Scarred (the Spellbound Series Book 3) (13 page)

More and more hunters arrange themselves in position around me, including one man who isn’t holding a gun, or a weapon of any kind. We only met in person once, but I can still tell Agent Rivera apart from the rest of the crowd. “Miss Santos. A pleasure, as always.”

“Agent,” I mutter. “What are you doing here?”

“We were going to drop in on your friends and have a talk with them, but you beat us to it. Odd… our sources were sure you were still in Cleveland.”

“I caught an early bus. Let me ask again; what are you doing here?”

Agent Rivera frowns, making the wrinkles on his forehead all the more prominent. “You were warned. I informed you in a very clear manner that you were on thin ice, and one more breach of the Metahuman Secrecy Act could put you in our crosshairs. And you still chose to behave recklessly.”

              “Even so, was all of this necessary?,” I ask, gesturing around me at the people pointing guns in my direction. “I’m not a threat to any of you. I’m on your side.”

              “On our side?,” Agent Rivera asks. “All you’ve managed to do is stir up trouble. We were willing to explain away Grand Central. We turned a blind eye to your stunt on Bowery. And fortunately for you, there were no witnesses to what happened in Times Square. But you’re out of chances. You’re a perceived threat to the American people.”

              “Who don’t even know what I am! Or what I look like! This seems like a bit of an overreaction-“

“Enough. It’s a shame it had to come to this. We had such high hopes for you, Miss Santos. But you’ve fallen out of our favor.”

              I consider a witty retort, but I hold my tongue; I’d rather not get shot prematurely for my sass. I’m a little curious as to what Agent Rivera meant by “high hopes”, but another thought intrudes before I can ask the question. Something Agent Rivera just said has given me an idea. “Bad timing, but I think I just figured out what I’d like to call my new clan.”

              “I’ll humor you,” Agent Rivera says after a brief pause. “What are you calling yourselves?”

              “The Fallen.”

              “Fitting. Anything else you’d like to share before we end this?”

              My eyes sweep across my field of vision, taking in every unfamiliar face. These people don’t mean anything to me, not personally. Perhaps in another lifetime, I would have slaughtered them all and been done with it. Maybe even the bitter, irrational version of me that existed an hour ago would have felt cornered enough to try. But dealing death is their way of doing things. I put on this leather suit so I could protect people, not to kill. I have to follow the example I set for myself.

              Instead of responding to Agent Rivera, I slowly turn my back on him, facing towards the doorway to another world. I use a spell that generates a thin repulsive field around my body. It’s one of the many shield spells Krystal drilled into my brain early on in my training; this one in particular will stop anything metal in its tracks. The moment the shield is up, the hunters around me realize I’m up to something and they fire. I walk calmly through the hail of bullets, and keep my focus on maintaining the shield. One slight distraction could mean the difference between life and death. I step through the doorway, and quickly shut it behind me.

              I look around for the others instinctively, but there isn’t enough light in this place. I can just barely make out my hand in front of my face. Whoever inhabits this world must not need much light to see. I sense something behind me, and I spin around only to get whacked in the side of the head by a blunt object. I shine a light from my palm, and illuminate the space around me. I notice I’m surrounded by earth on all sides, but I find the trio of thin men around me infinitely more important.

              One of the men prods me with the blunt end of a lance, and that’s when I notice the catlike eyes. These men are faeries, or at least close relatives of them. The one with the lance says, “Another mortal trespasser. Throw her in with the others.”

              I could fight my way out of this situation, but I’m not sure how well that would go. Faeries aren’t often encountered in my world, so I don’t know what the limits of their strength are. So I surrender, and allow one of them to tie a length of vine around my wrists. Another man shoves me roughly, and I walk in the direction he indicates, wondering if I’ve accidentally doomed my friends by trying so hard to save them.

13

            
 
My eyes adjust to the gloom as I’m marched deeper into the cavern. Or rather, marched further up the earthen tunnel; our surroundings are much narrower than I’d assumed. Tiny glowing mushrooms along the ground light the way, a variety of neon colors giving our upward sloping path a dim, but colorful glow. I struggle against my bonds, and ask my captors where they’re taking me several times, but to no avail. The faerie guards won’t talk, and I’m not exactly a mind reader. I’ll find out where we’re going when we get there.

              The tunnel abruptly broadens, and we walk into a circular room full of wooden furniture. I get the feeling that we’ve walked into a guard room of some sort. Spare suits of armor and weapons adorn the walls, glinting in the sunlight shining through the windows. Flagons of something with a flowery scent stand on the table, surrounded by platters of nuts and berries. I would love to stay and examine everything in the room more closely; I’ve been curious about faerie life ever since I first learned about them. But my guards keep me moving through the door, and I’m guided down a short set of stairs.

              My curiosity may have been piqued by the one room I’ve passed through so far, but it’s nothing in comparison to the outside world. For the most part, Elfame seems to look like Earth. The grass is green, the sky is blue, and a yellow sun hangs from the sky. But what’s odd to me is that there are no true buildings; there are structures that look like houses and shops, but they’re molded into various shapes from the trunks of existing trees. I can’t tell if I’m on the outskirts of a city, or a forest. I swivel my head around to marvel at the faerie architecture as I’m marched down a cobblestone road. I can’t believe a place like this exists, on this or any other world.

              I don’t get the chance to look around for long. The guards guide me towards a squat, rectangular tree with no discernible door. One of the guards severs the vines holding my hands together, and says, “You’re to wait here with the others while the Queen decides your fate.”

              I’m about to ask what the guard means by “here”, when he shoves me into and
through
the rectangular tree. I slip through the bark as if it were immaterial, and I trip over my own feet as I step onto a stone floor. The guards turn and walk away, and I go to follow them and demand answers, but I smack into something hard, and stumble backwards. I reach out with my hands, and find an invisible wall where the bark of the tree should be. I can’t say I appreciate the design of this faerie prison; it’s one thing to be locked away, but seeing the outside world and being unable to run free is torture.

              I spin around at the sound of Alyssa’s voice. “Don’t even bother trying to break out. We’ve thought of everything.”

              I’d been too busy focusing on the guards to notice I’m trapped in with everyone from Michael’s house. Most of them are sitting on the floor with their backs propped against the invisible wall, but Michael paces like a caged animal, eager for release. I take a seat on the ground between my mother and Tyrael, and ask, “What do you mean, you’ve thought of everything?”

              “There’s no way out,” Alyssa says. “Brute force doesn’t help. There’s no door or crack we can find. And even spells don’t work in here.”

              “What? Why not?”

              “The Fair Folk do not have the same misgivings about the gifted that humans do,” Michael answers. “Rather than reacting with fear and violence, they treat the unknown with a curious eye. They must have studied our kinds and found the source of our power, thereby learning how to restrict it when needed.”

              I shrug, and slump back against the wall. “Well, at least we’re alive. What are the odds these faeries will kill us?”

              “Not likely. And we are in the custody of elves, not faeries. Elfame is home to a wide variety of life, much the same as our world.”

              Perfect. I have little enough experience with faeries, now there are elves as well? Just when I think I’ve seen everything, the universe seems determined to prove me wrong. I wonder what else there could possibly be. Pixies, dwarves, goblins, trolls, dragons… could
every
story be based in fact? It’s an exciting thought, but it hurts my head to consider all the possibilities. I look around me at my fellow survivors, and ask, “What do we do now?”

              Nick looks up from his shoes, and replies, “We’ve just sort of been brainstorming ways out of here for the past two hours.”

              “…What? You’ve only been here for a few minutes.”

              Nick shoots me a confused look, as does the rest of the group. “We’ve definitely been here for hours,” Nick says. “We got to watch the sunrise.”

              “Time is in constant flux between the realms,” Valtiel explains. “The differences usually aren’t vast, but when traversing the planes of existence, you don’t always arrive
when
you mean to.”

              “Well, that’s just great,” I mutter. “We could be stuck here for years.”

              “Unless we find a way out,” Alyssa says. “There has to be some way.”

              “Yeah. If we could open a doorway back to our world, that would be great.”

              “We can’t,” Michael reminds us. “Our heavenly power is restricted in this prison.”

              “How?”

              “I’m not sure…”

              Alyssa and the others look defeated, but I’m not satisfied with Michael’s answer. “I get the feeling you know more about this than you’re letting on.”

              “Heather-“

              “If you know something we don’t, you have to share. Unless you’re happy to stay.”

              Michael stops pacing, and releases the tension in his shoulders. “Very well. I was hoping to save this information until you were ready, and we were alone. It is something that the ancients knew, but that time has erased from the wealth of human knowledge.”

              “Okay?” I lean my head back against the wall, keeping one eye on Michael. For someone so direct in everything else, he loves taking his time with a story.

              “When the first of the spellcasters, the Anu Ummani, began exerting their influence over the world around them, they realized that their power wasn’t restricted to themselves. The strongest of them felt it flowing from every rock, every tree, every creature. The Earth itself was brimming with light, and they were merely the conduits. This is where we find the modern term for the Nephilim; you are Earth’s strongest conduits for the power it holds.

              “While everything on Earth contains the power that flows through you, the Anu Ummani found this power in its greatest concentration within the human body. It is what makes you who you are, what fuels everything you do, whether you are a spellcaster or not. It is your spirit. Your soul.”

              I look down at my hands, and it almost seems as if I’m seeing myself in a new light. If Michael’s story is true, then that would explain why everyone’s energy feels unique. I’m not just seeing their energy output when I use my second sight, I’m seeing their
soul
. It explains why demons feel corrupted, and werefolk primal. But that still leaves out an important question. “Where did all that power come from?”

              Michael hesitates for a moment, then goes on to explain. “The ancients believed this power came from the Earth itself. Later on, humans began to believe it came from an external source, something greater than themselves. In reality, the power that permeates the universe as we know it is heavenly in origin. The creator of all things breathed His light into each and every one of His creations, and it continues to serve us well to this day.”

              Our little prison falls deathly silent, and all we can hear are the leaves rustling in the trees around us. Michael’s story sounded plausible at first, but it’s dipping into the realms of the religious, and nobody wants to challenge the word of an angel on the subject. However, I’m not afraid to be the one to question him. “Is that what you know?,” I ask. “Or is that what you believe?”

              “Can it not be both?,” Michael asks with a concerned expression.

              “What I meant was, I’m having trouble believing God is the source for everything we’re capable of.”

              “Heather, after everything that you have seen and done, how can you not believe?”

              “Well, for starters, an all-powerful, infallible God wouldn’t give us power that could be restricted by a group of angry elves. And for another, have you
seen
Earth? And all the people there? The planet is fucked up beyond all repair. The people can’t go ten days without killing each other. And in a few thousand years, there won’t be anyone left to worship this God. So sorry, but I can’t believe in an all perfect being in charge of an imperfect system.”

              Michael shakes his head slowly. “You aren’t ready for the truth,” he mutters.

              A loud
ping
interrupts the conversation, and we turn to look at the source of the sound. An elf, dressed in decorative armor, stands near our prison, his eyes scanning our faces curiously. We stand under his watchful gaze, and after a moment, he asks, “Which of you is the leader?”

              I shrug, and look around at my companions, to find that the majority of them are looking right back at me. I don’t consider myself a leader in any respect, but do they? Alyssa and Nick might, since I’m technically the head of our tiny clan. But Landon, Rachel, and my mom have no reason to follow my lead. Nor do Michael and his angel guards, who by all rights should be my superiors. I glance back at the elf guard, and mutter, “I guess that’s me.”

              “Come with me, please. The queen wishes to speak with you.”

              I walk towards the guard, and he taps the outside of our prison with his lance, creating a shimmering blue doorway for me to step through. Once outside, he makes no effort to restrain me, but turns on his heel and leads me further into the city.

              “What does the queen want with me?,” I ask.

              The elf guard looks at me over his shoulder, and says, “You’ll find out when she speaks with you, Heather.”

              “How do you keep doing that?”

              “Pardon?”

              “Every time I meet someone from this realm, they know my name before I tell them. What’s that about?”

              “The world sings to you the truths you need to hear. All you must do is learn how to listen.”

              I open my mouth, and close it again, confused. I’m not quite sure if he answered my question or not.

              “Are you acquainted with addressing royalty?,” my guard asks.

              “Not really, no.”

              “Our queen is not so different from one of yours. Refer to her as Your Majesty or Your Grace, and bow to her when she addresses you directly. And when you are dismissed, touch your first two fingers to your lips and bow again.”

              I nod, and keep my eyes trained on the guard’s back, wondering if I could take him on. I don’t know what I’m walking into, but I’m prepared to fight my way out if need be.

              As we weave a path through the cobblestone streets, I take note of the people around me. Compared to the one faerie I’ve met, elves are positively enormous. They’re thin and wiry, but they somehow look sturdily built as well. And they’re tall, taller than most humans, with sleek black hair for the most part, though they vary in the same ways that humans do. They don’t have any wings that I can see, but some of them seem to have altered their own bodies in strange ways. I pass by one elf with leopard spotted skin, who winks at me seductively when he catches my eye. I shudder, and walk closer to my guard. Body modification should only be able to go so far.

              Eventually, we come upon a tree in the center of the city wide enough to block out nearly everything behind it. This tree must be ancient; the bark is a dull gray, but its leaves are still very much alive, hanging so high above us that it almost reminds me of downtown Manhattan. In a weird way, it makes me yearn for my old home. My guard holds open a door built into the bark, and I step through, treading on a red and green carpet as we enter. There isn’t much in the way of decoration, but the carpet guides us to the opposite side of the space, where a pensive queen awaits us on a gilded throne.

              Like her subjects, the elf queen has a wild, ethereal beauty about her. She’s wearing what looks like a normal gown, but as we approach, I notice it’s made of leaves that constantly change colors and shift to assume new patterns. When we’re a few feet away from the throne, another guard stops us, and announces, “The honorable Queen Aileana will see you now.”

              Queen Aileana smiles at me, and says, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Heather.”

              I bow respectfully, and reply, “The pleasure is all mine, Your Grace.”

              “What brings you and your comrades to our world?”

              I take a deep breath, and try to think of an explanation. After a moment’s deliberation, I decide to tell her that I was trying to reach another realm and messed up the spell. But what comes out of my mouth instead is the truth; “We’re on the run, and I panicked when I cast the portal spell. I didn’t have a clear image of where I wanted to go, and it brought us here.”