“It’s not easy,” Takako replied bluntly, her eyes never leaving her target. “My magic is used to the mechanics of a firearm. These weapons are organic . . . it’s like they’re filled with their own power. It’s as if I have to ask permission to hit the bullseye.”
As if to accentuate her point, Takako closed her eyes. Her magic spiked in a way that had Jo pulling in a shocked breath, then, without opening her eyes at all, she released the second arrow. It flew in perfect form towards the target, then avoided it completely, embedding itself in a secondary target a good twenty feet behind the first.
Another bullseye.
“Whoa,” Wayne blinked, shielding his eyes from the sun as if it would make them understand what they’d just seen any better. Jo could understand the sentiment.
“My magic. . . It’s used to being in full control of the weapon, not sharing it,” Takako explained. “It’s not as easy to command precision, but it’s manageable.”
“Do you think it will be harder with whatever fancy wood the elves are giving us?” Wayne asked, and Jo turned to him to elaborate. He shrugged. “If a regular old bow has some sort of organic magic Takako’s got to jive with, then the king’s boon-bow-life-magic-tree-thing-that-Samson-makes will probably be wrought with it, don’t you think?”
Jo had to admit she hadn’t considered that. When she looked over at Takako, already aiming another arrow, this one a bit longer and with more elaborate fetching, the woman looked indifferent towards the notion of any added difficulty.
“I think Samson’s arrow—the lost goddess’s arrow—will help appease whatever magic the Life Tree imbues into the bow,” she said, letting fly another perfect bullseye. “It wants me to be in control—I could feel it, and the projectile is far more important than the weapon. It never fights me in hitting my mark.”
Jo took solace in the fact that Takako sounded confident enough for all of them.
After a few more practice shots, and one particularly hilarious attempt at archery by Wayne, they settled into more practical conversation, doing their best to pick apart the logistics of their plan.
“I wish I had access to a rooftop,” Takako hummed, scratching at her temple with the arrow head, lost in thought.
“Why?” Wayne asked, leaning against one of the posts at the end of the field and munching on what could have been an apple were it not bright purple.
“I need to emulate a higher vantage point. My guess is I’ll be acting as a sniper while you all make me an opening.”
“Fair point.” Wayne frowned, as if wondering exactly how they were going to be able to do that. “But first we need access toher. I doubt she’s going to let us just waltz into Snow’s castle and ask for a duel.”
A thought began to form, slowly but with promise. “She might not letusin,” Jo said, half to herself, half to the group. “But she’ll letmein. It’s what she’s been seeking from the start, after all.”
Takako loosened her tension on the arrow she’d been about to fire, looking to Jo with a start. “You can’t go in there alone.”
“I probably don’t have a choice.” Jo tried for a comforting smile, but even she could tell it came out defeated.
“And what do you plan to do when you get in there, huh?” Wayne crossed his arms over his chest, staring Jo down. His concern was almost sweet, but Jo held her ground. “You think she’s going to let you out once you’re in her trap? If Snow couldn’t escape, what makes you thinkyoucan?”
All at once, that slowly forming thought solidified, a sense of rightness pulling the words from Jo’s mouth. “She will let me in without suspicion if I agree to rejoin with her.”
“And recreate Oblivion?” Takako blinked, mouth falling slack. “But why? Isn’t that what we’re trying to prevent?”
“Because that’s when she’ll . . .we’llbe most vulnerable. If you just shoot Pan, she keeps living. As long as I live, so does she. But if we’re one being . . . you can take Oblivion out for good. I don’t see why the arrow wouldn’t work on a full-fledged god.” Jo let her magic filter into her mind, testing her idea for cracks. “I’ll get inside, find Snow, and the two of us will find you guys an opening. Then, once I rejoin with Pan. . .” Jo looked at Takako. “You shoot.”
For a breath, Takako and Wayne exchanged a glance. Then, without a word, Takako nodded, picking her bow back up and taking aim once more. Wayne, however, was far from done.
“But that’ll kill you too, dollface,” he said, barely above a whisper. Jo shook her head, her next words simmering in that same sense of magical rightness.
“You can’t kill destruction with destruction, Wayne.” Jo remembered the sensation on the Sapphire Bridge. How every fall and scrape and bruise didn’t yield death, but life. Ironically, the only person who may be able to kill her was Snow. “I’m sure my magic will still exist, set free again from Oblivion.” She wasn’t, but it sounded nice to say. “Snow can make anything, even worlds. I’m sure he can rebuild me, too.”
“I don’t like all this guesswork, doll. . . What if you’re wrong about all this?” he pressed, brow creasing in worry. But when Jo opened her mouth to reassure him, she found that she couldn’t.
What if she was wrong? Her magic affirmed that the plan would destroy Pan, but what if bringing back Oblivion meant Jo wouldn’t exist anymore as her own magic? What if, in killing Oblivion, Jo died too? It was a small sacrifice to make for the sake of an entire world . . . and yet. . .
Jo realized then that she hadn’t given much thought to the possibility of not coming out of this plan alive. She wanted to survive this. She wanted Snow and herbothto survive this. But she hadn’t stopped to think about what might happen if things didn’t go according to plan. Or rather, if them going according to plan meant Jo had to make a very important decision, one that meant giving up everything and everyone she loved so that they’d be safe. So that Snow would be safe.
She wanted to be certain. She wanted to square her shoulders right now and tell them that, if it came down to it, they would follow the plan and that would be that. If it was a suicide mission, so be it. If it meant saving everyone, Jo would make that sacrifice.
But when she finally spoke, all she could manage was a strained, “We’ll think about that when we come to it.”
Chapter 19
