Song #3

Edward flew low, skimming over the mountaintops that surrounded Cornelius’s Valley. His expression was fixed, his eyes seeing both everything and nothing at all. He was lost in his world of playing cards, an internal place that enabled him to fly.

The ace of spades, a shovel with a grinning skull. The jack of spades, in rusted armor fending off a dragon . . .

Each of the cards in his unusually illustrated deck was positioned in an elaborate, imaginary card house of his own design. Building card houses had been Edward’s only true talent, and even without the aid of his real deck, he could still see exactly how everything was supposed to fit together. But where the images had once been crystal clear, now he was having a hard time visualizing them.

It took everything Edward had to hold the images firmly in his mind. Beads of sweat froze on his forehead. Edward didn’t know that the Four’s poison was working its way through his system, filling him with doubts and nagging insecurities that threatened to rob him of his ability to fly. The poison ate away at his concentration, making him feel like a tightrope walker who could fall several stories with the merest slip.

While Edward struggled to keep focused, Bridgette clung to the boy’s thin back and shoulders as she had when he’d first flown her to Cornelius’s Valley. The icy winds above the mountains cut through her pearl-buttoned coat, causing her to shiver so badly that she was barely able to maintain her grip.

Far below, she could hear the faint cry of the horsemen’s alarm, a sound so piercing that it seemed to carry through the entire Woodbine.

Bridgette noticed that the frigid air was causing little ice crystals to form on Edward’s ebony wings, making it harder for him to ride the currents. She was worried about him, but was afraid to talk to him for fear that he would lose his concentration. Instead, she prayed that he could focus for a few minutes more, just until they were past the mountains that surrounded Cornelius’s Valley.

Bridgette’s fingers were so numb that she couldn’t feel them anymore. Her teeth chattered incessantly, but her eyes remained fixed on the long, silver trail far below—the Seven Bridges Road, which would eventually lead them to the Jackal’s Lair.

The legends said that one day the Bridge Builder would stand at the end of that road and rebuild what had been destroyed. She knew that the countless souls trapped in the Woodbine—which had been designed only as a resting place for those with unfinished business—would be relieved to journey onward to the next of the Seven Worlds.

Bridgette’s muscles ached from trying to maintain her hold. To distract herself from the pain, she recited the poem about the Seven Worlds that her uncle, Jack the faun, had taught her.

Earth is first, a mortal realm,
Woodbine second, where Guardian’s dwell,
Lelakek third, for food and drink,
Jubal fourth, a place to think,
Baradil fifth, with secret rain,
Akamai sixth, the Jackal’s bane,
Zeshar seventh, without the rails,
and Iona lost when the Dark One fell.

Uncle Jack had taught her all he knew about the worlds, but his knowledge was surprisingly limited. She remembered him saying, “All we know about the worlds between the Seven Bridges is what’s written on a couple of pieces of ancient parchment. And those things were copied down by Guardians who are no longer with us.”

He’d gone on to mention that he thought there was far more to the other worlds than what was known. He believed that they had all been tainted by the Jackal’s power when he fell.

All the worlds except for the Higher Places, of course, she thought. Bridgette was distracted from her thoughts when she felt Edward’s long body turn and begin its descent to a grassy spot at the foot of the mountains. Her numb fingers started to prickle with new feeling as the air grew less frigid.

Edward and Bridgette rushed toward the grassy meadow. Edward landed as gently as he could, his long legs hitting the ground running. But in spite of his best efforts, having Bridgette clinging to his back upset his balance and the two tumbled into a shaggy hill of clover.

“S-sorry,” Edward said, stumbling to his feet and extending a hand to Bridgette. She took it and pulled herself up next to him. After checking herself for bumps and bruises, she began to brush the grass from her ruffled skirt.

“That wasn’t your best landing,” she said gently, not wanting to offend him. “What’s wrong? You were doing so much better the last couple of days.” She smiled when she said it, but Edward blushed deep crimson.

The horsemen’s poison continued its subtle work. It was fully in Edward’s bloodstream now, affecting his mind and making every doubt and fear he’d ever felt much worse. He was confused and angry without really knowing why.

Scowling, he turned away from Bridgette and stared up at the majestic, snowcapped mountains he’d just flown over. She’s right.You’re not a Guardian. You can barely fly! How are you ever going to defeat the Jackal?

Bridgette glanced up, thinking he was talking to her. “I’m sorry, Edward, I didn’t mean . . .” she began.

“I didn’t mean you,” Edward interrupted. His face was pale and he looked confused. “It’s j-just that . . . ever since the b-battle, I k-keep hearing th-these voices in my head.”

As soon as he said it, he knew it sounded insane. Bridgette looked at him curiously for a moment, but said nothing.

She thinks you’re crazy,the voices said. And you actually liked her! How could you ever think a beautiful girl like that would like you back? You’re worthless! A freak! Telling her that you hear voices in your head? Nonsense! Pathetic!

Edward grew so agitated his fingers began to twitch. He wanted to shove the thoughts out of his mind, but the harder he tried to fight them, the more relentless they seemed to grow.

You are!the voices shouted. You’re nothing! Because of you, your mother died and your father left. Because of you, Tabitha lost her wings. You’ll let them all down, you’ll see.

Edward sunk to his knees, his hands clutching the sides of his head. Despair overwhelmed him. In spite of some small part of him that insisted that what the voices told him couldn’t be true, it seemed much easier to believe them.

Edward shivered. Whether it was from the cold or something else, he wasn’t sure. His head throbbed and he felt sick to his stomach.