Ea
index finger brushed against the key. The next moment, her palm was closing around it, and she felt light as a feather.
It did not matter that she was falling. She did not care if she would die. All it mattered was that she got her key. She had done it. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth wide, swallowing the sky whole.
In her next breath, she landed softly, the fall halted.
She opened her eyes slowly and sat up, staring at her new surroundings. Her bare, dirty feet soothingly sank into the soft, white sand, a perfect balance of warmth and cool. Before her, a glittering lake spread out, reflecting the sunlight. The sun’s rays were warm against her tired arms and face.
While it was beautiful, she could not help but be suspicious. Everything else on the island had tried to kill them.
She clenched her fist around the key. She would never let it go.
Blood ran from the wound where the eagle had cut her, a throbbing pain, yet she was only dimly aware of it.
She looked up. “Pyrros? Nerida?”
“Here,” Pyrros replied.
Moira turned around. Pyrros came flying to land beside Nerida and Wystan, safely seated in the sand as they had been on the cliff-side. Moira stumbled towards them and sank into the sand next to Nerida. Her breaths were superficial and uneven, her pulse fragile beneath Moira’s fingers. Had it not been for the tiny rise and fall of her chest, Moira would have assumed her to be dead already.
“It’s been a long time since a group last made it all the way through.”
Moira spun around. Every muscle in her body ached from fatigue, but if she had to, she would fight.
But she was not facing a monster. Instead, a lady in a long, shimmering white dress—not unlike something the Queen of Aurora would choose—and white hair cascading down her back all the way to the sand. Moira’s hands fell to her sides.
Where everything else on the island had been chaos and pain, the woman radiated harmony, from the small curve of her pink lips and the creases around her eyes to the way she clasped her hands in front modestly.
“You’ve shown—”
“Help her. She’s dying!” Moira interrupted the woman.
There was no time for harmony and peace, not when Nerida was dying next to her. Moira was not sure how she knew the woman could help, but she knew with every fiber of her being that this woman was what they were there for. She was what—or whom—they had been looking for. Magic emanated from her. She could save Nerida.
The woman looked down at Moira, eyes as blue as the sky above, sparkling like the water in the lake.
“Is that what you want? Not your wings?”
Moira stopped, staring at the woman.
Everything she had done, everything they had done together—it was all to get her wings back. She longed for her wings, yearned to fly again, to return to Aurora, and reunite with her family.
In the mountain witch’s lair, Moira had wondered for a long time whether or not she would give up Nerida, but now, after all they had gone through together, she knew. She could never sacrifice Nerida, not for the greatest treasures of the world—not even for her wings.
“Save her,” Moira replied instantly.
Looking into the woman’s eyes was like staring into an ocean.
“And you two?” The woman turned to Wystan and Pyrros. “Is that your wish as well?”
Wystan shrugged. “Sure.”
Pyrros’ eyes flickered to Moira for a millisecond before he nodded.
The woman approached with soft steps, held out her hand hovering over Nerida’s forehead, and closed her eyes. She inhaled. A gentle breeze swept past them all, soft against Moira’s skin like a caress, but the pleasant atmosphere did nothing to calm Moira’s pounding heart, thudding with fear for Nerida’s life.
“She’s very far away,” the woman said in a calm, sorrowful voice. “I don’t know if we can save her. Place her in the water.”
Pyrros hesitated, his eyes shooting suspicious glances at the woman. Moira understood. Everything else had been dangerous. Why would this be any different?
“We’ve got nothing to lose.” Moira’s voice did not hold all the way. “Nerida has nothing to lose. We have to try.”
Meeting Pyrros’ gaze, she saw the fatigue and sadness in his eyes. He was in pain, too. On his neck, wounds clotted with purplish blood, and Moira noticed another injury on his hind leg, where Ever had stabbed him. The eagle must have injured him as well, because there was a fresh wound on his side. The colors of his scales—light blue and beige to match their surroundings—were barely visible under layers of soot, blood, and grime.
He nodded and closed his eyes for a second. He grabbed hold of Nerida again with delicacy Moira had not thought was possible for a dragon as large as Pyrros, not even after all the time they had spent together.
Fatigued, Moira forced herself to stand and follow him on trembling legs. She took Nerida’s lifeless hand in her own, braiding their fingers together. When Pyrros floated out into the water, she followed.
The lake was warm, nowhere near the icy cold of the cave water. An eternity had passed since then. An eternity, and several truths.
Ever’s face flickered past Moira’s mind as she closed her eyes, but she pushed the thoughts away. She watched as Pyrros let go of Nerida, so she sank into the depths of the water, disappearing below the surface. It was a deep lake, and Moira stood almost neck-deep in it. Through the distortion of the surface, Moira stared down at Nerida’s pale blurry figure at her feet, on the bottom of the lake.
Pyrros gazed down at Nerida, his eyes shining, and it reminded Moira of how he had cried back in the fiery inferno, trying to save Nerida’s life.
Nothing happened.
Nerida lay where she lay, in unfamiliar water that would be her grave. Moira turned her head into Pyrros’ neck, unable to keep watching.
We swear to each other until our last breath
If not together, the island shall be our death.
It was too late. Everything they had done, everything they had conquered together—everything had been for nothing. Moira’s selfish desire for her wings had cost Nerida her life, and Moira would have to live with that for the rest of her life. Sure, it was Ever who had stabbed her, but if Moira had not insisted on getting her wings back, if only she had been content to walk the earth like so many other creatures did… Or if she had not been stupid enough to bring Ever along… Self-loathing welled up inside.
She wanted to hate Ever for what he had done. When she blinked, she saw him in front of her; images of him slicing Nerida with his knife replayed in her mind. There had been madness in his dark, wild eyes—why had she not noticed it before? Or had she? Shouldn’t his talk about serving dragon meat as dinner have been an indication of what he was capable of? And she had ignored it, just like that.
Her mind blurred with the memory of his smiles, what it was like to be close to him, her hand wrapped around his strong fingers. Memories of their first kiss, all the emotions that had flowed like warm summer winds through her body. It was as if someone had dipped the memories in a shimmering pink color. The details were so clear, so vibrant.
Then his words about her being a naïve little child and a stupid air princess echoed in her ears. How everything had just been a lie. How he had manipulated her. The shimmering pink clouds turned inky black.
She could not mesh the pictures together. Moira desperately wanted to pretend that it had been some other man, not Ever, in the landscape with all the roots. He was not the man she had fallen in love with. And the realization of that man having never existed pierced through her heart. She wanted to believe it had all been a nightmare, and Ever had not been the traitor.
But she did not, and since she was the one who had brought Ever along to the island… against Nerida’s best judgment…
Everything was her fault.
Over and over again, she relived the scene; the glittering knife sinking through Nerida’s skin.
Breathing was difficult.
Her throat swelled from all the images rushing in front of her eyes, a belt pulled tightly around her chest. Far away, someone called out to her, but she could not answer. She did not want to answer. She wanted to run, leave everything behind and forget her own existence.
Two hands snuck up to embrace her.
“Moira.”
Air flooded her lungs, and she breathed out, snapping her eyes open, blinking hard. Pyrros’ blue scales were in front of her, his wings raised around them, tinging the world blue when the sunlight filtered through. Around them, the water was calm and still.
“Breathe, Moira,” said the familiar voice.
Moira stopped, her heart springing to her mouth. She knew that voice.
“Nerida.”
Moira stood frozen, unsure if it was real or if her tired mind was playing tricks on her. Looking down, she saw two milky white arms embracing her. She forced her body to move so that she could turn around.
Nerida smiled at her, eyes filled with life. Gone was pain and dullness, replaced by health and vibrance.
“Hello.” It was hardly more than a whisper, as if Nerida did not want to disturb the calm.
Moira threw her arms around Nerida’s neck.
Nerida was not prepared, falling backward under Moira’s onslaught, and they ended up below the surface. Moira hated the water, but she did not care. She held Nerida tight, and Nerida laughed, her chest and stomach moving with underwater giggles against Moira’s.
Moira peered through the water, ignoring how it stung her eyes, and saw Nerida in her true form; with the light hair flowing around her face like a halo.
Nerida pulled her to the surface again.
Moira found the sandy bottom under her feet, and her balance, but did not let go of Nerida.
“Are you all right?” she asked, gasping for air.
Nerida smiled and stroked her hair. “Good as new.”
Pyrros lowered his head to their level. “It’s—I’m glad to see… Oh Nerida, thank goodness you’re all right.” He stumbled over the words.
Nerida extended a hand to stroke his cheek. “Thanks.”
Pyrros retracted his wings so their cocoon disappeared. Moira squinted at the sunlight. On the beach, Wystan, the stone troll, stood, still staring at them. Beside him stood the woman in the white dress, seeming infinitely patient.
They headed back toward the beach together. Walking in the water was difficult with heavy, tired limbs, but Moira struggled on. The water cascaded off her, hair plastered to her cheeks. Her clothes—ripped, dirty, and no more than rags—weighed a ton.
At the water’s edge, Moira stopped. The beach that was only sand earlier was now sprinkled with treasures. Deep red rubies, glittering diamonds, gleaming goblets, barrels filled with gold—the beach was full of them. Ea’s treasures, those promised by the text of Potentes Magia.
The treasures and the healing lake.
They had made it.
Moira turned and looked at Nerida, joy blooming in her chest that she had Nerida, alive and smiling.
Pyrros and Nerida also stopped, but they weren’t staring at the riches scattered across the sand. Instead, their eyes were fixed on her as if they had never seen her before. Nerida’s mouth was hanging open, eyes wider than ever.
“What is it?” Moira asked, sounding tired even to her own ears. She hoped there were no more monsters they were expected to fight. She was exhausted.
“Moira.” Nerida breathed her name like a healing spell. “Your wings…”
Moira frowned. Her wings were gone. They had come all the way here, to the heart of Ea, but they had to save Nerida instead.
Moira did not regret it. She would never regret it. And the loss of her wings now did not feel big enough of a sacrifice to save Nerida. She knew she would do it a hundred times over if required.
Then she felt them.
It took a few seconds longer than it should have, but she blamed her weariness. Still standing with water to her knees, everything heavier than usual, she realized—it was the weight of her wings, soaked and heavy with water.
Slowly turning her head with her eyes closed shut, hope vibrated within her like a fragile butterfly.
When Moira opened one eye to peer over her shoulder, she gasped in shock.
On her back, her wings glittered, bigger and more beautiful than she could remember. Surprise and disbelief were written all across her face; she beat them and shook off the water, her muscles giving them one strong beat, and she was instantly lifted off from the water. Her breath hitched as she rose into the sunshine.
Before, she had always taken flying for granted, but she would never do that again. After being stuck on the ground for weeks and having lost all hope of ever getting them back, she appreciated the wonder of being airborne again, and before she knew it, she was way up in the air. The water ran off her like a tiny, local rainstorm. When she spun, the water sprinkled like a fountain around her.
She laughed, and the sound was like wind chimes in the rain.
Below, Pyrros unfolded his huge wings, and two strokes later, he was in the air by her side. She laughed and danced around him. The joy of being able to fly again was all-encompassing, and for a while, she left her grief and anger behind on the ground. Pyrros laughed with her, his fatigue as blown away as hers, if only for a moment. His wounds seemed to have healed too from the magical lake, and though it had not washed all the dirt away, he was a lot cleaner than before, his vibrant blue shimmering in the sunlight.
They were still laughing when they landed at the water’s edge. Nerida pulled herself up onto the edge, her lower half still in the water. She laughed with them, and Moira loved hearing her delight.
Moira landed by Wystan’s side. He looked shy, but rolled his shoulders to stand straighter. Taking his hand, she pulled him towards the water’s edge, where Nerida waited for him.
“I owe you a thank you.” Nerida tilted her head.
“It’s nothing,” Wystan said.
Nerida shook her head. “It’s not nothing. It was what kept me alive long enough to get here.”
Wystan shrugged awkwardly. “You’re welcome, then, I guess.” He glanced nervously in Pyrros’ direction, and Pyrros glared back.
“Pyrros, he helped us,” said Moira, this time with a bit of a laugh at Pyrros’ stern face. “You should give him a chance.”
Pyrros lowered his head, eyes still filled with doubt as he looked at Wystan, then he sighed. “Thanks for the help.”
“Sure,” Wystan said, giving him a thin smile. “Had nothing better to do.”
“You have proved yourself worthy.”
All four looked up at the sound of the woman’s voice. She moved closer. The white dress floated like waves around her; she almost appeared to be an illusion under the sun. The serene smile on her lips emanated a comforting warmth.
“It’s been a long time since a quartet survived the trials and found their way to these waters. I’ve been waiting for you, my Elementals.”
“Elementals?” Nerida raised her eyebrows curiously.
“Water, Fire, Earth, and Air.” Her eyes passed over each of the four as she named their respective element. Then she turned back to Nerida. “You recognized this during your struggles among the vines.”
Nerida snorted at her. “The vines! You mean the landscape where that monster wanted to kill us?”
Moira wondered if she was referring to Ever or the scorpion when she said “monster.”
“A quartet cannot discover the heart of the island without trials. A lake that heals all wounds—not just anyone can be allowed to reach this. After all, wishes need to go to those who deserve them.” The woman’s voice was gentle, but there was something divine in her eloquence that stopped Nerida from protesting.
“Moira, dear, you might want this back,” the woman continued, extending a slender hand.
Moira’s heart skipped a beat when she recognized her mirror. She took it carefully and let it slide down into her pocket again, relieved to have it back. She did her best to avoid asking the woman where she had gotten it. “Thank you.”
“Now it is time to present your keys.”
Moira dug around in her pocket, momentarily fearing that it had fallen out in the water, but then her fingers closed around it. What would have happened if she had not reached the key? Would she still be falling? Nerida would be dead, of that Moira was sure.
She forced the thoughts away.
The others held out theirs too, expecting the lady to take them.
“Your Elements will give you power.”
Several moments passed as they stared at her. Nerida was the only one who found her voice. “Excuse me?”
A delicate sigh escaped the woman’s lips. It was an ethereal sound coming from the woman of Ea. She raised her eyebrow at Nerida.
“You’ll understand with time. You’ll learn, and you’ll need the things you discover. There are those who wanted to stop you from reaching here, and they will continue their attempts to stop you in your future endeavors.”
She moved her fingers, and Moira stared down as yellow gemstones released from the key and rested against her chest—before sinking into her skin. A small circle was imprinted just below the hollow between her collarbones.
Looking up, Moira found the same happening to the others. All three look down at themselves before staring at each other. Their faces reflected Moira’s confusion.
She decided to ask the woman what the stones meant and what she meant by the Elementals’ powers—but when she looked up, the woman was gone.