Young Writers Society

Vjorin was a maze, but that didn’t matter if you could fly and you had a direction to point yourself in. A few hours after Tel left them at the inn, Ayda flew over rooftops and around faceted skyscrapers, making for the cliffs that overshadowed the city. She had left Cinder and Madeline behind, resting. She didn’t need them for this.

When she pulled open the door of the registry office, she found a dimly lit room with no windows. A female dwarf with a round face and bushy hair sat on a tall stool at a desk, reading the morning newspaper. The registry itself had an unkempt look, with shelves stacked full of papers behind the dwarf and a few shabby upholstered chairs for visitors.

“Yes?” the dwarf asked, looking up from her reading. She wore a beard, which wasn’t uncommon for dwarven women, though they tended to go in and out of fashion.

“I’m trying to find my family.” Ayda’s heart sank at all the mess. How would they find one name in all of this?

The dwarf sighed, slid off her stool, and grabbed a massive book from behind her. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that, hon,” she said. “We’ve got ten thousand people here. I need species, city of origin, and family name.”

You could act like you care about the fact our homes have been destroyed. “Fairy, obviously. We’re from Nikka. The Mossfrosts.”

“Nikka, Nikka…” the dwarf mumbled, flipping through the book. Ayda hovered, her hands clenched into fists. This was the moment of truth. Either her family was here, safe, or they were trapped in one of Evota’s camps, all their power drained away. Or they were dead.

The dwarf stopped on a page and ran her finger down it. Ayda begged the finger to pause on a name. Half the page gone, then two-thirds.

Then, blessedly, her finger paused. Ayda gasped in a breath, nearly hyperventilating. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

“Does the name Chrisa Mossfrost mean anything to you?”

“Yes! Oh stars, yes, that’s my mother!” Ayda darted over the counter, peering over the dwarf’s shoulder to read the name.

Her euphoria faded almost as quickly as it had come. Her mother was the only Mossfrost from Nikka listed. What about Dad? And Nova? “Are you sure she’s the only one?”

“These are all the names we have.” The dwarf ran her hand along the book’s spine. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. Thanks for the help.” Ayda closed her eyes a long moment, conjuring her father’s face and trying to hear his voice. “Don’t worry about us. Go and find your mother.”

And Nova’s: “Yeah, we didn’t make it out. Now what are you going to do about it?”

I’ll free you. I have a way.

But first she would fall into her mother’s arms and be a child again. “Where can I find her?”

The dwarf gave her directions through the caverns, first by quadrant, then district, then tentgroup. Ayda repeated them to herself over and over, and then turned to leave.

“For what it’s worth,” the dwarf said, “I’m glad you found her. Too many people come through here and leave with only bad news.” The lines around her eyes were deep and weary.

One of Ayda’s family members was here and safe. The other two were not. Ayda didn’t feel like being told she was lucky.

“Thanks again,” she mumbled before flying away.

The entrance to the Vjorin caverns was an archway widened by dwarves’ hands, wide enough to fit a cart with room to spare. They were a natural wonder to rival the city itself, and Ayda could only suppose that in the crisis, finding shelter for ten thousand was more important than preservation. The tunnel, hewn out of the stone, was barely tall enough to accommodate a horse. Firemoss didn’t grow naturally in Erinore, but crystals were set into the wall, glowing with a soft light. Truestone? Ayda couldn’t tell.

She spared only a glance for the people in the tunnel as she flew. A breeze curled past her, and then she burst into the heart of the mountain.

A vast cavern splayed out before her, like a wealthy merchant displaying his wares. The subtle red and tan rock patterns complemented sparkling veins of crystals. The back of the cave faded into shadow, the front lit by more crystals — some clearly placed, some natural. Stalactites spiraled upward, and in many cases stalagmites plunged down to meet them. It was breathtaking, but Ayda barely spared a glance for the scenery.

As far as Ayda could see, people scurried below, a shadowed mass that coated the ground like mobile lichen. A small army of tents spiked out of the ground, loosely organized into camps, separated for Big folk and Little folk.

Ayda swooped down to the Little folk camp, squinting to read the crude signs that designated each section. When she found the right group of tents, she landed on the cold stone. Her hands were sweating despite the chill air, and she found herself walking faster and faster, darting around fairies, brownies, leprechauns, searching each face.

Many of them were gaunt. More crouched around small fires and shivered in ragged clothes. All were dirty.

She rounded another campfire. Someone tugged on her leg. It was a very young boy, hair tousled and face streaked with grime.

“Did you bring treats?” he asked, wings folded behind him. He wasn’t even old enough to fly.

“I’m sorry, but no, I didn’t.” Ayda crouched down so she could look in his eyes. “Where’s your parents?”

The boy bit his lip and shrugged.

“Retan!” The voice was achingly familiar. Ayda turned, eyes wide, as a dark-skinned, middle-aged woman hurried past her, sweeping the boy up in her arms.

“You know better than to run off like that,” her mother scolded him. “I’m sorry he was bothering you — ” She looked at Ayda for the first time.

“Mom, it’s me.” Tears pricked Ayda’s eyes.

Her mother searched Ayda’s face, lips parted. She set the boy down carefully, saying “Run back to Hiley now, there’s a good boy.”

And then Ayda launched herself at her mother, and both of them were clinging to each other tightly and crying and smiling at the same time. Ayda buried her face in her mother’s hair the way she used to do when she was little. “I can’t believe I found you.”

“I can’t believe you’re safe. When I heard about Crescent Moon I feared the worst.” Her mother pulled out of the hug, but they still gripped each other’s shoulders. Ayda didn’t ever want to let go. “But how did you get here so fast? The other refugees are still coming in.”

“I escaped with Madeline,” Ayda said. “We got to a ley point, and she made a portal here.”

“Madeline? Who’s she?”

Ayda laughed and laughed, burying her face in her mother’s shoulder. Of course her mother didn’t know who Madeline was! Even if, after everything that had happened, it seemed almost ludicrous on the face of it.

“Oh do I have a lot to tell you. All that secret stuff? It doesn’t matter anymore, so I’m going to tell you everything.” She beamed.

“And I want to hear it all.” She clasped Ayda’s shoulders. “Come with me.”

She led Ayda inside a tent where four thin bedrolls lay side-by-side. Two were smaller, as if for children.

Her mother eased herself down on the blankets, letting out a sigh as she relaxed. “It feels good to get off my feet. I’m cooking dinner, though, so be quick.” She waved a hand at Ayda.

Ayda crossed her legs and flopped down. “So. Madeline is my friend, and she’s a human girl.”

“A human girl.”

Ayda nodded. “They exist! They’ve just been in a world cut off from ours, one without magic. Madeline accidentally came here because of Nadra — ”

Her mother held up a hand. “Slow down and back up. Start at the beginning.”

She’d let her excitement get the better of her. Ayda put her head in her hands. How best to tell the story? Where to start?

“I guess it began when I went out picking herbs the day you told me I had to stay in Nikka…”

She explained as much as she could, from finding Madeline in the forest to the other reasons she had decided to run away to what she had actually been doing in Crescent Moon.

At some point, Ayda noticed her mother’s expression and trailed off into silence. She was rubbing her temples and the wrinkles around her eyes showed.

“What’s wrong?”

Her mother looked up at her. “There’s one thing I don’t understand in all this, Ayda. Why didn’t you come to us when you found her? Why drop everything and run?”

Ayda tugged on a lock of hair, unsure. “You had let me down,” she said slowly. Told me I would be stuck there all summer.”

“You were angry with us.”

“No, no, that’s not it.” Ayda shook her head. “After you told me about the money, I couldn’t be angry anymore. Forget what I just said.”

She met her mother’s eyes. “I wanted to get out of Nikka. I wanted to enter the contest. I knew Madeline could get the help she needed. And I knew I could get her there myself. I wanted to do it myself.”

“And so you didn’t give us the opportunity to stop you.”

“I didn’t care about what you thought, or if you worried.” She looked down. But they had worried. Ayda’s terror when she hadn’t known if her family was dead or alive, even her more subdued worry now — had her parents felt some sliver of that when they found her bed empty with only a note and a carving, and Nova to tell them how Ayda had flow off with hardly a glance back?

She wouldn’t wish even a shadow of that terror on anyone. But that was exactly what she had done.

“I’m sorry.” Words were inadequate. “I thought I didn’t care,” she repeated.

Her mother took her hand and drew her closer. “That’s in the past now, Ayda. And really, I’ve been grateful many times in the last two weeks that you were safe at Crescent Moon.”

Ayda let out a shaky laugh. “Because that lasted such a long time.”

Her mother’s mouth twitched.

“What about… everyone else?” Ayda asked.

Her mother shook her head. “The attack came at night. I was down in the store, fixing the ledgers. I could hear the bells — that’s the only reason I got out. Nearly everyone in the Trees didn’t make it out.”

“But they say they’re alive. That Nadra’s not killing them.”

“That’s what I pray for,” her mother admitted. She pushed herself to her feet. “I should get the fire going.”

Ayda followed her outside, surveying the camp, with the haggard adults and a handful of wide-eyed children and the few bundles of belongings.

“I’ve got to get you out of here,” she found herself saying as her mother hung a pot over the central fire pit. “They’ve given us pretty nice accommodations because Madeline’s important — Nadra wants her for some reason. And we know some things they’ll want to hear. I’m sure they’ll give you a room if I ask.”

Her mother sighed. “No, I can’t leave. It’s not fair to the others, and either way I’m another mouth to feed. I doubt I could get a job in the city. If I stay, I can help.” She glanced at Retan, who was playing with another little boy. “They need a mother, at least until we can find their families.”

“But you’re living in rags!” Ayda said. “I wish I could at least get you some better clothes.”

“I’m no worse off than anyone else here,” her mother said firmly.

Ayda knew she would hear no more talk of leaving. Her mother pointed to a potato and handed Ayda a knife, and Ayda started hacking away at it.

“You aren’t going to stay here very long.” Ayda spoke so softly she wasn’t sure her mother could hear. “We have a plan. We’re going to present it to the dragon king, and then we’re going to go and take down Nadra. It will work.” If I can just persuade Madeline to come.

Her mother looked up, alarm in her eyes. “You’re not going anywhere,” she said. “You’re staying here, where it’s safe. Where I know where you are.”

“Mom, she took our home, everyone we loved. Don’t you want to fight?” Ayda stood up, potato pieces falling from her lap. I didn’t realize what I was losing until it was gone. Do you think I won’t fight for it now?

“I want you to be safe,” her mother said, not looking at Ayda as she scooped grotroots into the pot.

“And what if they come here? What if she risks the central portal, what if she makes temporary portals to flood troops in and surround us? Will I be safe then?”

“You’re a child, Ayda.” Her mother shook her head. “Why do you need to do this? Why not another? They won’t let you, you know. They won’t send a child into battle.”

Because it’s my idea, my cleansing pattern, my revenge. I’m not a child anymore. Aloud, Ayda said nothing, gathering up the potatoes and brushing them clean.

Her mother finally turned to look at her. “Are you sure your plan will work?”

Ayda nodded. Surely Cinder’s example proved it would.

“Then stars, let it be so.”