The Missing Traveller

A sixteen-year-old boy sat on a small bench near the edge of Rindor’s town square, his gaze fixed on the sky. Perhaps Lark would still come, and he was just late and held up in Deemstun. Alister Kinross heaved a sigh, closed his eyes, and slid further down his seat.

His eyes popped open when a pair of hands pushed him forward, so close to the edge of the cliff, he could see some of the houses in the inner districts.

“Saved your life!”

The hands pulled him back in his chair and laughter surrounded him. Alister turned with a grin. It was his friends, and Estelle. His smile widened and he stood.

“You should’ve seen your face.” Gale sighed, and pretended to wipe a tear out of his blue eye. Alister chuckled.

“Come on, Gale, I didn’t even yell. You try it so much, it’s not even a surprise.”

His friend’s unusual light, shaggy hair and blue eyes only added to his appearance. At least, that’s what Alister overheard from some of his female neighbours as the gushed about how handsome Gale was in the library. Gale, for the most part, seemed to agree with them, although he wore a bitter frown the day he realised Alister had grown taller than he.

Alister and Louis may’ve maintained the narrow frames of their youth, had they not worked in the forests all summer, too. Louis had the face of an eagle, with a sharp hooked nose, high cheekbones, and piercing brown eyes.

Since Alister turned sixteen last winter, he joined the woodcutters in the forests for days at a time, and for weeks over summer, a practice which made his arms and back strong. Gale used to tease him about his wiry frame, until Alister grew taller than him and most other men, and matched his strength. His mother often said he grew to look more like his father every day, although beyond the strong jawline and deep-set eyes, Alister didn’t see it. He saw in himself his mother’s straight nose, her thick black hair, and eyes the colour of cinnamon.

Louis sighed and tucked his hands into his pockets like he often did. “Unfortunately, it’s true. At least we still got a scream when we did it to Estelle earlier.” He grinned. Gale narrowed his eyes and hit him hard on the shoulder. As far as Gale was concerned, he was the only one allowed to tease his twin.

Estelle flushed. “Who wouldn’t be scared when you’re being held out off the cliff?”

“Alister, obviously.” Louis rolled his eyes. “Didn’t you know he’s the bravest in all the land?” His voice dripped with sarcasm. Alister gave Estelle a sheepish grin, and she looked down, smiling. “And watch it, Gale. I was only tattooed yesterday.”

Alister raised his eyebrows. In Rindor, boys were tattooed with ink when they reached the age of sixteen, as a rite of passage. Decades ago, the event was celebrated and the tattoos held meaning, but over the years it was played down to be just a painful sort of present. “You turned sixteen yesterday? Are you ready to be married, then?” He smirked.

“Oh, give it a rest.” Louis glared at him. “You should’ve heard my ma going on about that. I’d rather my parents give me coin when I turned sixteen, not cut open my arm.”

Gale grinned. “You really shouldn’t have said so, Louis.” He reached his hand slowly towards Louis’ shoulder.

Louis pushed his hand away. “Get away from me. You didn’t see me punching you when you got yours.”

While the two of them slapped at each other’s hands, Estelle stepped towards Alister. “What did you do to your hands?”

Alister shrugged. “Burnt them a little while I was cooking.”

Gale laughed, stopped his fight with Louis, and ruffled his blonde hair by habit. He pushed the limits of acceptable hair length in Rindor, and seemed to make an effort to keep it tousled. “Is this your first time near a fire, Alister?” He sparked up a small flame on the tip of his finger and waved it around Alister. “Are you scared?”

Alister grimaced and swatted his hand—and flame—away. “You show off sura every chance you get. Don’t strain yourself, Conjurer.”

“I think he just likes to rub it in.” Louis raised his eyebrows to disappear into his dark brown hairline. “If we’re not careful, there’ll be a Cleansing in this group. Marked against Unmarked.”

Alister dodged Gale’s fist and pretended to nod off to sleep.

“Hey!” Louis raised his nose with a grin. “It’s interesting! It’s not my fault your lesser minds cannot comprehend my witty references.”

Gale sniggered. “And it’s not ours we haven’t memorised every event before last month.”

Estelle ignored them and picked up Alister’s hand. His attention was drawn to her and her hands at once.

“I can try and heal this, if you like.” She inspected the wound. “It’s not big. And I’m not doing it just to show off like my brother.” She shot a look at Gale, who shrugged.

“I like being Marked, what can I say?”

Alister begged his voice to remain steady. “You can try.”

She nodded and took a deep, slow breath. Gale reached out to flick her ear, but stopped when Alister shot him a glare. Louis pretended to yawn. Alister was fixed on Estelle.

Her eyes closed, and her eyebrows puckered in concentration. She took two slow breaths, squeezed his hand and opened her eyes. An icy cool came to his hand, followed by a great warmth that rose to an almost searing pain for a moment. He winced, but before he could jerk his hand away from the fire, it was gone. Despite the heat, he shivered, in part from the knowledge that candra had filled his hand. Estelle looked up, into his eyes, and Alister found it was difficult to look away from the pools of water.

“Done.” She still held his hand. Gale cleared his throat, and Alister stepped away from her abruptly, pulling his hand with him.

“I’ve never had anyone heal me before.” Alister averted his eyes to his hand. The new burn hadn’t changed much, but it didn’t itch anymore and it looked a couple of days old. “It felt strange.”

Estelle examined his hand with a critical eye. “I didn’t do a good job. It hardly looks any different.” She looked up at Alister. “I’m sorry.”

Alister smiled at her. “Don’t be. It actually feels better than it did. You’re better than you think you are.”

Estelle waved away the compliment, and Alister noticed Gale looking between the two of them with a raised eyebrow.

Louis laughed and broke the tension. “I can’t believe Alister and I are Unmarked, while you two get one of each of the powers. Your father’s genes must have been laced with the stuff.”

Gale raised his eyebrows expectantly at his friend. Gale and Estelle were raised only by their mother.

“I only meant—you know, because you’re both Marked! And you have sura, and Estelle candra, so of course your father…” Louis trailed off, his eyes apologetic.

A grin twitched at Gale’s mouth. “Sura’s better.”

Estelle tittered. “Oh is it, my dear twin?” She raised her eyebrows. “Is this why I win every match between us? Too bad I can blow out your little flame without even touching candra.”

Gale glared at her. “All you can do with candra is move things around. An Enchanter? Please. At least Conjurers create something.”

Estelle rolled her eyes. “I don’t hear you complain when I heal your bruises, sewer-man.” A grin pulled at Alister’s mouth. The insult came from the older term ’sura-mancer’. “Or maybe I wouldn’t have to if you watched where you climbed. Really, for someone who grew up in a forest, you truly have an awful sense of balance.”

Alister nudged Louis. “Haven’t heard this argument before.” Louis chuckled and nodded.

Alister checked his father’s timepiece. “I’d best get home and see how my parents are doing. I’ll see you some other time.”

Gale paused his debate with Estelle and looked at him with an excited glint in his eyes. “We’ll go check out the Atwoods’ house next week, alright?”

The Atwoods were having their house reinforced, so now double the wooden supports kept it perched against the sloping cliffs. Whenever a house was under construction in Rindor, he, Gale, and Louis would go to the site and watch. Sometimes they helped, and sometimes, if the workers called it a day and returned home, they explored the stabilisation underneath the house. Often the panels crossed over, so it made for an entertaining climb. Better than the straight-branched ville trees of Rindor’s forests. Alister’s mother, Wayra, would clutch her chest at the thought of Alister jumping from panel to panel, with nothing to stop him from falling down into the ever-present fog but his balance and friends.

“Definitely.” If it’s still under construction by then. “I’ll see you all later.”

Gale hesitated, and stood. “I’ll walk you to the lift. I wanted to talk to you about our report for Professor Knot anyway.”

“That’s knot what you want,” Louis said with cheerful eyes, before he laughed at his joke. Estelle, Alister and Gale all groaned, but he kept laughing until Alister and Gale walked to the lift. Alister glanced over his shoulder and waved to Estelle, who already watched him and returned the wave with a smile.

Alister turned to Gale, and tried to wipe away a smile of his own. “Why did you want to talk about the report? It’s not due until the end of the month, and if I haven’t even started thinking about it yet, then why are you?” Gale often began his part in a report the morning it was due.

Gale snorted. “I don’t want to talk about the report. We’re going to talk about Estelle.”

Alister almost missed a step. “What?”

His friend eyed him critically. It reminded him of how Estelle looked at her work after healing his hand. “I’m not stupid, Alister. She acts all shy and coy when you’re around instead of being her usual, competitive, annoying self. And you, smiling and saying nice things and staring.” Alister opened his mouth to defend himself, but Gale wouldn’t let him say a word. “Now, you’re a good guy, and I’m sure you would never do anything to hurt Estelle in any way and all that…but come on, Alister. Of all the girls in Rindor, you had to be interested in my sister?” Gale grimaced. “I won’t mess with you like I did to Louis or those other apes…although that was a good laugh. But I know you’re my friend, and you wouldn’t go sneaking around behind my back.” Gale raised his eyebrows expectantly, as if he’d asked a question.

“Of course not.” Alister was not so much a fool to deny his interest in Estelle. Gale nodded approvingly.

“I knew it. There’re plenty of girls in Rindor.” Gale slapped Alister’s back, perhaps a little harder than usual. “Jadar Day’s coming up, so pick one and I’ll be by your side when you’re trying to convince them to dance with you. And laugh at your attempts to woo them.” He laughed, and was back to his joking self.

They kept chatting until the lift came, but Alister was only half invested in the conversation.

Alister sprawled on the couch later that day, his eyes fixed on the wooden roof of his home. He’d collapsed there ten minutes earlier, hoping the wood held enough patterns to entertain him until lunch. From past experience, he already knew this to be untrue.

His father’s voice rose from the corner. “Alister?”

Alister hauled himself up and crossed the room to where Ewen’s nearly-finished bookshelf rested. “Yes, pa?”

Ewen’s eyes hadn’t recovered the light they lost during the week from his uncle’s death. He managed a forced smile. “Will you give me a hand with the lacquer?”

Alister nodded and rummaged through the lacquer shelf which rested against the wall. “Coloured or clear?”

“Coloured. Mahogany.” Alister’s eyebrows pulled together in concern as he gathered the materials for the lacquer. His father was still distant.

“So that cliff-weed isn’t coming this fall?”

“No.” Alister’s eyes narrowed. Ewen wouldn’t even give Lark a chance. “You know, he does pretty well for himself. He enjoys being a travelling merchant. And he gets to fly around the Union.” He mixed the lacquer in the large wooden bowl, stained from years of use. “Don’t you think it’d be fascinating to see all the towns we hear about? Like the arglebon farms in Ferronlow, the glow-worm caves in Wenmire…and who else gets the chance to go to Deemstun, or Zyrusdale? Not to mention Bastium, all built on a plateau.”

Ewen gave a flat laugh. “I’d be willing to bet those in Ferronlow and Wenmire talk about seeing the forests of Rindor. Not many towns are as fortunate as use to have such a forest, Alister. Just be grateful we don’t live in Bulgandon.”

“Hmm. We’re not far off it.” Alister set the bowl of lacquer between them.

“Look, son.” Ewen picked up a brush to paint the bookshelf. “Rindor may be lower than most towns compared to the rest of the Union…but we have our family, friends, enough food, even a small plateau for the town square. We’ve forests and we’re able to spend our days doing something we enjoy. There isn’t anywhere else on Mount Era I’d rather live.”

Alister couldn’t help but smile as he helped Ewen paint the shelves. It was the most his father had spoken since Ian Norris’ death, and was by far the most positive. Alister remained silent—lying wasn’t tolerated in his family, and Ewen would be disheartened if Alister spoke of his desire to someday travel the Union, like Lark. His own son, a cliff-crawler?

Alister sighed. The Divine would have to move its resting hand for Alister to ever have the opportunity to travel, regardless. More likely than not, he would grow old in Rindor and never leave, despite his wishes. Someone who travelled all year, like Lark, was a great rarity in the Union. Even those who left their homes were uncommon.

Ewen’s brush hovered over the shelf as his eyes fell on Alister’s side.

Alister stopped. “What? Did I do it wrong?” Usually, he focussed on the task at hand to avoid mistakes. Ewen wasn’t easily pleased. Alister bit his lip.

“No, not at all.” Ewen met his eyes. “On the contrary, it’s fine work. Look at how it’s spread evenly across the wood. There’s hardly a trace of the brush lines.”

Alister raised his eyebrows. Ewen didn’t hand out compliments often. He followed his father’s gaze to his work. “Thank you.”

Ewen chuckled. “You sound surprised. You’re going to make a fine woodworker, Alister. You’ll be better than me before the year is done.” He hesitated. “I couldn’t ask for a better son, you know.”

Alister stared at him. First the solemn silence, now this? Uncle Ian’s death must have affected Ewen more than he realised.

His father’s eyebrows knitted together. “And I want you to know…if you feel the need to visit all those places you can’t stop talking about…those glow-worm farms or the arglebon caves…well, I suppose that wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen.”

Alister’s mouth fell open. “What?”

Emotion gripped Ewen’s voice. “I was thinking about it at the funeral. Your life is yours to live, not mine. You have your tattoos now; you can make your own decisions. The Divine only knows where you inherited your adventurous streak, but it’s part of who you are.”

After everything his father had said over the years, Alister understood how hard it was for Ewen to say those words. “Father…”

Ewen’s forehead creased when his eyebrows furrowed. “Just promise me one thing? You’ll come home every once in a while.”

Alister’s mouth pulled into a huge grin. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, old man. I’m not going anywhere yet. Besides, who’ll help you lug around this furniture if I’m gone?”

As he said the words, he realised they were true. His desire to travel wouldn’t overtake the love for his family. Rindor was home.

Ewen returned to his usual gruffness. “You might be adventurous, but you could still learn some respect, boy.”

Alister returned to the bookshelf with a chuckle. As Ewen fell silent, wrapped up in his own work, Alister found it difficult to suppress a laugh of wonderment. He never expected such words from his father.

They spent most of the morning on the bookshelf. Alister finished his side first and agreed to help Ewen move it to the shop when it dried. His father’s absorption in his work stopped him from asking where Alister was going when he walked out the door.

He took the twisted path to the Atwoods’.

Alister hadn’t explored a house without Gale and Louis before, but they were both busy at the academy that day. Alister, in preparation for Lark’s biannual visit to Rindor, had convinced the strict Professor Knot to let him take the week off. But when Lark didn’t arrive, he’d struggled to find something to occupy his time.

He didn’t need his friends to look around the house, and they wouldn’t mind if he visited early. After all, he still had most of the day to himself, and the bookshelf wouldn’t be dry until dusk.

Paths in Rindor twisted around trees and doubled back on themselves to scale the sloped terrain. Near the town square, wood formed steps and fences, but further down, leaves covered the ground, pressed down after years of use. On Alister’s right, the path dropped down to a slope, and the trees stretched towards him. Moss-covered boulders lined the left, where it curved upwards to a rocky section of cliff. Diffused sunlight lit up the ground in vague patches. Chatter from the birds and monkeys filled trees, but Alister only caught a glimpse or two of brown figures swinging through the trees and birds darting between the branches.

The Atwood’s place wasn’t far from his, and so only two minutes passed before he was checking the windows. Terry and Stella Atwood worked in the town square, and their children, Morgana and Andrew, would’ve left for the academy hours ago. Old Leona didn’t leave the house much, but from the window, there didn’t seem to be anybody home.

To be sure, Alister pounded the door and held up an attentive ear, met only with silence. A grin rose and he edged himself through the gap between the house and the cliff.

Dozens of new, bright ville panels below the house created a web of footholds. Most of the panels were older and worn—they’d be replaced within the week. Alister made a mental note not to step on any of them. It was no wonder the Atwoods meant to replace them; their house must’ve been among the first built in Rindor.

He lowered himself down to the base layer of supports, his grip strong on the upper panels—years of carpentry and wood-cutting made bearing his weight easy. He drew a sharp breath at the fog and sheer cliff beneath him. The Atwoods’ was one of the bottom houses of Rindor, where the small forest town became Orian’s Pass. The next house on that road would be twelve elevations down, in Bulgandon.

The thrill of being above nothingness, so close to a fall, reminded him of his time spent riding wind-chasers with Lark, the travelling merchant. If Lark wouldn’t come this autumn, this climb would have to do to replace the joy of flight.

Alister gained more confidence as he swung from panel to panel. He reached the corner of the house, and sat between the stretches of wood, with nothing but fog beneath or in front of him. He took a breath of fresh, clean air, and smiled. Perhaps perched on the side of a mountain wasn’t how houses were intended to be, but to Alister, they lived in the sky.

“I wonder what I’d be able to see if there was no fog.” It was impossible for him to imagine what lay beyond Mount Era; all it had ever been was a light grey fog. Were there other mountains? How high were they? How high up was he?

The silence in response to his question would usually be filled by Gale or Louis’ own theories. Aside from conversations about the beyond, they’d play games that involved enough jumping from panel to panel to make their mothers gasp. Instead, Alister sat alone in his seat in the sky. I should’ve waited for them.

Alister let his legs swing beneath him and sighed. He stood, made his way back to the cliff-side of the house. He was sure they’d understand why he went without them, but he might’ve earned a punch on the shoulder.

Still, exploring the foundations of a building was far more entertaining than researching at the academy about the Age of Sanctuary. Louis would probably disagree. Alister chuckled. He was only a couple of steps away from the cliff when he missed the panel and his foot dropped between the wood.

His heart skipped a beat at the brief fall, but a second piece of wood saved him. He looked down in relief, and his smile faded. It wasn’t one of the new panels that held his weight. It was aged, wide, and ran across the entire length of the house.

The old panel groaned.

The panel gave way beneath him and his foot fell through the worn wood. Alister stifled a curse and gripped the other panels so tight they cut into his fingers with splinters. He pulled himself up. His feet scrambled for a sure footing closer to the cliff, and they finally found it on a small rocky ledge beneath the house. Panels surrounding the broken one collapsed and crumbled. Alister clambered his way back up the side of the house to the stable path, breaking several more panels no longer held strong by their primary support. If he weren’t scrambling for his life, he would’ve kicked himself for his careless steps.

He breathed a heavy sigh when his feet reached solid ground on the path.

A movement through the window caught his eye. All the breath seemed to leave Alister’s body.

Morgana Atwood slept on the couch inside, a cloth draped across her forehead and her long dark braid hanging down to the floor. Alister froze, poised in front of the window as the newly-built support of the Atwoods’ house collapsed.

“No!” Alister roared, and stumbled to the door. “Morgana!” He grasped the handle, but it was locked. He kicked the door as hard as he could. “Morgana!”

Nobody was home! I made sure! Morgana had classes at the academy! His pounding on the door must’ve fallen on ears blocked by illness.

“Morgana!”

The new panels were too scarce at this point to hold the house up in its fight against gravity, and the old panels were in dire need of replacing. Stabilising a house was a dangerous process, but it was the only way to build at such an incline, and beneath the Atwoods’ house lay a steep slab of cliff.

His skull pounded as the door crunched under his foot. Time seemed to slow. The building’s walls and floors gave way from the edge.

“No!” Alister yelled again, and threw himself against the door. It collapsed on impact, and he fell to his knees on the splintered floorboards inside. His head snapped up, and Morgana’s hazel eyes opened wide to fix on his.

The floor shifted beneath them. Alister scrambled to his feet to reach Morgana, but with a dreadful crack and groan, the last supports of the house snapped, and the floor gave way on the outer edge.

Morgana stumbled to her feet, but it was too late. Half of his name cried out from her mouth, and she fell with the rest of the floor.

“No!”

Alister stared at the floor where Morgana had been as it crumbled towards him, and forced himself to turn and run back to the mountain. Wood gave way beneath his feet, but with one last leap, he landed on mossy ground. Pain flashed through his hands and legs, but he whipped his head around to the scene unfolding before him, his eyes wide with horror.

“No.” His voice broke. “No, no, no…”

The entire structure plummeted down the cliff. It broke into smaller and smaller pieces with every collision against the Mount. A waterfall of wreckage and furniture, as continuous and unforgiving as Pillian Falls, vanished into the mist below.

Blood drained from his face and a cold wave rushed over Alister when a scream from below pierced through the fog. Panic rose.

His voice was nothing over a whisper. “I…killed her.”

Scenarios played themselves out in his mind at high speed, of when he would tell the rest of the family. Confession to his parents. Wayra’s dejected eyes as they filled with tears. Ewen’s disappointment and anger. Sideways glances Gale and Louis would give him for committing a deed so terrible. Stares between him and the Atwood family for the rest of his life. Knowledge he was responsible for their devastated, grief-stricken expressions, that he didn’t save Morgana…what would Estelle, Gale’s twin sister, think? He couldn’t imagine she’d ever smile at him in such a shy and secretive way again. Not after he killed her best friend. Not after he took the life of a girl with as many years left to live as himself.

Yesterday, he’d walked Estelle to Morgana’s house, and swept one foot behind the other in a ridiculous attempt to make Estelle laugh at his goodbye.

“It would honour me to see you again, Estelle Holt,” he announced.

Estelle laughed and curtsied when she caught on. “The honour would be mine, Alister Kinross. May the Divine speak to you.”

“And you.”

Alister stood straight with a grin, and his eyes widened.

Morgana stood in the open doorway, her dark brown hair in a long braid and her smile about to break into laughter. “I didn’t realise you were one for such formalities, Alister.”

Alister’s cheeks burned. He handed Estelle her satchel, and Morgana raised her eyes amusedly as Estelle averted her eyes and hurried inside.

“Have a good day, Morgana,” Alister stammered, and turned back to the crossroads.

“I don’t get a bow?” Morgana called after him with a laugh.

Alister scrunched his eyes shut and bowed his head. She was so full of life, of humour, of laughter.

Accusations he couldn’t deny. Morgana dead, because of him. He tried so hard to always do what was right, and for what? Alister shook, his arms wrapped around himself.

There must be a better way.

Laughter and chatter came from above him, of a family who didn’t know their lives would turn upside down in a matter of minutes.

“Bane of the blight.”

His decision was made in a split second.

Alister sprinted back to the crossroads and flew up the stairs to take him in the opposite direction of the Atwoods. It was the long way around to his house, but the only way there to avoid the grief and outrage on their faces. He concentrated on the beating in his ears, trying not to listen for their shouts.

His legs didn’t stop as he weaved through the back paths and houses in lower Rindor, not until he reached his own home. He stopped abruptly at the door and tried desperately to catch his breath and listen at the same time.

After a prolonged moment of insufferably forced silence, while his lungs almost burst with the need to gasp in air, he determined nobody was home. Good lot that did last time. Pain twisted his mouth.

He burst through the door and thanked the Divine his parents were both out. Alister bolted straight to his room and unearthed a large pack from its buried home in the depths of his untidy closet. A whirlwind of clothes and essentials flew through the air as he tossed piece after piece of his life—his old life—into the pack. His eyes swept over anything he could bear to leave behind and stopped on items he needed to survive. He allowed only moments to decide. He pushed the timepiece given to him by his father when he turned sixteen into his pocket. His first wooden carving, a misshapen bird on a branch, stayed on his bedside table. The flint next to the bird made it into his pack.

He stopped when his eyes fell on a small, blue book. The one Lark had given him the day they met, the same day he rode a wind-chaser through the skies for the first time, and heard all about the other cities in the Union. Alister already had one foot out the door, but he snatched it from its place on the desk and pushed it into one of the pockets of the coat he’d put on inside-out in his rush.

He was so nauseated he forgot to pack food until he saw the pantry, but managed to load the last gap of his pack with large handfuls of mushrooms, rice, and bread, covered in a leather pouch.

It all happened so fast, Alister barely stopped to take one last glace at the house he’d grown up in, the house he’d never see again. A house almost identical to the one he’d personally sent crashing down the mountainside with Morgana Atwood inside.

Before he had time to dwell on it, he was out the door and headed straight to the waterfall-propelled lift.

Journ the conductor gave him an apprehensive squint. “Where are you off to?” He eyed the pack.

It took all of Alister’s careful determination to hold his voice steady. “I’m staying at Gale’s house tonight.” It was the first blatant lie he’d told in years. What’s a lie, compared to…His chest grew cold.

Journ raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say another word as he pulled the lever. The lift rose, ever so slowly, to scale the edge of Rindor. Alister forced himself to stay still while paranoia swelled in his mind. The lift walls seemed to enclose upon him. What were Rindor’s policies on accidental murder? Prison? Death? There hadn’t been a serious crime in his lifetime. Real punishment would be to live in the town where everyone knew exactly what he did. Alister Kinross, Ewen and Wayra’s altruistic son, turned a murderer.

Journ peered at him with what Alister perceived as accusation and suspicion, even though it was impossible he knew what had occurred. Alister’s chest ached as he forced his expression to remain pleasant, as if he were staying at Gale’s house. As if he wasn’t in a battle with the urge to retch out the window.

He strained to keep his mind on the window—it was rare to see a red bird flying through the trees of Rindor—but flashes of the house as it crumbled and fell, of Morgana’s wide eyes, and of the blood-curling scream, pierced through his heart again and again…

The agonised beating in his head deepened.

After Alister was convinced the lift had taken so long, they had passed from this Age to the next, it arrived in higher Rindor. He thanked Journ with a shaky voice. Next time the conductor spoke of him would be to his parents, when they asked if he’d seen him. Before they realised he’d fled Rindor. The bookshelf his father and he finished would sit in the corner of their house, without Alister to help Ewen move it to the shop like he promised. His mother would make dinner for three before she realised anything was wrong. His chest ached.

I really ought to have left a note.