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

by Jane Alvey Harris

  Pride crowds my insides to bursting as Twist, Minali, and Chloe describe how they crafted it while Teagan was plaiting my hair. First, they built a fire beneath our cooking grill against the cliff wall at the base of the natural mini-amphitheater where the tide doesn’t reach. Then they piled fist-sized pebble rocks on the grill top, and stacked head-sized rocks thigh-high on top of those.

  While the stones baked, the girls lashed driftwood and branches together to make the sauna frame. It should have taken hours for the rock oven to scorch black, but they stoked the flames extra hot with Blaze.

  As the stones blistered, my maiden sisters dug the fire out with our little camping spade, covered the wooden frame with a large piece of canvas, and then a tarp. They even lined the rough porous base rocks with branches of fragrant eucalyptus to protect our bare bums.

  Ducking inside, the wet-scathing air coils around my taut-frigid skin, coercing my pores open and invading my lungs with the curling tendrils of a vapor vine. Almost instantly I’m slick with sweat. Minali pours water from the camp kettle over the sizzling rocks, sending up steam.

  Hungrily I open my mouth, sucking in the thick, scalding air as deeply as I can.

  I’m breathing fire.

  The sharp rise of eucalyptus makes me cough; it’s a good, cleansing cough, though. Focusing internally with my Inner Eye, I discern each lobe and segment of my respiratory tract. Each bronchiole and alveoli, each potential space between the pleurae in my lungs expands with pure oxygenated energy as I inhale.

  Funny enough, I’ve always hated heat, hated sweat. But this is something other. It’s not oppressive and suffocating; it’s purifying and freeing. I wiggle my tongue in my mouth, the tip exploring the rush of searing heat. It’s addictive. Charred toxins scream as they stampede past each other in desperation to leave my body. All the toxic thoughts and worries of yesterday come bleeding out. I’m done with them.

  When I exhale it isn’t carbon dioxide. It’s flame, and I’m a dragon.

  Time slips insubstantial to the back of awareness. Every cell, every bodily function, every conscious and unconscious part of me is a conduit for breathing fire.

  Teagan laces her fingers through mine, pulling me from the tent into dazzling sunlight. No, please stop. I want to stay. She pushes a canteen against my lips and orders me to drink.

  Thirsty, blissful, alive and empowered my body hungrily accepts the crystal clear water.

  “I know it’s amazing, but it isn’t good to stay in there too long,” Teagan explains. “A little bit makes you stronger, but too much can make you weak.”

  The need to return to the sweat lodge almost overpowers me. I just opened up all the way to something I dreaded a few hours ago, and I love it—I’m good at it—and it’s already over? No fair!

  But before I can object, Chloe’s scrub ritual shifts my consciousness yet again.

  She’s prepared a bed of seaweed on the exposed low-tide shoal and covered it with a towel. She positions me belly up, spread-eagled to the vast coastal heavens and drapes my eyelids in fresh seaweed.

  I shudder away from the pungent salty-dankness, repelled by conjured images of fishy slime coagulating in my sinuses, which prompts a flood of pre-wretch in my mouth.

  Shhhh, my Heart whispers, repeating the words I told myself the first time I entered the pond in the glade: It’s scary because it’s new. But seaweed can’t hurt us.

  I scan my limbs, relax tense muscles, and dial back my resistance. Widening my nostrils, I inhale deep and slow, labeling the sensations of seaweed on my face: Sharp. Briny. Moist and full. Delicately stranded. Slippery. Loose. Limp. Alive. Slowly I unclench, creating space inside for the life aquatic.

  Chloe’s hands press firmly, gliding into the full lengths of my supine form. Her concoction of sea salt and coarse sand sloughs the dead skin from my body, which has been primed and softened by heat and sweat.

  The stinging shock enlivens me.

  There is no inch her rhythmic-ritualistic scraping doesn’t find—armpits, breasts, hips and buttocks—but it isn’t invasive. Her touch, both compassionate yet respectfully impersonal, lifts and shifts my arms and legs with confidence. Sweet, mild Chloe exudes the no-nonsense vibe of a wizened shaman. The quiet between us is full of ease, which is good, because I’m certain any nervous tittering would be met with a stern glare of disapproval from her, along with a tongue lashing in some ancient language comprised of angular vowels and balsam-wood consonants.

  With the water she pours splashing over me, my last ounce of pretense and false modesty washes away.

  The final thing she does before removing the kelp from my eyelids and pulling me up to a sitting position is scrub and rinse my hair. I’m sad that all of Teagan’s gorgeous artistry is being undone, but at the same time I’m happy, because now she’ll have to do it all over again.

  I bathe the last bits of salt and sand from my body in the delta of the small sweet stream flowing into the ocean before walking steadily into the belly-deep pool. If I weren’t so absorbed in each sensation of newness I’d be stunned by my own transformation. I am naked on the beach. There are no more Voices telling me to run or hide or cover up. I breathed dragonfire today, and I’ll never, ever be the same.

  Thank God.

  I am new.

  My deep gasp clouds the sun-saturated sky as I plunge into the breath-stealing pool. The water is numbingly cold, but I am unafraid.

  Sinking beneath the surface, I glide forward, a dolphin-chasing, fin-flipping mermaid in her element.

  

  “So, what do you think of this whole ‘nudist’ business now?” Teagan teases. “Does all this make us a bunch of lezzies?”

  Oh, no. She knew.

  She knew I’d latched onto her kindness with my desperate need for connection. She probably even sensed how I regularly confuse kindness and tenderness for attraction. That my self-worth is so intertwined with being desired that sometimes I fail to distinguish between friendship and something more.

  A shock of shame rouses a chill through me that is colder than any ocean, but it is generously short-lived. I am still unafraid. Because even if I did misread her, it seems I did nothing inappropriate. She isn’t grossed out. She hasn’t stopped being affectionate. She still loves me. And while I don’t even know what that means, exactly, I do know it doesn’t really matter right now.

  Teagan, Minali, Chloe, and Twist knew just what they were doing when they created these experiences for me today. They choreographed my awakening in magical and terrifying extremes, understanding that each extreme transition would force me to remain fully present in my body while moving from one unknown to another.

  I’m so thankful I was able to let myself trust them. What if I’d insisted on staying stuck in my very narrow comfort zone?

  If I’d stayed on the shore, I would have missed surrendering to the peace of the arctic waves. If I’d stayed in the sea, I would have missed breathing dragonfire. If I’d stayed in the sauna I would have missed the scrub.

  All my life I’ve been systematically taught not to trust my heart or my body. So many fears and rules were hardwired into me, but today has taught me that if I only ever do what my head tells me to do or not do, I’m dooming myself to stay stuck in the name of staying safe. I’m dooming myself to let fear call the shots.

  Teagan playfully Channels a curving splash of spring water at me from where she sits on the sand. I Channel a miniature tidal wave back at her, laughing at the sheer audacity of trying to label our friendship, or anything at all. But I do know one thing with absolute certainty: I don’t know nearly enough about my own body—let alone the world right now—to do anything except soak in each moment as it comes.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Dinner is a simple loaf of crusty bread, some aged cheese, and tart wrinkled apples that Chloe “borrowed” from the palace kitchens before we left. Minali tries to trick me into sampling seaweed, but I spent enough time wearing it today to want to eat it. Baby-steps
to enlightenment.

  “How did you guys do that thing to me in the ocean,” I ask, licking breadcrumbs from my fingers.

  “What thing?” Twist smashes a smear of cheese onto her bread.

  “You know, the thing. The blocking thing. You guys cut me off from my little Blaze buffer. How did you do it?”

  “I just stuffed a weave at the base of your wings,” Minali says.

  “Really? You can do that? Like, to anyone?” I stare at them, incredulous.

  “Technically, yes.” Teagan tears off another thick hunk of bread and hands it to me. “Maidens can block any other maiden. But no one does it because it’s really rude.”

  “What do you mean ‘technically’?”

  “Maidens hardly ever Channel, remember?” Minali replies. “It’s mostly something mothers do to their daughters when they don’t like their attitude.”

  “Or young maidens do to each other as a prank,” Teagan adds. “You know. Right after our Changing, when we receive our Spark and Flame and our wings are growing, we suddenly have all this power and no one tells us what to do with it. So mostly we mess with each other until we get caught and punished for it.”

  “Teach me.” An excited thrill shivers up my spine. “Teach me how to block!”

  “It’s just a little girl’s trick,” Minali retorts. “It only works once.”

  “What do you mean?” I’m confused.

  “Ugh,” Minali says, not even trying to hide that she thinks I’m dim. “So, you hold your Blaze in your wings, right?”

  I nod with an eye roll. I’m not a total idiot.

  “But if you’re already Channeling, you have Blaze in your body, too.”

  “Oh.” Now I get what she’s saying. “I could continue to Channel with the Blaze that’s already in my body. In the ocean I only dropped my weave because I was startled when the buffer disappeared.”

  “Exactly,” Chloe affirms. “But even if a maiden isn’t already Channeling, a block wouldn’t slow her down much. Say the Queen’s Honor guard came for us and we each blocked one. It would only slow five of them down for a few seconds.”

  “Because unless we drained all the Blaze in our wings to continue holding the block against them, as soon as we let go of the block they could remove it. Make sense, Emma?” Teagan asks.

  I’m definitely at a cultural disadvantage here. “Show me, please?” I set my dinner down to focus and embrace Blaze, creating a thin buffer of warmth around myself like I did to protect against the frigid ocean waves.

  Minali immediately weaves a block, propelling it at me from one open palm. It’s dense, like she’s shoved a pair of wadded-up socks between my shoulder blades at the base of each wing. My shield waivers, but I’m able to keep it from disappearing by using the flow of Blaze in my body to maintain it. And she’s right. All it takes is a tiny shift in focus and a small shove against her plug to make it dissipate.

  “Now do you see why it’s a waste of time?” she asks.

  I nod, but something niggles at me, insisting I find a way for us to use blocking to our advantage. “Can I try?”

  “Sure,” Minali says with a shrug.

  She embraces Blaze again, copying my little shield. Using my Inner Eye, I focus on the place where her wings and body converge

  At first it feels invasive, like I’m a voyeur crossing a forbidden threshold. I’ve only ever used my Inner Eye to cross the flux between my own wings and body, never another maidens. I’m a little surprised when my Inner Eye slips right through with no resistance to Minali’s circuitry of Blaze, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s how easy it was for the High Queen to poke around in my insides during our “negotiations.”

  Whoa. It’s fascinating in here. The twining of complex power spills in fountains from Minali’s wings into her body, racing through her in ribbons. It runs on neural pathways, slipping between bone and muscle, bridging organs in a dazzling display of current, congregating in orbs at all her seven chakras, and finally extending out through her now luminous skin where she connects unconsciously to each of us.

  When the council first taught me to open my Mind’s Eye in the grove, Seeing these Connections had been my most significant discovery. With a sick shiver, I remember the heavy dark slithering coil anchoring me to Drake and how I knew instinctively that even a lifetime of ceaseless unpicking wouldn’t be enough to unravel those threads.

  The unpleasant memory gives me an idea. Rather than crudely wadding up my flow and stuffing it at the base of Minali’s wings, I Intend an intricate web of dense interlocking mesh with barbed hooks at the end of each fiber. I stretch the mesh between my hands, and then—mimicking Spiderman—shoot it at her like I’ve got web slingers on both wrists.

  The weave knifes straight through Minali’s chest. I position it to span the entire thoracic space between her ball-and-socket joints, sinking the barbed hooks deep in the ligaments that affix her wings to her scapulae.

  Minali’s eyes widen. Her shield flickers before going dim and then disappearing completely. She immediately starts unpicking the barbs, but it’s going to take her several minutes at least. The flow in her body vanishes as her attention turns inward, leaving her vulnerable.

  The others stare in awe. “I never thought about doing it like that before,” Chloe whispers.

  Twist’s intense gaze probes my pupils, weighing possibilities. With my Inner Eye I watch as Blaze streams down her arms into her hands. “Hit me.” She nudges Teagan with her elbow.

  “What?” Teagan asks, surprised.

  “Like, punch me in the face or something. With Blaze.”

  “I’m not going to punch you in the face, are you crazy?”

  “Just do it, alright?”

  Teagan mumbles under her breath but embraces Blaze, weaving a fist of solid air. Cocking back her right arm, she lets fly.

  But the punch doesn’t land. Twist slices through the air, her hand like a blade, physically mimicking the guillotine weave of her Blaze. It cuts Teagan’s woven fist off where it dissolves half a foot from Twist’s face.

  “Nice.” Minali exhales, as do I—we’ve both been holding our breath in anticipation.

  “We don’t have to block their wings,” Chloe claps. “Just their flow!”

  It is nice. But there’s a huge problem. Though I’ve watched them all Channeling since we’ve been on the beach, I never realized until right now that they use their bodies to act out what they’re doing with Intention: when Chloe lit a fire, she wiggled her fingers over the kindling; when Minali speared a fish in the delta, she stabbed with an invisible weapon; when Teagan struck at Twist, she cocked her arm back like she was throwing a punch. They all basically advertise exactly what they Intend to do before they do it, giving an enemy plenty of time to defend and launch a counterattack.

  I do it, too. When I pulled down the Night in the Third Realm, I stuck my fingers in the stretched-too-thin holes around the edges of the sky…

  …but when I sent the weapons to Jacob I didn’t do anything with my body. I wove internally and willed the dagger, shield, and gauntlet to him.

  Was it instinct that warned me I couldn’t risk Drake Seeing what I was doing?

  The memory gives me an idea.

  “My turn,” I say to Twist, already sending Blaze down my arms and moving my hands like I’m forming a ball of energy to throw at her. “Ready?”

  She nods.

  All Twist’s attention is on the tiny disc of Blaze I’m cupping between my hands so she can cut it off as soon as I send it. Not sure it will work, I weave another strand internally—around my middle chakra—and launch it straight back from my spine. It slingshots around my side, whacking her on the top of the head.

  She curses as the blade of her guillotine disappears. “Do that again,” she grins.

  And I do, repeatedly. It’s laughable, watching cocksure Twist try to look in every direction at once. But she can’t help focusing on my hands, and it’s almost too easy to land a hit by striking with in
ternal weaves. I’m a tiny bit remorseful about the ugly bruise purpling her shoulder, but the zeal in her eyes shows it hasn’t fazed her at all.

  “Distraction!” Twist hops up from her beach towel. “I think we can do something with this…like a lot more than just childish pranks…right, Ems?”

  She’s asking my opinion? That’s new. “Absolutely.”

  “Teach us?” they all beg, echoing my earlier plea. “Teach us distraction!”

  “How can I teach you? You’ve all grown up with Blaze. You’ve been around it your whole lives. I didn’t even know it existed a month ago…”

  “That’s why you’re perfect, Emma,” Chloe counters. “You’re a fresh pair of eyes. I honestly never realized before that we can Channel from anywhere in our bodies!”

  “She’s right,” Twist interrupts. “Even though you just proved our hands and fingers don’t actually have anything to do with forming Intention, it’s bizarre to think about Channeling without using them. I’m not even sure I can.”

  “Um, is this the end of days or something?” I joke, hoping to downplay the giddy fizzing in my wings at finally having something to contribute to our group. “I’ve never heard you admit you can’t do something, Twist.”

  She sticks her tongue out at me. “There’s a first time for everything, Princess. Now come on, you guys, stand up. We haven’t got all day.”

  “I think you mean Queen?” I stick my tongue out right back at her, only much more regally.

  Everyone cracks up, which leads to an emergency pee break. Once we’ve composed ourselves, Minali and Chloe, Teagan and Twist pair up and I coach them through it again and again and again. And they’re right: it’s way easier for me to work without gesturing than it is for them. They use their hands as focal points like the elves use their medallions long after they’re skilled enough to manipulate the elements in nature without them. Old habits die hard, but the girls are determined to master my Art of Distraction.