Page 17

Wonder

Light flashes, a spiraling vortex so prismatic she clenches her eyes shut from the assault.

The sensation of falling and soaring at the same time is new, as if she’s caught between the above world and the underworld, both ends pulling on her.

She’s a divided star, moving and not moving, plunging and rising.

The whirlwind sucks out all semblance of noise. A beautiful silence trails in its wake, so that her inhalations and exhalations flutter like wings. It’s akin to meditation, excess sensory perception wiped from existence.

And then she hits the cursed ground.

A flat surface slams into her. She crashes, smacking into soil hard enough for her molars to clatter like castanets. Needless to say, Wonder has never arrived like this. She’s sprawled, her limbs akimbo, her body flattened to the earth.

Wonder’s violent arrival detaches the archery harness, ejecting a shower of arrows and ridding her of the quiver.

Her nostrils burrow into the undergrowth, which scrapes her chin and forearms. Dirt clogs her mouth, and blades of grass carry faint traces of moonlit incense.

It’s a fragrance purer and riper than from where she’s just come.

It’s the aroma of starlight, reminiscent of soft linen, white musk, and freesias.

Wonder flops onto her back, coughing beneath a sky pitted in celestial bodies, each one tinkling with sound. It’s a million whistles, a million chimes, a million cymbals shrunken to pinpricks of noise. The Stars wink with light, hovering nearer than they ever will over the mortal realm.

Because this isn’t the mortal realm.

Flora sprouts around her, creating a tapestry of jeweled colors.

Wonder lurches upright, swatting the hip-length curls from her face as she soaks in the vista.

It’s akin to an island floating amid the solar system, with moons and planets bobbing in the distance, so small she can pinch them between her fingers.

Below the summit, bluffs slope downward into a forest. Nestled someplace within is a sacred landmark. A shrine of books.

Her eyes sting, which is silly. If she’d been apart from it for a few hundred years, nostalgia would be justified.

But although it’s only been a blink of time since her previous visit, Wonder hadn’t expected to see this place for a much longer duration.

Or rather, she had been prepared to never see it again, should her crew lose this battle.

Wonder crawls, collects her archery, and staggers to her feet while hitching the weapons to her back. She knows the geography of this summit, with its swaying grass and rolling expanse, for she used to meditate here. Also, she had engaged in target practice on this hilltop with her crew.

Love. Anger. Sorrow. Envy.

Andrew. Merry.

Dismay coils through Wonder’s gut. They will be fine. They must be fine, safe, unscathed. Malice had ordered his cult not to attack her crew, the command having lacked signs of artifice.

Tamping down the worry, she forces herself to think positive, think positive, think positive. Her friends will be okay. If anyone harms them, a certain demon will end up on her hit list.

Speaking of which…

Wonder rotates, her gaze combing across the vacant expanse.

She and Malice had left in such haste, without agreeing on a location.

The first place she thought of had been obvious, though she hadn’t arrived as close to The Archives as she should have.

Manifesting directly inside the fortification would be a luxury, but the illustrious repository is shielded from such travel, for the purposes of security.

That Wonder hadn’t at least materialized yards from the structure can only be chalked up to her state of mind, which had been too frazzled to focus.

As for Malice, who knows what destination he’d been aiming for.

He might be across the range, somewhere along the shoreline.

For amusement, he may have even landed in Joy’s bed, prompting the goddess into a screeching fit.

Or by accident, he might have landed in the middle of an archery range.

Or worse, in The Fate Court’s throne amphitheater.

Wonder abolishes those preposterous scenarios from her mind. Malice is many noxious things, but a fool isn’t one of them. Wherever in The Dark Fates he has ended up, the demon had calculated his destination in advance. But what the prick had neglected to do was inform Wonder of those intentions.

Using The Stars as channels, she calls out to him but receives no reply. Condemnation, they’re off to a promising start. Suffice it to say, she’ll have to get moving before someone happens upon her.

The indigo sky confirms nighttime. Stellar Worship aside, her people will have retired for contemplation and sleep by now.

It is Stellar Worship, right?

This is no time to fret or second guess herself. Regardless of the calendar, it’s best to travel quickly.

She winds her hair into a bun, an onslaught of wild tendrils nonetheless sneaking out. Collecting her archery, Wonder considers the quartz arrows with trepidation. Her rosemary green dress shall camouflage her, but the weapon’s element is a dead giveaway of her identity.

Sigh. Something has to give. A deity’s weapon cannot be altered, this half-hearted disguise is better than nothing, and the woodland canopy must accomplish the rest to shield her.

By Fates, she’s going to flog Malice when she finds him.

At least they’re headed for the same place.

Hopefully, he shall make himself useful and avoid getting apprehended or maimed.

And once her endurance returns, she’ll cease fretting about his welfare; outside of this mission, the demon scarcely warrants concern.

Wonder hikes down the precipice. Petals caress her toes, the blossoms pigmented in sharp metallics and embellished with dew, the contact drawing a wistful smile across her lips. Apart from libraries, botanical gardens are her favorite type of place.

When was the last time she did something simple like roam fields and pick flowers?

She keeps to dense areas, flitting from tree to tree, shrub to shrub.

The lower the elevation, the more congested the wild becomes, tangling itself up into knots.

At the cliff’s base, beech trunks arc over an avenue leading into the sylvan landscape.

A human would compare this border to a faerie dimension, which is a fitting impression.

This region breeds magic, majesty, and mayhem.

Her unshod heels sink into the ground as she ventures into the woodland.

Some things don’t change between worlds, such as the twisting arcades of trees.

Age gnarls the branches, moss filigreed the boughs, and sumptuous tufts of grass cushion her steps.

With any luck, she’ll reach The Archives within a couple of hours, so long as she makes it through this first stretch.

A school of tiny raptors flits between the foliage, the creatures glowing within the murk. As rays filter through the crochet of branches, a nearby twig snaps.

Wonder freezes. It could be Malice. She wouldn’t put it past him to sneak up on her.

But no, he’s too clever to disturb so much as an offshoot. She had concluded that while appraising his pace in the library, as well as his combat agility on the street.

A shadow drifts in her periphery. Wonder whips behind a trunk and wedges her back against it. Craning her neck, she glances around the bend.

However precarious, peace still reigns in The Dark Fates.

The quandary is, even if she comes across a strolling figure—perhaps a Guide or a deity-in-training—and even if that wanderer fails to recognize the quartz archery within this dimly lit atmosphere, they might recognize Wonder’s voice.

Then they might step close to her face, have a good look, and make the connection.

The second possibility is just as detrimental. That they’ve been following her all along.

Wonder drags her tongue across her teeth. Someone malicious will force her into a messy brawl. Someone harmless will consider her stance oddly paranoid, which will alert them to a problem. And she doesn’t want to harm anyone.

She envisions a map of her heart, replete with arteries threading through, each one symbolizing a moment, an unforgotten pain or desire. Then a new delineation appears in the map, as thin as a splinter piercing through sinew, this one reflecting loss.

She winces. So this is how it feels to become an outsider, banned from one’s home.

The footfalls get louder, nearer. Grass sinks beneath the stranger’s weight as they approach. If innocent, they shall call out or stride forward with trustworthy purpose. If suspicious, they shall do neither.

Wonder staunches her breath. The stranger’s pace slows.

Snatching a pebble off the ground, Wonder aims and lobs the object, targeting the pillar of a trunk. The rock thwacks against the surface, inciting an avalanche of debris, a safe distance from where she stands.

The footfalls halt. After a moment’s deliberation, the presence shifts, attending to the commotion. They backtrack toward the tree, seeking out the noise.

Time slows, prolonging the seconds. Wonder’s heart drums inside her chest until the figure’s gait retreats, the sound receding into the forest. A whoosh spills from Wonder’s lungs, and her body slumps.

Just in case, she waits an additional lapse of time and then bolts. Light on her feet, she sprints into the woodland, electing to stay off the main path, the miles extending before her.

It could have been someone she knows. It could have been someone she’s distantly acquainted with.

Or someone who’d been faking it.

Fingers snatch the hood of her cloak, yanking Wonder backward. She gasps, stumbling into a body, a pair of hands seizing her shoulders. The assailant moves to pivot Wonder, about to make an inconvenient discovery, about to get a full, starlit view of her outlawed features.

It’s a female. By the strength of her grip, the goddess’s age exceeds Wonder by a considerable amount.

Wonder’s forearm snaps upward. Her elbow connects with the female’s face, cranking her head sideways. Grunting in shock, the goddess flails, lashing a hand toward Wonder, who ducks and switches arms, driving the opposite elbow into the attacker.

A shout of offense leaps from the figure. Sadly, it’s the prelude to a match.

They fight. This goddess is assuredly older, which accounts for her speed.

She’s fast, whereas Wonder is nimble. Each time a limb or set of knuckles launches in Wonder’s direction, she dodges with a twist. However, there’s something transparent about the way this adversary maneuvers, as if they’ve done this before with each other.

To that end, Wonder predicts the female’s moves and countermoves with accuracy.

Perhaps this goddess senses the same thing, confusion and hesitation impeding her actions.

Yet this doesn’t stop her altogether, so neither does it stop Wonder.

She spins from the goddess’s fists and rams the flat of her palm against the goddess’s lower back, shoving the female into the barrel of a tree.

The figure recovers, steering around with her arrow nocked.

The sound of a hiss reaches her ears from behind. But it’s not coming from the goddess.

From a spot behind her, an arrow flies past Wonder’s cheek and pitches like a javelin toward the stranger. The weapon stabs its mark, impaling the trunk between the attacker’s thighs. Even in the dappled light, the shot visibly unhinges the female’s jaw.

Wonder squints to make out the arrow’s component. But it’s too far, too narrow, too shadowed. On the other hand, she has a hunch.

The goddess unleashes a gruff sound, as though her honor has been called into question. At the noise, renewed familiarity prickles Wonder’s flesh.

The twang of the female’s bowstring gives Wonder a single warning. Her eyes lift and meet the incoming point of a flying tip, its material unidentifiable in the darkness. Plausibly, that means the wild conceals Wonder’s archery as well.

The arrow slices toward her while she’s immobilized, with a beech tree at her rear. In that second, she visualizes herself surging backward, the blow thrusting her into the pillar, which is solid enough to crack her spine.

The arrow is too rapid. She jolts, about to dive sideways, for all the good it will do.

However, a growl of exasperation interrupts the motion, a black silhouette accompanying the sound.

Someone breaks into her line of sight, a male whose body careens in front of Wonder, spinning to face her.

A second before the arrow can spear through Wonder, the masculine frame blocks it, his weight jerking into her, his back taking the weapon’s brunt.