Chapter Twenty

The air gate, naturally, was at the very peak of the mountain.

The pressure in my ears and chest was immense, but nothing compared to the immense beauty of the ethereal plane.

It unfurled below me, a moving patchwork quilt of colored mist. All shades of green, from peridot, to lime, to emerald, to a deep olive. Variations of blue, from sky blue, to periwinkle, to sapphire, to violet. Golds, oranges, pinks, and reds rippled through the valley as the sun’s rays touched each layer of mist, illuminating and saturating the mana in a broad spectrum of vibrant hues.

It was like a Van Gogh painting. And for a moment, I admired the painter’s unique ability to see beyond the physical and look at the world through the lenses of energy. Of seeing the life in every single color. In the starry sky, he saw a thousand shades and brushstrokes, instead of one dark canvas. And that’s how life was—mixing, merging, swirling, beautiful strokes of energy.

“How are you holding up?” Alder asked, shooting me a concerned glance as we got to the top, clearing the copse of mountain ash trees and entering a rocky outcrop of boulders and red spruces and Fraser firs. Dark green mana swirled around the branches and sticky needles of the fir trees, mixing with the silver mana from strong wind gusts that struck the mountain tops.

This time, Alder’s concern was warranted. I didn’t feel very good—probably didn’t look very good, either.

But I couldn’t let him think I wasn’t able to handle this. We needed that key. “I’m fine,” I said quickly, straightening even though the pressure in my spine and chest felt like someone was driving their knuckles into my lower back and collarbone.

“Any idea where the guardian is?” I asked, scanning the skies.

Based off the other two guardians, it wasn’t hard to guess that the air gate was an animal connected to its element. In this case, a bird of some sort.

“He’s out there. Be careful.” In my peripheral, I noticed Raysh curl up under a large spruce, his green eyes flicking about warily from one corner of the sky to the other.

It was the first time I’d seen him look a little nervous.

It made me more nervous.

Meanwhile, Alder glowed silver. All around the outline of his body was a fine layer of silver mist, luminous and curling around his arms, legs, and fingers.

“Heads up.” Alder nodded toward the sky.

Soft blue-silvery clouds descended upon the mountain, touching the ridges around us. High above, through the clouds of heavy fog, a piercing cry split the air.

My heart thundered in my chest.

This is it.

“Are you ready?” Alder asked, the fingers on his right hand glowing green as his earth mana rose to the surface of his skin.

Nodding, I flattened my back against a big and sturdy spruce fir. Alder reached down and pressed his hand against the earth right at my feet. From the spot he touched, vines broke through the ground, wrapping around the tree and giving me handles to hold during the oncoming gales. He’d warned me that any blast of wind he threw at the guardian could knock me off the mountaintop just as easily, so when he offered a solution of a nature harness of some sort, I was all for it.

I couldn’t remember a time when I’d taken someone else’s suggestion so easily and readily. But unlike the water gate, I wasn’t going into this blind. Yes, Alder had powers, but now that I kinda had them, too, it wasn’t just about using him to help me get the key. It was also because…I wanted him there with me this time.

Alder helped wrap the vines around me and I could tell in the way he moved—short, staccato movements—that he was terrified for me. But he didn’t try to push me away. He knew I had to do this, just as I knew I needed him to open this gate with me.

“Remember, if you use your mana,” he said, as he tightened the last vine, “you need to hold back. If you try and just let it loose, it can backfire. It’ll lose control.”

I nodded even though I didn’t quite agree. If I had to use my mana, it would be however I needed. As much as I needed.

As Alder stood, his gaze locked with mine. “Please, be careful.”

I gave him a tiny, hopefully courageous, smile. “Right back at ya.”

As Alder opened his mouth to reply, a blast of wind moved the heavy fog before us, layering itself over our mountaintop in a thick blanket of mist—producing the signature “blue smoke” as the Cherokee had dubbed it so long ago.

My science teacher from ninth grade would have told us that the “smoke” of the Smoky Mountains was actually a fog created by the “volatile organic compounds” released by the millions of trees, bushes, and wildflowers in their photosynthesis stage. The fog’s blue hue came from the scattering of light particles from the blue sky.

But the ethereal plane told a different story.

The guardian of the air gate shot through the blanket of mist like a rocket, its great, powerful wings folded close to its body. It was a hawk—a red-tailed hawk with stunning bronze feathers. The tips of the hawk feathers were made of clouds.

I gaped at the creature as it stopped its nose dive, pulling out its wings and gliding through the blue haze. The feathers’ tips, instead of being dark and smooth like satin, were wisps of ice particles, water droplets, and dry air—the properties of a cloud. They left a trail of light blue jet stream in their wake…which merged with the fog hanging just above us.

The air guardian created the “smoke” of the Smokies with its wings.

Raysh had told us the key was a feather, but I hadn’t been expecting a feather half made of the air itself.

Alder stood below, away from the copse of spruce firs, following the hawk with his gaze. The guardian let out another cry, and I flinched against the shrill sound. It sounded like the wind was screaming in my ears.

Alder wound back his right arm and shoved his fist forward, as if he was punching the air. With his attack, the air around me grew thinner. Alder had summoned a blast of wind against the hawk spirit and I held on to the vines as my clothes beat against my skin and my ponytail whipped my cheeks.

Caught in the force of the gale, the giant bird was thrown back, disappearing into its blue fog canopy and leaving behind a hole within the clouds. Feathers fluttered down and I let go of my nature harnesses, rushing forward to grab one before they fell where I couldn’t follow. Breathing hard, Alder flicked his finger and the feather carried itself on a small breeze directed right for me.

I caught it easily, my fingers closing around the soft feather and the moist tuft of cloud at its tip. Cupping the treasure in my hands, I studied the key. The feather was bronze—almost like real metal—with thin stripes in varying shades going down its stem, ending in smoky blue mist.

A shriek echoed over the mountain top—angry and shrill. The blue fog increased in density as the flapping of the guardian’s wings could be heard over the winds battling against one another.

Crap, it’s pissed. I gripped the feather tight in my fist and sprinted back to the vines.

The hawk broke through the blue smoke. It clipped its hooked beak, letting out another screech, and tipped its head to the side to scan the mountaintop with a vibrant bronze eye.

Spotting me, it dove, pulling up with its silver talons extended like it was about to pick up a rodent or a snake—its prey. Me.

Alder sent another blast at the air guardian, but it met the wind strike with a squall of its own. Blue mist and silver mana gusted toward Alder, knocking him backward and sending him flying.

I swallowed my scream as Alder thrust back his hand, summoning a mound of earth to stop his fall. Backing up against the dirt, he shook his head, eyes dazed and unfocused, and shoulders visibly shaking from his overuse of mana.

But I still had mana. It rose up inside me at my call, and my fingers and palms and wrists glowed with the heat of it. As if it begged me to summon it.

If I could just send the hawk above the mist again, then maybe we’d have enough time to get away.

An idea began to form, and I disliked it almost immediately.

So Alder was sure to despise it.

Stuffing the key into my jean shorts pocket, I lifted my hand, now glowing silver with the air mana rising and manifesting on my fingertips.

The hawk turned its attention back to me, flapping its wings and sending ripples of blue fog flying from the tips of its feathers. It came for me a second time, talons out and exposed.

Sucking in a breath, I began moving my arm in a circle. The air around me responded immediately, influenced by the astral energy flying off my hand in a corkscrew motion. I moved faster, and the small wind tunnel expanded.

Soon a whole mini tornado grew outward, with my arm at the center of it. My hair and clothes batted around as the air fed this wind vortex. Seeing my trap, the hawk tried to stop its trajectory, but the tempest caught its wings and it got sucked into the tornado, spinning around it like a fish caught in a whirlpool—unable to escape.

I gasped, feeling the mana flow out of me in torrents. Now I couldn’t seem to stop it. Alder was right. I’d let out too much and now it was uncontrollable. A dam that I had broken and couldn’t close back up.

Staggering, I fell to my knees and watched in horror as the massive wingspan of the hawk got closer and closer and then hit me in the arm.

The force of it knocked me backward, sending me flying and stumbling over the peak and the rocks and boulders. Alder screamed my name over the windstorm, and I scrambled to find purchase—on the rocks, the trees—on anything. But too late, I was going over the edge, down, down into the valley of mist below.