Night Star

twenty-nine

By the time we get out of there I have no idea how much time has passed.

Since Summerland exists in a perpetual mode of hazy daylight where everything happens in an eternal state of now, it’s impossible to tell.

All I know for sure is that my lips are tender and swollen, and my cheeks pink and slightly abraded from the swath of stubble that lines Damen’s jaw—a condition that should disappear in just a matter of seconds.

Far quicker than Sabine’s outrage over my extended absence back home on the earth plane.

Far quicker than Haven’s triumphant glee over thinking she succeeded in killing me.

Still, even though I know I need to get home and face both of those things, I’m reluctant to leave, reluctant to give up the magick so quickly. And since Damen’s clearly reluctant too, he manifests a single white stallion for us to ride. Allowing the horse to meander of its own free will as we enjoy the passing scenery.

I rest my chin on Damen’s shoulder and wrap my arms loosely around his waist as we ride beside swiftly moving streams, down empty cobblestone lanes, through large sprawling meadows filled with chirping birds and deliciously fragrant blooms, alongside the shore of a beautiful beach made of white sand and turquoise waters, up a steep and winding trail that leads to a mountainous peak with a wondrous view, then back down its other side before wading through a barren desert’s sands.

We even ride through the streets of all our former lives, as Damen manifests replicas of Paris, New England, London, Amsterdam, and, yes, even the antebellum South. Going so far as to give me a glimpse of his early life in Florence, Italy. Pointing out the tiny home where he lived, his father’s workshop off the alleyway, the favored stalls where his mother frequently shopped.

He makes fleeting images of his parents, soulless forms that waver in and out of focus before us. Knowing I’ve seen them before, back when I spied on his life in the Great Halls of Learning but still wanting me to see them as he sees them. Eager to share every last trace of his life, of our shared lives, until there are no secrets between us—until all of it comes neatly together—until the entire story of our lives is complete.

And because I feel closer to him than ever before, because I’m completely secure in the knowledge that we’re in this together for better or worse, I decide to show him something I’d previously kept from him.

Closing my eyes and urging our mount to take us to that place—the dark side of Summerland—the side I kept hidden, kept to myself. Convinced for some reason I can’t quite explain, that now’s the right time to share it with him.

The horse immediately following my lead, instantly switching course as I press my lips to the curve of Damen’s ear and say, “There’s something I haven’t told you—something I need you to see.”

He turns, glancing over his shoulder, smile fading to concern when he takes in my serious gaze.

But I just nod and urge the horse forward, knowing we’re getting closer when his pace begins to slow and I have to urge him to keep going. Knowing by the way the air suddenly changes, the sky darkens, the mist thickens, and what was once a blooming, thriving forest of vibrant plants and flowers becomes a drooping, rain-drenched, mud-filled swamp.

Our horse stops. Swishing his tail from side to side and throwing his head back in protest, refusing to go any farther. And knowing it’s useless to force him, I slide off his back and motion for Damen to join me.

Answering the question in his gaze when I say, “I found this place a while back, the time I was in Summerland with Jude and ran into you. Strange, isn’t it?”

He squints, glancing from the mud-soaked ground to the malnourished trees. Their branches brittle, graying, devoid of all foliage, of any sign of growth or life, despite the never-ending supply of rain.

“What is it?” he asks, still taking it in.

“I don’t know.” I shrug, shaking my head. “Last time I was here, I just sort of stumbled upon it by accident. I mean, I guess it wasn’t really an accident, since there are no accidents here, but still, it wasn’t like I was looking for it or anything. I was just killing time, waiting for Jude to come out of the Great Halls of Learning. And so, just to keep busy, just to have something to do, I asked Summerland to show me the one thing I’d never seen before, the one thing I really needed to know about—and my horse brought me right here. But when I tried to venture farther and explore a little more, she totally refused, just like our horse did now. So I tried to go off on my own, but the mud was so deep I kept sinking down to my knees, and it wasn’t long before I gave up. But then, just now I thought—”

He looks at me, curiosity piqued.

“Well, it seems bigger than before. Like it’s—” I pause and gaze all around. “Like it’s growing or expanding or something.” I shake my head. “I don’t know, it’s hard to explain. What do you make of it?”

He takes a deep breath, his gaze clouding at first, as though he’s trying to protect me from something, but then it’s gone just as quickly. That’s our old way of communicating. We no longer keep secrets.

His fingers playing at his chin when he says, “Honestly? I have no idea what to make of it. I’ve never seen anything like it or at least not here anyway. But I gotta tell ya, Ever, it certainly doesn’t leave me with a very good feeling.”

I nod. Gazing at a flock of birds just off to the side, watching the way they carefully keep to the perimeter, refusing to soar anywhere near the darker bits.

“You know, Romy and Rayne once told me, not long after we met, that Summerland contained the possibility of all things, and you even said it once too.”

Damen looks at me.

“So, if that’s true, then maybe this is like—the dark side? Maybe Summerland is like the yin and the yang—you know, equal parts dark and light?”

“Hopefully not equal,” he says, a look of alarm overtaking his gaze. Sighing as he adds, “I’ve been coming here for a long time, a very long time. And I certainly thought I’d seen it all, but this—” He shakes his head. “This is entirely new. It’s nothing like the Summerland I studied or read about. It’s nothing like the Summerland I ever experienced. And if it didn’t start out this way, if this part of it is, in fact, new…well, something tells me that cannot be good.”

“Should we explore? Have a quick look around and see if we can learn anything more?”

“Ever—” He squints, clearly not nearly as curious to get started as I am. “I’m not sure that’s such a good—”

But I won’t let him finish, my mind is made up and now it’s just a matter of convincing him too. “Just a quick peek around, then we’ll go,” I say, seeing the waver in his gaze and knowing I’m close to succeeding. “But I gotta warn you, that mud runs deep, so be prepared to sink down past your knees.”

He takes a deep breath, hesitating for a moment even though we both know it’s as good as done. Finally grabbing hold of my hand as the two of us venture slowly into the muck, stealing a quick glance over our shoulders to see our horse, ears pinned back, pawing at the ground, snorting and grunting while shooting us a you’re crazy if you think I’m following you kind of look.

Pushing through the relentless driving rain, until our clothes are soaked through and our hair clings to our faces and necks. Occasionally stopping to glance at each other, eyebrows rising in question, but still we keep going, keep forging ahead.

The mud pooling up to our knees when I remember something from the last time I was here, and I look at him and say, “Close your eyes and try to manifest something. Anything. Quick! Though try to make it something useful like an umbrella or a rain hat.”

He looks at me, and I can see it in his gaze, and even though it’s not at all useful, it’s definitely lovely. A tulip. A single red tulip. But it just stays right there in his mind, refusing to materialize for us.

“I thought it was maybe just me.” Remembering that bleak and dreary time when I first found myself here. “I was so confused back then, I actually thought maybe this whole place existed because of me. You know, like it was a physical manifestation of my inner state—or—something.” I shrug, feeling more than a little stupid for having voiced that out loud.

Just about to take another step forward when Damen stretches his arm out before me and stops me dead in my tracks.

I follow his gaze, follow the length of his pointing finger, all the way across the muddy gray swamp. Gasping in surprise when I spot an older woman just a few feet away.

Her hair hanging in wet, white wisps that fall way past her waist and cling to a thin, gray cotton tunic that’s a perfect match for the gray cotton pants she wears tucked into tall, brown rain boots. Her lips moving incessantly, mumbling softly to herself, as she stoops forward, her fingers digging deep into the mud—as Damen and I look silently on, wondering how we could’ve possibly missed seeing her until now.

We continue to stand there, unsure what to do or even what to say should she happen to notice us too. But so far she remains oblivious, focused intently on whatever it is that she’s doing. Finally taking a break from all the digging when she reaches for a small, silver can and begins to water the already thoroughly drenched area.

But it’s not until she turns, turns to face us, that I see how old she really is. Her skin so fine, so thin and translucent, it’s practically see-through, while her hands are gnarled and bumpy, with large bulging knuckles that look painful to the touch. But it’s her eyes that tell the real story—their color resembling a faded-out, sun-bleached light denim. Appearing rheumy, filmy, clustered with cataracts, but even from this distance, there’s no mistaking the fact that they’re trained right on me.

Her fingers loosen, dropping the watering can to her feet, not seeming to care when it’s quickly swallowed whole by the mud. Her arm slowly lifting, finger shaky but still pointing right in my direction, when she says, “You.”

Damen instinctively moves to cover me, to block me from view.

But it’s no use. Her gaze remains firm, unwavering, as she continues to point, continues to repeat to herself, again and again:

“You. It’s really you. We’ve been waiting for you for so long now…”

Damen nudges me, whispering between clenched teeth. “Ever, don’t listen to her, just close your eyes and picture the portal—now!”

But even though we try, it doesn’t work. There’s no quick escape. No magick or manifesting to be had in these parts.

He pushes into my shoulder, grabbing hold of my hand as he urges me to run, turning on his heel and sloshing through the mud, doing his best to pull me along. The two of us stumbling, falling, taking turns picking each other up, as we continue to move forward. Doing whatever it takes to get back to our horse, to get out of here.

To gain some distance from the voice that continues to chase us.

Taunt us.

Repeating the same phrase over and over again:

From the mud it shall rise

Lifting upward toward vast dreamy skies

Just as you-you-you shall rise too…