Joyride

  The ground was hard and cold against his cheek. Black pillars surrounded him, shifting in every direction. Feeling as if a photrine had exploded inside his head, Skye blinked rapidly, trying to remember how he’d ended up here.

  He moved a hand underneath to push himself up, but it was too numb. The carriage spun in wild circles, careening like a madman high on shrooms. He tried to summon his bell, but all he conjured was a simmering headache.

  ‘If there were an international award for stupidity, you’d crush the competition,’ Redeyes said.

  The wardens stood in a circle, looking down at him. Their glowers and gleaming astra reminded him of the helplessness he’d felt when he stumbled upon the stonebear in the Deeps. Seeing him awake, a warden left to report to a higher-up behind, while another crouched to collect all the gemstones and tools Skye had in his pockets and tossed them in a leather bag.

  An argument ensued nearby, and he knew instinctively it was about him.

  Get up… Have to hear what they’re saying.

  Through sheer effort, he placed his palms beneath him and prodded himself up, pain rippling through him with every movement. Blood still dripped from his nose.

  “Get out of my way, Sheoslen!” a warden barked. He towered over the others, his bald head marred with scars and folded skin. A golden sunrise insignia glinted on his shoulder.

  The warden standing with his back to Skye raised both palms in a placating gesture. “All I’m saying is it’s best we contact HQ, and let them know we’ve got an intruder,” he said, his voice hurried and oddly familiar. “And we can’t just throw him out! We need to know how he got in, so this doesn’t repeat.”

  Another warden stepped forward. Short and thick like a barrel, with a square jaw and black hair tied in a topknot; he too bore the golden insignia. “You’re making us regret ever considering you for the Dawn Wardens, Sheoslen,” he snapped.

  Ficar, Skye realized, recognizing the split-chinned windrider. Lyonel had called him one of the good ones, and Skye agreed. By all rights, Skye deserved death for breaking one of Troqua’s strictest laws. Yet Ficar was putting himself at risk, trying to protect him.

  The bald warden shoved Ficar aside. “I’m the leader of this mission. I make the decisions, not HQ,” he growled. “This is your last warning, Sheoslen. If you don’t move now, I’ll throw you out with the kid.”

  Ficar turned, meeting Skye’s eyes. Skye wanted to remind him of the oath he’d sworn just two days ago. He needed saving now more than ever. Or at least, a few seconds to regain control over his bell.

  Ficar sighed. “Yes, commander,” he said quietly, stepping aside.

  No. Skye groaned, still struggling to rise. Just a few more seconds, please…

  The bald commander surged forward and seized Skye by the collar, hoisting him effortlessly with one hand. “How are you shielding yourself from mindmanipulation?” the commander demanded, ire pouring through his bloodshot eyes.

  Skye frowned, bewildered. Varick had accused him of the same thing yesterday, but he was doing no such thing. The slap came out of nowhere, burning his cheek, flooding his mouth with the metallic taste of blood. Dazed and trembling, he couldn’t form words.

  “Who do you work for? How did you get into the carriage?” the commander roared. “Answer me, or I’ll make you a toy for the elexii!”

  The commander’s fist clenched, his other hand still gripping Skye like a doll. A weak whimper escaped Skye’s lips. He shielded his face with shaking hands, unable to breathe, unable to think. He had no excuses to tell. No convincing lies. He was surrounded by heartless monsters with total disregard for anyone’s life. Even Ficar shied away.

  Beep beep. Beep beep. Beep beep…

  A strange, rhythmic sound reverberated through the carriage, drawing everyone’s attention. The commander nodded to the barrel-chested warden, who stepped toward a turquoise crystal embedded in the wall near the driver’s compartment.

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  “Lieutenant Sether, what is going on there? Who is that you’re holding?” a nasal voice asked.

  Skye blinked, glancing toward the sonolar stone where the voice had emerged. It was Emery. That made no sense; the old Twilight Chief was miles behind.

  “It’s a kid,” Ficar said at once. “We don’t know how he got on board.”

  “You let someone sneak into your carriage?” Emery yelled through the sonolar.

  Sether dropped Skye with a thud and pivoted to face Ficar. “Not another word,” he warned, then barked for someone to bring his astrum. “I’m dealing with it, Chief Emery,” Sether seethed, glaring at Skye.

  A shiver passed down Skye’s spine, but he didn’t look away. Someone who freely gave death threats to kids had to be one of the traitorous wardens.

  “You shouldn’t be dealing with it. You should have prevented it! This is a failure of the highest level,” Emery bellowed. “I’m reporting this to Chief Akunai and Duke Hishtem. How did he get inside?”

  “I’m investigating this now,” Sether said, accepting his astrum. It was a floral-engraved wooden staff nearly as tall as he was. He jabbed its base toward Skye, and the wood twisted, wrapping around the back of Skye’s neck.

  Skye clawed at the tightening wooden bands as they reshaped into a harness that hauled him off the ground, then made a desperate attempt to summon his bell without success. With a click, a nearby warden slid the carriage’s side door open, and Skye was dangling outside.

  The sun shone on his face, hot and blinding on his aching cheek. Turning away, he dug his nails into the hard wood hoisting him, clutching for dear life. When his eyes adjusted to the light at last, an ocean of green blurred past him. Trees, shrubs, and dense foliage lined the narrow road their cart sped above, denser and wilder than anything he’d seen in Florald District. Through the whooshing of wind in his ears, and the crunching of twigs and pebbles underneath, a thousand sounds rushed from the forest. Chipping and chirping, squeaking and screeching, cooing and cawing and creaking and croaking, and distant quacking.

  Then Sether’s harness tightened around his neck, and the wonder was replaced by terror.

  “You should thank him!” Redeyes said. The imaginary pyroxos peeked from inside the carriage next to Skye, bones ablaze, his massive frame filling the doorway. ”Haven’t you always wanted to see the forest?”

  “I won’t repeat myself, brat,” Sether called from behind. “Tell me how you got in, or you’ll find out what hitting the ground at eighty miles per hour feels like.”

  “I snuck inside!” Skye shouted over the rushing wind. “I swear!”

  “Don’t test my patience!” Sether warned. The harness loosened its grip a notch. Skye gasped and flailed, kicking toward the wagon in vain. “How did you get past security at the portyard?”

  Tears blurred his vision as the wind lashed his face. He tried to look toward Ficar, but the astrum’s wooden grip wouldn’t allow him to twist around. Knowing that nothing he could say would satisfy Sether, he clenched his jaw, gazing down at the rushing earth below.

  ‘This will huu~urt,‘ Redeyes sang.

  “Lieutenant Sether, are you dangling the child outside the cart?” Emery’s voice came, incredulous. “I know you think brutalizing children to be a fun pastime, but we don’t have time for your antics now. Be smart about this. Don’t you have a mentalist onboard?”

  “We already tried reading his memories while he was unconscious. He’s immune to mindmanipulation,” Sether said.

  “What do you mean he’s ‘immune to mindmanipulation’? Isn’t he just a kid?!” Emery asked.

  “Something’s protecting his mind,” Sether replied. “Lyna says it’s like an impenetrable mental wall.”

  Something slammed on the other end of the sonolar.

  “Someone who is immune to mindmanipulation has snuck onto your carriage, and you want to throw him out? Have you lost your senses?” Emery raged. “He could be a baron’s agent sent to discover the secret road. Whatever happens, he must be brought to me for questioning. I’ll investigate this matter myself. Now pull him in and close the sooting door. That’s an order.”

  Cursing under his breath, Sether hauled Skye back inside and tossed him into the rear of the carriage. Skye coughed, rubbing at the soreness in his neck, finally able to breathe again.

  The bald warden paused beside him, eyes glinting with menace. “Don’t think you’ve gotten off scot-free. I don’t have time for you now, but once we’re back… you, me, and the Chief will have lots of fun together.”

  His eyes gleamed with a manic glee that made Skye shy back.

  “Ficar, Tybur,” the barrel-like warden barked. The two answered at once, brandishing their aerober spears. “Guard him. For every inch he moves from this spot, break a finger.”

  With that, he followed Sether to the front of the carriage, leaving the wardens to herd Skye into a corner. Ficar didn’t spare him another word or look, his face hard and distant.

  That was fine. The windrider had already done enough.

  Sitting in the corner, Skye eyed the empty cabinet he’d jumped out of, attempting to call his bell despite the ache in his skull. Never would he allow himself to get caught by Emery again, even if it meant splitting his mind open trying to trigger the curse.

  ”And what’ll happen after you hide?” Redeyes asked, sitting beside him. ”Wait till the next nightmare so we can do this all over again?”

  It was strange seeing Redeyes fully manifested, but the forest was home to the elexii. It was only natural he’d appear here.

  With a slam, a warden slid the door shut, muffling the winds.

  Eighteen wardens were present, plus the two driving the carriage. They chatted hushedly, or polished their astra, each watching Skye in their own way.

  “Do you have today’s road ready?” Sether asked, facing the sonolar.

  “Of course it’s ready,” Emery replied. “You think I called because I missed your honied voice? Hold up, I’m sending the map now.”

  Skye’s eye twitched.

  He nearly jumped from his spot, stopped only by the wardens’ threat. He couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.

  Emery was sending the map. The map. The Duke’s Road.

  The one coveted by every guild and baron in Troqua. The one thousands had died searching for. He’d never found a hint of it, not in records, not even in the Duke’s private study. And now it was going to be displayed right in front of him.

  How would Emery deliver it? Would he somehow teleport a scroll into the cart?