Unwritten, page 15
“I’m going to have to stop,” Beatrix warned her friends a few seconds later. She still couldn’t get used to being this open about magic. To the people around her accepting it as a matter of course. Grandpa’s cloak wouldn’t work on taelimns, Jane had explained, so she wouldn’t have been able to hide the Furie even if she’d wanted to.
“Hold it just a bit longer,” Cassandra said. “Something’s changing.”
Beatrix looked closer. On her palm, the astrolabe glowed still, but now, as the sun and the moon shifted across the little sky, shiny dots began to rise from the edges. Everyone gasped, wonder, a shared emotion.
Emma clapped her hands. “Stars! You’re doing it.”
“Should I set it on the letter?” Beatrix asked Cassandra, who was the most versed in the mechanisms of Craxtans. By now, Beatrix was shaking from the effort to hold the Furie in control. The fear of the monster releasing and hurting everyone around her felt like a living thing.
“On the paper, yes, quickly,” Cassandra said.
But when Beatrix placed the astrolabe on the letter, the rotating sky faded away. Sweat dripping, she held the Furie at bay for another couple of seconds and then, using every trick Grandpa had taught her, shut it down. She could almost hear its growl as she slammed the doors inside her that kept it caged.
“Damn it,” she said. “So close.” Defeat swirled around the table, sad like the half-eaten rest of their feast. She lifted the astrolabe, warm to the touch but dead once more.
Or maybe…not quite. “Stars,” Beatrix whispered, running her finger along the bezel, now dotted with the carvings of tiny luminaries.
“We’re almost there. Try again,” Emma said.
Cassandra shook her head. “Enough testing for today. We should leave it be for now before we ruin something. I have to head to work anyway.”
Beatrix met Cassandra’s gaze, thankful that her friend understood how exhausted she was—and how close she’d come to losing control.
“But the thimble,” Emma insisted. Lucy must have given her a look, because Emma closed her mouth midprotest.
“Are you still planning to visit the Quills later?” Lucy asked, probably sensing a change of subject might be for the best. “I’d love to come along.”
It was Emma who answered. “We are. We’re planning to cover the bookshop mile. Someone has to remember the title of the book.”
Beatrix nodded. “Even after I cornered the Librarian yesterday at dinner, he refused to let me ask the Codex again. He says he’s unfamiliar with the title himself.” Beatrix had spent the whole conversation gritting her teeth. The Librarian’s dismissive and superior attitude made her want to punch him. Especially because she suspected he did know the title. He’d been acquainted with Beatrix’s mom after all.
“Discovering the title would simplify the search for a copy tremendously,” Lucy said. “And who knows? Mary might even be mentioned in the story.”
“I’m surprised it is this hard to figure out the book’s name.” Beatrix began to return Grandpa’s things to the chest. The astrolabe was still lukewarm. “It’s not like the Eisid is an obscure place. It was the headquarters of the rebels. Wouldn’t that make the book infamous?”
“Good point!” Cassandra said. “I’ll ask our friend Dyøt. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me earlier. He wrote his master’s thesis on the Rebellion War, so he should know about the Eisid Naraid, including the titles in the series.” Cassandra gave Beatrix a severe look. “Put that away. You should leave that astrolabe alone for the rest of the day. This is magic we’re messing with. Who can tell what we’re stirring?”
Beatrix dropped the astrolabe into the chest with reluctance—because she felt tired and also annoyed. And later, her frustration mixed with unease when she discovered the black spiderweb of veins on her forearms. They took over seven hours to fade.
16
UNCLE
Soon, just as the sun began sinking past its midpoint, Beatrix, Lucy, and Emma headed for the city to visit the Quills.
Beatrix’s second view of Læsting was less overwhelming, if not any less bizarre. Its wacky, hodgepodge landscape surprised her at every turn, winning her over before she could notice. The place had an undeniable charm that she guessed was borrowed from the tales from which everything had been transplanted.
The pods got them to their destination with smooth efficiency, and Beatrix had to recognize some Zweeshen technology made up for its other letdowns.
“The Quills.” Emma, who had an unquenchable enthusiasm for shopping, had spent the journey sharing the neighborhood’s particularities. “They call it the bookstore mile. You won’t encounter more stories for sale anywhere in the worlds.”
“The perfect place to find your mom’s book,” Lucy said, with her typical optimism.
Beatrix smiled, wanting to believe.
They started on a hopeful note.
“I remember that name, Leyna Yoru,” said an old woman with a flute stuck in her hair at the second store they entered when they mentioned Beatrix’s Mom. “A good story. I haven’t seen it for years.”
“Do you recall the title?” Beatrix asked. “It would help our search. Or perhaps the author?”
The woman thought hard, caressing a catlike creature with two tails coiled around her neck beneath her needlepoint shawl. “Something about the stars. No, that’s not right, maybe the moon…” She looked up, regret on her face. “Sorry, my memory isn’t what it used to be. I’ve been feeding it to my baby.” She stroked the cat. “He loves stories as treats and what’s a mommy to do.”
They left convinced someone else would remember. But their early luck proved a fluke, and after scouring every store, from dingy one-room affairs to outdoor stands, quaint fairy-tale cottages to a sleek loft overlooking the river, Beatrix was ready to scream.
“I’m so sorry, Bea,” Lucy said, tiredness straining even her features.
They tried two more places, including one that Trelius had recommended, but Beatrix had a hard time concentrating.
“It’s no fun if you obsess about the letter and miss everything else that’s special about the city,” Emma said. “Lucy and I still have shopping to do. Gotta get new gloves at Sartre’s dress shop and pick up the sound-cancelling boots I ordered for you. You might as well return to check the Main Library at Navarsing and try the Sphinx. Who knows, you might get an answer. And don’t believe her boasts. She won’t eat you.”
Beatrix never got to face the Sphinx. William ambushed her at the exit of the pods at Navarsing University station. She suspected he’d been waiting for a while.
“I was hoping to catch you.”
She stared at him, trying to decide whether to be nice or let his charming smile go to waste. Seriously. They should have rules for artisans. She’d begun to develop an inferiority complex, surrounded by people who’d been designed to look perfect. Didn’t writers know better? Add a crooked nose, a limp, give the girls some cellulite, for God’s sake.
“I’m sorry I surprised you at breakfast,” he said, his voice a tad too impatient to be contrite. “I realize it wasn’t the best choice.”
She felt tempted to give in. Then thought better of it. “Like what you’re doing now is much different?”
“I need you to tell me if anything happened yesterday night. It’s important. Do you remember any incidents?”
The intensity of his tone forced her to do a double take. Did he know about the intruder? How could he? She almost asked. No. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of engaging. For once, her curiosity wouldn’t get the better of her. “I have no clue what you mean. Go away.”
William nodded. As if he’d expected her refusal and it didn’t bother him. “You don’t forgive easily, do you?”
“Not if I did nothing to deserve the bad treatment.”
They’d reached the station’s entrance, and when he stood in silence, blocking it, she had no choice but to meet his eyes. “Do you mind? I have stuff to do.”
He stepped aside and opened the door for her.
What he didn’t do was leave. He walked in lockstep while she crossed Navarsing’s sunken gardens and followed one of the myriad gravel paths.
Beatrix huffed.
“How was your shopping?” he asked, as if they’d been making small talk all along.
“Great.”
“Why are you back so soon then?”
“I didn’t feel like shopping.”
He grinned.
“What’s so funny?”
“It’s unexpected.”
“Because I’m a girl? I should’ve guessed you’d be into stereotypes.”
“I’m not. You always have new clothes on, so I figured—” He studied her for a moment. “Emma buys them, doesn’t she?”
Beatrix continued looking ahead.
“I’m sorry I was so rude by the boat,” he said. “You didn’t deserve it. Can I make it up to you? Maybe we can make a deal. Emma said you’re searching for some information. I might be able to help.”
She glowered. “I need to have a word with that traitor.”
“Please, don’t. Emma meant well. This is my fault. I thought keeping my distance was safest. Now I’m almost certain it isn’t.”
“What are you talking about?”
William looked down for a moment, then at her. “Just that I was trying to be chivalrous, and I made a mess. I’d like to start over. So how about this—I’ll guess what you’re after, and if I give you the answer, you agree to a truce.”
“I didn’t start the war.”
His lip curved the smallest bit. “More of a skirmish, actually.”
“It’s only getting started.”
“I’m sure I can handle it.” His voice teetered on teasing, and it annoyed her.
What was different now? He hadn’t wanted anything to do with her a few days ago. Why did he insist on talking to her today?
Maybe because something had changed. It was in the way he looked at her, as if his armor were gone, and she saw him for the first time. And as she stared at him, trying to figure him out, the air grew taut, like the string of a violin, stretched but unreleased. Beatrix felt the tightness on her skin and deep in her belly, together with a crackling that was not magical but that she refused to investigate. Even when it pulled her forth to him.
He felt it too, whatever it was that swirled around them—she recognized it in his eyes that both darkened and warmed.
“We started on the wrong foot,” he said, looking down. “But I’d like to be friends.”
She almost snorted at that. “I think that ship sailed.”
“Only if you can’t accept an apology.”
When anger flashed through her, Beatrix was relieved and freed from the weird thing floating between them. Insulted, the Furie stirred, and she could tell he sensed the energy because his skin rose in static bumps. The muscles in his arm tensed.
She still had to ask. “What changed?”
He shrugged. “I believed I was doing the right thing. I realized I wasn’t. So from now on, no more invisibility amulets or shading spells to hide from you. And no rude answers.”
He’d been hiding? This became stranger by the minute. It made no sense at all. “Why were you hiding?”
“Because I was an utter idiot.” His eyes glimmered with mischief. “Where I’m from, knights perform a difficult feat when asking for forgiveness.” He bowed. “I’m putting my fate in your hands. My apologies, fair lady. What token would you have me produce?” William straightened. “Perhaps some information you seek?”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“So, deal?” he asked with a smile.
It made no sense that it kept getting harder to stay angry. “What if Emma ratted me out and told you what I’m after?”
His expression showed a mix of shock and mortification. “I have honor.”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Fine. Guess away.” She sucked at holding a grudge for long anyway. Did that make her weak? A sucker?
“All right. Here goes. You want your book’s title. Your mother’s story is part of the Eisid Naraid series by Kitte Istrehagan. The first volume is called the Inninsagur: The Priestess of the Evermoon. Am I warm?”
How did he…? “Do you share Emma’s power?” Horror of horrors if he did.
“Nothing as interesting. I’ve been trained to read people and to predict.” Beatrix spun around in the direction of the marketplace and the center of campus.
“Wait! Where are you going now?”
“You should be able to predict it.”
“Touché,” he said, half his lip up. “Thanks for shrinking my head back to size.”
With determined strides, Beatrix began to cross the street. “Emma said that while Libraries won’t carry my story, bookstores should. I’m going to Beatty’s Ol’ Books. Somewhere on Main. They’re supposed to have the biggest Fantasy selection.”
“It’s on Third.” A flash of pain contorted his features, and he scrunched his shoulder blades. “Hold on. I’ll show you the way.”
“How come you knew the title when nobody else does?” A note of suspicion must have snuck in her tone because he turned with an affronted look.
“I’ve been friends with your uncle Worth for years,” he said. “Of course I’m familiar with his whole series.”
As it turned out, Beatty’s bookstore did not carry her mother’s series and had no inventory search capabilities for other locations.
“Not even old-fashioned catalog cards?”
The woman behind the counter glared as if Beatrix had suggested she gave up her firstborn. “I ken nothing about that book.”
“Come on.” William guided Beatrix out of the store. “I’ll ask Jane and Trelius to check their sources. There has to be a record of copies somewhere. Originals are easy to find most of the time.”
“Originals?”
His mouth twitched. “I keep forgetting you’re new around here. Originals are stories from before the creation of the Zweeshen.”
“And that is what the Eisid Naraid is?”
He nodded, then turned thoughtful. “Bookstores carry most Originals. Except—”
“Yes?” she asked, her impatience fraying her tone.
“Unless it’s banned. But there’s no easy way to figure out if it was.”
“What, no lists?”
He shook his head.
Beatrix considered this new information. “Would it be banned because the land was sealed?”
His right eyebrow drew a pointed arch. “You heard about that?”
“And I read about it.” Beatrix had finished the first tome of the history book already. “I haven’t found much about sealed worlds yet.”
William studied her with intensity, searching for something—what, she didn’t know—but she straightened her back under his scrutiny.
“There are no set rules around sealed worlds,” he said after a few moments. “And it’s all top secret.”
Beatrix grimaced. Of course. “I still don’t get why the Eisid Naraid was sealed in the first place,” she said. “I learned a bit about the Rebellion, but their reasons weren’t too clear. Who were they?”
His face grew calculating, as if he were making conscious choices on how much to share. “The Rebellion was a bloody war. A group of dissidents called the Pioneers tried to take over the council.”
“That I know. But what did they want?”
“What they didn’t want was the Bounding. And all its perks.” His sarcasm showed, but Beatrix didn’t understand why.
“Like?”
“Like immortality.”
Immortality. Now that she thought of it, Jane and Emma had alluded to that. A shiver ran through her. The idea of remaining sixteen forever sent her heart into turmoil. “Are you immortal?” Then, what she really was curious about. “Am I?
William pinned her with his ever-penetrating gaze, as if trying to extract all her secret thoughts. “I’m bound. Same as everyone.” He lifted his arm and exposed the wristband there. A thick leather band with a sword and the dragonesque badge across it. High Fantasy. With an added subgenre she didn’t recognize. “So yes, I’m almost immortal. Which is not to say I can’t be killed. As for you… Hard to be certain. Maybe you’ll stop aging once you connect to your book.”
Beatrix stopped walking, the effort to process that too much. Immortality in the abstract, in exciting stories and adventurous tales, was one thing. Here in the harsh light of day, quite a different proposition. Would she remain like this forever? The idea gave her both claustrophobia and vertigo. Then another thought occurred to her. “How old are you?”
He took a moment before answering. “I’d turned nineteen when my story ended. We don’t age after The End. So it’s impossible to tell.”
A flurry of thought fragments rearranged themselves like a mosaic in Beatrix’s head. “Emma told me time doesn’t flow in the Zweeshen as on Earth. Just like it doesn’t in the fairy realms of the legends. I guess I didn’t realize what it meant. How weird. I can’t imagine not knowing my own age.”
“You already don’t,” he said, and from the suppressed glee on his face, she questioned whether he enjoyed shocking her. “In the Zweeshen, time is relative. Like in books, it lengthens and shortens and can skip altogether, so that a minute here can translate to anywhere between a second, a century, or millennia on Pangea.”
She gasped. “How long have I been here then?”
“Two days, six months, maybe a year—or three. In any case, you’re no longer sixteen.” He watched her pupils widen and added, “Don’t worry. You’ll be able to return to the same time you came, give or take a week.”
“A week!” Beatrix imagined the police cars and the flashing lights in front of her house. She swallowed hard. She saw Martin. Disheveled and gaunt, his face concerned. Would he be? Concerned? Would he care? Maybe he wouldn’t bother to report her missing at all. Buen viaje and good riddance. Beatrix had often thought he’d rather she wasn’t there. Or never had been born. But her disappearing altogether… Perhaps it was the distance the Zweeshen allowed, but she didn’t think he’d be happy with that. As nasty as Martin could be, there were glimpses. Like the time she’d gotten into that accident with the Jeep. There had been something in his eyes, not caring exactly but—
