How much farther? Every joint and muscle aches. I’m dirty and tired and basically done. I blow a breath onto my palm and sniff. Grimace. I’d ask someone for a stick of gum, but yeah. Doubt Ebony has a random piece of Juicy Fruit lying around in her pocket. And if she did I bet I wouldn’t want it anyway. Because eww.
The hike through the canyon along what I’ve learned is the Docolora River is uncomfortable at best. My jeans are stretched out from constant wear and have begun to sag low on my hips. My hair is so tangled a bird could make a nest out of it. I’d be lucky to get a brush through it even after a wash and condition, neither of which is probably anywhere in my near future.
Isaach leads the caravan with the Iron Lass crew close behind. The draining Threshold we passed through—Nabka Threshold—looked more like a pond by the time we left than the lake Isaach said it’s supposed to be. The alcohol seems to have worn off, as the bearded man’s steps are sure and straight now. We follow single file, the path growing narrower with each step. At one point I’m forced to turn sideways in order to scooch between two boulders. A bout of claustrophobia kicks in and I’m half inclined to turn back. But I’m sandwiched between Ebony in front and Ky behind. Nowhere to go but where everyone else is headed.
When we reach the slenderest patch of the pass, I’m sure we’ve hit a dead end. But wait. No. Hard to see when everyone is taller than me, but is that . . . Are they . . . Yes. They’re getting down on all fours, crawling through a low tunnel. Funny how almost drowning didn’t freak me out, but the idea of going through this hole in the earth causes my pulse to amp. Is it long? Sturdy? What if it caves in? What if we get stuck? Death by suffocation or a rock to the head is so not the way I want to go.
Khloe enters, then Ebony. Ugh, fine. I’m on my knees, breathing deep, then scuttling forward. I can’t see a thing and the only sound is the shuffle of my sisters in front of me, the pant of their shallow breaths. Low oxygen makes my chest constrict the farther we crawl. I wish Ebony would move faster.
“Really, Em? You faced the most sinister man in the Reflections and this is what scares you?”
If you’re going to make fun of me, you can just leave. The sand and pebbles grate my palms. My knees are sore and there’s a crick in my neck. For crying out loud, will this tunnel ever end?
“I keep telling you,” Ky thinks. “If you don’t want a response, you have to block me.”
And how am I supposed to do that?
“Think of it like self-defense. Take your thoughts captive. Keep your mind guarded. Make a conscious decision to—”
Ky’s thought dies. Cuts off. We’re talking radio silence. Ky? Hello? You okay? I hear him move behind me, but his mind has muted.
“See?” His voice returns. “Exactly like that. Go somewhere else. Anywhere but here.”
Anywhere but here, huh? It’s worth a try.
Still moving, I work to focus. That’s really all any Calling is—focus. What I’ve been doing since honing my abilities. Using my mind, my heart, to find the strength within. Love ignites my Calling, as I discovered at Nathaniel’s that cold November night on Lisel Island. When I tried to ignore it, do away with it, everything was more difficult. But when I let it in? Invite it? My Calling comes alive—the Verity comes alive. Of course it does. Because the Verity was meant to love, to be loved. It all makes so much sense now.
Nowhere to go but forward, I close my eyes. I continue crawling, but I’m not here. I think of the Verity, of the woman it became. Of the heartbreak she endured. My thoughts take me to what I imagine to be the Garden of Epoch. Trees at every angle. Roses the brightest hue of red. A river with a waterfall the clearest crystal blue. Pouring, splashing, foaming at its end. I picture myself walking along a cobbled path, and as I walk, hedges sprout on either side of me. I envision an orchard filled with any fruit one might wish to eat. As I pick an apple, more trees spring up around me, shielding me.
“You’re doing it,” Ky thinks. “I can’t hear you.”
I move through the trees, breaking free of them. But I can still hear you.
“Only if you want to.”
I do, but for now I allow myself to shrink back into the solace of the trees. It’s quiet here. I love Ky, but this is nice too. Needed. A first-in-forever minute alone where I can think anything and no one knows but me, myself, and the Verity.
I remain that way, lounging against the apple tree of my mind, crunching on the sweet fruit. When we exit the tunnel, I rise and dust off my jeans. Ky gets up beside me. He’s beaming.
“You’re my favorite,” he says aloud.
I smile up at him, but my thoughts linger in my private corner. A little mystery will do him some good. Because some things need to be left unsaid—unheard.
Some thoughts are meant for me alone.
“Gather ’round, friends, and hear this tale.”
Isaach’s wife, Breckan, gestures for us to join her by the campfire. Her sapphire eyes dance in the flames’ light. Her hair is as fiery as Charley’s, who is apparently a native of the Fifth. The woman’s voice is young and vibrant, but the laugh lines framing her smile let on she’s older than she sounds. She wears a dress fashioned from stripped cloth similar to the one modeled on our redheaded crew member.
And there’s another thing too. Something I didn’t pick up on until now. The men wear stripped cloth at their belts, one on each corner. The colors are vibrant, and the cloth dances and sways with each body move.
The Verity’s true form plays at the forefront of my mind. Could the cloths be like the dyed hair tassels of the Second? A sign these people serve the Verity? What tokens of loyalty did I miss in the Third and Fourth? I make a mental note to pay better attention. Knowing who stands with the Verity with just a glance could be useful in the future.
I watch as the other tribe members huddle in, some resting on halved logs or the desert ground, others standing in groups of twos, threes, and fours. Aside from Charley, who seems at home among a group of women who could be her twins, our Seven Seas misfits remain banded. We squeeze onto a log, out of place with our non-orange hair and drab clothing.
Our arrival at the Nitegra Compound was welcomed with a horde of questions and wide-eyed stares. The Fifth is apparently the least populated of all Reflections, and even more so now with the draining Thresholds. Isaach explained the Nabka Compound near the same Threshold was abandoned the day the lake began to drain. No one wants to live in the desert without ample water and a passage out. Need I explain?
“Me great-great-great-great-great . . .” I lost track of how many greats he used. “. . . grandpappy discovered the Fifth,” the chief explained. “Brought his tribe and settled the first compound. Over time the tribe grew and split in two, then three. We eventually grew to five—Nitegra, Nabka, Mancheco, Uptuck, and Koweapnan.” He held up four fingers, confirming he’d been drinking again. Or maybe the tongue-twisting tribe names scrambled his brain. “Our tribe is the best, though. Ain’t that right, Breckan?”
She smiled sweetly up at him, patting his pronounced gut with her dainty hand. Adoration shone from her eyes. It was apparent in the way she hugged him. In how she watched him walk away.
Now she’s center stage. I glance at Isaach who sits just beyond her. The same admiration I saw in her now radiates from him. His gaze never abandons her. The constant smile she bears conveys that she doesn’t question her husband’s love.
I reach right and slip my hand into Ky’s. He squeezes it, tracing the top of my thumb with his. With Joshua I carried so many doubts. Worries. Was our connection real? Manufactured? But with Ky? I don’t wonder for a second what goes on in that mind of his. And not because I can hear him most of the time. It’s because when you know, you just know. And knowing is a beautiful thing.
“Quiet now, quiet.” Breckan makes a sort of lower-the-volume movement with her hands.
The tribe’s chatter dies. The fire snap, crackle, pops. Smoke wafts toward us, makes me blink too much. I lower my head, watch Ky’s thumb move back and forth over my skin. He has a freckle on his knuckle. I curve my lips.
“The Legend of the Shadowalkers,” Breckan begins, “is a tale as old as the Reflections.”
Chills raise the hairs on my arms. Countess Ambrose mentioned Shadowalkers, beings who worship the Void. Breckan says they’re legend, but I have a feeling, like the story Ky read in the council chamber, the Shadowalkers are very real indeed. I’m betting Jasyn Crowe was a Shadowalker. He chose the Void, relished its power. Is that really any different from worship?
“Legend says,” Breckan continues, “tha first Shadowalker began as a vessel of tha Void.”
I look up just as Breckan casts a backward glance toward Isaach. A teasing, playful look. He lifts the pint that might as well be glued to his palm, then winks. Something tells me they’re sharing an inside joke meant for the two of them alone.
“Corrupt was tha vessel. Loathsome.” Her face contorts, as if she’s donning a scary mask. “Rather than fight against tha Void, tha vessel welcomed it. It began with a single bend of the will, but soon became more. Even tha Verity’s vessel could do nothing ta stop it. For when tha Void’s vessel began ta love himself more than tha one who held tha Verity, that’s when things went south.”
A low murmur passes like a wave over the tribe. Some excited. Some in awe. They must’ve heard this story before, but still they take it in as if they’re hearing it for the first time.
“When tha Void moved on ta another, tha previous vessel remained loyal ta tha darkness. Followed tha new vessel everywhere and soon convinced others ta join as well.”
Tiernan. Jasyn. Gage. All willingly surrendered to the Void. No one forced them like with Ky or the Soulless.
“Heed me warning, friends. Listen to me words. For here is tha moral of me tale. We all have a little darkness in us, but tha choice is yers. Will ya fight it?” She puts up her fists. “Or will ya bow?” She flourishes her arm in a wide sweep. Stare intense, she lets her gaze pass over us all, as if allowing her words to sink in. Then, after what seems like eons, she backs away and sits on Isaach’s lap.
He kisses his wife full on the mouth and she returns the sentiment with fervor, grabbing his face between her hands. The tribe hollers and whistles. Someone begins a song on the bagpipes. Children rise and dance in circles around the fire. Knee slaps, claps, guffaws, and giggles. All are present. All should lift my spirits.
But my mood is not so joyous. My heart droops and I lean my head on Ky’s shoulder, blocking my thoughts as I wonder . . .
Has Joshua chosen the life of a Shadowalker?