into my pouch and pull out a wheat kernel. It still shines with the life of the wheat field bound in it. Surely this will work. I hold it tight in my fist, close my eyes, and let my imagination send a message. Not a command, but more of a dream.
