The woman appeared out of nowhere.

Mira hadn’t even heard her approach; one second, it was quiet with only the rustling of food wrappers and the creaking wood beneath Magic’s feet, the next a gun was cocked and pointed at them, unsure of which target to lock onto first. Without meaning to, she’d knocked over a handful of food to get her hands up fast enough and prove she had no weapons on her.

Well, she did, but there wasn’t exactly a way to hide your hands without looking more suspicious. So open-palmed she went, held at the sides of her head.

Magic was frozen in place beside the window, one hand hovering over the flame of the candle, the granola she’d given him moments before being squeezed to death as the seconds passed, his other held just in front of him, the knife still drawn.

Their attacker looked from Mira to Magic before settling on the latter. “Drop it,” she said, voice rough as though she’d woken from sleep. “Now.”

Magic stood there, eyes drifting towards Mira’s reflexively. A pleading puppy stare.

“Can he keep it nearby?” Mira suggested, watching the tension in her brother’s posture fade. “Like, by the candle or something?”

The woman considered it for a moment. She waved the pistol around in a circle, like it wasn’t a loaded weapon that could be released on them at any given moment. Maybe that was the point, Mira figured. Scare them a little into submission.

“Sa,” muttered the woman, a curse under her breath. “Fine. Keep it on the windowsill, so long as it’s in my line of sight.”

Magic exhaled shakily and obeyed, but not before touching it briefly to his lips.

“Now,” she continued, “I want to know what the two of you are here for. Who are you looking for?”

“Whoever lives here,” Mira replied. “Didn’t get much more information than that.”

“You’ve found me. So what do you want?”

Mira looked to her brother for assistance. He was focused on the woman’s appearance, the flames in the window reflecting off his lenses, obscuring his eyes. In the darkness, Mira couldn’t tell what it was about this stranger that grabbed her brother’s attention, but she did know that he wasn’t going to be of much help staring the way he was. “Answers, preferably. I want to know why a man in a red coat pointed a gun at my face and wanted me dead.”

The woman paused, the look of genuine confusion on her face in the faint light. Her hold on the gun faltered. She looked like she was at war with herself, a passing shadow of skepticism mingling with interest. “Are you celetiza?”

Not sure if there is time for that, celetiza.

Spiros had used that term before he sent her away. Gave her an opportunity to run. Mira had no idea what the word meant, but it had to mean something if this woman was also using it. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I am, aside from a target. And I don’t want to be killed before I can figure out why.”

The stranger lowered the gun, looking between her and Magic, who was standing straight, hands in his coat, confidence evident in his posture. When he had done that, Mira didn’t know, but when he took his hand out, he was holding the pin she’d given him earlier. The sapphire embedded in the deer’s skull blinked; a shining beacon.

The gun clattered on the table. Mira watched the woman make several quick strides until she was in front of Magic, taking the object from him and cradling it in her palms with the tender love and affection one would give to a child. It reminded Mira a lot of her father and his silver watch, a memento for a cherished soul. “How did you get this?” was all she said.

“A man named Spiros gave it to me,” Mira whispered, unsure if speaking would interrupt the moment. “Told us to find this house … You know him?”

“I do. We … We work together. He’s my closest friend.” The woman’s eyes met hers, the wild brown a calm caramel in the light. From this angle, she looked young—not too much older than Mira herself—with bedraggled black lines casting shadows on her skin that looked like cracks, a narrowed face hardened by experience. Pretty, too, she considered, as the woman took a step back, brushing tangled dark strands of hair out of her face. “I don’t recognize you as any celetiza I know,” said the stranger, waving a hand towards Mira. “Nathaniel—Spiros—found most of them.” She took another step away and looked Magic up and down. “But you look familiar.”

Magic only nodded. “We need your help, Daphne.” Confusion crossed the woman’s face as he continued. “The market. You talked to me about Ori. Your rocks are hidden. Forbidden knowledge.”

“Dangerous knowledge,” replied Daphne, her voice barely a whisper with the hint of a correction.

Now her brother’s strange poise made a lot more sense.

He knew her.

Mira scoffed. It shouldn’t have rubbed her the wrong way, being out of the loop; she’d never thought that something so inconsequential would turn out to be the complete opposite. Now she felt herself wishing that she’d paid better attention when Magic explained this kind of stuff to her growing up. “I’m glad we had this little reunion,” she said, an edge in her voice. “But I need one of you to explain why I have a target on my back.”

Daphne nodded and disappeared to a far corner of the house. Glasses clattered against one another and she returned with three empty ones, a tall bottle under her arm. The arrangement of what Mira knew to be liquor—daylane, specifically, based on the smell when the bottle opened—made her nauseous. Daphne poured the alcohol into each glass, sank down to the couch, and put her feet up. As if in invitation, she motioned to the empty sofa. Mira glanced at Magic who shrugged; they took up opposite ends of the couch, Mira hugging her knees close to her chest while Magic lounged, one leg crossed over a knee, an elbow against the arm of the furniture, knuckles resting to cover his mouth.

No one spoke.

Silence eddied around them, large, heavy, uncrossed water; Mira bounced a foot up and down until, finally, Daphne took a sip from her glass and said, “Tell me everything.”

So Mira did.

Daphne filled her glass twice by the time she was done speaking, reaching to pour a third, the other two glasses untouched, the calm red within them still. Daphne chilled out considerably, lounging against the cushions with the poise of a well-fed animal, cheeks rosy, the whites of her eyes bloodshot from the alcohol.

Still, she was focused, with a glint in her eyes that made Mira nervous. Daphne lifted the glass to her lips and said, “So, the Vultures are out to get you, too?”

Mira blinked. She glanced over at her brother who was staring back at her and she knew they were sharing the same thought.

Magic voiced it first. “What vultures?”

Daphne giggled into her half-emptied glass, all pretense of seriousness gone. Alcohol was a wild thing; the woman was at its mercy and Mira felt slightly uncomfortable with how at ease Daphne looked. “They call themselves the Cardinals. Hellbent on finding people with Sight.” She looked over at Mira, bleary-eyed. “And it looks like you’re on their shit list, dear.”

“But that doesn’t tell me why,” Mira pressed. “What would the Cardinals want with someone like me?”

“A lot of things, I’d wager. Your pale eye is something they’ve locked onto—the telltale sign of someone with expression of the gene. Now, whether or not you actually have Sight is meaningless to them. But it’s a powerful thing to have, so they’d rather take someone who they think has it than risk letting them go.”

Magic sat up a bit straighter. “What makes it so powerful?”

The woman dragged a finger along the velvet of the sofa’s arm, an oracle peering through bone cracks. “How familiar are you with tales of the Spectacles? Tales of Ori and the like.”

Mira scoffed. “Don’t look at me. The person with that knowledge is to my right.”

Magic frowned, but didn’t say a word.

Daphne grinned, a smile far too wide for her small face. Everything about it rose the hair on Mira’s arms as the woman took another sip from her glass. “Think of Ori as one of five mythical deities that watch over this land. Long before there were humans, there were stars. Those stars, born of sentient, celestial will, took the form of five animals to guard the land: a bird, a horse, a rabbit, a salamander, and a dragon. These creatures—the Spectacles—are fabled to hold the balance of nature in their hands—or paws. Talons. Whatever form they take.

“Legend says that, once mankind walked upon their soil,” Daphne went on, “the rabbit shared some of her power and allowed them to see her, thus creating the first Scepters.” She waved a hand dramatically, motioning to the rocks by the candle on the windowsill. “You don’t find a lot of those legends anymore in the outer cities. From what I’ve been able to gather, the Cardinals went to great lengths to hide the books. Burned them in some towns. Hamlets that are lucky enough to have Sighted librarians—or even just faithful ones—try to preserve what they can, keep the myths alive.”

The sofa shifted uncomfortably; to Mira’s right, Magic was readjusting himself on the cushions. In the candlelight, he looked so much older than he was, the left side of his face swathed in shadow. “They have them in the capital,” he said. “That was where my mother found them.”

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

“Then your mother was lucky that she got back on the train ride home with her head on her shoulders.” Magic winced and Mira didn’t miss the shudder that went through him, the slow snaking of his hand towards the knife on the window. Daphne went on, oblivious, as she poured herself another glass. Once the bottle hit the table, Mira leaned forward and slowly scooted it away.

“The Cardinals will do anything they can to keep this knowledge hidden. Beings like the Spectacles—they’re too powerful to be left on their own. The more people who know, the stronger the creatures’ influence. People with Sight, the ability to perceive them and mold stardust at their fingertips, are just as dangerous. My job is to get them to safety.”

Magic leaned forward. “How do you do that?”

A large smile spread across Daphne’s lips. Her teeth glinted eerily in the candlelight and Mira felt herself shrink, hugging her knees closer to her. It was uncanny, the illusion of calm and warmth accompanied by a racing pulse, a dull ring in her ears.

She felt frozen. Just as she did with the man on the street. Or back home.

“I change their identity,” replied Daphne with a drawl. “Ship them out east to Garaleign or Maribyss down south. Depends on which region has seen the least activity. It’s why Nathaniel goes by Spiros now. I gave that name to him. But seeing he’s been cornered, I suppose we’ll have to change it again … Are you gonna have some of that?”

Mira cocked her head, only understanding a moment later that she’d brought the daylane bottle into her lap, pressing it between her thighs like a child shielding a toy. Her hands, tight around its neck as though it were a person to be strangled, ached from the force against the glass.

Discomfort roiled through her; Magic was staring at her too, now and suddenly the walls of the cabin felt restrictive, withholding air. She wasn’t sure if her brother was looking because he was just as confused as Daphne or because he was interested in the liquor, but she didn’t feel confident answering that question when her throat felt as swollen as it did.

A light pressure pushed against her arm.

Magic was holding a hand out, eyes flicking between her and the bottle. Now she understood. It was a silent command.

Mira handed it over without a word as Magic picked up the conversation for her and never had she been more grateful for her brother’s presence. He placed it on the ground beside his feet. “Where would the best place to avoid the Cardinals be, Daphne?”

Daphne hummed, tapping her chin with exaggerated motions, not even bothering to hide her yawn. “Maribyss is a mess right now. And Garaleign … Well, I don’t know how worth it it would be to send you that far away from home … You are Droidellans, yes?”

Magic nodded, though Mira knew at least in her case it was only half true. Her father used to tell her growing up—when he could bear it—that her mother was a ‘southern belle.’ Mira put two and two together when she realized how much darker her own skin was to the other Droidellans she grew up with—Magic included.

“Chrome,” he said.

“Quite the long way you’ve traveled,” mused Daphne.

“Wasn’t terrible. We made do.”

“Not very well I imagine, based on what I saw at the market.”

Magic shrunk, confidence depleted.

Daphne went on, caramel eyes turned upwards in thought. “Nathaniel always talked very highly of a woman named Jovie Miller, a Scepter in the mountains of Subsidia. She was the one who urged him to run here back when Cardinal activity was low. He suggested we keep correspondence with her—he felt it was the least he could do as a thank you—and we have since then.”

“How do we get there?” Mira asked, testing the reliability of her own voice which seemed stable enough for her liking. “Train?”

“Stars, no. Unless you’d like to be either killed or taken hostage, I don’t recommend the train. You’d be better off going through the Maidenwoods.”

Magic made a strangled noise that was half exclamation, half gasp that sounded like he was choking on his own spit. Mira leaned forward as though she’d been slapped on the back. What was it with people in this town suggesting crazy-ass solutions to less crazy problems? Besides, the Maidenwoods, supposedly, were haunted—and if Magic’s reaction was anything to go by, Mira felt more inclined to just scrap the whole plan and find another way herself.

Daphne frowned, creases digging into her brow. “What?”

Mira could have laughed—she almost did. “Oh, nothing, aside from the fact that the forest is the one place we shouldn’t be near. In case you’ve forgotten, it’s haunted.”

But the woman shook her head emphatically; the movement nearly toppled over. As if there was a point that Mira was missing that irritated Daphne. “And the Beast is exactly the reason why you should use it to your advantage. It’s a violent thing, sure, but if you take the right path, you might make it out alive.”

“We might?” Magic echoed.

“Sa,” was all Daphne said, closing her eyes to finish the last bits of red from her cup. “The Beast is infamous for dragging wayward souls to the depths of the forest, never to be seen again. Necrozita-celez.”

A cold shiver went through Mira’s spine, skin breaking into goosebumps.

Magic sucked in a breath. “How?” he asked, and Mira recognized the waver in her brother’s tone, a mingling of anxiety and want. A mixture of a desire to know and a primal fear of—potentially—losing their lives at the hands of the Beast and, for once, Mira wished he’d kept his mouth shut. “How does it lure its victims?”

“With the voices of those we hold dear. Tales and journals tell us that bystanders lost their friends and family who were drawn to the forest by voices of deceased family or companions. Trust me, not even the Cardinals would risk a chance encounter with their mule unprepared.”

“And what path will get us to the mountains?” Mira asked.

Daphne paused, one leg crossed over the other, foot bouncing rhythmically in time with a melody she hummed lightly to herself. Her eyes closed in longer bouts, indulgence giving way to somnolence. Mira chewed at her lips and glanced at her brother, who had taken his knife back from the window and started to twirl it around between his fingers, fluid like water between the spaces.

For a moment in time, Mira thought he was going to lash out, but before anything could happen, Daphne smiled, crooked and wide, and began singing.

Not in English.

But in a foreign tongue.

The same tongue that Mira recognized from Spiros, the same one that called her celetiza, vyrm.

Daphne’s tone was slurred from the daylane, the words soft, plush with the tenderness of a child’s lullaby. If she hadn’t been so stressed and eager for an answer, Mira might have allowed the song to send her off to sleep, much like it was doing to Daphne now—she jolted upright every so often when her muscles went slack and her posture slumped over.

It was unsettlingly familiar, the drawl, the giggles, the too-sweet scent of alcohol …

Mira couldn’t take it anymore; she rose from the sofa and gently helped Daphne rest her head on the arm of the couch. She was still singing herself to sleep when Mira draped a nearby quilt over her, wishing she knew the words. If this was what Daphne resorted to as an answer to their question, chances are it was important. A necessary piece to the puzzle.

Or, Mira considered bitterly, maybe Daphne was just exhausted from the drinks and ready for bed. “I wish you’d say this in English,” she muttered, tucking the quilt beneath the cushions.

“It’s her native tongue,” said Magic from his spot on the couch. “That’s my guess, anyway. Most people tend to slip back into them when they’re … impaired.”

Drunk, she corrected silently, mildly annoyed at her brother’s dancing around the issue. Mira didn’t press it. There were more important matters like deciphering Daphne’s inebriated, foreign, gibberish. “Do you have any idea what she’s saying?”

“Only small bits.” The wood of the cabin floor creaked as Magic approached. He crouched beside her, focusing his eyes downward to the bottom corner of the sofa. “Mom used some of these words, so I know a few phrases. Broken language, really—”

“Focus, Mags.”

“Right …” He rocked gently from heel to toe, humming to himself in thought. “Something about golden compasses,” he said. “Or maybe it’s golden trees—the words have similar sounds and her syllables are blending together. Which doesn’t help.” Magic looked back at the small table and Mira followed his gaze, glancing over her shoulder.

The two filled glasses intended for them sat like stout pillars, the flames from the candles turning the deep red liquor to scarlet.

“What do we do?” came her brother’s whisper.

“I feel bad leaving her like this,” Mira replied, unable to tear her eyes from the table. “And there’s still some things I want to ask her about, but that can only happen if she’s sober.”

Magic sighed and reached for the cups; Mira felt her heart leap with fear until she realized he wasn’t picking one up for himself, he was sliding them away. She hadn’t even noticed she was holding her breath until she exhaled. “So, what?” he asked. “We stow away here?”

“I wouldn’t call it stowing away. She knows you—and me, now.”

“There’s space,” Daphne murmured, briefly returning to life which caught them both off guard, “upstairs in the room.” Mira assumed maybe the woman was sleep talking until she opened one glossy, brown eye and stared directly at them. “You can use the space.”

“I can stay down here.” The words left Mira’s mouth before Magic could protest and when he scoffed and said just a syllable of her name, she continued. “I know how to handle people like this. It’s fine, Mags. Go upstairs.”

Her brother let out a long huff through his nose in the exasperated way he always did when he knew the fight was pointless. It almost made her grin, knowing that he’d had enough sense not to argue with her. But then he spoke, one single question that passed like code between them.

“Will you watch the sun rise?”

A mimic of her excuse for late nights spent aiding a drunkard.

She pursed her lips. “Maybe. Whether I do or not, I still think I’m the best one qualified to watch her.”

Magic didn’t speak; he nodded and got to his feet, holding onto her coat sleeve by her wrist with the same energy as a reassuring pat on the shoulder. He took up the glasses as he walked away and Mira assumed Magic was simply rinsing them out and putting them away before walking up the steps.

Instead, Magic returned with the cups. And this time, they were filled with water.

Mira caught her brother’s eye; it lasted only a few seconds but it was about all she needed to read his expression: Take care of yourself.

And without a single word, he retreated into the shadowed corner of the cabin, the only signal of his departure the squeaking of the steps.

Time dragged, the dancing flames of candles the only companion Mira had in the room aside from Daphne, who mumbled softly to herself. She spoke with Mira, too, and in those instances she obliged, offering Daphne a placating comment to soothe her back to sleep.

On one of the woman’s more sober awakenings, at the crack of dawn, she lifted her head a little off the pillow, pale gold light trickling through newly frosted panes of glass. “Did he survive?” she asked.

Mira raised a brow. “Who?”

“Nathaniel. Is he alive?”

At that moment, Mira wished she’d checked. Wished she’d looked over her shoulder on the rooftops to see.

“Yeah,” she lied. “He’s alive.”

“Good.”

Then Daphne settled down to sleep, and Mira stared out the window, listening to a raven’s scratchy song.