4
Flare
One year later.
An ocean breeze sailed through my hair. The tide swabbed my bare feet, deep blue water foaming across the wet sand. Kneeling beside the peninsula’s shoreline, I daydreamed while looking toward the horizon.
Kingdom of Summer.
In this land of sandstorms and tidal waves, humidity drenched people’s flesh in sweat, and the briny air salted their mouths. Despite everything it had taken from me, I could think of no better place in the world.
Turning from the view, I glided a finger across the sand, my mouth lifting into a fond smile. A messenger hawk had arrived this morning with a scroll fixed in its mouth, which had contained a note from Poet and Briar inquiring about my safety and then finishing with a magical announcement. Now that Autumn had been restored, they had pledged themselves to each other, marrying on the same night they’d renewed Reaper’s Fest. A year after the riot, the jester and princess had resurrected the revels, then bonded as husband and wife.
My spirits took flight. They had found lasting happiness. And someday, I would find mine.
After months of questing on foot, squatting in abandoned mills, and avoiding predators and passersby on the roads, I had crossed into Summer. Then I collapsed. More months of seafaring had followed, once I successfully abducted a boat.
From there, it had been easier to hide and finally send word to Poet and Briar. Since then, we’d been reaching out through confidential fauna messengers. Certain types of winged creatures could fly long distances between Seasons. Autumn, raptors. Summer, butterflies. Though, constant wandering meant communication with my friends was scarce.
The breeze rustled my pants and camisole. Compared to the roughspun I had spent years wearing, this material felt as soft as a cloud. Fishing for supper was effortless, but I’d swiped the garments from a market stall, as I had stolen many other things necessary for survival.
I tucked a scarf closer around my neck. Making sure the fabric concealed my collar tattoo, I glanced over my shoulder at the neighboring encampments. Moored on the beach, a cluster of boats like mine bobbed near a rocky outcropping. Sunset splashed the heavens in pink and yellow. Figures wearing caftans and jingling anklets moved across the decks, built fires in their own corners, and prepared to narrate stories.
Sand drifters. Like me.
Our kind traveled independently, aside from sharing encampments such as this one.
From one of the boat decks, an older man inclined his head in greeting, his grin theatrical. His wife waved as well, the motions exaggerated.
I furrowed my brows. Sand drifters—and most people in Summer, for that matter—didn’t greet each other with this much enthusiasm.
Nevertheless, they hadn’t spotted my inked neck. In all this time, I’d kept it covered since anyone who saw it would know what I was.
Shaking off the uncertainty, I returned their smiles. Trust unfurled in my chest, my hand lifting to greet them back.
Then I twisted back to the sea, closed my eyes, and listened to the lapping waves, their melody peaceful. I savored the moment, imagining a time when I had lived freely. I remembered an era from before, a drifter’s life with Mama and Papa, back when we traveled in our tidefarer boat.
I could resume that life, but I had a greater purpose now. According to Poet and Briar, the villain prince was still searching for me, to no avail. I’d outsmarted him for a year. But if anyone caught sight of my tattoo, or if word of my escape reached Summer, my reported features might give me away. Thus, camouflaging myself and reaching my true destination as soon as possible was crucial.
I drew an image into the sand, running my fingers through the glittering specks. Turning sand into art had been my favorite thing to do since childhood, as if I might discover beautifully dark magic in the images. Within minutes, lyrics decorated the shore.
Seek not, find not, this Phantom Wild.
Sea paths, golden rays, to this Phantom Wild.
Light fades, mist grows, in this Phantom Wild.
It was a tune long passed through generations, the lyrics describing a secret rainforest. Everyone in The Dark Seasons knew about this hidden realm. Summer’s great mystery floated somewhere uncharted in its ocean, isolated from our mainland, though no one had ever found it.
But I would. Although The Phantom Wild was an unattainable legend to the world, it was my buried treasure. The mystic forest waited to be discovered—waited for me.
Someday, I would see that legend for myself. Even if it took years, I would find that secluded world. And there, I would discover the key to helping others like me. I might not have a throne, but I did have my own special place, a realm that held the answer to my purpose, to further the crusade for born souls.
My fate had been clear from the moment I’d found a cipher inside the song. Looking closer, the lyrics formed hidden shapes—a map leading to the rainforest, replete with paths and symbols. Over the generations, no one had managed to discover this enigma. At least, as far as anybody knew.
But I had, which could only mean one thing. The Phantom Wild had summoned me, had chosen me for a special mission, and because my passion resided in aiding others who faced the same plight as myself, that had to be the reason.
The Almighty Seasons had spoken. The rainforest knew my sacred purpose and would show me the way. If I could reach that domain, I would uncover the key—the power to change Summer, as my friends were changing Autumn.
Scribing the final lyric, my finger paused. My eyes slid to the horizon, where the sun dipped behind the ocean, its slumbering descent tossing a dark shadow over the peninsula. A large wave rolled like a tube across the sea and lashed against my calves. At some point, the tide had risen and grown angry.
The landscape must be speaking to me. I took heed, tensing and flipping my gaze toward the sand drifter camp. As if they’d been staring the whole time, the couple from earlier veered their heads from where I hunched. They made a show of busying themselves on their deck, fumbling with the rigging as if about to set sail.
My eyebrows crinkled. No drifter would coast when the sea thrashed about like this. Where they’d been overly friendly before, now their jittery movements turned my stomach. Also, they maneuvered the rigging incorrectly, as though pretending.
Footfalls pounded from someplace behind me. Half a dozen boots stomped across the shore.
Terror froze my joints. My gaze widened on the couple’s guilty features, and wounded fury pierced my soul. They were strangers, yet also fellow drifters.
And they’d known. Somehow, they had known to betray me.
I broke into a desperate movement. Whipping toward the drawing, I swiped my arm across the lyrics, warping the sketch to an unrecognizable blob. At the same instant, my free fingers seized the hilt of Poet’s dagger tethered at my waist. Ripping out the weapon, I swerved toward the armed guards clanking my way.
“There!” one of them hollered, brandishing a curved sword. “There’s the mad bitch!”
They spread out, their reptilian skin capes slapping the wind. Terror spilled down my limbs. I had expected sentinels, but no. These were knights, warriors of Summer, and far too many of them to slice through.
With a frightened growl, I lunged upright and launched toward my boat. Or rather, the boat I’d thieved from a random pier.
I made it three leagues. Hands forged of iron snared my arms, sharp outlines swarmed my vision, and the sea crashed its head into the shore. A memory flashed through my mind. A girl younger than me being caught like this, dragged away, and flung into a cell. Panic fired through my veins, and I flailed against the soldiers, roars tearing from my lungs although none of them could hear me.
I pictured a dank cell, with grime coating the walls. I remembered hunger and thirst. I remembered the darkness.
No! No, please! No, not again! I can’t go back there again! Please, please, please!
Someone grabbed my dagger. Someone else rammed an elbow into my gut.
I yelped, coughed, hacked. As they lugged me across the peninsula, my thrashing heels carved through the sand, and I clung to a final glimpse of the dipping sun.
They would cage me in, lock me up, tie me down. And merciless Winter would find out. Somehow, that monster would find out.
Fear lanced through my heart. Soon, he would come for me.