We travel in pairs. Me and Preacher. Josh and Wren. Dahlia’s the lone wolf. I’m still trying to figure her out.
“Get a move on, people!” She’s taken the lead, huffing and puffing and picking up her muddied skirt. She’s probably used to being the loner by now. What a secluded existence it must be. To have Ever blood and live for so long. She must have a strong heart for it never to have been broken. Or maybe it has and she just doesn’t talk about it. In fact, I don’t know much about her at all aside from what everyone else does. She’s an Ever. Elizabeth has known her since childhood. And that’s . . . it.
“You got a plan in case this one goes sour, Rhyen?”
I look up at Preacher, my traveling buddy. His gaze never stops, always darting. You’d think the guy had a nervous tic or a lazy eye. Really he’s the most aware of us all. Why I brought him, actually. That and he doesn’t talk much.
“Not yet.” I withdraw the rolled map from my back pocket. “But I will by the time we need one.” Which, let’s hope, is never.
The abandoned homes thin, giving way to rock formations different from what we’ve encountered. These are gray and towering and remind me of my time on Lisel Island with Em and Nathaniel.
“Only way through is over,” Dahlia says. And believe it or not she begins to climb. You wouldn’t think it from the looks of her, and the fact she’s had some sort of flu, but the woman is strong. If I were an Ever and could live and live and never worry too much about physical injury, I’d take more risks.
What am I saying? I’m the riskiest guy I know. Ever or not, I know how to live. Unlike my brother, who moseys just behind us with human Wren by his side. They don’t look at each other, don’t converse. In fact, it appears they’re purposely avoiding eye contact, any contact, for that matter. Could something be there? Are they suppressing feelings and just need a matchmaker to work his magic?
David catches me staring. His eyes narrow. The slightest shake of his head says, “Don’t even think about it.”
Fine, fine. But it was worth a try. Live a little, man. Venture into the unknown.
When this is all over, if we ever find our way back, I’m doing what I promised Em months ago. I am taking her to climb Pireem Mountain. Shoot, I’ll take her to climb every mountain ever if we make it through this. The look on her face the night we scaled the rocks on Lisel was worth my shortened breaths.
“I can’t believe I’ve lived my whole life without experiencing that,” she said through quick heaves.
I faced forward and uttered, “You ain’t seen nothing yet, Princess.”
My anxiety over falling has slowly dropped off since I met her, lessening with each adventure. I’ll do all the falling when it comes to her. Would David do as much? Elizabeth said it was I who kissed Em, gave her the mirrormark. After the story Makai relayed, I have to wonder.
Has it been me all along?
I grab a protruding section of stone and gain a foothold. I grunt and heft and flex and hoist. The way up? Painstaking. I can’t help but think of Frodo on his quest. I’d go to the ends of Mordor for Em. Would David?
“Stop comparing yourself to him,” Kyaphus hisses. “Your own birth father didn’t have enough faith in you to become king. And a queen deserves a king, not some lowly, unwanted pirate.”
I ignore him. He won’t get the better of me. Not this time. We’re so close, I can almost taste her kiss. Not much longer now.
On the other side of the rock wall, I exhale my relief. We pick our way down, down, down to what might as well be a large puddle for what’s left of it. The bright-green light at the water’s center still glows, indicating a way in remains. Green marks our point of passage, and green means go. I’m counting on it.
When we all have our feet on the ground, I don’t even stop. I approach the water’s edge. Halt just short of getting my feet wet.
“Are you certain this is a Threshold?” Song can’t get two words out without contradicting me, can she? “I thought you said the wormhole that took your girl was like a swirling whirlpool of death. This”—she clears her throat—“is a puddle.”
Aren’t we the observant one? Also, Em has a name. Why is it so difficult for the Mask to say it?
“Maybe not all the draining Thresholds become wormholes,” David says. “Didn’t you say it was Tide’s theory, not a fact?”
His jab at my best man does not elude me, though I’ll choose to ignore it for the time being. I rack my brain, think back to what my chief cook relayed to Em on The Seven Seas.
“He said it would create a wormhole if the Threshold was part of a larger body of water. Like the creek behind Dahlia’s cottage.” I incline my head in her direction.
She sits on a nearby stump, shaking out her boots and wiggling her free toes.
“But,” I continue, “he also shared that a hole would remain within that water, which would’ve been much more convenient. We simply could have followed Em through then. Instead, the Threshold disappeared completely.”
“So it would appear,” Wren says, “your guy doesn’t know everything. And neither do you.”
“Never claimed we did.” I lift my hands in defense. “If you thought any of this was a sure thing, you joined the wrong crew. I’m a pirate, not a prophet. I follow clues that, more often than not, lead to a treasure of nothing. Still doesn’t stop me from hunting for the next chest of gold.” A fine metaphor, if I do say so myself, and one that shouldn’t be too difficult for Miss Thing’s brain to comprehend.
“What now then?” She folds her arms across her chest and leans back in her signature stance. “We just hop in the puddle and hope it takes us wherever the Verity’s vessel has gone?”
I shrug. Sounds good to me. I can’t put it off any longer. I have to tell the others my plan. Well, this ought to be as much fun as a barrel of rum and then some.
“I say we regroup.” Arms folded over his chest, David addresses me like his equal as opposed to his enemy. I kind of like having him around again, though I keep waiting for Josh to rear his ugly head. “We can’t just jump into this and hope for a favorable outcome. We need to think this through. If this Threshold isn’t a wormhole, it will only take us exactly where it’s connected.”
“The Sixth,” Dahlia chimes in. Her boots have returned to her feet, but the laces remain loose. “And why not? We travel through and hop on over to the next one on the other side. We’ll be that much closer to the Seventh, and maybe the Sixth is exactly where Eliyana ended up. Ever considered that?”
I hadn’t, but she has a point. Still, could my drink be of use here? Worth a shot.
“What do you say, Brother?” Brow arched in question, David eyes me.
I don’t generally stare at another dude, let me make that clear. But it’s kind of hard to look away when I’m beginning to notice distinct similarities between us that I missed before. A first glance says we’re nothing alike. A closer inspection, however, says there’s more than meets the eye. I find myself staring at an altered version of myself. Different color eyes and hair. Distinctive height and skin tone. Opposite in the most noticeable features, yet it’s obvious we’ve descended from the same gene pool. Square jaws, thick waves of hair, and the ability to quirk a brow only graze the surface of our matching traits.