Foretold Read online

  “Is the sun just resting on the horizon?” Noah asks, finally. “It hasn’t moved for a while.”

  The sun here isn’t like the one outside the Coil. Looking at it isn’t unbearable—it has more of a nightlight glow to it. Right now, it perfectly bisects the horizon, sitting like a postcard sunset in a sky that looks like Colin’s painter’s palette. And Noah’s right. It hasn’t moved. But it has gotten bigger.

  I look down at my ICARUSS. “I don’t see any land, but the ICARUSS is saying it’s not far off.”

  I look out at the vibrant reflective streak of light we’re following across the water, trailing it to its source and trying to work out what about it feels so wrong.

  Actually, the sun hasn’t gotten bigger. It only looks that way because it’s getting closer with each press of our oars on the water. It looms huge in front of us. We hear a scraping sound.

  Griffin peers down into the water. “What now? Shrieking eels?”

  Noah presses an oar down into the water and knocks. It’s shallow here, and the ground beneath the water is like cement. The horizon doesn’t remain in the far-off distance the way it normally would, an illusion of sky and sea meeting. The Coil horizon is apparently a very real place: a thin boardwalk running in both directions as far as I can see.

  Noah jumps onto that horizon-boardwalk and bends to hold the boat so the rest of us can hop up next to him. We approach the glowing Coil sun looming above us like a Ferris Wheel.

  “This thing looks like a billboard of the sun,” Griffin says. He hesitantly reaches out a hand toward it.

  “Don’t touch it!” Regan calls out. “Oh my God, do you not have enough burns to deal with, you moron?”

  Griffin taps it with his fingertips. “It’s not hot.”

  “Where are you going? Watch your step,” I say.

  He circles behind it, careful not to step back as he edges around. “This thing is two-dimensional!” he shouts. “Move out of the way.”

  We join him in back of the thin faux sun. Griffin hefts a foot up and kicks at it. The sun tips, wobbles, and goes down slowly, partially crashing into the water.

  “That is some weird crap,” Griffin says.

  “Look!” Regan says. The boardwalk behind the sun opens to an expanse where, suspended in the air, sit all the colors of the sunset we saw from our boat. We roam into that color field, running our hands through translucent clouds of purples and golds and blues and yellows. The colors stream through our fingers, swirling together in midair.

  Regan blows out a breath, and the colors in front of her spin and curl, like something out of a Van Gogh painting.

  Griffin sucks in a breath through his mouth, taking in a heaping helping of orange, and blows the breath out of his nose, sending it out like a bull. “Sick!” He grins at me. His smile is full of childish delight. “So, the sun was two-dimensional, but the sunset is 3D. This place is so off.”

  I walk alongside the group, watching, waiting for what comes next, praying it’s OCD anxiety and nothing more. A breeze blows my long bangs into my eyes. I wipe them away and glance at my ICARUSS before digging in my bag for omen-reading materials.

  “Use the mirror. Or the runes. Quicker than a fire,” Noah says. He’s corralled a puff of blue air in-between his hands. The more he brings his hands together, the darker the blue of the puff becomes, packing the color together like a floating snowball.

  I give him a small smile, a kernel of hope sprouting inside me. He spoke to me. Willingly. Without anger. Maybe the thing with Dill—hell, maybe even Griffin’s words, though I never thought those would be a game changer—have put a dent in his hatred for me.

  The wind blows again, this time hard enough to temporarily halt our progress.

  What if it blows so hard someone accidentally takes a step back?

  I sit cross-legged, throw the runes down, and inspect them. Nothing interesting. I look up, across the color field, and the wind picks up once more. I taste dirt. It’s in my mouth and stings my eyes. It begins to blow into my face so violently it’s choking off my air supply, burning my face. Can you suffocate in the wind? I gasp, then gag on the dust. I can’t see the others. It’s a dust storm. A dust storm made up of all the colors of the rainbow.

  “What’s wrong? What is it?” Regan asks me.

  I blink, and the sensation and the scene in front of me is gone. Like with Colin. Like Mom. But somehow the clock within me knows this vision is a lot more immediate than theirs were. I feel it.

  “We need to move. Now,” I shout. I grab my bag and take off running, the rest of them following close behind. They don’t need to be told twice.

  “What did you see?” Regan calls as we run.

  “A storm. The colors. Wind.”

  And then it begins, a wind so fierce it almost drives us backwards. We push forward, leaning against those powerful gusts. The colors whip and bite, becoming a dust cloud so thick that we can’t see in front of us. We press on.

  “Keep going! Don’t let it push you back!” I shout, my words carried off by the gale the second they cross my lips.

  I can’t even see my hand in front of me now. I reach out, fighting against the almost solid color wall now, and I feel something. I grab onto it, thinking it’s one of the others, but it turns in my hand and a crack in the color squall appears. I pull harder, dropping my bag to yank on it. The crack widens. A doorway!

  “Door! Grab my hand!” I hold onto that door handle with all my might and reach back, desperately feeling for anything, anyone to pull forward. A hand grabs mine, and I pull, faint from the lack of air. Regan comes staggering forward, passing through the door—then sprawling and skidding down the corridor, suddenly free from the driving wind.

  I reach back again, screaming Noah and Griffin’s names. A hand closes on mine—I pull hard and Griffin tumbles through the doorway, crashing down next to Regan, his pack spilling over beyond him. His face is covered in color, and he slaps at it, gasping for air. I shout for Noah, relieved when his hand meets mine… until I feel him pulling on me harder than the others—harder than the wind. He pulls himself up next to me and grabs my other hand, the one holding the door handle. He digs his nails into my fingers, and it’s a second before I process he’s trying to pry my hand off the door.

  “No! What are you doing?” I scream, pushing at him while I desperately cling to the handle. Regan and Griffin jump to their feet, their troubled faces barely visible through the doorway as I push at Noah.

  “You did this!” Noah shouts.

  “Noah, stop!” I shout, lowering my center of gravity and trying to press toward the doorway. He manages to get my fingers off the handle, but I grab hold of the doorframe with both hands, fighting the wind, fighting him. I kick back.

  “Noah, what the hell are you doing?” Griffin shouts.

  “You think I don’t know? About the Heart? The dark mirror? You think I’m stupid? You’ll drag Regan down with you,” Noah shouts at me. “You drag everyone down with you.” The door is wide open now, and Noah holds onto the doorframe next to me. He grabs at the neck of my shirt, and one of my hands comes off the doorway involuntarily, trying to keep my collar from choking me.

  I slap at him. I can’t hold on anymore. He’s right. Just let go. Let go. Let go. Let go. Let—

  Griffin screams as he moves back toward us, his palms licked by a white-hot fire, cooking his burnt flesh further. He hurls himself at Noah with a growl. The blow doesn’t dislodge Noah, but it does knock my already weak grip loose.

  I fall back, swallowed by the storm.

  Chapter 32

  I wheeze, trying to catch my breath, dropping to all fours and coughing until I gag up the contents of my stomach. All around me is a bombed-out desolation.

  I stagger to my feet, slapping at my skin and scraping my nails down my arms. I need this colored dust off of me. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. Can’t. Can’t.

  Count. Count.

  One. Two. Three.

  This compulsion is n
ot me.

  Four.

  It’s everywhere. I can’t breathe.

  I hear Noah’s voice in my head: You drag everyone down with you.

  He’s right. I’m an infection.

  It felt as if I were yanked here by an invisible thread fish-hooked into my belly button. The center of my stomach aches.

  Five. Six.

  Oh God. I moved backwards. What did it do to me? I frantically feel my body, searching for wounds. I can’t find any. I wheel around. I’m alone. Alone.

  I could quiet my mind when I had the others to distract me. But now I'm alone. Alone. Alone.

  I feel my pocket, looking for my ICARUSS. It’s not there.

  It’s okay. Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay. You were planning on breaking off anyway. Find the Heart. Use the blueprints.

  You don’t have the mirror. You don’t have the mirror. You don’t have the mirror. You don’t have the mirror. You don’t have the mirror.

  I clutch at my sore middle and a wracking sob spills out of me, followed by another, and then another. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. I need that mirror. I need to save Colin. That clock is ticking in my ear, deafening. But even if I find the Heart now, I have nothing to charge. It’s over. It’s over. It’s over. Over. Over.

  You drag everyone down with you.

  I scream up at the tops of the pockmarked buildings, the sound tearing up my dry throat. It echoes louder and louder upon every return until I’m forced to cover my ears.

  You are not what Noah says.

  One. Two. Three. Four…

  I count myself back and run a soothing hand over the stinging scratches I’ve inflicted on myself. I concentrate on my breathing the way Pict and I practiced.

  Water. I need water.

  I find a Y-shaped stick that might do for water witching and concentrate, trying to find a drop, a drip, in this war-torn hell. I’m not as good as Regan, but I follow the pull of the stick toward a blackened shell of a building. As I approach, the space around me ripples.

  Ahead, surrounded by thick vegetation, there is now a tumbledown temple, the path leading to it a dilapidated flat wooden bridge with no rails. Bridge. That means water. My wand gives a violent tug and I race on, ignoring the biting insects and the suffocating humidity.

  I reach the low bridge, slowing as I notice the algae-green stagnant waters beneath it. Flesh-eating bacteria… lurking. Stop. I fight my desperate disappointment. I can’t drink that.

  But if I can clear the algae… I reach the center of the bridge and kneel at the edge, reaching down to splash at the carpet of green with my stick again and again, clearing enough of it away so that I can see my reflection in the dark water below. I pull my little unicorn horn-shaped pendulum from around my neck, untangling its black cord from the locket Dad gave me, and lie down on my stomach. I clear the encroaching algae with my stick again and center myself, linking myself to that dangling onyx horn. I breathe out my fear, breathe out the notion I’m alone in the Coil with only my mind for company, breathe out images of myself replacing Samara Trefoil in that blinding room. I ask a few control questions—my name, age—to determine a yes response from a no, then scry the question building within me like a bleed on the brain.

  Will I save Colin?

  The pendulum is still. No response.

  Can I still save Colin?

  Yes.

  My breath shudders out of me. Oh God.

  Do I need the Heart to save him?

  Yes.

  Will I find the Heart?

  The pendulum is still.

  Samara’s voice echoes in my mind: Heart finds you.

  There is a thrashing in the brush back the way I came. I jump to my feet and run into the dark structure of the temple.

  The walls inside ripple, and I’m at the bottom of a shadowed valley covered in red snow. I scoop up a handful of the snow and start when I realize it’s as warm as an exhale in my hand. I drop it, brushing at my skin anxiously, and walk on, not brave enough to experiment with putting what looks all too much like bloody snow in my mouth, though I’m desperate for water.

  I close my eyes and try to get a blueprint tether to the Heart going. I concentrate on the relief that will course through me as I reach the Heart, when I find whatever it is I need to save Colin there; the joy of knowing that Colin with his black hair and melting blue eyes, Colin with the teasing quips and searing kisses, will live.

  A wraithlike blueprint hovers. I have the tether, but I’m not sure I trust it. Sebastian’s smooth voice sounds in my mind: The Coil is playing with you. You asked it to dance, but it’s not about to let you lead.

  This tether is different than the one to the Laurel Plain. It comes with a heavier, oppressive, but slippery feeling, like climbing up the damp walls of an ever-tightening well.

  I look up at the sheer canyon walls and swallow, dropping to clear away the red snow to reveal the dirt below. I hate geomancy, but scrying with the dirt is the only thing available to me right now, and I need to see if I’m on the right path. I chew at my thumb before stopping, remembering my therapy.

  A voice halts my efforts. I squint and can just make out someone kneeling in the snow up ahead.

  I approach slowly, cautious after my experience with Dill and his team.

  Dill. Maybe…

  “Hey…” I say.

  The man turns and stares up at me with a pale face topped by a flop of brown hair. A familiar scar stretches from his eye to his chin. I choke on my scream, my breath sawing in and out of my lungs. There is a small, gory hole in the center of his forehead, above his dead eyes.

  Sidney Ford holds up two handfuls of red snow. “Go on. Take it. It’s a blessing. But not for me.”

  My swallowed scream comes out a whimper instead. He stands and I step back, frozen with horror when I realize what I’ve done. Nothing happens, though. No pain, no fishhook deeper into the Coil. I shriek, slapping at Ford’s outstretched hands, and run past him, plunging headlong into the shadows ahead.

  Something grabs at my leg and I kick at it, crying out as I fall, skinning my chin.

  “Run. Run,” Dill moans.

  “Dill?” I whisper, scrambling to my knees next to him. “Oh, thank God. Dill?”

  “No names. Don’t name your food,” he says. His eyes are nearly black in the murky light. Empty. Wiped of everything but fear. Samara’s eyes.

  He grabs at my hair on both sides of my head and pulls my face painfully toward his. “Run before the Heart finds you.”

  I yank myself away, shaking, the terror in his voice freezing the blood in my veins more than the words. “But I need to find the Heart. I need it, Dill. You found it? Where is it?”

  “It’s a lie. A lie. The Heart is a lie,” he sobs as he staggers to his feet. “Heart finds you. Don’t let the Heart find you.”

  “Come with me. I’ll take you…” I set a hand on his arm. I have no idea where I can take him, but I can’t leave him like this. And having him with me, even in this state, is better than…

  He violently thrashes, and I drop my hand, startled. He races into the shadows, leaving me alone. How is he moving backwards? Why was I able to when Ford—

  I look back, and a figure approaches.

  My mother’s crooning voice fills the canyon, the lyrics to her plagiarized lullaby bouncing off the hills:

  * * *

  Set out at dawn, first hint of light / Not west, nor east, straight on ‘til night.

  Walk on, walk on, and sing this song / For some, day’s short, for others, long.

  The Young Hound frets and paces so / Will his children thrive and grow?

  Worry nips at his four heels / Throughout his solitary meals.

  The Grizzled Wolf laments and wails / For distant ships and distant sails.

  Some imagined, some are real / He weeps for all he once did feel.

  The Lion rises, meets the sun / Much to do ‘fore day is done.

  He’s missed by Wolf at eastern bay / unnoticed by Hound’s
western gaze.

  Set out at dawn, first hint of light / Not west, nor east, straight on ‘til night.

  Walk on, walk on, and sing this song / For some, day’s short, for others, long.

  * * *

  It isn’t the dream version, or the Coil version of my mom I saw with Sebastian. It’s her. Her cheeks are flushed with good health, her eyes bright and happy and filled with love. She’s wearing her favorite yellow sundress. And her voice is her own, clear and sweet as spring’s first bloom.

  I’ve missed that voice. I barely remember it unless I listen to my voicemail. To hear her clear as day, singing that song, to know that this has all been living in my head, unreachable except through this horrible place… this is the cruelest of all. To use her, the real her, with no Coil-nightmare artifice. To draw on my memories, some I didn’t realize were still rattling around my head.

  I moan, my eyes stinging. She’s not real. She’s gone forever. “Not her. Please. Not her. Use anything but her. Please no more. No more. No more. No more. No more.” Stopping and sinking onto my haunches, I clutch at my ears and tightly press my eyes shut, shutting her dear face out, my face wet with tears.

  Please. Not my mom. Get out of my head. Get out of my head. Out of my head. Out of my head. Out of my head.

  The Heart is a lie.

  I was so stupid to think I could fix things. Fix me. I’ve never done anything worthwhile in my life. Even Mrs. O said she would’ve been happier with the developer taking over her place. I can’t save Colin. The Coil is toying with me. Has been toying with me.

  “Get out of my head!” I scream. I open my eyes and drop my hands from my ears.

  It’s sunny. Birds chirp. I’m squatting on a road leading up to a bucolic farmhouse a dozen paces ahead.

  I pick up a rock and heave it at the house with all my might, shattering a window. It doesn’t make me feel better, so I pick up another and let it fly. It hits the door. More follow. The last one I throw goes wide, missing the house.