“Something is off balance here?” I jump in, warming to the idea. It makes sense. Nothing has felt right here since I came with Karston, searching for Jax. And Master Cymbre was always talking about balance between the living world and the spirit one. “I think you’re right. Maybe this could’ve been avoided if there were still necromancers coming to the Deadlands regularly.”
“We should be doing that anyway,” Jax cuts in. “The spirits here may not be welcome in our world anymore, but we owe it to our loved ones to keep them safe in their own world by coming down here sometimes, making sure all is well in their new lives.”
Simeon and I nod our agreement, and after a moment I ask, “But how do we fix this now, short of performing a bunch of raisings to see if anything changes?”
“I don’t think there’s anything we can do,” Simeon says after studying the frozen spirits for a while.
Nipper rubs her head against my legs and coos as if agreeing with him.
“Agreed. Unless...” Jax stands taller, gripping his blade with more confidence. “I think we should talk to Valoria, whenever she has time. Tell her what’s going on down here and see if she and her council will give permission for necromancers to at least start patrolling the Deadlands more often.”
I don’t know how Valoria’s council will react when presented with our disturbing findings, but there’s one thing I’m sure of as we pick our way deeper into the dark heart of the forest: Necromancers are still needed, even if we’re not raising the dead. I’m still needed. Me, the Sparrow. Valoria will understand. She’ll help us make this right.
We can’t turn our backs on the spirit world any longer.
“What was that?” Simeon yelps, interrupting my thoughts. I see him pointing to his left, but this forest is the kind of dark that makes a torch just give up.
It’s only when we emerge from the trees altogether, into a small valley split by a fast-moving river, that I see her: Firiel, dipping her toes into the rapid, icy current.
Her death wound, the arrow that used to pierce her middle, has vanished. She looks much as she must have in life, only paler, but ahint of her brown hair can be seen when the clouds overhead roll back to reveal the moon. There’s a certain peace in her eyes, too, as she watches us approach, without a hint of surprise or any other emotion.
She bears all the signs of a spirit ready to move on to whatever mysterious place awaits them after the Deadlands. The place where, if it really does exist, Evander might be. I still don’t understand how Master Cymbre, when she was alive, was always so sure of what comes after we’re gone.
“Firiel,” I say quickly, reaching out a hand. My fingers close over the icy coldness of her forearm. “Stay with us a moment. We won’t keep you long, I promise.”
Jax holds out his vial of blood, fresh as mine, in offering.
Firiel shakes her head but takes a step back from the stream bank and faces us to show she’s listening.
“I’m a friend of Meredy’s,” I say by way of introduction, hoping to stir up a memory. I study Firiel’s face for signs of recognition, but it’s clear she doesn’t know who I am, or even who Meredy is anymore. The absence of connection to everything she was, everything she loved, chills me worse than thoughts of anything Valoria’s worst enemies might be planning next.
She clearly hasn’t been talking to Meredy through a crystal, or in any other way. I hope that crystal is at the bottom of the ocean right now, where it can’t trouble anyone’s mind ever again.
“We came to ask you something strange,” Jax prompts, reminding me of our purpose. “But we hope you’ll hear us out.”
“Most of the spirits here are avoiding us—are they angry?” I jump in, watching her hopefully for signs that she understands.
Her face remains blank, but finally, she reaches for the vial of blood Jax offered earlier. He hands it over, and she drinks every drop,licking the glass clean. Simeon offers up his vial, too, and she drains that one as well while we repeat our question a few times.
Slowly, her brows knit together and a gleam of understanding enters her soft eyes. She nods, seemingly in answer to our question, then lowers the second vial and points to something at our backs.
I whirl around, half expecting to see a Shade looming behind me, but we’re alone on this mountain except for the trees and the moon.
Turning back to Firiel, taking a deep breath to keep my patience, I press on with my questions. “Have any spirits left the Deadlands recently? Is that even possible?”
Again, she points toward something behind us. As I exchange a glance with Jax and Simeon, who seem as lost as I am, Firiel strides forward, beckoning for us to follow. We only have to walk a little ways along the border of the dark forest, making our way up a tree-covered hill with Nipper following at Firiel’s heels, before we see what she wanted to show us: a gate at the bottom of the hill, opposite the side that we climbed.
“This is getting ridiculous,” Jax grumbles. “She doesn’t understand anything.”
But Firiel, crossing her arms and bristling at his words, points again toward the gate.
A trickle of cold slides down my spine. “So thereisa spirit in our world—in Karthia?” When Firiel nods, I demand, “Who is it?”
Firiel shrugs, looking apologetic.
“How is that even possible—a spirit in our world without a body?” Jax cuts in. “Do you know if they want to hurt Valoria?”
Poor Firiel shakes her head, unable to answer him.
