Walking through the fields, my mind slid back to happier times. Normally, every Night Elf worked in the mushroom farms, even if they had other jobs. The fungi were our main source of food, and it was a community effort to care for them. I’d spent my youth in fields just like these. Spreading spores, checking the mycelium mats, and harvesting mushrooms. I remembered when, as children, my brother Barthol and I would find a puffball mushroom and kick it around like a soccer ball until a foreman told us to stop. I wondered how Barthol was doing now. Was he starving, too?
It felt eerie here, desolate. Normally, there were groups of Night Elves tending the mushrooms. Picking off slugs, collecting spores, doing all the things necessary to keep the life-giving fungi healthy. Now, it was completely deserted.
And worse, as we walked on, we passed the old cemetery, the stones jutting from the ground at odd angles. Now, it was full of fresh, new graves. Row upon row of them, many of them small—children’s graves.
Tears stung my eyes. This was the result of our imprisonment here, being trapped by the High Elves. By Galin.
After an hour we came to the first town, though it wasn't much, a small collection of stone buildings. As we approached, excitement welled in my chest. This would be the first time I had seen my fellow countrymen in weeks. But as we followed the road into the village, we found it empty. Deserted. There were no elves to greet us.
“Where is everyone?” said Bo.
“I have no idea,” I replied, trying to hide the worry in my voice.
An hour later, we reached Myrk, the largest city in the Shadow Caverns. The hunger was cutting through my stomach so sharply now, I felt half insane.
It seemed like a world of death around me. Normally Myrk was a bustling metropolis of bright storefronts and shouting street vendors. There’d be farmers carting mushrooms, weavers carrying bundles of shimmering spider silk, jewelers in little booths selling gemstones.
Instead it was nearly empty, and a putrid stench filled the air. The few elves we saw moved furtively, slipping into the shadows as we approached.
“Warden,” I said loudly, “Where is everyone?”
The warden slowed. “I’m not sure.”
“Ali?”
I jumped as someone shouted my name. Then, warmth lit me up.
Dressed in his cave bear coat, my brother charged from across the street, grinning like a maniac.
“Barthol!” I cried.
Barthol put his hands on my shoulders, shaking me with excitement. “I can’t believe it’s you! I’ve been out of my mind with worry. I was going to try to break you out of the mines.”
“That would have been stupid. How did you know I’d be here? What’s going on with the city? Where is everyone?” I couldn’t quite believe I was seeing my brother, but I was certain I was smiling as broadly as he was.
Barthol looked around a little nervously. “Everyone knows you got a marked lot. They say the ‘traitor-assassin’ will fight in the Winnowing—” He cleared his throat. “That’s what everyone calls you now.”
“Oh, I know. But I’ve stopped caring what they think. Because I plan to kill Galin as soon as I can,” I added. “I will be the North Star, just like Mom said.”
He grabbed my arm. “You can’t kill him, Ali. He’s dangerous.”
“So am I.” I shook my head and, feeling the warden’s eyes on me, quickly changed the subject. “What’s going on in the city? Why is no one out and about?”
Barthol’s smile faded, his expression becoming solemn. “Mushroom blight, and now a plague. People are dying left and right.”
I felt my stomach drop. A plague was what had killed my parents. In the Shadow Caverns plagues were lethal, traveling effortlessly through the dank cave air. And with no food? We had to break free of the caverns at all costs.
I shook my head. “You shouldn’t have come to see me.”
Barthol’s eyes glistened with tears. “Ali, I had to. You’re my only family. You’re going to fight in a Winnowing, this might be the last time I see you.”
I realized I couldn’t fault him, as I knew with certainty I would have done the same.
“I’ll be fine,” I said squeezing one of his massive shoulders. “I’ve trained for years to fight in this sort of thing—”
“Keep moving!” the warden cut in.
“Ali,” Barthol said hurriedly. “The Winnowing—promise me you’ll be careful, right? Try to stay out of the fray.”
“Of course I will.” Not a chance. I sensed the warden approaching. “Look, I have to go—”
Barthol had already wrapped me in another hug. I could smell his cave bear coat, but he felt too thin underneath it.
He released me, and the warden grabbed me from behind. “Get in line, now!” His voice was like a gunshot.
Snarling, I moved along to join the other prisoners.
“Ali, wait!” shouted Barthol, running after me. “Take this.” He pressed something into my hands. “You’ll love it, I promise. I have complete faith in you.”
Only after I’d caught up with the prisoners did I dare open my fingers. I grinned as I recognized the plastic and snarl of white wires. I was holding an antique MP3 player just like the one Galin had given me in the realm of the Vanir. My heart twisted at the memory. It had felt like we were a team, like we were working together. Maybe when he got his soul back, he’d changed.
I slipped the headphones on and pressed play. The most glorious music filled my ears, and a gasp escaped me. The melody was simple but incredibly transfixing, with a childlike purity that just made me want to smile.
Bopping my head, I hummed along to the tune. Whoever had decided to write a song about baby sharks was an absolute genius.
Chapter 8
Galin
For the hundredth time, I paced the length of my room, from the door to the desk and back again. It was late. I should be asleep, but instead I racked my brain, trying to think of a solution. I wanted to leave, to get to Ali. I had to know that she was okay, well fed. The idea of her starving made me feel insane, like I wanted to burn down the entire Citadel. A fiery rage was growing in me.
I needed to hear her voice again.
After that, the way forward was obvious. I would find her and take her on the run. I would steal a moth and fly us to the bottom of the Well of Wyrd. Then, we would make our way to another realm. Someplace they’d never find us.
The only thing holding me back was the helm. It pressed low on my brow, heavy and metallic. Its very presence felt suffocating.
Still, every spell had a counter spell. There had to be a way to remove it.
I went to my desk and flipped through my grimoires. I found hexes that would freeze an elf’s blood solid, dozens of spells to ensure good harvests—but apart from the unbinding spell I’d already tried, there was nothing that might plausibly remove the helm from my head.
In frustration, I gave a low growl.
I started to reach for the helm itself. I could power through the pain and tear it off this time, I was sure. But as my hands neared my forehead, the metal began to vibrate. Heat formed behind my eyes. Any closer and I’d be convulsing on the floor.