Remembering Majyk (Skazka Chronicles Book 1)

by Valia Lind

  It's as if we've been traveling nonstop, and now, we've finally come home.

  We fall asleep tangled in each other; I wake up wrapped in his arms.

  I find that it is the sweetest treasure waking up next to him. Last night, we didn't talk, we just stayed. I guess we fell asleep somewhere in between. I know he's awake the moment I shift my weight. We lay there for a second, both of us afraid to shatter what peace we've found. It's my turn to read his mind, I guess. I feel the truth of it in my own being.

  I'm the first to rise, and I don't look at him as I head to the bathroom. A part of me is afraid. Afraid that these feelings inside me will overcome any common sense I have left. Afraid that what I'm feeling is one sided. Because no matter how much I've tried to fight against it, I began falling for Brendan the moment he stepped back into my life.

  I stare at myself in the mirror, studying the changes that have come over me. My hair, my skin, even my eyes, are all brighter somehow. The purples in my hair is vibrant now, with streaks of blueish strands making an appearance. It’s like I'm getting that glow of magic back into my system more and more each day. But there's also something else in my eyes, something I'm not entirely sure about. I run my fingers through my hair, strip and get into the shower.

  The water feels perfect against my heated skin, soothing the doubts and apprehension. I'm nervous about today. I want so much to have the answers I've been searching for, to make some kind of a progress in the madness that's become my life. I step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around myself.

  I grab for my clothes, but before my fingers make contact, I'm pulled back into the furnace. I cry out, landing solidly on my knees, the images coming fast. I hear a shout, a door banging open, but I'm too far in.

  I'm walking through the house, my fingers running over the worn wallpaper. The dog is right next to me, keeping a close watch on my movements. I enter the back room through hanging beads, the clinking as the beads come back together at my back is a familiar sound.

  "I'm sorry it has come to this," a woman speaks from the other side of the room. I can't see her face, it's hidden in the shadows.

  "I'm sorry too," it's me who's speaking now as I reach over, a leather bound journal in my outstretched hand. "You'll keep it safe." It's not a question. For some reason, questions are not needed. The woman takes the book, before wrapping her arms around me.

  "Yes," she whispers as I hug her back.

  Then, I'm gone.

  I come back to myself, as a heap of emotions on the bathroom floor. Brendan is beside me, keeping my head cradled in his arms so I won't hurt myself. Concern is etched on his face, and I want to reach out and smooth the worry lines. But I'm still reeling. He picks me up in his arms, carrying me to the bed and sitting down beside me.

  It's takes me minutes—what seems like hours—to regain my senses. The pain subdues, allowing me breathe easier, allowing me to think again. I don't pass out. I hold on to the memories, I hold on to the pain, I hold on to myself. There is work to be done. I sit up, looking Brendan in the eyes and announce,

  "I know what we're looking for."

  20

  My apprehension rises as we cross the bridge back into Main Street, Flushing.

  As I watch the water rush under us, I get a distinct sense of deja vu. I know it's ridiculous to be surprised, especially after all the visions I've had. Yet, for some reason, this sense of a normal human occurrence actually reaffirms the fact that I have been here before. It's not just a fluke.

  The clouds hang low, but surprisingly there's no rain. It might start back up at any second, but the natives are taking what time they have, enjoying a stroll through the street. Briefly, I let my mind wander to the what if's. What if I wasn't this volshebnitsa? What if I never found out about this side of my life? Jemma and I would be planning our California road trip right about now, to celebrate surviving our freshman year of college. That word survival is even more true now than it was before.

  For a moment, I miss the part of my life that's been ripped away from me by my heritage. Yet, at the same time, what if I've never met Brendan? That's the real question, because as I glance at him now, I can't imagine my life without him in it. I don't know if it's the old me, the one that knew him from before, or if it's the me who's reemerging now, but I need him to be there. He's the one constant in my life that seems to be a pillar of stability in all the madness.

  "Hold on!" I shout suddenly, without even realizing I was going to, "Turn here." Brendan jerks the steering wheel to the left, his arm shooting out in front of me to keep me from slamming into the dashboard.

  "What was that?" he asks, righting the car back unto the road.

  "I'm sorry. I don't know where that came from. I just—I got this sense of direction?" Yeah, that's a nice explanation. Way to go me! But Brendan doesn't seem to mind, he nods his head like I've said something that doesn't sound out of whack.

  "Well, good. Just next time, a little heads up maybe?"

  My laugh sounds a bit choked, but he doesn't comment. I try not to let my feelings show at the sweet gesture of saving me from face planting into the front of the car. I stare at him, studying his handsome features, because I simply cannot look away.

  "Maybe you should concentrate."

  "I am."

  "I meant on the directions."

  I open my mouth, ready with a snarky response, when another wave of direction washes over me.

  "Turn right up here."

  Focusing my full attention on my surroundings I look for a landmark to fuel the memories. I roll the window down and the smell of the place is just as vivid as a memory. These are the woods from my past, this is where I came through.

  I advise Brendan a few more times and now we're in the middle of nowhere. It's easy to get lost in these parts if you don't know where you're going, but I'm not worried. The road turns into a path, the trees stand around us like walls on every side. Yet, we keep driving. Brendan doesn't say anything else, doesn't question me when I guide him to make one last left turn. We follow the over grown path to a clearing and then the house comes into view.

  It looks exactly how I saw it in my vision, exactly how I remember it.

  It's painted red, a bold contrast against the green of the surrounding forest. There is a porch in the front that I know matches the identical one at the back. There are flowers everywhere, even in this terrible weather we've been having. The porch is filled with ceramic pots, painted in arrangement of colors, anything from bright yellow to puke purple. And then some. There is a swing on one side of the porch, and a table and chairs at the other.

  Brendan parks, and we step out of the car slowly, both of us studying our surroundings for any sign of danger. I let my heightened senses scan the forest around the house, but I don't feel any disturbances. I glance at Brendan, and he looks calm, if not puzzled. Suddenly, the front door bangs open and an older woman steps out of the shadows.

  "Calista!" she exclaims, before she's off the porch and wrapping me in her arms.

  "I knew you'd be back."

  I stand frozen in the arms of the woman from my visions, not sure what to do.

  She evokes an array of emotions, but the biggest two are confusion and safety. I look over the woman's shoulder at Brendan, and find him just as confused as I am. He's not sure if he should rip me out of the woman's arms or let me be. In the end, he allows me to take the reigns on this one and I'm grateful.

  "Let me look at you." The woman says, leaning back to study my face. "You're more beautiful than I remember. And I see you've brought Brendan." She turns to him and I see his apprehension going up a few notches, but her next words change that. "You are as handsome as she described."

  "Oh really?" And the amusement is back. I swear, I think my magical superpower is embarrassment. I'm so good at it. He winks at me, but before I can say anything, the old woman reaches out and slaps him in the shoulder.

  "Now, don't go getting a big head, mister. The girl was only stating what'
s obvious. You majyk boys are no different. Now come on."

  She doesn't give us a chance to reply as she turns on her heels and heads back to the house. I glance over at Brendan, who continues to study the woman, while rubbing his shoulder. I suppress a smile, but I kind of want to high five the strange lady for putting Brendan in his place. For some reason, that's all the encouragement I need to follow her into the house.

  The interior is exactly how I remember it and the place smells something like home. As soon as we're through the doors, a husky runs up to me, his tail wagging. He jumps up, placing his paws on my stomach, and the happiness radiating off him almost blinds me. Petting him is a comfort I didn't know I was missing. My mind instantly flashes back to the memory of the cat, but I push it aside.

  "He missed you." The woman comments from the doorway to the kitchen. "I've made tea and those cucumber and bread sandwiches you like. Here, sit, sit."

  Brendan and I are speechless. She places the food in front of us, her face lit up with a smile the whole time. I know I should say something, but I'm afraid to shatter the illusion of me coming here just to see her, of me remembering her. She pats my cheek, and disappears out of the room.

  "You have to tell her."

  "You tell her." Not exactly an adult response, but I feel bad breaking the illusion.

  "Well, the longer you wait, the more complicated it will be."

  Him and his stupid logic. I don't want logic. I want to pretend that I actually do remember everything and not just flying blind here. The moment I tell her the truth, I know the happiness will turn to confusion and some part of me wants to protect this sweet lady from that. On the other hand, I need answers. She comes back into the room, carrying some fresh berries.

  "I know how you love raspberries. I just got the best batch—“ I place my hand on her arm, halting her progress through the room. She's puzzled, but stops, watching me with a smile.

  "Please sit," I indicate the chair beside mine. Giving Brendan a bemused look, she sits, placing the berries on the table in front of us. I take a deep breath, nervous about what I have to do.

  "I'm sorry," I begin and the woman in front of me is instantly on alert. "I don't know how else to say this, but I—I lost my memories after I left here. I don't know your name or anything about you. I just know I know you. That I've been here before. I'm sorry." I repeat again, thankful I could manage to get all of that out. I watch as confusion, apprehension, and surprise flicker over her features before she looks calm again and sighs.

  "You were afraid something like this would happen."

  Sitting up a little straighter at her words, I wait for an explanation. It's Brendan who asks the important question.

  "Calista knew she was losing her memory?"

  The old woman gives him a smile and a pat on the hand before turning back to me.

  "I guess I should introduce myself then. My name is Elizabeth Glade. I'm a Keeper."

  "That's impossible." Brendan's voice rises to break off whatever else Elizabeth was going to say. I look at him sharply but I can't decipher the emotion on his face. But he's not looking at me anyway. He's watching Elizabeth like his life depends on it.

  "What's a Keeper?" I ask when they just continue to stare at each other.

  "A Keeper is a watchman over the gates. The one who lives in a safe house for travelers, if need be. Sort of like a Motel Six during the journey, before they get settled onto bigger and better things." Brendan answers, but all of his attention is still on Elizabeth.

  "Oookay."

  They continue their stare down, getting to the point of uncomfortable fast. However, Elizabeth doesn't flinch. She seems to have grown an inch or two since announcing her title. The half answer doesn't do much for me. Frustrated, I slam my hands on the table, making them both jump.

  "Now," I say, smiling sweetly, "why can't Elizabeth be a Keeper?"

  Brendan tears his gaze away from the old woman, taking a visible breath to calm his nerves. I'm on alert, because I trust his instincts. Yet, I'm desperate for the truth. It's not wise walking in the darkness when you have no idea what layout is in front of you.

  "Because there are only five keepers in this realm and she is not one of them."

  I can hear the challenge in his words, but Elizabeth doesn't seem bothered by it. She watches him steadily, looking less like a grandmother and more like a high school teacher. She’s a tough no nonsense woman, through and through. She could probably teach me a thing or two about control over my emotions.

  "Well, I guess they don't tell you everything." She finally replies.

  He growls at her words, and I have to react fast, grabbing him by the arm before he attacks her. There's something raw in his look. Raw and a bit desperate. When my hand makes contact with his skin, he exhales loudly, settling back into his chair. Glancing at me, I glimpse what's behind the anger.

  Panic.

  He's panicking and I have no idea why.

  Keeping my hand on his arm, I turn to Elizabeth. She watches us with some sort of a quiet understanding. After another moment of silence, she stands.

  "I think it'd be better if you explain."

  "What?" Brendan and I exclaim at the same time. She turns and walks out of the room without another word. We exchange a look, neither one of us knowing what to do. But before either one of us can say anything, she sticks her head back into the room.

  "Come on, you two."

  "I will live forever and forever I will live."

  "But how can this be?" she asked once.

  "I have hidden it, I have hidden it away."

  "But where have you hidden it?" she asked twice.

  "I have hidden it in a needle, which is inside of an egg, which is inside of a duck, which is inside of a hare, who is locked in an iron chest, buried under a green oak, on an island in Nowhere."

  "But what have you hidden hidden away?" she asked thrice.

  “My heart.”

  21

  Following Elizabeth out of the kitchen, my body heats up with confusion once again. I’m pushing to stay in control, but I’m afraid the power that began awakening will show its ugly head now and ruin everything before I can get any solid direction. Nothing is working out the way I expect it to. My feelings and my actions should be playing themselves out like second nature. Instead I've forgotten. I'm second guessing everything. The panic that I carry buried just under my skin flares up hotter.

  I'm lost.

  I'm not myself.

  The last thought hits me like a physical blow.

  I gasp and Brendan is instantly at my side. Grabbing me by the shoulders, he looks deeply into my eyes, calling my name. At first, I think I'm about to have a vision. It's hard to find air, my lungs feel too small to function.

  "Cal—“ he doesn't seem to know what to say, so instead he pulls me into his arms. The moment my cheek hits his chest I feel safe.

  I'm okay.

  I'm okay.

  I'm okay.

  I listen to his heartbeat, allowing my breathing to settle. After an eternity, that doesn't last long enough, he pulls away.

  "Better?"

  I nod, still unsure of what exactly happened.

  "Here," Elizabeth materializes beside me, glass of water in hand. "Drink. I think you just had a small panic attack." I gulp down the cool liquid, letting it wash over my suddenly parched throat.

  "What is wrong with me?" I don't mean to ask the question out loud, but there it is, floating in the space around us. Brendan opens his mouth to answer, but Elizabeth beats him to it.

  "Nothing is wrong with you, honey. Your body and mind are adjusting to the changes. It's normal to freak out."

  "Nothing about me is normal."

  I shudder, putting space between me and Elizabeth. A part of me wants to trust her, feels like I can, but I'm not exactly a reliable source right now. Brendan doesn't trust her, that much is evident. I can see it in his eyes as he takes a protective step toward me. I bat his hand away, once again pushi
ng for control of my emotions. I stand a little taller, facing Elizabeth.

  "Show us."

  She nods, then disappears through the curtain of beads I've seen in my vision. Before the panic can resurface, I slam it down. This roller coaster of emotions must come to an end. I know I've been trying to come to terms with every discovery, and sometimes the new information overloads my senses, but that needs to stop. I pull on that inner bravery I keep glimpsing within myself. Squaring my shoulders, I follow Elizabeth.

  The room on the other side of the curtains is what I've been searching for. If the rest of the house feels familiar, this place calls to me.

  "This was your room." Elizabeth says, before I can ask the question. It feels like my room. I can almost see myself here. I can almost remember.

  "Here, this should explain things." Elizabeth places a worn journal into my hands. When my fingers graze the cover, heat rushes over me starting at my fingertips. This book—it's mine. It belongs to me.

  "You came to me because you knew I was a Keeper." Elizabeth says, oblivious to the sensations racing over my skin as I continue to stare at the book in my hands. "You also knew something was wrong. Right away, your memories were fuzzy. You couldn't remember certain aspects of the mission. You wouldn't tell me anything, but you wrote fiercely in that book, saying you needed help in remembering. You told me to keep it safe, that no one but you could open this book, yet you didn't want it out in the open if you weren't around. Then one morning, you simply weren't."

  "You didn't look for her?" Brendan's outraged voice comes from behind me. I peek at him, his face a picture of rage.

  "It's not my job as a Keeper. I am to provide shelter and safety. It's not in my job description to question the ways of the Elite."

  "But if she was your charge—“

  "I didn't know her mission. It wasn't my place. If I'm correct, it was yours."

  "What I did—“

  "Guys!" I shout, halting their blaming match. "It's no one's fault. Well, no one in this room. Please just shut up. I'm so tired of everyone having responsibility of me. I am my own person and if you don't mind, I'm going to read."