Chapter 9 Declan
Iblinked several times to clear the flares from my eyes left by the brilliance of the gate’s shimmering veil.
Dizziness threatened to steal my footing, but my hand found the cool rim of the gate, and I braced myself until the feelings cleared.
When I was stable enough to open my eyes, I was shocked to find myself in a small grotto almost exactly like the one I’d just left, complete with a table, three chairs, a pitcher, and glasses.
I turned to inspect the gate and found its writing to be identical to the one in the Melucian mountains—at least, as similar as I could remember from the odd characters etched in the metal that I couldn’t read.
I traced the lettering with my fingers, just as I’d done before.
I’d forgotten my feathered companion was still perched on my shoulder until the owl peeped, scampered down my arm, and hopped onto the floor. She scurried to the cave’s opening, another crack in another egg, then turned and glared back at me, cocking her head in a most amusing way.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Can you give me a minute? If Atikus was right, we just traveled halfway around the world and across a sea. My head is spinning.”
The owl peeped twice, tottered to the table, and pecked at one of the chair legs.
“What?” Now my head cocked in disbelief, as the owl offered her wisdom for my recovery. I was pleased to find the pitcher full of the same flavorful wine and filled a glass to the brim.
The owl peeped a reprimand and pecked my boot.
“It’s a magical wine, and we’re on a magical journey. I’m duty bound to drink it,” I joked between satisfying sips.
“Besides, now that you mention it, I don’t remember feeling anything bad after drinking that other wine. Imagine that—all the wine I can drink without ever getting a hangover. I may never leave this place.”
The owl pulled at my pant leg, so I reached down and let her hop onto my hand, then hop off when I lifted her to the tabletop. She fussed at the table’s wood for a second before settling in, resuming her stare at my glass, then me, then my glass.
“Sure wish I knew what was going on in that little head of yours,” I said, grinning. “You know, there was a Mage at the guild with a Gift for animals. I bet she would have loved talking to you.”
Peep. Peep-peep.
She hopped over to an empty glass and pecked at it before turning back.
“Uh, really? You sure about that? I didn’t know owls drank wine.”
She pecked at the glass again, the tinkle echoing off the cavern’s walls.
“All right, but don’t blame me if it gets you drunk. This stuff might affect you differently than it does me.”
I shook my head and poured a small amount from the pitcher, then tilted the glass so she could reach the ruby liquid. Her beak disappeared for a second, then resurfaced as she smacked it together a couple of times. A tiny pink tongue poked out to clean off the last drops.
I scratched her head, and she squinted and nuzzled my hand.
It had only been a few days since the owl had run across Ayden and me in the woods, but I was already growing attached to the creature.
Thinking back on our first moments, when she’d skittered about my leg before settling in for a nap, I found my heart torn.
I was glad for her arrival and the companionship that followed.
She was adorable and lifted my spirits. But her arrival also coincided with my departure from Ayden, and that brought my mood back down.
Ayden would love watching her perch on my shoulder.
He would laugh as she pecked at the glass and lapped wine with her tiny tongue.
He would made some snarky comment about raising “our child” better than some magical drunk, and that would warm my heart, knowing the idea of a life together had found purchase in his thoughts.
I stared down at the tiny bird, amazed at the keen intelligence in her golden eyes.
It was insane to say aloud, but she seemed to understand and respond when I asked questions.
She peeped when she wanted something or when I didn’t move quickly enough to her liking.
At times, she appeared to guide our path, like when she raced toward the cave’s entrance the moment we’d passed through the gate.
And there was our trip through the gate.
I’d done everything I could think to activate the portal, but only when she was on my shoulder did it allow passage. There was something special about the little bird, something I couldn’t identify and likely would never understand.
In my heart, I understood her with perfect clarity—at least, that’s how it felt.
It reminded me of how my sleeping mind might see a dream with perfect clarity, but then the dream would vanish from memory with morning’s light.
Whatever notions I might have about the owl’s nature flew away each time my conscious mind tried to grasp them.
“I’m pondering the nature of an owl. Ayden would never let me live this down.”
On cue, she peeped.
“Fine, I’ve had my wine, and my head is no longer spinning, Your Majesty.”
She peeped again, then pecked my hand.
“Ow!” A drop of blood formed where her beak had broken skin.
She stared up, her head tilted, and I swear there was amusement in her eyes.
With a sigh, I pushed back my chair and walked to the cave’s entrance. The owl hopped from the tabletop to the chair, then to the floor, and skittered behind.
I peered through the crack, the sliver of an entrance. The land beyond was darker than the deepest well. Even the moon was hiding, refusing her light and guidance.
I ran a hand through my hair and glanced down at the owl, who had chosen that moment to roost on my boot.
“We could use a night’s rest, little one, and this cave is safer and more comfortable than the forest floor.”
Peep.
“I’ll take that as agreement.”
I reached down and let her climb up my arm and onto my shoulder. She pecked my earlobe, then hunkered down as I strode back to the table.
As I poured a last glass of wine to help me sleep, the owl uttered a sharp couple of peeps.
“Hey! I have to heal the hole you pecked in my hand. You don’t want me dying in my sleep, do you?”
Her head lowered as though ashamed.
“Spirits, you don’t need to feel bad.” I held up my hand, freshly healed from the first few gulps. “Already good as new.”
She tottered over and nuzzled my mended flesh.
“If you get any cuter, I might burst. Let’s get the bedroll out. I have a feeling tomorrow may be a long day.”
When I finally stretched out, the owl hopped from near my legs onto my chest. This time, rather than settle, she glanced around, tottered up to my shoulder, and bounded onto my forehead.
“Uh, ma’am, that won’t work.”
She peeped, then hopped into my long wavy hair. My scalp tingled as she scratched and pecked, then dug herself in and stilled. In seconds, the grotto echoed with her familiar hum of satisfaction.
I smiled, content with the world in an oddly magical—somehow perfect—moment in time.
The next morning, I ate the last of the dried fruit and crusty bread, which I gladly washed down with more wine. When I finally stood and grabbed my pack, the owl jumped and peeped until I allowed her to nest in my hood.
“I am but your carriage, m’lady.” I chuckled when she peeped in reply.
I retrieved Atikus’s map from my cloak. It was a perfectly detailed rendering of the mountains in Melucia but offered nothing of the island of Rea Utu.
“Sure hope the gate brought us to the right island,” I muttered.
With more questions than answers, I squeezed out of the cave’s narrow entrance to find the surrounding landscape remarkably similar, yet completely different from that of the mountains of my homeland.
The island’s peaks rose taller, and their edges appeared more jagged.
They were cloaked in trees, but not the pine, oak, or other firs I was used to.
Towering palms of every variety blanketed the land in all directions.
They poked out of cracks and clung to impossible ledges.
Where the trees back home were tall and thick, the palms of this island swayed and bent gracefully with the ever-present breeze.
The foliage atop the trees allowed far more light through the canopy than the forests of Melucia, which encouraged shorter palms and thick ferns to blanket the forest floor.
“So much for an easy hike down the mountain,” I mumbled. “Looks like we’ll have to hack our way through.”
From the height of the peak on which we stood, I could see a handful of surrounding mountains, but also the entire eastern side of the island nestled into the arms of the Great Sea.
The rising sun scattered brushstrokes of gold, auburn, and crimson across the crystal-blue ocean.
The clouds, ever present in the forest back home, were scarcely present, mere puffs of breath on a wintry day.
Until that moment, I had always thought of the mountains in my homeland as the most beautiful, serene place in the world, but nothing had prepared me for the majesty of the isles.
The owl poked her head out of my hood and hopped onto my shoulder. She nuzzled into the bend of my neck as we shared the morning view.
The soft coo-purr she emitted the moment her head pressed into my skin made me smile.
In the distance, I noticed dots I thought were huts and smoke trails of a village.
And . . . that’s where I’m going for help?
As I took my first steps out of the cave, my feet struck stone similar to the stairs I’d climbed the day before.
They appeared even less used and more worn than those in Melucia, weathered by time and the tropical climate.
Thankfully, whoever laid the stones on the island considered those who had to climb.
Rather than a straight descent like the ones back home, these steps wound down the mountain, twisting and turning in ways that made the trek less steep.
By the time we reached the bottom of the mountain, I was struggling for breath in the thick island air.
The sun bore down mercilessly, and sweat soaked through my shirt into my heavy cloak.
I stopped and packed my cloak away, then stripped out of my Ranger tunic, leaving on a thin, long-sleeved shirt that billowed in the ocean breeze.
My wide-brimmed hat shielded the sun from my eyes as I donned it for the first time in weeks.