The Bone Carver Read online

  That explains why Dougal and I ended up in Telfore. We had no idea where we wanted to go.

  “Thanks.” Rachel waves her goodbye, and continues walking up the road.

  Ziggy flies ahead, dipping toward a dense shrub. The Fae light circles the foliage as Rachel nears the sign. Ziggy flies back to her side before returning to the shrub. She turns her attention to the greenery.

  “Please tell me I don’t have to talk to a bush,” Rachel says.

  Ziggy flashes once.

  She throws her head back to look at the sky, where the sun is already plunging toward the horizon. With a frustrated groan, she rights herself.

  In case there are any hidden faeries, pixies, and knockers present, she knows it’s only appropriate to ask permission to enter the forest, but there’s something about talking to plants that just screams crazy.

  “Hi,” she says, grimacing at the tremble in her voice. “Yesterday, Mrs. Crenshaw was attacked by a Miser Fae, as I’m sure you know, but Dougal and I can’t defeat the creep without help. So, I need to go to Orthega, find Orion, and bring him back here.” Rachel looks back at Ziggy. “How was that?”

  Ziggy answers by dimming, as if to say, “Meh”.

  “Please?” she adds, directing the word to the bush, while keeping an eye on Ziggy.

  The Fae light flashes once, apparently approving of her manners.

  “Can we go now?”

  Another single flash answers. Ziggy flies off, moving beyond the invisible barrier without slowing.

  Rachel steps up to the ACCESS PROHIBITED sign.

  The magical barrier, which surrounds the entire forest, sent electrical tingles across her skin the last time she’d entered. Those ripples hadn’t been entirely unpleasant, but Rachel’s fairly positive that when she and Dougal passed through without permission, they’d inadvertently set off the forest’s defense mechanism.

  She takes a moment to gather her courage, and fills her lungs with the crisp autumn air, then takes a cautious step forward. Nothing hinders her advancement. Rachel takes a second step forward. No tingling sensation. With an exhale of relief, she walks deeper into the forest, calling out her thanks for being granted permission.

  Ziggy glides past the first tree, weaves around the second, and circles the third.

  “Hey, wait up.” Rachel ducks beneath a low branch. She climbs across raised roots, and manages to keep a few paces behind the seemingly jubilant golden sphere.

  Ziggy bounces in midair as if to tell her to hurry, before rushing back to her side.

  “I’m saving my energy,” she says when the Fae light circles her. “Think of it as a marathon, not a sprint.”

  Ziggy rushes forward and back several times, urging her to move faster.

  “Dude, you’re getting on my nerves. Cut it out or I’m turning back.”

  In response, Ziggy loses some of his vibrancy, grows a shade darker. He hovers a few steps ahead of her, only moving forward when she does.

  “Now you’re taunting me?”

  One flash from Ziggy confirms her assumption.

  Rachel shakes her head and picks up the pace. “You’re a real pain sometimes.”

  She always anticipates birdsong or hopes to see a squirrel or hare scrambling for cover, but the trek through the dense forest is devoid of life. There’s an unbearable hush, a nothingness that seems to burrow into her very being. Apart from her footfalls on the fallen leaves, aside from her rhythmic breathing, only—

  The melody picks up from somewhere deep within the forest. She’s willing to give into the temptation of following the sweet sound if it leads her closer to where she needs to be. If it leads her to Orion ...

  Meanwhile, her thoughts and a sulking magical lightbulb are her only company. Strange questions she can’t begin to answer pop randomly into her mind. How long until she gets to the portal? Is it even considered a portal? Who built it? Why did they build it? Is Stonehenge actually another one of these Fae portals?

  “You still angry with me?” Her soft spoken words sound like a shout into the void, but it’s better than the countless weird questions wreaking havoc on her psyche.

  Ziggy answers with two flashes. No.

  “Are we relatively close to where we need to be?”

  Ziggy hesitates, but eventually a single flash comes. He slacks off and sidles up to her, glows a bit brighter, before wandering ahead again. She follows, wordless, until she steps over a vaguely familiar rotting tree trunk. Ziggy disappears around a red maple, moss covering the northern side of the bark. She weaves around the red maple tree and faces her immediate future. Four white birch trees are twisted together to create a natural, living arch, and carved at the top is its name—Harrowsgate.

  “Finally,” she breathes the word, staring at the gateway to Orthega.

  A mixture of excitement and anxiety floods her system as she nears the faerie circle. Emerald green grass is accompanied by a variety of wildflowers, which continue to bloom even in the cooling months. Mushrooms encircle the strange formation—the “faerie circle” as Dougal had claimed. Her heart beats faster, not in fear but in anticipation. She wants to cross the mushrooms. An inherent need pulls her toward the Harrowsgate. Rachel battles against the urge and instead makes her way around the faerie circle, studying every inch of the birch tree arch. There’s no telling where she’ll end up once she crosses through—hopefully she’ll avoid Telfore this time—and she has no idea if she’ll find Orion. She has to try, though. For Shadow Grove and all the people who call it home.

  Rachel completes the circle and repositions the backpack on her shoulder.

  Ziggy moves closer to her, now a vibrant gold that swirls like liquid.

  “You ready?” she asks.

  One flash answers her question.

  Rachel nods, holds out her hand in front of her, and unfurls her fingers.

  Ziggy inches closer until he’s hovering over her palm.

  The sunrays penetrating the canopy of leaves catch his surface and rebound, creating a magical lightshow that brightens the arch.

  The world as she knows it becomes an insignificant memory as she crosses the mushroom border with Ziggy in hand. There is no resistance this time, no crackling energy running across her skin. This time, the only things that matter are the arch and the immeasurable possibilities lying beyond it. It’s as if all the problems she’s ever faced, all the good memories she’s made in her lifetime, are inconsequential.

  She reaches out with her free hand to touch the gateway and exhales through her nose as something indescribable ripples against her skin. The melody stops and Rachel recoils, snapping out of her trance.

  “Tricky little thing,” she whispers, grinning.

  A soft, almost imperceptible humming resonates from the Harrowsgate, the sound intensifying the temptation. She lifts Ziggy higher and moves him into the gateway, watching her hand disappear into the rippling void. With a deep breath, she squeezes her eyes shut and takes another step closer. The humming grows louder, more distinct. Suddenly, it feels like she’s moving through air. It’s nothing like falling. No. It’s more like she’s drifting on a slight breeze. The air grows denser around her and cools her skin. The Harrowsgate wants her, and deep inside her, she feels like she needs to answer its call.

  The sensations of moving through space and time, of literally crossing into another universe, come to an abrupt end.

  Rachel opens her eyes and finds herself standing inside another circle, where rounded stones protrude from yellowing grass. She looks around, finds an angry sky overhead and a dirt road at the bottom of the hill.

  Ziggy flashes in her hand.

  “Okay, where to now?” she asks.

  Ziggy moves away and hovers at eye-level, not flashing.

  “Oh, yeah, Mercia’s mirror.” Rachel fishes the compact mirror out of her front pocket and opens it with her thumb. The obsidian surface ripples as an image takes shape—a grassy hilltop. She looks around, notices a road surrounded by small rolling
hills, all covered in grass. “Well, that narrows it down.”

  Ziggy flies out of the stone circle, heading in the opposite direction of the road.

  “You sure?”

  One flash.

  She mumbles an unconvinced, “Okay,” and follows the Fae light toward the rolling hills, where long, yellow blades of grass wither in silence. Rachel glances up at the darkening sky, expecting lightning to flash or thunder to roll before rain pelts the dehydrated earth. There’s no sign of lightning, though. And those clouds, regardless of their threatening appearance, don’t look like rain is coming anytime soon. If anything, there’s a snowstorm approaching, which will make her search for Orion so much harder.

  “I think it’ll be wise if we start moving faster now. We’ll make camp when it gets too dark to see, okay?”

  This time Ziggy doesn’t answer her with a flash. The Fae light simply picks up speed, apparently knowing exactly which way they need to go. She hastens after the ball of light, repositioning one of the backpack’s straps over her shoulder as she goes.

  Nine

  Badlands

  The journey is long and monotonous across the unchanging scenery.

  Rachel walks up and down rolling hills until the tediousness becomes almost unbearable. The mirror shows her which markers to look for as she makes her way across the foreign landscape, but they are so mundane, she can easily miss them. The mirror also reflects Orion sitting at the head of a table, talking and sometimes arguing. Sometimes the sign is a strange rock peeking through the wilting grass, other times a patch of wildflowers pop against the rocky face of a hill.

  Now and then she takes five minute breaks to drink some water and rest her legs, but she doesn’t waste time. People are counting on her—efficiency is key.

  After what feels like eons, the yellowing landscape turns gray and barren. The soil becomes rockier, less stable underfoot. She listens to the crunching beneath her soles, tries to ignore the aches in her thighs and calves and ankles. A bird braves the strange weather, silently gliding through the air. Rolling hills give way to seemingly endless rocky terrain and on the horizon, the silhouette of a mountain range stretches against the ever-darkening sky.

  A stream trickles nearby, drawing her attention away from the horizon. She ventures toward the tiny creek to fill her bottle.

  Hopefully there isn’t some weird Fae disease contaminating the water.

  The water looks clear enough and is cool to the touch. Desperation to quell her thirst wins out in the end, and she takes a tentative sip. There is no odd taste.

  Oh well, what happens will happen.

  Rachel takes a larger sip and drinks deeply before refilling her bottle.

  She spends a few minutes evaluating her surroundings for the umpteenth time, wondering whether this would make a good camping site. The ground is too uneven to get a comfortable night’s rest, though, and there’s nothing to make a fire with anywhere in the vicinity. It’s just rocks, boulders, and gravel. Pressing on in the hopes of finding a more hospitable site is her only option.

  Rachel takes the time to put on her jacket, covering her head with the faux fur hood to protect her ears from the raging wind and the blistering cold. Then, she takes a last look at the mirror—the image of a white boulder with an insignia carved into its surface—and shakes her head. There’s no telling if she’ll find the next marker in the dark, but she has to try. Rachel repositions her backpack, stuffs her hands into the deep pockets for warmth, and continues the long walk toward the mountains.

  The temperature plummets significantly as night draws closer.

  As tired as she is after the long and mildly disturbing day, moving keeps her blood pumping, keeps her warm to some extent. And the faster she gets to the boulder, the quicker she’ll find Orion.

  Night falls and Ziggy closes the gap between them so she can see where her feet land. The wind picks up, the whistling she’s grown accustomed to turns into a deafening howl. Shivers run down her spine and up her arms. Rachel keeps her tired eyes on the ground, hunching over as she battles the elements.

  “Let me know if you find it,” she calls.

  Ziggy, who’s no more than a dot of light in the intense darkness, flashes.

  Not even a star is visible in the overcast sky—no moonlight shines the way.

  Her legs are sluggish from the cold, muscles scream for mercy, joints beckon for rest. Rachel stops and shakes her head, unable to take another step forward.

  “I need to make camp, Ziggy.”

  The Fae light flashes once in understanding and flies back to her side.

  Rachel sets her backpack on the ground. “I’m sorry. I wanted to go on, but I can’t.”

  Ziggy flashes again, slowly floats to the ground, and settles between a few rocks.

  Rachel unhooks her blanket from the backpack and shakes it out before taking a seat on top of a rock. She pulls the blanket over her lap with her numb fingers.

  “This isn’t going to be the most comfortable night’s rest, so if I’m grumpy tomorrow, you can’t hold it against me,” she says.

  Ziggy flashes once.

  “I’m probably going to be sore from head to toe, too.”

  Another flash.

  “Look at you being all understanding and stuff.” Rachel takes a bite of a granola bar and chews slowly, watching Ziggy from the corner of her eye. She swallows and takes a sip of water to wash it down. After her meager meal, she wiggles around to find a comfortable position to sleep in. The problem is that there’s nothing comfortable about sleeping on a pile of rocks.

  “Are you going to keep watch for me?”

  Ziggy answers with a single flash, before dimming down to a dull gold.

  Rachel smiles. “Night-night, bright light.”

  Ziggy’s surface ripples in response.

  She closes her eyes, half wondering how long it’ll take her to fall asleep with the rock jutting into her hip, before she unexpectedly drifts off into a deep, dreamless slumber.

  When Rachel awakens a few hours later, it’s still dark out. The bitter cold penetrates through the blanket and her clothes and seeps into her skin. She spots Ziggy floating nearby in calculated zigzags, probably doing a perimeter check. Rachel groans as she sits upright, stiff after the previous day’s walk and awkward sleeping position.

  How many miles had she walked yesterday? Surely more than five. Ten, maybe? Hopefully more than ten. She wipes the sleep from her eyes, yawns, and stretches her sore muscles as best she can.

  Rachel sighs as she stands.

  Worse things have happened than starting a day without coffee. She rolls up the blanket.

  It’s a bit of a hassle to maneuver the blanket back into its original size, but she gets it done and zips the blanket shut. Before she fixes it to her backpack, she has another granola bar, finds her toiletries, and goes about her morning routine as usual—sans the luxury of running water.

  “Zigs.” Her voice is still husky with sleep.

  Ziggy floats back to her side, brightening as she pulls the compact mirror into the open.

  The top mirror shows Orion, fast asleep, whereas the bottom mirror shows the next marker. It looks like a weird tree, where the branches are bare and growing horizontally.

  “Let’s see if we can find this tree by the time the sun rises.”

  One flash.

  Ziggy leads the way through the impenetrable darkness, shining brightly so Rachel can see where she’s stepping.

  “Are we far from Amaris?”

  There’s an obvious hesitation before the Fae light responds with two successive flashes. Rachel’s brow creases. The last thing she needs now is to run into Orion’s older brother, King Nova.

  The sun crests behind the silhouetted mountains in the distance and the darkness slowly dissipates around her, revealing the bleak landscape once more. Light gray stones, in every imaginable shape and size, cover the ground. No matter where she looks, it’s dreary, lifeless, and alien. It’s not exactly what
she’d imagined the Fae Realm to look like.

  Granted, her fantasies had been more along the line of lush, dense forests for as far as the eye can see, alive with birdsong. Colorful flowers blooming all over valleys, where robust herds of deer grazed near crystal clear rivers. The Fae, she’d imagined, lived in treehouses of some kind, while faeries flew around and pixies played with children. This landscape is nothing near as beautiful as the picture in her head.

  The temperature climbs as the sun continues its ascension.

  By midmorning, Rachel sees the lonesome, bare tree standing in the distance, its branches growing off to one side. The tree is as gray as the rocks surrounding the trunk, yet it appears so out of place in this depressing world. She stops beside it, presses her hand against the smooth bark, and looks at the mountains in the distance. Judging by how the mountain range has grown since daybreak, she’s made good progress. There’s no telling if the mountains are even where she needs to be, but it sure looks like the obvious route. Rachel takes out the compact mirror and opens it.

  Her shoulders drop as the mirror’s black surface reveals her next landmark—a strange rock formation.

  “Oh, goody. More rocks,” she mumbles. Rachel searches the area for the next landmark—a needle in a haystack.

  The expanse is mostly flat, but in the distance—near the mountain range—three white peaks jut from the earth and reach high into the sky. Rachel double checks the image to make sure those are the rocks she should pass before returning the compact mirror to her pocket. She takes off her jacket and wraps it around her waist. “Five minutes, then we move.”

  Rachel takes a seat beneath the tree. She has a drink, eats a granola bar, and gathers her strength for the long journey ahead.

  “No rest for the wicked,” she says as she gets to her feet again.

  Then, Rachel sets off toward the next marker.

  At some point, she catches herself humming a song she can’t place. The song sounded like something her dad used to listen to, something you wouldn’t know you’re acutely familiar with until you hear it again.