NOON
The group conferred among themselves, consumed with plotting and planning and other meaningless minutiae. Intent on searching for answers they would never find, the humans had grown rather boring.
Yes, the island mused, it was time for some fun.
After all, it was noon.
It was the best hour to bleed.
* * *
Paulo glanced at Carmen. She smiled, feigning politeness, but before her bland mask slipped into place, he glimpsed the hate on her face. He didn’t trust her. He didn’t care for her much either. She played the part of a team player, but not well. Paulo didn’t understand why she bothered to pretend at all.
People only pretended when they had something to hide. He watched her, carefully, waiting for a slip.
The air stilled, as if the very breeze itself had been inhaled.
Rives noticed the lull at the same moment Paulo did.
“Gate at one o’clock,” Rives said abruptly. “Mid-beach.”
Paulo spun to look. Above the sand, a gate stretched to its full height and locked into place, then an eerie, utterly still moment passed before it began to roll. The wild gates still unsettled Paulo; thinner than the solstice gate, the wild gates writhed and glittered and moved, shifting as if they were alive, like heat-seeking missiles.
Out of the corner of his eye, Paulo saw Amara take off toward the gate, spear in hand, feet flying, face set. One second later, Carmen gave chase, a few meters behind.
“Carmen, stop!” Paulo yelled, jumping toward Carmen and waving his arms. “Let her take it!”
The gate writhed and glittered over the sand.
Come, it whispered gleefully. Run.
Fine, Paulo thought. I’ll run. But not for the gate.
Amara closed the gap to the gate; so did Carmen. Cutting diagonally, Paulo tackled Carmen just as Amara leaped into the gate. Amara flickered inside the iridescent light, her face shifting from fight to relief. The gate winked out; Amara’s spear lay on the sand. Carmen spun toward Paulo, her scowl furious. “How dare you! That was mine!”
“No, it wasn’t,” Paulo said, his voice rising. “The gate would’ve killed you.”
“I would have made it first,” she spat.
“Feel free to try again,” Rives said courteously. “It’s a double. Gate number two just dropped in.” He pointed. The second gate glittered at the tree line as it locked into place.
Carmen scrambled to her feet and took off running. Near the trees, only a few meters from the gate, Lana stumbled backward, away from the gate, a tiny kitten in her arms. With a muffled squeak, the tabby clawed its way free. It streaked toward the gate as Lana’s jaw dropped.
“Kitten’s gonna win,” Zane murmured.
Carmen realized it too. With a frustrated scream, she hurled her blade at the iridescent wall as the kitten crossed the rippling edge. The kitten shimmered; Carmen’s aim was true. The blade would pierce the animal’s heart.
White light flared like a firecracker.
The knife shot back with lethal force, slashing Carmen’s bicep, leaving a shiny ruby line in its wake. She shrieked; the blade fell. Blood dripped onto the sand, thick and red.
“A third?” Thad’s eyes swept the beach, his bearing tense and alert.
“Don’t think so,” Rives said. “The breeze is back.” He strolled up to Carmen and plucked the knife out of the sand.
“That’s mine!” she snapped.
“Actually it’s not. At least, not anymore.” He handed her a strip of cloth. “For your arm.”
She took it, reluctantly.
“Listen, Carmen, we all want to bail. But you could’ve killed yourself or someone else with your little knife trick.” He raised the knife. “I’ll be keeping this. And if I were you, I’d think twice before racing after every gate you see.”
“I’m not you.” Her words were cold.
“Obviously.” Rives’s cordial expression did not match his eyes. “One more thing. I don’t care what you do, or where you go. But, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t kill anyone. It makes Nil too happy.”
* * *
Lana watched Carmen stalk off. In her wake, blood dotted the sand like paint, like the bear’s blood to the north.
Lana shivered.
Her arms felt empty. She missed her kitten. She’d been taking care of him ever since the bear attack, and she couldn’t imagine what possessed her tabby to jump from the safety of her arms into a wild gate. Somehow it felt like a message. A reminder, a three-prong warning.
Wake up, it said. Nothing is permanent.
Don’t get attached.
Too late, she thought.
She wasn’t sure if she was thinking about the kitten or something else. Someone else.
At least Carmen hadn’t killed the poor kitten. That girl was crazy.
Skye walked up the beach, closing the distance between them, but Skye’s eyes were trained on the mountain. It occurred to Lana that Skye looked tired, but more striking was the fact that Skye was alone. Normally she had someone with her. Lana couldn’t figure out why Skye drew so many people to her, how she had so many friends. Her extreme nosiness and insistence on meddling was an incredible turnoff as far as Lana was concerned. Skye turned her gaze to Lana as she approached.
“Are you okay?” Skye asked.
“I should be asking you that. You look—” Lana cocked her head at Skye. “Stressed.”
“I am stressed, Lana. And you know why. We’re running out of time to figure this place out. We’re going back toward the mountain tomorrow, to search the east coast. The southeast coast.” Skye’s sigh was heavy. “We’re going to look for the balance to the Looking Glass Cavern. Unfortunately Paulo doesn’t know a thing about it.”
“He wouldn’t know.” Lana’s tone dripped ice. “Obviously.”
Skye looked lost.
“Because he’s a boy,” Lana said with exasperation.
“So?” Skye frowned.
She is so slow, Lana thought. No wonder she found nothing.
“So,” Lana said as if talking to a child, “the island only gifts Sight to women.”
“So Paulo hasn’t seen where the place is.” Skye cocked her head. “But you have? Where is it?”
Lana lifted her chin. “Reflection before Sight, Skye. The island will call you to the Pool of Sight if you’re ready, if you’re to know. If the island doesn’t call…” Lana shrugged.
“So, you know where this place is but you won’t tell me.” Skye’s eyes sparked with anger.
“I have not been called yet; maybe I never will be.” Lana’s bored expression turned defiant. “But for this journey, you’re on your own.”
And so am I, Lana thought, turning away.
* * *
Molly had watched the entire scene with Carmen unfold. As Rives strode away from Carmen, Molly turned to Calvin.
“You would have beaten Amara to that gate,” she said. “You’re so fast. Why didn’t you go for it?”
He rubbed his head. “Paulo says those running gates dump you anywhere. I could end up in Antarctica, you know?” He shrugged. “Seems like it’s better to wait six weeks for a sure thing than take a wild card early.”
“I’m not convinced there is such a thing as a sure thing.” She spoke slowly. Thoughtfully. “Not here, not anywhere.”
“So you think I should’ve run for it?” Calvin asked, frowning.
“No.” Her voice was certain. “I think you did the right thing. But I think if you had felt the right thing to do was run, then the answer would be different.”
“She is right,” Hafthor interjected. “You must listen to the voice inside. You must go when the time is right.” He shook his head slightly. “When it is your time.” He gestured to Carmen’s retreating back. “Today was not her time, but almost.”
Hafthor nodded. Without another word, he walked away.
“Damn,” Calvin said in the silence that followed. “That was intense.”
Privately, Molly agreed. An uneasy sensation grew in the pit of her stomach as she watched Hafthor kneel on the sand.
Had Hafthor been talking about escape, or death?
* * *
On the beach, Carmen’s blood splattered the sand, a macabre Pollock-esque rendering of the scene moments before. As he neared the blood, Hafthor felt the ground shiver. He knelt, overcome by a profound awareness.
The hidden people are not happy, he thought, and they grew more unhappy by the minute.
He felt as though he were a trespasser, even though he’d never chosen to come. He felt unwanted. And yet he also felt highly desired, in a way that made his blood run colder than winter in Iceland.
He glanced toward the mountain. Perhaps I should make an offering, he thought. Something to appease the hidden people.
He glanced back at the sand. Carmen’s blood was gone. Absorbed by the sand, by the island, as if the blood had never spilled in the first place. The white sand glittered as pure as the fresh chill down his spine.
Offering already accepted, Hafthor realized. Or taken.
The thought did not sit well. Neither did the ones that followed, but those thoughts, those orders, he would not ignore.
He’d been summoned.
* * *
The island devoured each emotion, greedy for more. It reveled in the frustration and worry, the anger and the pain.
But more than anything else, the island reveled in the fighter’s blood. It had expected the male’s blood, the one who had stayed before: Paulo. But he had misunderstood the island’s call. The island was certain the fighter would have bested him with a blade to the heart, spilling first his blood and later, his electria. But these humans were unpredictable. Volatile, and in their own human way, unique.
Still, they all bled.
And soon enough, they all would.