As a multiethnic kid, Keon Wesley has always had to straddle two worlds. He just never expected that metaphor to become a literal reality.
Ever since his dad left five weeks ago, he's struggled to adjust to life in a single parent household. When a...
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Keon had been running for a full half-hour since his Mirror keeled over. At least now he knew. Every time he ate, he was literally feeding it, which meant starving himself of food starved it of power. He could use that to his advantage. It didn't look like he'd be eating anytime soon anyway. Wherever he was, it wasn't the Eastern Monument. They'd travelled hundreds—no—thousands of miles from where he first encountered the Mirror, which meant he could be anywhere between here and there.
Skidding to a stop, he leaned his elbow against a tree, panting. The forest was finally thinning out. There, through the wooden pillars, he could begin to make out a clearing in the trees.
For what was probably the third time in the last thirty minutes, his fingers hovered restlessly over the harness to the Codex. He just wanted a peek; to be sure it wasn't following him. Surely if that thing starved to death, it could only be a good thing, right? On the other hand, they were clearly connected. What if killing it alsomeant killing him?
Shaking the thoughts away, he continued at a steady jog towards the edge of the forest. One thing he couldn't do without was water. He only had a few drops left in his flask and he hadn't stopped to search for a stream. For all he knew, he could have passed one already.
The crunch of the ground beneath his feet drew him to a sharp stop. Daggers of icy wind suddenly jabbed at his body, forcing him to pull his damp shawl tighter across his shoulders. He flipped the hood over. Wisps of white mist streamed from his nostrils as he scanned left to right. Every tree ahead was blanketed in a thin layer of crystalline frost, their leaves shrivelling and fluttering towards the ground like giant snowflakes.
"Uh oh..."
When he finally broke through the trees, he was standing at the edge of a terrace overlooking a wide dell. A glistening river wove between the arcs and contours of undulating hills, running into the distance, its edges clawed with fragments of ice. And there, silhouetted against the luminous nebulae, stood a mist shrouded dragonblood tree. He exhaled in relief. It was miles away, but at least he had a destination. If he could reach the tree and somehow make contact with the Encampment there, maybe they could send word to Wellworn and the others. Wellworn. He hadn't thought about himsince he was dragged half-way across the world by his Mirror.
He stuck to a path that kept him on the slopes of the hills, halfway between the surrounding forests and the river trailing through the valley. The way he saw it, if he was attacked from the forest, he could leg it down the hill and cross the river. If something came from the other side of the river, he could run for the forest. Those distant, ear-splitting shrieks told him Mysts were in the vicinity. If they showed themselves, he would plonk himself in the water. They wouldn't cross it.
He snaked his way across the hills, leaving a slithering trail of crushed frost in his wake. As he passed over the slopes, he eyed the river with longing. He was parched but couldn't risk stopping for a drink until he was sure he was safe—and alone.
