Hermit crabs clicked their claws angrily, skittering into the nearest divot as I slid into the hollowed-out space. It was identical in size and shape to the other across the cave, but something about this one felt… different.
Reaching into a damp crevice, I brushed away the loose pebbles, my hand grazing the slime and the grit and the chipped shells of sea snails, until it landed on something round and smooth.
Muscles shaking—from the cold, from excitement, from the dwindling magic—I pulled out the Pearl of Truth, cringing when I scraped its side on the narrow cavity. Removing the bits of algae stuck to its glossy outer layer, I weighed it in my palm.
It was like I held the entire world in my hands. Nothing felt more right. More true. I was meant to find this, to hold it. How was I supposed to give it up? I wouldn’t, I couldn’t?—
A burning sensation tore through my scabbed wrist. The flash of pain cut off my train of thought. This wasn’t me. It was the tattoo. The true challenge wasn’t finding the target.
It was turning it in.
I considered the consequences of not giving it back as I flipped it between my hands, the extra touches fueling the rush, the Pearl glistening with every twist.
Beneath the surface, its shimmering white substance parted at my movements—as if this wasn’t a pearl at all, but a glass object made to mimic one.
Huh. So it really was like a Magic Eight Ball.
Maybe I could just give it a little shake.
A flare of green, a hint of blue broke through, growing brighter, more alive.
As soon as I stopped, the misty interior thickened, shrouding the secrets within its core.
“No!” I surprised myself with the cry that echoed off the cave walls.
Without thinking, I shook the Pearl harder, throttling the damn thing until my arms felt like they might fall off—until my teeth ground together so tight it gave me a pressure headache and, finally, the inside diluted with color.
This time when I stilled, fragments of a scene floated to the surface.
Full, flowered meadows. Deep valleys, winding rivers. Black, volcanic sand. Miles of untouched beach. Moss-covered cliffs, roosting birds. Rainbow streets, cozy taverns. Glaciers, ice—so much ice.
What was I looking at? A glimpse of the future? Another world?
A pale building on a bluff with a red-roofed tower. A lighthouse. Someone knocking—no, banging on the door. A young woman in a blue sweater, hair in a messy braid, desperately trying to get in.
The angle shifted, and I could almost taste the earth in the air, almost feel her frustration, as if it were… I swallowed against a knot of fear that had lodged itself in my throat.
The girl in the Pearl of Truth was me.
And then, between one furious blink and the next, the vision changed. Day became night. It was still me, but this River was fuming—this River was hopeless.
Stomping and kicking and screaming on the tower’s doorstep while everything, everyone around her burned. The vast, rugged coastline scorched to dirt. The fields not lush and full of life but holding the ruins of a fallen city, a dying fire to indicate every razed home and building.
The moon shone. There might have been stars, but the sky was covered in red and green brushstrokes that glimmered and twirled. And in the soft light, horned beasts stalked the horizon while women were dragged by their hair, children were stolen from loving hands, and desperate beings were left to cry over their dead.
Ash billowed beneath my other self’s footsteps, settling on the ground beside the bodies. A half-burnt corpse looked up at me, its face twisted in horror.
Death covered everything. Ribbons of flesh, severed limbs, torn wings—remnants of what seemed to have been a war.
Rain began to fall, dousing everything in scarlet. Horror seized both mes—within the Pearl and standing here in this empty cavern—because those weren’t raindrops at all.
It was blood.
I tore myself from the scene, and the momentum carried me as I slipped backwards, splashing into a pool of dark liquid.
Had I landed in blood or water? Wind carried the sounds of whips cracking, of people screaming. Fear rushed through me as the candles sputtered. Reality wobbled; for a moment I couldn’t tell which me I was, if I was the River clutching the Pearl, or the one inside it.
Muscles tight and locked, I planted my feet firmly in the sand, the wake lapping at my clothes.
