Ev.”
“Sahara broke Astrid’s heart. If Jacks was nuts too…”
“Astrid is going to risk it.”
He found that it was a relief just to have given voice to the fear. “You don’t think Jacks is a danger?”
“Nope. If you want something to worry about…”
“What?”
She sighed. “We are all of us, especially Astrid, inventing a very dangerous wheel here, Ev. We could destroy both worlds—”
“Her grumbles say it doesn’t happen that way.”
“And you believe— Hey!” She stopped. “Where’s the city?”
On their previous visit to the unreal, the Roused had been living beneath the ridge the two of them had just climbed. Their settlement had been a sprawling bundle of giant seedpods, each as big as a room, stitched together by translucent stems big enough to walk through.
Now the gritty white plains below the ridge were empty, a bare expanse stretching to the edge of a vast frozen sea.
“There, on the horizon!” He could just make out structures rising from the surface of the ice.
“That is a hell of a lot farther to walk,” Patience said.
Bubbling erupted from the bleached grit at their feet; a pair of human hands scrabbled up through the dust. They were suspended from the ends of the two slender antennae, and followed by an enormous cricket.
“Hi, guys!” he chirped. “Enjoying the stroll?”
“You uprooted the whole city?”
“The People move as we must. Action’s out on the glacier, so we are too. But I got a shortcut, if you want.”
Patience’s relief was obvious. “We definitely want.”
“Okay!” The cricket spat a stream of green juice onto the white grit. It clumped together, forming a line of ivory stalagmites that curved inward as they reached a height of seven feet. The cricket spat again, forming a second, parallel line about a yard away. Laid thusly, they formed a structure that resembled a giant rib cage. Its floor curved like a bridge, a low arch on the sandy soil.
“You have gates here in the unreal?” Patience said.
“Gates are ours, always were,” the cricket said. “Spirit realm’s everywhere. You step through Astrid’s blackberry arches in the real, you slide over us on your way elsewhere.”
Does Astrid know this? Ev would have to ask.
“Gonna take the bridge?” the cricket asked.
“Yes, thank you,” Ev said.
Stepping through, they emerged on the surface of the massive glacier. The cluster of seedpods that had formed the city rose above them, organized into a freestanding honeycomb, skyscraper high, with roots sunk deep into the ice. Human–animal hybrids moved along its walkways.
The scent of cooked food—roasted vegetables, refried beans, and something eggy—rose from a long dugout canoe parked at the base of the honeycomb. Remembering his first visit to the unreal, Ev inhaled slowly. Sure enough, his belly filled.
At the foot of the honeycomb was a pit, a melted chasm that yawned within the frozen vitagua.
Ev stared into the hole. Magic had mutated from its original, relatively benign form about seven hundred years earlier. That was when the witch-burners of Europe launched their effort to corner the market on enchantment. In the process, they had driven magic into Fairyland—to use Albert’s term—where pressure compressed the magical particles into vitagua.
In their last battle with the Fyremen, the people of the unreal had frozen it all. They had saved themselves, but they’d also been trapped by their own defensive move—the ice had formed instantly, capturing everyone on both sides.
Vitagua was naturally luminescent; staring into the pit was like being underwater on a sunny day, seeing the sun shining down at you through several feet of ocean. Half-transformed people were frozen in the ice, a profusion of animal and human faces, all with aboriginal features, most caught in attitudes of surprise or terror. Here and there, a body part stuck out; in one case, a girl’s head had melted free. She keened at Ev with the
“Sahara broke Astrid’s heart. If Jacks was nuts too…”
“Astrid is going to risk it.”
He found that it was a relief just to have given voice to the fear. “You don’t think Jacks is a danger?”
“Nope. If you want something to worry about…”
“What?”
She sighed. “We are all of us, especially Astrid, inventing a very dangerous wheel here, Ev. We could destroy both worlds—”
“Her grumbles say it doesn’t happen that way.”
“And you believe— Hey!” She stopped. “Where’s the city?”
On their previous visit to the unreal, the Roused had been living beneath the ridge the two of them had just climbed. Their settlement had been a sprawling bundle of giant seedpods, each as big as a room, stitched together by translucent stems big enough to walk through.
Now the gritty white plains below the ridge were empty, a bare expanse stretching to the edge of a vast frozen sea.
“There, on the horizon!” He could just make out structures rising from the surface of the ice.
“That is a hell of a lot farther to walk,” Patience said.
Bubbling erupted from the bleached grit at their feet; a pair of human hands scrabbled up through the dust. They were suspended from the ends of the two slender antennae, and followed by an enormous cricket.
“Hi, guys!” he chirped. “Enjoying the stroll?”
“You uprooted the whole city?”
“The People move as we must. Action’s out on the glacier, so we are too. But I got a shortcut, if you want.”
Patience’s relief was obvious. “We definitely want.”
“Okay!” The cricket spat a stream of green juice onto the white grit. It clumped together, forming a line of ivory stalagmites that curved inward as they reached a height of seven feet. The cricket spat again, forming a second, parallel line about a yard away. Laid thusly, they formed a structure that resembled a giant rib cage. Its floor curved like a bridge, a low arch on the sandy soil.
“You have gates here in the unreal?” Patience said.
“Gates are ours, always were,” the cricket said. “Spirit realm’s everywhere. You step through Astrid’s blackberry arches in the real, you slide over us on your way elsewhere.”
Does Astrid know this? Ev would have to ask.
“Gonna take the bridge?” the cricket asked.
“Yes, thank you,” Ev said.
Stepping through, they emerged on the surface of the massive glacier. The cluster of seedpods that had formed the city rose above them, organized into a freestanding honeycomb, skyscraper high, with roots sunk deep into the ice. Human–animal hybrids moved along its walkways.
The scent of cooked food—roasted vegetables, refried beans, and something eggy—rose from a long dugout canoe parked at the base of the honeycomb. Remembering his first visit to the unreal, Ev inhaled slowly. Sure enough, his belly filled.
At the foot of the honeycomb was a pit, a melted chasm that yawned within the frozen vitagua.
Ev stared into the hole. Magic had mutated from its original, relatively benign form about seven hundred years earlier. That was when the witch-burners of Europe launched their effort to corner the market on enchantment. In the process, they had driven magic into Fairyland—to use Albert’s term—where pressure compressed the magical particles into vitagua.
In their last battle with the Fyremen, the people of the unreal had frozen it all. They had saved themselves, but they’d also been trapped by their own defensive move—the ice had formed instantly, capturing everyone on both sides.
Vitagua was naturally luminescent; staring into the pit was like being underwater on a sunny day, seeing the sun shining down at you through several feet of ocean. Half-transformed people were frozen in the ice, a profusion of animal and human faces, all with aboriginal features, most caught in attitudes of surprise or terror. Here and there, a body part stuck out; in one case, a girl’s head had melted free. She keened at Ev with the
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