A Very Stupid Idea

  Skye hadn’t felt such dread since his encounter with the elexos.

  He rang his bell, but the butterflies in his stomach kept fluttering. Hidden behind stacks of cargo in the walled-off portyard, he crouched in silence while a crowd of porters moved tirelessly around him. Dozens of men and women had labored through the night, checking manifests, loading crates, and preparing for the upcoming mission.

  Over a hundred cloaked figures filled the yard, their winged-fist insignias gleaming on their chests, their astra glowing with quiet menace. Each warden was a trained channeler, disciplined, powerful, and potentially conspiring with those traitors.

  Skye glanced toward the distant gate he had slipped through. The wardens stood between him and escape, but if he ran now, he might still make it. This was a reckless, half-formed, idiotic plan that could land him in a fate far worse than death. His body shivered, itching to bolt, to leave this place, but the doctor’s words echoed in his mind: Make a choice.

  He forced himself still. His choice was to do everything in his power to stop the wardens and save the city.

  All his leads in Troqua had led to dead ends, no one believed a word he said. He knew the barons were up to something, but even if he found out who’s backing the corrupt wardens, how would he convince anyone to fight the city’s heroes?

  No. His only current hope lay in Kastrala, where someone who’s not infatuated with the wardens might act. Also, Kastrala was a much bigger city; he ought to find the means to break his curse there.

  How would he travel through the elexii-infested forest, being a dud?

  Simple. He’d hitch a ride with the wardens, of course.

  ‘I think this is your best plan yet,’ Redeyes said. ‘I can’t wait to see how magnificently you’ll blow it.’

  Today was Aeiouday, and the caravan to Kastrala would soon depart. As always, they would travel along the Duke’s Road, the same cursed path that had eluded thousands of expeditions before.

  After checking every direction, he sprinted toward the nearest carriage. A few workers spotted him and shouted, but he dove into hiding and rang his bell. A carriage loomed before him, large enough to cage three mineralmanders. Its hull was made of dense, steel-oak wood, sturdy enough to withstand a stonebear’s rampage. Yet its surface was scorched and dented, slashed and melted.

  Even the driver’s seat was armored, enclosed in thick, crystal panels instead of glass. Strange tubes snaked beneath the rear of the vehicle, weaving between lavender amegravo crystals that kept the entire thing afloat. He’d read about these. Windriders channeled winds through them to propel the carriage forward at blistering speeds.

  From his backpack, he retrieved a few photrines and shoved them into the rear lock. Stepping back, he threw another photrine at the stack, bursting it open with a loud pop. Voices rose all around, cursing and calling for alarm. Skye rushed forward and grabbed the smoldering mechanism, then rang his bell. The portyard calmed, everyone resumed their activities as if nothing happened, and the lock remained a ruined husk in his palm.

  With a creak, he pulled the heavy door open, only to find crates packed tightly inside. He tugged at one, but it was heavier than a pile of stones.

  Of course. It was full of crystals.

  He cursed under his breath. If the door had been any thinner, the explosion might have set the whole shipment off, turning the loading yard into a crater and killing everyone present, himself included.

  ‘You can still do that if you want,’ Redeyes offered.

  Grimacing, he stepped away and cast his curse again, sealing the door and mending the lock.

  He moved on, slipping between carriages, searching for one that hadn’t been sealed. His bell rang again and again as he dodged workers until he reached the fifth carriage with its side door slightly ajar.

  He exhaled in relief, slid it open, and came face to face with a squad of wardens.

  They sat on opposite benches across the carriage, chatting and checking their astra. Upon seeing him, they all froze, staring at him in confusion.

  He bolted at the top of his speed, heart racing, bell ringing until he tripped and fell behind some crates.

  Crouched low, he took a moment to steady his breath. More wardens were boarding their carriages; the caravan would soon depart, and he still hasn’t boarded.

  Clinging to the back or the roof was out of the question. Forget about the chances of being spotted by wardens, one attack from any passing elexos would end him.

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  Running out of time, he hurried along the line of carriages, trying every handle until he reached the one at the lead. Luckily, it was empty, and he climbed in, holding a photrine for light.

  The interior held benches along the sides, with a row of metal cabinets spanning the middle. One by one he opened them, finding them stacked with leathery military packs, coiled cords, and metal equipment. Likewise, the drawers beneath the benches were stuffed with sealed rations and water canteens.

  Footsteps crunched outside. A fist banged on the carriage wall, followed by muffled speaking that provoked laughter and almost made Skye puke his own guts out in fear. Body trembling, he scrambled to the cabinets, yanking open the doors and trying to squeeze behind the gear, but there wasn’t enough space.

  He cursed himself for rushing into this plan without sufficient surveillance or preparation.

  If the wardens reacted like Chief Akunai had at the party, he’d die in this carriage. And if they struck and dazed him, like Emery had in the library, he’d wake up chained in an underground cell.

  ‘That’d be wonderful!’ Redeyes said with glee. ‘I’m sure your skeletal friends miss you mortally.’

  The door creaked. Voices approached.

  Panicking, Skye picked a cabinet, yanked out the heavy bags, tossed his backpack aside, and wedged himself in. Cramped into a tight ball, he cast his curse just as the door opened. In an instant, the bags vanished from sight, and the cabinet door shut, plunging him into darkness.

  Boots thudded against the carriage floor. Through the narrow vents in the cabinet, he glimpsed slivers of movement. Photrines illuminated the space in flashes. A towering warden dropped onto the bench across from him, a massive geodoise hammer resting across his lap. Others followed. Soon the carriage was full.

  The door closed.

  Skye clutched his chest, trying to slow his thundering heartbeat before it gave him away. The wardens shouted and cheered each other, electrifying the air with raucous energy.

  Then the carriage lurched forward, and Skye's nerves were set afire.

  When it tilted downward, descending the steep slope around the portyard, he fell back on his head, thumping hard against the cabinet wall. He braced himself, arms twisted awkwardly trying to support his weight.

  Then the carriage surged uphill, letting him settle onto his soles. Outside, voices rang in celebration as families and friends shouted farewells. Somewhere ahead, metallic grating signaled the opening of Heaven’s Door.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the carriage leveled again, and a warmer, softer ray of light leaked in.

  We’re on the surface.

  The caravan crawled through Solarite, then halted near what ought to be the outer wall. A low grinding rumble announced the work of stonemasons carving a gap for exit. Shortly, the caravan would be rushing through the forest, relying on nothing but speed and luck to avoid elexii.

  ‘This won’t end well for anyone,’ Redeyes said. ‘Mark my words: you’ll jinx this mission like you did your last.’

  The carriage blasted forward.

  Skye slipped, head snapping back, thudding against the floor. The sudden acceleration crushed him deeper into one side, compressing him further. His fingers scrabbled at the smooth surface, nails scraping uselessly at the walls.

  Jaw clenched, he fought to steady himself, to endure. He’d known they’d rush through the Smaragdine Forest, but Void below! He hadn’t known carriages could move this fast.

  It took several minutes for his nerves to settle and for his breathing to calm, but his body remained coiled and tense. His legs were folded awkwardly above him, his spine curved into a shape that’d haunt him later. Fortunately, he wouldn’t be trapped here for long.

  This caravan would only travel a third of the way to the Troquean Hideout, where gems and goods would be exchanged. There, he would disembark, stretch, and prepare to join the Kastralan wardens headed back to their city.

  But he didn’t know how far that stop was. It could be a fifteen minutes ride, or three hours.

  A sharp turn slammed him against the cabinet door, almost ejecting him. Slamming his arms against both sides, he barely stayed in place. The faded scar on his forehead—Emery’s gift—flared all of a sudden.

  His breath caught.

  He was sealed in a speeding carriage, surrounded by over a dozen wardens with nowhere to flee or hide. He could ring his bell ten or thirty times, but eventually his headache would leave him powerless. He was a dud, and they were experienced channelers; with one motion of their astra, they could kill him. And then his body would be flung outside to roll across the forest floor, tumbling over roots and mud. No gravestone would mark his resting place. Just his corpse swelling with insects, their larvae eating him from the inside out, feasting on his rotting flesh until nothing remained but bare, white bones.

  A hollow, lifeless skeleton.

  ‘Look at the bright side,’ Redeyes said. ‘At least you’ll die under the sun.’

  He couldn’t die yet. He was here to save his loved ones and repay their kindness. He was here for Rierana and Lyonel. For Doctor Stenser, Jella, and their unborn child. For stupid Nakais and his pack of goons. And for all the people in this city that he’d grown to call home, even if no one there remembered him.

  He shouldn’t die, but he was already in a grave.

  The air was hot and suffocating. The walls pressed in from all sides, shrinking around him as the dirt above pressed against his coffin. Little crawlers slithered in through the cracks, climbing over his skin, scratching at his back. He swatted at them, slapped and scraped, but caught nothing. They were too nimble. Too clever for him to catch. They wriggled deeper, dragging him underground so that he could never escape again. He couldn’t let them have their way. This body was his, and he’d never give it up. They would never have him. Never!

  He lashed out, twisting and kicking in the cramped space, crushing them where they scurried. They only laughed at his struggles, pointing at his shackled wrists. He screamed for them to stop, then remembered the wardens outside and rang his bell.

  The skeletons mocked his cowardice. Dozens of them, echoing all around him, their glee far too vivid, like the rushing rhythm of his panicked breathing, or the crazed cadence of his whimpering.

  A sliver of light flickered through a pinhole in the far door, signaling that someone was finally here. He opened his mouth to cry out, to beg for rescue, but he only managed a choked croak. He’d been forgotten here for days, left to starve, piss himself, and be eaten alive. He had to leave this cave. He had to escape his dungeon. To be free.

  With a scream, he kicked open the door and stumbled out, liberated from his shackles at last. He stood there for a second as silence swallowed the scene, surrounded by a set of startled and stunned wardens.

  Chimes echoed in his skull as if his bell was tied to the neck of a writhing, dying cat. The room grew hot like a bath filled with pyrpphires, soaking his clothes with sweat. A sharp whistle resonated in his ear with the intensity of a saw sawing a slab of rusted steel.

  Searching about, the carriage spun around him, but there was nowhere to hide. They were all staring at him now, and his bell had slumped down, too heavy to sing. Not even a thought he could summon to his mind. Not a muscle he could twitch. He had to save everyone, but the floor was rising to meet him.

  ?????Days until Green Eve: 22?????