All That Lives Must Die - Eric Nylund [180]
The flock crested the ridge. The cranes called out once and then glided effortlessly, silent, exhausted, and vanished.
“I definitely don’t want to be like my parents,” Fiona replied.
That would be a choice between her emotionally distant mother, and her father, who was . . . what? A monster? At best, a liar and thief.
“Not knowing what I want to be is part of the reason I’m at a Paxington,” she said. “I need to get my bearings and figure a few things out.”
That wasn’t the entire truth, though. Fiona had something to prove at school, too: that she was as good as anyone else—not only at school, but at the League as well.
“I guess,” Mitch said. “I just wish they gave us some breathing room in our schedules.” He exhaled. “Speaking of breathing”—he pulled her along—“we should move. It’s not good to be at this altitude for too long without oxygen.”
They trudged along the path, Fiona started feeling a bit dizzy now, and they rounded a ledge and into shadows—
—and stumbled over roots and underbrush, and a flock of butterflies took to the air, making a storm of confetti-like flutterings.
“This way,” Mitch said, pushing branches out of their way.
Fiona struggled to breathe the now heavier, moist air. She got her bearings and saw the faintest of trails snaking through the jungle. There were stone heads as big as houses and overgrown with hundred-year-old tree roots. Those idols stared at her with blind sockets.
Ahead was the sound of water churning and crashing.
Mitch stopped abruptly and parted ferns for her.
They stood on the edge of a river that plunged into a kilometer-wide sinkhole. Along the steep edges, trees and vines grew at precipitous angles. The water never seemed to hit the bottom—instead it vaporized into rainbows.
“Down there is the Cavern of the Six Fairy Kings,” Mitch whispered in hushed awe. “There’s supposedly a trail leading down . . . somewhere. I’ve never found it. The cave is one of the fabled gateways to the Faerie Lands—if you believe that sort of thing.”47, 48
“Jeremy would give anything to see this,” Fiona whispered.
“Like I’d ever bring him here.” Mitch said.
So many places, and so many fantastic sights, and being with Mitch—it was disorienting, but Fiona nonetheless managed to pick up their conversation where it left off. “So, Mr. Stephenson,” she said, “why are you at Paxington?”
Mitch’s smile faded. He let go of her and laced his hands, thinking. “At first, because it’s what was expected of me. I studied for years, sacrificing, and taking tests.”
He fell silent; his gaze drifted to the waterfall.
“But?” Fiona asked.
“But . . . it’s not like I thought it would be. Paxington. The people there. Even this world we live in. It’s more complicated than I thought, terrible—and wonderful, too.”
For the first time, she saw Mitch struggle with some inner turmoil. “I want to change it all,” he told her, and looked into her eyes. “Immortals and the magical families, the way they run things . . . it’s all so political and greedy. It’s about power and not about people or principles.”
Fiona nodded. “I think I know what you mean. The League of Immortals used to stand for something—order and fighting wrongs, but that seemed to end with a treaty with the Infernals. All that’s left today is posturing and politicking. Where did all their greatness go?”
They both fell silent, the only sound the thundering of the water.
“So let’s change it together,” she suggested, and found his hand again and wove her fingers through his.
He didn’t object, and he looked at her hand, turning it over.
“No,” he told her. “What I want to do one day . . . it’ll be stupid . . . and probably dangerous.”
“I’m willing to do stupid, dangerous things, as long as it’s with you.” A smile crept across her face.
“Maybe,” he whispered. “I still have to figure a few things out.” He shook his head, looked up, saw her smiling, and mirrored it. “Hey, let’s just get through our next match and then we can plot to change the world.”
“Sure.”
But Fiona was already