“And you are here because you want to know if she has passed through one of my cyclones?” Odessa—Dessa?—eyes me.
Cyclones?
“Nothing gets past you, Madam Governor.” Jasyn laughs again. I’m getting used to the sound.
One long hushed moment turns into many. At last Odessa says, “I’m afraid I don’t have your answer for where she came from, but I might have a way to get her back there. That is, if she is willing to aid us in our quest.”
My throat tightens. Tears attempt to well but I shut them down. The smallest ray of hope lingers just below the surface of my heart. How very ironic. That Jasyn might be the one who gets me home.
“What quest?” I ask.
“I have a proposition for you, Elizabeth,” Jasyn says. “You tell me what you know of the Void. Aid us in our goal, and we will assist you in returning to your time.”
“And what is your goal?” What if all along the answers to being rid of the darkness waited in the past? “To destroy the Void?” What else could it be?
He shakes his head. “Patience, now. A gentleman never reveals his plans until the proper moment.”
If only he knew just how ungentle he might become. But he wants to know more of the Void, and that’s something. Maybe the good in him can be saved before it’s too late. “Deal.” I offer my hand and he shakes it. What can it hurt? It’s not as if we’re exchanging a Kiss of Accord. This isn’t a binding contract, just a simple agreement between grandfather and granddaughter. “Now, how are we going to get me home?”
“How else?” His lips curl just enough his teeth almost show. “We walk.” His head tilts toward Odessa.
Curiosity must manifest in my features, because the dwarf woman answers before I utter a word. “Time is a façade of its own . . .”
“And I am a master at seeing past façades,” Jasyn finishes for her. “As an Amulet I create them, after all.”
He doesn’t explain his Calling or elaborate on what a façade is. He suspects I already know, and my lack of questioning only confirms it. Bianca said the Called have a way of recognizing each other. Is there something in me even without my Mirror? Something deeper I can’t see?
“I know some of what you are,” Jasyn continues, “though I do not fully grasp what it is you are capable of at the present time. I am familiar with light as much as I am with darkness. I recognize the Verity inside you.”
Eyes close. Breaths deepen. Eyes open. Relief surges. No surprise here. The darkness was created from heartbroken light. Who better to recognize a Verity’s vessel than a vessel of the Void?
“This era has a vessel in Aidan.” He smiles, full and genuine. “Another time and place needs the vessel in you.” His hand on my shoulder makes the Verity dance within. His words are very Mufasa. Wise. Moving. Words I will never forget. “We must return you to those who rely on your light, just as we rely on Aidan. Dessa can help you. We can all help each other.”
This side of him is a man I’m starting to like, which just goes to show none of us are born inherently evil. He wasn’t born as what he became. He chose it.
What if I can help him choose the light? “And how do you suggest I return?”
“That is where I come in.” Odessa turns. And walks into the waterfall.
The only thing on the opposite side is a window. How did she . . . ? Is she a Mirror? Can’t be. She doesn’t have a mark . . .
Jasyn elbows me. I turn my attention to him, then follow his gaze to the floor.
Holy Verity. Son of a crowe. How did I fail to miss this very important detail? Of all people I should’ve noticed it right away.
I leave Jasyn’s side, follow the path of golden bricks winding throughout the room. They lead back to the door where we entered, then all the way up to the waterfall. Where they stop.
“Follow the yellow brick road.”
Would it sound crazy if I said Jasyn sounded like the Tin Man just now? Probably. But he does need a heart. Or he will. What if . . . ? Nah. I shake my head. Don’t go there. Because the yellow bricks are enough to contemplate already. I almost can’t fathom it.
This is better than finding a reflection of New York.
Better than experiencing Atlantis firsthand.
Because I know where we’re going, and I can’t help but whisper a tune from my favorite musical of all time. “One short day . . . ,” I breathe, the lyrics for my ears alone.
I’m going to the Emerald City.
I’m flying to Oz.
SEVENTEEN
Ky
Isaach is dead.
Breckan is fuming.
For a woman who’s just lost her husband, I’d expect her to act more like a Soulless and less like the fierce warrior before us. The Nitegra tribe’s new leader is anything but lifeless.
I fold my arms over my bare chest. The weight of the situation sinks in, a tangible heaviness turning the Void to lead. I wish I could discuss this with Em. Get her invaluable insight. Man, this sucks. I should feel compassion, empathy, anger. But without her I grow more numb, colder and harder. Without her I am the man I do not want to be.
Without her, I am Void.
“I’ll kill ’em all. Ev’ry last one of ’em.” Breckan stands on a boulder surrounded by her tribe. “I’ll not rest ’til me husband’s death be avenged and tha’ wicked Troll’s head lies on a platter.” Breckan raises a spear to the gray sky. Strange symbols adorn her face in red paint that matches her hair. The effect causes her sapphire-colored eyes to appear as if they glow.
The tribe cries out, lifting their spears and shaking them, knuckles white against the wooden weapons.
“He will be avenged!” calls a bald man with war paint covering every inch of his skin.
“We’re behind ya!” comes from a jeering woman with baseball mitts for hands.
“Lead tha way!” another shouts, though I can’t distinguish who through the throng.
Despite my lack of emotion, I can’t help but admire their sense of unity and purpose, a family banded together amidst tragedy. I’ve witnessed people fall apart over lesser things. But Breckan’s tribe won’t abandon her.
Isaach isn’t the only fatality either. While those preparing to fight get riled, others transfer limp bodies covered with white canvas on handmade stretchers. My chest tightens when a stretcher passes me that can only be carrying a child. The stench of death is everywhere, injecting the air with iron and rust.
Relief comes as an exhale. I’m not all gone, not yet.
I glance at Khloe. She has uncharacteristically abandoned Ebony and Stormy to join a group of young women near her age. All have fiery hair similar to most of the tribe. All wear the colored strips of cloth attached to their clothes. My former second mate, Charley Hallen, isn’t among the ladies. She remained behind when we left the compound the first time, but I haven’t seen her since we arrived.
Another stretcher approaches and the muscle in my jaw pulses. Could Charley be among the lost? The Mask was essential to my crew on The Seven Seas, and she even helped push Em to the next level of her Mirror Calling. Without Charley, Em may not have discovered she could transform into a butterfly. I’ll have to ask Breckan when she’s finished motivating her recruits.