Unwritten, page 5
She stood alone, in a hallway that stretched into nothing. “What’s the test about?”
“Everyone must pass the Test of Character,” the voice said.
“Yeah, I got that. But what am I supposed to do? What is this test? And where is Emma, and the Librarian, and the other guy, William?”
“This is your test, not theirs. The Test of Character preserves the balance of the Zweeshen. Always has and always will. It will prove what motivates you and whether you’re strong enough to cross through. Now, move. If you stand still, you’ll never grow.”
Beatrix gritted her teeth. She could see nothing ahead. Only darkness and mist. A hoot resounded in the distance, and the air grew cold—and wet. The whispers buzzed, their speech farther away than usual. “Caminante no hay camino…” Hiker, there is no path. You make your way as you walk…
They were right. Beatrix inhaled. She’d come this far, and if she needed to complete this test to get to Mom’s world, then she would. With the monster grumbling inside her, she stepped forward.
The fog dispersed a bit as she walked, and around her, the air changed, the closed-up smells replaced with the fresh and cool scent of summer shade. The hallway was so narrow she could touch both walls if she stretched her arms, and her shoes scraped against the uneven stone of the floor. A dim haze pooled in intervals, pouring in from countless windows on either side.
Beatrix reached the first window and peered in, surprised at the rush of joy when she recognized the scenes unfolding on the other side of the glass. She took turns moving from one to the other, a smile taking over her face as she alternated to peek left and right. All fear was forgotten. Every concern dispelled by wonder.
Real. They were real. They were here. Clear and crisp, each vignette offered an invitation. People talked and paced, joked and cried, going about their business unaware of her watching them.
Enthralled, she stared through each of the windows, identifying most books without the need for a second glance. She knew the characters and settings too well. These were some of her favorite stories. Heroes she’d relied on. Loyal companions when everyone else turned away at the lack of coolness of a girl whose first love was Gilbert Blythe. They had given her advice, offering answers when nothing made sense, opening a world where her otherness was shared. And here they were, a mere hairbreadth away, the flimsiest of barriers between them, and with all her soul, Beatrix itched to crack the crystal and join them. Wasn’t that every reader’s dream? To leave their own reality behind and become part of the story world instead?
“These are windows. What you seek are doors” came the voice from beyond, far ahead where darkness reigned. “To pass, you have to choose. Once you do, you can’t go back to what was.”
“Do you mean return home?” Beatrix almost laughed. The idea was not only ridiculous. Here in front of her favorite books, it seemed obscene.
“Home isn’t a place. Neither is what was. Death might await you on the other side, but nothing worth anything comes without a cost. Choose now—the known or beyond.”
Go back? When she might have the chance to see Mom again? No way. The Librarian had insisted the answers she needed awaited in the Zweeshen. A place that lay forward, not behind her. She would discover nothing by staying home.
Whatever came, Beatrix would brave it.
She took a breath. In books, heroines lifted their chins, so she did that too. “I’ll keep going.”
“Then pick a story and meet your fate. Consider that what you take away, you keep for yourself. So choose wisely.”
“What do you mean?”
“You can always change a story. You may decide to intervene. To make things better or worse. Every action has a cost, and it is yours to pay. Choose a tale.”
Beatrix considered the stories she’d spied behind the windows in a different light. She retraced her steps, looking inside with care. The scenes had transformed, the tales in them progressing.
She stopped in front of a particular favorite. And when she pressed her hand on the glass, she was there. In the moors. The smell of heather and brine in her nose. The sharp wind on her cheeks. Both her hair and the long skirts of a day dress fluttering. The cliffs a few feet ahead.
Then she saw her.
“No, don’t!” Beatrix shouted to the figure on the edge. “It’s all a lie. Don’t believe it.” Tears glimmered on the woman’s cheeks, her gaze lost and her hands on her stomach. She didn’t turn. No surprise registered.
She can’t hear me, Beatrix realized, feeling the solid glass under her palm. Like a lit fuse, a rectangular shape drew itself around her. A glimpse of sun showed through the jamb, and Beatrix knew the window had turned into a door—hers to cross. Now she understood what the voice meant. She could save the woman. Change the ending. If she stepped through the door and talked to her.
She almost did. Almost. At this stage in the story, Beatrix had ranted, wished for a different outcome, and yet… She thought of what had to come later but wouldn’t if this weren’t allowed to pass. Was stopping it her right? Would Beatrix want someone to interfere with her own story like that? Another figure appeared and the woman of the moors turned to the man. The door flickered away.
“Not Truth. Not Control,” the disembodied voice from earlier said, returning Beatrix to the hallway. The window had darkened, and she felt the trace of water on her skin. She dried her face with the back of her hand. So that’s how it worked. No, control wasn’t her motivation; that much was certain. Truth? She wished for it. But she had too many secrets for truth to be her guiding force.
The next story was tougher. When the sultry beauty smiled at the detective, Beatrix struggled not to warn him about her future betrayal. She was all glamour and jeweled charm; he, all shadows and jaded humor. His office stank of alcohol and stale cigarette smoke. One hung from his lips, his sardonic smile a poor cover to hide all the hurt inside him. But he needed this.
“Not Cunning. Not Sacrifice,” said the voice, and it startled Beatrix back to the test and the windows.
Other choices were easier. The young magician tempted by the secrets of darkness and the spells that rose the dead. His hunger made the Furie thrum but frightened her at the same time. She didn’t struggle as much allowing him his mistakes, and when the door faded, she felt no regret.
“Not Power. Not Ambition.”
There was a story she would have loved to share in. Not to change, but to snatch the handsome protagonist for herself. What would that mean to the heroine, though? And would the guy be faithless enough to transfer his affections? Beatrix doubted she’d want someone who would.
Some were heartbreaking, and she set one foot past the threshold before stopping herself, undecided. Especially when a single hit from her Furie would have decimated a killer that had gone on a rampage. Or a well-placed insult would have brought down a bully after a kid twice his size.
“Not Self-interest. Not Strength.”
“Not Independence.”
“Not Justice.”
At some point, it all began to blur—the decisions, overwhelming.
“Not Passion. Not Adventure,” the voice droned.
“What? Wait, that one moved too fast.” But Beatrix already faced the next window.
“Not Beauty. Not Perfection.”
“Not Recognition.”
“Not Status.”
By now, her mind floated and her body swirled with emotions, with shared experience and too much adrenaline. How could she choose one story when they all meant so much? She no longer knew what was right. What felt real. What belonged to her and what she could live with. What you take, you keep.
The next book she couldn’t identify, and she stepped forward, eager for a closer look. The glass was smeared and dirty, so Beatrix wiped it with her cuff. It remained stubbornly opaque, and even with her eyes pressed to it, she distinguished but a blurred silhouette. Then from the other side, a hand matched hers against the glass. “Help me.”
“Help me.” The request resonated in Beatrix’s blood, reminding her of the times she’d hoped for aid herself. She wasn’t spooked. Not even startled. The fingers of whoever was on the other side matched her own.
“Help you with what? What can I do?”
“I need a story,” the other said.
Like before, the door drew itself around Beatrix, and she realized she hadn’t liked the idea of changing a tale. This was different. Exploring, searching, even creating felt right. A bit safer and a lot more exciting. Part determined, part compelled by the mystery, she crossed through.
But she found no one there.
Behind her, the lights from the windows died out, and a sparkling road unrolled to create a runway in front of her. The passage gone, she was outdoors again, and a darkness imbued with the smell of the woods surrounded her.
The night sky was starless, the moon hidden behind clouds tinged Prussian blue, and ahead, against a backdrop of dewy trees, she spotted a white figure.
The same gauzy fog from earlier surrounded it, and when she approached, Beatrix recognized a horse. Not exactly a horse, but a horselike creature with strange green eyes, a pewter coat crisscrossed by scars, and a tail more fit for a lion.
“I’m glad you picked me,” the creature said. “While you could have traveled faster with a different choice, nothing and no one can take you further. The test unveiled your motivations, and I represent curiosity and empathy. Together they may—perhaps—lead you to wisdom.” He spoke in a deep baritone, with a built-in echo that gave it a narrator’s feel.
“Does that mean the test is over?” Beatrix asked, noticing a faraway note in her voice. Tiredness gripped her as an otherworldly stupor clung to her, and she struggled to detangle from it as if from a cobweb.
“Not quite. I’m Aestrer. Remember my name and use it to call me when your need is true. From today on, I’ll serve as your guide.”
Beatrix ran her hand through her hair and finished dismantling her messy bun. A guide. She smiled. This felt just like a book. Who hadn’t wished for a mentor like heroes got all the time? “What kind of guide?”
Aestrer moved nearer, his hooves making no sound on the spongy forest floor. “A guide helps you see what you don’t. And walks by your side when you’re lost. Beware though—in this realm, I have a voice. In the next, you must listen with your soul. Now, cup your hands.”
She did, awe and excitement bubbling up as an iridescent spiral appeared on her palm. It twirled and grew larger, gaining substance.
“My gift to you,” Aestrer said. “This hollowed horn is an Alicorn. Precious and rare. It will warn you in the presence of danger. A shaving is enough to heal many ailments, and if you drink from it, your eyes will be opened to magic. Go ahead. Try it.”
Aestrer led her to a spring, where Beatrix filled the horn with an oddly dense water. The liquid tasted heavy and sweet; it lingered on Beatrix’s tongue. And the world became new with her borrowed sight.
It wasn’t foreign. Rather, it was as if her focus had been adjusted and everything recolored with a brand-new palette. She scanned her surroundings, astounded at how many details she’d missed, and when Beatrix turned to Aestrer, she gasped. No longer a battered warhorse, he stood in majestic beauty, white mane flowing and horn shining. A unicorn. A mythical beast whose body gleamed from the inside, light pouring through his coat.
“You’re a unicorn!”
“I’m a unicorn this once and just for you,” Aestrer said. “I, too, am surprised by the shape you decided upon.”
Beatrix walked to him. The air burst with wildlife around them, and unconsciously imitating a tapestry she’d admired once, she touched his neck. In the moonlight, her skin shimmered pale and blue. Beatrix jerked. She gaped at her hands, held them up to examine both sides, and rolled her jacket sleeves to check her forearms. Twisting lines marked them like a webbed tattoo. They curled up her arms, over her wrists, and through her fingers in a lacy filigree.
She pushed down her collar. The spirals coiled around her shoulders and neck. “I’m covered in tattoos!”
“That’s the language of your world. Words that are your essence. When they shine through like this, we call them morphlines.”
“That means— Is it true? Am I really a character?”
“You are half taelimn. But that’s a taelimn, nonetheless.” Despite his gentleness, the statement slammed into her like a jail sentence.
A character…
“Do I have this writing on my face too?”
“Morphlines show on your body alone,” the unicorn said. “Your face is yours, the reflection of your choices. Only taelimns will see these, and only under a blue moon. They are infrequent and random, but we’re blessed with one tonight. Are you able to make out the words?”
Beatrix studied the intertwining lines on her skin. “Not really.”
“When you learn to read, you will understand yourself better. Know that some secrets you seek hide in the Zweeshen. You must uncover them before moving on. It doesn’t do to run so fast we leave the answers behind.”
“You know about the letter! Can you help me figure out the riddle? Is that what a guide does?”
“I’m not all-seeing and can’t interfere with your path. I will help as I may. Watch for me in the dark. Now we must go. Climb up.”
Aestrer knelt and, still shell-shocked, Beatrix swung her right leg over and settled on the unicorn’s back. She was disappointed when instead of flying or performing another fantastical action, Aestrer galloped through the woods, carrying her to a beach.
“The Singular Door,” the unicorn said, letting her dismount in front of a colossal gate flanked by two gnarled columns. “So called because the one is always many.”
Beatrix understood when, on closer inspection, she found that the gigantic gate consisted of a dozen doors. Each stood behind the other, several feet apart and in a perfect line, so that from the front, they appeared as one.
But they were all different, some intricate, some plain, one made of black glass. Each had a distinctive knocker. None of them had knobs.
“This is the last part of the test,” Aestrer said. “Unlike what came before, it’s no longer an evaluation of your character. Step forward to be recognized by your kin.”
Kin. The word alone made her warm with anticipation. Beatrix marched to the first door and knocked. On a round tablet toward the top, a carved symbol glowed for an instant before it darkened. The metal entrance disintegrated, and the entire row of domino-stacked doors slid forward until she stood in front of the next.
“Try again,” Aestrer urged.
Sweat dripped down Beatrix’s face as one by one the gates rejected her. Her gaze met the unicorn’s before her knuckles hit the last.
This door was softwood, purple and pink. The carved circle illuminated and shone bright yellow. Beatrix smiled. Then it flickered. And went out.
“Step back!”
She had seconds to jump out of the way before a swirling funnel materialized where the doors had been.
“Welcome to the Zweeshen,” the Librarian said from inside the vortex. “Took you long enough.”
6
UNWRITTEN
The Zweeshen was an office. A square room, shadowed everywhere but in the center, where a set of two hard-plastic chairs stood next to each other.
“This can’t be the Zweeshen.” Disappointment slumped Beatrix’s shoulders as she took in her drab surroundings.
“Of course not.” Emma pulled on a strand of hair and stared at it as if checking for split ends. When she released it, it curled up like a blue spring. “We’re behind the protective shield. Once you’re approved to stay, the dust cover will lift.”
Beatrix dropped her jacket on a mauve chair and sat. “I’m so glad to see you, Emma. I just hope we won’t have to hang out here for long.” Evenzaar had guided her through the swirling vortex and delivered her to this room with bad lighting, blurry beige walls, and spotted linoleum designed to hide the dirt. The place struck her as anticlimactic after everything else. As far from the romantic idea of books as a dentist’s practice. Like bringing your long-awaited son to life and getting, instead of Pinocchio, Frankenstein.
And yet…
I’m in the land of stories, came the thought, and the whispers exploded in chatter.
She was here. In the realm of tales and characters, of magic and possibilities. A place that shouldn’t exist. And there was a chance—a much bigger one than it had seemed at first—that Beatrix would see Mom again. Her heart couldn’t decide whether the pressure it felt came from happiness or fear.
But something wasn’t right. “Why am I in a waiting room? I thought I’d go to the Zweeshen straight away.”
“Oh, they’re stumped by you.” Emma snickered. “The council’s deciding on lodgings. Since you didn’t pass the guild test, you can’t be housed in their buildings.”
“Wait, I didn’t pass?” Beatrix’s windpipe squeezed shut while the insults she fought daily to keep at bay pierced through. Her father’s voice screamed the loudest, and she had to avert her eyes from the memories. They’d rejected her. She didn’t belong. Not even here. She had failed…
“You didn’t fail, fail. You just didn’t get picked by a guild.” Emma yawned, covering her mouth with a slim-fingered hand.
Beatrix lifted her head with a start. “How did you do that? I heard you in my head. Do you read minds?”
Emma had the decency to blush. “Well…” She blinked. “You heard me?”
“Loud and clear,” Beatrix said.
“I’m not a true thought-reader. I can overhear shallow musings, like when you bite your tongue rather than speak, but I can’t dig deeper unless you want to share.” Emma switched to regular speech. “Did it work?”
“Yes,” Beatrix said, giving the girl a smile of appreciation. “Reading thoughts, even superficial ones, is way better than a Furie.”
Emma clapped her hands together. “This is marvelous. I have been hoping someone would hear me. Other than Farisad. And you can.” Her face turned thoughtful. “I’d be grateful if you didn’t spread it around. The guilds would insist on testing me.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust.
