Of Witches and Wind (23 page)

“Well, thanks for saving my life.” I sheathed my sword, gritting my teeth against the pain.

“Good,” Chase said. “Now hold on to that gratitude. I need to tell you something, and you can't bite my head off. We're twelve miles away from the others. I couldn't find a closer spot to land, not at high tide.”

I pressed a hand to my sore ribs. Chase had told me to run before the bridge cracked. He knew that
he'd
be fine. He could fly. I just hadn't realized he'd had it under control. If I hadn't fallen too, he would've just flown straight back, made some excuse, and rejoined the quest.

Darcy had my pack with the M3, so we couldn't even remind Lena to text my mom.

I'd screwed the whole thing up. Again. Between getting us
kicked off the Fey railway and breaking the bridge, I'd probably cost us a whole day.

I suggested calling the Dapplegrim, but Chase said that boon was too awesome to waste. He still had his ring of return in his pocket, I pointed out. He could head back to EAS and explain what had happened, but Chase refused—if he left the quest, they might not send him back. Then I tried to convince him to fly off and tell the others where I was. I could stay in one place so they could find me again.

Chase rolled his eyes. “First of all, we still have two days to get to the Unseelie Court, and we're not that far away. Only about a three-hour flight. I mean a day's walk. Second of all, I'm not leaving you—not on a hidden continent, not at night, not alone. End of discussion.”

That was an unexpectedly nice and terrifying thing to say. I would have come up with a great argument for that, but I got distracted. “Your wings just disappeared.” Without warning, Chase looked like a regular, human kid.

“I told you they would. That's what happens when I don't use them for a while,” he said, shrugging. “We'll just walk. If the others are keeping to the coast, and we're keeping to the coast, we're bound to run into each other. We'll reach them by midnight or so.” He strode up the sand dune, slipping once on loose sand but catching himself with a flutter that made his wings visible. “As long as we don't run into trouble. By trouble”—he swung around to grin at me—“I mean bad guys. I can't believe you dropped your sword, by the way.”

I followed along more slowly, step after painful step. “It was going to kill the troll.”

“Yeah, so? What do you think we've been training for?” Chase said.

This
was
what we'd been training for. I'd been so focused on getting better I'd forgotten that.

Chase rolled his eyes. “You'll need to get over it sometime.”

I hated that he was right. “I just want to get through middle school without killing anyone. That would be a really normal thing to want if I wasn't a Character.”

Chase looked a little taken aback. It took him a couple seconds to change the subject. “Have I told you yet how awesome smashing the troll was?”

“Even though it broke the bridge?” I asked grimly.

“Minor detail.” He pointed to the grove of pines we walked into. “Hit one of those.”

“Why?”

“I wanna see. I'd do it myself, but the ring only lets
you
use it.”

“It seems like a waste of a perfectly good tree.”

“Please please please.” He poked me in the shoulder with every word. He apparently thought I'd give in if he annoyed me enough. “You need to learn how to use that left hook anyway. Better a tree than my face.”

“You shouldn't call your face a target. That tempts me.” But I swung my fist at the nearest trunk, mainly to shut him up. My ribs were not happy when I connected. The tree cracked and fell.

Chase grinned. “Except for the way you punch like a human, that was the greatest thing I've seen all week.”

“What do you mean I punch like a human?” He couldn't expect me to punch like anything besides human. It was a biological fact.

“You don't put any of your body weight behind the punch. You need to punch and kind of lurch with it—like you're going to do a shoulder roll.”

“Does it matter how I punch if this ring gives me superman strength?”

“Well, first, you have two arms and just one ring.” It amazed me how quickly Chase could go from goofball to teacher. “Second, I'm almost positive that the ring responds to the intensity of the blow. If you punch harder, it'll hit harder too. Try.” He tapped the nearest trunk.

I did, tired of arguing now that the adrenaline was draining away. And if the other one broke, this one exploded. I squeezed my eyes shut against the splinters flying everywhere. Chase whooped.

“I think I've reached my tree-killing quota for the evening.” My left hand was all scratched up. I could feel it.

“We'll see how bored we get later. But you know what this means?” Chase said. “We have to rework your fighting style. You've got the sword work down pretty well, but if you throw in your natural kicking skills and that kind of punch, you'll be unstoppable. If you had pulled a Mighty Snap Kick at Lake Michigan with just the right timing, you could have stunned the chimera and stopped it without tackling anybody.”

I couldn't even think about the chimera without seeing Mia's head on the table. The dream was definitely bothering me. “Chase, what do you think of Mia?”

“Useless,” said Chase with such disgust I felt kind of pleased. “I don't know why Ben asked her to be his Companion.”

I told him what I'd dreamed. “Do you think I should tell her?”

Chase shot me the look he always gave me when I asked for advice—the one that Lena called the
why the hiccups are you asking me?
expression. “Some Characters get beheaded in their Tales.”

“Which Tales?” Maybe I could list them for Mia.

“No idea,” Chase said.

“Lena would know.” But without the M3, I couldn't ask her.

“Yeah, well—Lena can't fly,” Chase said shortly. “How many times have you dreamed it so far?”

“Two.” It was darker in the trees. I stared at the ground to make sure I didn't trip over any roots.

“Then you don't need to worry unless you dream it again. Besides, it's really rare for someone to dream about someone's Tale besides their own. It could just be a regular dream.”

“But last year, I dreamed about falling out of a beanstalk four times. That's how I knew to jump off.”

“Glad you had a plan then. Other than dragging me down to my death,” Chase said. I lifted my fist threateningly. He skittered out of the way, laughing.

I hoped it was a regular dream, but somehow I doubted it. “But it feels like the dreams that come true. You know. Kind of still. Focused. Not jumbled and confusing like regular dreams.”

Chase shrugged. “The Fey don't dream.”

“You mean, you've never dreamed of your Tale?” This would be news. Chase liked to brag about how he would have the biggest and best Tale ever.

“You have?” Chase said, clearly skeptical.

I nodded, smirking. I didn't usually have an advantage with Tale-related stuff.

“Oh,” Chase said.

A stack of split wood stood in the next clearing, as tall as I was. A giant double-headed ax leaned against it.

Chase delicately kicked out a piece near the bottom. Then he kicked out another.

“That's probably a whole week of some poor woodcutter's work.” Woodsmen were fairy-tale staples, just like fairy godmothers and big bad wolves.

Chase shrugged, kicking out a third. He flew up and landed on the top. “See? It's still stable.”

Then the whole thing toppled, scattering logs down the slope.

Chase hovered, shocked, his peach-colored wings blurring behind him.

I burst out laughing and immediately regretted it. My ribs enjoyed laughing even less than smashing trees.

“Time to go.” He landed at a half run.

I rolled my eyes.
Now
he was worried about the woodsman.

“I don't really dream, you know,” he said. “I've only had one dream my entire life, but it gets longer and longer every time I have it.”

“That's what happens in the Tale dreams,” I told him.

Chase grinned, like someone had said he would get his very own quest for his birthday. “There's this table, in this house, with all these people, and then there's this cake, as big as a giant's palm. Candles are shoved in it, all over. Sometimes I try to count them, but on the top of the cake, someone wrote in blue icing, ‘Happy birthday, Grandpa Chase.' ”

Then I did trip over a tree root.

It was official. Of all the weird things Chase had told me that week, him telling me that he dreamed about being a grandfather freaked me out the most.

“I'm going to live to be an old man and die in my sleep.” He had said that before, usually when our lives were in danger, but I had thought it was just him being cocky. Not once had I suspected that he believed it. “That's how I knew I needed to leave the Fey and live among humans. I needed to grow up.”

The winds' mother was right. Chase had been a turncoat. I mean Turnleaf.

I could never make fun of him the same way again. Maybe Chase was an idiot sometimes, maybe he bragged more than he
should, but he'd also made a very grown-up decision before I'd even reached first grade.

Thunder rumbled above us, but we couldn't see any lightning. We couldn't even see the sky. Too many giant pines in the way.

“That might put a damper on our plans.” Then Chase clapped a hand over his mouth.

“Whoa. Corny much? I think Ben's rubbing off on you.”

“I meant—we should figure out which way that storm is headed.” Chase jumped up, and with two beats his wings carried him up past the trees. “I'm going to check it out.”

So he left me alone with my thoughts. I hoped Lena had remembered to text my mom. I hoped it would take less than a day to find the other questers. And if we didn't find them, if we were lost on Atlantis for weeks . . .

Thunder cracked again overhead—much closer. “Chase! We really should find shelter. It would suck to get electrocuted.”

He didn't answer.

I was alone in the woods after dark, on a strange hidden continent. I drew my sword, just in case nymphs from the pine trees I had busted wanted revenge. My ribs didn't like that. Wincing, I let the weapon dangle at my side. “Chase?”

All was quiet, except for the thunder.

If Chase had been flying around above the trees, he'd been the tallest thing around. Dodging lightning was probably impossible, even if he was a good flier. “Chase! Answer me!”

“Rory!” His voice was faint, behind me, and kind of strangled.

I whirled around, the hair on my arms standing up. In the gloom, a large wingless figure carried a double-headed ax over his shoulder. Iron Hans. Relief spread through me.

Rolling my eyes, I trudged down the slope. “Chase, I don't care
if that ax was too good a prop to pass up. This is not the time for your scary Iron Hans impression.”

But the man didn't grin, or laugh, or break the glamour like Chase would have. And when the lightning flashed, the man's pewter skin lit up. His features were more rugged than Chase usually made him, the jaw more square, the dark eyes more deep set. Just the way he stared at me, emotionless, waiting, freaked me out.

I slowed. “Chase, seriously, I'm going to try my new ring out on you if you don't stop faking.”

“Is this Chase?” The figure lifted his other arm, the one not holding his ax. A tall, skinny boy dangled from his hand, by his belt. Chase's curls flopped into his eyes, his jaw slack. I knew it was real then—Chase would never create an illusion of himself that looked so scared.

If you ever meet this villain, you should turn around and run the other way. None of you are good enough to face him.
That was what Hansel had said about Iron Hans. My feet stopped where they were.

If I attacked first, I might surprise him. But what good would that do against someone bigger and stronger than me?
No,
I thought, my thumb finding the ring,
not stronger
.

But how did you beat a man with metal skin? He was like a walking suit of armor. My blade would just glance off him.

Chase was too terrified to even speak, except for a breathy sort of “I— I—”

No, not “I.” “Eye.”

I sprang forward.

Iron Hans lifted the ax in a guard position, almost lazily. I bashed it out of the way with my sword, using all the strength in my right arm. Then I hurled my weight behind my other fist, aiming at the hand holding Chase's belt. Iron Hans had expected the
sword slash, but the punch came as a surprise. Grunting slightly, he dropped Chase and stepped back unsteadily.

The sword's magic increased my speed—I swept my leg under his heel, tripping him. He slammed into the ground. I stepped over him, one grubby sneaker on the shaft of his ax, the other on his chest. My sword guided its point right to Iron Hans's eye, and I just held it there, resisting the blade's magic, its impulse to thrust.

“Chase?” I didn't risk looking away from the villain.

“Freaking Iron Hans.
Here
.” If Chase was talking, he was fine. Whatever spell Hans had cast over him was broken. “And you beat him in like four moves. He's never going to live that down.”

Iron Hans just stared up mildly, like it wasn't too unusual for a girl to be standing on his chest one wrong move, one
twitch
away from shoving a blade through his eye and into his brain.

I suddenly felt a little queasy.

I didn't want to kill him, not a man beaten and defenseless on his back. But what else could we do with him? He was an enemy. He'd killed almost fifty Characters in the last battle against the Snow Queen alone.

Rain started to fall, in fat, chilly drops.