Grit beneath my cheek. Cold, moist air. A bitter smell. I must be lying on the stone floor of the cavern beneath the Retreat, where I fell after Ifor pushed me –
No. Wait. I’m soaked through, my entire back chill with water. Daylight plucking at my closed eyelids. I’m lying in a puddle. I’m outside.
He sent me through the mirror.
And I took him with me.
Struggling into a sitting position, I drag in a long, painful breath. It rattles in my throat as if it’s been far too long since the last one. My chest is tight, encased in layers of clothing that seem to be made of iron. All the same, I turn my head from side to side, squinting desperately against the dizzy blurring of my vision. If he’s here, with me, he’ll be furious. He’ll want revenge, and I need to be ready to defend myself –
“Alyssia?”
I reach for my knife, but I don’t have it. It’s lost, somewhere beneath the Retreat. For lack of anything better to do, I lift my arms to protect my face. If he wants to kill me, he’ll do it. At least he can’t get to the others.
“Are you all right? Are you hurt? Ah, crap, you’re covered in blood. OK, hold on, I’ll call an ambulance – ”
I lower my arms. He’s standing there, near my feet, eyes wide and round behind his glasses. One hand fumbling in his pocket for his phone.
Peter Lampforth.
“What the hell?” I say – or try to. It comes out as a croak. He throws me a look of alarm.
“I’ll get help, Alyssia, just give me a – ”
“Peter!” This time my voice works. He freezes in the act of stabbing the phone screen with his thumb. “Am I alone?”
“What? Hang on, I’m trying to – ”
“Don’t call anyone! I’m fine!” The rigid tension in my chest has eased. I scramble to my feet, turning in a circle. I can’t see Ifor. I can’t see anyone except Peter, standing at the bus stop.
Bus stop.
Haven’t I been here before?
I turn again, more slowly this time. Two rows of hedge, prickly under a sullen winter sky; a small shelter covered in peeling paint; the undeniable grey of a road. This is the winding lane on the outskirts of town where I was found, four years ago. Lost and confused beside the wreck of two people’s lives.
I really am back.
“Peter,” I say urgently. “How long have you been here?” How long have I been here?
“Not long. I got off the bus. Walked up the road a little way. When I turned back round, you were just … sitting there.” His eyes are still wide. His fingers are tight around his phone, as though it’s a weapon. “I almost thought I was hallucinating. I’d … sort of been thinking about you, and – ”
“There was no one else here? You haven’t seen anyone?”
“Only you.”
So Ifor isn’t with me. Ignoring Peter’s frantic questioning – Alyssia, where have you been? – I turn away from him and reach for my friends. My stomach lurches as I find nothing but emptiness … but then everything settles back into place, and the silver bonds are still there. Which means I can check –
Frozen at the entrance to the tunnel, Luthan watches the mirror. If she waits here long enough, surely it will turn out to be a trick. Surely …
But it is no trick. Ifor and Alyssia, both gone.
What does it mean? Her thoughts scramble frantically for an answer. This feels wrong. It doesn’t fit. History must run its course. Yet we are all still alive, and he –
Of course, gone is not the same as dead. It would be foolish to believe that this is an ending.
“Luthan!” Fabithe yells from further down the tunnel. “Come on!”
She hesitates a moment longer. But the mirror reflects nothing but the cavern walls, and the northern soldiers are beginning to overcome their initial panic and confusion at their lord’s disappearance. Soon enough, they will come in pursuit –
But not if she can help it.
She might not have a stave, but she can still do some magic. The simplest type of working there is, converting magical energy into another form. Slicing open her forearm, she draws on the power in her blood. A rush of sound surrounds her, a cracking and groaning that seems to rise up the walls –
The roof of the tunnel begins to fall.
Luthan runs.
The river is ahead of her; she feels its chill. Oriana and Toralé are waiting in one of the boats. Fabithe skids to a halt on the bank, beckoning Luthan onward. With a roar, part of the tunnel collapses, sending clouds of dust billowing around her. She runs harder, until she is close enough to leap into the boat. Fabithe casts off and jumps in behind her, passing her an oar before grabbing the second for himself. The current catches them, swinging them out into the river.
For a little while, no one speaks. Then Oriana says, on a sob, “Alyssia?”
“Gone,” Luthan replies. “But she took him with her.”
I breathe out slowly, exhausted relief settling in every corner of my body. It worked. He went into the mirror, but he never came out. Just like in Luthan’s story. To make sure, I probe the connection to him in my mind, and find nothing but darkness. Ifor and the triangle of glass he was holding, the key to my prison – both vanished.
Of course, that means I really am stuck here forever. But I guess that’s a price worth paying.
“Alyssia!” Peter says, behind me. “Are you even listening to me?”
“No.”
“I asked what happened to you. I still think you need a doctor.”
I turn to face him, suddenly very aware that I’m dirty. No, not dirty. Dirty conjures the image of someone who was basically clean before they played a football match or went for a jog down a muddy path. I’m more … encrusted. With the black soil of the Duskmire. With my own sweat. And with blood. A considerable amount of blood. It’s hardly surprising he panicked when he saw me.
“I don’t need a doctor,” I tell him. “What are you even doing here, anyway?”
“What are you doing here?” he fires back. “You’re the one who’s been missing for weeks.”
So I really have been missing. Not in a coma. Not in the world’s longest vision. Missing. It was real. The place I belonged. It held my family. My friends. And I’ve left it behind for good. Tears prickle behind my eyes, threatening to fall. If I thought it was maddening when my visions were no more real to me than dreams, how much worse will it be now that I know the truth?
Not necessarily, a voice whispers in my mind. Luthan’s doubt, still lingering. Maybe you changed the course of history. Or maybe, history is yet to be made. Yet I don’t know whether it’s a forlorn hope or a warning, and so I push it away. I lift a hand to my throat, but find no birthstone. Gone.
“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Peter says. “I was so worried – ”
“I never knew you cared.” It’s meant to be sarcastic, but it comes out on a sob. He puts an arm around me.
“Yeah. I do. And I’m sorry. I was terrible to you, and … I’m really sorry.”
I shake my head. He said weeks, but it feels like a lifetime ago. None of my old problems seem anything like as important as they once did.
“Forget it. Honestly.” I give him the side-eye. “Just do better in future.”
He smiles a little. “So where did you go?”
As if I’m going to tell him that. Yet even as I open my mouth to say so, I realise that it’s just habit. Because I no longer care if he thinks I’m a weirdo. I don’t care if he believes me or not. It’s the truth, and I need to talk about it with someone.
“Maybe we should get a coffee,” I say. “It’s a long story.”