The 7th relic, p.7
The 7th Relic, page 7
The low whistle comes from the direction where Haro had disappeared. A sound soft enough to be lost to the average ear, but can be easily picked up by a trained one listening for it. I rise, grabbing Grace on the way. We follow Reiko down the cemented walkway to a set of hidden steps, leading down to a dark alcove with a steel door. Haro is waiting for us, his hand holding the door open and waving at us to move in quickly. We slip into a long hallway, dimly lit by a small ceiling light set midway between entrances. Haro closes the door behind us with a loud clang.
“Hurry, there are no wards in this hall or the tower itself,” he says as he pushes past us.
We rush down the hall, quickly stepping past the second door. As soon as we step into the room the lights come up instantly, exposing a small living room with secondhand furniture. The sofa is an overstuffed, dark-brown corduroy piece, covered with an old handmade blanket laid across its back. A fireplace sits across from it, dark and silent. A few steps away is a small kitchen with the bare essentials: fridge, stove, sink, cupboards, no dishwasher and counters full of neatly stacked supplies of canned and packaged food. A small hallway opens just off the kitchen, which I assume leads to a bedroom and bath. Standing at the entrance of the hallway is Haro, the pouch of black sand in his hands. He pours the sand into his palm then brings it to his lips and blows, turning slowly in a circle.
The black cloud of sand floats throughout room until it hits the walls, and upon contact the sand spreads until it covers the walls completely. The substance gels together until it gives a tight, rubber-like coating, solidifying its protection.
“The sand will enhance the wards already on this room.” Haro cinches his pouch close and hitches it to his belt. “Just in case.”
A collective sigh is released and we relax for the first time since our return to the Ranch. Grace moves to the sofa and sits heavily, leaning forward with elbows on her knees, head in her hands. Reiko, coming from the kitchen area, sits beside her, offering a bottled water. She looks up at him gratefully, taking the water from him.
I sit in the armchair, watching them closely. Grace catches my eye, then shifts her attention to the bottled water, giving unnecessary attention to uncapping it before taking a drink. I shake my head at her, letting her know that I know what she’s up to; she nearly chokes on her next swallow. Reiko turns to her, patting her on the back.
“You okay?”
Grace takes another drink. “Um, yeah.”
Haro brings his pack with him before sitting at the small, scratched metal coffee table. Placing the pack on it, he removes several items. Exhausted, we remain silent as we watch the Cumro empty out the pack. The last item he pulls out is a small vial with what looks like fetid swamp water. When he pops the cork, it seems I was right. The stench of the liquid assaults us and we cover our noses quickly. Grace gags as she lifts her shirt collar over her mouth and nose.
Reiko uses the crook of his elbow to shield his nose against the foul odor. “Ugh! Haro, what the hell is that?”
“It’s witch’s spit,” he answers, unfazed by the malodorous substance.
We exchange glances before Reiko leans forward. “And the witch, is she still alive? I’m just asking because I can’t imagine anyone spitting on you and live to talk about it.”
Haro grins, but doesn’t answer. He unties his pouch and lays it on the table, then takes a thick leather swag from his pack and unfurls it before him. He reaches into his pack again, this time retrieving a small branch cut to the size of his middle finger, with three miniature dark green leaves. We are fascinated by the branch. There are no roots connected to it, yet it looks alive, still growing. As if to confirm our suspicions, one of the leaves waves at us.
“And what the hell is that?” asks Reiko.
“It’s my connection to Vilzen’s kin. As I mentioned, I knew his mother and was there the day she gave birth to him.”
“What’s his name?” I ask.
“I will introduce you after he gives me permission to give it to you,” he answers mysteriously.
“Are you serious?” Reiko, dumbfounded, turns to me. “Is he serious?” He turns back to Haro. “You give our names to people all the time. Why can’t you tell us his name?”
Haro places a silver dagger next to the living branch before looking up at Reiko. “Because he is of royal blood and his king is my king. I will not share his name unless he gives me his permission to do so.”
“Who’s your king?” asks Grace before Reiko or I have a chance to.
“You will find out soon enough.”
I stare at the old man, remembering that despite knowing him all my life I know very little of his past. My father never spoke of it or shared any other details about the Cumro. And as time went on I stopped asking. Now my curiosity has returned.
“What’s all that for?” asks Grace.
“The leather cloth is a map.” Haro looks at her and smiles. “It’s a map of space, of dimensions…it’s not a typical map with roads, routes, places and sites; it is a map of souls. Given the right words and a piece of one’s essence, it will help me find who I’m looking for. The branch is tied to his family’s bloodline. It represents his essence. The witch’s spit is for protection, a shield. If I open the door using the branch, he can reach back and, depending on what mood he’s in, he may just kill me without even knowing who I am or what it is I need from him.”
“And the silver blade?” asks Reiko.
“To light my way. It will cut through the darkness that is the map of souls. If he doesn’t kill me first, he will see my face and recognize the ties we share.”
“He’s that fast?” asks Grace. “Why take the chance? Why don’t we just talk to him in person? If he sees us, he’ll see we’re only asking for help to find the mage, his…what is he again to him?”
“His uncle,” answers Reiko.
“Okay,” continues Grace, “his uncle.”
“We don’t have time to search for him in the conventional way. Time is not our friend.” Haro stares at for a moment, glances my way. “I see why Konè never sent her out.”
“What? What does that mean?” asks Grace, an offended look on her face.
Before she gets too riled up, I cut in. “By the time we reach Vegas, it may be too late. If Jleroh knows about us, then he knows about the mage. They could be hunting him now.” I turn to Haro. “How long?”
“It will take an hour to locate him, but only a few minutes to speak with him.”
“Um,” interrupts Reiko, “why not just skip the middle guy and go directly to Vilzen?”
Haro lets a drop of the witch’s spit spill onto the map. “As I mentioned, he’s an all-realm mage. He won’t be found if he doesn’t want to be found. Only a direct descendent can find him. Their blood binds them to each other.” The drop instantly spreads to engulf the entire map, laminating the piece of leather.
I turn to Grace and Reiko. “The flight is out of Oakland, leaving at six in the morning. The Skytes will be all over San Francisco airport, but there’s a small chance they won’t be at Oakland. We have a couple of hours before we leave, so get some rest. Grace, you take the bedroom. We’ll camp out here.”
Grace nods but remains seated. I stare at her until she rises, giving me a sour look. She glances back at Reiko, smiling. “Good night.”
“Good night, Grace. See you in the morning.” Reiko doesn’t look up, too fascinated with what Haro is doing.
She nods at Haro, who smiles and bows his head slightly. To me, she raises a brow then heads off to the only bedroom. I watch her until she disappears into the room and shuts the door.
~ * ~
Chapter Eleven
~ Grace ~
I lie awake, staring at the ceiling. A series of thoughts keeping my tired body from the rest it needs. I am exhausted, but every time I close my eyes the face of the Blue Demon flashes through my mind. I shiver and bury myself deeper under the covers, appreciating a dry bed to sleep in after a long week of running outside in the cold and wet city. Okay, three days, but it feels like it’s been a week. I close my eyes again, this time squeezing them shut. Why? Why did I live and not Konè or Lana…not just them, but everyone at the Ranch. I see Lana’s sightless eyes, mocking my inability to protect her, to keep her alive.
It’s no use; as hard as I try, I can’t sleep. Fighting the urge to stay under the covers, I slip from the bed. I grab the backpack that Andrew brought for me, pulling from it a sketchpad and a brand-new box of charcoal pencils. Besides some extra clothes, the pad and pencils were a nice surprise. I smile, thinking of how thoughtful it was of him to remember. I need light, but Andrew will be in here before the light is turned on. The guy has ears like a bat and a strange kind of sixth sense about him.
The fireplace. A source of light and warmth.
The door opens silently and I peek around it into the softly lit room. The warm glow from the fireplace beckons me and I open the door wider, slipping quietly out into the hallway. I scan the small living space. Where is everyone? Did they leave? My eyes immediately go to the armchair. Reiko. I come to a standstill, transfixed by his slumbering body.
Reiko sits low in the armchair with his long legs stretched out before him. I allow myself to stand quietly to watch him sleep. He shifts in the chair, his head turning from me as his long hair falls off to the side. I sigh again, reluctantly pushing him from my thoughts. I turn and move to the fireplace, sitting as close as I’m able without getting burned.
I open the sketchpad to its first clean page and run my hand over it slowly, liking the feel of it under my fingers. It was Konè who gave me my first sketchpad, “to help you find peace” he would say. And it did. Whenever things seemed to get out of control, I would find a pencil in my hand, the pad before me, and the world around me would disappear, only to reappear on paper. My first drawings were of the students and teachers. There were so many plastered on my bedroom walls. Then they were of Konè, Lana, Andrew and Reiko, but when I think about it I had more of Andrew than anyone else. There more drawings of students and instructors…no, of friends. It took their deaths for me to realize it. Not that it matters now. Like the drawings that once hung in my room, they’re gone…all of them.
The charcoal flies across the page, seeming to create of its own accord, allowing my mind to be free of worries. With each stroke, the walls I built against that night come down. I let them. I let all of it fall away as I create depth, definition and life into the faces I can’t let go. Two, three charcoals later, I sit back, holding back the tears on the brink of spilling. When I’m about to let them fall, I feel him behind me. He leans over my shoulder like old times.
“It’s beautiful,” he whispers. I turn to find Andrew staring at what I created. I move my hand aside and see Konè’s kindness and Lana’s spirit staring back at me. I feel the catch in my chest and I can’t stop a tear from falling onto the portrait. Andrew is at my side, his arm comforting me like he used to…so long ago.
“Hey,” he says, in a hushed tone, “I miss them, too.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to be sorry, Grace. There was nothing you could have done.”
I am unable to say why I’m really sorry, so I nod.
I failed.
I drop the piece of charcoal and let the sketchpad slip from my fingers. Andrew catches it before it hits the floor and places it beside him. He takes my hand, fingers smeared black with charcoal.
“You remember the time you hit me in the face with one of those?” He points to the charcoal. A small laugh chokes out of me, and I shake my head no. “Ah, well, maybe it’s because you did it so many times you’ve forgotten this one particular instance.” I turn to look at him, letting him know how ridiculous he sounds. “What? You don’t remember those times either? Should I show you the scars?”
“What scars? Stop lying, freak.” I let out a deep breath, and my sorrow with it.
“Ah, there’s the Gracie I know and love.” He smiles that insanely beautiful smile. I move my head back to give him a good look. Hmm, why haven’t I noticed before? Maybe there is something to what the girls used to say about him.
“Thanks for the clothes and these.” I indicate the notepad and charcoal. He pulls out a bandana and starts to wipe at my fingers like he used to. “Don’t bother.” I try to pull my hand back. He resists, holding it firmly in his grasp.
“You should be in bed. It’s late and you need to rest for tomorrow. It’s going to be a long day.”
I turn slightly to glance at Reiko. I move closer to Andrew, almost cheek to cheek. “So, is it serious?”
“Is what serious?” I lean away to glance at Reiko again. Andrew follows my lead, then turns back to his task, exasperated. “Oh, that. Yeah, pretty serious.”
“I see. So, what’s her name again?”
“You know her name.”
“Fine. Help me break him away from this Seelah person.”
“No.”
I lean away, surprised. “I thought you would be happy to help me?”
“Help you? What do you mean help you?”
“Um, help me be with Reiko? You know, so you can have a better chance with the Seelah chick?”
“I don’t need help getting any woman.”
“Except for her, so obviously you need my help as much as I need yours. She’s where, at your home?” It just dawned on me that when they returned from “home” they never really talked about it. Is it because of her?
“Kalorii. And no, I won’t help you.” He finishes with my fingers, tossing the bandana onto my sketchpad.
“I’m not getting this. Do you want me with him or not?”
Again with the silent brooding followed by a raised brow. “You’re insane, you know that, right?”
I lean back, surprised at his reluctance, but why? “I thought you guys were fighting over her?”
“Reiko was fighting; I was defending. Like you, he’s lost his mind.”
I pull away, confused by his abrupt change of attitude. First he spent years pushing me toward Reiko, and now he when I finally ask him for help, he acts like he no longer wants it to happen.
I sit quietly, staring into the fire. He nudges me. I ignore him. He nudges me again. “What?”
Silence.
He nudges me again.
I turn to him, irritated. “What?”
“Okay.”
“Okay, what?” I ask, a little suspicious over his change of mood.
“I’ll help you, on one condition.”
“What?”
“I want a kiss.”
“Fine.” I lean over and place a kiss on his cheek.
He shakes his head. “No, I want a passionate kiss.”
I stare at him, dumbfounded. “What?”
“That’s my stipulation for helping you. A passionate kiss that lasts…oh, I don’t know, let’s say…twelve seconds.” He turns to the fire and leans back on his hands while stretching out his legs, crossing them at the ankles. “You don’t have to give it to me now. But until then, I’m not helping you in any way with Reiko.”
“Do you know how that sounds, Andrew? It sounds like blackmail.”
“Sounds like a contract.”
“Forget it. It’s a disgusting thought. It would be incestuous…you’re a brother to me.”
“Well, then it’s a good thing I’m not. Really, Grace, you think kissing would be disgusting?” He pauses, then adds, “But I get it.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
He lowers himself to his elbow and leans in. “I know you’ve never kissed anyone while I was at the Ranch; have you kissed anyone while I was gone? I don’t think so. You’ve always promised you’d save yourself for Reiko. I’m the one you shared that secret with.”
I cringe after I slap him. Not because I may have hurt him, but because I was afraid the sound would wake Reiko. I look around for Haro but the old man is nowhere in sight.
“Hey, what the hell?” Andrew grabs at his shoulder. Oops, forgot about that…sort of.
“You haven’t changed one bit.”
“You heard my condition, Gracie. And since you have no idea what a passionate kiss is, I’ll let you know when the contract is fulfilled.”
As soon as I shake off the shock, I lean in. “Really? And how is it you’re such an expert on kissing?”
“The girls at the Ranch never complained.”
I’m tempted to hit him again, this time on his fat head. “No.”
He leans back on both elbows, watching the flames. “Suit yourself. Oh, by the way, Seelah is absolutely beautiful.”
“You’re such an ass.”
He shifts his gaze from the fire to me, a smug look in his eyes. “Yup, just like old times.”
~ * ~
Chapter Twelve
~ Andrew ~
I laugh to myself when Grace gives me a disgusted look from across the aisle of the plane. She is sitting next to Haro, sulking at how I manipulated the seating arrangements. It’s not clear if she is disgruntled because she’s not sitting with Reiko, or because for once she was unable to talk me into one of her schemes. Of course, I’ll continue to set her up with Reiko, who, by the way, I will have to let in on my conversation with Grace last night. As for the kiss, it will never happen, as much as I would very much like for it to. It just came out, and when it did I just ran with it. But knowing Grace, she’ll try and get Reiko on her own, which I guess is a good thing. No matter how miserable it will be for me.
Reiko shifts in his seat. “Was Haro able to connect with mystery guy?”
I give Grace one last smug grin before turning to Reiko. “Well, since we’re on a plane to Vegas and he’s still alive, I’m going to say yes.”
Reiko stares at me, not finding my remark funny. He leans over purposefully and grins at Grace with a short wave of his hand. He sits back with a knowing smile.
