A wave crashes over the railing, drenching me with the very real and life-threatening present. Ignore anxiety. Ignore danger. I have one task now. No use worrying about anything else but how to get us out of here.
“Projecting is a cinch,” Khloe said before we hit the squall. “Think of your Calling like a wire running between you and the Verity, connecting you to your ability. You take it in”—she drew her hands to her chest—“then push it out.” Her palms shoved away. “Most people stop there, but Ebony showed me how to keep pushing until my power is more than my own.”
As if in slow motion my mind travels to the Fifth’s Threshold. I read about it in Mom’s journal, and there was even a small sketch for reference. I recall the passage, letting the words wash over me.
Twelfth Day, Sixth Month, Thirtieth Year of Aidan’s Reign
Mom was only eight when she penned the entry, though, as was her custom, the words read as if written by someone years her senior.
The king has returned from his outer Reflection travels, and as always he has come bearing gifts. As he has no daughters of his own, he is always kind enough to shower me with items he might bestow upon his own children, if he had any.
He did have one. Just not yet.
This time he arrived with pastels from the Fourth’s Kaide Agi Marketplace and a miniature canvas depicting a painting of the Threshold leading from the Fourth to the Fifth—Yanlib Sea Threshold. The king relayed it is one of his favorites, and by far one of the loveliest Thresholds to behold.
And there, illuminating the page opposite the entry, was a sketch of a waterfall that seemed to cascade from the clouds. The sketch caught my eye immediately, and I stored it away in my Scrib memory bank. A curtain of green liquid at the center of the sea. Mom used pastels rather than her go-to charcoal. The water reminded me of Oz’s Emerald City, all green and glowing. A sight one would never expect to find, but there it is. Existing. Doing its thing.
Image clear in my mind’s eye, I focus with all my soul. Willing the Threshold near, inviting it with my voice, my song a serenading lullaby. Normally I’d stop there. Concentrating on me, myself, and I. On what I can do. Instead, when I feel the energy well inside me, I thrust it away. My face contorts and my knees buckle. It’s all I can do not to fall over. My sisters didn’t mention anything about pain. Feels as if I’m slicing in two. Me igniting the Magnet within, and the Magnet within igniting me.
Oh, if Alicia Keys could see me now. It’d bring a whole new meaning to “Girl on Fire.”
I can’t do this. It’s too much. I’m exhausted to my core, haven’t had enough time to hone this avenue of my Calling. I can’t—
I can’t.
But we can.
A deep inhale prepares me for the scorch. And boy, does it scorch. Ouch. How does Khloe do this and keep a straight face? Is it one of those things you get used to like the ache of the Void? I certainly hope so, otherwise I won’t be inclined to project ever again.
Pull, ouch, push, crowe, pull, snap, push, gah!
The squall rages on. The waves threaten to turn us bottom side up. I want to pause, see if my projection is working, but I can’t risk losing focus. I may not be able to get it back if I do. I draw the image of the Fifth’s Threshold here, expand it out and away, left and right, to Ebony and Khloe. Together we can do this, together we will make it.
A flash of green light. There. Through the torrent. Another deep breath. Come on, come on . . .
The Threshold flies toward us as a tornado, fast and furious. We’re headed straight for it. Or it for us. Can’t tell. The light flickers, like a lightbulb about to burn out. Then the curtain proceeds to come down on itself, the water folding over, the fall shrinking. Soon it will create the wormhole Tide mentioned, just as the Threshold in the Fourth did.
Hurry up, you blasted Threshold. We don’t have all day.
It hits us full force. One more breath before the air is vacuumed away. There is only water. We should be drawn through. Instead we remain stagnant, frozen between there and here. Oh my Void, we’re going to drown unless we do something. The crew needs to row. But if I lose focus and speak to Ky, ask him to give the order—
“I’ve got you, Em,” he says in my head. “Don’t let go.”
Pull and push, pull and push. Draw in the Calling, project it out and away. My lungs are flaming. Can’t hold my breath much longer. I’m going, going, on the verge of gone . . .
We burst free, buoying to the surface of what I can only hope is the Fifth. Sun beats white hot. The ship and crew are logged with water. We’re floating along a murky brown river. Red and purple canyon walls surround us on all sides. The scent of wet dirt coats the atmosphere. A desert is the last thing I expected to find in the Fifth. With its enchanting Threshold and chief who looks as if he migrated from the rolling green hills of Scotland, sand dunes and cacti were not included in the picture.
Then again, the Reflections never cease to amaze me. I should learn to anticipate the unexpected by now.
I collapse to my knees, but I’m not alone. Everyone on board gasps and chokes. Some are passed out, the length of time underwater too much for them. Those who lasted perform CPR on the weaker ones. I smile to myself, not because I’m glad they need revival, but because I don’t.
I really am stronger than I believed.
When I gain my bearings, rise to a stand, it’s Ebony who says, “Well done. I knew you had it in you.” She claps me on the back. “That was kind of awesome, sis.”
It’s the first time she’s referred to me as such. And it’s in this moment, something between us shifts. No façades. No walls. She is for real. I can trust her.
And now I’m beaming.
Ky appears beside me, one arm wrapped around Khloe. “We made it,” they say in unison, then chuckle. Though they’re not related by blood, the sound of their laughs rings similar.
Hands on my hips and chest expanding, I take it all in. So this is it. The Fifth. It’s not much to look at. Oh well. I shrug. As much as I long to sleep for days, we don’t have that sort of time.
Dahlia Moon, here we come.
FORTY-TWO
Joshua
Y ou had no choice. You did what was required to obtain your goal.”
“Get out of my head!”
The voice that emerges from my mouth is not one I recognize. It’s angry and bitter, splintering through the canyon like a nail through rotting wood.
The voice inside, however, is one I’ve become all too familiar with. This voice has been eating me alive for days, but more so since I slunk away from the Fourth, the countess’s blood hot on my hands. I can no longer slough it off as exhaustion. The voice taunts me, driving me mad, relentless in its sinister assurances.
“Come now. Surely you don’t mind my presence. The company must be welcome. The life of a murderer is a lonely one—”
“I am not a murderer!” The last word echoes, returning to haunt me again and again with each step. My entire body itches and burns. I am surrounded by desert, but my state has nothing to do with the Fifth Reflection climate.