“Remember not to listen to the voices!” Serena called out. Aida’s hand tightened on mine in reassurance, and, I suspected, fear.
We kept moving. It wasn’t long till the strange whistles started up. I had thought about those noises when we’d entered the desert. I hadn’t understood what they were before, but now I thought that the noises were calls—the shape-shifters letting others know that their prey was near.
This time I saw the flickering movements of the creatures before I heard them calling. They ran in and out of the billows of sand, sometimes moving on two legs and making their appearance more human, other times on all fours like emaciated beasts, their spines arched backward and their long hind legs making them look hideously unnatural and perverted.
Vita.
I heard them call my name, and I tried to shut them out, thinking of other things, anything to keep their voices at bay. I started to list, alphabetically, the herbs and plants that Zerus had taught me. I recited a rhyme that my mom used to sing to me as a kid…Anything and everything—my mind jumping from one subject to the next in a panic to keep their calls at bay.
Vita.
Do you still want him now?
After the story you heard?
Why do you even think he told it? Was it a warning to you?
I held Aida’s hand tightly. I could feel her trembling, or perhaps it was me, I couldn’t tell. The sands whipped at my face and hair. I shut my eyes, trying not to see anything as I moved one foot in front of the other with painstaking slowness.
I could hear them laughing. It was a cruel, cold sound—twisted laughter that bore so little resemblance to the real thing that it sounded more like screams of pain. I shuddered, returning to the rhyme, returning to images of The Shade—the redwood trees in autumn, the lake when it was frosted at the edges, the lighthouse, the sea in summer and the foam of the waves as they hit the shore. Images of my mom laughing, the broad smile of my dad, Zerus talking softly to himself as he moved through the forests, touching the bark of a tree, caressing a leaf and telling it how well it was growing.
You’ll end up like that Daughter of Eritopia, Vita… lost and alone, wandering the land with a hollow and dead heart…waiting for him to love you.
He never will, Vita, a mouse like you? No, you’ll never be loved. It will elude you, like the control over your own elements…a useless semi-fae, with barely enough power to light a match.
“No!” Aida cried out, yanking on my arm. I held on tight, helping her fight her own demons while I simultaneously battled with my own.
Nobody notices you, the voices whispered—closer this time, as if they were drawing in.
Come with us.
We would never dismiss you, we would love you.
This time I sighed with relief. If they were calling to me to come with them, it was almost over. I just needed to overcome the final call—the pull on my heart that was meant to make me want to break the chain. Perhaps it was because it was the second time, and I knew all too well what their aim was, and knew I wasn’t alone in this—all my friends were battling the same cries, the same secrets being used against them to cause pain—that I managed to hang on to Aida and Bijarki.
His grip had remained firm and consistent throughout the journey, never once trying to yank away. When he felt my grip falter, despite my best efforts, he held on tighter.
Slowly the storm started to grow sparser, and we stepped out from the barrier. I took in a lungful of air, finally able to breathe freely. Without thinking, I tried to drop both Aida and Bijarki’s hands.
“Not yet,” Bijarki reminded me.
Hastily I tightened my grip, recalling the last step of travel required us to remain linked to one another. I looked around me, barely able to make out a single feature of the desert in the gloom of dusk, and in the very next moment I felt a sickening jolt in my stomach, as if my internal organs were being pulled down inside of me. I closed my eyes, grimacing at the unpleasant sensation. When I opened them again, we were standing back in the laboratory room of the plantation house. For once, I was pleased to be there.
Bijarki instantly released my hand, turning to Draven. He helped the Druid down onto the stone floor, yanking an old rag from one of the tables to place beneath his head.
“What can we do?” Serena asked Draven, looking around in vain as if she might recognize some of the strange liquids and herbs.
“I need Agrimonia,” Draven replied, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Pelargonium, Vinca minor, Thuja oil.”
Bijarki and Serena looked at one another with panicked confusion, but as he listed the herbs I realized I recognized a few of the names. Some were earthly ingredients.
“Okay,” I said, rushing over to the shelves where rows and rows of glass jars contained a myriad of different herbs and leaves. “I think I know this!”