Havenfall (Havenfall #1)(4)
To shatter like glass.
I blink again and pull out my phone—it’s time to text Uncle Marcus now that we’re getting close. The text goes through, and I hope he sees it amid the bustle of Havenfall’s summit—an annual celebration which is just about to begin that marks the peace between our three worlds.
“What’s that frown for?”
A gravelly voice to my right snakes through my music. I half-turn away, hoping that it’s not me being addressed, but the man across the aisle, the one with the newspaper, is looking at me, lips split to show cigarette-stained teeth. Reluctantly, I take off my headphones.
This guy must be from Haven. He’s wearing a necklace with a teardrop-shaped pendant of the same odd, pearlescent silver that supposedly comes only from the old mines surrounding the town. But I’ve never seen him there before.
I give him a bare, polite smile. “Just happy we’re almost there.”
He rubs the pendant between his fingers. He has sun-weathered skin and pale eyes. “You going to Haven?”
“Yep.” I can’t help popping my lips slightly on the P. It’s a stupid question—that’s the only stop left, which this guy surely knows. “Going to visit my uncle.”
“You from there? You look familiar.”
Wariness curls around my heart, but I push it down and shake my head. Haven has less than a thousand people, and it’s tucked away so high, inaccessible but for twisty county highways. It’s possible the man might remember me from seeing me around town. But he wouldn’t—couldn’t—have remembered me from the inn; Havenfall protects against that.
“Like I said, just visiting family.”
“Well, I’m pleased to meet you.”
“Likewise,” I lie, reluctantly shaking the hand he sticks across the aisle. His hand is clammy, his grip too tight. When he smiles, I notice several fillings made from the same pale silver as the pendant.
To my relief, he doesn’t ask further questions once I turn back toward the window. We’re climbing higher and higher as the sun sets, the air thinning and my ears popping. Clouds creep in from the west, covering the orange sky and casting the craggy mountains in shadow. The driver goes slower as the wind picks up. The towns are almost nonexistent now: the only signs of human habitation are the odd cabin or broken-down car. But the landscape gets more beautiful, even under the gathering blanket of storm clouds. Fog creeps down over the mountainsides, wrapping around the trees and spilling tendrils over the road, but the effect is almost comforting, like we’re the only people in the world.
Another oddity about Haven: the weather is strange around here. Locals know it, and it keeps outsiders away. There are other measures, too, other precautions meant to keep this place secret and safe. As we pass the faded road sign that says Welcome to the Inn at Havenfall, I look at the trees on either side. My uncle employs a dozen people to keep watch outside town year-round. I know I won’t see them—they’re stationed deep in the woods, in cabins or converted deer blinds. There to make sure that no magic escapes the boundaries of the town.
It hasn’t happened in years, and when it does, it’s usually easily explained—a maid sneaking out a bottle of Fiorden wine without realizing the power it holds, or a bored noble taking a ride through the woods that ranges too far. But once every few years a delegate will decide to try to smuggle magic out for profit. I don’t know what the punishment is for that, but I’ve never seen any of the offending delegates again.
The clouds finally crack and rain drizzles down as we round the mountain and see the town of Haven up ahead, a smattering of buildings clinging for dear life to the mountainside, encroached upon by the trees and the mist. A bright river snakes down across the mountain before disappearing into the valley below us. And my heart leaps to see it, because Havenfall is just beyond the next ridge. The fog sparkles like a mirage. I glance behind me and see all my fellow passengers glued to the window, even the baby, looking out with round blue eyes.
We reach the crossroads just outside town, the place where Marcus usually picks me up in his jeep. Ahead is the general store, a big log building with a generous wraparound porch, spilling welcoming yellow light from inside. Two women chatting in rocking chairs on the porch look when the bus stops and the passengers file off. I’m relieved when Silver Teeth Man exits, his fillings flashing as he gives me one more broad smile, and then disappears into the store. But then the anxiety slides back in. Maybe Marcus didn’t get my text. He isn’t here.
When the door closes, the driver meets my eyes in the mirror. “Someone coming to pick you up?”
I nod, holding on to the feeling of anticipation. No, it’s not anticipation. It’s need. Havenfall, my uncle and friends, Brekken—all less than a mile away now.
“We can wait a few minutes, but I can’t take this thing any farther up these damn roads.” The driver slaps the dashboard with a mixture of exasperation and affection. “And …”
He lifts a hand, pointing at the dark clouds coming in from the north, the curtains of rain in the distance. Even if he doesn’t know why, he knows that the weather gets more freakish the closer we are to Havenfall.
“Sorry about this.” My voice catches as I shift in my seat, trying to call Marcus again. But I don’t have service here. It’s dead air. “My uncle should be here in a few minutes.”