Page 61 of The Hocus Pocus Handbook

It occurs to me then.

This is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for. I’m no longer bound by Liskaal’s magic, and I planned to set the scene, craft a compelling narrative that proves I met my demise. Only then will I be free of his disgusting influence. And I can live quietly, anonymously in the wildlands, far from any court. There are spaces less dangerous than the territory Macha has claimed. I even narrowed it down to a hospitable area between Summer and Autumn, where no one would ever find me. No one searches for the unloved dead, and even if they did, nobody could locate a hunter who doesn’t wish to be found.

Opening a portal to anywhere would be much easier for one person. I can walk away from all this. Thea’s problems aren’t mine, are they? She isn’t mine to cherish or protect. I barely know Taragon, Rosa, or Zeph. Is there any reason for me to stay? To risk myself when I’ve spent my whole life avoiding the altruism that ruined my brother?

To my surprise, I feel…conflicted. My head tells me to go. But my heart…

Well. It won’t hurt anything to find out whether my suspicions are correct first.

I can decide once I know. I close my eyes and focus on the magic whirling all around me. The energy is intense, rivers of power to be pulled. For the greedy or the unwary, the consequences could be swift and painful. Anyone who craves control could easily be driven mad, and in overreaching, they might immolate themselves or be absorbed in these uncertain eddies.

I am more cautious; I take only what is needed. As an added precaution, I build a mental barrier in case of a mana surge, and then—

“Help! Help me! Is anyone out there?!” The hoarse voice seems to come from all around me. “I thought I heard someone. Am I losing my mind? It’s been so long…”

I can barely discern the hoarse croak of the last few words. There are no other ambient noises, no insects or wind rustling through the reeds. For that matter, there are no reeds. It might be a trick—or a trap, something meant to lure me closer. But if the creature we fought earlier could communicate verbally, it chose not to do so.

It’s a risk to waste time out here. I have no way of knowing what properties the mist contains, whether it’s acidic or poison or drains magical energy. I could end up as a hopeless soul calling out for aid if I tarry in the inexplicable, soupy fog. Winter’s hound would cast only one spell and return to the group, but Thea has reminded me that I used to be more—and could be again.

I realize I can’t leave someone screaming for help. I’ll finish the other spell once I determine whether this is a trick or a genuine plea.

I won’t abandon my companions either. I’m like my brother after all, much as I didn’t want to be, much as I tried to cut out my own heart and keep existing as an automaton. And so I shift and center my mind. I don’t have an imperative from Liskaal to sharpen the urgency, but the sound of the target’s voice is fresh in my mind. I don’t dare try to summon my spiderlings. The In-Between might transform them into hideous monsters and force me to fight them. I lock onto the voice, slowly opening my senses to let a faint trickle of power provide the pull. Even so, my barrier wobbles against the sheer volume of magic; it’s raw here, heady. I could get drunk on this and decide I’m a god.

There. That way.

I follow the pull, keeping my eyes down. Wispy, glowing balls dart around me, each trying their best to lead me off track, but I know better than to follow a wisp. They’re not sentient, per se, and as I understand it, they’re more echoes, remnants of fae folk that came before and perished but haven’t accepted their fate yet. In the mortal realm, I believe they’re known as ghosts.

It feels like I’ve been walking for a while through this blank and terrible place. The pull is no stronger, and I’m starting to doubt myself. The call hasn’t come again. My magic has failed twice before; perhaps I’m wrong in suspecting sabotage, and there’s something awry with me instead? Angry with that possibility, I step incautiously and nearly fall, my footfalls creating a noisy slosh on the slimy stones.

“I did hear that! I did. Who’s there? Is someone here? Anyone?” So very close this time, that agonized voice.

I rush forward, determined to locate whoever this is, and reach a clearing not unlike the one where I left the rest of the group—with one key difference. A skeletal tree rises from the promontory like a gaunt gray hand, branches bare. The withered trunk is scarred as if blasted by lightning, though the pallid, shrouded sky cannot possibly produce rain. Not here. Most of the branches have broken, riddled with damp rot; only two remain, outstretched to the sides like arms flailing in protest of decay.

And perched on the left limb is a gnome in a bad state. He’s small of stature and of frame, his once-dapper brown pin-striped suit is torn and dirty, and his luxurious beard hasn’t been trimmed in ages. Thick brows overshadow his eyes, but he leaps to his feet unsteadily upon my arrival.

“You. You’re actually here! You are, aren’t you? Here, I mean.” He peers at me with a heartbreaking blend of skepticism and hope.

“Yes. I’m here. I heard you calling out.” Though I don’t normally wonder about such things, I ask, “What are you doing up there?”

“Avoiding monsters,” he says, as if that should be obvious.

Considering the creature we just fought, that is a more sensible answer than I expected. “Come down if you wish. I’ll guide you back to the rest of the group.”

Ragged laughter bursts from him. “You were with others and abandoned them?” The guffaw swiftly chokes off with a strangled cry. “You absolute dolt. We’ll never find them. Never. You didn’t save me, you doomed yourself.”

I ignore that in favor of completing my original task. First I craft the intention and then the question. This is an adjunct of my finding magic, and there’s immediately a tug, answering my inquiry. A faint orange glow burns through the mist; that’s how powerful the positive reply is. If this had failed, if I’d erred in my suspicions, I would have focused on Thea.

If she was on the other side of the universe, I could still find her with my eyes closed.

“This way,” I say to the near-hysterical gnome. “And keep up if you don’t want to be left behind.”

Not that I would do that to him after all he’s presumably been through. Judging by how he pauses before scrambling down from his perch, he’s nowhere near certain of my good intentions. “Bah. Anything is better than that blasted tree. Let’s go.”

Time feels…changeable here. I don’t have any better word for it. Now that I’m familiar with the sensation, it reminds me of being trapped in Macha’s bottle. On an academic level, it seems plausible that she draws strength from this place, bolstering her swamp with swirls of wild magic from the In-Between.

That also means we need to hurry. The days might be melting away as we walk, and there’s nothing I can do about it. But I don’t fear the consequences of failure. Liskaal will go through me before harming a hair on Thea’s head, and I don’t care who I have to kill. For her, I will fight to my last breath, the last drop of blood. I wonder if Geraint felt no regrets at the end, if he felt it was a good death because he’d given everything to the cause.

The stakes are high. I might perish when we leave this place, but the time I’ve spent with Thea? I think it might be the only time I’ve truly lived.