Neverseen (Keeper of the Lost Cities, #4)(97)

“Choose any movement you’d like,” the Coach said. “But you must keep moving. Every time you fall, you prove yourself Unworthy.”

Sophie could’ve sworn the Coach looked at her as she said the last part, and it made her determined to stay airborne. She closed her eyes, pushed against gravity, and floated her body off the ground. But she couldn’t figure out how to move like the other Waywards. Motion required resistance—something to bounce off and create thrust. So when she tried to “walk,” her legs only flailed, and the longer she hovered there, the heavier her body felt.

How you holding up? Fitz transmitted as she collapsed for a break.

I don’t understand how they’re all doing this, she grumbled.

Neither do I. I’ve dropped twice already, and Biana’s hit the ground three times. My Coach says we’re not motivated enough.

You’re lucky you guys are together. I’m the only one struggling in my group.

She forced herself to levitate again, and tried flapping her arms, which mostly made her look like a giant chicken. She felt even more ridiculous when she stole another look at the plague-infested forest.

I can’t believe we’re wasting time on this when we could be down there investigating.

Maybe it’s better, Fitz said. We wouldn’t want to accidently infect Calla.

Sophie definitely didn’t want that—but it still felt like they were missing an opportunity. They could be learning things that might help the gnomes, and instead she was trying to air-swim.

“You’re focusing your efforts too narrowly,” her Coach said as Sophie dropped on her belly so hard it knocked the wind out of her. “Gravity isn’t the only force you have to work with.”

A gong announced their break before Sophie figured out what that meant.

She stumbled to the eating area, where all the Waywards were lining up for lunch. The food itself was simple—baskets of whole fruit for them to choose from—and Sophie noticed everyone only took one piece. They also sat separately, on threadbare blankets the same color as their Hemisphere. The only sounds were the wind and the awkward crunch of chewing.

She’d chosen a pear-shaped fruit with a smooth teal skin. It looked too pretty to eat, and Sophie wished she’d gone with that instinct. It tasted like juicy cheese, and each bite felt greasier than the last. The Shade and the Hydrokinetic sat across from her, sharing a purple spiky fruit between them. Sophie wondered if that meant they were boyfriend and girlfriend.

“You should be more careful about your telepathic conversations,” the Shade’s voice whispered inside her head.

One of these times you’re going to give me a heart attack, Sophie transmitted. How do you talk like that?

His shadow stretched farther over hers. “It’s called shadow-whispering. My shadow is carrying my consciousness, so no one can hear me except you—but I still only do it when no one’s looking. You need to take the same precaution. If the Coach catches you, they’ll punish everyone. They want us to hate each other. It’s how they keep control. They know there are only three of them and hundreds of us. If we unite, we could take them out easily.”

Or they could try getting us to like them, Sophie suggested. Fear isn’t the only way to control people.

“No, but it’s the quickest. I would know.”

The darkness in his tone was almost as unsettling as watching his shadow crawl back to its proper angle. Sophie could definitely see why Fitz would find Shades creepy. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that this one was worth knowing.

The gong rang again, ordering them back to their tents, and the stronger afternoon gales made the exercise even more challenging. Waywards were tossed around the tents, crashing into the poles and each other. Sophie tried to use the wind’s momentum to finally get herself moving, but the wind seemed to be a force she couldn’t manipulate.

She stretched out her mind, feeling for other forces to play with, and instead picked up a feint sound. It came from the withered woods, and after a minute of concentrating she realized it was a voice.

A word.

The same word over and over, growing more chilling every time.

Help.





FORTY-SIX


SOPHIE RACED TOWARD the cliff and jumped, planning to teleport into the woods to find whoever needed help.

But as the forces whipped around her, she realized that levitating would be easier. She could feel a strange rush of resistance in the air now that she felt the thrill of falling. And when she focused on that energy, she finally had the thrust she needed to propel herself forward. A little additional concentration and she was sprinting so fast it made her eyes water.

“Where are you going?” Fitz asked, racing up beside her—and triggering a panicked plummet.

“Sorry,” he said as she fought to regain her concentration. “Didn’t mean to scare you. When I saw you jump, I jumped. Biana tried to come too, but our Coach grabbed her. What’s wrong?”

“Someone needs help. I can hear them calling me, but I don’t know where they are. I’m trying to track them now.”

She closed her eyes, but all she could hear were the angry voices shouting from the cliff above. Sophie was pretty sure they were setting a record for Exillium disobedience.

Fitz grabbed her hand so they could keep pace together. “How can I help?”