Splintered

Gossamer comes back to light on Morpheus’s shoulder as he points down. “After the abyss … just there.”

He indicates a drop in the chessboard sands at the edge of the dune, not too far from where Jeb’s standing. It’s hard to make out from here, but it appears to be a fissure in the earth.

“There’s an abyss?” I ask, more doubtful by the second.

“It separates the desert from the valley—a bit too wide for a mortal to leap across. The cemetery is on the other side. It’s cloaked in a thicket of vines and ivy that protects the spirits from sunlight.”

My courage does an about-face at the thought of trudging through some dark thicket filled with ghosts—netherling or otherwise—but I rein in my fears. Jeb will be there; I won’t be alone.

“Unless you can find a way across the chasm,” Morpheus continues, “you will have to hike on foot. Take the upper ridge that winds around it.”

The ridge’s sands seem to stretch on forever. If we go around, it could take a day. Maybe two. We don’t have that kind of time if we’re going to stop Alison’s treatments. I’m about to object when the Door Mouse shouts out: “Jubjub birds!”

Gossamer tu

The dust clouds clear to reveal an army of card guards riding birds. Huge ones, built like ostriches with peacock tails and the heads and wings of giant grasshoppers. Although the birds can’t seem to fly, their long legs cover the distance between us with ease. It’s like a swarm of mutant grasshoppers coming to devour us.

I’ll never kill another bug as long as I live …

Heart striking my ribs like a gong, I yell up at Morpheus, “Help us!”

“Beware the shifting sands,” he shouts back. “Use the flute if you need to gain ground. Assuming you make it to the valley, head straight for the cemetery gate. The army won’t follow you within.” He swoops away in the opposite direction of our attackers. Gone. Just like that.

Assuming we make it? I’m so outraged, my eyes burn. “You swore you wouldn’t leave me again! Your wings are going to shrivel up, you coward!” I scream.

But you aren’t hurt … yet.

It’s his voice, though I’m not sure if it’s from my memory or if he’s still in my head. Either way, I’d forgotten about the stipulation to his life-magic vow. He’s the master of technicalities.

A hammering shatters the air. I turn to see Jeb pounding the wooden tea wagon against the tree trunk. Before it even registers what he’s doing, he’s separated two of the shelves from the frame. He pushes his bangs out of his face and flips the boards over to study the bottoms. They’re smooth and seamless with a slight upward curve on the ends.

He holds one out to me. “Let’s go!”

I take the piece of wood, confused.

Jeb shoulders the backpack, sprints to the edge of the dune a few feet away, and places his shelf on the ground at the border where the sandy slope begins. With one shoe on the wood to tilt it downward, he turns to me. “Now, skater girl!”

I run to him, arms trembling as I settle my board into place. He expects us to ride down on the boards—like sand surfing. But doesn’t he see the chasm between the desert and the valley?

The end of the slope slants upward, like a launch ramp. He can’t possibly expect us to …

“Today you master an ollie,” Jeb says, finishing my thought.

My pulse drums in my neck. “No way.”

“No choice.” He reaches out his hand. “If we start to fall, use your magic trick. Make the boards float across the chasm.”

“What if I can’t? I broke the curse, fixed all of Alice’s mistakes. Maybe I’m me again.”

“You still look like one of them. I’m betting you don’t go back to normal until we get through that portal. At this point, what do we have to lose?” His hand waits for me.

I grasp it and glance behind us. Clouds of dust consume the slope as the army overtakes the hill. They’ll be at the plateau any second now. I squint against the swirling grit.

Close up, the incline is about three times steeper than the skate bowl’s highest drop in Underland, and I’ve never even scaled the top of that one. We’re so high, my vision swims, and my knees go all buttery.

“Whoa.” Jeb wraps an arm around my waist to balance me.

“Jeb …” I hold his wrist. “We’ll get separated.”

“Won’t happen.” He unclips one end of the metal chain hanging from his belt loops. He unwinds it, leaving the other end still locked on his pants. By latching the chain to a ring on my belt, he forms a lifeline. When stretched out, the links allow a three-foot span between us while still providing security.

“Ready?” he asks, looking over his shoulder at our impending captors.

“Yeah.” But my pitching stomach screams, “No.”

Every part of me begs to turn back … to run in the opposite direction. But the Jubjub birds screech from behind—as earsplitting as giant pterodactyls from some prehistoric soundtrack—and raise the hairs on my neck.

I slide my foot on top of the wood.

“Now!” Jeb shouts.

My stomach falls as we shove off together and plummet into the checkered depths.

The first half of the drop swoops by in a blinding rush. We stay ahead of our attackers, the wood gliding smoothly over the sand. By tweaking the pressure with our feet and legs, we control our direction and speed. My muscles fall into a familiar rhythm, distracting me from how high we are.

The rush of wind lifts my braided hair to flap behind me. Beneath my erratic pulse, a sense of hope nudges—quiet, easy, and strong. Is this what Morpheus meant by finding tranquility amid the madness?

My tentative smile stretches out to Jeb, and he winks in encouragement. His hair thrashes in black waves around his head. Sunlight glows through the strands like a halo. He’s like some rebel guardian angel.

“We’ll launch at the same time,” he says across to me. “When we hit the other side, we’ll unsnap the chain so we can roll into the landing without getting tangled.”

I nod. A yank at my belt reassures me I’m safe … that we’re locked together.

Behind us, the gallops and screeches escalate. Nervousness tugs against my chest. I breathe in dust vapors and stifle a cough, watching the chasm come into view.

The valley on the other side has a clearing of plush grass before the thicket overtakes it. That should cushion our landing and slow our momentum enough that we can get to our feet and scramble to safety.

We can pull this off without any magic. We just have to make our acceleration count this last half … gather enough velocity to launch into an ollie that will carry us across the space.

Which means it has to be a straight shot from here on out.

I prep my feet, positioning my back heel to smack against the tail of the board and my front toes to pull up on the nose when it’s time. A bump knocks the bottom of my board, and I bounce slightly, veering off course and losing precious speed. Jeb skirts toward me to coach me back on route. Then the same thing happens to him, his board bucking hard enough that he almost loses his balance.

He guides himself back into place. “Something’s moving under the sand!” he shouts.

Another thump jolts through my feet. Morpheus’s warning of shifting sands whispers in the back of my mind. As Jeb and I struggle to stay on our boards, the black-and-white squares we’ve been sliding on shift, collide, and converge—snapping the terrain into a jagged jigsaw puzzle, as if a thousand tiny earthquakes have buckled the landscape. Déjà vu hits me. It’s just like my dream.

Our boards come to a complete halt where the squares intersect and fold. We slump in place, panting. The queen’s army makes its way toward us, the giant birds picking paths around the uneven surface.