Chapter 6 #2
A distant part of Thia’s mind warned her that this was futile without the antidote. The poison would still be in her blood, even if she could temporarily resuscitate her.
But she couldn’t give up.
Again.
Again.
The world around her faded. She felt a tug in her chest, an urgency that spurred her on, connected her to her patient, and then—
The woman came to with a start. She reached for Thia, just to collapse again, lids shuttering. Then she stilled. Thia darted forward to feel her pulse.
It was strong, her breathing deep and steady. She wasn’t dead. She was sleeping.
It shouldn’t have been that easy.
Thia waved the man holding the compress aside and looked at the stomach wound. It was still bleeding, but the discoloration was fading.
Impossible.
“You saved her.” Sorscha had returned. When, Thia had no idea.
“I—” The poison must have just run its course. There was no other explanation.
“Here,” Thia said, beckoning Sorscha over. “Let’s stitch her. Quickly.”
When it was done, Thia leaned back against the dresser.
“Will she be alright?” Sorscha asked.
Thia was definitely not qualified to make that assessment, but the woman sounded distressed. “I think so.”
“That was some very quick thinking, girl,” the man said. “I’m Pagdan.” He had dark, kind eyes and deep brown skin that looked nearly black in the dim torchlight.
“Haven’s commander,” Sorscha explained, though Thia recognized the name from Dess’s tale. “’Course, he’d never use that word for himself.”
“Thank you for your help,” Pagdan said to the other three men, dismissing them with a nod. They left, one after the other, and Pagdan turned back to Thia. “I meant to find you last night, but I was caught up speaking to our council. Perhaps we should talk, you and I, if you aren’t too tired.”
Her veins were fizzing with energy after everything, so she nodded.
“Stay with your daughter, Sorscha,” he said, and Thia’s mouth dropped.
Daughter? But of course, they had the same monolid, the same medium brown skin and high cheekbones. Other than their heights, the similarities were unmistakable.
Sorscha nodded her gratitude, and Thia followed Pagdan out into the night. With only a candle to guide them, it was a struggle not to trip, and Thia was relieved when he brought them around the back of Sorscha’s hut to a semicircle of chairs. He gestured for her to sit, and then followed in kind.
“We’ve been in need of a healer for some time,” he started. “It’s a good life here. A simple one. But safe—or as safe as one can be in Eldris these days. A real home, with people who take care of one another.”
“I have a home,” Thia said. “I’m trying to get back to it.”
He folded his hands in his lap. “And how do you propose to do that? Sorscha told me you are not of this realm.” He didn’t sound skeptical, just curious.
She twisted her fingers in the folds of her borrowed nightdress. “I was told the Mage King could help me.”
His brow rose. “Told by whom?”
“A sorceress. She said her name was Callista.”
“Callista,” he echoed.
“You know her?”
“Aye. As do all in Eldris, though few have been so fortunate to have met her personally.” He inspected her. “She bows to the Tyrant, as all must to retain their freedom. But her power is vast, and she aids us in the ways she can. If she sent you to him, I have to wonder why.”
Thia brushed a rogue curl off her forehead. “If her intentions weren’t altruistic, she didn’t say.”
Perhaps he sensed her defensiveness, because he gave her a brief touch on the shoulder.
“I believe you. And I am sorry to pry. As I said, most people that come here are running from something. We learn not to ask painful questions. But we are also under constant threat, and I have a duty to protect my people. Can you understand that?”
“Yes.”
“Then is there anything else you can tell me about what you know, or how you came to be here under such mysterious circumstances?”
She couldn’t see a reason not to tell him. And he knew far more about this world and the Mage King than she did. If she was going to find her way out of Black Forest, she would need help.
She told him about the storm and the mirror. “Callista said it was a portal. She was fighting a witch, and I crashed into it on the way down.”
His brows rose. “A witch? So it’s true that you killed Asha Würmheart.”
“Not exactly. She fell after we collided, and the n?gens got her.”
She expected disbelief, but instead Pagdan said gently, “That must have been terrifying.”
Having that acknowledged demanded Thia consider it, and her throat burned.
She coughed to clear it. “Callista stopped me from crashing to my death. She told me the only way I could return home was if the Mage King used his power to send me back. Then Asha’s sister showed up, and I ran until Dess found me. ”
Pagdan stroked his beard, black with just a few hints of gray.
“I want to thank you for trusting me with your story,” he said.
“I will guard it well, as I do the tales of all those who come under my care.” He stilled, focus intensifying.
“But I must caution you against your plan to seek the Mage King. Even if Callista is right, and he could help you, you can examine the faces of those here to know that he would not.”
Goosebumps crawled over her skin that had nothing to do with the night air. “Is there…no other way?” She hated how small she sounded. “I just want to go home.” How young and afraid.
His mouth twisted in sympathy. “Not to my knowledge.” He stood, offering a hand to help her up. “But you are welcome to stay here. We are in need of your skills and, as I said, it is a good life. You will not be the only one to have lost a home.”
The lump in her throat grew. Her home wasn’t lost. She was.
When the first tear fell, she was grateful for the dark.
She managed to stifle the rest until he left her at the cabin’s door, and then she sank to the ground sobbing, unleashing every feeling she had shoved down since the moment she’d broken through the mirror.
Wake up, she commanded herself, squeezing damp eyes shut. It’s not real.
Her breaths tumbled faster. Wake up.
She opened her eyes, begging to see home. Instead she just saw the same ruddy hut. She fell forward with a cry, hands digging into the dirt, and the shard slipped over her neckline to tumble onto the ground beside her fingers.
She pushed herself to her knees, pulling the twine over her head. Lungs shuddering, she wiped her wet cheeks in frustration. Find me in the mirror.
She rubbed the glass, breathed on it, then rubbed it again.
CALLISTA. She screamed in her mind. WHERE ARE YOU?
Another sobbed racked her frame. If not for the twine Callista had wrapped around the shard’s jagged edges, she would have cut her hand. As it was, her ruined palm shrieked in agony as she clutched the piece a little too tightly.
The glass rippled like the surface of the sea.
“Callista?”
But it wasn’t Callista. It was Grandma Winnie, pouring herself a glass of wine.
“Grammy!” Thia sobbed, holding the glass to her face. “Grandma Winnie!”
Her grandmother didn’t turn. She placed the bottle of white back in the fridge and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.
Then she put a palm on the fridge door—no, on the picture of Thia clutching her first-place science fair ribbon that was taped to it.
Water pooled in Grandma Winnie’s gray eyes.
“Grammy,” Thia croaked, tracing the image with her finger. I can’t lose you too. What anger she bore mingled with despair.
The image was fading. Thia shook the shard, trying to bring it back, but it was no use. Her grammy slipped away, until only her own reflection remained.
It looked back at her with a red, puffy gaze, her nose running with snot. She gave a large sniff and wiped it on the back of her sleeve.
She had to get home.
She would.
Or she’d die trying.