Lodestar by Shannon Messenger
They didn’t talk as they walked; Sophie was too busy trying to hold on to whatever weak connection she’d found to guide them.
“That looks pretty sturdy,” Keefe said, pointing to an arched doorway half blocked by a fallen pillar. “Think you can run for it? We’ll want to make sure we’re not seen.”
“Yeah, just give me a second.” She took a couple of breaths and channeled some extra energy to her legs. “Okay.”
Keefe nodded, peeking around the corner. “I think we’re clear. Ready, go!”
The ground seemed to shift under their feet, but the entrance held steady as they ducked inside, into a dark, dusty hallway.
“We need to find a way up,” Sophie whispered, trying not to think about the tightness in her chest. Seeing the cracked walls and floor dredged up flashbacks of the collapse. “It feels like they’re above us.”
Keefe squeezed her hand. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” But she was glad he didn’t let go as he took the lead, carving out a precarious path through the maze.
The staircase they found was too crumbling to trust.
“What if we levitate?” Keefe asked, pointing to where the center of the stairs had caved in. “It might be our best shot—but only if you’re up for it.”
“I’m up for it,” Sophie said, rallying her concentration again.
Keefe held tight as they floated, and she had a feeling he was carrying her more than she was lifting herself, but she still fought to push against gravity as hard as she could.
“We need to stop here,” she whispered. “It’s this level.”
She pointed left and Keefe took the lead again.
“So, quick question,” he said as they picked their way through an especially dark hallway. “Is there a reason I keep getting this crazy rush every time I touch your hand?” He cleared his throat when he realized how that sounded, “What I mean is, your emotions always feel strong. But now they’re on another level.”
“It’s because I manifested as an Enhancer. I’m supposed to wear gloves, but I took them off to help Edaline.”
She figured he’d pick his most creative I told you so and gloat about knowing she’d manifest another ability. Instead, all he said was, “So that rush was an even clearer reading of your emotions?”
“Probably. Why?”
“No reason.” But when she stole a glance from the side of her eye, she could see a glint of a grin in the dim light.
She was deciding whether to ask him about it, when a strained voice called, “Is someone there?”
“Oralie?” Sophie shouted, racing toward the sound. She hurdled bits of wall and furniture until she reached a crushed golden doorway. Inside was a disaster zone of toppled tables and cracked jeweled trees and twisted balustrades and fallen chunks of starry sky. The air was heavy with the scent of dusty stone and spoiling food and something decidedly iron.
“Over here,” Oralie called, and they found her in the clearest corner leaning over a dark shape. Her hands looked glossy and red and they were pressing on . . .
“NO!” Sophie shouted, wobbling so hard, Keefe had to keep her from collapsing.
The shape beside Oralie moved, lifting its head and confirming Sophie’s horrible suspicion.
“You kids really shouldn’t have come,” Mr. Forkle wheezed.
EIGHTY-ONE
WE HAVE TO get you to Elwin,” Sophie said, dropping to her knees and trying to make sense of what she was seeing.
There was so much red—dripping from his mouth, streaming down his arms and forehead. But the real problem was his abdomen.
Oralie was doing her best to keep pressure on the wound, but the gash was so wide and so deep—and near so many important organs.
“Elwin can’t help,” Mr. Forkle said. “Trust me, I know enough about these things. Sometimes there is no fix. Even for elves. This is my swan song.”
Sophie shook her head, grabbing a tablecloth off one of the fallen tables. “Help me lift him, Keefe, and then go get Elwin. If I tie this around his waist, it should hold enough pressure on the wound to give you guys time to get here. Bring Physic too. And a couple of goblins to carry him. And—”
“Miss Foster, this is one time when your stubbornness isn’t going to make a difference,” Mr. Forkle interrupted. “I’ve had this same conversation with Oralie. You have to let me go.”
“NO!” Tears leaked down Sophie’s cheeks. “No—they don’t get to do this. They don’t get to take you.”
“It won’t be as bad as you think.” His voice had a horrible gurgle to it, but Sophie ordered herself not to think about it.
“I don’t understand his wound,” she told Oralie. “It almost looks like he’s been stabbed.”
Oralie looked away.
“It’s okay, I’ll tell her,” Mr. Forkle said, reaching for Sophie’s hands. They were so cold and slick—and red—it made it hard to listen as he said, “This is mostly my fault. You kept trying to tell me Gethen was important. And I kept stalling. Focusing on the wrong things. I should’ve been at his cell every day, fighting my way into his mind.”
“I don’t understand—did Gethen . . .”
Oralie nodded. “The sword.”
That was all she could get out. But it was enough.
As Gethen broke the castle apart, he must’ve freed the sword in his cell.
But wouldn’t it be ironic if someday I used that blade to chop off your pretty head?
“He came to make good on his threat,” Mr. Forkle wheezed. “But I blocked him with a clever mind trick—the same one, incidentally, I used to make him back off that day at your human home, when he was dressed as a jogger and tried to take you away. And then I took out Brant. Gethen didn’t like that. So he got me back.”
“Wait—you took out Brant?” Keefe asked, his eyes widening when Oralie pointed to a cloth-wrapped lump in the corner. Definitely body-size.
“Mr. Forkle shoved him away from me right as a huge chunk of ceiling fell,” Oralie whispered, pressing a fresh part of cloth over his oozing wound.
“And you’re sure Brant’s really . . . ,” Keefe asked. “After Fintan . . .”
Oralie nodded. “His skull was crushed completely. Gray matter everywhere.”
Something felt wrong with this new information—but Sophie couldn’t piece it together. All she could hear were Mr. Forkle’s labored breaths growing slower and wetter and heavier.
It was hard to see past the blood, but his body seemed to be in a strange in-between state. Like the ruckleberries were wearing off, but hadn’t completely.
“I need the three of you to promise me something,” he rasped. “I need you to remove my body from here. Don’t let anyone see it. And you must promise you won’t do a planting in the Wanderling Woods. No one can know.”
“Won’t they have to know, though?” Sophie asked. “When the other yous disappear?”
“The Collective has always had a contingency plan. You’ll see it soon enough. And don’t worry—they’ll make sure you still get the answers I owe you. Secrets never die.” He pressed something cold and round into her palm, and Sophie realized it was the gadget where he stored the things he wanted to remember. “Give that to Granite.” He turned to Councillor Oralie. “And make me a seed. Coil it with my hair, and bring it to Miss Foster to keep safe. She’ll know when and where to plant it.”
“How?” Sophie asked. “And why are we talking about this—you’re not dying!”
“Yes, I am. But it’s okay. I’ve done far more with this life than I ever could’ve imagined. I’ve lived five lives. I’m ready to surrender them. But before I do, I need you to promise you won’t let this change you. Don’t fall down the bitter, angry hole that death opens up inside of us. It’s not a productive place to be. And there’s no reason for it. I promise, I’ve made my peace. I’ve won more times than I’ve lost. I can be happy with that. Please be happy with me.”
His eyes begged Sophie to assure him, but she couldn’t make her mouth fo
It was too much.
Too hard.
Mr. Forkle grabbed Keefe’s hand. “She needs you now more than ever. Don’t let this break her.”
“I won’t,” Keefe promised.
Mr. Forkle nodded, closing his eyes as he reached for Oralie. “Take care of my moonlark.”
“No,” Sophie said, shaking his shoulder. “Don’t give up. Just hold on a little longer.”
“Time is a funny thing. Once it’s gone, it’s gone. But then it passes to someone else. You’ll do great things with it, Sophie. Wonderful, incredible things. I’m sorry I won’t be there to see them. But don’t let that stop you from living them. Dream. Fight. Love. Take risks. Allow yourself to be happy.”
“There has to be something we can do,” Sophie argued.
“You’ve already done it,” he said. “Thank you for being brave enough to find me this one last time. You gave me the gift of goodbye.”
He coughed again, a horrible rattly sound, and Sophie was crying too hard to hear him take his final breath.
But she saw his chest fall still.
Felt Keefe’s arms wrap around her, letting her fall apart on his shoulder as he held on tight, keeping her together.
EIGHTY-TWO
ORALIE KEPT HER promises, somehow making Mr. Forkle’s body disappear from Lumenaria—and Brant’s as well—before the dwarves arrived to help them out of the rubble. And a few days later she visited Sophie at Havenfield and gave her the Wanderling seed, tucked inside a golden locket for Sophie to wear.
Now that the new security measures had been completed—gates even higher than those at Everglen, plus a whole host of underground defenses—Sophie was back living at home, trying not to feel haunted by memories.
“You know what the worst part is?” she whispered as Oralie turned to leave. “I don’t even know which ‘him’ this tree will be.”
Oralie hesitated a second, then stepped close and pulled Sophie into a hug.
“I bet that’s why he gave you the seed,” she whispered. “When the time comes, it’ll be one final secret you share together.”
“Maybe,” Sophie mumbled. “Most days, all I can think about is that he’ll never see me heal Prentice. After all the years he waited.”
Oralie cleared her throat, slowly pulling away. “Any word from the Collective on their contingency plan?”
“Not yet.” She’d passed Mr. Forkle’s gadget along to Granite, but as far as she knew, he hadn’t tried to access it. “They’re being super vague—but I guess I should be used to that.”
Oralie smiled sadly. “Sometimes it’s good when things don’t change.”
“And sometimes they have to.”
Change was definitely a theme in the elvin world.
It was too early to tell if the attack at Lumenaria would bring all the leaders closer or farther apart. For the moment, they were working together to help the Council rebuild and recover. Elwin and Dex were collaborating on a prosthetic leg for Councillor Terik. And the dwarves and gnomes were still cleaning up the rubble. But nothing would ever be the same.
Sophie spent most of her time at home, hiding under the swaying branches of Calla’s Panakes tree, listening to the gentle songs of the leaves and trying not to wonder if things would’ve been different if she’d thought to carry some of the healing blossoms with her.
Her friends visited, of course—Keefe more than any. He seemed to be taking his promise to Mr. Forkle very seriously. He wouldn’t tell Sophie where he was staying—claiming it was safer if she didn’t know. But he assured her that the Collective had set him up somewhere the Neverseen—and his mom—wouldn’t be able to find him.
His new goal was “never ignore anything,” and he’d started making long lists of things he’d remembered, either from his past or from his time with the Neverseen. It wasn’t accomplishing much. But it made him feel better. And Sophie wanted to be as prepared as possible before they contacted Keefe’s mom to find out what she wanted from her son.
Fitz was also a frequent visitor, and he kept his visits more casual, usually showing up to bring a thoughtful little gift to make her smile. That day he outdid himself, bringing her a sparkly red dragon charm he’d named Mini Snuggles.
“Biana thought she remembered you having a charm bracelet,” he told her as he placed the tiny dragon in her gloved hand.
“I do.” Grady and Edaline had bought it for her when they’d believed she was dead, as a way to commemorate their visits to her Wanderling. And Mr. Forkle had used it to sneak her secret messages a few times. But Sophie decided it was probably better not to share any of those less-than-cheerful memories and tarnish his amazing gift.
He sat down beside her, leaning against Calla’s tree and studying the image she’d been staring at in her memory log.
Four black cloaked figures leaping away from the destruction of Lumenaria.
Four.
She was positive she hadn’t imagined it.
Fintan.
Ruy.
Gethen.
And . . . who?
She’d assumed it was Brant, but now she knew he’d been dead by then. So who else could it have been?
It was possible that Alvar had met up with them. But Sophie had a much more terrifying theory. The goblins had told her there was another prisoner in that dungeon—connected to a Forgotten Secret.
And no other bodies had been found in the rubble.
When she’d told Oralie her theory, the pink-cheeked Councillor had blanched and made Sophie promise not to tell anyone. But Sophie would always share things with her friends.
None of them had been happy to hear they might be facing a mysterious new enemy, but Keefe had been quick to point out that the caches could hold the prisoner’s identity. Dex was already working hard, trying to break through the caches’ security, and Sophie had no doubt he’d figure it out.
“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Fitz said, silencing her thoughts as he closed the memory log and set it aside for the day. “You owe me a favor.”
“I do?”
“Yep! We made a deal—remember? If you didn’t call in your favor from me in one month, the favor became mine. And I hate to break it to you, but it’s been way more than a month.”
Sophie sighed. “I knew that deal was going to come back and haunt me. I should’ve just made something up and gotten the favor over with.”
“You probably should have. But you didn’t, so . . . I win!” He shook his hair, flashing his most adorably confident smile, “And I gotta say, I kinda get why you hesitated with this. It’s a big decision. I mean, on the one hand, I could go for the obvious and make you share whatever secret you keep almost telling me.”
Sophie’s mouth turned to sandpaper.
“So that still freaks you out, huh? That might be proof that it needs to happen.”
His eyes locked onto hers, refusing to let her look away. And when she swallowed, it was so loud, she was sure the entire world heard it.
“Or,” he said. “We could skip the talking.”
“And do what?” she asked, hating her voice for cracking.
“Any ideas?”
He was so close now, she could feel his breath warming her cheeks.
He leaned a tiny bit closer and someone cleared his throat—very loudly.
“Am I interrupting something?” Keefe asked. He’d raised one teasing eyebrow—but he wasn’t smiling. And he was fidgeting. A lot.
Fitz leaned back against the tree again, his casual posture not matching his scowl. “Just finding new ways to drive Sophie crazy. I had to step up my game while you were gone. What about you?”
“Is that another list?” Sophie asked, pointing to the paper in Keefe’s hands.
Somehow the question made Keefe look even more miserable, and he twisted the page so tightly, it looked ready to shred.
“Okay—this is just a theory, so . . . try not to freak out until we really think it through,” he said carefully. “I
“Yeah, you’re definitely freaking me out,” Sophie told him.
He took a deep breath. “Fine, here goes. You told me King Dimitar thinks the ogres who attacked Havenfield were actually after Lady Cadence. And I couldn’t figure out why that bugged me. But I realized today that if Dimitar’s right and that attack wasn’t about Grady and Edaline, then that means the Neverseen never went after your family. And I know I heard them talk about it. A lot. That’s what this whole list is—eleven different times where they mentioned a plan for your family.”
“So what are you saying?” Fitz asked.
Keefe closed his eyes, looking a little green when he spoke again. “The thing is, when you look at this list, I wrote down verbatim what I remember them saying. And . . . they never once said ‘Grady and Edaline.’ They always said ‘family.’ I just assumed, since you live with them—and Grady’s so powerful—that it had to be them. But . . . they’re not your only family.”
Everything turned cold as Sophie jumped to her feet. “You think they meant my human family?”
“I’m just saying it’s possible. But you check on them pretty regularly, right? So—”
She shook her head, rubbing the knot under her chest to keep her panic at bay. “I haven’t in a while. There’s been so much going on, I forgot and . . .”
She ran inside, with Fitz and Keefe right behind her as she sprinted up the stairs and dug her round silver Spyball out of her desk drawer.
“Show me Connor, Kate, and Natalie Freeman,” she whispered, using her family’s new names.
The Spyball flashed warm in her hands, before red letters blazed across it.
Two terrifying words.
Not Found.
EIGHTY-THREE
BREATHE,” KEEFE SAID, and it took Sophie a second to realize she wasn’t.