Lanie Bross: Fates

Again, the simplicity of it all struck her as somehow funny. Easy. Painless.

With the pain in her legs gone, all she could feel was the beating of her own heart. She was kneeling in front of the flower before she could register that she had moved. She was filled with a feeling bigger than joy or sorrow—an emotion so strong it renewed her strength and purpose.

She reached out and wrapped her fingers around the stem, right below the petals: the only flower that would ever grow, the only thing that could save her, here, underneath her fingers. She gasped. The flower’s pulse was so strong it almost knocked her over. She could feel her hand burning.

She would die, but it would be worth it. Because Luc would save his sister. It would be Corinthe’s gift, to thank him for what he had given her.

She had finally found something more than fate to believe in.

The sounds of the partiers had long ago receded as the cave faded into darkness. Luc ran. He ran for what felt like hours, though the world around him remained dark and freezing. He ran blind and yet he didn’t stumble, not even once … and despite his guilt, the path in his mind was so clear, so certain. His legs moved without any effort, and as he ran, he felt all the exhaustion and fear of the recent past sliding down his back and away. He grew stronger, fiercer, faster. It was more intense than any sprint he’d made across the soccer field.

He felt, for the first time in a long time, free.

As he ran, he thought about Jasmine. The compass grew warm in his hands. He would find a way to return it to Rhys. He shouldn’t have stolen it, but he knew, intuitively, that this would lead him to Jas.

Jasmine. When she was five, she would demand horsey rides from him for hours at a time.

When she was eight, she’d wanted to see a real live monkey at the zoo and would not stop asking until he took her to see one.

And when she was fourteen, he had finally told her the truth about their mom.

Jasmine was all he had.

He would find her.

Luc dove into the frigid river—the one that flowed in two directions at once. The river of darkness. He knew what to expect, but the feeling of drowning consumed him and, for a second, took his breath away.

But he knew how to do this. Don’t fight it. Just … feel your way. Listen. And so he listened, and inside his palm, the archer spun and spun and … finally stopped spinning. The water faded to air that was thick and humid.

Sounds trickled into his awareness. The low drone of bees. A soft gurgling he couldn’t identify.

He blinked the dizzying fog from his vision when he felt solid ground under his feet. He stood in a lush green forest, threaded with mist. Enormous trees towered above him, forming a canopy that barely allowed light to penetrate. In front of him was a clearing filled with huge flowers—just like the image Corinthe had shown him.

His mouth went dry. It had happened so fast this time.

He was here. In the Forest of the Blood Nymphs. This had to be it.

“Jas?” He called out his sister’s name, and as though in response, he heard a strange whine coming from above him—like the whine of a thousand mosquitoes. Goose bumps broke out over his arms. This world was all wrong. It was filled with growth, but it felt off, like death and decay.

He moved into the clearing, watching carefully for signs of movement, for predators that might be lurking behind the thick foliage. Nothing.

And then his heart stopped.

He almost didn’t recognize her. Her eyelids were translucent. The roots of her hair had turned blue, and her face looked tight, drawn, like that of a much older woman. Thick veins ran over her face and down her neck, covering her shoulders like spidery tattoos.

“Jas?” he whispered.

She didn’t answer. Didn’t even stir. Luc felt the pressure of a panic unlike any he had ever known. This was worse than seeing in her in the hospital—worse than the drive there, half blind, shoeless, not sure whether he would find her alive or dead.

“Hold on, Jas. I’m going to get you out of here, okay? Just hang on.” He didn’t think she could hear him, but speaking made him feel better. He pulled hard on the vines that encased her, but they almost seemed alive—they resisted him, tightening around her instantly.

He spotted a vine, thicker than the rest, that had pierced the skin of her wrist just below her jasmine tattoo. Without hesitation, Luc pulled the knife from his back pocket and slashed through it.

A horrible screeching filled the clearing. The remaining vines released her at once, and the flower began thrashing, as though it had been injured. The treetops exploded with movement and sound.

Jasmine slumped forward. He wrapped an arm around her waist, steadying her. She was unconscious, but he could feel a faint pulse in her neck. He quickly slid the knife into his belt and hefted her in his arms as though she were a child.

Somehow, he had to get Jas to the Gardens, to the flower that could save her life. Rhys hadn’t told him what to do if he managed to find his sister.

Suddenly, two creatures dropped lightly out of the trees. He stopped. Turned. Two more creatures landed soundlessly behind him.

They had to be Blood Nymphs. Their bodies were translucent, and they had flat, inhuman eyes. Luc could see the veins running with different colors under their skin, and he felt his stomach lurch.

He tried to sidestep one of them and it let out a shrill whine. The other three joined in, and soon the canopy above them was filled with the sound. Luc looked up. There were hundreds of them, massed in the trees, skittering over the branches like overgrown insects.

Jas stirred in his arms and groaned.

“You can’t have her.” Luc’s voice, miraculously, didn’t falter. He hitched her higher onto his shoulder with one arm and with the other fumbled to extract his knife from his belt.

A nymph with pale yellow skin hissed at him, revealing sharp teeth. Luc slashed through the air and the nymph drew back, but only for a second. The whine above them was like a stake driving cold fear into his back.

And then the trees began to move and sway. He noticed one tree that did not look like the others—its leaves looked like shards of sky, and it didn’t move like the rest.

Could it be a Crossroad?

He backed toward it as vines began to unwind from the tree trunks, slithering across the ground toward him. One of them began snaking around his ankle, and he reached down instinctively and slashed at it. The vine withdrew, spitting a thick black liquid into the grass, and immediately the other vines began to crowd him, a circle of twisting, ropy snakes.

And it gave him an idea.

As the vines writhed upward, about to form a cage around him, Luc pricked his finger with the knife.

Instantly, a hush fell over the nymphs—they were fixated on the tiny drop of blood on his finger.

He could practically feel their hunger. Their eyes dilated.

And then they lunged for him.

Luc, hauling Jasmine over his shoulder, stabbed the knife into the trunk of the tree behind him—the one with the blue leaves. He stepped onto the knife, which formed a kind of rung, and heaved Jasmine over a high branch. Just at that moment, the Nymphs dove straight into the cage of vines.

They were trapped.

The Nymphs’ squeals and whines grew wild.

Luc had climbed over the higher branch and removed the knife from the trunk. Then he grabbed Jas’s limp body and climbed even higher, into the blue leaves. As he did, a feeling of familiar dizziness overcame him.

As the trees hissed and the trapped Blood Nymphs screamed, Luc’s fingers closed around the compass.

He thought about the Flower of Life, his only hope. He pictured the vivid bloom, the slender purple blossoms, the white center.