Mystic (6 page)

They landed in a tumbling pile of limbs. Pomella scrambled away from them and found her feet.

“Don't hurt him!” Pomella screamed, but wasn't sure which man she meant it for. Maybe both. Her mind raced. The soldier might be within his legal right to strike Sim down. But if Sim hurt the soldier—or, worse, killed him—his life would be forfeit as well.

The two men clawed for control of the sword. Pomella's eyes spied a thick branch on the ground. She snatched it up and hoisted it above her head. Maybe she could get a clean shot at the soldier.

Lightning and thunder roared around them. Pomella jumped, dropping the stick. Jagged shite! She bent to pick it up, and a low growl froze Pomella's heart. She tracked the sound to a spot behind her and felt her remaining sliver of courage drain.

Three wolves, each glowing with the same misty smoke as the fox and rabbit, stepped toward them, hackles raised and bodies tense. They stood as tall as her chest, covered with angry scars and missing tufts of fur. She could almost see through them, as if they were shadowy dreams made of silver light. The rain fell right through them, leaving their scarred bodies dry.

“Sim!” she called, forgetting for a moment that he was struggling for his life. “Tell me you see those!”

One of the wolves jumped forward and snarled, ripping the air with its teeth.

She must've diverted Sim's attention, because she heard him cry out. She dared to dart her gaze at him. The soldier had Sim pinned to the ground, belly down, with his knees driven into his back. He held the sword up high, tip pointed down, aimed for Sim's back.

Torn between the misty wolves and murderous soldier, Pomella screamed, “No, please! Don't hurt him!”

“It's you the baron wants, girl. This boy bloodied my friend.”

The panic in Pomella overwhelmed her. She screamed and threw the tree branch at the soldier.

In that same moment, the wolves charged.

Pomella ducked and covered her head. She felt a cold presence rush by her, and heard the soldier scream.

Ripping her gaze in that direction, she saw the wolves tearing at the man's face. He screamed and swung his arms wildly, as the strange, translucent creatures somehow bore him to the ground.

Sim scrambled away, his eyes wide with surprise.

Pomella snatched up her
Book of Songs,
ran to Sim, and pulled him into a run.

Behind her, two of the wolves growled and gave chase. “Run, Sim!”

Pomella sprinted as fast as her panicked legs could carry her. She clutched
The Book of Songs
to her chest. She imagined the creatures tearing her apart, and prayed she didn't trip.

The ground sloped upward. She heard the rush of water coming from beyond a ridgeline ahead. She looked back over her shoulder just as the wolves charged past Sim, staying wide of him, perhaps because of his sword. The creatures bore down on her. A river came into view, its water flooded nearly to the top of the bank.

With the lead wolf just breaths behind her, she closed her eyes and leaped. As she flew through the air, arms and legs flailing, she heard Sim scream her name.

The bone-cold water rushed around her, filling her nose and mouth. Her cloak pulled at her, tangling her feet as she kicked to the surface. Somehow she managed to fling
The Book of Songs
as far as she could onto the bank and watched it crash into a bush.

Her arms free, she balanced herself in the water and swam with the current. Sim ran after her, following her along the ridge. The wolves were nowhere to be seen.

She stroked her way as best she could toward the shore, actually grateful to her fathir for something. Living near the flood-prone Creekwaters, he'd insisted that she and Gabor become strong swimmers.

Grabbing hold of a heavy tree branch dangling into the water, she held tight until Sim rushed up and pulled her to safety. He threw his arms around her.

“What in the name of the jagged Saints were you thinking? You nearly drowned!” He yanked her soaking cloak off and wiped her hair from her face.

Pomella looked around to be sure there weren't any wolves nearby. Perhaps they'd given up when she leaped into the water.

“Did you see them?” she gasped. “The wolves?”

Sim's eyes widened and he looked around, suddenly tense again.

Pomella's heart sank. “There were three giant wolves jawing at us. One of them almost got me. Didn't you see them attack the soldier?”

She could see them plainly in her memory, though they'd seemed only half-present, as if they were made from the light of a thousand lantern bugs. The rain had fallen right through them.…

Sim shook his head and sighed. “It all happened so fast,” he said, handing her the canvas sack containing her food and clothing. “I didn't see them, but I believe you. What do you want to do now?”

“I-I don't know,” she confessed. “I lost my book. We should go back to find it.”

Sim held up a hand. “No. If you said those things were real, and you want me to take it seriously, then I'm going to treat them that way. We're not going back to where they were. Besides, those soldiers could still be looking for us.”

Somehow, Pomella doubted the soldiers would be looking for them anytime soon. “That book is important to me, Sim. I'm going to find it.”

“You can't have it both ways, Pomella!” Sim said. “We're in the middle of a jagged storm and standing beside a rapidly rising river. We need shelter. If those wolves really are a danger, I don't know how we can defend ourselves.”

Pomella bit her lip and picked a fingernail.

He sighed again and scratched his hair. “I'm sorry. It's just that you're asking me to trust you. I'm trying. Now do this for me. Please? We can look for your book later.”

She twisted her fingers, not knowing what to do. Swallowing, she finally nodded and followed his lead, hardly noticing where they went. Fleeing from the silver wolves had obliterated all sense of direction for her, and storm clouds concealed the sun's position. She distracted herself from the sadness of losing the book by shaking out her soaking cloak before draping it back on.

Darkness crept across the forest. They walked in silence through the woods, Sim leading the way. Pomella watched him, still not really believing that he'd followed her. It comforted her to have somebody else with her in case she ran into more trouble, but Sim brought a bundle of confusion with him. He cared about her, and tried so hard to show his affections.

Sim gestured. “There,” he said, pointing to a structure up ahead. They approached a small gazebo set on the high point of the ridge looking far down onto the river below. A decrepit curved roof sat atop crumbling walls made of stone. Sim drew his sword as they approached.

Overgrown ivy clawed its way through the ruined structure. Gaping holes yawned where the roof had tumbled away. A twisted oak pushed against the foundation, shoving it aside with the bulk of its many years. Pomella peered inside.

An old shrine rested against one of the inner gazebo walls. A moss-covered statue of Saint Brigid stood above offerings that had rotted long ago.

A damp emptiness filled the old shrine. The quiet patter of rain lulled Pomella's senses. Sim slipped beside her and peered in. “Looks dry enough for our purposes,” he said. “Come on.”

Moving around to the entrance, he gestured for her to go first. She brushed past him, across the threshold.

With a thunderous rush of wings, a cluster of flapping birds startled her from above. Pomella ducked as she stepped farther into the shrine.

The rotten floor shattered. She cried out as she fell. Sim dove for her, but he tumbled down, too. She bounced once against a stone wall, then hit muddy ground, losing her wind. For a panicked moment, the world spun around her. Her ribs ached, and she prayed they weren't cracked. Pushing herself to her knees, she found her breath and stood up. High above them, perhaps twenty feet, loomed a gaping hole. Three robins circled the inside of the roof before settling back into their nest. Soft feathers floated down.

Sim groaned and pushed himself up. His sword lay in the mud a short distance away. Pomella thanked the Saints neither of them had landed on it.

“Are you all right?” she asked. She fingered her filthy cloak, which had once been green and beautiful.

Sim nodded, and they wiped themselves off. They stood at the bottom of what appeared to be a ruined stairwell. Broken steps had once spiraled the outer walls, but most were cracked now and unusable.

“I'm going to try and climb out,” Sim said. “Here, hold this.” He scooped up his sword and shook the dirt off before handing it to her. He found a foothold and began climbing. He'd only managed to get maybe four or five feet up when he slipped and fell.

He cursed. “It's too steep.”

Pomella pulled her cloak tighter. Gazing up, she looked for anything that could help. Only rain fell through the gaping hole in the roof.

As Sim tried to climb again, Pomella searched around the pit but found nothing other than mud, stones, and a muddy mouse hole. “It's going to be dark soon. We should try and set some kind of camp for the night.”

They found a small area in the pit partially covered by the meager roof overhead. Their cloaks kept them from freezing, yet Pomella's teeth began to chatter as night set in. The rain slowed, and increased again, cycling back and forth as the evening wore on. She adjusted her cloak, trying to prevent the rain from soaking her skin.

Sim leaned against the wall next to her.

Pomella rolled her head toward him and managed a grin. “Those soldiers were a bunch of buzzard bastards.”

Sim grinned and rubbed his chest. “That one rammed me pretty hard.” His eyes flicked to Pomella, then looked away. “I'm sorry for any trouble I caused by coming.”

“No, Sim, don't. I would have been arrested if you—”

Sim held up a hand. “We helped each other. But even before that attack happened, you were right. Sometimes I push too hard. It's just that … that I care for you. A lot. This whole invitation from the High Mystic just doesn't make any sense. I feel like … like…” He wilted.

The heavy rain had stopped, replaced by a gentle misting. “Like what?” Pomella asked.

“Like I've only just begun to get to know you, and now you're leaving.”

Pomella stared at the mud between her feet. “I don't see why you like me. I just get into one disaster after another.”

“Don't be so harsh on yourself,” Sim said. “You're great at a lot of things.”

“I don't feel like I am.”

“The High Mystic seems to think you are.”

Pomella kept her silence, not wanting to get into why she thought she was doomed to fail at the Trials. She stirred the mud with her fingers.

“Why do you want to do this?” Sim said.

“Do what?”

“Become a Mystic?”

A swarm of reasons buzzed into Pomella's mind. She wanted to become a Mystic because she loved nature. Because her grandmhathir's stories of the Myst resonated with her. Because she wanted to understand why she saw silver animals in her garden and in the forest. Because she didn't want to let down all the people who'd tied their knots into her Common Cord. And because, sometimes,
something
called to her heart, challenging her to look at the world in a different way.

But mostly, she wanted to become a Mystic because if she didn't, she'd be denying herself. Somehow, she just knew that was true.

“I just do,” she mumbled.

The rain eased up, and a few stars managed to poke their way through the thick clouds. Pomella pulled her cloak tighter and began to hum, glad to have some outlet for her emotions. She thought of the song she'd sung the previous night, one of the familiar ones she'd found in
The Book of Songs
. Lifting her voice, Pomella sang it, filling the cold pit with lingering words and feeling.

“Hope drowns

Amid no sound

Fear claims

What faith can't reach

But I carry strength from you

Now gone

Don't let me give in.…

“I will never leave you

We'll share

The mountains and fate

Turn my heart to rain

And I will illuminate

I will illuminate

The sky”

As she sang, lantern bugs blossomed in front of her, little tiny pricks of golden light that faded in and out like soft breath. More and more appeared as if they danced to her song.

She sensed Sim watching her through the tiny lights as she began the final stanza.

“Parting will never leave us alone

Crush fate once set in stone

Turn my heart to rain

And I will illuminate

I will illuminate

Tonight”

When the song finally faded, she found her face floating near Sim's. She hadn't realized that she'd been leaning closer and closer to him. Her heart thundered, but her hands were surprisingly steady.

Pomella thought she could hear Sim's heart beating, too. She had so much to say to him, so much feeling inside that needed to be let out. She wanted to tell him that she cared for him, too. That she
was
glad he was here with her. That, if she had to be chased by soldiers and silver wolves, and trapped in a mud pit, he'd be the one person whose company she wouldn't mind.

Sim leaned in to cross the final inch between them, but she turned her head. How did she tell him? He was part of her old life. He was
home
. And right now, it was time to leave home. If she was going to commit to the possibility of becoming a Mystic, there would be no place for him.

“I don't want to hurt you,” she whispered.