“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” Granite promised. “And getting back to relevant things, have you all ensured that your forms are accurate?”
“Mine is,” Biana said, handing hers back.
Sophie was about to do the same when she noticed a field her eyes had glossed over the first time. “What does ID mean?”
“That’s your inception date,” Mr. Forkle said. “The moment your life began.”
“But the date you put is months before my birthday.”
“Of course. Birth comes after inception.”
“Wait—I remember seeing something about this in one of those human movies my dad has,” Dex said. “Humans celebrate birthdays, right?”
“Most of them, yeah,” Sophie said, wishing her brain could work faster. She could tell there was something important she was missing, but she couldn’t seem to catch up to it.
And then it clicked.
“Wait—do elves count age from this ID thing?” she asked.
“Of course,” Mr. Forkle said. “The day you were born is simply the day you took your first breath—no more significant of a milestone than when you spoke your first word or took your first step. And don’t worry, despite your unusual beginning, I was very careful to ensure your inception wasn’t affected. There were only seconds between the moment I sparked your life and the moment I had you safely implanted in your mother. Her belly button even turned pink and popped out like it would’ve if she were an elf—I still can’t understand why it did.”
The important thought Sophie had caught nearly slipped away in the deluge of super-weird information.
“Okay,” she said, counting the months on her fingers to double check. “My ID and my birthday are nine months apart.”
“Technically, they’re thirty-nine weeks apart,” Mr. Forkle corrected. “It should’ve been forty, but your mother delivered a week early. I’d worried that meant something had gone wrong, but it was a flawless delivery, even if watching her fight through the labor pains made for one of the longest nights of my life. Honestly, it’s incredible human women ever choose to have children. The agony they go through is unimaginable.”
“It doesn’t hurt for elves?” Sophie asked.
“Not at all,” Della said. “It’s exhausting, of course, and there are a few moments where it’s difficult to find a comfortable position. But then they hand you your beautiful baby, and the baby gazes up at you and says hello, and your heart just melts.”
“It talks?” Sophie asked, then remembered Alden telling her months earlier that elvin babies spoke from birth. It sounded even stranger now that she could picture it.
“Your speaking caused quite the uproar,” Mr. Forkle told her. “Though luckily no one could understand the Enlightened Language, so they thought you were babbling. I spent the majority of your infancy inventing excuses for the elvin things you did.”
“Okay,” Sophie said, wishing he’d stop with the weird-info overload. “But what I mean is . . . I’ve been counting my age from my birthday.”
Mr. Forkle didn’t look surprised.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.
“How could I? Humans built everything around their birthdays. As long as you were living with them I had to let you do the same. And since you’ve been in the Lost Cities, we’ve had so little contact. I assumed someone would notice, since your proper ID is on your Foxfire record—and in the registry. But I don’t think anyone realized you were counting differently.”
“Alden wouldn’t have thought to check,” Della agreed. “Neither of us knew humans didn’t count inception.”
“So wait,” Biana jumped in, “does that mean that by our rules Sophie is—”
“Thirty-nine weeks older than she’s been saying,” Mr. Forkle finished for her.
Fitz cocked his head as he stared at Sophie, like everything had turned sideways. “So then you’re not thirteen . . .”
“Not according to the way we count,” Mr. Forkle agreed. “Going by Sophie’s ID, she’s fourteen and a little more than five months old.”
Keefe laughed. “Only Foster would find a way to age nine months in a day. Also, welcome to the cool fourteen-year-olds club!”
He held out his hand for a high five.
Sophie was too stunned to return it.
“Please try not to stress, Miss Foster. Nothing has actually changed. You’re the exact same girl you were a few minutes ago. You’re simply learning the proper way of counting.”
She knew he was right—but it felt so much huger than that.
Especially when Biana said, “Huh, so you’re older than me.”
Based on their IDs, Biana was a little more than thirteen-and-a-half. Dex was also thirteen, but he would be fourteen in a few weeks. Keefe was less than a month away from turning fifteen, and Fitz was about two months away from turning sixteen.
“So, you’re kind of in the middle,” Dex said. “But you and I are still the closest in age.”
He was right—though now she was six months older than him. And the gap between her and Keefe and Fitz had narrowed significantly.
“Wait—was I in the wrong level in Foxfire?” Sophie asked.
“Your age falls in the middle of the grade level brackets,” Mr. Forkle said. So you could’ve started as a Level Two just as easily as a Level Three. And given how behind you were from your human education, you needed the time to catch up.”
“I guess,” Sophie said, still fighting to squish all this huge information into her already full brain.
So . . . she was fourteen—as far as elves were concerned. Almost halfway to fifteen.
“Why do humans count age differently?” Biana asked.
“I suspect it’s partly because their bodies do not have such a clear indication of the moment of inception the way ours do,” Mr. Forkle said. “And partly because their pregnancies are much more uncertain. Humans miscarry all the time, at any stage of the pregnancy.”
Della clutched her stomach, like the very idea pained her.
“I know,” Mr. Forkle told her. “Sophie’s mother lost five babies before she sought my help. And while I was working at the clinic I met hundreds of women like her. The most heartbreaking part was that I could’ve fixed them all with a few elixirs—much like I did with your mother. She had no trouble having your sister after you, right?”
Sophie nodded. “So why didn’t you help them?”
“Because humans lost the right to our assistance when they violated our treaty and prepared for war. We even tried to help them secretly afterward. But they took the gifts we gave them and twisted them into weapons, or bargaining chips for their political agendas, or soggy, chemical-filled Twinkies. So I understand why we had to stop. But it was hard to watch.”
“I bet,” Della said, still holding her middle. “Humans are such temporary creatures.”
“They are indeed,” Granite said. “I’ve often pondered what it would be like to live each day knowing you only have seventy or eighty years on this planet. I wonder if that’s the real reason they wait those nine months and begin their timeline at birth. Once their clock starts ticking, there’s no turning it back.”
“That was one of the most striking things I noticed during my years living among them,” Mr. Forkle agreed. “Each generation dumps their problems on the next because they simply do not have enough time to deal with them. I suspect that if they could see a bigger picture, they would not destroy themselves and their planet the same way.”
Sophie nodded, remembering some of the thoughts she’d heard growing up. Death truly was humans’ constant companion. Maybe if it wasn’t, they’d care more about others and take the time to do things the right way.
And yet, later that night, as she tossed and turned in bed, nervous for what the first day at Exillium would bring, Sophie couldn’t help wondering if the elves’ indefinite lifespan hindered them just as much as the humans’ fleeting lives.
Would the Council—and even the Black Sw
an—be so willing to sit back and ignore problems if they couldn’t rest so comfortably in the knowledge that they still had centuries and centuries ahead of them?
The more she thought about it, the more she realized both sides had lost an important alternate perspective. And maybe that was what she’d been created for.
A girl from both worlds, who’d seen the follies and triumphs of each side.
And her job was to shake things up and do something new.
FORTY-ONE
BIANA WAS RIGHT—these masks smell funky,” Keefe said as the five friends leaped to Exillium.
The fleck of crystal on their beads dissolved as soon as they arrived on the slope of a misty mountain. Sharp winds stung their cheeks while they climbed the rocky path ahead, and the slender trees around them looked normal and healthy.
“No sign of the plague here,” Sophie said, not sure if she was relieved or disappointed. No plague meant no chance of finding any clues, either.
“So, um . . . where’s the school?” Biana asked. “Do you think we leaped to the wrong place?”
“How?” Dex asked. “We used their beads.”
“True.” But Sophie had yet to see another person, or even a sign that anyone had ever been there. No footprints marred the path, no voices buzzed in the distance. “If we’re lost . . .”
“Then we all jump off these cliffs,” Fitz said, “and teleport as close as we can get to Alluveterre.”
“Or she could take us to Foxfire,” Keefe jumped in, “and we could run through the halls screaming, ‘YOU CAN’T GET RID OF US THAT EASILY!’ ”
“I like that plan,” Dex said.
“Me too,” Biana agreed.
“Of course you do. It’s brilliant.”
Their path curved, leading to a rocky clearing so thick with mist, they couldn’t see the ground. An enormous arch made of jagged black metal loomed over the entrance, woven from iron thistles.
“This place is freaky,” Dex whispered. “Do you think this is it?”
Sophie pointed to the center of the arch, where the same X symbol they’d seen before seemed to taunt them.
“Okay,” she whispered. “From this point on we keep a low profile, and if we find something we—”
The rest of her instruction disappeared in a scream.
A thick rope had tightened around her ankle, yanking her off the ground and leaving her dangling upside down from the arch. Her friends hung beside her, flailing and thrashing, the ground very far below.
“Welcome to your Dividing!” a raspy female voice shouted from somewhere in the fog.
The mist parted and a figure in a red hooded cloak stepped forward, followed by a figure in a blue cloak and another in royal purple.
“You must find your way to freedom,” the purple figure told them. Her voice sounded stiffer than the other figure. More reserved.
“There’s no right answer to the problem,” the blue figure added, his voice high and nasal. “But light leaping doesn’t count. You must untie or sever the cord. And choose wisely. This will determine which one of us will be coaching you.”
Sophie’s brain throbbed from the head rush, and her snared foot went numb as she tried to curl her body up to reach the knot. She couldn’t even make it halfway before her abs gave up.
Why had that always looked so much easier in movies?
“Anyone having any luck?” Fitz asked, clearly not experiencing the same ab challenges as Sophie. He pried at the rope with shaking hands. “This knot is impossible.”
“Almost out,” Keefe said.
Sophie tried to catch sight of him, but Dex was in the way.
Keefe mumbled “ow” several times before shouting, “YOU THINK YOU CAN HOLD M—”
A loud RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIP cut him off, and he shouted a bunch of words that would earn him a month of detention before a CRUNCH! left him silent.
“Are you okay?” Sophie called.
“I’ve been better,” Keefe groaned. “Guess I forgot to brace for the fall.”
“He also forgot his pants,” the blue-cloaked figure noted.
A wave of snickers followed, and Sophie realized the whole school was hiding in the mist, watching them dangle like sides of beef at the butcher shop. Keefe’s boot dangled with them, along with a shredded pair of black pants.
“Oy, his boxers are covered in little banshees!” a kid shouted.
“Bet he peed himself too,” another said.
“SILENCE!” the blue Coach snapped. “Those of you still trapped should not concern yourselves with those who are free. He’s passed the test. Can you say the same?”
“I can in a second!” Dex shouted back.
Sophie spun around and found Dex curled up like a monkey, sawing at his rope with something silver. The cord snapped a second later, leaving him hovering there.
Levitating.
“Should’ve thought of that,” Keefe grumbled as Dex floated to the ground and tossed his silver blade—fashioned out of his vest’s buckles—at the purple figure’s feet.
“Impressive,” the purple Coach said. “Too bad you won’t be in my hemisphere.”
“And then there were three,” the red Coach called to Sophie, Fitz, and Biana.
“Try two!” Biana shouted, pumping her arms to swing back and forth. Her rope frayed against the metal thistles of the arch, and she stopped her fall with shaky levitating. She got most of the way down before her concentration gave out, but she was able to tuck and roll when she hit the ground.
Sophie tried Biana’s method, but her rope refused to fray. And there was no way she was dropping down pantless, like Keefe—not that she really understood how he’d managed that. She also had no idea how to turn her vest into a blade. But there had to be something else she could use. She checked all of her pockets.
“GOT IT!” Fitz shouted, doing a gold medal–worthy flip to stand on top of the arch. He unknotted his rope easily, then climbed over to Sophie.
“NO ASSISTANCE ALLOWED!” all three Coaches hollered at him.
“I’m not going to leave her up here!” Fitz shouted back.
“It’s okay,” Sophie told him. “I have a plan.”
She doubted it was a good plan—but he didn’t need to know that. She refused to be the only one who couldn’t get out on her own.
Fitz reluctantly floated to the ground, and Sophie reached under her vest and dug out her Black Swan pendant, remembering how it had worked with the force field. She held it by the swan-shaped handle and tipped the glass into the orangey rays of sunrise. As soon as the light hit the lens, a blue beam flashed like a laser. She aimed it for her rope and it erupted with white-hot flames, spreading down her boot and igniting the metal arch in a shower of sparks.
She thrashed and broke free, but the fire kept burning her leg, the pain making it impossible to levitate as she fell. She curled into a ball, bracing for a brutal landing and . . .
A powerful stream of cold water knocked her back.
She sank into the wet, glad to feel the flames vanish on her leg. Then the wave rolled forward, tossing her gently to the dirt like the ocean crashing onto the shore. She gasped for breath and tried to pull herself to her feet, but the searing pain of her burns was too unbearable.
The last thing she saw was a giant wave crashing against the burning arch. Then everything faded to black.
FORTY-TWO
LEAVE IT TO you to try to burn down Exillium on the first day,” Keefe said as Sophie’s eyes fluttered open, revealing that she’d been moved to a dimly lit tent. Her narrow mattress rested on the floor, and her ankle felt tender, but the rest of her seemed okay—until she realized her boots were missing. And her pants . . .
She scrambled for a blanket and discovered she’d been dressed in a faded gray robe. She decided not to ask when and where the change had happened.
She rolled to her side, and the bed made an embarrassing squeaking sound.
“That was the mattress,” she said.
Keefe giggled. “Everybody farts, Foster. It’s cool. I still think you’re cute.”
Sophie became very interested in studying the tent. The canvas had been decorated with bold swirls of color. It might have once been pretty, but there were too many patches and tears, and the whole thing looked like it could use a thorough wash.
“How’s your ankle?” she asked Keefe as he stretched and winced. He wore a robe just like hers and had a black bandage wrapped around his foot.
Keefe hiccupped. “The boobrie dude said it’s not broken. And he gave me this to help with the pain.” He held up an empty vial and hiccupped again.
“Boobrie dude?” Sophie asked.
“He wouldn’t tell me his name. And he has this crazy bird mask.” He giggled again.
“Where did he go?” Sophie asked.
“Hopefully to get me more of this.” Keefe tried to take another drink from the empty vial, then settled for licking the rim.
Must’ve been a powerful elixir.
“What’s in it?” she asked.
“No idea. All I know is it tasted like kissing a muskog.”
“And you have a lot of experience with that?”
“Hey, I never say no to a dare!”
“Wait—you seriously kissed a muskog?” Sophie asked, remembering the burpy froglike thing Stina had put in Dex’s locker once.
Keefe hiccupped again. “I’ve kissed lots of things! Just ask Biana.”
“You kissed Biana?”
“A couple years ago, yeah,” he mumbled. “Mostly on the cheek.”
“What do you mean by ‘mostly’?”
“You want a demonstration?”
“Um . . . I think I’ll pass.” She was sure her face was redder than Mr. Snuggles.
“It wasn’t a big deal,” he told her. “It was just a dare.”
“Okay,” she said, not sure why she was clenching her fists so hard.
Keefe narrowed his eyes. “You’re a hard one to read, Miss F., you know that? Sometimes I think you—ohhhh, the boobrie dude gave you some of the awesomesauce!” He pointed to a vial on the floor next to her mattress, filled with swirly purple syrup. “You should take it. Or if you don’t want it, you should give it to me!”