The Missing Map
witch’s magic book, Potentes Magia, was in decent condition, given the water fiasco. Some pages were wavy from the moisture, but most were undamaged. Some kind of magic must protect the book.
“I dropped it when we escaped the storm.” She slid her hand over the cover, made of coarse, aged leather, breathing in the scent of it. The pages were yellowed and rugged around the edges. What secrets did the book hide? Could Moira learn any of the magic, or was it only for witches and wizards? The off-spell worked, luckily—Moira did not want to think about what would have happened, had it not.
“Thought it might be good to have.” Pyrros lay down and rested his head on his front claws, pretending to be smaller than he was. “Maybe there’s something about fixing wings in here.”
Moira doubted it, but was still tense with anticipation as she flipped through it.
“I won’t say it wasn’t helpful, but I think we should be a little careful with that book.” Nerida’s skepticism was more pronounced than Moira’s, but then she had been the one who—
No! Moira stopped herself. She was not going down that road again.
“How did you know there was a water formula in the book?” asked Moira.
Nerida shrugged. “I didn’t. I just hoped there would be something and flipped through until I found something that might work.”
Moira bit her lower lip. Pure luck was all that had stood between them and certain death. She looked down at the book. “Just flipping through can’t be dangerous, right?”
“Famous last words,” Nerida muttered, but she shook her head and gestured for Moira to continue.
She turned page after page, skimming through the titles of the various magic formulas. Some appeared to be weird potions; some were descriptions of places and magical things. Moira remembered Wana’s healing ointment, but most in the book seemed to be more of the malicious kind. Most pages were about spells. The water formula was one of many, and Moira skimmed the text about the magic that had saved their lives.
“It draws water from its surroundings. From the air and things around. If you had continued long enough, you would have taken water from living things around.”
Nerida wrinkled on the nose. “So I would’ve drawn water from you?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Moira saw Pyrros grimacing, possibly reminiscing a discomfort. Puzzling the pieces together took a moment.
“You had already started. Hadn’t she, Pyrros?”
He raised his head and pulled together what would have been his eyebrows. “It’s nothing.”
“Pyrros?” Nerida cocked her head to the side.
He looked at Nerida, and silence stretched between them. The sounds of the forest seemed to amplify; a bumblebee humming in the bushes, a few birds competing for the highest octave.
“You’d started drawing from me,” Pyrros confessed, lowering his head again, defeated.
Nerida’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. She looked horrified.
“It’s not a problem.” Pyrros shrugged. “It’s fine. Nothing happened. I started getting a dry mouth, got thirsty, and then my body felt—well, drier, somehow—but we got out, and as soon as we came out of the mountain, you drew from the surroundings instead. And then Moira turned it off. And I’ve been drinking water. So it’s fine.”
He repeated the last words as if they would make everything okay, if only he repeated them enough times. Perhaps he was not only talking about the magic anymore.
“I—I’m sorry.” Nerida sounded sincere and shaken.
“You got us out, and that’s what’s important. Without you, we would’ve been scattered in tiny pieces in the witch’s glass jars by now. What’s a dry mouth compared to that?”
“But…”
Pyrros shook his head. “Does that book have anything else to offer, Tiny?” He stopped, realizing what he had called her. “I mean, Moira. Sorry.”
She decided not to comment on the nickname. He seemed to acknowledge the change in their relationship after all the revelations. Instead, she turned her attention back to the book and kept flipping through the pages.
“Ea!”
Moira stared down at the page with only two letters as the title. Ea.
“Ea?” Nerida and Pyrros echoed the name in chorus.
“Who?” asked Pyrros.
“The woman whom the stone troll mentioned.” Moira pointed to the open page. “This page—it’s about Ea. She was the one I wanted to go to from the start, but you came along, and then… But Ea isn’t a woman, according to this book. It’s a place. An island called Ea.”
Pyrros looked over her shoulder at the page. “Is it a good place?”
“Ea is a magical place,” Moira read. “Little is known about the island, other than that it’s the resurrection site of the Elementals. Only their collaboration can unlock the island’s secrets. Many die trying to reach the island, and many succumb to the island’s trials. Those who reach the depths of Ea will be rewarded, and legend has it that there lies a well that heals all wounds.”
Moira looked up, hope blossoming inside.
Was Wana right? Was Ea the place she needed to go? Was it the only place where Moira could get her wings back?
“Trials. Where many die. Sounds like a fun place.” Nerida’s voice was flat, without an ounce of Moira’s enthusiasm.
“Does it say what the trials are?” asked Pyrros.
Moira skimmed through the text. “The former Elementals have been secretive about the trials the island offers, so what they are remains unknown—and also, they might not be the same for everyone.” Moira read out loud and added, “Only a quartet may enter Ea.”
“Quartet?” said Nerida. “We’re only three. If we count at all, perhaps only magical folks, witches and such, get to enter there.”
“But a healing source.” Moira tried not to plead. She ran her fingers across the page, enchanted. “We need to try.” After a few seconds, she added softly, “Please?”
“Yes, of course,” sighed Nerida. “Why not go out in search of a magical island with trials and an alleged healing fountain, somewhere in some sea we don’t know about, where everyone who tried before died? That sounds like a great idea.” She rolled her eyes, but Moira noted that the irony in her voice was not as heavy as it could have been. She wouldn’t be impossible to sway.
Moira flipped the page and back again. “There should be directions here.”
Following the page about Ea was another page with a spell illustrated by a frog. Moira skimmed it and wished she had not because it was gross and not about Ea. When she inspected the binding, a page had been torn from the book.
“We’re not the only ones stealing from the witch,” said Pyrros, noticing the same thing as Moira.
Nerida wrinkled her nose again. “Is it just me, or is stealing from that madwoman an insanely stupid idea?”
“We did.” Pyrros lowered the head.
“You were already on her kill list.” Nerida pulled out new blades of grass to braid. “The book won’t matter much. And since we escaped, she probably wants to kill us, too.”
Moira sat down, the book still in her hands. She sighed. “What should we do?”
She was so close. A torn-out page—was that what was going to stop her after a deadly storm, a sneaky dragon, and an insane witch?
“It’s my experience,” said Pyrros after a moment’s silence, “that when something is missing or stolen, one can always count on humans being involved.”
Moira looked up at him. Humans. She’d had contact with them before. They were nothing special. They couldn’t fly like Aerites, they couldn’t breathe underwater like water folk, they were rarely knowledgeable in magic as witches—and stone trolls—and they were not physically strong like the centaurs.
However, they were many. Moira didn’t know how many, but she knew that several human cities were huge—a single city could be inhabited by more people than Aurora had in total.
Moira was unsure if she should fear the idea of entering a human city. Mother was always very careful to ensure that the agreements Aurora had with the humans satisfied both parties, and they had always been pleasant enough to have as guests, though they drank alcohol in a way that put her dad to shame, and were extremely loud.
“Do you think they stole the map?” Moira asked at last.
Pyrros looked down at the book. “They may not have that exact page, but if anyone has directions to Ea, we’ll most likely find it in the largest of the human cities. They can’t resist the promise of treasure.”
Moira twisted a lock of hair around her finger.
“So you’re suggesting we go to the human capital?” Nerida’s voice was flat once again.
“One of them,” Moira mumbled.
Nerida ignored her. “To find directions to an island that will kill us. We—one of the water people, one of the air people, and a dragon, all of whom just barely survived a mad witch in a mountain—we’re going to fly to the human city to find a map to a magical place where everyone who tried to find the well has died. A map that the humans may or may not have, and that you think they’ll give us, as simple as that? I’ve spent all my life at the bottom of the ocean, yet I’ve enough common sense to know that it’s a suicide mission. Humans kill the likes of us for fun.”
Nerida breathed a justified sigh after her long tirade, and silence fell.
Pyrros looked away.
“We have Moira,” he said after a while. “She looks like a human.”
“So you think we should fly there and let Moira go into the human city alone?” Her eyes narrowed into slits, making it sound like Pyrros had suggested Moira should walk a rope across an active volcano.
“Well, you also look like a human being when you have legs, but you might get wet, so I think it’s better that Moira—”
“No.”
Nerida’s voice was harsh but firm.
“Do you have a better suggestion?” Pyrros held out his claw, indicating he was open to other ideas.
“Anything is better than letting her walk straight into a death trap among the humans. And why should we trust you? You tricked us and brought us to the mountain witch!”
He flinched as though Nerida had slapped him. Perhaps she was the one with claws and sharp teeth now, their roles reversed forever by his betrayal.
Pyrros lowered his head. “I don’t think she’ll be killed there. Why would I suggest her going there if I did? It would be foolish to save her just to let her die in the city of humans.”
“Yes, it’s foolish, and it’s also what you’re suggesting.” The ice was back in Nerida’s voice.
It was not just foolish. It was insane. But it was also Moira’s only choice. What else could she do? Time was running out for her to return before her Day of Age, and even if she did not have a deadline to consider, she still wanted her wings back. Ea was the only idea they had. And she had faced the mountain witch—yes, Nerida and Pyrros’ rescue operation ensured her survival, but still. She had done it. If she could live through that, she could go to a city filled with humans to find a map.
Moira stood, placed her hands on her hips, and prayed she assumed the form of control rather than a child playing dress-up. Pyrros and Nerida kept fighting, but they were talking about her: her wish to go to Ea, for her to get her wings back—and her life at stake upon entering the human city. Humans may not be strong or be able to fly or breathe underwater, but they were excellent warriors, and Moira had heard the human Kings laugh about the latest beheadings. Humans were violent, not fond of strangers, and going to their city was dangerous.
Still, there was but one choice for her.
“We’re going to the human city.”
Pyrros and Nerida, who seemed to have forgotten her existence in the heat of their argument, fell silent. A pair of pale blue eyes and a pair of intense yellow eyes—so different in argument yet similar in intention—gawked at her. Somehow, she had found not one but two beings who cared about her, even though they didn’t even know who she really was.
“With these clothes and my hair down, I can hide what’s left of my wings. I’ll look like one of them. And I’ll just have a quick look around. That shouldn’t be dangerous, right? I won’t stay there. I’ll find the map if it’s there and get out.”
Nerida looked like she wanted to keep arguing, but they were two against one and she could see a flame of determination in Moira.
They were going to the city of humans.