The Faerie War

Chapter 5

Five

Farah’s new house in the mountain is so small the two of us have to share a bedroom. It’s okay. I mean, it’s not like she snores or anything. It’s just a little weird lying awake at night and hearing someone else breathing from across the room.

The morning after we arrive, I tell her I’m going to spend a few hours familiarizing myself with the tunnel system. In reality, I need time alone to figure out some of my guardian skills.

I’ve been told what guardians can do—they have special weapons that only appear when they need them—but no one can tell me how it works. Weapons appeared for me when I fought Jamon and when I protected him, but I have no idea how that happened. My body just went ahead and did it without giving my brain time to figure it out.

I’m also told that guardians are fit and strong and fast and all these other things that I’m so not anymore after spending weeks cramped Underground with barely any exercise. But since I no longer have the status of Major Threat amongst the reptiscillas, no one should mind if I start some private training. The reptiscillan guards or warriors or whatever they call themselves probably have a special training area. No way am I going to embarrass myself in front of them, though.

The longest tunnel I can find is one that feels like it’s taking me right into the heart of the mountain. I don’t know where it ends, but I’ll turn around before I arrive anywhere important. If this is an off-limits tunnel, I don’t want to land myself in trouble.

After I’ve walked a good distance, I turn around and run back. Then I run it again. I repeat the process, trying to make each lap faster than the one before. When I’m gasping for air and can’t possibly push my legs to move any faster, I slow down. I lean over and breathe deeply.

That felt good.

Without giving myself time to worry about how it will work, I straighten, shoot my hands out toward an imaginary foe, and—nothing. No sparkly weapon. I turn, sweeping my hand through the air as if slicing it with a sword—but still nothing. Great. Am I supposed to be thinking something specific? Is there a spell that goes along with these weapons?

I drop down to the ground and do some push-ups before trying the weapons again. After a while, I’m doing stupid things like snapping my fingers and shouting ‘sword.’ Not surprisingly, it doesn’t help. I run a few more laps to work off my frustration, then head back to Farah’s.

I suppose I should start thinking of it as my home too, not just Farah’s. It’s not like I have anywhere else to call home. I reach her tunnel, which isn’t pretty like the one she lived in Underground, and push open her door. Jamon is in the kitchen frowning down at a piece of paper in his hand. The kitchen is a tiny room with barely any space around the table to pull the chairs out, which is probably why he’s sitting on one of the stone counters.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” I ask.

He hurriedly folds the paper and shoves it into a pocket. “I thought you might want to know about everything we’ve learned from the prisoner you helped us capture.”

“Oh, yes, definitely.” I lean against the back of a chair and wipe sweat from my forehead. “I’ve been dying to ask, but I thought it was probably only leaders who got to know information like that.”

“Well, usually, yes. But since you were instrumental in his capture, I thought you deserved to know what we’ve found out. And my father thinks you have the right to know everything that’s happening with the Guilds now—since that used to be your life.”

Right. It’s probably a good thing I don’t remember anything of that life anymore, or this would be a difficult conversation. “And everything the prisoner told you is the truth?”

“Of course. My dad can make a mean truth potion, you know.”

“I didn’t, actually, but thanks for the heads up. I’ll be careful not to drink anything your dad gives me.”

Jamon laughs, something I would have thought impossible less than a week ago when he was still perfecting his death stare on me. “Anyway, let’s go outside and I’ll tell you what we know. I feel like the walls in this place are about to squash me.”

“I hear you on that one.” I open the door as Jamon hops off the counter.

“Oh, and you might want to put a jacket on,” he adds.

I lift an eyebrow. “Is there something I don’t know?”

“Yeah. Winter’s arrived.”

“But … summer’s barely over. We haven’t even had autumn yet.”

He sighs. “Welcome to the reign of Lord Draven, supreme commander of uncomfortable weather conditions.”

I groan, grab my jacket and one of Farah’s jerseys from the hook behind the door, and head out after Jamon. He leads the way through the tunnels to the large room I delivered everyone’s belongings to, then down the tunnel that ends up outside. An icy wind cuts through my clothes before we reach the opening. I hastily pull on Farah’s jersey, followed by my jacket.

I expect to see more light at the entrance, but there’s a boulder positioned on the mountainside in front of it, with just enough space on either side for a person to slip in or out. Guards line the walls of the tunnel, and Jamon tells me there are more guards scattered across the mountainside.

I stop and wait for Jamon to pull on some gloves and wrap a scarf around his neck. I guess he can’t magically add warmth to his outfit like I can. “What do we do if Draven or his followers find this entrance?” I ask.

“The architect faeries who carved out the inside of this mountain are busy creating a tunnel that leads through to the other side of the mountain, goes around a lake, and ends up in a forest. We’ll obviously have guards there too.”

“And, of course, most of you can vanish from here if the mountain is ever under attack.”

“Yes.”

We slide past the boulder into a world whiter than I expected. A thin layer of snow covers the ground beneath my boots. “Snow?” I say to no one in particular. “Seriously? Oh, wait.” I turn to Jamon. “If Draven’s controlling the weather here, doesn’t that mean he must be somewhere nearby?”

Jamon shakes his head as he looks down at Creepy Hollow forest. From the foot of the mountain, snow-dusted trees extend as far as I can see. “It seems like he can change the weather all across the fae realm.”

My head snaps up. Is Jamon being serious? “All across the fae realm?” He nods, not looking at me. “The whole realm? That’s not possible. That’s … that’s …” Freaking mind-boggling.

“That’s who we’re up against,” Jamon says grimly. He turns and peers up at the mountain looming above us. “Let’s climb. I still feel like I need more space.” We make our way up between the rocks and clumps of scraggly plants the sudden winter hasn’t killed yet. “So,” Jamon says as we climb, “the first thing we found out from our prisoner is that the brainwashing thing is true. He didn’t call it that, though. He kept talking about marked and unmarked people.”

“Marked?”

“Yes. Did you get a look at his right hand?”

A grunt escapes me as my fingers slip on wet rock. The spell heating my hands keeps melting the snow whenever I reach for a new handhold. I shift my fingers into a better grip and pull myself up. “No, I was too busy saving your life.”

Jamon ignores my comment and continues. “He has an open circle tattooed on his right palm. It’s actually a snake that’s curled around so that its head almost meets its tail. It comes from a different symbol, one created by—”

“Tharros,” I say, stopping my ascent as I remember suddenly. “He represented himself with the symbol of a griffin that has a snake instead of a tail, and the snake curls around the whole griffin.” Why does my brain choose to remember this of all things?

Jamon looks down at me and nods. “Draven’s using the same symbol, I guess because it’s Tharros’ power he’s got inside him. It’s the symbol stitched onto the blue uniforms all his faeries wear. But according to the prisoner, Draven’s only using part of the symbol to mark his followers because he thought it was simpler and clearer.”

Jamon turns and continues climbing. I follow. “Did someone have to tattoo every single one of his followers?” I try not to sound breathless when I speak. Damn, I really need to get my fitness level back up to guardian standard.

“No, he’s using some kind of magic to brainwash everyone into supporting him. As soon as the spell touches someone, no matter what kind of fae they are, the mark shows up on their right palm. Oh, and he’s got these invisible magical sensors all over the place to detect anyone who’s unmarked.”

“So that’s what that faerie woman was talking about. The one we hid from when you took me above ground.”

“Yeah. Just as we guessed, Draven wants to catch every single unmarked fae and force us to follow him.”

“And then what? When he’s got all of us under his control will he turn to the human realm?”

“The prisoner doesn’t know. He wasn’t part of Draven’s closest circle of followers. He does know about the special army, though.”

“Special army?”

Jamon stops on a wide ledge and stands there. “As well as having all the guardians fighting for him, Draven has an army of faeries with extra abilities. Magic that other faeries don’t have. It’s an army one of the Unseelie princes put together.”

“Zell,” I say. Thanks, memory, for another random piece of information that doesn’t fit with any of the other random pieces of information you’ve left me with.

“You remember him?” Jamon asks. He steps out of the way as I climb up beside him onto the ledge.

“I remember his name and who he is. I remember hating him. Other than that it’s all … hidden behind a fog.”

“Okay, well, it was Zell who gathered these special faeries to form an army. It was Zell who found the chest with Tharros’ power locked inside. He figured out how to open the chest, but then Draven killed him and took the power for himself.”

“Wow. You’ve got to be really sure of yourself to take out Unseelie royalty.” I place my hands on my hips and look out over the white-sprinkled world. I imagine Draven’s influence spreading like the enchanted winter.

“Yes, but here’s the real shocker,” Jamon continues. “I’d heard rumors of this, but I didn’t think it was true.”

“What?”

“Draven is a Seelie prince.”

“What?” My hands slip off my hips. “How did he wind up so evil then?”

“I don’t know. We gather from the prisoner that no one knew much about him before he killed Zell and attacked the rest of the fae realm.”

With a sigh, I turn my attention to the ledge beneath my feet. I send out a gust of magic from my hand. The snow vanishes, leaving the ledge dry. I sit down and wrap my arms around my knees. “So what’s happening with the Guilds?”

Jamon takes a seat beside me. “The ones that were destroyed, like the Creepy Hollow Guild, are being rebuilt. The guardians still use the Guilds as their bases, but now they’re working for Draven. He uses them to go out and find unmarked fae, who are either taken back to be marked or are killed if they put up too much of a fight.”

I shake my head as I imagine guardians who might be my family and friends attacking the very people they used to protect. It makes hot anger burn deep inside me. I clench my fist and pound it against the cold surface of the ledge. “He can’t be allowed to do these awful things. We have to stop him, Jamon.”

“That’s what we plan to try and do.”

I put my head in my hands and moan. “And I’m supposed to help you, but I’m useless the way I am.” I look up. “This prisoner of ours, is he a guardian?”

“No, he’s from the Unseelie Court. He was one of Zell’s personal guards.”

“Oh.”

“Why?”

I let out a long breath. “I really need to speak to a guardian. I need to know how to do what I’m supposed to be able to do. I mean, look at this.” I point to my wrists. “This says that I’m good at being a guardian. I was the best in my year, and yet I can’t even get the weapons to appear when I want them to.”

“They appeared when you saved my life.”

“Yeah, but they didn’t appear when all those faeries invaded your Underground home yesterday. And they didn’t appear earlier when I was practicing.”

Jamon stands. “I think your self-preservation instincts need a good jolt.” He smiles. “And I’m more than happy to be the one to jolt them.”

“So you’re going to attack me and scare the weapons into existence?”

“When you least expect it.”

“And if it doesn’t work every time?”

He shrugs. “I’ll just have to keep scaring you until it does.”

I get to my feet and peer down the side of the mountain. “Hmm. It looks a lot steeper going down than it did coming up.”

“Good thing we’ve both got our own shortcut ways of getting back inside.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Are you backing down from a challenge, Jamon?”

He folds his arms to match mine. “Not if you really are challenging me.”

One side of my mouth pulls up. “Then let’s see who can get to the bottom first.”

“You’re on.” He turns immediately and jumps off the ledge.

“And it doesn’t count if you fall all the way down!” I shout as I jump after him.

I reach the boulder at the entrance to the mountain with nothing more than wet hands, a bruised ankle, and a scratch across my left palm. Unfortunately, Jamon reaches the boulder about two seconds before I do. No big deal. At least, that’s what I tell him, because it’s ridiculous how much of a sting I feel at losing this insignificant challenge.

I change the subject as we walk back through the tunnels, just to get the smirk off his face. “Natesa’s still stuck in bed, isn’t she?” His cocky smile transforms into something entirely different. He nods. “Okay, so let’s go visit her. She’s probably bored by now.”

“Oh, uh, you go ahead. I’ve got other things to do.”

Crap. That backfired. Now I’ll have to visit her on my own. I imagine standing next to her bed not knowing what to talk about and making the situation super awkward.

“Do you know where she’s staying?” Jamon asks as we enter the large central room.

“Uh, yes, Farah told me this morning in case I wanted to visit her.”

“Great.” He walks away, patting the pocket I saw him put the piece of paper into earlier. Out of habit, I touch my own pocket where I know the note from the guy I may never see again is hiding. I shake my head as I continue walking. Who cares if I never see him again? It’s not like I remember anything about him.

Still. His note is the only link I have to my previous life.

Farah’s directions are reliable, and I wind up at Natesa’s new home without having to ask anyone where it is. After knocking, I hear her voice telling me to come in. I step inside. The carved-out home looks just like Farah’s, except there are two bedrooms instead of one.

“In here,” Natesa calls out.

I follow the sound of her voice to the bedroom on the right. There are two small beds inside, one of which is empty. I guess Natesa has to share with her little brother. I look across to the other bed and see her sitting up with several blankets pulled up to her chest and a book in her hand.

“Violet! How sweet of you to visit me.” Aside from messy hair and skin a paler blue-green than usual, she looks fine.

“Um, yeah.” I walk over to the chair beside her bed and sit down. I ask the obvious question: “How are you feeling?”

“Much better.” She places the closed book on the bed. “I’m not in any pain because of all the potions they gave me, but they still insisted I stay in bed today. I felt so useless this morning with the rest of my family unpacking all of our things, but they would not let me get out of bed.”

I chuckle. “Well, they want you to get better.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I know, I know.”

With no idea what to talk about, I reach for the only subject we have in common. “Has Jamon been to see you?”

Duh. Of course he has. Someone probably had to pry his body off this chair last night so Natesa could get some sleep.

“Yes.” Her smile spreads wider as she traces her finger over the patterns of her blanket. “Twice today, actually.”

Without thinking, I smile and say, “You like him, don’t you?”

Well done, Violet. Act like you’ve known her for years instead of weeks. That’ll really help the awkwardness in this room.

But instead of telling me to mind my own business, Natesa closes her eyes and lets her head fall back on her pillow. “Ugh, I know, I can’t ever stop thinking about him. I mean, he’s amazing. So kind and funny, always taking care of people, and gorgeous on top of everything else. Who wouldn’t like him?” She stops suddenly, putting a hand over her mouth and giggling. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I think I’ve startled you with my outburst. It’s just … I like him so much that even when there are far more important things to talk about, like the fact that we had to leave the home we’ve known for centuries or that we were attacked last night and could have all died, all I want to talk about is Jamon!”

I can’t help laughing. This girl is so unguarded it’s refreshing. “So why don’t you just tell him? I mean, it’s clear you’re going to go crazy if you don’t.”

Her laughter mingles with mine but doesn’t take long to disappear. Her sweet smile is sad as she says, “There wouldn’t be any point in telling him. He’s intended for someone else.”

“Intended? Like … an arranged union?”

“Yes. His father is the Leader Supreme, after all; Jamon could never be with an ordinary girl like me. He’s going to form a union with the daughter of a Leader Supreme from another community. I think it’s supposed to happen about a year after he becomes a leader. Although,” she adds, “who knows what will happen now that the whole world has turned upside down.”

“Does Jamon know about this arranged union?”

“Of course. He’s known his whole life.”

“Oh.”

“Why?”

“Well, it’s just that it’s obvious he’d rather be with you.”

Pink ripples across her blue-green skin as she shakes her head. “No, that’s silly. He’s very kind to me, but we’re just friends.”

“Well, yes, you both act like you’re friends.” I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees. “But I doubt I’m the only one who knows you both wish you could be more.”

She shakes her head again but can’t keep the smile from her face. “Anyway,” she says, “what about you?”

I sit back. “What about me?”

“Do you remember having anyone who was special to you? You know, before The Destruction?”

My fingers itch to touch my pocket, but I resist. “No. I only seem to remember people who didn’t mean much to me. Like this guy named Tank. I know he was a guard, but … I don’t remember who or what he guarded.” I laugh. “Isn’t that silly?”

“Maybe he was your guard.” She grins. “Was he hot?”

I shrug. “Sort of, I guess. But why would I need a guard?”

“Maybe you’re, like, a princess. Or maybe your parents are super important and they have enemies, so their daughter needs to be protected.”

“I’m a guardian. Shouldn’t I be able to protect myself?”

“Hmm. Good point.” She bites her lip, then starts rattling off another theory. I join in, feeling more relaxed than I have in weeks. By the time I leave—much later than I’d planned—I think I’ve spoken more words in one afternoon than I have in all the days I’ve been with the reptiscillas combined. I’m also feeling more determined than ever to find out who I really am and what happened to my memory during The Destruction. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life making up stories about my past.

So, once again, I find a quiet corner of a tunnel and slide down onto the floor. I ease the note from my pocket, hoping that this time, this time, I’ll recognize something I didn’t recognize before. The shape of the letters, maybe. Or the tilt of the words. Or the nickname at the end.

I smooth the small page out over my knees and read the words again:

V,

I have to go somewhere. I can’t tell you where or why or who sent me, but it’s important that I leave now. Don’t try to find me. It isn’t safe for you to know where I’m going—someone might try to get the information out of you. I know I’m leaving you at a time of great uncertainty and danger, but I also know that you’re more than capable of kicking any villain’s ass without me. Just do me one favor: don’t get yourself killed, okay? I’ll see you soon, Sexy Pixie.

Ryn