Wish Quartet- The Complete Series, page 78
part #0.50 of Wish Quartet Series
“Yes?”
“There was one arrow. An arrow you didn’t want me to touch.”
“I know the one you’re talking about . . .” Samson seemed on guard. His hands began to twitch. The lack of tactile sensation caught up with him as he reached over to the table, grabbing the nearest bauble.
“That arrow—”
“Is special,” Samson interrupted in rare form. “I still have it.”
“What?” Jo and Takako seemed to say in unison.
“It survived the end of the Society?” Takako whispered, solo.
“Yes . . .” Samson gave a small nod. “Everything I made in the Society is gone. Perhaps because I didn’t make it?” He went from nodding to shaking his head to shrugging. “It was in my room in the Society when I woke there, just as it was in the room where I woke up in this timeline. It seems to follow me.”
“Can we see it? Just see it?” Jo’s voice bordered on desperation, but she didn’t care in the slightest. “Please?”
Samson’s eyes darted between them for what seemed like forever, until he finally nodded. “Okay.”
Jo’s heart was in her ears as she watched him shuffle around the table. Along the wall of windows that overlooked Yorkton there sat a pile of heavy-looking crates, one of which Samson approached and opened. It was an odd contrast: the modern city illuminated behind the trunks that could have been from the set of an old fantasy film.
“It was a gift,” Samson said, straightening, a quiver in both of his hands. His knuckles had gone pale with how tightly he was clutching it. “A gift . . . that’s all I remember.” When he returned to them, he placed the quiver on the table. Samson opened his mouth to speak, but was stunned into silence as Takako walked right up to it.
As if in a trance, Jo watched the woman move with precision and certainty. She had never seen Takako be half as bold as she was about to be. Even Samson stared, slack jawed, his words forgotten.
“This,” Takako whispered, going right for the arrow Jo had been entranced by. It stood out from the others—slightly longer, with a slightly thicker shaft of pale wood, and a plume that seemed to sparkle with its own light.
“Taka—” Samson never finished whatever objection he was about to voice.
Right as he moved, Takako’s fingers closed around the end of the shaft. Pure white light overtook the arrow, blindingly bright. As she lifted it from the quiver, the light seemed to drip off like molten, white hot metal, fizzling and disappearing as it met the table. In its wake, as though it was fresh from the forge, was an arrow made of pure gold.
At the same moment, all of Jo’s past memories and discoveries finally clicked.
“A golden arrow,” she whispered. “A golden arrow!” Her voice seemed to dislodge the other two from their trance, if only slightly, as both of them turned in her direction with yet-gaping mouths. Jo was quick to try to explain, though the thoughts seemed to whizz through her head as though they were arrows themselves, impossible to pluck from the air in any kind of order. “My research. Don’t you remember, Takako?”
“You asked me about archer deities.”
“Yes! It came up, across mythologies and timelines. It was even in Eslar’s story book.” At that, Samson gave a small nod of affirmation. “I remember . . . The Goddess of the Hunt, back in a time of gods. She was working with other gods to try to fight against Oblivion. But . . . it wasn’t going their way. Pan killed her. That was when Snow and I—our past selves—decided to try to reboot the world to kill Chaos.”
“Did a goddess give this to you?” Takako asked Samson.
“I think I’d remember.” Samson shook his head almost violently.
“Can I see it?” Jo held out a hand.
Takako extended her arm, holding out the golden arrow toward Jo.
“Thanks.” Jo reached for it, and the moment her fingertips brushed the gold, memories that did not belong to her flooded her sight.
Hunt, swathed in the furs of her kills and with dirt on her face, bestowing the arrow on a man she called Champion, so that none of the other gods would know of its whereabouts. The man was to kill Pan, but then . . .
The world shifted, and the man was without memory of the gods. As he lay dying, he passed it on to his son, who sold it to a collector. The collector’s home was ransacked by thieves, who pawned everything off but the arrow. They held onto it, revering it for power and luck, before their hideout was burned down and the arrow was hidden in a bed of ash.
. . . Until a farmer discovered it while tilling the land. The farmer gave it to his daughter, and it was she who ultimately gave it to Samson as thanks for a night spent in his home during a storm.
“Josephina?” Takako asked. Instantly, Jo knew it wasn’t the first time her friend had tried to get her attention.
The visions faded and Jo shook her head. She’d barely touched the weapon, but her hand fell from it. She felt heavy, weary from the onslaught of memories. “It’s Hunt’s arrow.”
“You’re sure?”
“No doubt,” Jo affirmed.
“Let me see it?” Samson asked.
A brief look of uncertainty shadowed Takako’s face but she quickly held it out to Samson. He ran his own fingers up and down the projectile.
“Please don’t disassemble it,” Takako cautioned uncertainly.
“I don’t think I could if I tried. The craftsmanship is just . . .”
“Divine?” Jo finished with a small if tired grin.
“If it is something designed to bring down Pan—Oblivion—then why didn’t Pan destroy it while she could in the Age of Magic, or the Society?” Takako asked.
“I don’t know.” Jo thought aloud. “Perhaps she couldn’t?”
“Or perhaps she didn’t know what it was,” Samson suggested. “You saw the protection slide off the arrow when Takako touched it. Which, why . . .”
“Because Takako is of the Champion’s lineage,” Jo whispered. “That was the magic that lingered within her through the ages.” After the visions had seeped into her mind as if they’d been her own memories, it was impossible not to sense the similarities in magic between the original Champion and the young woman before her.
“So now what?” Samson asked. “If this is what takes down Pan, then what next?”
“We need a bow,” Jo offered, and Takako nodded her own agreement.
“Samson, can you make one?”
On cue, the crafter lifted his head. “I can, but first I’ll need something.”
“What?”
“Not what,” Samson corrected. “Who.”
On The Run
Jo didn’t waste time knocking on Wayne’s door, and instead barged in without warning, much to the man’s startled and flailing dismay.
“D-Dollface?” Wayne blinked as much of the sleep from his eyes as he could, though he was clearly disoriented. “Is everything jake? Are we under attack?”
“Sorry to bust in like this,” Jo apologized sincerely, even as she made a quick route to the nightstand to turn on a light. His room instantly filled with a painful brightness. At first, Wayne just continued to blink, letting his eyes adjust, but eventually, he noticed that Jo wasn’t the only one in his room. His face contorted first in confusion and then concern.
He forced his gaze back to Jo. “If we need to hightail it for a bit, I have a bunker.”
“Might not be a bad idea,” Takako muttered.
“Why?” Wayne asked before Jo could get a word in.
“Jo was attacked.”
“I’m fine.” She tried to stop the concern from sprouting before it could take root. “More importantly, we have a plan.”
“A plan?” Wayne quirked an eyebrow at her and on reflex, she glanced over her shoulder towards Takako. The golden arrow, the best clue they had to defeating Pan, was still nestled in the palms of her hands, as if the Japanese woman were cradling it like a child. Wayne looked from Jo to the arrow and back before taking in and letting out a deep, weary breath. “I think you have a lot more to explain than just this plan. But maybe first, you could let me put on some clothes?”
Before Jo could agree that was the best course, the phone at Wayne’s bedside table rang.
“Who . . . no one ever calls that line,” he muttered, reaching for it. Jo’s heart began to race as he ran a finger over the obsidian backing.
A voice appeared to emit from thin air. “Mister Davis, there are some of the King’s Guardians here.”
“King’s Guardians?” Wayne glanced back to them. Jo had no idea what “King’s Guardians” were but she could guess it wasn’t going to be anything good.
“Yes, they want to ask your guests a few questions.”
“Go ahead and send them up.”
“Wayne, no—” Takako hissed, stopping short when he held up a hand.
“Yes, sir.”
“Give me a minute or two, however. I need to dress.”
“Understood.” The obsidian disk went dark and the sensation that filled the air along with the voice vanished.
“What did you all do?” Wayne turned slowly back to them.
“Pan’s after Jo. You can’t let them in.”
“We’re not going to be here by the time the elevator arrives. Go, pack your things. We have a minute, maybe.”
Jo wasn’t sure if it was the panic of the situation, or the fact that Wayne gave them no warning before moving to throw off his covers, that had them scurrying from his room. Pack their things? Takako hadn’t really unpacked and Jo didn’t have anything, which fortunately left their hands free to help keep Samson as he worried away everything he wouldn’t be able to take in such a short period of time.
In the back of her mind, a timer ticked down. Every second seemed to fly by and every movement seemed to crawl.
“Are you ready?” Wayne said, breathless, a backpack over his shoulder.
“Just where are we going?” Takako asked, lifting one of Samson’s boxes as though it were filled with air and not pounds of tools. She clearly wasn’t too hung up on the “where” since she was already following him out of the room.
“Remember that bunker I mentioned? There’s a secret elevator that leads to it in the basement . . . It also has its own exit to the street le—”
“Myrth!” Samson interrupted suddenly. “We’re going to Myrth!”
“What?” Everyone paused, stopping in lock-step.
“I have a workshop there. It can be a hiding spot. If you can get us out.” He looked to Wayne.
“I don’t know if trying to leave the country is the best idea . . .” Takako muttered.
“Money finds a way,” Wayne insisted. “And it’s out of reach of Pan.”
“Yes, but—”
Jo’s head jerked away from the conversation. She could have sworn she’d just heard the soft ding of the elevator. Her hands went slick with perspiration, forcing her to adjust her grip on Samson’s trunk.
“There’s no time to argue,” she interrupted. “Myrth is fine. Samson will have his workshop; he can make the bow.”
“Bow?” Wayne looked for an explanation there wasn’t time to give.
“Not quite . . .” Samson’s fingers curled over the box he was holding. “I’ll need—”
Banging on the door interrupted them all.
“To work it out later!” Jo hissed.
“This way!” Wayne started forward hastily. They all but sprinted through his penthouse to a far back room where he revealed a secret panel. With the sounds of shouting and more banging in the background, he moved his hands over the magical device to reveal a secret elevator.
The four stepped in, watching as the doors closed behind them, and feeling their stomachs rise up into their chests as the elevator descended away from the safety of Wayne’s penthouse and toward the unknown.
Ready To Jump
Myrth spread out before them like an exotic tapestry unfurled.
As the tiny airship began its descent into the city proper, Jo stared in wonder at what would have been, in her time, a coastal city on the Strait of Gibraltar. It was still that, she supposed, a coastal city bordering a narrow sea between one continent and another. But that was where the similarities ended.
The city was a towering landscape of spires with domed and slanted roofs. Lush foliage created emerald contrast as they sprouted from between the white and cream buildings, topped with not red (as she would expect of Spanish Mediterranean architecture in her time) but bright cerulean clay tiles. Great birds with silver plumage and bright blue heads stood out against it all, flying from place to place and dropping off messages.
Jo stood at the edge of the airship railing, taking it all in. As they continued descending, she could see the flecks of white in the birds’ feathers, and the splashes of rainbow color in the various flags suspended over doors and balconies. She was so engrossed, she didn’t hear Samson approaching until he was at her side, elbows on the railing next to her.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“It’s hard to think.” Jo laughed softly. “It all seems so magnificent and so . . . impossible.”
“A far cry from the Spain you knew.”
“A few thousand years of alternate magical history will do that.” The first few days of the trip were spent cramped together in a small hold as they waited to clear Aristonian customs and be smuggled out of the kingdom. Jo had spent much of that time reading, per Takako’s suggestion. It passed the time and, after all, there was so much to catch up on. Be it her age or newfound interest, she found herself much more invested in this world than she had been in her high school history classes. It was like finding where she was always meant to be.
“They call those skywings.” Samson pointed. “The way the elves tell the tale, the early families were gifted the birds by the goddess.” The Goddess. Jo remembered reading about that. Interestingly enough, the elves had evolved into a monotheistic religion. She couldn’t help but wonder what they’d think when they found a demigod on their doorstep. “These birds were made for them, to suit their long life spans. They live as long as a member of a certain lineage draws breath, acting both as spirit guardians . . . and convenient messengers.”
“I see.” Jo’s eyes continued to scan the cityscape. As the airship turned, they got a glimpse of the sea. “That’s . . .” Her words trailed off at the splendor of what she beheld.
At the edge of the city, stretching into the water, was an arc-shaped building. From either end, a walkway stretched, joining together to form a single road. This road, lined by giant sapphire statues that glinted as though they were moving in the sunlight, led across the strait—The Sapphire Strait, as it was known in this time—to what Jo knew as Africa, but was now the Luanian Empire. She was trying as much as possible to expunge the past names she knew in exchange for what was before her: a completely different world that just happened to share some similar continental shapes to the world she’d been born into.
“That’s the Sapphire Bridge,” Samson finished for her. “And the only way into the Luanian Empire. The other wards around the continent are virtually impenetrable.”
“How do they ward a whole continent?”
“The magic of the elves.” Samson shrugged. “They’ve been around centuries longer than the second oldest race—the fae.”
“And the fae are said to be an off-shoot of elves,” Jo recalled reading. Samson looked somewhat surprised that she knew the fact, so Jo added, playfully defensive, “Takako’s not the only one who can do a bit of research, Sam.”
His eyes wandered back out toward the city and the Sapphire Bridge, the massive structure quickly disappearing from view as the airship turned yet again. Samson rummaged through his pocket for one of his preferred cubes of wires and screws.
Jo watched as he fussed with it, eyes focused on something else entirely. She felt his magic radiating in unsettled waves, but Jo didn’t inquire. If he didn’t want to say, she wouldn’t force him to. Instead, she opted for another distraction.
“Where’s your workshop? Can we see it from here?”
Samson seemed startled, but quickly answered. “Not quite. It’s a bit off in that direction.” He raised a finger and pointed just diagonally beyond the bow of the airship. “It’s small, but we should all be able to fit.”
Their conversation was cut short by one of the smugglers poking his head out of the narrow door that led on deck. “We’re gonna be dockin’ soon. You should get under till we sort out customs.”
“Customs? Again?” Jo mused as they stepped into the equally narrow passageway through the ship.
“It’s nothing difficult. Should only take a moment on a vessel this small,” Samson assured her. “I’m sure the crew has done it a thousand times.”
Takako and Wayne were already curled up in the small cargo space positioned between cabins and the bridge—low in the hull of the ship. The few feet between them managed to look as wide as an arena as they sat squared off against each other like two fighters about to take the ring. Wayne curled his fingers into fists, where Takako gripped at the strap of the single-arrow quiver Samson had made her (a quiver that now never left her back).
“What did we miss?” Jo asked as she settled into her own space, Samson closing the hatch securely behind them.
Wayne opened his mouth to speak but Takako managed the first word.
“He wanted to pass us off as passengers and get off promptly. I insisted it was better to stick with the plan.”
“Crew. I said pass ourselves off as crew.”
“Takako is right.” Jo sighed softly. “They said we’d just have to wait until nightfall and then they’ll unload.”
“I am not made to be shoved in a corner. I travel first class or not at all,” Wayne huffed.
“Clearly not, Mr. Bigshot.” Jo enjoyed the way he contorted to avoid her gaze. The trip had been the hardest on him. At first, he’d seemed thrilled to exercise some of his less-than-savory connections to get out of Aristonia. But that also meant stepping out of the comfort zone he’d settled into; this was the first time Jo had ever met a version of Wayne not surrounded by luxury.
