Chapter 5 #2
In the previous weeks, ever since the Stone had first been spotted, I’d been preparing. Capturing the Stone could end all of the misery my family was facing, and I’d dove into discovering everything I could about it.
Thankfully, my job had been my saving grace.
Loolee, my boss at the Whiteolf Academic Library, hadn’t been happy when I’d taken an unexpected, extended leave to stay at my uncle’s side, but she’d still been instrumental in helping me with my research.
It was upon her advice that I spent an entire week traveling to and from the Isle of Song, where the most prestigious university and library of our land waited.
It’d been an arduous journey, given that the isle was on the opposite side of the continent, but I’d sailed on a ship around the northern coast, paying more rulibs than I wanted to remember, to get there.
But that cost had been worth it. I’d been able to travel there and back at an expedited rate thanks to four fae with elemental air magic, and two fae with elemental water magic, who had propelled the ship to travel at ungodly speeds.
If not for them, I would have still been traveling the great distance to that island.
And it was at the Isle of Song’s library that Master Fistideeous, a very helpful gargoyle scholar, had placed Legends of Our Realm in my hands.
If not for my employment at a library, I would have never been allowed to take the book off the island, but thank the stars that I had librarian status because I’d been referencing the book ever since.
Carefully, I opened it, being mindful not to bend the page too drastically or crease the spine. Preserving magic had been used to save the old book from decay over the seasons, but that didn’t mean it was indestructible, and the thought of any precious book being ruined made my heart break.
The scent of anise and thyme—the telltale sign of parchment preservation magic—rose from the pages, and I stopped at the third chapter titled The Wishing Stone—Elusive Gem and Coveted Relic.
I’d read the fifty-page chapter several times over in the previous week, and one of the verses had actual directions on how to find the Stone. I had no idea if it was true, but I’d bet everything on the hope that it was.
I thumbed to the correct page, my fingers shaking again. Only one moon was full, and it barely illuminated the words. I called upon my Ironcrest magic, and my eyesight sharpened.
The verse appeared, as visible as though it were midday, and I began to read.
Upon the first night of the Wishing Stone’s arrival, its hazy tail will remain in the sky.
This can only be seen once the sun has fully set.
The tail will be present for three nights total, dimming more each day until it entirely disappears.
Many will be fooled by this, thinking the tail leads directly to the Stone, but the tail is only a guide.
The stars are what will lead one to the Stone if the Stone deems you worthy.
On the eve of the first night, take note of the tail’s tip. The brightest star closest to the tip should be most respected. If the star pulses and shines briefly with color, you’ve been given a gift. Follow that star. It will be your guiding light as you search for the Stone.
I closed the book and glanced at the Wishing Stone’s remaining hazy tail, then at my map. The stars around the Stone’s tail were on the map, and I studied each one, taking note of where the tail was in relation to them.
Eyes narrowing, I focused on the tail’s tip more. My eyes popped. One star, just as the book claimed, was directly around the tip.
I quickly searched for that star on my map.
My jaw dropped.
It wasn’t there.
“But how can that be . . .” I glanced at the star again, wondering if I was seeing things. Perhaps desperation was making me hallucinate. Maybe what I was witnessing wasn’t even there. Maybe my sensory magic was going haywire.
I squeezed my eyes shut and counted to ten, but when I opened them, the star remained.
My breathing increased, and I again recalled what the chapter had taught me. The legend stated those who sought the Stone for unselfish purposes were more likely to find it.
I focused on the star anew, my stomach twisting into knots.
I was just about to blink when the star twinkled, then turned bright pink. It shone as richly as decadent candy.
Spine snapping upright, I stared at that star, and my breaths became so fast I got lightheaded. Eyes watering, I blinked, and when I focused on that star again, the color was gone.
I willed the pink hue to return. My sensory magic strained, and my pulse leaped, but I didn’t dare shut my eyes again.
“Come on, come on,” I whispered. “Show me again. Show me that I didn’t just imagine you.”
But the star kept twinkling, no different than any of the other millions of stars in our galaxy. But it was still a star that didn’t fall on any constellation map.
It was only when my eyes began to burn that I finally allowed them to close and my sensory magic to calm. I huffed a breath.
“Did I really see it?” Despite my worry, a grin spread across my face. “Yes, I did. It turned pink. I know it did. I wasn’t hallucinating. And it’s not on the map. Therefore, it must be a sign from the gods and goddesses. They’ve deemed me worthy of finding the Stone.”
I gave a silent prayer of thanks to them, curled my map once more, then withdrew the seekerill from my pocket.
I set the device on my carpet and aligned it perfectly with the magical star that had flared pink. It was imperative I got this part right, so I checked its direction, then checked it again.
When I was certain the seekerill was aligned correctly, I pressed the button on its side. The device chimed, then hummed and vibrated slightly. Only a moment passed, and then a clap of magic emitted from it as the device registered the direction the elusive star pointed at.
“Don’t fail me now. I’m counting on you to lead me straight to the Stone,” I whispered to the device.
Turning it every which way, I checked its magic. But no matter which direction I positioned my body, the seekerill’s needle spun to track the star’s direction.
Heart pounding at how lucky I felt to have seen that star and have a unique device like the seekerill, I tucked it carefully back into my pocket.
But despite the fortuitous turn of events, I couldn’t stop the slight ache that filled my chest. The seekerill was just one of many inventions my uncle had created over the seasons for the king and queen.
“Thank you, Timith,” I whispered. “Just stay alive. I’ll find the Stone, and then I’ll save you.” Tears moistened my eyes, but I quickly brushed them away. “Now, time to sleep, and then I’ll set out early in the morning.”
I was about to descend back to camp, but a screech rose from the Wood. A horribly ugly sound that twisted my insides.
I paused and looked around.
The night breeze brushed my cheeks, and the top of the Wood’s canopy stretched for hundreds of miles.
I activated my sight sensory magic again and scanned the area, but the only thing unusual was smoke from a few small fires curling above the trees’ canopy.
Those fires were likely from other fae hunting the Stone, who were also camping in the Wood. Other than that, nothing seemed amiss.
“How odd.” Brushing off that chilling sound, I was about to descend, but the noise came again.
Screeching. No . . .
Screaming.
I whipped around, trying to decipher which direction the screams were coming from. Out of nowhere, a loud expletive came from a male siltenite.
“What in the realm?” I whispered.
With a frantic command, I zoomed my carpet toward the commotion, making a beeline above the trees in the direction of the screaming that had turned ear-piercing. The noises grew, along with curses from the male. No wait, there were two males yelling and at least one screaming wildling.
Raucous laughter followed, and then the shrillness of the wildling’s screams came again.
My heart was racing just as a rustle in a tree’s leaves alerted me to their exact location. I stopped my carpet above it and peered below. More laughter filtered up from the males, then a pitiful wail rose from a wildling.
I stretched my mental magic out, assessing the situation more. Two streams of siltenite consciousnesses answered my magic’s questioning pulse. Then another that was smaller, less complex. It was the kind of consciousness I would expect from a being with a mind not as advanced as our kind.
“Look at it. It actually thinks we’ll let it live,” one of the males sneered.
I bristled at the male’s taunting words. Just as fast, a small dozen pulses of other consciousnesses, so tiny and barely formed that I’d almost missed them, strummed toward me. Fear bled from them.
My jaw dropped. Babies.
It hit me all at once what was happening. A dozen baby wildlings of a species I couldn’t determine were below, and their mother wildling was defending them against two siltenite males who no doubt decided to either torment them or simply kill them for fun.
“Bastards.” I clenched my teeth and carefully stepped off my carpet onto the tree’s tallest and sturdiest branch. It sagged beneath my weight but held.
I glanced at my belongings to ensure my map was still safely stowed on the carpet. Thankfully, it hadn’t budged despite my stepping off.
I returned my attention to the tree and crawled carefully along it. The branch was thick, but it still swayed, making me grip it tighter, but I climbed slowly and carefully downward. The males below continued their sadistic tormenting, none the wiser to my presence.
“Cut its ear off,” one said. “That’ll really make it scream.”
The other laughed. “After we’re done with the mother, we should carve up the babies.”
The first snickered. “I love how sick you are.”