Secret Keeper (My Myth Trilogy - Book 2): Young Adult Fantasy Novel

by Jane Alvey Harris

  Claire tugs on my sleeve again, beckoning me near. I hold her as we round an ominous bend that hugs the edge of the canyon wall.

  A dense thicket of overhanging trees crowds us around the turn, blocking our view of the road ahead, sheltering us from the relentless rain. The windshield wipers scrape against the suddenly dry windshield and the slosh of mud quiets as the van wheels hit cobblestone. Marcus turns off the wipers. We drive in hushed silence for several moments, leaning forward in our seats, straining to see through the trees out the windshield.

  The van slows as we face a massive black wall.

  “What the Hell?” Lizzie exclaims. The Fae exchange bewildered glances.

  “What’s wrong?” Foreboding hammers away in my temples.

  “That wall,” Marcus says. “It shouldn’t be here.”

  Before he even has a chance to put the van into park, an elf from the middle seat wrenches open the sliding door and jumps outside.

  The elves sitting in the middle two rows of the van pile out as well, along with Lizzie from the front passenger seat and Marcus from behind the wheel. Aidan and Claire follow.

  I hesitate before stepping down. Muck burbles up between the cobblestones from the incessant rain, and of course I’m the only one without shoes…because I chucked them at the mean-girl maidens who dressed me up like a debutant for the strategy council in the grove.

  The Fae are gathered on the cobblestones with their heads thrown back, staring up at the sky above the wall in awe. My toes take a muddy beating as I make my way on the marshy road, joining my traveling companions to lift my head skyward, curious to see what they’re so taken by.

  But I don’t see anything besides dozens of forbidding towers poking their way through the solid gloom.

  Dizzy despair spins my vision as I realize they’re looking at something Magic I can’t See because I’ve lost my powers…

  Peace, Maiden. You’re overthinking. Your powers are not gone, you just depleted them when you broke the Seal and destroyed the wall. Your ability to Channel will return with rest. Open your Eyes…there is nothing wrong with your Sight. You used it yesterday at the gates of the Seventh Kingdom to check for poison in the air, remember?

  Praying that my Heart’s Voice is right, I try sucking in the Spark from the medallion at my throat again. My Mind’s Eye snaps open at once. I look up to See a queasy, color-shifting domed membrane enveloping the many-buttressed spires stretching high above the city, like a thick-dirty bubble of lye and sludge.

  “What is it, Emma?” Claire whispers, hugging her arms around herself against the biting rain. “What are you all staring at?”

  “I’m not sure, Bug. There’s this weird bubble-thing stretching over the city in the sky…”

  “Like a shield,” Aidan mumbles to himself.

  “Yeah, maybe…” I say. “Wait.” I turn to Aidan. “You can See it, too?” I try to keep the alarm in my chest from leaking into my voice. He’s starting to Change, and though I knew it would happen, it really freaks me out.

  “Not entirely,” Aidan replies, squinting up. “Just a kind of shimmer in the air above the wall.”

  The other five vans have all arrived, parking randomly in the clearing. There’s a bustle of subdued activity as sixty or so Fae disembark, staring up at the dome and whispering to each other in bafflement.

  I hunch in on myself, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. I’m not in the mood to engage with the other Fae. Pulling Claire close, I tuck her inside the front of Kaillen’s jacket. She is my fortress. She squeezes me back as though to say that I am hers, too.

  Two smaller walls ring the massive black one, but only the black one is inside the vault of the strange semi-transparent dome. The outermost wall is about fifty yards from us, and looks as tall as three of me stacked up. It seems pretty flimsy, though, like popsicle sticks. I’m betting Claire could demolish it with a couple swift kicks.

  More huts built from scree and mud choke the wall in both directions, spreading outward in a vast sea of rubble at least a dozen shacks deep. If the roofs could hold our weight, we would be able to walk from the top of the van to the first wall without ever stepping on the ground.

  It’s eerily quiet. There are no signs of life, no people peaking out the doorways or gazing through the glassless windows. It’s like a shantytown for ghosts.

  The wind shifts, ushering in a putrid stench. Rotting food, wet animal fur, and foul sewage all slopped together turns my stomach inside out.

  “Breathe through your mouth,” Claire advises, pinching her nose.

  “Ew, no way. That’s the same as eating it.” Aidan’s muffled reply comes from behind his jacket, which he’s tying around his head.

  “You look and sound like Kenny from South Park,” Claire giggles.

  A longhaired, youngish-looking elf who Aidan greets as Dylan, pulls a box of Hot Tamales candy out of his pocket and offers them to us.

  “No thanks, man,” comes Aidan’s muffled response. “The smell is making me sick. I’d barf for sure.”

  “They’re not to eat,” Dylan grins. “Stick them up your nose. It’ll block this revolting stench, I promise.”

  Is he serious?

  Aidan takes a gulp of air and holds his breath before slipping the jacket-turban from his head. Dylan shakes a handful of the spicy cinnamon candy into his palm. Aidan takes two, inserting one up each nostril. He takes a tentative breath and smiles. “Hey. Not bad.” He twitches his nose, rabbit-like. “It stings a little, but it’s totally worth it. Try it you guys.”

  “Are you thure it’th otay?” I ask Dylan, trying really hard not to breathe through my nose. Or my mouth. Should I even be letting Claire and Aidan do this? What if cinnamon oil causes nose-cancer?

  “I promise it’s safe, Lady,” Dylan answers with a grin. “It’s a trick the older elves taught me when I was assigned to muck out the goat sheds at the Vineyard. It’s very effective for blocking unpleasant odors.”

  Claire eagerly reaches for the candy, taking three.

  “Not too far, Bug,” I warn, as she pokes the candies gingerly up her nose. “Well, a little further than that or they’ll fall out.”

  “Your turn.” Claire smiles, plopping the third candy in her mouth and smacking loudly.

  I’m about to ask Dylan if he has enough Hot Tamales for everyone when I notice the thin strand of Keen he’s woven as an air-filter for his own nose and mouth.

  Oh. Duh.

  I search again for any flow of Blaze from my wings or just a thread of Keen to Channel with, only to come up empty. Ugh.

  “No thanks.” I bury my disappointment, focusing instead on controlling my gag reflex. “It’s not really that bad,” I lie. It is that bad. It’s worse. “I’d rather breathe microscopic poo particles than waltz into the Royal Palace with Hot Tamales up my nose,” I say. “Besides, they clash with my dress.”

  “Suit yourself,” Claire shrugs. “Can I have more candy, please?” she asks Dylan. He hands her the whole box.

  “Enough gawking! Everybody back in the vans,” Marcus commands, his expression grim. “The General needs immediate medical attention.”

  I scan for Kaillen amidst the bustle, but he must have stayed in the van with Ian. I spot Twist and Ava climbing back into their seats…thank God Ava is all right. Someone’s woven a gossamer tunic for each of them. Wing-nubs poke through the thin garment draped across Twist’s shoulders and back.

  Her wings are re-growing. I can’t help but be moved at the sight of this. I wish I could go and hug her but I can’t. Not after what I did.

  In shock, I search the other maidens’ backs and shoulders, but their clothes are too thick. I can’t see whether or not they’re re-growing their wings, too. When I turn back to call out for Twist and Ava, they’ve disappeared from view. Their van door slides shut just as the engine turns over. I’m the last on the ground. The rain picks up again, soaking through Kaillen’s linen jacket.

  I catch Aidan’s eye from where he sits in
the back of our van. He’s staring in utter dismay at something behind me.

  Turning, I bite my lip to stop a gasp. A silent mob of men, women and children has emerged from the shanties. They huddle, congregated at the edge of the cobblestone road not thirty feet away. How did they get so close without me hearing? Have even my basic six senses been diminished?

  Thunder peals, making me jump.

  The strangers are massed together, mute and exposed in the unrelenting downpour. Their feet are bare like mine, but they stand ankle-deep in muck. The filthy rags they wear can’t possibly keep them warm or dry. Their arms hang limp at their sides as the rain turns the dirt on their skin to rivers of clay. Their eyes focus on me with an emptiness I’ve only ever seen in nightmares.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Their hollow faces harrow me, their empty eyes moor me in the mud. Collectively, they reach their hands out like zombies toward me, wordlessly imploring.

  What do they want? An acute need to run seizes me, but I’m locked in place.

  “Emily. Come here. NOW,” Lizzie calls urgently from the front passenger-seat of the van.

  Her words break the spell, setting my legs in motion. With my eyes locked on the throng, I back up to the van, tripping twice over my own mud-slippery feet.

  “Get inside, Emily!” Marcus orders.

  Disoriented, I stumble past the middle two rows to join Aidan and Claire on the back bench. They sit bamboo-straight in their seat belts. Their high-alert postures and panicked expressions mirror my own Threat-Level-Orange distress.

  Except…they have Hot Tamales up their noses.

  OMG.

  Hysterical laughter pours from my throat, stealing my breath and expelling my fear as the van lurches into drive.

  “Emily, are you alright?” Aidan and Claire pound me on the back as though I’m choking to death. I can only shake my head helplessly. It’s all too ridiculous.

  “Emily?”

  “You guys…” I wheeze, doubling over as tears of hilarity stream down my cheeks. “You guys… You look like idiots!”

  “What’s happening?” Lizzie demands, worried. “Is Lady Alvey ill?”

  “Yeah, she’s definitely ill,” Aidan deadpans. “Ill in the head.”

  Marcus slams on the breaks and Lizzie unbuckles her seatbelt. Crap, they took that literally. With extreme effort I stifle the giggles bubbling up from my belly and sit up tall.

  “She isn’t ailing, Lady Elisabeth,” says an elf from the middle seat. “She appears to be mocking her younger siblings because they have inserted Dylan’s Hot Tamales in their nostrils…”

  “HAAAAAA!” A huge guffaw escapes my mouth. The elf’s formal evaluation just raised the ridiculous level ten notches. I can’t help it. I clamp my hands over my lips and bend over my knees again, shaking with not-so-silent mirth.

  “Darr, my name’s Emily,” Aidan says in his best half-wit voice, a drooling falsetto. “I’m completely oblivious to my surroundings and unable to control my bodily functions.”

  I snort involuntarily.

  “Stop it, Emma!” Claire’s whisper is harsh and serious. “You’re being inappropriate.” She’s not joking around. My laughter dies at once, my cheeks flaming while I wipe away my tears.

  “Why are you doing this?” my little sister demands, her eyes searching my face for answers.

  How can I explain what’s happening when I don’t even understand it myself? I shake my head, helpless. Claire glares at me like she wishes I’d disappear. She takes Aidan’s iPhone and earbuds from where they lay on the seat next to her, turns on some music, and snacks on Hot Tamales while staring despondently ahead.

  I’ve legit embarrassed my little sister.

  Miserable, I buckle into the seatbelt next to Aidan. He leans his soft blonde head against my shoulder. Just that one thing—that small gesture of love and faith—sets me over another edge. New tears come out of nowhere, tumbling down my cheeks. I know they should be tears of humiliation, but they feel like tears of release.

  I keep my eyes in my lap, furious at the raging lunacy of contradicting emotions that have hijacked me. My own body is betraying me.

  My heart pumps an aching half-skipped beat… In apology?

  No.

  Do not punish yourself, Maiden, my Heart murmurs her rhythmic cadence in my ears. Your body is not your enemy.

  Shut UP, my Mind shouts back, wanting nothing more than to kick my Heart in her ventricular. I obviously need to be punished! There’s absolutely nothing funny about the suffering of these people, or about disappointing Claire. Got it?

  The muscles behind my breastbone contract unpleasantly in a throbbing spasm. My pulse retreats from my eardrums, curling up in the fetal position at the base of my throat, censored and quiet…for now.

  Without a word, Lizzie buckles her seatbelt and Marcus puts the van back in drive.

  We’ve reversed positions now, taking up the rear behind the five other vans, rolling toward the first wall and a large gate made of branches lashed together with thick rope. A group of sullen men appear from a shack at the side of the dirt road to haul the gate open as we approach.

  I keep a chokehold grip on my emotions, monitoring for any deviant conduct in my body while studying the men as we inch past them. Their dim, expressionless faces and stooped bodies transfix me, as does the complete and utter silence pervading what should be a noisy camp. Both Marcus and Lizzie have their windows rolled down, but the only sound I hear is the van’s fat rubber tires crunching over wet cobblestones and the scratch of wood grating against rock as the men close the gate behind us.

  Why is it so quiet? Why are the people so lifeless?

  “I don’t understand, Emily,” Aidan says, confusion wavering in the deep blue of his large, sensitive eyes. “Why are they living like this? Why isn’t the High King taking care of them? Shouldn’t he be trying to help them? Isn’t that what kings are supposed to do?”

  “Yeah, it is what they’re supposed to do.” I pull all my confusion about my out of control emotions away from my aberrant psyche and aim it at Ælfwig instead. “He must be a real crap king,” I spit.

  Aidan’s eyes widen at my ferocity, but then he nods in agreement. “What do you think he’s going to do with us?”

  “Do with us? What do you mean?”

  “I dunno. Do you think he’ll take us prisoner?”

  His question hits me like a fireball of hot gas rising from the pit of an active volcano. I shrink back, singed, arms wheeling as I teeter on the caldera edge above molten lava.

  It never crossed my mind he might not let us go.

  I’ve been obsessing over how I look, worrying about how to curtsey, trying to control my bizarre giggling fits and daydreaming about kissing Kaillen…I’d only considered this meeting in terms of the potential benefits. I wanted to get medical help for Ian, and find my Champion. I mean, yeah, I figured Ælfwig would be a little grumpy because I ruined his stupid barrier, and I assumed he wouldn’t be thrilled to see the Fae he banished a hundred years ago returning home, but it never occurred to me that he might hold us prisoner. I’m such an idiot.

  “Emily? Are you okay?” Aidan asks.

  I scramble for an answer that will put both of us at ease, but I can’t find one. If this shantytown is any indicator, King Ælfwig obviously doesn’t give a rat’s ass about his people. How will a man who lets his subjects live in abject squalor treat refugees begging for help?

  “We’re his grandchildren, Aidan,” Claire says, taking out one of her earbuds. “He’ll be nice to us, right Emma?”

  “I’m sure we’ll be fine.“ I kiss Aidan on top of his soft blond hair, but the thought of exposing my brother and sister to the whims of a deranged despot is making me sick to my stomach.

  More shelters come into view. We’re in another shantytown between the second and third walls. These huts are more organized and better built, evenly spaced in rows leading out from the road on both sides. Torches with metal hoods shielding their fla
mes from the downpour delineate each sector. Almost clean and healthy men and women emerge from the huts to stand in the rain and stare at us as we pass. Their eyes are less empty than the throng of people from outside the wall, but they are just as silent.

  We approach a sturdy wall of pressed adobe bricks that climbs higher than the last wall. The gate is comprised of thick wood covered in resin. Black char mars the bottom half, and I wince. A fire here would be devastating. The people trapped between the walls would catch and flare in their huts like matchsticks in a matchbox.

  With a creeping shiver up my spine I realize that neither of these walls has been built to protect the people living between them. They’ve been built to segregate them, to pen them in.

  Another group of men stand ready as we approach the second gate, swinging it open wordlessly in front of us. Greasy grime smears across the veins bulging in their heavily muscled arms as they haul ropes anchored in the door. They move in unison, like slaves on a Viking ship. A strange, unnatural pallor emanates from their skin beneath the dirt covering them.

  An idea takes root in my mind. I’d bet that if I were to clear away the head-to-toe filth with a soapy sponge, I’d uncover bodies cold and smooth as marble.

  Unable to tear my eyes away, I swivel round in my seat to keep watching them as we drive through the opening. I catch the glance of the man closest to the gate’s edge, straining to push it shut behind us. He stares back at me from deep-set eyes beneath sodden hair.

  I’m doused by an audible chill, like the chiming clatter of ice chips sloshing over my head from a large wooden bucket. The man’s pinpoint pupils reflect the cold light of the sunless day, completely devoid of warmth. It’s the look of a dead man walking.

  But just before the gate closes and he disappears altogether, an ember of shock ignites in his haggard face. It gathers from his temples to the bridge of his nose, blazing bright.

  A sudden vitality lurches under his skin. He reverses abruptly, digging his heels into the ground, churning up the mud, hauling backward on his rope.