Welcome aboard the Iron Lass. I do hope ye enjoy the voyage.”
Isaach winks, then brandishes a pint, uncorks it, and chugs. Ale leaks and courses down and around the corners of his mouth, flecking his beard with alcohol droplets. Gone is the sour demeanor he wore during the council meeting. This man is a swab-bucketful of just enough drinks and not enough kilt. My gaze avoids him when he lounges on a nearby barrel, legs wide and drink punching the air. Unicorn Joust indeed. This man should not be allowed near weaponry of any sort. Ever.
Our crew goes to work, joining with the Iron Lass bunch to ready the vessel. It’s not as large as the Seven Seas and designed more like a Viking ship, with one sail at the center, lengthy oars protruding from either side, and the head of a Dragon carved into the wood at the bow. Yes, I finally learned the difference between stern and bow. I’m a true pirate now. Savvy?
My sisters and I share one oar, which is heavier than it first appears. We’re setting sail from the south side of Tecre Island, opposite of where we entered through the Tecre Sea. Just getting out of what I’ve been informed is Sarames Bay is difficult enough. Countess Ambrose didn’t come to see us off and Tide didn’t show either. We waited, but Ky figured our resident surfer dude decided to remain behind with his people. Makes sense but a glance at Ebony’s heartbroken expression has me irked. Tide, at the very least, could’ve said good-bye to her.
Dawn breaks but the air remains chilled. My face is numb and I rub my hands together, blowing hot breaths between them. According to Ky it’ll take all day to reach the Fifth’s Threshold. My arms scream from the burn brought on by rowing. But the work feels good, just as it did when we helped clear the Fourth’s wreckage.
Each day I grow stronger, more confident. When I happen upon my reflection it’s leaner, more toned. My round face has lengthened. My cheeks are more defined. It’s been awhile since I even bothered to feel self-conscious of my mirrormark. I was worried about change, terrified of what it would bring, but perhaps it’s for the better.
The old me would never be able to handle what’s happened. The old me would have fallen apart over Joshua’s betrayal. Yes, it hurts, but it won’t break me. I won’t let it. As Ky said, Joshua makes his own choices. I can’t be blamed for them, and I won’t be made to feel guilty for his despicable actions.
Joshua and I have been through so much and not enough. Through everything and nothing. Through beginnings and endings.
Joshua and I have been through . . .
We’re through.
The wind picks up a few miles out and a horde of dark clouds brews in the distance. Even from here I can see the lightning flashes within them. A natural squall or something caused by the draining Thresholds? Captain Isaach is passed out, and Ky orders us to draw in our oars. We do so, locking them in place. He struts to our trio, brows knit and eyes searching the waves.
He’s thinking what I am. Drat. We’re headed straight into a storm and it may be another side effect of the Void’s hold on the Verity—the Verity’s connection to the Void. I rub my right arm, which still hurts, but I’ve gotten used to the ache. Is that good or bad?
“It’s neither,” Ky assures my mind. “Believe me, there’s no other way to cope with the pain but to live with it.”
Wind whistles past my ears. I lift the hood of my sweatshirt. What should we do?
“What do you suggest, my queen?”
I’d roll my eyes, but the seriousness in his thought makes me think better of it. My gaze descends. This is really the first time anyone has looked to me for guidance. The task is harder than it seems, and I make a note to put together my own council when and if I ever return to the Second. I’d include Mom and Makai and Stormy. Maybe I’ll earn some points back with Preacher if—
“Em?”
I chew the inside of my cheek. See who has one of the three remaining Callings. If we’re lucky maybe there’s a water Magnet on board who can help calm the storm. Unlikely, but all avenues should be exhausted before we buckle down and wait. Man, now I really wish I’d brought Stormy.
“Good idea,” Ky thinks. “Why don’t you go ahead and shift, scout things a few miles out. Don’t fly too close to the gale, but get close enough to report what we’re up against.”
Aye, aye, Captain.
He turns, moving from crew member to crew member, asking if they’re Called and if any are Masks or Scribs or Magnets. Not that a Scrib could do much, but who knows? Maybe someone carries knowledge of hurricane survival. What could it hurt?
I move to the stern, crouch behind a crate, strip off my top layer of clothing. Then I release the song within. My voice has grown stronger, clearer. I let the lyrics surround me. Wait for the familiar feeling of weightlessness.
But nothing happens.
Try again.
Fail.
Again.
Nothing.
Ten times. Ten times I sing my Mirror melody—the notes their own symphony—and neglect to transform. No. Not again. The Verity has absorbed another Calling. My voice is stronger because of it, but what does this matter? I’d hoped Mask would be the last to go. Nothing is ever so fortunate.
My heart an anchor at my feet, I don my clothes. Head across the ship to give Ky the worse-than-sucky news. But before I reach him, Ebony stops me.
She’s gotten super easy to read. The mischief perking her cheeks lets on she has a plan B. Hands on her hips, she quirks a brow. “Trouble in the butterfly department?”
“What are you thinking?”
Lips curving at the corners, she says, “I think you’re ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“What else?” She flips her hair. Her Calling may be gone. Her makeup and nice clothes absent. But she’s Fifth Avenue as ever, all attitude and class. Poise. “I think it’s time we teach you how to project.”
If you’d told me two months ago that Quinn Kelly—in any shape or form—would one day teach me how to not only harness the Magnet within but project it, I’d have laughed. “Magnet what?” I would have said. “How much crazy-sauce did you eat last night?”
Good thing no one ever asked. They’d totally be saying, “I told you so,” right now.
“Again!” Ebony’s shout barely carries over the storm’s roar. “Don’t go soft on me. Draw out the Magnet. Be the Magnet.”
Oh sheesh, she sounds like my old PE teacher. “See the ball. Be the ball.”
I swipe the rain from my eyes. Slick my hair off my face for the hundredth time. What I’d give to have Stormy here. What’s she been doing in my absence? If only there were such a thing as phone calls between Reflections. I wish with all my heart to see her. To tell her about everything that’s happened. To confide in her about Joshua. And Ky. Ebony has opened up to me, but I haven’t crossed that street yet. I’m still feeling her out I guess. Waiting to see if she’s for real this time.
“What are you waiting for?” she calls through cupped hands.
Ugh. Fine. I put thoughts of Stormy on hold, free my song again. My sneakers slip and slide on the rain-ridden deck. I’m on my knees. Back up. Ack, I’m down. Splinter through the heel of my palm. Lovely.
We didn’t hit poor weather until a couple hours in. Ebony and Khloe put their heads together, working to figure out what my Magnet ability might be.
“Water?” Khloe suggested.
Ebony shrugged. “We could try it.”
And we did. It was the most obvious since Stormy is the only Magnet Ebony and I have met.
Nada. Zilch. Water access denied.
“Wind?” Khloe offered. “Fire?”
Nope and nope. The storm drew closer, and still I’d summoned nothing. Except this isn’t just a storm, it’s a typhoon. Five bucks says we’re overboard before we reach the Threshold.
“I’ll take your wager and raise you ten,” Ky thinks. “We’ll make it.”
When did you become Mr. Optimistic?
“When I realized you loved me.”
Yesterday?
“Try two months ago.”
Why am I not surprised?
“Remember what I told you about Magnets?” The weather is too much and I’ve no clue where on the ship Ky is.
Sort of? Question? Statement? I’m too soaked to tell.
“C’mon, Em. Scrib is working fine. If anyone can remember, it’s you.”
I’m on my feet again. Trip. Bite my tongue. Taste blood. Magnets, hmm . . .
They have to maintain extreme focus. And the focus exhausts them, drains their energy.
Ugh, my energy is already drained. I’m starting a step behind.
“What else?”
I will my brain to recall our conversation that night at Wichgreen Village. So much information. Such a small span of time. But . . .
They summon things. Elements. Matter. Energy.
“Try earth!” Ebony calls, breaking my concentration. “The sand at the ocean bed. See if you can summon that. You could make an island for the ship to wait on until the storm ends.”
I shake my sore arm. Grab the hem of my sweatshirt and ring it out. My feet squish in my sneakers. Wind sends the rain down at a diagonal. Still, I home in on my song. Earth, huh? I’ll give it a whirl.
Annnnnnddddd no.
“Try energy!” Khloe again.
I shake my head. What energy? Where? How do I even wrap my brain around the concept?
Ebony makes a time-out T with her arms. My sisters and I huddle together, bodies racked with shivers. “This isn’t working.” Sniffle. Cough. “We should just hunker down and wait for the storm to pass. I’m useless.”
“You are not useless,” Ebony says. “We just haven’t found your niche.”
My niche. Right. “How do you summon energy? How is that a thing?”
“Too bad Tide’s not here.” Khloe bounces on her toes. Her soggy curls hang like wet rotini.
“That’s it!” With a side hug to our youngest sister, Ebony squeals, “Runt, you’re a genius!”
“I know.” Khloe’s smile is like a painted doll’s.
“What’d I miss?” I glance between them.
“Remember what Tide said?” When she says his name, Ebony lights up like the Lincoln Center fountain.
My conversations with Tide were few and brief at that. “He said . . .” It’s coming back to me. “The Thresholds are comprised of energies rather than elements and—”
“If a Threshold drains”—Ebony’s interruption is rushed and bubbling—“it would create a wormhole. Which is why you have to summon the Threshold now. This storm is a warning. By the time we reach the passageway into the Fifth, it could be too late.”
Holy Verity, could I summon a Threshold? And not only that, project the ability onto another? Could my sisters and I work together to draw the Fifth Reflection Threshold here to get us out of harm’s way? It’s worth a try.
I scoot back. Widen my stance. Close my eyes. The Verity springs up. I feel the power of my Calling surge, the spark before a blackout. Something tells me this is it. This is the last time the Verity will generate a Calling before going silent once more. And then it won’t be long before its light is doused entirely.
All or nothing. Make it count.
The ship rocks and tilts and I’m forced to brace myself against the railing. Thunder gives a standing ovation with its rounds of applause, while lightning flashes a curtain-call warning. Like the earthquakes, there’s no doubt this storm is anything but supernatural.
Which is why we cannot fail. I cannot fail. We will make it to the Fifth in one piece. We will find Dahlia Moon. We know a broken heart created the Void. Could the opposite rescind it?
The theory formed last night. Wide awake, I paced my room, mulling over the notion. If we could track down this immortal woman who was the first Verity’s vessel, help her find true love as she desired, could the Void be conquered?
Perhaps Dahlia Moon will have more answers.
Ebony waves her arms in frantic arches. I scan my peripherals, then try to block the chaos and find my calm. Around me, everything falls apart. Flint clutches the mast as if his life depends on it. Gunner mans the thrashing sail along with a few crew members I don’t recognize. Ky runs to and fro, barking orders, assisting where he’s needed. Charley is perched on the lookout while the remainder of the Iron Lass crew pours buckets upon buckets of water back into the ocean. Isaach, of course, is still passed out, water sloshing over his gut and up his kilt.
It’s madness. Here. There.
Everywhere.
Countess Ambrose’s final warning buoys in my memory. “The deeper into the Reflections you venture, the more opposition you will face. I have heard rumors of those who worship the Void.”
“Like the Soulless?” I asked.
She gave a solemn shake of her head. “Soulless have no free will. No minds of their own. The ones I refer to are known as Shadowalkers. They revere the darkness. Bow to it.”
Ky bristled at her words.
I shuddered. Who would have thought such people existed?
A wave crashes over the railing, drenching me with the very real and life-threatening present. Ignore anxiety. Ignore danger. I have one task now. No use worrying about anything else but how to get us out of here.
“Projecting is a cinch,” Khloe said before we hit the squall. “Think of your Calling like a wire running between you and the Verity, connecting you to your ability. You take it in”—she drew her hands to her chest—“then push it out.” Her palms shoved away. “Most people stop there, but Ebony showed me how to keep pushing until my power is more than my own.”
As if in slow motion my mind travels to the Fifth’s Threshold. I read about it in Mom’s journal, and there was even a small sketch for reference. I recall the passage, letting the words wash over me.
Twelfth Day, Sixth Month, Thirtieth Year of Aidan’s Reign
Mom was only eight when she penned the entry, though, as was her custom, the words read as if written by someone years her senior.
The king has returned from his outer Reflection travels, and as always he has come bearing gifts. As he has no daughters of his own, he is always kind enough to shower me with items he might bestow upon his own children, if he had any.
He did have one. Just not yet.
This time he arrived with pastels from the Fourth’s Kaide Agi Marketplace and a miniature canvas depicting a painting of the Threshold leading from the Fourth to the Fifth—Yanlib Sea Threshold. The king relayed it is one of his favorites, and by far one of the loveliest Thresholds to behold.
And there, illuminating the page opposite the entry, was a sketch of a waterfall that seemed to cascade from the clouds. The sketch caught my eye immediately, and I stored it away in my Scrib memory bank. A curtain of green liquid at the center of the sea. Mom used pastels rather than her go-to charcoal. The water reminded me of Oz’s Emerald City, all green and glowing. A sight one would never expect to find, but there it is. Existing. Doing its thing.
Image clear in my mind’s eye, I focus with all my soul. Willing the Threshold near, inviting it with my voice, my song a serenading lullaby. Normally I’d stop there. Concentrating on me, myself, and I. On what I can do. Instead, when I feel the energy well inside me, I thrust it away. My face contorts and my knees buckle. It’s all I can do not to fall over. My sisters didn’t mention anything about pain. Feels as if I’m slicing in two. Me igniting the Magnet within, and the Magnet within igniting me.
Oh, if Alicia Keys could see me now. It’d bring a whole new meaning to “Girl on Fire.”
I can’t do this. It’s too much. I’m exhausted to my core, haven’t had enough time to hone this avenue of my Calling. I can’t—
I can’t.
But we can.
A deep inhale prepares me for the scorch. And boy, does it scorch. Ouch. How does Khloe do this and keep a straight face? Is it one of those things you get used to like the ache of the Void? I certainly hope so, otherwise I won’t be inclined to project ever again.
Pull, ouch, push, crowe, pull, snap, push, gah!
The squall rages on. The waves threaten to turn us bottom side up. I want to pause, see if my projection is working, but I can’t risk losing focus. I may not be able to get it back if I do. I draw the image of the Fifth’s Threshold here, expand it out and away, left and right, to Ebony and Khloe. Together we can do this, together we will make it.
A flash of green light. There. Through the torrent. Another deep breath. Come on, come on . . .
The Threshold flies toward us as a tornado, fast and furious. We’re headed straight for it. Or it for us. Can’t tell. The light flickers, like a lightbulb about to burn out. Then the curtain proceeds to come down on itself, the water folding over, the fall shrinking. Soon it will create the wormhole Tide mentioned, just as the Threshold in the Fourth did.
Hurry up, you blasted Threshold. We don’t have all day.
It hits us full force. One more breath before the air is vacuumed away. There is only water. We should be drawn through. Instead we remain stagnant, frozen between there and here. Oh my Void, we’re going to drown unless we do something. The crew needs to row. But if I lose focus and speak to Ky, ask him to give the order—
“I’ve got you, Em,” he says in my head. “Don’t let go.”
Pull and push, pull and push. Draw in the Calling, project it out and away. My lungs are flaming. Can’t hold my breath much longer. I’m going, going, on the verge of gone . . .
We burst free, buoying to the surface of what I can only hope is the Fifth. Sun beats white hot. The ship and crew are logged with water. We’re floating along a murky brown river. Red and purple canyon walls surround us on all sides. The scent of wet dirt coats the atmosphere. A desert is the last thing I expected to find in the Fifth. With its enchanting Threshold and chief who looks as if he migrated from the rolling green hills of Scotland, sand dunes and cacti were not included in the picture.
Then again, the Reflections never cease to amaze me. I should learn to anticipate the unexpected by now.
I collapse to my knees, but I’m not alone. Everyone on board gasps and chokes. Some are passed out, the length of time underwater too much for them. Those who lasted perform CPR on the weaker ones. I smile to myself, not because I’m glad they need revival, but because I don’t.
I really am stronger than I believed.
When I gain my bearings, rise to a stand, it’s Ebony who says, “Well done. I knew you had it in you.” She claps me on the back. “That was kind of awesome, sis.”
It’s the first time she’s referred to me as such. And it’s in this moment, something between us shifts. No façades. No walls. She is for real. I can trust her.
And now I’m beaming.
Ky appears beside me, one arm wrapped around Khloe. “We made it,” they say in unison, then chuckle. Though they’re not related by blood, the sound of their laughs rings similar.
Hands on my hips and chest expanding, I take it all in. So this is it. The Fifth. It’s not much to look at. Oh well. I shrug. As much as I long to sleep for days, we don’t have that sort of time.
Dahlia Moon, here we come.