leave behind traces of their bodies. It’s so that they won’t mourn. So

they can move on faster. That has to be it, right?

Music fills the Goddess Falls. It comes right out of the air-the

long, weeping vines trickling with water, the birds flitting about as

if they could sing for always. There’s a different kind of magic in

this land. It’s as if there isn’t a care in the world, and I bet if I

let myself, I’ll forget about my own cares. About getting out of here

and being the hero of the day.

Like Dylan. He’s been here for nearly two weeks, and I’m not

convinced he’s ready to go back.

I hold my toe over the ledge.

“Cousin!” Brendan shouts. “What’s taking you so long? Jump in!”

The girls around him echo him. “Yes, jump in!”

But there’s something I have to do. It’s whispering in the wind.

“Maybe later!”

They boo and call out my name as I turn around and walk away.

I know I’m right. There is something about this place. It’s

perfect. It’s eternal. And if I’m not careful, it won’t let us go.

“It’s not polite to stare,” I tell Isi. She’s watching the

frolicking in the Goddess Falls from behind a tree.

I wonder if she’s pissed off that her daughters are so attached to

Brendan.

“I’m not staring,” she says indignantly.

“I’m sure you can jump right into the fun.”

She ignores my jibe and uncrosses her arms. Her long, white dress

is dirty where it trails on the ground. I want to ask what she was

doing last night at the edge of the woods. I don’t know much about

religion, but it looked to me like she was praying. I decided it’s not

my place to ask so I leave it alone.

“I wanted to walk you to your next session,” she says, heading

away from the music and laughter behind us.

I want to say that I’ll find my way, but all I see is tall tree,

slightly taller tree, tree that looks like all the other trees.

“So, do you normally let your emotionally unstable warrior shove

your visitors off a cliff?”

I think she chuckles, but it could also be the squirrels in the

trees.

“Only when they ask,” she says. “You asked to be trained. So you

are being trained.”

“I guess I was picturing a montage with a sweet eighties hair band

in the background and my friends cheering at the finish line.”

She stares at me blankly, all, What planet are you from?

I’m from Brooklyn, lady.

“Just out of curiosity,” I start. “How many days are we talking

about? I’m in a ‘places to go, sea witches to kill’ kind of

situation.”

“You have just faced your greatest fear,” she says. “But you still

haven’t discovered patience.”

“It’s hard to be patient when lives are in your hands.”

“Nieve has been patient, and look where it’s gotten her.”

“Yes, because I should take life lessons from a mass murderer,” I

say, but I’ve clearly offended Isi. She clenches her jaw and keeps her

eyes trained on the path ahead.

“Hey, where does the oracle go? Every time I go by her tent, she’s

not there. Do I need, like, an appointment?”

Isi’s eye twitches a little. I can’t get a read on her. I think

she likes me better when I don’t ask questions. “The Tree Mother makes

her presence known when she feels it is needed.”

“So no?”

“No.”

“Hey, what else can you tell me about the Naga? Is its saliva

poisonous like a sea dragon’s? Can it breathe fire? Can-”

She holds up her hand to cut me off. The topic of the Naga ruffles

her. I guess if a monster was picking off my people, I’d be short

tempered too. I think of Nieve. See her face when I close my eyes.

“Tristan, please know we are preparing you to fight her.”

“Got it.” I say it to appease her, not because I do, in fact, have

it. I’ve seen this thing in the flesh, and while I know anything can

be killed by chopping off its head (I hope), I want more details.

Details they aren’t giving me. “I won’t fail you.”

She moves aside a curtain of weeping vines, letting me into the

armory. She takes my chin and looks into my eyes. “I believe you.”

•••

I walk into the armory and training grounds. When I turn around,

Isi is gone.

An obstacle course has been set up overnight. Round stones where

car tires ought to be, tall poles lined like monkey bars. A large

barrel is full of spears with glass arrowheads, and beyond that, a

really big target for them to hit.

Yara jumps in front of me, hands on her hips, that defiant grin on

her face. She’s painted a series of rectangles and circles on her

body. Up close I can see the tattoo on her shoulder, a perfect circle

with a wavy line through the middle.

“Am I supposed to be painted too?”

She smirks but tries to hide it by turning around and walking

away.

“Is it too much to have a conversation? You know, ‘Follow me,

guys!’”

She comes to a stop. “If it would please you to have me treat you

like a pup, I could do as you ask.”

I don’t respond, and she keeps walking until we are alone in a

field. I take in the trees, the pristine bright greenery of it. It

almost makes me feel at ease, and I’m afraid this is going to be one

of those “inner peace” moments.

“Just so you know, I hate yoga.”

Then Yara gets into a crouching position, hands at the ready,

urging me to strike.

“I can’t hit you. You’re a girl.”

Standing in the clearing, Yara screams, springing at me with a

kick that leaves me breathless on the ground.

I roll over and cover my face with my hands as she brings down the

side of her hand on me. I block it. Hot damn, she’s strong.

“I am no girl, Land Prince.”

“No offense, but you’ve got all the girl bits.”

She laughs but doesn’t stop advancing. My dad taught me never to

hit girls. That’s not what men do, ever.

“I’m a warrior,” she says, “and if you can’t fight back, you will

hurt.”

She chases me down, along an offshoot of the river. I block,

block, block, and she brings her strikes with more precision each

time. It’s like she finds the spots that bruise the fastest and then

digs into them.

“I admire you sticking to your human code.”

“Morals, my dad likes to call it.”

I grab her wrists in the air and squeeze. She’s surprised by how

hard I hold her. She pulls, but I don’t loosen my grip. She turns to

their little magic trick, the melting thing. Soon I’m grasping water,

and she slips through my hands.

“That’s cheating,” I say as she resumes solid form.

“Your code will get you killed. Assume I want to kill you. Assume

everyone is out to kill you.”

“That’s called paranoia.”

I lean back so far to avoid her punch that my thighs burn as I

hold the pose to keep from falling backward. I throw my weight

forward. Yara moves back to kick. I grab her leg before it hits my

thigh and flip her so hard that she smacks into a tree.

“Yara?”

She doesn’t move.

I race forward and kneel down to her. Her head hangs slack,

untucked hair from her braid covering her eyes. I reach a hand out to

touch the pulse on her neck.

She grabs my arm and pulls me forward.

Few types of pain are as bad as hitting your face smack into a

tree. I can feel my septum crack. Blood gushes into my mouth.

“Only assume your opponent is not getting up if you have a sword

through their head.”

“What about their heart?” I say.

She shrugs. “Not everything has a heart in the same place.”

“Can you go all see-through again so I can see where your heart