Sapphire by the Sea

Chapter 1 TALULLAH Home had never felt so empty. Talullah winced as the thought crossed her mind, escaping the dark place she’d locked it for the last three months. How could she feel that way when her father and sisters were with her? Talullah had won. Beaten the most powerful sorceress the world had ever seen. Most everyone dreamed of changing their past at least once in their life, and she’d actually done it. She’d saved her family and the known world from Renevelda’s plan. Despite all that, she’d still failed. Every storm reminded Talullah of her mother’s body turning to ash inside the Mazuchawi. Was she gone for real this time? You are unworthy of the power inside you. Your strength is weakness playing dress-up. Home may have been lonely, but her head was full. The voices of the Unforgiven had followed her when she’d destroyed the Firefall and released them from their trap. Though she’d separated the ghosts from their pain, she hadn’t destroyed the pain itself. Like matter, it shifted form but never truly disappeared. It lived just as strong as ever inside of her. Talullah marked down a range of dates in her leather-bound records book, then moved the comb carved from a shell to the side of her workstation. She took a deep breath and held onto the must of old wood as long as possible. The workshop was as much a part of her as her own body. She didn’t need to touch the antique dressers to feel the polished wood’s sleek surface, didn’t need to see the curves of the iron sculptures to appreciate the craftsmanship, didn’t need to hear the tinkle of metal charms on a bracelet to feel it in her bones. The past had always drawn her to it, both sweet and bitter, but always promising adventure and discovery. She could think of nowhere else than her workshop she’d rather be. Yet she felt half-full at best. A red bird perched on the hazelnut tree outside and sang a song just for her, a melody offered to quell loneliness the same color as the gray-blue sky. Talullah rubbed her dry eyes. She’d been up since before the sun. In truth, she couldn’t remember if she’d ever gone to bed or if she’d only imagined the warmth of her quilt before her mind stirred her awake. She needed to rest. Rest is weakness. Rest is lazy. Your life will pass you by. It’s true. It happened to me. It will happen to you. She’d been warned that Alteration would have its consequences. Tearing a new timeline into the fabric of existence was no modest feat, regardless of how tiny the pinhole. If these voices were the price she had to pay to protect her family, she’d gladly make the same choice over and over. It had only been a few months. Maybe they would fade. She hoped they would. Still, hoping didn’t mean she had to wait. Talullah organized her workstation and slid her ledger into the desk drawer, locking it. She placed the key in the front pocket of her knapsack and packed up the reference materials she’d finished with. Usually, she’d stop at the bakery for a buttery croissant on her way to the library in the middle of town, but these books didn’t belong to the River Hill Library. Strictly speaking, she wasn’t supposed to remove them from where she’d found them. But the way she saw it, books were meant to be read and loved and used. As far as she could tell, ghosts had no use for them. She, on the other hand, thrived on research. Hopefully, one of the books would eventually help her get the voices out of her head. Dunamai’s Eye warmed against her collarbone, and the tiny amethyst within its frame glowed as it recognized the books’ origins. Talullah willed it to calm, to cool. She didn’t want to use the magic now. And now that she had the amethyst, she could better control her visions. At least the ones that showed her the past. The others came as they always had, in foggy colored fragments. Training with her Great Aunt Mirella had prepared her to deal with those, too. It was a crisp, gray morning in early March. Still winter, yet the first green signs of spring pushed their way through the frost. Talullah pulled her silky black cloak tighter around her shoulders. It warmed every inch of her and dulled the sharpness of the wind. When she reached the smoky tree line that marked the entrance to Nainehta Forest, a shiver that had nothing to do with the weather climbed her spine. Six months ago, she’d entered Nainehta, a place shrouded in mystery and tales of horror, to chase down her sister’s captors. Every time she’d come here since she’d returned home, the same dichotomy of emotions rose up in her. Fear, of course, and reverence. She’d survived the forest that first time by sheer luck and every time since by virtue of Dunamai’s Eye. Though she knew neither the cloak nor her necklace could truly protect her from every danger lurking in the dark, a piece of her felt like she had conquered something most others weren’t brave enough to try. Or stupid enough, the voices chided. Maybe that’s why she kept going back. To test herself. To see if bravery was an antidote to the poison in her mind. She only had to prove it to herself. Soon, she would be the only one who remembered. Lavender grass tickled her knees as she crossed the threshold into Nainehta. The sky darkened quickly, as it always did in the strange forest. Normal rules of time didn’t apply there. Talullah didn’t panic this time. She simply traced Dunamai’s Eye and called forth her Sight, willing Urtha’s gift to show her past path. Glowing arrows appeared on the forest floor. Talullah’s feet followed them automatically. She almost thought her body remembered the way on its own, but she wasn’t stupid enough to try to navigate the darkness without her magic. Rustling and hoofbeats surrounded Talullah. The creatures moving in between worlds always sounded closer than they were. At least that’s what she told herself every time the tingle of fear warmed her blood. They were careful to keep their forms hidden, so she’d never caught one passing through the barrier. She didn’t understand how it worked, traveling through the Four Worlds without a tree as a portal. She didn’t truly need to know. The spirits had their way. She had hers. She reached the fork in the path, one side leading to Igdrasil, the oldest transport tree, and the other to Gillie the Wood Faerie’s house. Each time she came to this spot, she debated with herself. Would Gillie even want to see her? Would he remember? Every time, she turned left toward Igdrasil. Gillie preferred his solitude. Preferred to live his life absent the influence of “Wreckers”—his word for humans—like her. And she was a coward. Of course he hates you. Renevelda burned his home because of you. Your existence is a scourge on his life. Talullah gritted her teeth and shook her head, imagining she could lock the voices in a drawer in her mind. When she finally reached Igdrasil, she drew a deep, relieved breath, exhaling a visible cloud into the frigid air. The light from Dunamai’s Eye illuminated only a fraction of the tree. It would take at least twenty of her holding hands to wrap around its circumference. A hint of color shimmered at the edges of the raised symbols decorating its surface, barely visible beneath the layer of frost. Talullah had consulted Ancient Languages of the World a dozen times and still couldn’t figure out the meaning of the symbols or even their language of origin. The mystery made them even more alluring. Now was not the time for introspection. The forest grew restless. She shouldn’t tempt it any longer. Talullah placed her gloved palm against the tree’s black bark and called her Sight forward. The tree rumbled. The door appeared. She pushed the handle down, and the door swung inward, fading into nothingness. This part always gave her pause. The first time she’d entered the transport tree, she hadn’t had time to think. She’d just jumped. Now that she knew what to expect, it was somehow more difficult to make herself go. In the end, though, she always did. The only alternative was staying. “Suditzas, help me,” she said, her voice scratchy from disuse. Those might have been the first words she’d spoken aloud all day. She jumped into the blackness, her body sliding down, down, down to the one place the voices couldn’t follow.