Isla realized they had more in common than she’d thought. For a moment, she wondered if she should tell Enya about her vision. Who else would understand?
In the end, all she said was, “That’s . . . awful.”
Enya shrugged a shoulder. Bits of snow fell above them and melted inches away, raining onto their heads. “Most mothers might think so, but mine wasn’t like that. She said, ‘Well, are you going to tell me?’ The oracle did. When I was old enough to understand, my mother gave me the choice. Know how and when I will die . . . or don’t. I’ve been told I’m a lot like her . . . and you already know which choice I’ve made.”
“Does Oro know?”
“When I die?”
Isla nodded.
“No, though he used to ask me incessantly when we were younger. I think he wanted to know so he could somehow keep it from happening. He’s like you, in that way. He carries guilt around that doesn’t even belong to him.” She lifted a shoulder. “I think of it as a gift. I know when I die, so I can spend every day until then living to the fullest. You and Oro seem to get lost in your minds, thinking about the past, future—I spend most of my time in the present.” She sighed. “The reason I’m telling you this is to explain why I’m not afraid. Not even in the slightest.”
Just as the words left her mouth, a legion of Vinderland appeared on the horizon, wearing metal helmets with massive tusks, fur around their necks, and intricate armor. They were holding swords and axes longer than her limbs.
Enya casually turned to Isla, winked, and said, “I do not die today.”
. . .
A flurry of arrows struck Isla and ricocheted off the Starling shield glittering along her skin, humming with energy. It took every ounce of focus for her to hold it in place, and she winced with every hit. They might not have pierced her skin, but they would certainly leave bruises.
At her side, Enya formed a wall of fire, charring the arrows before they reached her. Her movements were smooth, casual even, as she melted all ice and snow around her and turned their weapons to ash.
There was a battle cry, and Isla leaped to the side as an axe was thrown right at her body. Its blade missed her by inches, and then the warriors descended.
They bellowed words she didn’t understand and rushed forward, moving surprisingly quickly with the heavy armor they wore. Thick furs peeked through the gaps in the metal.
“Red hair,” one of them yelled, staring at Enya. “You’re going to make a lovely stew. Charred and zesty.” He smiled, revealing teeth sharpened into points—better to tear flesh with.
“And you’re going to make a lovely pile of ashes,” Enya replied, her fire bursting forth, burning his beard. The man screamed as the rest of him caught fire. He rolled onto the snow.
A sword came for Isla’s neck, and she ducked, then hit the man in the temple, knocking him out. They needed these warriors—they were worthless in battle dead.
Enough.
She flung her arms to either side, and trees sprung up from the lifeless land, breaking through the ice.
The Vinderland went still. If they didn’t recognize her before, they certainly did now.
One towering man stepped forward, his armor clanking. He took off his horned helmet, revealing a sharp face with a diagonal scar across it. “How dare you come here, after killing so many of us?”
Isla bared her teeth. “You all almost killed me. You tried to eat me. You put an arrow through my heart.”
His eyes narrowed. “Yet here you are. Do you think you’ll be so lucky to escape death a third time?”
She almost smiled. Escape death. That was exactly what she was trying to do.
“With your help, I hope so,” she said.
The man laughed. It was hoarse and made her skin crawl. The rest joined him, their laughs echoing in their helmets. “We would sooner die than help any of you.”
“Then you will die anyway,” she said, stepping forward. “Nightshades are coming to destroy Lightlark. There will be nothing left. Every inch will be decimated. Everyone will perish, including you.”
The man’s eyes narrowed at her. “Lightlark has survived thousands of years, several wars—”
“Not like this one,” she said. “I know the future, and it is destruction.”
“The oracle—”
“She says Lightlark’s fate is in the balance. Everyone must protect it.” She curled her lip in disgust. “I hate you,” she said. “And you hate me. But we have a common enemy, and that is anyone who would destroy Lightlark. I’m sure you’ve noticed Moonling has left.”
He nodded.
“They have joined Nightshade.”
The warriors behind him began talking to each other.
“We need you,” Isla said. “We need every warrior on this island to defend it. Say you will fight alongside us. If we can make peace, then there is hope for the future of Lightlark.”
The man considered. She waited. Finally, he put his helmet back on and said, “No.”
Then, he gripped his battle axe and aimed for her head.
Her focus wavered; her shield fell away. Time seemed to slow down as she watched the axe swing toward her face. Her hand instinctively raised to block herself, fingers half an inch from the metal. In her mind, she knew, logically, her hand would be cut in half, and the axe would bury in her brain. She would die.
But that’s not what happened.
The moment Isla touched the blade, the axe turned to ash.
BEFORE
Isla counted down the days until her visit to Creetan’s Crag. She often waited up past midnight, in case Grim might make an appearance. Maybe there would be a change in their plan, another place to go.
He never came. She started to turn their last conversation around in her mind. Don’t speak about my people when you don’t know the first thing about your own.
He was right. All she knew about the Wildlings was what Terra and Poppy had told her. Her people were strangers. She only ever saw them during ceremonies.
That night, so late that she was sure Poppy and Terra were sleeping, she grabbed her starstick and portaled to the other side of the Wildling newland. Before, she’d never dared. The cost of getting caught was too great.
Tonight, she just wanted to see them. Understand them.
She had been to one of the villages before, for a short, closely monitored visit. That was where she went.
The forest scraped against her skin as she landed, purposefully trying to mark her. She stayed on its outskirts, eyes on the village. From here, she could see the backs of houses. They were worn and leaned together like a group of old friends.
Something in her burned. Her only friend was Celeste, who was currently angry at her. Since Isla had started working with Grim, her visits had become more infrequent. Celeste had noticed. Isla had made excuses, of course. Lies. With each one that slipped out, they got easier to tell. Just like Grim said about the killing.
A light burned up ahead. Someone was awake. Isla wondered if she could creep around the edges of the village, just to overhear a conversation. Just to watch. She wondered if perhaps she could try to blend in. Maybe they wouldn’t recognize her. The dress she wore was not elaborate. The only times they would have seen her would be in full costume, barely recognizable as a person underneath so many flower petals.