The flutter of the bird’s wings added density to the air. Potoweet’s story was a convincing one, but Alistair knew that convincing doesn’t always mean true. He switched the sword to his left hand for a moment, wiped the sweat off his right palm, and switched it back.
“Why am I supposed to believe this?” he asked.
“You are not supposed to believe anything,” Potoweet said. “You have the choice to believe. As you had the choice to believe Hadrian. He is an adept manipulator, you do understand? He has usurped other worlds and will usurp more. His power grows so long as he has his loyal figments to protect him and wishful swimmers like you under his thumb. There is only one problem that remains. Me.”
Potoweet pivoted his body in the air and gave Alistair a full view of it. Sure enough, in the place where an ear might be, there was a blue mark in the shape of a horseshoe.
“You … you … are…” Alistair started to raise his sword.
“Precisely what you feared?” Potoweet asked. “I have no doubt that Hadrian told you about my embellishment. He hopes that you kill me. For if you kill me, then no one will ever know the truth again. I possess the true story, and it is in veracity that the real power lies, young man.”
“He sent others to fight the Mandrake, though,” Alistair said. “What happened to them?”
“They learned the truth from me,” Potoweet said. “So they attempted to swim back down to the fortress, only to be suffocated or eviscerated by one of the tentacles. Hadrian has modified those horrid appendages. Some are used for transportation. They stretch as far as gateways to other worlds. Some are used for spying. Should you see one poke out of the sky, be mindful. It is watching. Finally, some are used for murder. All are at his command.”
“So I’m doomed,” Alistair said as he raised his sword. “And no matter what you are, my best bet is still to kill you. Because then Hadrian will let me go where I want. He let Polly go where she wanted.”
“Oh joy!” Potoweet cheered. “You’ve met Polly. A rambunctious but resourceful girl. I am so glad she soldiers on.”
“You know her?”
“Indubitably,” Potoweet said. “Hadrian sent her to vanquish me once. She actually came the closest. She managed to capture me in her tight fist. She might have squeezed the life out of me, but I slipped away at the last moment.”
“Aha!” Alistair retorted. “But in your story you said that you had everlasting life.”
Potoweet twittered as if clucking his tongue. “Dear boy, dear boy, dear boy. This is where you are mistaken. Everlasting life is not the same as immortality. I will not die of old age or disease, but should someone choose to kill me, then I will cease to exist. The same goes for you. And for Hadrian and Polly. Creatures like us do not age, but that does not mean we are invincible. We are similar to rocks. We can sit for lifetimes unchanged, but a hammer can still render us into dust.”
The platform was about two stories off the ground. A fall from it wouldn’t necessarily kill Alistair, but it would certainly hurt him. He took a few steps away from the edge, and Potoweet moved with him. “How did Polly manage to get away from Hadrian?” Alistair asked. “If all the others died, what did she do to survive?”
“That I do not know,” Potoweet said. “A bargain, I suspect. That young lady is a schemer of the highest order.”
As Potoweet jagged through the air effortlessly, things started to come into focus for Alistair. Mahaloo, the women who spoke to Polly near the bonfire, the borrowed boots, the chase—was it all a setup? The way those people could move through the forest was remarkable, and that crazed woman should have easily caught Alistair. And yet she didn’t, because maybe she wasn’t meant to. Polly was a schemer, and a schemer could have easily rigged the whole thing, created a charade to gain Alistair’s trust, to lure him into Hadrian’s net, where he could be used as a bargaining chip.
“What’s the Ambit of Ciphers?” Alistair asked.
Potoweet paused. “Please do not say that this is where our Polly now resides.”
Alistair nodded.
“Oh my goodness,” Potoweet said. “I have heard tell of this place. It is a realm of vengeful and jealous things. Frightening, frightening things.”
“The boy named Oric you told me about,” Alistair said. “Could he be there?”
Potoweet’s head wiggled back and forth as fast as his wings flapped, and Alistair couldn’t tell if this was a forceful denial or just a hummingbird’s gesture of uncertainty. “The inhabitants of the Ambit of Ciphers are creations, and Oric was not a creation. He was a creator. Something else happened to Oric. He is somewhere else.”
“I’m not so sure,” Alistair said. “Polly said she was looking for someone, just like I’m looking for someone, and the Ambit of Ciphers is the place she chose to look. It’s where I plan to look as well.”
“Unwise, but you seem to have little interest in wisdom,” Potoweet said as he zipped back and forth in the air like a UFO in some old science-fiction movie. There was no way Alistair could catch him or strike him with his sword, no way to shut him up. He was far too quick.
“I’m going back to Hadrian,” Alistair said, “and I’m going to make a deal. That is the wise thing to do.”
“That is the risky thing to do,” Potoweet said.
“Well, you haven’t provided any other solution,” Alistair said.
“True enough,” Potoweet said. “But I will provide you with the following advice. Never think that you are anything more than what you are … or anything less.”
It hardly felt like advice to Alistair, but still he said, “Thank you.”
Potoweet responded, “You are most welcome. For now I bid you good luck. And Godspeed.”
The flutter was there and then it wasn’t, and within seconds the bird was nothing but a speck, retreating into the distance. Alistair was alone again. He sat down cross-legged on the platform. He looked up into the sky.