Unwritten, page 14
“Quite finished and ready to eat,” Cassandra said and gave Beatrix a conspiratorial look.
15
INTRUDER
Beatrix dreamt. She knew she did because she stood on the island of the Test of Character, and the air carried lilacs and wild sage.
There were doors, many more than there had been during the Test, leading to unknown worlds. William was there. He waited at the threshold, his hand extended in invitation, his eyes smoldering. But when she reached for him, Aestrer blocked her way. Surrounded in a haze of blue, the unicorn came so close she could see her reflection inside his pupils. Then he shrieked, a terrifying sound that rattled her awake.
Beatrix’s eyes burst open. The bedroom was shadowed, illuminated in patches by a purple moon that seeped in through the open window.
In the next split second, a large, hooded figure lunged toward her, and by instinct, she rolled out of bed. They landed in a pile of wrestling limbs. The sheets knotted around her, she squirmed like an insect in a web while the figure tugged at the nightgown Emma had chosen for her. The cream silk ripped and gave, and Beatrix almost broke free.
But hands like tourniquets imprisoned her arms. With so much violence it all went white and black, the intruder smashed her head against the floor.
The force of the impact stole her breath.
Taking advantage, the assailant maneuvered on top of her. “We warned you to leave the Zweeshen. You should have listened. You don’t belong here!”
Herculean fingers closed around her throat as she tried to wriggle out, kicking and elbowing to liberate herself. She wheezed, gasped, less and less air passing through. Darkness clouded everything, carrying her away.
“Give it up!” the intruder hissed. “Release her to me, and I’ll spare you.”
“I don’t know what you want,” she managed to say, her throat bruised and hoarse.
“We will make you.” The other pressed harder on her neck, and as the light dimmed, either Beatrix’s fear or her determination called it.
The Furie rose, eager and lethal, its full might prickling on her palms. Her skin pulsated. Rust touched her tongue. And something else rose too, from the dark and the night and from deep inside her. The smell of earth and moss floated, and when she let the Furie go, the monster didn’t explode out. It stayed coiled and lunged only the moment she pushed on the attacker’s chest. The pungency of burnt flesh filled Beatrix’s nostrils.
Screaming, the figure staggered back, letting her go with a curse. Heavy liquid spilled out of an open wound, which drew a trail on the faded Persian rug as the intruder ran for the window and dove into the night.
Hours later and still shaken, Beatrix sat cross-legged on her bed, watching the dark turn to light outside. She studied the blue-black lines on her skin. They bloomed thin and twisting, marking a veinlike path from the right foot to her ankle, where they curled in a circlet reminiscent of a tribal tattoo. But they weren’t art. She had seen enough inkthreads around the Zweeshen to recognize the touch of the Fogges’ fingers. The meaning of it escaped her.
She must’ve dozed off, because when she awakened again, dawn painted the room amber, and both the reality of the attack and the marks on her skin had faded. Instead, a new sense of empowerment filled her, the certainty that she could rely on her magic and defend herself. Accomplishment. An appreciation for a power that until now she’d despised. The Furie’s stirring felt welcome for once.
She smiled.
By the time she’d dressed for breakfast, Beatrix was chomping at the bit to discuss the episode with Cassandra and Emma. Who was the intruder? She couldn’t fathom what the figure wanted. “Release her to me, and I’ll spare you.” Most of the words the intruder had muttered seemed nonsensical, but that even more so than the rest. And since the attack had failed, would they try again? She shook her head. Too many mysteries. But maybe her friends might see something she was missing.
A cramp surprised her then, and her breath caught. Last night she’d thought perhaps she’d overcome whatever ailed her; now, here came the pain again.
Beatrix fell to the bed, curled up in a ball of agony. The attack felt eternal even when it passed soon enough, and she pulled herself up, inhaling deeply to clear her mind. Her body felt battered, as if she were emerging from a boxing match—weak and sapped.
Maybe she should share this weird sickness with her new friends too. And like whenever one makes the right choice, the decision gave her serenity.
But all calm shattered as soon as she reached their usual breakfast table at the Bookends Café.
“You tricked me!” Beatrix said.
Emma’s face lit up with guilt. “When I offered a marvelous breakfast, I didn’t say it would be just me.”
“Good morning.” William’s form relaxed on the velvet chair next to Emma.
Beatrix didn’t sit. “I’ve lost my appetite.” And the desire to share anything about the intruder and her strange pains. The last thing she wanted was to appear weak or in need of help in front of him. She turned toward the door that led to the patio sitting area.
“No! Wait, Beatrix!” William called out. “Hold on, please. I wanted to make sure you’re all right.” He watched her with that intense stare of his, searching for…something. Could he know about the assailant?
Beatrix dismissed the idea as it occurred to her. She lifted her chin. “Why wouldn’t I be fine?”
“It’s a relief you’re well. I’d also like to apologize for the other day. I was an idiot.” He sounded a bit sheepish as he ran his hand through his hair. “I have a peace offering.” He waved toward the laden table, where a decadent array of delicacies were displayed. “A culinary journey through the Zweeshen. I didn’t know what you liked, so I got a bit of everything.”
She almost gave in. A part of her wanted to. The whispers were torn over it, arguing among themselves. It was the Furie that decided for her, its rusty taste reminding her of the shame she’d experienced at the marina. Beatrix was sick and tired of shame. Without a word, she pivoted and began to walk away.
“Wait. I’ll leave. Don’t skip breakfast on my account.” William pulled out a chair for her and with a couple of strides abandoned the café through one of the arched doors that connected it to the outdoor gallery.
“You’re being a brat,” Emma said when Beatrix returned to the table.
The café was uncharacteristically empty. Only two other guests, dressed in the light-colored robes of first-year students, sat slouching in front of half-eaten plates, immersed in their texts. Today, following the advertised Steampunk theme, the interior had been reinvented to resemble a conservatory, with a few Victorian touches like tasseled lamps, flowered cushions, and brass gadgetry. It whirred with the sounds of robotic servers of clockwork design. Emma fit right in.
“You’re acting like a spoiled child, do you hear?” Emma’s hair shone a spun gold.
“He should leave me alone. He’s a jerk.” Following his rudeness by the sailboat, Beatrix had decided to avoid him—and she’d expected he would do the same. She’d seen him only from afar during the last few days, and they hadn’t talked. So why the change now? The feast in front of her did look appealing; she had to give him that.
“Considering he’s forced to protect you or die,” Emma said, “I’d allow for some moodiness.”
Beatrix flinched. “Is that what the oath’s about?”
“Picked it off his brain the other day. Not sure about the exact rules. Why don’t you ask him? When you decide to act smart, that is.”
“I told him I release him from the oath. He can return to whatever it is he does.” Knowing nothing about him, she had no inkling as to what that might be.
“There are rumors he’s a Conjure.” Emma dropped her voice in a conspiratorial tone. “A powerful one. They say he refuses to use magic, something about a curse.”
“Who knew you were such a gossip, Emma.” Beatrix forced her eyes to remain on the prosciutto with melon she was transferring onto her plate, unwilling to show interest. She almost convinced herself that she didn’t care.
“I’m making a case for William here,” Emma said. “We can use his help. Especially since you can’t be rid of him any less than he can be done with you.” Emma spooned some clotted cream onto a scone. “I believe you misunderstand the nature of oaths in the Zweeshen. Do you remember the guy who let us into the Great Hall for the banquet, the keeper of the keys at Navarsing?”
“The old guy with the beret?”
“And the cable cardigan and the heavy key ring. Yes. That one. Did you notice the bleeding gash across his face and arm?”
“I thought he’d had an accident the day I saw him.”
“He had an accident. Some centuries ago. He broke an oath. A little one, like a pinky promise. Nothing of the caliber of the oath William made. If he renounces his, there’ll be no mercy.”
“I get it.” Beatrix bit on her toast. “But I didn’t make him swear. I told him he’s free.”
“You are incapable of freeing him,” Emma said. “No one can. He must fulfill his task.”
“Which is?”
“I suggest you ask him.”
Beatrix poured herself some hot chocolate. “How well do you know him?”
“Not at all. I met him while you were going through your test. I’m a good judge of character, though. You should let him be a friend.”
“Not a chance.” Even the Furie rebelled at the thought and let Beatrix know with a mouthful of rust. “Never.”
Emma shook her blond braids. “Bad idea to use that word. A challenge to the gods if there ever was one.” She angled her knife, spreading a dollop of marmalade onto a crumpet.
After taking a sip of bubbling persimmon juice, Beatrix reached into her new backpack, an Adventure prop with a hundred pockets at least, and pulled out her journal. “I wonder where Cassandra and Lucy are. They promised to join us at ten to test the watch and the thimble.”
“Someone called us?”
With a twin pair of smiles, Cassandra and Lucy sauntered in. They both surveyed the table with appreciation.
“Nice spread,” Lucy said.
“From William.” Emma bent her head with a suggestive expression.
“Really?” Cassandra shot Beatrix a questioning look.
Beatrix rolled her eyes. “He wanted something. Doesn’t change he’s an ass.”
“With good taste,” Cassandra said, admiring the intricate design stamped with gold leaf on one of the desserts. “There are weird rumors about him.”
Rather than succumbing to the temptation to ask, Beatrix bit her lip. She searched for a different subject. “Do you want anything to eat? Tons left.”
They both refused, but ten minutes later, they were all snacking while they chatted about the latest campus news.
“We should probably start,” Beatrix said. After all, they’d agreed to meet here to test the artifacts and plan their next steps. Cassandra had insisted Lucy, who studied philology and old languages, would be a great addition, so Beatrix had shown her the letter too.
Cassandra moved a few empty plates aside to make room while Beatrix retrieved Grandpa’s chest from her backpack and laid out the contents next to it: the silver mirror, the thimble, and the watch.
“We should be careful as we examine the artifacts,” Cassandra said in her most studious tone. “Spells are sensitive. They don’t allow for deviation. Not if you want them to work as intended.”
Beatrix did. She had to get this right if she wanted to see Mom. Increasingly, she realized it was more than that. This task. She had to accomplish it for her own sake too. There were answers she had to get. About Mom. About Martin. Even about herself.
“These have to be decoders,” Lucy said, a gleam in her eye while she inspected the watch. “It seems obvious, yes, but most tales are.”
Beatrix spread the letter on the table.
“Which object do we test first?” Emma asked.
“Let me read the whole thing again,” Beatrix said. “We know the mirror uncovered the B clue, and the Alicorn semi-revealed the C. Maybe we can glean the mechanism of the riddle if we also look at those verses.”
Everyone agreed, so Beatrix recited the words she knew by heart.
Before you is a riddle only you can solve.
Look to see truth where others won’t.
What’s denied holds power, and you wield it all.
Take Mary Brandt to the Eisid Naraid,
and we will reunite.
Come to me, daughter; let me be your guide.
The stars hide the secrets to open the sky.
While death is chasing your every step,
the choice is yours but not The End.
They went line by line, but after thirty minutes of dissecting the verses, they were no further.
Emma twirled her newborn Goldilocks-worthy ringlets. “Be your guide… That just makes me think of your unicorn, Beatrix.”
“But I already tried the horn—and it didn’t work completely. Can a decoder be reused?”
Lucy appeared unconvinced. “Seems unlikely.”
“On top of that,” Cassandra said, “decoders tend to be artifacts tied to the code creator’s world. Things imbued in their Inaechar. The horn meets none of those requirements. I’m still shocked it worked at all.”
Beatrix surveyed the stuff on the table. “Let’s focus on the C clue then. I guess a moon and sun fit in the theme of stars. So maybe the watch?”
Lifting it, she turned the object in her hands. The casing was scratched, and a few links of a snapped chain hung off it. She popped the lid open, revealing the astronomical markings inside. They, too, seemed dulled by age. “It’s a bit odd for a watch.” Beatrix twisted her lips in doubt. “It has no hands.”
Cassandra glanced at it. “An astrolabe.”
“Is that what it is?” Beatrix asked.
“Yes, it measures the position of celestial objects,” Cassandra said. “A remarkable piece. Too old to be from Pangea. Let’s try it.”
Careful not to close it, Beatrix positioned the astrolabe on the letter. When nothing happened, she looked up. “Now what?”
Lucy caressed the metal of the lid. “No carvings.”
“From everything I could find on Craxtans,” Cassandra said, “the decoder needs to interact with the text in some way.”
Beatrix nodded. “So maybe it isn’t enough to set it on the letter.”
“We know how the Alicorn worked, but how did you decipher the first clue with the mirror?” Emma asked.
“I’m not sure.” Beatrix strained to recall. “I remember looking at myself in the mirror and then lifting the letter.”
“Did the writing reflect on it perhaps?” Cassandra asked.
“It happened so fast.” Beatrix rubbed her temples in frustration.
Next to her, Emma grabbed the astrolabe and flipped it around. Brought it close to her eye. Then she shook it. “We could take it apart,” she said, staring at the little screws in one corner.
Beatrix snatched it from her hands with horror.
“Let’s go for a less intrusive method,” Lucy said.
For the next hour, they tried everything. Placing the astrolabe opened. Closed. Wrapping it with the letter. Peering through it, taking the lid off. Reflecting it on the mirror. Copying the signs and shaping them over the letter. Tracing the symbols with a stylus.
Nothing worked. The letter remained dead, unwilling to give up its secrets.
“I don’t understand,” Emma said, her now ash-brown hair dull and tangled.
“I was sure it must be a decoder,” Beatrix said.
“It has to be.” Cassandra ran her fingers across the astrolabe’s face. “Your grandfather wouldn’t have left you these things if they didn’t mean anything. Plus, the mirror worked.” Instead of her usual perfect posture, Cassandra was slumped in her chair.
Lucy traced the writing on the letter with her glittery fingernail. “What are we missing? I wonder what was different that day.”
Good question, Beatrix thought. In her mind, she went back to her discovery of the first clue, retracing not only her immediate steps but further back. Before she even picked up the mirror. Before she unfolded the letter. The memory of her anger at Martin spilled again like fresh blood. The shock of Grandpa’s death and the tang of the Furie’s power in her mouth, its magic pricking at the tip of her fingers.
“That must be it!” Emma said, following her thoughts. “The B hint says, ‘What’s denied holds power and you wield it all.’”
The others were fast to catch on.
“So you have to be using your power for it to work,” Lucy said.
“That would be a brilliant failsafe,” Cassandra said, her tone one of awestruck respect, “so the wrong person couldn’t decipher the riddle.”
“Call it, Beatrix,” Lucy said, her eyes aglow. “Call your Furie and try again.”
The Furie.
Could it be the key to the riddle? After the intruder, the idea was less preposterous than it might have been a week ago. If Beatrix could decipher the Craxtan with its help…
Hope flourished, expectancy filling her, as if she were on the brink of something. A monumental discovery.
Even without the help of the Taming Sphere, which was meant to stabilize it, the monster had been more docile of late, so bringing the Furie forth was the work of a second; it lingered that close to the surface.
With its power crackling, Beatrix got hold of the astrolabe again, and this time when she popped the lid open, the drawings on its face lifted like a 3D projection. The moon, the sun, and the astronomical symbols turned like the planets in a tiny solar system model. She grinned, waiting for something to happen. When a few minutes had passed and nothing did, she began to worry. Her fingertips had gone numb with pins and needles, the power seeking to overflow her control. This is why I need that stupid Taming Sphere. And why she had to redouble her exercises. She thought she was getting a bit better. A tiny bit.
