“Finally,” she breathes the word, staring at the gateway to Orthega.
A mixture of excitement and anxiety floods her system as she nears the faerie circle. Emerald green grass is accompanied by a variety of wildflowers, which continue to bloom even in the cooling months. Mushrooms encircle the strange formation—the “faerie circle” as Dougal had claimed. Her heart beats faster, not in fear but in anticipation. She wants to cross the mushrooms. An inherent need pulls her toward the Harrowsgate. Rachel battles against the urge and instead makes her way around the faerie circle, studying every inch of the birch tree arch. There’s no telling where she’ll end up once she crosses through—hopefully she’ll avoid Telfore this time—and she has no idea if she’ll find Orion. She has to try, though. For Shadow Grove and all the people who call it home.
Rachel completes the circle and repositions the backpack on her shoulder.
Ziggy moves closer to her, now a vibrant gold that swirls like liquid.
“You ready?” she asks.
One flash answers her question.
Rachel nods, holds out her hand in front of her, and unfurls her fingers.
Ziggy inches closer until he’s hovering over her palm.
The sunrays penetrating the canopy of leaves catch his surface and rebound, creating a magical lightshow that brightens the arch.
The world as she knows it becomes an insignificant memory as she crosses the mushroom border with Ziggy in hand. There is no resistance this time, no crackling energy running across her skin. This time, the only things that matter are the arch and the immeasurable possibilities lying beyond it. It’s as if all the problems she’s ever faced, all the good memories she’s made in her lifetime, are inconsequential.
She reaches out with her free hand to touch the gateway and exhales through her nose as something indescribable ripples against her skin. The melody stops and Rachel recoils, snapping out of her trance.
“Tricky little thing,” she whispers, grinning.
A soft, almost imperceptible humming resonates from the Harrowsgate, the sound intensifying the temptation. She lifts Ziggy higher and moves him into the gateway, watching her hand disappear into the rippling void. With a deep breath, she squeezes her eyes shut and takes another step closer. The humming grows louder, more distinct. Suddenly, it feels like she’s moving through air. It’s nothing like falling. No. It’s more like she’s drifting on a slight breeze. The air grows denser around her and cools her skin. The Harrowsgate wants her, and deep inside her, she feels like she needs to answer its call.
The sensations of moving through space and time, of literally crossing into another universe, come to an abrupt end.
Rachel opens her eyes and finds herself standing inside another circle, where rounded stones protrude from yellowing grass. She looks around, finds an angry sky overhead and a dirt road at the bottom of the hill.
Ziggy flashes in her hand.
“Okay, where to now?” she asks.
Ziggy moves away and hovers at eye-level, not flashing.
“Oh, yeah, Mercia’s mirror.” Rachel fishes the compact mirror out of her front pocket and opens it with her thumb. The obsidian surface ripples as an image takes shape—a grassy hilltop. She looks around, notices a road surrounded by small rolling hills, all covered in grass. “Well, that narrows it down.”
Ziggy flies out of the stone circle, heading in the opposite direction of the road.
“You sure?”
One flash.
She mumbles an unconvinced, “Okay,” and follows the Fae light toward the rolling hills, where long, yellow blades of grass wither in silence. Rachel glances up at the darkening sky, expecting lightning to flash or thunder to roll before rain pelts the dehydrated earth. There’s no sign of lightning, though. And those clouds, regardless of their threatening appearance, don’t look like rain is coming anytime soon. If anything, there’s a snowstorm approaching, which will make her search for Orion so much harder.
“I think it’ll be wise if we start moving faster now. We’ll make camp when it gets too dark to see, okay?”
This time Ziggy doesn’t answer her with a flash. The Fae light simply picks up speed, apparently knowing exactly which way they need to go. She hastens after the ball of light, repositioning one of the backpack’s straps over her shoulder as she goes.
Nine
Badlands
The journey is long and monotonous across the unchanging scenery.
Rachel walks up and down rolling hills until the tediousness becomes almost unbearable. The mirror shows her which markers to look for as she makes her way across the foreign landscape, but they are so mundane, she can easily miss them. The mirror also reflects Orion sitting at the head of a table, talking and sometimes arguing. Sometimes the sign is a strange rock peeking through the wilting grass, other times a patch of wildflowers pop against the rocky face of a hill.
Now and then she takes five minute breaks to drink some water and rest her legs, but she doesn’t waste time. People are counting on her—efficiency is key.
After what feels like eons, the yellowing landscape turns gray and barren. The soil becomes rockier, less stable underfoot. She listens to the crunching beneath her soles, tries to ignore the aches in her thighs and calves and ankles. A bird braves the strange weather, silently gliding through the air. Rolling hills give way to seemingly endless rocky terrain and on the horizon, the silhouette of a mountain range stretches against the ever-darkening sky.
A stream trickles nearby, drawing her attention away from the horizon. She ventures toward the tiny creek to fill her bottle.
Hopefully there isn’t some weird Fae
