Remembering Majyk (Skazka Chronicles Book 1)

by Valia Lind

  I raise my chin, surprising both of them with my change in subject, and go over what I remember. Except the terrified faces part. I think I need to keep that to myself for now. I don’t feel as guilty as I should about keeping secrets, as they do plenty of that as well.

  "So you have no idea what triggers it." It's a statement, not a questions, but I feel inclined to answer anyway.

  "No, just pain and then I'm there."

  "Intriguing."

  "Oh yeah, it's a blast," I say, getting irritated by the casualness of Maxwell's words. I'm not some project to be studied, I need answers. I don't realize I've spoken the words out loud, until Brendan starts clapping.

  "I love it when you're feisty." He comments.

  "Shut it, Brendan." I snap, standing up.

  Just talking about it makes my skin crawl with unease. The sudden need to punch things is even more surprising and I stop to grip the back of the chair I was occupying a second ago. The boys watch me, neither one making a move to comfort or to explain, and not for the first time I feel like we've been here. It's as if I'm experiencing a perpetual state of deja vu and it's irritating as all get out. There's a shimmer of something under my fingertips and I grip the chair a little tighter. I don’t need another display of uncontrolled power, especially in front of the guys.

  "Calista." Maxwell finally says, coming around the desk to stand beside me. "I have no idea what's going on with you, but we're going to figure it out. And we're going to keep you safe in the meantime. Brendan is the best at that and he won't let anything happen to you. No matter what, you need to hold on to that. Try to remind yourself of that when you have one of your memory—flashes."

  I glance over to the other boy and find his eyes already on me. I don't have to say the thoughts that are running through my mind because I can see them written all over Brendan's face. He didn't do such a good job protecting me last time. But he won't fail again. It's a promise he makes with his eyes, writing it in the beats of my heart. I hear them as if he's spoken them out loud.

  Nodding at Maxwell, I let go of the chair and stand up straighter. The determination washes over me like cool water and I meet Brendan's eyes for a second longer before turning back to Maxwell.

  "What's the plan?"

  11

  “Again."

  Apparently, the plan is to run me rugged. Maxwell has set up a never ending list of books that I need to review. He said I had to relearn my own history, my own heritage, in order to be effective. The fact that this is something I have to do feels both violating and ridiculous. The two realities of my life are fighting inside of me, and I'm almost nervous to see which one wins.

  While Maxwell wants to workout my mind, Brendan is set on working out my body. And not in any way that is fun. Which is why I'm laying in a pool of sweat in the basement. For what seems like a hundredth time.

  "Are you trying to kill me?" I grumble, getting off the mat and facing Brendan. He's wearing a black tank and sweatpants, his magnificent chest on display for all to see, as the material clings to him in all the right places. It's very distracting, especially when he gets extra close. And he's doing that a lot.

  "I'm trying to keep you from getting killed." Brendan replies, breaking through my thoughts and taking a stance. Feet shoulder length apart, arms raised in front of his face at eye level. I mirror him, as he takes a swing at me. Not for the first time, I'm surprised when my body takes over the movements. It's like a practiced dance that I've forgotten. We keep moving around the mat, with me blocking his blows, until he grabs me, throwing me over his shoulder. Again.

  "Calista, you have to concentrate."

  "Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot. I was thinking about strawberry pancakes."

  He raises his eyebrows at my sarcasm, but I'm getting tired of him complaining about my lack of concentration.

  "I'm trying, Brendan." I say, getting off the floor and reaching for my water. I hear him sigh behind me, but he's not the only one frustrated.

  "I know you're trying, but your mind wanders. When it wanders, you lose focus and fail. As much as this is natural for you, your brain doesn't remember it. You have to be fully in it, in order for it to work."

  "Thank you, Master Yoda." I say over my shoulder, as I rub the sweat off my neck with a towel and take a swig of the water. Brendan is suddenly behind me, his hand snaking out to grab the items out of my arms, spinning me to face him.

  "Must you be so difficult?"

  "Must you be so annoying?" I fire right back.

  We're standing way too close for comfort, and while we've been sparing, we've come closer, this feels different. I can hear his heart racing and I fight the urge to reach out and touch him. He reads the look in my eyes, if his sharp intake of breath is any indication, and then he moves even closer. He dips his head lower, and I swear I can taste his breath on my lips. I fight to keep my eyes open, because whatever happens, I want to remember it. It's important for me to remember every detail. He leans in, and then I'm flying through the air.

  I recover a moment before I land, and the burning sense of humiliation fuels my rage. I'm on my feet in a flash, swinging my left arm right before my right. He blocks both, ready for me, but I'm not finished.

  He wants focus? Fine, he got focus.

  I kick out, my right foot connecting with his abdomen. He stumbles back and I'm on top of him in the next breath. Left hook, right hook, left hook and he's on his knees. I cartwheel over his shoulders, grabbing his neck in a headlock the moment I'm on my feet. With a quick twist, he's pinned beneath me, and I yank his arm behind his back. He grunts in pain and I grin. Letting him go quickly, I sit back on my heels, satisfied.

  "How's that for focused?"

  He turns at my words and then his arms are around me and I'm beneath him. I gasp as his body connects with mine, but it's not from pain. I can feel him, flushed against me, and I look up to meet his eyes. They're darker than I've seen them before, and I know that heat has nothing to do with our exercise. It's like we can't be around each other without this chemical reaction burning up the space between us. I've lost my breath somewhere three steps behind, and so has Brendan.

  I'm immersed in his eyes.

  There is an another world there, a world I so deeply want to explore. This constant tug and pull between us, the never ending emotions that seem to have become part of my life when he's around, are just as scary as they were two months ago. He's staring down at me, his hands holding my wrists in place above my head, and for a second, I wish I was braver.

  "Well, I see training is going well." Maxwell voice springs us apart, as he comes down the stairs. Brendan’s body is off me in a flash, and he pulls me to stand beside him, before he drops my hand as if it’s on fire. “Just wanted to let you know it's dinner time.”

  Brendan is across the room and up the stairs before I can properly readjust my clothes. He throws a 'good job today' over his shoulder and disappears before I can blink. Not sure what just happened, I move toward the stairs more slowly, feeling Maxwell's eyes on me.

  "What?" I snap, because I'm getting a little more than tired of all the secret looks and hidden agendas. Maxwell clearly knows something he's not saying, because there's amusement in his gaze when it meets mine.

  "You guys were always nuclear together." He mumbles under his breath, turning to head upstairs, but I hear him. Thank you, magical super hearing.

  "What does that mean?" I hurry to catch up. When his eyes dart my way, I know he's trying to find a way to backtrack. We reach the top of the stairs before he finally answers.

  "Just that you work well together." He doesn't pause, turning to head back to the library. I stand in the hallway, hands on my hips.

  “Like a properly put together bomb?”

  But he just shrugs at my sarcasm.

  "You're a terrible liar, Maxwell." I call out.

  "Well, a guy can't be good at everything." He replies over his shoulder.

  And then he's gone.

  It's been a we
ek since we've arrived on Maxwell's doorstep.

  Since then, my body and mind have been pushed close to the limit, but we're still no closer to figuring out what happened to me or where I've stashed the relic. I've talked to Jemma every day, and I know the poor girl is getting tired of my excuses, but what am I supposed to do? I told her I needed time with Brendan, but that only got me so far since we've never been a couple before. Then, I told her my mother's long lost relatives contacted me and needed me to come down for a family emergency. My lies are getting worse with each passing day, but I can't tell her the truth. Even if she believed me, which is a possibility because she’s just artistic enough to find merit in magic, it'd just put her in danger.

  Not that the outside world is any safer. There's been insane weather spreading all throughout America. I'm worried about her being at our dorm room by herself. Just yesterday, Chicago was hit by a lighting storm that burned buildings to the ground. The whole city is on high alert, and from what I've seen on TV, in shambles. Jemma is worried I'll be caught in something like that, being away, but I keep telling her I'm safer where I am. Not sure how long that statement will continue to be true. It's been raining outside almost since the day we got here.

  Maxwell explained to me that the library is housed sort of between dimensions. The broken down shed we found in Michigan is just one of the entrances. But we’re tethered to it for now, so when I look out the window, I see the flooded forest.

  I'm going stir-crazy. I think I've worn pathways in most of the carpet in the house. The studying and the training are like something out of a B-rated movie. I can almost see the montage of the events playing on the screen. I feel the need to go back to campus, but I don't understand it. I think I just miss Jemma and the excitement of being in college. The normal life I left behind. At least Maxwell has been somewhat helpful, while Brendan has been mostly ignoring me.

  I feel like something changed between us that second day of training. Maybe I revealed too much and he's trying to keep his distance to let me down easy, but that's another lie I tell myself. Every time I look into his eyes, I fall deeper into him. The ever present magnetism surrounds him and moves me closer and closer, while he keeps pulling away. I want to reach out, bridge the gap that sprung between us, but who am I to fix anything right now? I can't even fix myself.

  At this point, I'm even wishing for one of my mind-melting memories. It's been all quiet on the northern front and it's making me that much more edgy. I need to be able to guide myself, because something is coming. And it's not something the boys can help me with; I can feel it in my bones.

  Maxwell clears his throat, pulling me out of my thoughts. We're in the library for our daily lesson, both of us sitting on the floor, surrounded by books. I'm reading a history book written by the elders about the beginning of wars. Maxwell is still looking through the journals to see if he can find something that may shed some light on my predicament.

  "What I don't understand," I break the silence, needing to hear something besides the turning of pages, "is if the council is so powerful, how come they can't protect the relics? Why do they need to be sent out from Skazka and brought here?"

  "The Council is five members of the most powerful families in our land, but even so, they can be killed. The Shadowlands have infiltrated our numbers for years, searching for the power that allows them to break all the rules. By bringing the relics into this dimension, The Council stands a better chance at protecting our lands. Even majyk isn't bulletproof, Calista."

  "Well, I get that. But don't you think if the all powerful were a bit more resourceful, I wouldn't be in this quandary. Did they slack in protecting me when I crossed over?"

  Every time I think about the council I get frustrated. And uneasy. Some part of me must remember them and what they failed to do for me. More than once, during my many workout sessions, I've placed my agitation with the fabulous five on the punching bag. It's hard for me to believe in their goodness when I'm a broken vessel, spilling anger and frustration all over the place.

  I know talking about them isn't Maxwell's favorite subject either. He's uncomfortable every time I speak their name. He's keeping some kind of information from me, something to do with the members, I can feel it. I can also see it in the slight movement of his shoulders, and the way his eyes fly around the room whenever I bring them up. And I do keep bringing them up. I keep poking at it, but he closes up faster than a bear trap.

  "Maybe it was part of their plan." Brendan calls out, walking into our book circle. I glance up, taking in his dark t-shirt and jeans, sculpted arms crossed against his glorious chest. He's showered after our training session earlier and I do a full survey before my eyes land on his. My mind is on overdrive, coming up with all kinds of images at that thought. The intensity that's been present for the past week is there and like always it makes my heart beat in awareness. He gives me a small nod, before plopping down on the ground beside me.

  "I haven't thought of that," Maxwell's words snap me out of my ogling. I shake my head a little, trying to disturb the image of Brendan in the shower and focus on Maxwell.

  "Haven't thought of what?" I ask, and thankfully, my voice doesn't come out as breathless as those images made me.

  "What if The Council is responsible for your memory loss? They might've done it to protect you and the relic." Maxwell replies, already leafing through another book. I don't think I've ever seen his hands not busy for more than five minutes. And that timeframe might be pushing it. I mull over the words in my mind, but something doesn't sit right.

  "No," I say before I know what I'm saying. Both of the boys look at me with interest, because there is conviction in my voice. "No." I repeat.

  "Why do you say that?" Brendan carefully asks when I don't continue. They watch me, waiting for me to come up with some kind of an explanation. It's there, in the back of my mind. Something is there, but I don't know how to reach it. I get to my feet, stretching, as I begin to walk around our makeshift circle, because I need to expel some of this energy. They don't say anything, waiting for me to work through the puzzle in my mind.

  "I don't think the council did it on purpose. I think, maybe, they were trying to help me, but it backfired." I finally say, and the words taste like truth, even before I'm done speaking. Just as they come, the pain follows. It’s not as overwhelming as if I’m having a memory flash, but it’s enough to solidify my words to me. I shut my eyes against it, and it reseeds. But barely.

  "How can you be sure?" Maxwell asks, but I don't have an actual answer. I shake my head, my hand rubbing at the temples, trying to keep the pain at bay. It's like I'm standing at an edge of a cliff, ready to plunge off without a parachute. The fear of what will happen when I reach the bottom is what's keeping me standing still.

  I hear Brendan move, before I feel him behind me. He takes me by the elbow, turning me to face him. I can't meet his eyes, because I don't want to see the pity there. He can see I'm in pain, I can't hide that from him, and the feeling of dizziness overcomes me with the thought. I’ve been here before, not two months ago. I've felt this same sense of unease, this same power racing through my veins. My mind flashes back to that night, the night when I didn’t know what was real for the first time.

  I woke up with a gasp, sitting up in my bed. Not sure what woke me, I studied the room around me, focusing on Jemma sleeping in her bed, covered by a ton of blankets. Half of those were mine, but I didn’t mind. Satisfied that she was undisturbed, I tried to figure out what woke me.

  It was dark in our room, the moon eliminating everything in an otherworldly glow. I laid back down, staring at the ceiling but the rushed beat of my heart didn’t quiet. There was a hum running over my skin, pulsating with a beat of the drum that was becoming my heartbeat. Suddenly, the need to get out of the confines of the room overpowered me. I disentangled myself from my comforter, grabbed my jacket and boots, and headed for the door.

  Once outside, I breathed in a little easier. Heading for the side of th
e courtyard, where the trees stood a little taller, making a five tree forest. Instead of settling on the bench, I plopped myself on the ground, with my back against the nearest tree. My lungs filled, as if they've been suffocating until this very moment. I closed my eyes, taking in the air around me, relaxing for the first time all day.

  I wasn’t sure when I'd become so dependent on the outside, but during that week it was suddenly the only place I could feel like myself. Running my hands over the wilted grass, I picked up one of the fallen leaves, playing with it between my fingers.

  I loved Autumn. I loved the smell of the coming rain, the feel of the leaves as they changed colors. It was as if they were in between life and death, holding on to that middle state as long as they could, before they fell to the ground.

  Maybe I was being overdramatic, but that middle state was what I'd been feeling like for weeks. I couldn’t seem to find a balance anymore, and I wasn’t sure what caused the changes. Or I didn’t want to admit to myself what caused them.

  I closed my eyes, leaning more fully on the tree, digging my fingers into the ground below me. A shiver ran through me and then, it felt like I was sitting on a heated blanket. My eyes snapped open and I glanced down. The wilted grass I thought I sat down on was actually a patch of green. It seemed to be radiating heat off the ground and I wondered if there were pipes under the soil. I could've sworn this grass wasn't green when I sat down, but it was dark and I was tired. Maybe the shadows were just playing tricks on me. It was the only reasonable explanation.

  The mix of cold air and warm ground lulled me to peace and I closed my eyes back up, enjoying the quiet contentment.

  I understand it less now than I did then. If that's possible. In the morning, when I woke up in my bed, I thought I dreamed the whole episode. But now, I’m not so sure of it anymore.

  "Hey, stay with us." Brendan says, bringing me back to reality. I’m not sure how long I’ve been standing there, silently, my mind floating through the past. Both of them are watching me now as if I'm about to dive head first into oncoming traffic and just when I think they're right, the pain dissipates.