The 7th Relic, page 17
“You got it, unk,” says Mellis with a grin. He hugs his uncle again. I realize now it’s not because Mellis is a hugger, but because it makes his uncle uncomfortable.
“We have to hurry. We don’t have much time before the gateway closes,” says the mage, giving Mellis a disgruntled look. The young elf smiles broadly in return.
“Damn,” says Haro.
“What?” I ask.
“Jleroh may want the relic from Grace,” he says, “but his sole purpose here was to delay us. The gateway Vilzen is taking us through is a spinkel portal. It’s time sensitive.”
“Okay, I’ll bite. What’s a spinkel portal?” asks Reiko.
“We need all sixteen Elders to open one gate,” says Haro. “A spinkel portal can be opened by one person, someone who has the powers of all the realms.”
“Someone like Vilzen,” says Reiko.
“Yes,” answers Haro, nodding, “someone like Vilzen. The most important quality of the spinkel is that our entry will not be detected, or the location known. But it has to be open before the sunrise. Oh, and remember to breathe.”
Reiko stares after him, puzzled. “Why would we forget to breathe?”
Haro ignores Reiko and hurries to catch up with the mage. Vilzen is already at the wheel and starts up the boat, not looking at us or caring if we’re all in. Haro frees the rope from the horn cleat just as the boat pulls away with a sudden thrust.
Grace leans in but keeps her eyes on Vilzen. “He stopped the relic before it burned through.”
I can hear the hope in her voice. I wasn’t surprised when he stopped the relic from lighting up; my concern was how it came to life when Jleroh focused his attention on Grace. “Yes, he did. I think that’s one of the reasons Konè sent us to him. He’ll be the one to bring the relics together and you’ll be free.”
I can feel her excitement at the thought of the relic being removed. I know what my fate is, and I’m just hoping it will be enough to keep her alive. Even now Haro and I are in disbelief that she hasn’t gone up in flames, eaten alive by the relic. Lana and I were chosen, chosen before the mysterious woman walked Grace into my life. Grace was Lana’s protector, nothing more. So how is it she’s able to carry not just any relic, but the seventh?
The first relic came to me when I was five. The last was a few nights ago at the Ranch—Lana’s bracelet. It was dormant until I received it, coming to life when it melted to my wrist. However, my body has grown to accept the artifacts to the point that I no longer feel their weight. They have been a part of me, and my system has acclimated to their foreign particles. I’m one with the six, and Vilzen is right: it’s going to hurt like hell when he removes them at the Rising.
A ten-minute boat ride brings us into view of the island Vilzen mentioned earlier. However, we never make it to its shore. The mage cuts the engine off in the middle of the lake but doesn’t move from the wheel. He remains still as he looks out at the dark waters, waiting for someone or something to come our way.
I glance at Haro, giving him the signal to initiate a private communication.
“Yes, Andu?”
“What’s he waiting for?”
“Our guide to the spinkel.”
A guide?
Vilzen steps up on the seat, lifting his left arm up, and I expect to see lightning come down again, changing his arm into a terrifying but fantastic weapon. Nothing happens; instead he turns his palm outward and a low melodic tune comes from his lips. The mage is whistling. The low bass trill travels across the still lake, hollow and haunting, and with it a breeze stirs.
I’m caught up in his tune, wanting nothing more than to go to him, although he only stands a foot from me. I turn to the others and see they are also caught in the mesh of his voice. We continue to stare out in the same direction as the mage, expecting to see another boat speeding our way. Instead, in the distance there is a current of light under the water, weaving steadily toward us. That’s either a very long anaconda slithering our way, or the back of a giant eel. Moments later I find I’m wrong on both counts.
“Vilzen.” The greeting is not spoken, but sung by one being with the voices of many: beautiful, feminine, alluring, and with a need to be answered.
I feel my feet moving forward; Reiko and Haro are already at the edge of the boat. I’m lost. Lost to the voices, lost in the need to respond, to go to them…to save them, to love them, to make them…
Grace’s hard slap across my face stings, bringing me back to the surface from a depth I know I wouldn’t have been able to return from. I shake my head, turning to Grace in time to see her smack both Haro and Reiko hard on the backs of their heads.
I rub at my cheek as she turns to me. “Really?”
Still getting my senses back, I stare at her, dumbfounded, and when I don’t respond she raises her hand, ready to strike me again. I put up my hands quickly. “I’m good. I’m good.”
“Damn, Grace, why don’t you just break a rib? It would hurt less,” complains Reiko, rubbing the back of his head.
“Thank you, Grace.” Haro’s eyes scan the lake warily.
The boat rocks violently and we fall back onto the seats, Grace hitting the floor. All except Vilzen, who remains standing with his hand still up in the air. With the speed of nothing I’ve seen before he reaches out and catches the Water Spirit by the wrist. She is stopped in mid-leap, locked in place by his whistling. The tune has changed, no longer calling but just as alluring, as insistent as her own song. She pauses, her eyes slowly shifting to Vilzen.
Like her sister the Earth Spirit, she is made of nature. She is an embodiment of water, the form of a beautiful woman with nothing but seaweed to cover her, barely. Her skin is a mixture of swamp water and sea; green and blue vie to surface upon her skin. Her eyes, bluer than mine, are fathomless and full of mysteries to be discovered. She is both solid and not; like the depths beneath us, her body is a constant motion of ebbing tides.
“My love,” she sings with voices of thousands, tinged with sorrow. “Why have you imprisoned me again?”
“I am sorry, Meulenah. I need your help, your guidance through the spinkel.”
“Is that all that you want of me? Does the human still chain your heart?”
“She does.”
The breeze picks up, and the sound of a thousand cries rides it until a storm forms around us. The water becomes turbulent, tossing, rocking the boat about; thunder and lightning roar from the skies, releasing sheets of rain.
In a voice like that of Zeus, Vilzen commands the Water Spirit. “Meulenah, stop!” And as quickly as it came, the storm disappears. “As one who once loved you and holds you dearly still, I ask for your help.”
The Water Spirit stares at the mage. Her rage softens immediately, sadness replaced with a patrician stature born of nobility. She turns from him to look down at us, her eyes landing on Grace.
“It has been a long time since a Sorea was in my presence.” She bows to Grace.
“What?” whispers Grace, rising. She faces Meulenah, asking aloud, “What did you call me?”
Meulenah ignores her, turning to face me. “And the son of Anlus Teo is here as well. Let him ask for my help.”
Vilzen sighs impatiently. “Meulenah, we have no time…”
“I ask for your help not for me,” I say, interrupting the mage and focusing on the Water Spirit. “but for the people of Omakei.”
“You would risk your life for them?”
“Yes.”
She bows again. “The sun must rise again in Omakei. For that and for the love I once shared with the Blessed, I will guide you through the spinkel one last time. What is your payment?”
I step forward, lifting my hand, my palm facing the Water Spirit. Sharp edges of the jewels rip through my skin as the gems fly at her, disappearing into her own. After minutes of excruciating pain, Meulenah lowers her hand, turning to Vilzen who she referred to as the Blessed. “The Kaloriian’s fare has been paid. I will guide him and the others to Omakei.”
Vilzen bows deeply. “Thank you.”
She moves away from the boat, taking a strand of her hair that glows as she moves. She wraps the strand around Vilzen’s wrist, allowing him to release her own. She tosses the other end at me. “Wrap it around each of your wrists. And remember, breathe,” she warns, her eyes still on the mage.
Vilzen lifts a hand, moving it in a circular motion, chanting in foreign sibilant words. Although I wouldn’t know it if they are, I believe them to be ancient and cabalistic. The water before us begins to turn slowly, building in momentum and pace with Vilzen’s hand. And like a spear, his hand shoots out at the vortex of water and whips it into an inverted tornado. Without warning the spirit leaps backward, twisting in the air to dive smoothly into the turbulent waters. The strand on our wrists pulls us after her…right into the mouth of the watery cyclone.
~ * ~
Chapter Twenty-Six
~ Grace ~
“It has been a long time since a Sorea was in my presence.”
The Water Spirit’s words echo through my mind as the current pulls us under. At first, my natural instinct to fight my way up for air kicks in, until more of her words come back to me. Breathe.
We are caught in a current pulling us deeper into the unknown depths. It scares me. But Andrew’s face, his nearness, calm me and I realize he is holding my hand. Breathe.
Reiko moves straight ahead with a determined look on his face, an eagerness to get through. Seelah. He is eager to see her, to be with her again. I feel…I don’t know how I feel. I should feel hurt and mad that he’s thinking of her. And then I remind myself that I no longer hold those feelings for him because until Andrew kissed me, I didn’t understand them and who they really belong to.
We burst through the water’s surface gasping for air. Before I can take another gulp, a hand slams against my mouth. Andrew places a finger to his lips for silence. I nod and he releases me.
“We’re not alone.” Vilzen’s thought passes through like a whisper.
Reiko’s winged blades are out, Haro has his silver knives in his hands, and Andrew’s scimitars are ready. I shrug my shoulders and my own weapons drop to my waiting hands behind my back. Vilzen’s left arm is once again sheathed in electric currents running from his shoulder to his fingertips.
“Andu,” says the mage, calling Andrew by the odd name. “Who else knew about your return?”
“No one. Not even me. None of us had a clue we would return today until you planned it.”
“Maybe Jleroh got here before us,” suggests Reiko.
“Who’s here, Vilzen?” asks Haro.
The mage is still, unmoving as stone. All is quiet.
“Well,” he says aloud, causing the rest of us to startle at the sound of his deep voice. “We should be off. The moon will be down soon and we’re in dangerous parts to use any fire to light our way back to Kalorii.”
The full moon hangs low and stars…millions of them…dot the dark canvas, giving us enough light to see. “What do you mean?” I ask. “About it being too dangerous to use fire? Use fire for what?”
“When the moon sets there will be no light source,” says Andrew. “The sun is dead, remember? This is the whole reason we exist, Gracie. This is the world we live in—a world with no light. The relics will change all this.”
My hand goes to my neck, feeling the familiar pattern etched under my skin by fire. A world with no light. Even now as I scan my new surroundings, the thought of no sun is daunting. “But the trees…?”
“Millennia, Grace. The world you see has adapted, evolved to continue its species, to survive.”
“And when the sun comes back?”
“Then Omakei will survive that too.”
We swim out of the small pond only to step on a watery path about six inches deep. The entire area is submerged, like the bayou swamps, with trees that remind me of giant willows, their roots over twelve feet above the wet ground. But there is something strangely different about these trees; I just can’t put my finger on it. Large granite boulders laced with moss in intricate designs are strewn throughout the strange forest.
A soft, familiar breeze from a distant memory kisses my face, caressing me as if welcoming me back to this strange world. An intimate moment with an old friend.
An old friend.
It suddenly becomes hard for me to breathe. Hot. I’m too hot and I tear at my hoodie, pulling it off me as if it’s on fire. My shoes…too confining on my feet. I cry out at their restriction. I yank off the offending shirt, suddenly loathe to feel it; my pants are ripped open by hands that seem to burn just being exposed to this air. To this wondrous, sweet air. My thumbs are hooked onto my pants’ waist, ready to pull them off, when familiar hands grab a hold of me.
“Grace,” calls Andrew from a distance, and yet I feel his arms around me. “It’s okay, Grace, calm down.”
I am frightened and excited all at once. “What’s happening to me?”
I’m on fire and in my mind’s eye I see the relic, and I know it has nothing to do with the heat coming through me. This fire belongs to me.
No. Not just me but Andrew, too. I feel the relic at his chest warm against my back. I feel the relics at his wrists and ankles anchoring me to him. The one that covers his entire back comes to life, twisting its way through him to get to me. And yet, the relic at my neck, the seventh relic, remains quiet, as if refusing to compete against my own fire.
I can’t breathe until I free myself and allow the air of this place get through. I hear screaming—hysterical, uncontrollable screaming—and I know it’s me. And one other…Andrew. Andrew is screaming…I’m hurting him!
Whether it’s aloud or without sound I scream “No!”
Before the Shadow comes, I see the moon in the distance. And in the moon I see the face of Aeyan. When she turns to look at me I see the tears and know she cries for me.
~ * ~
Chapter Twenty-Seven
~ Andrew ~
I remember the day Grace was delivered to my uncle by a strange old woman. Lana and I were in his office when they arrived. There was no sound of her approach. She simply appeared out of nowhere. Silently, she pulled her cloak aside and a small child of maybe four or five years old shyly emerged. Grace…
I awake with a start in a room filled with childhood memories. I feel her waiting patiently as she always has…in the shadows. Atheas moves into what light is provided from the small table next to the bed. The relics are also providing light, and they are on full display. I am in loose pajama-like pants, no shirt, no shoes. I sit up in bed, remembering Grace, only to turn to find her lying next to me. She moans softly and I reach for her.
I stare at her sleeping form for a long moment, not sure how or why we’re here. Atheas rules the Shadow realm, but she cannot force anyone in without their consent. Nor can anyone enter without being invited. Unless they are brought to her by someone with the same blood, someone like me.
“How?” I ask, wondering what state of dress Grace is in under the covers.
“Vilzen,” she answers.
Of course.
The mage has the power, but more likely he knows her secret, the secret of the Shadows. Someone other than me, someone like him, can move in and out of the Shadow realm freely. It’s like he said, knowledge can be a dangerous weapon.
“What happened to her?” I push Grace’s hair aside.
“She came home.”
I turn to face my aunt. “Home?”
“I thought I hinted earlier that she wasn’t human?”
“She’s Sorea. Remind me again why that is?” A spark of concern surfaces. “Will the relic burn her once we leave here?”
“No. The relic had nothing to do with the burning. It was her body’s reaction to being back in this atmosphere, this environment. It was the realm’s way of cleansing the Child of Sorea from all infections, disease and the corruption of living in Pathen.”
I shake my head, perplexed. “It’s never done that to me or anyone else I know of.”
“That’s because none of you are the Child of Sorea. She is.”
“I have only heard of Sorea mentioned once before, in one of Konè’s stories. Now it’s every other word you speak.”
“Sorea, my dear nephew, is an order of nuns. They are a secret sect that has remained hidden until fourteen years ago, when the Supreme Mother delivered a child to your uncle.”
“What is Grace to them?”
“Eons ago, when Karas was betrayed, Aeyan hid from the heavens, so deep was her sorrow. And when she left, she took with her the stars. No light during the day, no light at night, only constant darkness throughout the realm. The people of the first territory blamed it on a young girl by the name of Sorea. Young and beautiful, she was the joy of her parents, until overnight she was swollen with child and the people cursed her, calling her condition a bad omen. And being ignorant and fearful, they cast her out. Not even her loving parents could save her. Sorea believed the Moon Goddess had chosen her and caused her to be with child. So for seven days she climbed to the vertex of the highest mountain to pray to the goddess…and the goddess answered. She returned to her village with Aeyan’s wishes for all to prepare for the Rising, the return of Karas. And along with the goddess’s wish she also brought back a child, a girl.”
“Are you telling me that Grace is that girl…a girl born eons ago?”
“Don’t be ridiculous; of course she’s not. But every seven centuries a girl is born to the Supreme Mother, the father always unknown.”
I’m having a hard time believing Konè would keep this from me. I point at Grace. “She was Lana’s protector, that’s it. Konè would have told me if she was anything more than that.” She doesn’t say a word. “He would have told me,” I insist.
She sighs and shrugs. “I’m sure he had his reasons, or maybe he just didn’t know. Although I can’t see how he wouldn’t because, well, he was Konè.”
