Her Coach didn’t move.
Sophie wondered if she was still breathing.
“You know who I’m talking about, don’t you?” Sophie asked.
“I might,” her Coach whispered. “But he was ejected. That’s where my knowledge ends.”
“What about his name?” Sophie pressed. “You know mine now. Did you know his?”
“I’m sorry,” her Coach said. “I can’t help you.”
“Do you know someone who can? Maybe the other Coaches?”
“I can ask them. But I wouldn’t get my hopes up.”
“I have to,” Sophie told her. “Hope is all we have left.”
When she got home from Exillium, Sophie used the afternoon to study the maps Lord Cassius had found. She hadn’t told Keefe where they came from—and she didn’t want him asking too many questions—so she hid in her bedroom and spread them across the floor.
There were maps of the Neutral Territories in the mix, along with maps of the Forbidden Cities and the Lost Cities. The Neverseen clearly had their eyes on everything.
Sophie focused on the Neutral Territories, hoping she could find a pattern between the plague locations. Maybe then she’d be able to guess where the Neverseen would strike next.
She rearranged the maps so she could see where everything was in relation to each other, and started with Wildwood. From there she moved to Brackendale, where they’d found the Psionipath’s tree. Next was Merrowmarsh, which Gethen had thought would be the next place. As far as Sophie knew, nothing had happened there, but she decided to count it anyway and assume the Neverseen’s plans had changed because the Black Swan posted a dwarven guard. After that was the Strixian Plains, where the family of infected gnomes had been found, and then the Starkrial Valley, where Physic’s apothecary had been closed because of the plague. Then Bosk Gorge, where Sophie had found the gnome. That was where the plague seemed to be spreading faster, so had the Neverseen changed something there—maybe to make up for the time they’d lost with Merrowmarsh?
Or, Elwin had said the gnome had burns as part of his injuries. Could he have done something to the force field to unleash the plague earlier?
After hours of plotting and arranging, all she really knew was that the plague seemed to be heading west. But there were dozens of Neutral Territories to the west of the last strike, so she was going to need more information to pin it down.
“This is quite a project,” Calla said from her doorway. She held up a plate heaped with food. “You missed dinner.”
Sophie glanced out her window, realizing the sun had almost set. She hadn’t noticed how dark her room had gotten—maybe her Exillium night vision training was helping.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, turning back to her maps.
“Take a break,” Calla insisted, handing Sophie the plate. “All of this will still be here in a few minutes.”
Sophie wished it wouldn’t be.
Why couldn’t it solve itself and go away?
Calla sucked in a breath and unrolled one of the maps sitting half exposed on the floor. “This is the closest I’ve ever come to seeing Serenvale.”
Sophie glanced over Calla’s shoulder and studied the map of Ravagog, with its jagged lines and blank, unmarked spaces.
“You never lived there?” Sophie asked.
“I’m too young. By the time I was born, the ogres had taken over. But I still hope to go there someday.”
“Really?” Sophie asked. “Wouldn’t it be hard to see how much the ogres have ruined it?”
“Yes,” Calla said. “But there has to be something left. So if I ever found the hidden path, I would take it.”
“You mentioned that before,” Sophie said. “Is there really a hidden path into Ravagog?”
“It depends on who you ask. There’s a legend among my people of a secret tunnel back to our homeland, a tunnel that can only be found by those willing to ‘embrace the heartache.’ I don’t know what the riddle means, but I’ve always dreamed I would someday solve it. I’m sure the path is treacherous—and I know it would only cause me sorrow. But I have to believe it’s out there, nestled in the lonely earth, waiting for me to try to find the Panakes.”
The rest of the week was full of changes, but they only seemed to happen at Exillium. The Coaches started using their names—the purple Coach was named Coach Rohana, the blue Coach was Coach Bora, and the red Coach was Coach Wilda—and Waywards were encouraged to do the same. They started working with partners or in groups, which made the lessons much more manageable. And at the end of the lesson on Friday, masks and hoods became optional.
“Never thought I’d see the day,” Coach Rohana murmured to Sophie as the Waywards tossed their masks into the ocean.
Sophie turned to study her Coach, who had creamy brown skin and straight, shiny black hair.
“Do all of these changes make you nervous?” Sophie asked.