Providence (Statera Saga Book 3)

by Amy Marie

  His face flushes in response, but he remains silent.

  I leave the two in the back of the plane, moving up to report to the others. “Dylan, I know you don’t want to hear this, but I think we should respect Shkote’Nsi’s wishes.”

  Dylan’s mouth falls open in surprise. “How can you just give up the fire soul when we finally saved him?” he asks. “Are you so selfish to get Darcy back that you’ll kill him to take the necklace and get your way?”

  He might as well have punched me in the gut. “I never even—”

  “Oh, like you haven’t been thinking it all along? You couldn’t stand that it was the better option to use the necklace for my soul mate!”

  “Dylan, this whole thing wasn’t even Nora’s idea. The fire soul asked—” Tara interjects, but she’s interrupted.

  “Well, maybe he felt compelled to make that sacrifice!” Dylan yells, insinuating something awful.

  Tears fill my eyes, but I can feel them glowing too. Dylan is perhaps the one elemental soul I’ve always felt closest with. I never expected this kind of betrayal from him. I can feel my power well up within me, bursting to break free in anger. This is everything I’ve been afraid of. Unchecked emotion controlling unharnessed energy.

  Someone moves beside me to grab my hand. Char’s at my side, pleading with tears in her eyes. “Nora, please calm down. He’s just upset. He doesn’t mean it.”

  A flash of light blinds us, followed by a roar that shakes the entire plane. When I turn back toward Dylan, he’s lying on the floor of the cabin. Blisters cover his left arm from some sort of burn. I look down at my hand as the glow fizzles out.

  Did I…?

  But I don’t even have a chance to finish the thought. The plane drops from under our feet, and at the same time, a loud crash tears open the fuselage. For a split second, we all float in the air as if there’s no gravity, but then everything goes haywire as bodies tumble and thump throughout the cabin.

  Everything goes dark, and the last thing I remember hearing is the sound of my sister’s scream at my side.

  Chapter 20

  When I regain consciousness, I’m lying in the sand on a coastal shore. The sun is hidden behind the shoreline to my right, but the glowing sky beyond the storm clouds promises the coming of dawn. Some wreckage from the plane floats nearby in the pristine blue waters of the Mediterranean.

  My body seizes in panic as I roll to cough up some swallowed seawater. When I can breathe and gain control of my aching limbs, I left my head to search for the others.

  Joe and Tara are about ten feet away, holding each other in a tight embrace, celebrating a love that has transcended time as Mother Earth and Father Sky. Their hands slide over each other, checking to make sure neither is hurt. Aside from some cuts and bruises, they appear to be alright. After another affectionate embrace, they shift gears to help Inigo, who is propped on all fours, retching in a violent fit.

  On my other side, Rafe lays unconscious with his head cradled in Char’s arms as she cries for him to wake up. After checking Rafe’s pulse, Besim instructs her to lay him flat so he can perform some chest compressions. After a couple rounds of pumps, Rafe comes to and takes his turn to cough up some seawater.

  Dylan sits just a few feet behind me, holding Shkote’Nsi’s body close. Dansé sits across from them, holding her ancestor’s hand in her own. The fire soul lays across Dylan’s lap with a sharp piece of metal piercing his abdomen. I turn and edge myself closer to catch their conversation.

  “Just hold my hand, everything will be fine,” Dansé says to her umpteen-times ancestor.

  The ancient fire soul emits a shallow wheeze of a laugh at the obvious lie in her voice, even if he didn’t understand all the words. He speaks in his native tongue for her alone to understand.

  Dansé translates Shkote’Nsi’s strangled words. “He says he always wondered what it would be like to have a daughter. Imagine finding one that would hate you for everything you’ve done. Is that a curse of the void, or that of a forefather?”

  Dylan finally notices I’ve moved next to him. “Nora, Are you okay?” At my nod, he continues to ask, “Do you think if we took this scrap of metal out, you could help heal him?” He gestures down toward Shkote’Nsi’s impalement.

  I shift around for a better look. The chunk of metal is speared at an upward angle just under Shkote’Nsi’s left rib. His skin has an unhealthy waxen shade of yellow, his breathing is labored, and there’s a growing pool of blood beneath him.

  “I don’t think I can,” I try to gently break the news. At his accusatory glance, I continue on, “Listen to his breath. I think his lung’s been punctured. I can try to make him more comfortable, but I’m sorry, I’m not sure if I can save him.”

  I move my glowing hands toward Shkote’Nsi’s punctured wound, but he shakes his head to stop me. The movement triggers his pain, and he groans in misery. He tries to speak, but he can only get a few words out with each breath.

  “He says you cannot help him. This is what is meant to happen, one way or another,” Dansé translates through her tears.

  “I am sorry,” he says again in English, one of the few phrases he knows.

  I hold his free hand in mine, warmth radiating through our connection. I concentrate on sending him healing light, hoping to alleviate his pain. His breathing seems to ease.

  He moves his hand to gesture between himself and Dansé. “Family,” he says.

  “Yes,” she nods. “You are my ancestor. I am your family.”

  Next, he points to Dylan. “K-kindred… spirits,” he says, his voice growing weak.

  “Yes, of course. Soul mates,” Dylan assures him.

  But Shkote’Nsi shakes his head, no. He then points between Dansé and Dylan. “Soul… mate,” his last word can barely be heard.

  Dylan glances at Dansé with uncertainty, but all he gets in return is a blush as she averts her eyes to the ground.

  With a sigh, Shkote’Nsi squeezes my hand. When I meet his eyes, he flicks them down toward the golden amulet around his neck. I squeeze his hand back.

  Thank you.

  A smile of contentment settles on his face as the three of us witness him take his last breath.

  Dansé says a prayer in the language of the Potawatomi. I say a silent prayer to myself, for the tortured man to find peace with his ancestors.

  Tears spill from Dylan’s eyes. “We should give him a proper burial,” he says after a moment. He glances around as if noticing for the first time we’re stranded from the crash.

  Dansé finally meets Dylan’s tear-filled eyes and there’s no denying the spark in that connection. In their shared grief, Dansé takes Dylan’s hand. “Not here,” she says. “Let’s send him out to sea.”

  It appears she’s made her decision. Or maybe part of her knew all along? She always avoided Dylan, avoided eye contact, fighting what might’ve been inevitable. Maybe Dylan’s soul was never meant to be matched to Shkote’Nsi. Maybe it was always meant for Dansé. Timing can be everything in fate’s eternal mystery.

  We work together to gather a portion of the plane’s wing as a makeshift gurney, laying Shkote’Nsi’s body on the flat surface. We secure him onto the plank with seatbelts found in the wreckage. Dansé cleans his wound and wraps his body with blankets from the plane. We all walk along the makeshift raft, leading it out into the water.

  Dansé sings a song as we bow our heads in respect. Before we send him off, she removes the ancient necklace from his body and hands it to Dylan. She replaces the necklace with a piece of jewelry that was hanging around her neck, hidden under her shirt. When her jewelry rests on his chest, I recognize the pendant. It’s a circle with a cross in the middle:

  A smaller version of the same symbol I remember from my dream that introduced me to Shkote’Nsi.

  Dylan pushes the raft out with a final farewell. We move back onto the beach to watch the old soul of fire drift out to sea.

  Dansé asks me for the lighter in my pocket. We all wat
ch in amazement as she pulls a flame into the glowing palm of her hand. With tears in her eyes, she launches a ball of fire out to the raft and Shkote’Nsi’s body lights up in a pyre.

  “Keeper of fire, your flame has been passed on. Rest well, forefather. Walk the four-day journey, join our ancestors. Bama mine kowabmen.”

  Chapter 21

  The remainder of the early morning hours is spent searching the debris from the accident and setting up a makeshift camp from seats that were knocked loose from the crash. Now that the storm has passed, the heat from the rising sun increases with its climb.

  Most of us are in serious need of some sleep, but we’re all restless after the traumatic night. Rafe keeps asking Char to lay down and rest, but she refuses, insisting she wants to help in the search.

  “Luckily, I had the briefcase in my arms when we went down,” Besim’s deep voice carries from down the shore from the wreck. “One less thing to search for and no damage to the contents, though the Statera’s binding has seen better days.”

  “On the other hand, Broderick’s book is ruined,” Rafe announces, holding up some soggy sheets of ruined paper. “And my cell phone won’t turn on.”

  “Mine’s busted too,” says Char. Most everyone else nods their head, signaling the same fate for their phones.

  “My phone was in my bag when we went down. If we can find that, it might still work,” I offer.

  “As long as it’s not at the bottom of the sea,” Dylan adds.

  “I hope not! The dagger is in there, and we’re not going anywhere without both the necklace and the dagger,” I say.

  “Oh, that reminds me.” Dylan reached into his pocket and hands me the golden Eye of Providence necklace. “I’m sorry for what I said,” he says, hanging his head. “There was a lot of emotion. I didn’t mean to drag Darcy into it. You know I want to save him just as much as you do.”

  I meet his eyes with heartfelt gratitude. “I know. I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to use my power on you.”

  Confusion flickers across his face. “What do you mean?”

  “Your arm.” I point to the patch of blisters from the burn across his arm.

  “Nora, you didn’t use your power on me! The blast did this, right before we went down,” he explains.

  “But my hand was glowing and I saw you on the ground,” I insist.

  “That was when the side of the plane blew up. And then the lightning and the storm… everything went crazy. But I’m positive it wasn’t you!” he reassures me.

  I glance over to the remainder of the plane, relief flowing through me. “So, what exactly happened after the blast?” I ask.

  “Don’t you remember?” asks Char.

  “I think I blacked out,” I shake my head, unable to recall.

  “You missed one ripping ride,” Dylan says. “Good on Joe. If he didn’t use his power to glide us to land and hold the storm at bay, we’d probably all be bobbing in water right now.”

  “Joe did that?” I ask, still amazed by the elemental powers.

  “He saved us,” Inigo confirms, voice full of awe. “It was a miracle. Like we were floating in this bubble while the storm surged around us.”

  “The real miracle will be if we can find that bag with the dagger in one piece,” Joe calls from his spot down the beach where he’s searching the wreckage.

  “Or a working phone,” adds Tara, sifting through a pile of debris.

  “What’s so important about the dagger?” Inigo asks.

  “The dagger is the source of the curse that kept Shkote’Nsi alive for so long,” I answer.

  “I was just reading more about it before the accident,” Rafe chimes in. “I was telling Char about how Broderick’s book claimed Flamel stole the dagger from an ancient cult. It said he had help from a dark man from the East.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, the last part catching my attention.

  “It was an exciting part of the book. It talked about how he met the man in his travels who claimed he was searching for his third eye. Anyway, the two got mixed up with an ancient Egyptian cult and stole the dagger from them along with some sort of key.”

  “Oh, Rafe, tell her what you told me about the handle,” Char encourages him.

  “Apparently, the dagger used to have an Ankh on the handle, which is the Egyptian symbol for life. Flamel was afraid that evil would come for the dagger, so he taught himself how to melt down the substance of the Materia Prima and reform the pommel into a rose to disguise it.”

  “Is this it?” Besim calls to interrupt us, holding up my missing bag.

  “Yes!” I move closer and reach my hands out, impatient to check the contents. Before I can even open the bag, the now familiar hum of the dagger reaches my ears.

  “What is that?” Dansé asks moving closer to the bag.

  “What?” asks Besim, backing away.

  “That noise!” she points at the bag.

  Remembering my vision with Flamel, I open the bag and hold it out to her. “You hear it? Does it sound like fire?”

  “Yes! Like crackling flames!” she exclaims.

  “Try grabbing the dagger. But here, sit down first, just in case.” I gesture for her to take a seat on one of the plane’s chairs in our temporary camp.

  As Dansé reaches her hand into the bag to pull out the dagger, her breath catches in surprise. Her eyes go out of focus as her hands take on a red-orange glow with the dagger in her grasp. It’s interesting to witness the process of a vision from an outside perspective. After a few minutes, she blinks her eyes as if she’s waking from a dream.

  “What did you see?” Dylan asks, taking a seat beside her.

  “It was me! It was like I was Flamel. My hands were old and wrinkled and I had a long beard. I was meeting with a young man with some sort of Eastern accent. We were arguing about what to do with the dagger we had just stolen!”

  “Did you recognize the man?” Besim asks.

  “He didn’t look familiar to me, but he felt familiar, if that makes sense. He had dark hair and a beard. He called me Shri Flamel, and I called him Thamish.”

  The name catches my attention instantly. I’m pulled back into a memory of my own that’s so strong, I can almost smell the incense of burning cypress. Thamish was a dark soul. I dreamt of him and the light soul, Preshti, when they were seeking the soul of air. That dream led me to recognize Aria, and eventually to find Joe. That dream also ended with the destructor slicing Preshti’s throat. I shiver, wondering if Dansé’s dream took place before or after that.

  “I recognize that name. He was a soul of darkness, like Darcy,” I share with the others before turning to Dansé. “Was there a woman in your vision? Someone named Preshti?” I ask her.

  “No, it was just the two of us. We were arguing.” Dansé closes her eyes trying to remember the details of her vision. “The younger man, this Thamish, had given up hope. He didn’t understand the point of stealing the dagger. He said Rudra already took away his light. He had come to Egypt to find a third eye. He thought he could defeat the destructor if he held the power of the third eye.”

  “That must be the necklace, right?” asks Char.

  “Sounds like it,” says Rafe. “What else?” he asks, eager for any more info.

  “The dagger was right there on the table next to a flat round stone. The young man pointed to the stone and said it was the key. But I, well Flamel, argued and said the dagger was the key. He knew what the dagger was made of, and he knew it had the power to make him immortal. It’s weird. Even though I was in his head, it was just like I was watching a movie. I can’t know for sure, but it felt like he wanted to use the dagger on himself.”

  “Wait, you think Flamel wanted to curse himself willingly?” Tara asks, leaning into the crook of Joe’s arm. “Could he do that?”

  “It would explain the myths,” I consider the idea. “He was credited with creating the elixir of life. Rumors say he lived beyond his years. And it would make sense as to why Richard Grafton’
s journals and letters knew so much information. Flamel was born in the fourteenth century. Grafton was born almost two-hundred years later. What if he went through with it and cursed himself? What if they met?” I venture.

  “It seems a bit far-fetched,” Dylan says.

  “How can anything seem far-fetched to you people?” Inigo asks from right next to me as I reach into my discarded bag to see if my phone is still in one piece. When I press the home button, the screen lights up.

  “Phone works!” I exclaim.

  “Let me see if I can call a friend from Cairo. Maybe we’re close enough to get a ride into town,” Inigo says. I reluctantly hand my phone over as he moves away in search of a signal.

  “How close to Cairo do you suppose we are?” Besim asks, looking out to sea.

  “I know we almost made it to the Nozza VOR,” says Joe. When we all give him a strange look, he clarifies, “It’s a navigational aid near the city of Alexandria. It was our next fix for the routing to Cairo. We can’t be that far.”

  “Pilot talk,” Tara laughs, nudging Joe’s side in affection.

  I smile at the two. “Thank you, by the way. For everything,” I say to Joe, not feeling it’s adequate to convey my gratitude. “You really saved us.”

  Joe flashes me a rare smile. He’s usually so serious, it always makes him seem grumpy. There couldn’t be any one of us who represents our mythological equivalent more than he does. Now that he’s a few days without a shave, put a bolt of lightning in his hand and you’d swear you were in the presence of Zeus himself.

  “Do you have an idea what brought us down?” Besim asks him.

  “I would say it could’ve been the storm, but something more than lightning tore a hole in the side. One of the engines might’ve blown. Maybe someone tampered with the mechanics when we were on the ground?” Joe guesses.

  No mystery as to who that could’ve been.

  “Let’s get back to Flamel,” Rafe says, changing the subject away from the reminder that we’re constantly being hunted. “We know he had the dagger and he reshaped the handle to hide it. Now we think he might’ve used it on himself, but there’s one problem with that theory.”