The 7th Relic, page 18
Great. The idea of my uncle not trusting me with anything as important as this stings. I throw my legs off the bed to stand, but find I can’t move. I glare at my aunt. “Now what?”
“You’re stuck.”
I take a patient breath. “Yes, I know. Why am I stuck?”
“I’m not quite sure. It seems Grace’s body temperature rose, awakened by the relics you carry. When all seven came through the gateway, you brought them back to their origin. When you grabbed her, your six relics confused the fire generated from her body with the seventh relic. Why do you think the sixth and seventh relics were in Pathen and not with you? They were kept apart to prevent just this kind of situation.” She moves closer, her eyes on Grace. “The Aeyan Moon is only a week away, but the relics have awakened before their time. The six on your body have only one purpose, and that is to find the seventh and connect with it. They did that the minute you put your arms around Grace. It’s like a magnetic force pulling the two of you together. And that is why you’re stuck.”
I nod, understanding. The relics are products of light; this place is of shadow and darkness. My aunt’s powers will counter the light force, short-circuiting the relics long enough for us to separate. Vilzen knew that, and that’s why he sent us here.
“Why didn’t her relic ignite?”
“That’s the seventh relic, the main piece. Without it the ones you carry are useless. For now, until it’s time to be reunited with the others, it will remain dormant. I have defused it and the ones you carry temporarily. My powers are not such that it can contain the light of the sun.” There’s a pause as she moves closer. “You haven’t told her, have you?”
“No.”
“It’s better that she knows of the prophecy now, instead of finding out at the Rising. It’s unfair for you to not tell her.”
“It’ll be better if I don’t.”
After a long moment of silence, she says, “I will leave you alone.”
The Wisps moan at the Tryse’s return to the shadows.
I lie back onto the bed, putting my arm out to Grace, nudging her head to me. She comes easily and the feel of her skin against my own doesn’t quiet the storm brewing within, but ignites it. I breathe deeply and hold her tight, allowing the steady beating of her heart to calm me. This will never happen while she’s awake, not in this lifetime.
If it is only in the shadows of a dream, my love, then let the shadows come.
~ * ~
Chapter Twenty-Eight
~ Andrew ~
“Hey.” Grace sits up, rubbing her head. “What happened?”
“You blacked out.”
I sit on a giant root of the mangrove, staring out at the Scathiln Grove, the only location where the giant mangroves grow. The area goes on for miles in all directions, its watery ground deceptive in its serene calmness. If you don’t know how to read the trees and the currents, you could fall into a “quickpool.” Like quicksand, these pools have surfaces as still as the rest of the water, but once you step in one, a current stronger than any tornado in Pathen will pull you under. It’s dangerous enough with the moon out; when it’s not, someone unfamiliar with the area has next to no chance of surviving. Not many have escaped its death grip.
At my request, Atheas opened the shadow curtains to this spot, while the others are several mangroves away. The giant trees connect beneath the water, beneath the solid ground, and also over a hundred feet above. Thick branches the size of redwood trees intertwines with nearby trees, leaving very few openings. Only in the areas where the trees are too far apart can the moon be seen.
I wanted to be alone with Grace before joining the others. It’s a special day for her, but with everything that has happened in the past week, I am sure it is the last thing on her mind.
“Where are we?” She makes her way to me, standing next to the giant root.
“We’re about two miles from where we entered through the spinkel. Around that bend of trees is where the others are waiting for us.”
Grace leans against the root I’m sitting on to look around the bend. I laugh softly. There’s no way she could see them and she knows it.
“Andrew?”
“Yes, Gracie.”
When she doesn’t say anything I turn to face her. I expect to see her staring out into the grove or looking at me, but her head is lowered and her eyes are closed. I’m off my perch and standing behind her, pulling her against me.
“What is it?”
She shakes her head, and when she speaks her voice trembles. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t save her. I’m sorry I couldn’t save him. I failed them.”
She chokes on her words and I turn her by the shoulders to face me. When she doesn’t look up I reach out and lift her chin, forcing her to meet my eyes. “There was nothing you could’ve done, Grace. And there’s no one to blame for Lana’s and Konè’s death but Jleroh.” I stop a tear with my thumb, wiping it from her cheek. “That burden doesn’t belong to you, Gracie.”
She swallows a sob, nodding. “Yes, it does. You don’t understand. I led her to her death. If I had stayed inside we would have been with Konè. We could have fought that demon together. They would be alive now, here with us. I was her Protector.”
“Stop it. You were meant to survive that night. If Jleroh wanted the relic, why didn’t he take it from Lana after he killed her?” I can see by the look on her face that she doesn’t know, but her guilt is so deep, she doesn’t seem to care. “I believe Konè foresaw what would happen before it happened. He removed the relic from Lana and placed on you.”
“Oh, God, he knew she was going to die?”
I nod, then pull her in, wrapping my arms tightly around her, wanting to ease the pain of our loss. We share the same grief, but I can’t let my emotions get in the way, including my feelings for her. I need to keep those feelings at arm’s length. She deserves to be happy.
“Hmm,” I muse aloud, withdrawing from her and dropping my arms.
She steps back, wiping at her eyes. “What?”
“If Konè were here he would say, ‘Crying? We don’t cry here, we’re warriors!’”
She laughs, her sorrow tucked away. “You’re right, he would. Sorry. They taught us how to handle physical pain, to be strong of will, but I don’t remember any lessons on how to deal with losing people you love.”
“Come here.” I can’t help it; I hate seeing her like this. If I hold onto her I won’t have to see her pain.
“Andrew?”
“Yes, Grace?”
“Um, is there a reason why we’re here and they’re there?”
Damn, I almost forgot, I let her go. “Uh, yes, there is.”
From the water, the ground gradually rises to a slope that flattens out. There’s a three-foot natural step provided by the thick rope-like roots, creating a level platform. The giant roots divide the platforms around the trunk, the lower levels about eight feet by eight feet, with less space the higher the level goes. At each mangrove tree there are five to six levels depending on how old the tree is. The most levels I’ve seen are twelve, belonging to the oldest of the mangroves on the north side of Kalorii.
I move to the side, stepping to the edge of the level we’re standing on—the third. I look above us and whistle a low tune, a soft calling I learned from my father. The canopy above us begins to blink with tiny lights until the tree we are standing under and those around it light up like Christmas.
“What are those?” she breathes.
“Fireflies.”
When I hear Grace inhale with surprise and delight I glance at her with a cocky smile. She laughs and clasps her hands to her chest. I put up a finger, indicating I’m not finished and for her to pay attention. Her eyes sparkle with anticipation.
I face the water. I had purposely chosen this tree because it and the trees nearby surround a pond fed by the streams from the Scathiln Grove. A small channel on the other side of the pond spills into a waterway several miles down, an estuary leading out to the Thluthinith Sea. This natural water system regulates the pond and keeps the water throughout the grove fresh. And from this pond is where I call forth Grace’s gift.
I close my eyes, calling on the power of my mother’s bloodline, sister to the Tryse, and my father’s bloodline, the Protectors of Aeyan. I breathe deeply, then release the air slowly, blowing it out like a soft kiss. I open my eyes and watch my breath flutter out until it reaches the middle of the pond. Once it’s there, I begin to sing the song taught to me by my father and blessed by Atheas. My voice is low, seductive and manipulative, and the breath I release dissipates over the water’s surface. When it disappears entirely, I stop the song and wait. I can feel Grace behind me, tense and nervous, but her excitement comes through.
The still water remains quiet until…a bubble. Then another, and another. The water begins to agitate and the area where the first bubble appeared grows wider until out of the depths, Lyrthan breaks through. Lyrthan is a Manui elf, a warrior and trusted friend.
He shakes the water off, a look of annoyance on his face, even more so when he spots me. He reaches up and drags his fingers through his long hair before gliding through the water toward us. Grace steps over to stand beside me, her eyes wide and glued on Lyrthan. I ignore her heavy breathing and the rise and fall of her chest. I make a mental note to get her another shirt; a turtleneck with long sleeves and three times her size.
I turn back to watch my old friend make his way to us. He comes close, but stays in the water, his eyes on Grace, curious but wary. Her mouth is literally slack-jawed as her eyes roam the landscape that is Lyrthan’s chest and torso. The Manui’s preference for being shirtless has never bothered me before. However, after the way Grace is staring at his bare chest down to his exposed hips, I itch to cover her eyes with my hand.
“Lyrthan.” With some effort, he shifts his focus to me.
“Andu.”
“Grace, this is an old friend. Happy birthday.”
She turns to me with stunned eyes. “You’re giving me Aquaman for my birthday?” She turns back to Lyrthan. “Um, okay.”
“Okay,” repeats Lyrthan, shrugging as if settling in to do what he must for Grace. He smiles at her. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her blush. Damn it.
“No,” I say, first to Grace and then to Lyrthan. “He’s not your birthday present.” I glare at the elf. “You know what I meant.” I wanted to bring Grace here for her eighteenth birthday, but with my father’s passing I never got the chance. It’s a year late, but I’m still excited about finally giving her this gift.
Lyrthan gives me a wry smile, then winks at Grace. He plucks a strand of his blond hair, and in the moonlight it looks like a sliver of gold. As planned, Lyrthan holds the strand toward Grace, then blows it from his fingers. Grace is enchanted by the entire display, her eyes glued to the strand as it floats to her. When it finally reaches her, she extends her palm for the flax to land on. The moment it touches Grace’s skin, the strand bursts into a cloud of dust, only to reform itself into a tiny mermaid…made of gold.
The minute sea creature moves as if in water, her hair dancing above her as if caught in a current. Her gold eyelids open, to Grace’s delight, and the tiny being tinkles with laughter at Grace’s joy. Then she opens her mouth. The song is familiar but unknown. Her voice would make angels sigh with envy and rejoice at its beauty. She sings in the ancient language of Lyrthan’s people: mysterious, alluring and seductive, yet simple, modest and pure.
When the mermaid’s song ends with soft echoes, she bows to Grace. Not giving her time to say “thank you,” the tiny figure disperses into gold dust once again. However, instead of blowing away, the dust lifts into the air, agitated and excitable, and begins to sketch out a gold portrait. An array of portraits of Grace with Lana, Konè, Reiko and finally with me dance before us; each portrait lasts for a minute before moving onto the next.
When the last portrait disappears, the golden screen spreads and widens for its final showcase. The image comes through—a masterpiece of such beauty I don’t think I will ever breathe again.
A man on fire.
No, I take that back, he’s not on fire—he is fire. He is on his knees, a look of extreme pain on his face, caused by the white, glowing spear piercing his chest. The tip is buried in the ground, his body forever suspended. One hand grips the spear, while the other is extended upward. Driving the spear with one hand, the other reaching for his pleading hand, is a woman as pure white as the spear. Her face is tortured, her eyes upon the dying man. I can’t tell if she is his executioner or his savior.
I stare at his face, so familiar to me. I’ve looked at that same face in a portrait hanging in my father’s office…Grace’s homeless man, Karas. In this rendering, however, his hair is not aflame, but smoldering embers. His fire is not dancing with life, but slowly dying, starting from where the spear pierces him. The tortured look on his face struggles with the love in his eyes for the woman above him.
The beauty I know is Aeyan. I don’t understand it, but there’s a connection between her and Grace. It’s on Grace’s face, in her eyes, as if she is seeing a forgotten memory slowly resurfacing. The pain on the goddess’s face becomes Grace’s own and tears well up, her eyes unable to pull away. I know one day Aeyan will take that pain from Grace, leaving her bereft and empty.
“Aeyan killed Karas?” she asks, barely a whisper.
“They were betrayed by Mars, who wanted Aeyan for himself. Aeyan was attacked, by someone she believed was Mars, an illusion he conjured. Once her spear pierced Karas, her eyes cleared and she watched her lover die by her own hand.”
The portrait lasts only for a moment before turning into a ball of gold. It drops into Grace’s palm and she catches it with a tight fist, a gift to last a lifetime. She holds it close to her chest and she stares at the Manui. She nods to him, unable to speak, overcome with emotion.
Lyrthan bows to her with a kind smile, then nods at me. He sinks beneath the surface and disappears.
Grace turns to me, a tear trickling down her cheek.
“Happy birthday, Gracie.”
~ * ~
Chapter Twenty-Nine
~ Grace ~
The heat from the fire wakes me and I toss the heavy blanket off. I rise on my elbow, feeling the rough sleeping bag beneath me, then reach out to feel the solid—and dry—ground. My head is spinning from dreams of golden mermaids and beautiful blond mermen. I can still hear her song forever embedded into my heart, the gold portrait in my soul. It’s funny, but all I have to do is to think of the portrait and it comes to me with such detail it takes my breath away. When I get the chance I will do a sketch of it.
My eyelids are heavy and I settle back to recapture the golden dream. They fly open when I realize the shadow above me isn’t a part of the tree I’m lying under. Vilzen sits on a large branch, lounging against the tree’s massive trunk. It takes me a minute to confirm his eyes are open, staring out into the distance.
“It’s all right, Grace,” he whispers in my head. “Andrew is sleeping on the ledge below you. Reiko and Haro are a level over.”
I lean my cheek against the cool root running along the edge and stare at Andrew. How could I have been so blind to it? I’m supposed to be in love with Reiko…why? Because Andrew told me I was. I lie back to peer up at the thick tops of the trees, looking for the sky. I doubt I will be able to discern anything, so dark is the night here.
“Vilzen,” I whisper, suspecting the mage could hear me if I were a mile away from him.
“Yes, Grace?”
“What happened to me? Andrew only told me I blacked out. Why?”
“You had a bad reaction coming through the spinkel. Andu took you someplace to help you heal.”
I think of the tree where Andrew gave me my gift. I wonder if there was magic there. Magic that only he knew of. Or maybe it’s only a tree. But it will always be a special place for me.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.” I feel a sense of patience behind his thoughts.
“How did you know? I mean about Maggie? That spirit, Meulenah? She’s beautiful and timeless. She’s like you, right? Immortal? So why not be with someone who will live through time with you instead of someone who will grow old and die while you go on living forever?”
He answers without hesitation. “Because I love her. There are many wondrous and mystical beings like Meulenah, but there is only one Maggie.”
“Oh, no…I didn’t mean she isn’t beautiful, because she is! I just meant the whole life-span thing.” I moan. I should just shut up now. “I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect.”
I hear him chuckle, and when he speaks again his thoughts are lined with humor. “I know what you meant, Grace.” He pauses, as if his thoughts are searching, reminiscing of a time long past. I think he forgot we’re still connected.
“The first time I saw her she was singing at the Moulin Rouge in Vegas, close to where she lives now. It was a place off the Strip for black entertainers, but people from all over came to see Maggie James, The Voice. She was headlining with the best, including Sammy Davis, Jr., Lena Horne, Nat King Cole, Dorothy Dandridge and Harry Belafonte, just to name a few. It was 1955, and in keeping with the times some of the greatest black entertainers would perform on the Strip, but stayed at the Moulin Rouge Hotel. So it was a big deal when old Blue Eyes came by just to kick back and listen to some real music.”
“Is that how you met her?”
“Yes. I was passing through Vegas and planned to stop for food and rest and then be on my way. Somehow I ended up at the Moulin Rouge and there she was. The minute I laid eyes on her I was hooked. When I heard her voice I was lost. I knew she would be the one to heal everything I had gone through at the time, help me find my purpose again.”
“And her? Was it the same for Maggie?”
His laugh is a baritone, both abrupt and soothing at the same time. “Hell no. She wasn’t interested in pretty boys with money. She’d had enough of them by the time I came around. Enter Zenny, a Jewish accountant looking for work. It wasn’t an easy task, but I used every trick I had and called in some favors. The secret was that Maggie didn’t need or want anyone to save her. It turned out she needed to be the one doing all the saving. It took some work but eventually we fell in love. Our love is worth the sacrifice, worth being human even if it meant living a lie.”
