Mystic (14 page)

Quentin wiped his brow as he approached her. A sheen of sweat covered his skin. “Thank you.”

She mumbled something like a blathering dunder about thanking him, then handed him his shirt, but he didn't put it on right away. He nodded his head toward the nearby river to indicate they should continue.

Pomella forced herself to look at his face and not get lost in his tattooed body. “It was a wonderful dance, but, forgive me, I don't see what that has to do with the Myst.”

He shrugged in his characteristic way. “Nothing, maybe. Mastering the movements of the
kenj
is an old tradition in my family. I began learning when I was four years old. It's what I do best, and therefore is how I Unveil the Myst. Or so my old teacher told me.”

“Did you use the Myst then? Did it do anything?”

He looked at her. “It changed your hair red.”

Without thinking, she put her hand to her hair and pulled a strand to look at it. Quentin burst out laughing.

She smacked him again, harder this time.

“I don't know if I Unveiled anything,” Quentin said. “The Myst isn't always about making pretty birds like Saijar did. I simply performed the
kenj
and if the Myst wanted to do something with that, then it was free to. It is said that the island of Moth, and Kelt Apar specifically, is one of the strongest places in the world to Unveil the Myst.”

The forest sloped downward until they approached the river flowing at the bottom of a shallow ravine. The tree line inched all the way to the water's edge, with a couple of trees dipping their roots directly into the current. The afternoon sun cast a radiant glow on everything.

“There's nothing here,” Quentin said. “Let's follow the river north.”

Movement caught Pomella's eye.

“Shush,” she said, holding her hand up. She pointed behind him, using slow movement.

A huge, silver animal resembling a deer, glowing with wispy light, burst from the underbrush. It thrashed its antlered head, kicked its hind legs, and tumbled to the ground.

“Shite, Quentin, look at it! Can you see it?” Pomella asked, remembering that Sim hadn't been able.

The elk crashed around on the ground between bushes, but failed to disturb a single leaf. It was strange to see it thrashing without disturbing the normal forest around them.

Quentin's body tensed. He nodded. “Yes, it looks like an ancient kind of elk. My family used to hunt them before they vanished. I've never seen one so large alive.”

An unexpected lump formed in Pomella's throat. The validation that somebody else could see fay creatures lifted her heart.

“What do you think is wrong with it?” Pomella asked.

“I don't know,” Quentin said. “Maybe it has iron poisoning like Mistress Yarina talked about. Let's try and get its blood.”

Before Pomella could protest, Quentin moved toward the deer. Uncertain, she followed. “How're you going to get its blood?” she said. “Do you have a knife? Will it even work on them?”

Pomella jumped as the deer lurched to its feet and seemed to look right through them. A second later, its smoky eyes focused on them, and it bolted away.

“Damn,” Quentin said. “I think we scared it.”

“I saw other animals like that when I was coming to Kelt Apar,” Pomella said. “Some wolves actually chased me.”

Quentin stared at her in surprise. “They chased you?”

She nodded and would have said more, but a harsh cry interrupted. Quentin heard it, too, and peered through the trees. Another silver animal, a crow this time, snapped its wings in the air near a berry bush. It screeched in anger, its smoky wings striking the air aggressively. A feather shook itself loose and vanished like mist under the sun.

Near the crow, a silver hummingbird dove again and again, trying to drive it off.

Pomella ventured a smile. Despite the odd behavior of the fay creatures she'd encountered so far, it delighted her that she was seeing so many of them in the Mystwood.

A sense of panic radiated from the bush. It washed over Pomella in a way she couldn't explain. Without thinking, she hurried to the bush and swatted her arms at the crow. “Go on! Get out of here!”

The crow flapped and cawed in defiance before flying away, cursing as it went.

The silver hummingbird buzzed past Pomella's head, trailing smoky mist and vibrating her ear. She ducked.

“Hey! I was only trying to help!”

“Look,” Quentin said, pointing at the bush.

Pomella saw nothing special about it other than the hummingbird swooping frantically. Little pink berries dotted the bush, ripe and ready to be plucked. The hummingbird dove past her again.

“I'm just looking,” she told the bird, feeling only a little silly for talking to an animal.

Deep in the bush, hidden behind leaves and berries, was what the crow had been seeking. A little nest, no wider than the cup of Pomella's hand, held two baby hummingbirds. They looked mature enough to possibly fly, with their feathers newly grown and shimmering a vibrant silver. They fought for space in the tiny nest, nudging each other and occasionally flapping their wings as if testing their capabilities.

“I see the wee ones,” she said to Quentin. “They're all right.” She wondered if they somehow had called to her. What else could that sense of panic from a moment ago have been?

Pomella stared as the mhathir bird landed on a branch next to the overcrowded nest. The mhathir stuck her beak into one baby's mouth, followed by the other. Pomella watched in fascination.

Quentin peered over her shoulder. “Should I get their blood or will you?”

Pomella gaped at him. “Don't you dare touch these birds!”

“But—”

“They're wee babies! You'll kill them if you try to get any of their blood!”

Quentin gave her a flat stare.

“You're not touching them, Quentin. We'll find another fay creature, one that won't die if we take some of its blood. We're supposed to be protecting them, not skewering them!”

Quentin shrugged. “As you wish. Hopefully we'll encounter more of the fay before it gets dark.”

The larger of the young birds stretched his wings and buzzed them, but kept his feet on the edge of the nest. Not wanting to be outdone, the other bird hopped onto the edge of the nest and buzzed her wings as well. Jealous of his sibling, the first bird pushed the other with his beak. With a sudden leap that startled Pomella, the little hummingbird flew out of the bush, brushing her hair as it passed. The other baby followed, enraged that the other accomplished flight before him.

The two hummingbirds swirled around each other. Pomella stared in wonder. Their wings hummed in unison, speaking to her in a way that almost seemed familiar. Their trails of mist made it seem like a silver circle spun in the air. Her heart raced with excitement as if she were flying for the first time herself. She longed to spread her own arms and join them.

“Are you all right?” Quentin asked.

“Did you
see
that?” she marveled. “They just flew for the first time!”

“How do you know it was for the first time?”

She paused. “I don't know. It just seemed that way, I guess.”

He walked away, heading west toward the river. “Well, that's all very nice. But we should get going.”

The mhathir hummingbird raced over to Pomella and hovered in front of her face. The babies tumbled above them, wrestling in their own way. Before Pomella could react, the mhathir flew away, heading east. She paused in midair, waiting for her babies to follow. They did, but still the mhathir waited.

“I-I think we should follow them,” Pomella said, feeling a bit silly.

Quentin stepped beside her and looked at the hummingbird, who waited patiently. “How do you know?”

Pomella shook her head. “I don't know. I'm probably being a dunder.”

Quentin continued to eye the bird. “She
is
acting a bit unusual. I think we should follow your instinct.”

“Really? Y-you believe me?”

“Of course. Besides, any direction is as good as another right now. Let's see where it leads.”

Pomella smiled. It was refreshing to have somebody believe her, without her having to fight and plead for their understanding.

She and Quentin followed the ghostlike hummingbirds, who zoomed ahead. Occasionally the mhathir stopped at a tree, or patch of flowers, where she and the babies would sip on some unseen food. Pomella couldn't shake the fresh feeling of excitement coming from the babies, nor the sense of wide-eyed wonder she heard in their movements.

It made no sense. Yet here she was, following these strange silvery birds deeper into the forest, dragging Quentin with her.

She startled as Quentin gently touched her arm. He put his finger to his lips and gestured,
Quiet
. Pomella listened. She heard the hummingbirds swooping ahead and above them, but nothing else. Focusing more, she listened to the sounds of the forest. She was about to open her mouth to ask Quentin what he meant when she heard it. Running water. They must be near another stream.

The hummingbirds darted ahead once more, heading toward the sound of water. Pomella hurried after them, with Quentin following. A building sense of urgency filled her. The baby hummingbirds seemed less playful now, and more curious, following their mhathir.

They broke into a small clearing, in the center of which stood a quiet pond, fed by a small spring trickling steadily out of a boulder. Tall grass, foxtail weeds, and wild shamrock grew at the water's edge. A large tree, dripping with vines and dangling branches, shaded the pond.

Resting atop the gently rippling surface was a sprinkling of lotus flowers. Three silver swans drifted between them, mist wafting off of them, their bodies not rippling the water.

Pomella's face blossomed with a smile and she felt the hummingbirds echo her joy. The lotus flowers seemed to shine with a light all their own, as if each housed a wee sun within its petals. She took a step toward the pond, but Quentin grabbed her arm.

“Wait,” he said, his eyes intent on the water and the tree above it.

Silvery mist hung above the water, with all three hummingbirds flying through it. The babies chased each other away from the pond toward distant trees. The mhathir hovered above one of the lily pads and dipped her beak to drink the nectar.

A flash of searing fire erupted across the pond.

Sheets of silvery fire tore outward, scorching Pomella. She screamed and dove to the ground. Quentin landed beside her, his arm trying to cover her. She gasped for breath, trying to find air that wasn't searing.

Pomella lifted her head and blinked to clear her vision. A heavy stillness fell across the clearing. A ringing filled Pomella's ears. Eyes watering, she peered around.

The pond lay undisturbed except for the silver swans and mhathir hummingbird, which were gone. Pomella stood on wobbling legs. Her dress—Vivianna's dress—dripped with mud. Pomella felt no physical pain, except for a dull ache in her hip. Quentin groaned and pushed himself up.

A massive silver snake, wider than Pomella's leg, lowered itself from the tree, its forked tongue zipping out to taste the air. Misty flames danced atop it as if it were on fire, but the burning did not appear to cause it pain.

Pomella's eyes widened as two thin forelegs unfolded from the snake's body, each dipping into the pond to support its great weight. Whatever sort of creature this was, it was more than a mere snake. A glowing diamond shape stood out on its forehead. Slitted eyes fixed on Pomella.

“What's this?” it asked. The ringing in Pomella's ears slowly faded. Its mouth did not move, but the voice clearly emanated from the snakelike creature. “A new face walks these woods? Welcome, young Mystic.”

The baby hummingbirds swooped down, whirling in desperate circles above the snake. It raised its head and gazed toward them, flicking its tongue hungrily.

“L-leave them alone,” Pomella said, stepping forward.

The snake considered her. “What? These morsels?”

Quentin's hand touched Pomella's shoulder. “We should leave. We're in danger.”

“You should listen to the young man,” said the snake, amused. “I
am
dangerous.”

Pomella pulled away from Quentin and addressed the snake. Her heart raced as she registered the fact that she was
talking
to an animal. “Why did you attack us?”

“This is my pond and tree,” it said.

“You hurt my friend and me!” Pomella said. “And you killed their mhathir!” She jabbed her finger at the hummingbirds.

“Pomella…,” Quentin urged.

A strange sound rippled from the snake and Pomella realized it was laughing. “Are you sure you are a Mystic? You have much still to learn.”

Pomella swallowed. “We came looking for something. Perhaps you can help us.”

The snake lowered itself farther from the tree, and stepped lightly through the still water. Its head slid through the air, independently of the rest of its body. Pomella gaped at its massively long form, which wound throughout the branches of the tree.

“What do you offer in return?” it asked.

“I don't think I have anything you'd want,” she said.

The snake tilted its head back and forth, peering at her. “All those who use the Myst have something to give.”

Pomella exchanged looks with Quentin, who gave her a hint of a shrug.

“We're not Mystics,” she said. “We're candidates to become the High Mystic's apprentice.”

“Ah,” said the snake. “I see. Then I forgive your ignorance. That you can even see me is special indeed.”

“It is?”

“Only those who touch the Myst can see the inhabitants of Fayün.”

“Fayün?”

The snake's face slithered to within her arm's reach, its body stretched across the whole pond. Fear pumped through Pomella's veins as it slinked toward her face.