The Faerie War (9 page)

His confusion matches my own. “It happened about a week ago. If you’ve been searching this area for nine days, you would have felt it.”

I think back to a night when I woke to find myself rolling out of my blankets and down a slope. The ground felt as though it was moving beneath me, but by the time I got to my feet, all was still and quiet. I’d put the incident down to bad dreams and restless sleep.

“Okay,” I say slowly. “And what was that about the faerie paths?”

His frown deepens. “You haven’t tried to use them?”

“No.” Unease squirms around in my stomach. I wish this guy would get to the point. “What’s happened to them?”

“After we felt the tremor, my brother walked down to the foot of the mountain. He opened a doorway to the faerie paths and found a raging storm inside. He couldn’t go through.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “What? How’s that possible?”

“We don’t know. We started imagining the worst. A battle, maybe. A war going on somewhere.”

A war going on somewhere.

Violet. My family. Calla.

I blink. I step back, my eyes searching the room for . . . I don’t know what. “I have to get back. I have to . . .” I reach inside my jacket and pull out my stylus. I rush to the nearest wall, writing the words before my stylus even connects with the—

“No! Don’t open it in—”

Crack!

I’m thrown back against an armchair as a fork of lightning shoots across the room and strikes a table, splitting it in half. Icy bullets of rain pummel my raised arms. Wind pins me down. I’m almost blinded by continuous flashes of lightning. The wind begins to diminish, then vanishes along with the rain and lightning. I lower my arms. The doorway has closed.

The faerie gets up from the floor, wiping rain from his face. “
That
was entirely unnecessary. Weren’t you listening to me about the storm?”

I was, but . . . “But my family!” I climb to my feet. “I have to get back to—”

“You can’t. I’m sorry, but there’s no way for you to get to them.”

I push my hands through my wet hair. “I need . . . I need your amber. Or a mirror. Something I can use to contact someone.”

He shakes his head. “I’m afraid we don’t have anything like that.”

“You—what?”

“Communication with the outside world would make us vulnerable.”

“But what if you need . . . I don’t know,
something
?”

“We’re completely self-sufficient here. We don’t need anything.”

This is un-flipping-believable. “Are you telling me you haven’t left this mountain in centuries?”

“If we want to know what’s happening out there, one of us will journey for a day from here, then take the faerie paths to a city or town. We can’t take the chance that someone might follow us back through the paths to this hiding place.”

“It’s not
possible
for someone to follow you unless you’re stupid enough to let them hang onto you!” I yell.

He remains calm as he says, “Do you know that for sure?”

I’m about to tell him that of course I know that for sure, but something Violet told me not too long ago echoes through my mind.
Did I tell you about the time Zell followed me through the faerie paths without having any contact with me?
And now I’ve opened a doorway inside the hiding place of the weapon that’s been kept secret for centuries. The creator of that storm could be on his way here right now to destroy it.

Okay, stop flipping out and think about this.
I lower myself into the armchair and cradle my forehead in my hands. I don’t actually know what’s happened. There may not have been any attack yet. This could be Zell’s way of isolating everyone to make it difficult to coordinate a defense for when he does strike.

Emotions that aren’t mine dig their fingers into my chest. Anxiety, irritation, curiosity. I hear footsteps, followed by another male voice. “What’s going on in here? Who is this?”

“A guardian from one of the Guilds. He’s been sent for the weapon.”

I raise my eyes and meet the gaze of a man bearing a close resemblance to the faerie who let me in. He nods his head slowly and says, “After centuries of waiting, the time has finally come.”

Even though the rest of the fae world is probably consumed by storms and battles, the two guys standing in front of me seem happy to waste time on introductions. The faerie who let me in is Tryce, and the guy who just entered the room is his father, Yale. He’s the one in charge here. After I’ve shown Yale my guardian markings, I try to get to the point. “One of the Queen’s closest advisors heard rumors of the weapon you’ve been guarding ever since Tharros was defeated. The youngest Unseelie prince now has the chest containing Tharros’ power. We know he’s going to unlock it soon—if he hasn’t done so already. We need the weapon that can destroy that power. That’s why I was sent here.”

Yale sighs, then motions for me to sit down. “The Queen’s advisor obviously didn’t hear the whole story.”

Great. Why is there always another obstacle?
“What part did he miss?”

“The weapon will do you no good. There is only one person who can use it.”

I throw my hands up. Why can’t someone just give me the bottom line here? “And? Who is this person?”

“We don’t know,” Tryce says.

I stand up and start pacing. This whole mission has been a waste of time from the start. Now I’m stuck here with no way of getting home. Unless I start walking, which would take weeks. Or perhaps I could get hold of a pegasus . . . I stop pacing and cross my arms. “I know you’ve spent your whole lives guarding this thing, so forgive me for saying this: Your weapon sounds pretty useless.”

“I understand your frustration,” Yale says, “but that’s the way it is. After Tharros was separated from his power and killed, the power was captured in a chest. The Order of the Guard was formed to protect the power until it could be destroyed. The head of the Order at the time, a man who had crafted weapons for centuries, received a prophecy one day while he was creating a sword.”

My weary mind conjures up an image of a parcel arriving with a tag on it that says
Prophecy
. I press my lips together and try not to laugh.

“As the words came to him, he etched them onto the blade of the sword,” Yale continues. “That is the sword we’ve been guarding for centuries. It’s those words that say only one person can use it.”

“So . . . can I see this sword?”

The two of them lead me through the house, past bedrooms, a large dining room, a library, and several closed doors. We come to a spiraling staircase, which takes us down to another level. I see a room that looks like a smaller version of the Guild’s Training Center. Another room contains an enormous oval-shaped pool. At the end of a passage, Tryce and Yale stop in front of a blank wall. They each place a hand on it and wait for several seconds before the wall vanishes.

I follow them into a darkened room, bare except for a glass case in the center. The case is lit and appears to be sitting on air. Inside the case, resting on a cushion, is a sword. The hilt is inlaid with sapphires and engraved with ornate patterns. Etched into the shining silver blade are tiny words.

“Can I take a closer look?” I ask, stepping toward the case. I have a feeling that if I touch it, an alarm will go off or I’ll lose a hand or find myself hanging upside down in midair again.

“Certainly,” Yale says. He places three fingertips on one side of the glass. It glows briefly before vanishing. “You can pick it up.”

With one hand beneath the blade and another beneath the hilt, I lift the sword carefully. “So this is what’s supposed to save us all,” I murmur. I bring the sword closer to my face and read the prophecy’s words out loud. “‘
Two halves in one have more power than a whole. The fae world will bow beneath his mark. Only the sword can stop him, and only one can wield the sword: the Star of the high land. She is hidden, but the finder will find her. She will break the whole in half. By the strike of the sword, and the death of innocence, evil will be laid to rest.
’ Okay. Pretty cryptic.”

“Do you understand now why we don’t know who can use the sword?” Tryce asks. “We don’t know anything about either the Star or the finder.”

“Actually, the finder part makes some sense to me,” I tell them as hope kindles a small flame within me. “I know someone who can find people. Anyone, anywhere. That is—” fear grips my heart and threatens to smother my hope “—if she’s still alive.”

“Really?” Tryce says. “You know the finder?”

“Well, I don’t know if she’s
the
finder the prophecy mentions, but she’s the only one I know. I’d say that’s a good start.”

“That’s more than a good start. I imagined us guarding this useless thing until the end of the world.”

Yale sighs. “It’s good to know you’ve always been wholeheartedly committed to our cause, son.”

“Hey, I’ve never—”

“Right, so, I’m leaving as soon as possible,” I interrupt loudly, hoping to dispel the mix of anger and annoyance I’m feeling from the two men. “On foot, since there’s no other way. And obviously I’ll take the weapon with me.” I hope that isn’t going to be a problem for these guys.

“We’ll go with you,” Tryce says immediately. His anger vanishes, quickly replaced by excitement.

Yale nods. “Yes, that way we can continue to guard the weapon.”

“You don’t trust me with it?” I ask.

“Trust has nothing to do with it,” Yale says. “Our life no longer has meaning here if we have no weapon to guard. We may as well come with you and fight whatever new evil has been unleashed on our world.”

“Right, okay.” Makes sense, I suppose. “So . . . you know how to fight?”

“It’s not like we have much else to do here,” Tryce says. He takes the sword from my hand and returns it to the cushion. The glass case appears around it once more. “I’ll inform the others. We’ll leave as soon as everyone’s ready.”

“Others?”

“Yes. The Order has eighteen members.”

And here I was imagining only two guys protecting a weapon that could save the lives of thousands. “There are eighteen of you, but only one person came to see who was knocking at the door? What if I had overpowered you?”

Tryce laughs. “You obviously didn’t see the other six who were out there watching you squirm upside down.”

So I embarrassed myself in front of seven people instead of one. Fantastic. I cross my arms. “I have one more question, Tryce: If there are eighteen skilled fighters living here, how did a young guardian girl manage to sneak in and steal the chest containing Tharros’ power?”

*

Angelica’s theft of the chest is apparently an embarrassing story no one wants to talk about. After Tryce disappears to inform the Order members about what’s going on, and after we wait for the six patrolling the mountainside to return, we finally get going.

Our group of nineteen moves quickly, navigating through the dark almost as easily as we would through daylight. The Order members don’t say much. Normally I’d be fine with that, but right now I’d give anything to be distracted from the thoughts that keep tormenting me. Thoughts of the terrible things that could be happening right now to the people I love. I keep telling myself that Violet and my mother and father are entirely capable of protecting themselves. I just hope Dad managed to get Calla to safety before anything could happen to her.

I distract myself by focusing on individual Order members. I let their emotions wash over me. I welcome them, almost to the point of letting them overwhelm me. Excitement and enthusiasm are mixed in with a sprinkling of fear. I allow the excitement to invade me and take the place of the anxiety gnawing a hole in my insides. It works—sort of.

Grey light turns to pink, then orange, then yellow as the sun rises above the trees we’re journeying through. We don’t stop. We pass food around and wolf it down while walking. All too quickly, the sun travels across the sky and disappears behind the trees.

Another day gone.

Night wraps around us. Still, we keep moving. I’m not tired yet; whenever I think of what might be happening in Creepy Hollow, I’m energized. Several hours later, Yale stops us and asks someone to check the state of the faerie paths. After lightning burns a hole in the ground and half the Order winds up drenched and windswept, we manage to get the doorway closed. Yale decides we should rest for a few hours.