The Writer - Chapter 11

As it turned out, Beckett was a demon when it came to pranks and trickery. 

Emmeline knew it was puerile to be pulling pranks on the little staff that remained at the mansion. She knew that her tricks wouldn’t change the generals’ decision, but she participated anyways. Why? Even she couldn’t figure it out. 

Emmeline felt more at peace with Beckett and Newt than she did with Coral, Clara, and Forrest. The other three had a past together with the Sprite Hunters, just as Newt, Beckett, and Emmeline had a past when they were locked in Argenti together. It felt like old times again, but better. 

The first day passed slow as molasses. Emmeline took the time to write out letters to Clara and Forrest and Coral respectively, including any information she thought would help them as well as detailed descriptions of Baelle and her cronies. Mostly, she told her friends how to summon a Guide. 

The process wasn’t actually as challenging as Emmeline had anticipated. 

It took some prying and extra pranking, but eventually the mansion head butler let it spill that there was an incantation that brought a Guide to a person. 

Emmeline was eager to try this, as were Newt and Beckett. 

Newt was still feverish, and he stumbled when he walked. He insisted on joining Emmeline and Beckett on their mini expedition anyway, and he hobbled along at a quick pace. 

“Can I read the letters?” Beckett asked, attempting to snatch the rolls of parchment from Emmeline’s hand. She pulled them away, whacking the prince on the head with one of them. He snarled at her.
“We’re almost there, can you two behave for five more minutes?” Newt grumbled. “It’s hard enough trying to walk without tripping. I don’t need bickering too.” 

“You didn’t have to come,” Emmeline reminded him. “I can summon a Guide on my own, thank you very much.” She thought about shoving Newt, but decided against it. What if he hurt himself more? 

“Ha,” Newt scoffed. “You can barely walk outside without putting yourself in danger one way or another.” 

“Says the boy who can’t walk in a straight line,” Beckett giggled. 

“Whose side are you on?” Newt protested as the boy darted ahead, deeper into the forest. Emmeline had chosen a small pond not far outside the mansion’s property so she didn’t scare the mansion staff anymore. 

“Whoever offers me more dessert,” Beckett decided. 

“Aw, c’mon, you know Emmeline already gets more desserts than I do,” Newt complained.

Emmeline rolled her eyes. 

They kept walking, Newt and Beckett trading equally degrading insults in the most friendly way possible. 

The pond Emmeline had selected was small and clear. Knowing the boys, it would be good to have water on standby. Emmeline took a seat on a fallen log covered in soft, green moss. 

“What were the steps again?” Beckett asked. 

“Step one, shut up,” Emmeline grumbled. Surprisingly, the prince did as he was asked. Newt and Beckett wandered away, which was probably a good thing as well. If the Guides were a mistake and Emmeline nearly killed herself… 

She closed her eyes, focusing on the instructions the butler had left her. 

Search through your tangled roots and find the ancestor you associate with the most. 

Emmeline knew this would be the most complicated task of them all. She knew nothing about her past, and now that she actually thought about it, she knew nothing of her ancestors. 

“Uh, Newt,” Emmeline called out hesitantly. 

He stumbled through the bushes, Beckett at his tail. “Yes?” 

“You know at the Library of Knowledge when you brought one of my ancestors back? The woman?” Newt nodded. “Could you, I don’t know, do it again?” 

Newt didn’t question this out loud, but his eyes showed that he was hesitant about it. He had good reason too, Newt’s summonings sometimes went haywire. “Is there anyone specific?” 

“No,” Emmeline said quickly. She wasn’t sure who she wanted to see. Her parents? Her grandparents? The woman again? 

“What about all of them?” Beckett suggested. 

“No.” Emmeline and Newt’s voices sounded in perfect harmony. The prince looked confused. 

“All of them at once would be taxing on me, and it also wouldn’t guarantee that they would get along. Dead people are normally desperate for attention, and they don’t like sharing,” Newt explained. Emmeline didn’t mention that he had brought an entire army back to life previously. 

She didn’t want all of her ancestors to show up because what if they took one look at her and decided that she was pathetic. 

Newt steeled himself, locking his knees. 

His eyes rolled back in his head and he keeled forward, collapsing to the ground on his knees. Emmeline resisted the urge to cry out. 

She felt like someone had reached inside of her chest with icy fingers. Plumes of white and silver smoke spiraled out of her torso, forming dull figures in the air. Some of them disappeared in soft poofs while others attacked each other, tearing into bits. 

A few figures stayed solid long enough to form faces that could be recognized. A man and a woman clutched each other closely. Another small boy smirked. A cousin, perhaps? 

And then Emmeline spotted the woman. Her sandy hair and bright green eyes seemed to call for Emmeline. She felt drawn towards the woman, and she took a few steps forward. The woman glowed with ethereal light. 

“Who are you?” Emmeline breathed. 

The woman pointed to her throat, as if she couldn’t talk. Her eyes were pleading. The other figures glared at her scornfully, as if the woman was a disgrace. 

Emmeline couldn’t decide how old the woman was. She could’ve been twenty or fifty. Her beauty was ageless, her smokey form betrayed no hint of who she was. Was she a cousin? A sibling? 

Emmeline glanced towards Beckett to see what he would say, but the boy was frozen. His mouth was opened like he was mid sentence, but the sound died in his throat. 

“Emmeline,” the voice was soft, like a whisper. 

The Reader wheeled around, confused as to the source of the voice. “Emmeline. Emmeline. Emmeline.” 

The woman. That had to be who was calling her name. Emmeline spun to face the woman. Her mouth formed Emmeline’s name over and over again like a broken record. Emmeline. Emmeline. Emmeline. 

“Who are you?” Emmeline repeated. 

The woman paused, sending a hesitant look to the other smokey figures. They glared at her, but the smoke constricted around them, cutting off their sound. 

“I am,” the woman began, but her words cut off abruptly. She seemed confused and tried to speak again, but no sound came out. “I am. I am.” She topped, shaking her head fiercely. “You are Emmeline.” 

“I am Emmeline,” the Reader confirmed. “You can’t say who you are?” 

“Can’t say,” the woman agreed morosely. “Others not happy.” She spoke in a way that greatly confused Emmeline. 

“The others aren’t happy that you’re talking to me?” 

The woman nodded. “I am bad.” 

“I’m sure you’re not as bad as they say. After all, you’re being rather nice to me, aren’t you? Who are they?” 

“Family.” 

“They’re my family?” 

“Family.” 

Emmeline gave an exhausted sigh. Beckett and Newt were still frozen in time, like the world had come to a screeching halt. The three smokey figures in the back glared at the woman with obvious distrust. 

“Can they talk to me?” Emmeline asked at last. 

The woman shook her head. “Forbidden.” How convenient, Emmeline thought to herself. None of them could talk to her in more than fragmented sentences. 

“I need a Guide,” Emmeline tried. 

The woman sent a look towards Emmeline’s “family”. Their glares said enough and the woman shook her head sadly. 

“Boy will Guide,” the woman confirmed. “I will go.” 

“Wait,” Emmeline began, but the woman had already dissipated into the smoke she was made of. Suddenly, time lurched forwards again. Nausea overwhelmed her as the world seemed to spin ten times faster. Beckett stumbled towards her. 

Someone else was approaching, too. It was the misty boy figure. 

Just like with the woman, Emmeline couldn’t figure out how old the boy was. He shifted from looking Beckett’s age, to looking like he was sixteen, and then to being a young adult. His dark hair was the same shade as Emmeline’s, but his eyes were paler. 

“Will you be my Guide?” Emmeline asked him. She definitely wasn’t following the butler’s instructions anymore. 

The boy nodded once. His expression seemed grim, his lips pressed into a tight line. 

“Do you have a name?” Emmeline asked him. She was vaguely aware of Beckett’s presence beside her, but she was drawn to this dead boy. She felt like she had a connection to him, even though he was dead. 

“Ernest,” the boy - no, Ernest - replied bitterly, like the name tasted bad on his tongue. 

The word sparked memories in Emmeline’s brain. She grasped for them, but they slipped out of reach like snakes, disappearing as quickly as they had formed. 

Ernest seemed to shift into an animal, his skin and clothing rippling. Fur sprouted from his skin, pure white with the tiniest hint of blue. In his place was a small, glowing fox. Emmeline bent down and gazed into the fox’s knowing, green eyes. She held out the letters and Ernest took them gently before darting away. Where he stepped, tiny blue footprints surfaced above the ground. 

“Emmeline, what was that?” Beckett asked quietly. 

The nausea was getting worse. Memories pressed to the surface of her mind and she stumbled weakly, collapsing backwards. The prince was there to catch her as darkness took over her mind. 

Memories washed through Emmeline’s brain like a raging river. They flew by too fast for her to comprehend, it was as though they were on the edge of her mind. 

She spun wildly in the darkness, but the memories slipped away from her. Faces flashed by, some that seemed familiar but others that bore no resemblance to anyone she knew. She saw Ernest’s face, but she was sure she hadn’t met him. She saw the two people that had been with Ernest. 

After what seemed like an eternity of churning in the void of memories, Emmeline finally peeled open her eyes. 

Her body ached but she wasn’t sure why. Her mind felt sluggish as if part of the darkness had stayed with her. Was she drugged? Her neck prickled where she had been drugged using thorns previously by a slaver. 

She flailed and thrashed, expecting to be killed at any moment. 

“Emmeline, you’re going to kill me!” a voice shouted. It wasn’t Baelle - it was Beckett. For once he actually seemed worried. 

She stopped moving and tried to get her bearings. She was lying on the couch in the division, her arm dangling towards the floor. Beckett was perched on the table beside her, pale as he normally was. His fingers traced the tendrils of colors on his arms. 

“What happened? Where’s Newt? How did I get here?” she tried to ask, but her throat was parched and all that came out was a raspy few syllables. 

Beckett smirked and handed her a canteen filled with water. Emmeline accepted it gratefully, letting the cool liquid alleviate the soreness in her throat. She was about to repeat her questions when Beckett began to speak. 

“Are you feeling okay?” 

Emmeline was surprised by the question. Beckett wasn’t generally a kind person. “I’m doing fine, I suppose. How long was I out? An hour? Two?” 

Beckett hesitated. “You’ve been unconscious for a day, Echo.” 

Emmeline nearly flung herself off the couch. A whole day? Nothing had happened to her, why was she so exhausted. 

“What happened?” she murmured. 

“I’m not sure, entirely. And neither are the Generals.” Emmeline stifled a groan. Of course the Generals were involved now. “You, Newt, and I went to find a Guide, right? You asked Newt to summon your ancestors and the world was kind of blurry for me for a while. I saw the misty boy approach you, and he agreed to be your Guide. Then you passed out and I had to drag both you and Newt back.” 

Emmeline was skeptical. How could a boy like Beckett - scrawny and, well, weak - carry both her and Newt back to a mansion. 

“The boy was named Ernest,” Emmeline said. “But I don’t know who he was. I feel like he should be there, he’s just at the edge of my memory. Except I can’t find him, it’s like he was taken from me.” Her chest felt lighter just saying it, even if Beckett wouldn’t really be much help. 

“Yeah, well Ernest the Fox-Boy is now out in the kingdoms delivering the letters. And the Generals are pretty livid that you left the mansion without permission,” Beckett explained. 

Emmeline ignored that. If she could face Baelle, she could face a few old, angry men. 

So instead she asked, “Where’s Newt?” 

Beckett hesitated again, like the answer was uncomfortable. “That’s the other thing. I’m not allowed to take you to him until you’re ready-” 

“I’m ready,” Emmeline insisted. 

“No, you’re not. Echo, I don’t think I’m supposed to show you his condition-” 

“His condition? Is he hurt?” 

Beckett rolled his eyes. “Can I finish a sentence, please?” Emmeline fell silent, staring at her hands in her lap. “He’s … delicate. That’s all I’m allowed to say.” 

“May I see him?” Emmeline asked, pleading. She prayed to the goddesses that he wasn’t dead because of her. His weird Curse/Blessing seemed to be getting worse every time he brought someone back. 

Beckett didn’t answer, but he stood up. Emmeline followed his movements, the blood rushing to her head. She felt wobbly and uncertain, but her worry for Newt overpowered her nausea. Beckett helped Emmeline hobble down the boys’ hallway to Newt’s room. Once again, the door was closed. The prince pushed it open. 

Newt was lying on the bed, his arms laid across his chest like he was prepared for a funeral. Emotion built in her chest, but Emmeline forced it back. “What’s wrong?” she managed to choke out. 

“He hasn’t woken up since yesterday, either,” Beckett confessed. “We weren’t sure if it was because of the Curse or Blessing thing, but then we noticed this.” 

Beckett gestured Emmeline closer and pointed at Newt’s arm. 

She sucked in a breath. 

His skin was paler than normal, but so were the markings. Their normal black had faded to a light gray. Emmeline brushed his forehead and found that he was feverish. 

“What did the medics say?” Emmeline whispered. 

Beckett answered slowly, like he was afraid of Emmeline’s response. “They said that it’s the virus. They said it’ll probably go away, but we shouldn’t come see him in case it’s contagious.” 

Then Beckett turned to Emmeline and said something surprising. “Emmeline, what happened on the roof that night?” 

Emmeline’s heart leapt into her throat. “There was a flash of light,” she managed. “He was … he wasn’t breathing. I used my weird mini-Blessing from Elyviella to heal him. I thought he would get better, but…” Her voice died in her throat.  

“I’m scared.” This came from Beckett. Emmeline was shocked to see his lower lip quiver, she had never seen Beckett look so terrified before. 

She didn’t say anything. 

Newt’s Blessing/Curse wasn’t working anymore. His markings were growing paler. It was almost as if… 

Emmeline gasped, clutching Beckett’s arm. 

“What is it?” Beckett asked, eyes wide. 

Emmeline couldn’t bear to look at him. She knew this was just a theory, but Clara’s theory about Baelle being a demigoddess had proven true. 

“You know how everyone keeps saying Baelle wants a Reader because she thinks she can still be Written?” Emmeline asked. Beckett nodded. Comprehension surfaced on his face and Emmeline’s stomach sank. 

Baelle was trying to infect people with a virus to turn them into Readers. 

There was no telling if it would work, but Baelle’s plan had worked entirely. Either Baelle would get a bunch of Readers, Newt would die along with hundreds of others, or Emmeline would turn herself in. There was no winning now.

Author's Note

I know this chapter was a bit shorter, and it definitely raised more questions than it answered. But I promise that it'll make sense really soon!