He let her go.
“Move,” she said again as she came to Julian’s side, putting as much force into it as she could, though her voice shook. Their eyes met, and Wren saw a different kind of fear in them.
Fear of her.
All around, the undead obeyed, stepping aside with varying levels of grace and coordination. Sword held high, Wren grabbed Julian by the arm and dragged him with her, out the door and into the cavern.
More revenants dotted the shore, but as Wren and Julian made their way to the water, they shuffled and ambled and floated aside.
“Move,” Wren whispered, whenever one lingered too long. “Move.”
They reached the boat. Julian was staring at her like she’d grown an extra limb, but she couldn’t smile or laugh or shake her head. She still held the ring in her fist, the shape imprinting itself into her palm.
Julian paddled them into the center of the spring, deciding without words that they wouldn’t return to their makeshift camp. He had brought his satchel with them and left it in the boat, and now there was nothing to do but make for the mine shaft passage that had delivered him here.
The silence was deafening, and more revenants winked to life along the shore as they passed, silent specters in the darkness. Wren didn’t dare command any more of them, afraid this newfound power would run out at any moment. Because surely it would—it was temporary, connected to whatever was in that pool, whatever she had absorbed when she pressed her hand to the ground.
The ring in her hand called her a liar, its sharp edges cutting into her palm.
Her senses tugged suddenly, and she poked her head over the side of the boat. She didn’t know how she knew—or how she could possibly sense it—but she was certain her satchel was directly below them. There was bonedust inside, though the amount was small and the water should have obscured her senses. Should have but didn’t.
After she pocketed the ring, a determined yank with her magic was all it took to drag the bag up from the depths into her outstretched hand.
How deep had the water been? How much farther was her range?
Swallowing, Wren hauled the sodden bag into the boat. Several moments later, she sensed her sword on the far shore. She suspected that, right now, she could have called it into her palm—no matter the distance—but she didn’t, instead waiting until the boat headed in that direction. There were revenants standing nearby, but as Wren leapt from the boat and splashed closer to shore, they remained immobile.
The entrance to the mining passage, too, was surrounded by revenants, and Wren gathered her strength as they approached.
Disembarking in the shallows and sloshing toward the shore, Wren found her voice again.
“Move,” she said, feeling as she had before that the word came from deep within her. That it was laced with power. With magic. “Step aside.”
They did, clearing a path but not leaving entirely. Their presence chilled Wren to the bone, her instincts to fight rearing up, but she didn’t want to test the limits of their obedience.
Once they were inside the passage, darkness closed in, and the lack of ghostlight—along with the misty atmosphere of the spring—eased the tension in Wren’s shoulders, though she didn’t dare relax. The way was steep and slippery, winding and bending in odd places, just as Julian had described.
Finally, they reached the mine itself.
Julian led the way, up some old stone stairs and around a bend until they arrived at a lift. It operated with a crank, though Julian didn’t use it, instead pulling on the metal chain with his magic, speeding them to the top.
Away from the boy with the matching ring, the Breach, and the countless undead who obeyed her command.
TWENTY-NINE
Once they reached the surface, Wren’s eyes needed a moment to adjust. Everything looked startlingly clear, the lack of mist and ghostlight casting the world into simple black and white—sky and stars, mountains and rocky ground. The bridge was visible behind them, silhouetted against the spangled backdrop, and the far side was dark once more, no undead ranging there unchecked.
And if there had been… could Wren check them? Could she banish them with a word?
Everything that had just happened felt miles away, a part of that hazy, surreal landscape—impossible in the stark light of the moon.
“Come on,” Julian said, leading them away from the mine shaft. They cut between several buildings that were scattered nearby, mostly ruined or fallen down, until they arrived at one that was still standing. Ducking behind it, they stopped to catch their breath.
Wren’s ears were ringing, her blood pounding so hard and fast she could barely think straight.
“Well?” Julian said, staring at her.
“What?” she asked, dazed.
“Are they following us?” While she leaned against the wall, he stood facing her, peering around the edge toward the mine shaft.
Closing her eyes, Wren steadied her breathing and extended her senses. “No,” she said, with unnerving certainty. It wasn’t that she couldn’t sense anything—she could, but the undead she could sense were at the bottom of the Breach. Well outside her normal range.
At least they weren’t in immediate danger.
Had the boy called them off? Or had Wren’s order, “step aside,” superseded his? She suspected his magic was thoroughly depleted after creating that iron revenant, so maybe his commands were similarly weakened.
Opening her eyes, she found Julian staring at her intently. “What did he say to you?”
“Nothing,” she said, which was true. He hadn’t spoken a word, but he had told her things… things she didn’t understand. Julian pulled a skeptical expression, and Wren reached into her pocket, withdrawing the ring. “He was wearing the same one.”
She couldn’t bring herself to explain about the birds. She didn’t know what they meant, not truly, and she didn’t want to speculate.
Julian ran his hand through his hair, thinking. “How long have you known you could do that?”
No need to ask what he meant. “I didn’t.”
He looked unconvinced. “You’re telling me one touch of your bare hand to that glowing stone, and suddenly you can command the undead? Suddenly you’re a—”
“Don’t,” she said, her voice ragged. She swallowed several times, trying to get herself under control. “It was that well. It must be more than just magic. It must somehow give a person abilities beyond, give them…” Limitless power. Dark power.
“Can you do anything else?” The words were pointed, and she knew he was thinking of Locke, the same as her.
She forced thoughts of obedient revenants and crushed bones from her mind. “My range feels wider. My senses… sharper. Beyond that…” I don’t know. “And you? You were right next to me—”
He held up his hands, showing the leather gloves. “I didn’t touch anything.”
“Still,” Wren prodded, needing him to be affected too. Needing to be less… different. “You felt it, didn’t you? In the air?”
He shrugged, though the casualness was undercut by the tension in his neck. “I don’t know what I felt. I just know what I saw, and that—that boy was doing more than commanding them.”