“Mother’s aren’t logical,” Bren says. “They’re female, after all.”
He doesn’t dodge my incoming punch fast enough, and grunts when my fist connects with his shoulder. “I’m just teasing, Sophia.”
“Well, anyway,” I continue, “if she’s trying to protect me so much, she shouldn’t have made me a gaia.”
“I don’t know that she made you that way,” he says. “Fate may have had a hand in that.”
I notice we’re heading back to the Central Keep, and I pull my hand out of his. “I don’t want to go home yet. I need some time to think.”
“Okay. Where would you like to go?”
“The Rock of Ireland.”
Bren smiles. “Sure thing. Let’s go.”
I follow him through the forest, the birdsongs and sigh of the trees comforting to me after my near brush with death. I think about what he said earlier. He wants things to stay the same.
But things will never be the same. I can feel it. Something is on the horizon. Something big. Eema said I need to stop hiding.
Bren halts so suddenly I walk into him.
“Oof!” I exclaim, and I push myself back.
“Someone new is here.” Bren sniffs the air. “Who is it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say. The birds are still singing their hearts out.
Bren breaks into a run, making for the edge of the woods, where a strip of road divides the forest.
“What are you doing?” I sprint after him, annoyed when he quickly disappears ahead of me. Blast. He’s so much faster. I don’t stop though, and pump my legs, willing myself to go faster. I don’t sense the presence of a reaper, but it’s been too recent to want to be in the woods alone by myself. I’m only running ‘cause I want to know what Bren is up to. It’s true, except for maybe the ‘only’ part of it. I remember the reaper’s face and shudder. That’s a face I’ll probably see in my nightmares for the rest of my days.
The sounds of Bren’s rushing through vegetation are growing quieter. Despite my efforts to keep up with him, the gap between us is widening. Dang it. I try to talk to Eema as I run, throwing my words into the soil. “What’s going on?”
I can sense her, but our connection is shaky, like I’m listening through static.
The star comes . . . be ready . . . careful . . . influence on you.
“What?” She isn’t making any sense, but my curiosity is roused.
What did Bren sense?
Hopefully, the end of this run will give me that answer, or I’ll be annoyed.
8
Stella
I follow Eldaren back inside the ferry’s interior and downstairs to our car. When the boat reaches the pier, I see an elf secure thick, heavy ropes to the boat’s anchors and then leap onto the dock, tying the ropes off. He lifts a hand, and Eldaren revs the car engine. “You might want to strap yourself in,” he says, and with an almighty screech, the car takes off.
We roar down the dock, and I only have a moment to see a couple of faded, moss-covered shacks before we’re zipping up a damp road. I peer out the window. The trees grow so close to the road that I can barely see the sky. It’s a somber line of gray between the two oppressive sides of forest.
The place looks devoid of life, human life, anyway. Even when I catch glimpses of houses through the bracken, they appear to be abandoned. I mention this to Eldaren.
“They aren’t all abandoned,” the prince replies. “But you aren’t going to see the usual signs of life that you are used to. If you live out here, it’s because you’ve learned how to live without electricity, running water—unless they have a well—or any of the normal comforts you’re used to having.”
“Stars,” I exclaim, my nose wrinkling. “They live off-grid here?”
“Yes. So naturally, I imagine the people of this island aren’t as obnoxious as some of the humans we’ve run into. They actually respect the land.”
I don’t have a response to this, and so chin in palm, I watch as the scenery flashes by, trees, ferns, more trees, scattered streams, ponds, moss, rocks, and more trees.
“How can there be so much forest?”
“That’s what the world is supposed to look like,” Eldaren says. “Liberty is an abomination.”
I roll down my window and inhale deeply. “It smells amazing.”
“That would be the trees,” the prince says. He continues to speed down damp, mossy roads—the concrete pitted and cracked.
“Fyit, I should have turned back there,” Eldaren growls after speeding through a stop sign at a four-way stop. “Fyit. Oh well. There’s another turn up ahead.”
“You could just turn around,” I point out.
“No. That’d be slower,” he says. His face is scrunched in a scowl. I poke him.
“Are you experiencing road rage?” I tease.
“I am never rageful.”
“You always say things like that, and then you are.”
Eldaren continues to scowl and says nothing.
Soon we’re driving through what looks like a settlement of sorts. Houses, shuttered shops, and cottages line either side. I finally see a few people on crumbled sidewalks. They stare at us as we go by, eyes wide. “Why do they seem so surprised?”
“I doubt they’re used to seeing working vehicles,” Eldaren replies. “Off-grid, remember? I mean that in a very literal sense. No gasoline. If they can’t grow it or hunt it, they probably don’t have it.”
“Wow.” In moments, the town—if you can call it that—is behind us. “Where are we going, anyway?”
“To the Ranger’s Inn. It’s on the other side of the island, if reports are correct, which I’m sure they are.”
I settle back in my seat, feeling sleepy, listening to the hum of the car. The scent of Eldaren mixes with the smell of gasoline, which is an oddly comforting smell.
Eldaren takes a sharp right turn, and my stomach does a little flip.
“No one’s out here. Good.” Eldaren hits the gas, and we’re flying down a steep road, the forest a
