Foretold Page 29

“I didn’t want to make you cry right before you went in. I just thought you’d want to know.”

  “No, of course I do. I’m glad you called her. You’re not what your reputation says you are.”

  He takes a step back. “Reputations are usually earned. But if you're taking it upon yourself to reform me, you’ll have to make it out of this thing alive.” There it is: the dimple.

  A guard approaches and ushers us forward. The crowd quiets.

  “Next group! Start your Walk!” the guard calls out. His announcement is greeted with a shout of approval from the spectators.

  My breath catches. Regan takes my hand. “We’re going to do great. Ready, Freddy?”

  I can’t tell if she’s trying to reassure me or herself, but I give her hand a squeeze. Griffin takes up my other hand and Regan grabs Noah’s.

  We step into the Coil.

  The sounds of the rally behind us wink out the second we cross, and that feeling of having an ice cube sliding down my back follows. We’re swallowed by the darkness.

  “Do you hear that?” Regan whispers. “Sounds like a heartbeat?”

  The Coil feels different. Wilder. Like a sludgy stream roaring to life after a dam is removed. I break our human chain, my eyes acclimating. “We need to start moving. We don’t want the next group to catch up.”

  It feels as if my lungs are filled with cotton, every breath a fight. I can’t tell if I’m hearing my heart or that strange rhythmic Coil beat around us. We pad forward through a ramshackle landscape like a quarry, stepping over piles of stone, our shoes scratching along gravel. The walls ripple and the rock walls give way to enormous hunter green hedgerows stretching for miles. I run my hands over the small leaves and look up. It feels as if we’re outdoors, but above us the sky is black and unknowable. There’s a dark wonder there, on the edges of my fear. This place shouldn’t exist. I shouldn’t be here. But the reality is, shoulds don’t matter anymore.

  Noah holds up a hand. “We have to plot a course,” he says.

  “I’ll do it on my ICARUSS,” I offer. I’ll try and get us as close to Laurel Plain as I can before I break off in search of the Heart.

  “We should have two people do it,” Noah says. He doesn’t spare a look at me, his expression pinched. “That way, if we get conflicting directions, we’ll know the Coil is messing with us.”

  “But we can verify with omens,” Regan says. “It’s exhausting being the one with the tether. We’d be wearing out two people.”

  Under normal circumstances, Regan would probably balk at me being the one with the tether for exactly that reason. A weakened Cassie is one who’d probably struggle more with her thoughts. But she knows why I need to set our course.

  “I’ll do it. I’ll be the second,” Griffin volunteers, shutting down debate.

  “Alright, whatever. Give me a second,” I say, clutching my ICARUSS and thinking of our destination. The flapping wings on the screen appear, waiting on my energy to generate the machine-enabled tether. I set my other hand on top of the device and picture the cheering crowds waiting for us at the Laurel Plain. Sebastian nods approvingly. He’s impressed. Pict is smiling! But most importantly, I’m proud of myself. I did it. I beat the Coil. I beat OCD. I glance down at my ICARUSS, and the wings burst into an electronic map. “This way!”

  Griffin verifies my direction, and we follow along for what feels like hours, mostly silent, a thick carpet of dried fallen leaves crunching under our feet. Every time the space around us pulses or quivers, I find myself holding my breath, but our surroundings don’t change.

  “Let’s play a game,” Griffin says after a while.

  “Griffin, this isn’t the time or place,” Noah says.

  “No, this is good. It’ll help us relax,” Regan says, glancing at me. I know what she’s thinking. “What’s the game?”

  “How about Bang, Marry, Murder? Martin Pict, Luke Nox, or Jordan Welborne?”

  “Different game, please,” I say. “I don’t want to talk about murder. Or banging.”

  “Not a smart game in here, either,” Noah says. “Coil won’t react to positive or light-hearted thoughts, but a game involving murder?”

  “If you murder anyone but Pict out of that lineup, you’re crazy,” Griffin says. “Fine. Let’s play… Deal Breaker.”

  Regan frowns. “Never heard of it.”

  “It’s this game where you picture the person you think is perfect for you. Someone you have a crush on, or a celebrity, or whatever. You don’t have to tell who it is. Then we mention terrible qualities, and you say if it’s a deal breaker. Here, let’s start it. Egg, picture the perfect guy—doesn’t have to be the one you’re with now.” Griffin glances at Noah.

  “Okay,” Regan says. “And?”

  “Would you stay with that person if they hated that movie you’re always talking about… what’s the name… The Notebook?”

  “Deal breaker,” Regan says, without hesitation.

  Noah smiles at her. “Not sure who you have in mind, but for the record I like the movie.”

  “Of course you do,” Griffin says. “So, Noah, picture your perfect girl. Now tell me if it’s a deal breaker if she…” Griffin searches for something grotesque enough. “If she had feet for hands?”

  “That’s so dumb,” Noah says.

  “Answer the question,” Regan says.

  “Like when you make out, she’d gently cradle your face with her foot-hands,” Griffin supplies.

  They go on like that for a while, bickering when Noah proclaims perpetual barf breath a deal breaker and Regan takes it as a sign he wouldn’t stand by her if she ever fell ill.

  We pause so I can verify ICARUSS’s path to Laurel Plain by reading some omens. I throw down my rune stones, examining the messages while Griffin goads Regan.

  Their game and the arguing would be funny if we weren’t in a place where Pict warned me I’m a liability. You need to not picture insane things, and everything will be fine.

  The hedges give way to an expanse of cracked white earth, like salt flats I’ve seen on TV. The others trudge on, still debating absurd deal-breaker defects. I carefully set my foot down, then hop to another crack-less patch.

  No. Fight it.

  I force my foot down on one of the cracks. Then another. Then another. The cracks in the ground are a little wider here. Easier to misstep. The earth opens up, I fall through the cracks. Stop! You’re okay. You’re okay. Okay. Okay…

  A rumble sounds.

  “What was that?” I ask.

  “Probably my stomach,” Griffin complains. “I’m starving. We’ve been in here for days.”

  “It’s been four hours,” Noah says. “You literally ate just before the Coil Walk.”

  The rumble starts again, this time with enough force that we all throw our arms out for balance. “Was that an earthquake?” Regan asks.

  In answer to her question, the ground begins to quake, specks and pebbles dancing across the surface. The cracks in the dry white ground below us begin to widen, deepen.

  “Run!” Noah shouts.

  We race across, leaping over expanding gulfs. I did this. I did this. I did this. I did this. I did this. The thought pounds through my head as I run. Liability.

  Up ahead the salt flats shimmer, rippling, changing, like an oasis. In the distance there’s now a dirt path bracketed by a rough wooden fence. It looks out of place, as if someone ripped a piece of a page out of a picture book, revealing the next image.

  “Get to the path!” Griffin yells.

  The space beyond the path shoots up like a gunshot, a distant purple mountain range.

  I leap over an expanding fissure, barely getting my feet under me before it widens further. Regan jumps behind me and falls short, catching hold of the edge of a crack. She struggles to pull herself up, clawing at the ground.

  “Regan!” I scream. Noah and Griffin are farther ahead, unaware. I hesitate, frightened of moving backwards, even for her, then drop down, kicking back a leg. “Grab
on!”

  Regan clutches at my foot, and I pull with all my might to draw my knee up, unable to pull her forward.

  “Your pack! You’re too heavy!” I shout. “Get rid of your pack!”

  Regan quickly shrugs off her straps, releasing my foot for a breathless second each time.

  I pull my leg forward, reaching for the crack in front of me for leverage. “Come on! Pull!”

  Regan screams as she lifts herself up, kicking a leg up over the edge. She rolls onto the ground and jumps to her feet. We don’t have time to dissect that near miss.

  Regan and I jump along, seeking out the smallest leaps. We reach Griffin and Noah at the dirt path and pant, turning to watch as the entire salt flat crumbles apart leaving a gaping void.

  “What the fuck!” Griffin shouts. He catches my expression. I see the moment he realizes it was me. He winces. “It’s fine. We’re alright.”

  I try to regulate my breathing.

  “My mentor said the Coil feeds off our energy. We need to calm down. Think good thoughts. Or even better—think no thoughts,” Noah says in a voice that shakes. “Come on. Let’s find a place for a fire and try to read some omens.”

  Regan explains what happened to her pack to a horrified Noah and Griffin as we set off down the path. No one mentions what could have happened if I hadn’t been close enough to help. And no one accuses me of being responsible for it in the first place.

  The mountains and the dirt road melt away after a bit, and we walk for hours through spaces that vibrate and change periodically, taking small, silent breaks to add or remove layers of clothing with the weather or to pass around food and water. I can’t turn off my thoughts, so I try and redirect them like a Judo master. Blue skies, green fields, butterflies. Happy thoughts.

  The Coil here is awash in scuttling sounds, a collection of bump-in-the-night terrors. I don’t dwell on them, although there are a few times I expect to see another group of Coil Walkers, or something infinitely worse.

  Griffin throws out an arm, halting our trek. “There’s a drop here,” he says, pointing down in front of him toward a small slope. I look out to a grassy clearing, a large field ringed by a dense ridge of tree trunks. It’s lit by a dim glow—like a full moon’s light. A few butterflies flitter by.

  “Does this place look familiar?” Regan asks.

  “Button Field. Is this Button Field?” Griffin responds.

  “It does look like it,” Noah says. “Makes sense, if the Coil draws on us.” He hops down and reaches up to help Regan. I reach out a hand to him and end up having to slide down on my own when he walks away. Griffin jumps and lands beside me as I dust off my pants and wrestle with my hurt.

  “This looks like an okay place to camp for the night,” Noah says. “No rippling, so it seems stable. Don’t know if we’ll find better if we keep moving.”

  We pick a spot along the left edge of the park, close to where we sat in the real field. We pour out a large protective salt circle, handing the container off to one another to avoid accidently moving backwards. After it’s completed, it’s sweet relief to be able to move around freely within it. Our dreams are the only way the Coil can reach us in a salt circle, so I spread Somnum Sand on the ground liberally before unrolling my sleeping bag.

  “I had the cutest sleeping bag,” Regan says. “It had, like, a princess body print from the neck down. It was a Sleeping Beauty sleeping bag. I’m bummed it’s gone.”

  Noah cracks a small smile. “If there’s a princess that needs kissing, you can always snuggle with me in my bag. It’s big enough for two people.”

  “No. No way,” Griffin says. He slams his bag down. “They told me we might run into some creepy crap in the Coil, but they didn’t say anything about you two feeling each other up all night. I’d rather be eaten by whatever was making that noise earlier.”

  Noah shakes his head, the spark in his eye extinguished. “You have issues.”

  “You don’t want me to get started on your issues, man,” Griffin mutters. He fishes out his Somnum Sand and throws a handful down before climbing into his threadbare sleeping bag next to mine. He turns away, resting on his side.

  “Can Cassie and I share your double bag, and you take hers?” Regan asks Noah. He nods. “Is that cool with you?” Regan asks me.

  “Of course.” I throw down some more Somnum Sand, and Noah spreads his bag out on top of it for us, then sets about making a small fire to ward off the chill. The three of us gather around it to warm ourselves and to read the flames and smoke. Regan settles next to me and glances at Noah.

  For a spell, the only sounds are the crackling of the wood and a softly whistling breeze winding through the trees. I lean closer to the fire. I’ve never been camping. It’s just a split second, but I forget I’m not really on a little trip with friends instead of in a scryer test labyrinth hell. I can almost see why this stuff appeals.

  “Would you ever tell Colin about this whole thing? Like being a scryer, or whatever?” Regan whispers suddenly.

  I pause, glancing at Noah, who is pretending not to listen. Colin’s name brings with it a pang of longing. “I don’t know. He’d probably think I’m crazy. And I’ve had enough of people looking at me like that to last forever.”

  “But it’s such a huge part of who you are. I mean, my thing with Noah is really nice because he knows the whole me, you know?”

  “Yeah.”

  I don’t want to tell her that with grief, there’s no way to let someone know the whole you anyway. There’s always a piece of yourself that you hide away so you don’t bring others down. The only ones who understand are those who’ve experienced it. But as Regan moves over to cuddle with Noah, I recall I don’t have a monopoly on grief. Better not to dwell on Ford in here, though.

  I watch Noah and Regan across the dancing flames and feel like I’ve wandered into someone else’s dream. It’s all too absurd. And after the thing with the salt flats… I need to break off soon. It’s the right thing to do.

  “We’re on the right track,” Regan says, pointing to a spark pattern in the campfire.

  “The smoke touched the ground,” I say. “I don’t like it. Bad omen.”

  Regan gives me a look, clearly thinking about my condition. “I didn’t see any smoke touch the ground. You sure?”

  I narrow my eyes at her.

  “Fine! Okay! Someone should keep watch. We can take turns,” Regan says. Noah nods. “Hey, Griffin. We’re going to take turns keeping watch.”

  “I heard. I’m literally right here. Just because I’m not facing you doesn’t mean I can’t hear you.”

  Regan rolls her eyes and mouths, “He’s the worst.”

  I smile, ducking my face into my collar. Regan does the same, but I see the laughter lurking in her gray eyes.

  I avert my gaze. She makes a tiny sound. I try to avoid it, but my eyes migrate back to hers. The second it happens, I choke off a giggle. Regan’s body shakes, and her eyes well in repressed mirth. The more we try to hold it back, the harder it is… until the levee breaks and we give in to the snorts and laugher. Even Noah chuckles, smiling as he pokes at the fire.

  Griffin abruptly struggles out of his sleeping bag and stands, grabbing his gear and storming off toward the center of the field.

  “Griffin! We weren’t laughing at you!” I call out. He doesn’t listen, instead reaching into his pack and then pouring out a rough salt circle. He flings down a fistful of the black Somnum Sand before dropping his stuff and climbing into his sleeping bag again.

  “We have to stay together! It’s not safe to sleep out there by yourself,” I say, sobering now.

  A loud snore greets my words.

  “Faker!” Regan calls out. More snores sound.

  “He’ll be okay,” Noah says when Regan looks to him in concern. “I’ll take the first watch.”

  Regan and I settle into the soft confines of the bag on the hard ground, and I glance again at Griffin’s lonely form in the center of the field. I fight the h
eaviness in my lids. A creature creeps along the edge behind us. I close my eyes, never hearing it approach. Its fangs, stained red, sink into my throat. I gurgle out a cry for help…

  Oh my God. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Colin. Healthy. Alive. I save him. Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. Happy. Happy. Happy.

  It’s a long while before I finally give in to sleep’s pull.

  A piercing cry shatters the quiet. I try to sit up, but there’s something holding me down. “Cassie! Noah! Wake up!” Regan says. There is a frantic edge to her voice.

  I turn my head. Regan’s eyes are flint pools of terror. She thrashes her head from side to side.

  “I can’t move!” Noah shouts. “What’s happening?”

  “I heard something. I woke up. Couldn’t move.” Regan struggles against her invisible restraints.

  There is a howling, like the sounds of a muffled slaughter carried on a ghostly wind.

  “What was that?” I whisper.

  “That’s what woke me up,” Regan hisses. She’s dripping sweat, her face is a damp mask of fear.

  The crushing pressure on my chest is unbearable now. The more I silently strain, the tighter it holds me. “I can’t breathe!” I bite out, on a rising tide of claustrophobic panic though I’m in a wide-open space. An acrid smell fills my nose, and sweat drips down my brow.

  The sound. That horrible howl.

  “That was behind us,” Noah whispers. The shadow of a large man-like creature falls on the ridge next to me. I whimper. Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. Happy…

  It’s not a shadow of a creature. It is the creature. The shadow circles us. Regan’s pained shrieks mingle with Noah’s yells. I can’t see what’s happening to Noah, but I can see the shadow creature leaning over him, and Regan’s reaction. I scream until my throat burns. When Noah’s shouts quiet and the shadow moves to Regan, I squeeze my eyes tight. I can’t watch. I can’t.

  Regan goes silent, too.

  The shadow is now hovering over me. I feel the heat of it, its breath on my face, hear the airy yowl loud in my ears.

  “Oh God. Oh God. Oh—” I whisper.

  Something gritty, like sandpaper, is pressed hard into my eye. I screech and try to turn my head away. It grabs hold of me and does the same to my other eye. I try to buck. I can move! I push up and roll away. It jumps on me again and holds me down.