Neverseen (35 page)

I know—I don’t understand,
Sophie said.
Why would the Black Swan give us something to make fire like Pyrokinetics?

Maybe they wanted to even our chances against Brant.

Maybe.
Not that she loved the idea.

Her stomach growled again and she clamped her hands around her middle.

Wow, I heard that all the way over here. You need to think about food. It tricks your stomach. What would you eat right now if you could?

Sophie’s mouth watered as she thought of Calla’s starkflower stew. But the happy memory quickly drifted to how she imagined the gnomes in quarantine must look—which did at least kill her appetite.

How long do you think we have before someone dies?
she asked Fitz.

Hopefully long enough.

And hopefully tomorrow they move the campus to somewhere we actually learn something—assuming I get a bead. My fire incident was a pretty epic disaster.

Try not to worry—I think you’ll be fine.

But really, were any of them “fine”?

She thought about Keefe in the physician’s tent, in that brief glimpse of the fear and anger he was hiding.

Do you think Keefe is
really
okay?

I . . . don’t see how he could be.

It was an honest answer—and totally terrifying. Neither of them seemed to know what to say. So they sat in silence, connected but separate as the sun slowly sank toward the horizon.

A gong finally dismissed them, and Sophie followed the Waywards to the golden pavilion, where the blue Coach held a jar of green beads. The purple Coach clapped her hands, making the beads float until each Wayward had a bead hovering over their head, even Sophie.

“To our new Waywards, who do not understand our traditions,” the red Coach said. “We offer beads only to those we
deem deserving. But it’s always your choice to refuse or accept.”

“Accepting comes with sacrifice,” the blue Coach warned. “The cost of continuing your fight for redemption. Refusing has no consequence, but it is also irreversible.”

“We won’t tell you how to decide,” the purple Coach finished. “You choose your path.”

Sophie reached for her bead and a jolt of electricity stung her hand.
She hadn’t realized the sacrifice would be such a literal consequence. But she was glad to know she could survive it.

She tied the bead onto her black cord, and it looked so small next to the blue one. Especially considering how many beads the Waywards around her had.

“If you’re thinking it’ll get easier, it won’t,” a deep voice whispered in her ear.

She turned to find the Shade with his head tilted toward her. But he was too far away to be the whisperer.

She opened her mouth to reply and he nudged her attention to where the purple Coach stood watching.

“You should be careful,” his whispery voice said, despite the distance between them. “The Coaches are
very
interested in you.”

She couldn’t figure out how he was doing it, until she glanced down and noticed his shadow crossing hers.

Wait,
Sophie transmitted, as he turned to walk away.

She hadn’t forgotten the physician’s warnings—or Fitz’s—but she couldn’t pass up a chance to make a connection.

She didn’t trust him, though, so she went with something safe.

Can you tell your Hydrokinetic friend “thank-you” for saving me
?

His shadow slipped over hers again, and she could almost feel his eyes studying her. “You’re different,” his voice whispered. “I can’t decide if that’s a good thing.”

It is,
she transmitted, surprised at how much she wanted him to believe her.

He walked away without another word.

T
HE FIVE FRIENDS
held hands as they leaped away from Exillium, and all the Coaches and Waywards stared.

“I don’t think we’re doing so great at the whole ‘blending in’ thing,” Keefe said as they reappeared in a gray-skied forest. “Which is why you guys are my favorite.”

“What happened here?” Biana whispered as she turned toward the trees. Their trunks were unnaturally bent and crooked. “It’s not the plague, is it?”

“No, the forest has been like this for decades,” Sophie said. “I remember seeing pictures of this place on the Internet.”

“The
Internet
,” Dex snorted. “Humans and their technology.”

“It looks like somebody bent them intentionally,” Fitz said, tracing his hand down one of the C-shaped trunks.

“I did.” Calla dropped into the clearing from the top of one of the trees. “I sang to them, and they followed my voice.”

“Why only these trees?” Sophie asked. There were hundreds with the same distinct shape, but the forest beyond was straight and normal.

Calla placed her palm against the sharpest part of the curve, where the tree stood only inches above the ground. “These trees were dying. My friends told me I should uproot them to spare the rest of the forest. But I could feel too much life in their trunks to pluck them from the ground.”

“How did you save them?” Biana asked.

“I
listened
. And I realized their voices had been silenced. So I gave them mine. I sang of sunlight and rain and rich soil. And hope. Always hope.” She moved to another tree, one that had the widest curve of them all, and lay in the slope of its trunk. “For a week I stayed right here. I didn’t stop, even to rest my throat. I could barely rasp by the end, but I could feel their strength returning. They’ll forever bear the mark of their trials, but they are
survivors
. Proof that anything can be overcome.”

Keefe sat on one of the curved trunks, and Sophie waited for him to make a joke. But he just slid his fingers over the rough bark.

“I thought we could all use the reminder that nature tells us what it needs,” Calla whispered. “That’s why I chose this as our meeting place.”

She closed her eyes, singing a slow melody. It was the sweetest song Sophie had ever heard, and the forest shimmered in response. The crooked trees rustled as if they were joining in the chorus, and the wind whistled through their leaves.

“It’s beautiful,” Biana whispered, waving her fingers in front of her face. “I think I finally see the glints of life you told me about, Calla.”

“If that’s true, then you now know how I see you.” Calla smiled when Biana’s eyes lit up.

Calla repeated the song again, and the sparkles intensified, until the whole forest looked painted with glitter. It faded when she kneeled at the foot of the tree. Her song turned softer, and the roots twisted and twirled until they’d swept aside the soil and formed a tunnel.

Calla motioned for everyone to follow her underground, and as Sophie stepped into the earth she swore she heard a new song take over—a hushed whisper circling around her, prickling her consciousness.

Her eyes found Calla’s in the dim light, wondering if Calla could hear it too.

“I don’t know where it’s coming from,” Calla said. “It’s as if the earth itself has joined the call, trying to tell us what it needs.”

Goose bumps peppered Sophie’s skin as her mind translated the lyric. A single word, sung over and over and over.

Panakes.

“What if we’re
focusing on the wrong thing?” Sophie asked when they’d regrouped in the girls’ common room, after they’d eaten and changed out of their uniforms. “Maybe we should be searching for the Panakes instead of the drakostomes.”

“If you’re saying we should sneak into ogreville instead of sitting here watching Dex poke a gadget with sticks, I’m
in
,” Keefe said.

“Easy there,” Sophie told him as Keefe tried to drag her toward the door. “That’s
not
what I’m saying—not yet at least. I meant we should be searching for
information
about the Panakes.”

Keefe flopped back into his chair with a sigh so dramatic it had to have hurt his throat.

“And excuse me,” Dex said, “this happens to be an incredibly technical process.” He held up the Twiggler, which now looked like some sort of twig-and-wire spider. “You try merging six different technologies into one gadget.”

“I’m not saying it’s not important,” Keefe said. “But the rest of us are just sitting here wasting time.”

“Speak for yourself,” Biana said, appearing by the waterfall. “I think I figured out how to hide from Calla. I just need to make sure I can hold it.”

“Yeah, and Sophie and I are about to do some Cognate training,” Fitz added.

“But what do you mean by focusing on the Panakes?” Dex asked Sophie.

“I meant we should be trying to find information about the
cure
, not the
cause
of the plague. Calla said nature tells us what it needs, and nature was singing about the Panakes. We need to figure out what they are and how to find them.”

“Assuming they’re real,” Fitz reminded her.

“If the earth is singing about them, wouldn’t they have to be?” Sophie asked. “And if there’s any record of them, I’m betting it’s in there.” She pointed to the Twiggler, wishing it didn’t look so ready to fall apart. “Are you getting any closer to making it search by keyword?”

“I’m trying,” Dex said. “But the different technologies are super specific. They’ll each only serve a single function. The elvin tech provides all the power I need, and the dwarven stuff works like a backup. The goblin tech is my security, the trollish tech is what breaks through the barriers and whatnot, the ogre tech is the really sneaky stuff that gets me past the subtle defenses. And the gnomish tech seems to smooth out all the connections between everything. That’s why I keep adding more sticks, hoping it’ll make the parts cooperate better. But none of that helps with searching. It almost feels like that comes from a totally different technology. But I already have all the intelligent species represented, so I don’t know what that means.”

“What about humans?” Sophie asked. “I know they’re not part of the treaties anymore—but they
were
.”

“The archive is super old, right?” Fitz added. “So it could’ve been built before the humans betrayed everyone, and that would mean it includes their technology.”

Dex scratched the top of his head. “I guess. But I have no idea what I’m supposed to use for human technology.”

“There’s my iPod,” Sophie offered, even though she
really
didn’t want it destroyed. The small human gadget had been her constant companion growing up, her only way to drown out the bombarding human thoughts before she knew how to shield. Plus, it was one of the few human things she had left from her old life—and Dex had made all kinds of cool tweaks.

“Nah,” Dex said. “Anything modern would be too advanced. I don’t even know if humans knew electricity existed back when this archive was made.”

They didn’t, Sophie realized. “Okay . . . so we have to figure out what they
did
have.”

Chariots? Plows? Bows and arrows? Were any of those thousands of years old?

“I remember learning in school about an Iron Age, a Bronze Age, and a Stone Age,” she told them. “Where humans made tools from those different materials.”

“Hmm. I’m already using bronze and iron for some of the other creatures,” Dex said. “But I guess I could try stone—though I have no idea how stone counts as ‘technology.’ ”

“It makes a pretty decent weapon,” Keefe mumbled. “Just ask my mom.”

He rubbed his head where she’d given him a gash during her attempt to steal Silveny.

No one seemed to know what to say to that.

“I think that’s my cue,” Keefe said, heading for the door. “Call me if you decide on an ogre invasion.”

Dex stood too, stuffing the Twiggler into his satchel. “Guess I need to go rock hunting. Wanna come with me?” he asked Sophie.

“We really need to work through some Cognate exercises,” Fitz reminded her. “We lost a whole week when I was sick.”

The old Dex would’ve glowered and muttered something about Telepaths. But the new Dex just nodded and said, “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“Can I go with you?” Biana asked him. “If I don’t let Iggy get some exercise, he’s going to shred another one of my favorite shoes.”

Biana must really love the little imp if she was willing to forgive footwear destruction.

“At least he’s doing well on his diet,” she told Sophie. “I think he’s finally getting a taste for vegetables!”

It turned out Iggy had most definitely
not
gotten a taste for vegetables, and Biana stomped back an hour later, muttering about “stubborn imps.” Sophie assumed it had something to do with the giant moth wing Iggy was crunching on.

Della returned not long after, looking uncommonly frazzled. Her hair was tied back in a sloppy bun, and her gown was stained and wrinkled.

“Everything okay?” Sophie asked.

Della shook her head. “Physic had done some research on human comas, and she’d come up with a treatment plan for Prentice, with cold and hot compresses and balms and elixirs. We tried it today, but somewhere in the process he stopped breathing and everything unraveled. We got him breathing again—don’t worry. But . . .” Della stared at the ceiling. “I think we’re officially out of ideas. Nothing seems to matter.”

If words could cast a shadow, they would’ve darkened the whole house.

“I’m sorry,” Della said, heading toward her room. “I don’t mean to despair. I’m just tired of sitting at Prentice’s bedside telling happy stories and trying to pretend I’m not partially there for completely selfish reasons. I want him to get better, but . . .”

Sophie knew what she meant.

Della was still worried about how Prentice’s condition would affect Alden.

“Anyway, good night.” Della kissed her son on the top of the head, then did the same to Sophie before she headed for her room. “Don’t stay up too late working. You’ll need plenty of rest before another day at Exillium.

Sophie knew Della was right, and went to bed an hour early.
She also ate a double portion of breakfast the next morning in case they were in for another round of appetite suppression. She was prepared for anything Exillium could throw at her—until they leaped to campus and arrived in the heart of a plague zone.