Page 62 of Wild Ivy
“Still in the forest,” Ivy answers, though she sounds uncertain. “But deeper, maybe? Those pillars look like they belong in the Hollowed Grounds Blackthorn mentioned.”
Bram’s shadows are acting strange, stretching toward the pillars like they’re being pulled. “Something’s wrong here. The shadows are not behaving normally. Even less so than before.”
“Define normally,” I say, watching as one of his shadows actually breaks away, dissipating into the darkness between two pillars.
“That,” he says tersely. “That’s not normal. I can’t control them properly here.”
A low humming starts, seeming to come from the pillars themselves. It resonates with my magick in a way that makes me nauseous. The symbols glow with a sickly green light.
“Move,” I bark, shoving Ivy forward as one of the pillars suddenly crumbles, stone fragments floating upward instead of falling.
We run, weaving between the pillars as more of them start to collapse—or maybe reconstruct themselves. It’s hard to tell when gravity seems optional. The humming grows louder, becoming a physical pressure that makes my ears pop.
“The path!” Ivy points ahead where the ground drops away into absolute darkness. “We need to find another?—”
The words die as we all see it. A bridge of pure light spans the void, leading to what looks like a temple in the distance. It pulses with the same green as the symbols.
“Please tell me we’re not actually considering crossing that,” Tate says.
Another pillar explodes behind us, fragments swirling like a tornado.
“You got a better idea?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“We cross,” Ivy decides, her voice steady despite everything.
The bridge forces us into a single file. It shakes beneath our feet as we step onto it. There is ancient power here, raw and untamed, exactly the kind of thing Life would want to harness.
As we cross, the humming reaches a fever pitch, and I catch glimpses of things moving in the ravine below—massive shapes that shouldn’t exist, eyes that shouldn’t see. But we keep moving, one foot in front of the other, while behind us, the pillars continue their impossible dance of destruction and reconstruction.
We’re almost to the other side when I hear my mother’s voice one final time, closer than ever.
“You can’t save them all, Torin. In the end, you’ll have to choose.”
I ignore it. The forest can try all it wants to get in my head. But I know who I am, who I choose to be.
We reach the temple steps just as the bridge dissolves behind us. Through the massive doorway, I can see more paths splitting off into darkness.
“Well,” I say, trying to sound lighter than I feel, “that was fun. Who’s ready for more?”
But when I look at Tate, I can see he’s not hearing me. His eyes are fixed on something - or someone - only he can see, and the colour has drained from his face.
32
TATE
They’re standing there,just like I remember them. Mum in her favourite blue sweater, the one she wore to all my early magick demonstrations. Dad, with his billowing cloak, suddenly reminding me he was a professor. That was something I’d forgotten, or rather, just not remembered.
They look so real, so alive, not like my parents who abandoned me to the streets and a life of distrust.
“Tate,” Mum says, reaching out. “We’ve missed you so much.”
My grip on Ivy’s hand tightens until I hear her hiss in pain. I didn’t even realise I had reached out to her. But I can’t let go. If I let go, I might run to them. And they’re not real. They’re not real.
“Son,” Dad’s voice breaks on the word. “We’re so proud of you. Of everything you’ve become.”
“Stop,” I choke out. “You’re not them.”
“We never left you,” Mum insists, taking a step closer. “We’ve been watching over you. We saw how you struggled. How you fought. How you protected others when no one protected you.”
