“But I was just admiring you,” he said. “You have ...”
“I can see the sunlight!” exclaimed Cornelius, who was observant but had no sense of timing. He was right—we passed through the last of the mist, and the world opened up again, bright and full of possibilities.
20
I had half expected the new kingdom to look drastically different from our own and so was a little disappointed. We had burst in so dramatically that I had hoped for an equally dramatic arrival, but all we saw was the same grass, the same trees, the same road stretching ahead and behind.
I felt a prickle of excitement all the same, because we were reallyelsewhere, somewhere entirely new, where King Darius could not reach us. And it wasn’t exactly the same, if you stopped and really thought about it.
It had the brightness and clarity of a world without stolen hearts and beautiful, sinister women. Sylvester opened the carriage window so we could breathe the new air.
“It feels different,” commented Cornelius.
“Different how?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. It smells different,” he said. “I can’t say it in human.”
“I know what he means,” said Sylvester. “The air has a different texture.”
I took a deep breath. I couldn’t detect any of what Sylvester and Cornelius were feeling with their heightened senses, but I did feel free. I could stand straighter, knowing that we were safe from the king and the sorceresses. I just hoped Da and the villagers were safe as well.
“I suppose we should try to find a town and ask about this Weftwitch,” I said. “Unless you have some magic way of finding her.”
“Perhaps, but I think my magic might work differently here,” said Sylvester. He created a little fireball and let it play over his knuckles. It danced for a moment, then fizzled. He frowned down at it. “I don’t want to risk it. Nor use a heart. We do not know what kind of attention that could draw here.”
“Well, until you figure that out,” I said, “I think we should keep going along this road. It’s bound to lead somewhere, somewhere with people, and then we can ask about to find out where we have to go next.”
We followed the road, and, as I had suspected, we reached a village before too long. We stepped out of the carriage, its shining steps unfolding themselves under our feet, and looked around.
The village didn’t look all that different from mine, at first glance. I could see a cobbled road lined with shops, a smithy with a horseshoe hung over the doorjamb, and well-tended hedgerows lining lanes that led to houses and farms.
There was even a square like ours back home, where we held the markets and such, or gathered to gawp at the sorceresses. I felt that if I followed the rickety road, I would reach a pub with a sticky floor and a fat black-and-white cat sunning itself on the doorstep, just like back home.
But the village was empty.
I wondered if the entire populace was hiding behind bushes and trees and such, ready to jump out at us. The place had that sort of feel—like something might leap out at you at any second. I looked back at the carriage. Even the magical horses seemed wary, chuffing a little through their dinner plate-sized nostrils and shifting their weight uneasily from one massive foot to another.
“Is anyone here?” I called out to the empty air.
“I can’t smell anyone,” noted Cornelius from beside my ankle.
“Nor can I sense anyone,” added Sylvester. “My senses are duller here, though. Something like wearing gloves over your fingers. I can still feel things, but the impressions are blunted. Blurred. I could not say for sure that no one else is here.”
We kept walking, cautiously, peering in any windows and doorways we passed. The place did seem a little neglected, on closer inspection. Weeds and bright flowers poked through the cobblestones.
“It’s Foss,” I said suddenly, stopping.
Sylvester looked at me as if I had gone mad.
“The flower.” I stooped and picked it. It was delicate, greenish white, lacelike, with a distinctive curled petal that made the head look like a chalice. “The flower I’m named after.”
I felt foolish for pointing it out, but it was so comforting to come across something familiar in this strange, lonely place.
“May I see?” said the sorcerer.
Feeling even more foolish, I stuck out my hand, holding the flower between my thumb and index finger. The contrast between that intricately detailed and appealing little plant and my strong, red hand seemed laughable to me, but he plucked the flower gravely from between my fingers and examined it. I looked away, embarrassed.
“It is beautiful,” he said.
