CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ALYSSUM
Bald branches of the ironbark trees spiderwebbed through the misted morning sky, the errant golden leaf illuminated in the growing light.
I shouldn’t have been looking at the sky, but when I’d attempted to find footing in the Threshold, none was available.
There was only bottomless water—as if I’d stepped over the edge of a trench—and then I was falling.
Even so, I expected the sharp rocks jutting from the stream to cut into my back when I landed.
Would that qualify as crossing? Or would Anise be able to grab me by my shoe and yank me from the foggy waters unmarred, save for the bits of me that succumbed to the jagged edges of the creek’s riffles?
But the jarring sensation of landing solidly on my back never came.
Instead, I was met with a bed of water swallowing my spine, like I’d fallen backwards into a lake.
The only problem being: the creek I had laid eyes on, quite observably, wasn’t a lake.
I doubted it was deep enough for a small fish to swim through, yet there I was, sinking into an abyss I had no ability to anticipate.
The sudden urge to breathe overwhelmed my shock.
I forced my eyes open, blinking against the submerged world around me.
I had been swallowed by aquamarine water speared by the dancing morning light.
I wouldn’t have imagined the sun could pierce the Threshold, and yet I hovered there, practically illuminated.
On either side, I was met with layers of rock slickened with moss.
It wasn’t until I glanced down that a fresh jolt of fear kicked up my pulse; the bottom of the Threshold was pitch black, and although it appeared lifeless from above, I had absolutely no interest in sticking around to find out what creatures may inhabit its bowels.
With newfound urgency, I clawed my way towards the surface, the slow and steady burn of my lungs increasing in proportion to my growing need for air.
How was this possible? I had gotten a clear look at the water before I’d taken a step back, and there was absolutely no way this vast expanse lay beneath. But as my throat constricted and a sharp pain pierced through my chest, the impossibility of it all seeped from my mind.
I just… needed… to breathe.
Finally, after what felt like eons, I surfaced.
Glacial wind whipped across my face, and I gulped in air as though it were star nectar.
I didn’t have long to consider the sudden stormy gusts that had erupted around me, for a too-large wave was oncoming.
I held my breath and tried to submerge, but my exhausted reflexes left something to be desired.
Before I could prepare, the wave crashed into me, tumbling my body through the waters.
The last thing I remembered was the impact of my head against a rock, plummeting the world into darkness.
Fragments of reality permeated the dark.
The soothing sound of trickling water. Humming. A large stone jutting into my lower back. The all-consuming throbbing of my skull, its brightest point a few inches above my right ear. A distant gasp.
Am I dead?
The softest, high-pitched, faraway voice, as if it could read my mind: “Are you dead?”
Good question, kid. I don’t think so.
Suddenly, something sharp-adjacent prodded at my hip. Once, then twice. My whole body jerked with the movement as I returned to myself, and it was all I could do to groan, “Stop that.”
“You’re alive!”
In any other circumstance, the sheer joy in his tiny voice would have prompted a smile, but the onset of nausea flooding my mouth with saliva held my attention. If I had to roll over to vomit, I might die right then and there.
“Don’t speak too soon,” I barely managed through gritted teeth.
“Oh, don’t die!” he whined, as though it were entirely up to me. “I’ve never found a crosser before, and no one will believe me if you die.”
My eyes shot wide open.
A crosser? But that would mean…
Energy surged through me, and I summoned the strength to tilt my head and assess the child mere inches away, squatting in the mud with a large stick in his hand, a forest of ironbark as his backdrop.
My brow furrowed of its own accord. Neither his copper skin nor poorly trimmed jet black hair was exclusive to any of the three Treaty kingdoms. His eyes were even more mystifying—a silvery hazel color I’d never seen before.
He wore nothing more than a pair of taupe pants raggedly cut at the knee, a belt with many pouches, and two satchels criss-crossing over his bare abdomen. How was he not frozen solid?
I shifted my attention to the sky. The sun had risen substantially. I must have been out for at least a couple of hours, and yet there I lay, still evading my father’s grasp. Did that mean I’d made it? Was I on the right side of the Threshold?
If so, why was I being greeted by an ill-clothed child alone in the woods? It was better than the star-forsaken, soul-devouring fiends I’d grown up imagining within the fog, but perplexing all the same.
Slowly, I palmed the ground beneath me and drew myself up to rest against a nearby boulder. As the throbbing in my head increased, I immediately regretted the decision. I whimpered softly as I grabbed my face, trying to dissuade the tears pooling in my eyes.
“Eat this.”
I forced one eye open, peeking through my shaking fingers to see a small hand offering me a pile of dried moss.
He must have sensed my skepticism, because he added, “Trust me. I’m an herbalist.” His chest puffed out with pride, and although his demeanor wasn’t all that convincing, I couldn’t see a way around it; whether I had successfully crossed or not, I needed to keep moving—an impossibility in my current condition.
If there was even the slightest chance this boy could help me, I had to take it.
Reluctantly, I grabbed the greenery from his palm and shoved it into my mouth.
I chewed slowly, lips pinching against the dirt-like, salty flavor.
I had expected it to be freshwater moss from the Threshold’s creek, or lake, or whatever in the depths it was, but a briny taste drew images of the sea to my mind.
“Is this from the Cleovian Sea?” I said after swallowing, tongue absently locating stray bits of sand between my teeth.
“It is!” he said enthusiastically, leaning back to sit his butt right in the mud. “This your first time eating mermoss, then?”
“What kind of question is that? Of course it is.”
“Strange,” he muttered. “Lucky for you I was passing by! You might not have made it through the day otherwise.” He closed up the satchel he must have retrieved the moss from. “You’ll feel better in just a few minutes.”
Astrid’s face flashed in my mind, her blush-ridden complexion and demeanor having improved just as quickly upon ingesting Vicar’s tonic. Had I really done it? Had I crossed the Threshold? This boy was the only person who could give me answers, but as my mouth opened to speak, he blurted out:
“Why are you dressed like a Hollow?”
I steadied myself, realizing that my hood no longer cloaked my now-disheveled hair. Even if it had, my eyes betrayed me. As I locked my gaze with his, bright blue hues meeting silvery green, I settled on the best lie I could think of in the moment. Anything to distance myself from Lunamor.
“Because I am a Hollow.”
“No, you’re not.” He spoke with such confidence that my own wavered. But there was no going back now.
“Yes, I am,” I said simply. “There are Soran Hollows, you know.” After all, I narrowly escaped becoming one.
“Even if there are,” he said, crossing one leg over the other casually, “you are not one of them.”
“I’m fairly certain I know my origins better than some tiny woodland herbalist.”
“Clearly not.” He shifted to reach a large grub amidst the soggy leaves. “Never mind, then. I don’t really care where you’ve come from.”
His surety that I was not a Hollow didn’t sit right with me, but I was in no mood to argue further, so I left it alone.
Even though the ache in my skull had diminished slightly, a part of me doubted the efficacy of his Cleovian moss. Regardless, I still had an opportunity to learn about my surroundings before this boy returned to his home.
“So, where exactly—”
“What’s your name?”
I narrowed my eyes in irritation. Were his manners nonexistent?
I would have never been interrupted by a child in Lunamor.
But I wasn’t in Lunamor, and I wasn’t his princess.
I wasn’t anyone’s princess anymore. I didn’t particularly enjoy the sound of that, but grieving the loss of my life would have to wait.
What in the depths was I going to tell this child my name was?
“What’s your name?” I countered.
“Milo!” he howled, fisting the air with his grub-free hand.
“Remember that name, if you know what’s good for you.
One day, I’m going to be the most famed herbalist in all of Morwyn.
” Milo pocketed the grub in a pouch before resting his palms behind his dark, wavy hair, gazing off into the distance as if he could see his future.
“People will travel from near and far to seek my counsel, just you wait and see.”
“That sounds… lovely,” I said as I tried to ignore the grub slime he’d just wiped on his own head.
“And your name is…?”
I hesitated, gaze never wavering from his. Alyssum was out of the question, but nothing else sprang to mind.
“Did you forget it when you hit your head?” Milo began rustling through his satchels with immediacy. “I might have something—”
“L-Lyssa,” I stammered. “My name… is Lyssa.” It was the only nickname I’d ever had, and it was easy enough to ignore the squeeze of my heart as it slipped past my lips.
“Lyssa. Liss-uh!” He repeated the syllables as though he were familiarizing his tongue with them. “That’s nice. Not quite as nice as Milo, but it’ll do.”
A huff escaped my mouth, followed by a full-bodied gasp. “That didn’t hurt,” I cried, pressing my fingers into my hair. “The pain—it’s gone!”