The Restorer's Journey

by Sharon Hinck

  Yes. She understood. That was exactly right. I had just wanted to be useful.

  “And I know how much you care about Markkel.” Some distant warning prickled in the back of my mind, but I couldn’t call it forward. “He has no right to keep us from going back. We don’t belong here. You know that. He’s not even a chief councilmember. He can’t make those kinds of decisions.”

  Of course he can’t. Their policy is none of our business.

  “Cameron is the chief councilmember of Lyric,” she said. “The clans are counting on him.”

  I had been taking rapid shallow breaths, but my breathing began to slow and I felt myself nodding. My head grew heavy. I was being pulled forward. Sinking. If something hadn’t been holding me, I would have fallen.

  “You don’t want to cause trouble for Markkel,” she crooned. “You can help him. You can help everyone. You like to help people, don’t you?”

  Oh, yes. If I could just fix this—make everyone happy. That’s all that matters.

  “Why didn’t the portal open from this side?” Her words were smooth and liquid.

  I looked up and saw our family photo on the refrigerator behind Medea, held in place with daisy magnets. I sucked a breath in and remembered who I was. “No.” I tried to say the word with strength, but it came out as a whisper.

  Medea shifted her position to move into my sight line again. I couldn’t see past her anymore. “How do we get the portal to send us back?” Her voice was as sweet as a little girl’s.

  “Can’t.” I gasped and squeezed my eyes shut.

  A flare of rage sprang up inside me. I stiffened and wrenched against the ropes. I felt a moment of confusion and then realized the burst of anger was hers. It had happened the other time she had gotten into my head. I had absorbed her feelings, not just the thoughts she had been deliberately projecting into me.

  “Patience,” Cameron hissed at Medea from behind me.

  Medea gave a deep sigh. “I’ve been away from home too long.” The words were so soft I almost missed them, but in a brief instant of coherence, I filed that information away to think about later.

  “Open your eyes.” At first I didn’t realize Cameron was talking to me. His fingers dug hard into my collarbone. I shrank down into the chair but couldn’t get away.

  “Look,” Medea said.

  My eyes blinked open in reflex.

  She smiled. Light seemed to pulse in her green eyes. “Yessss. We are very grateful for your help. You are saving Markkel a lot of trouble. He’ll be so glad when this is over and we’ve left.”

  She was right. We could go back to normal life.

  “So how do we make the portal work?”

  “You need all three stones.” It was a relief to say the words. The secret wasn’t my responsibility anymore. The weeks and weeks of carrying around hidden knowledge were over.

  “Where are the stones?” Medea’s singsong continued to lull me.

  “Two are still in the attic, but Mark hid one.”

  “Where?”

  I frowned. I wanted to help them so much. “I don’t know.”

  “It’s true.” Medea broke eye contact to talk to Cameron. He let go of me.

  I sagged deeper into the chair. All my joints turned to liquid, and heavy fatigue weighted my entire body.

  “I’ll get him for you.” Cameron walked toward the basement door.

  Medea shook her head. “I can’t. I’m tired.”

  I watched from under heavy lids as he veered toward her. He stroked her hair, touching her with an admiration I’d seen him show only for the weapons he collected. “You rest. I’ll take care of it.” Cameron disappeared into the basement.

  Lethargy pulled me under—mine, Medea’s, or a combination—and everything faded away. I didn’t know how much time had passed, but when I came to, Medea was resting her head in her arms on the kitchen table.

  Cameron came back from the basement. His tie was loosened, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. His skin was flushed and damp as if he had been using a treadmill. He walked over to Medea, and she lifted her head. “Better?” he asked. She nodded. The tenderness in his voice disappeared as he grabbed my arm and yanked me to my feet. “Move.”

  The fog was lifting from my brain, but I was still confused and unsteady on my legs. Vaguely aware of going downstairs, my eyelids floated closed. When I opened them again, I saw Mark.

  Sweet God in heaven, help him. My heart screamed the prayer in silence.

  Cameron used a knife to cut away the cords on my wrists and released me to go to Mark.

  I dropped to the floor, ignoring the pain in my shoulders as I brought my arms forward. Mark was unconscious, and I was glad for his sake. Jon had once fallen out of a tree, hitting several branches with his face on the way down. This was ten times worse. Swelling, bruises, gashes.

  I touched his face gently and kissed the one unmarked spot I could find on his forehead. My tears splashed onto his battered face. “Mark, oh, Mark. It isn’t worth it. Don’t do this.”

  “Stubborn, isn’t he? He fails to listen to reason. If you don’t want me to become more . . . persuasive, you’d better convince him to talk to me.” Cameron looked down at Mark with clinical detachment. “I’m giving you some time with him. Use it well.” He retreated to the stairs and sat down, giving me some semblance of privacy with Mark.

  Fury clawed at me, and I spared one killing glare in Cameron’s direction, but he still had a gun tucked in his belt and a knife in his hand. Helping Mark was more important. I pulled a tissue from my pocket and blotted away some of the blood on his face. He stirred, and I helped him hold his head up, cushioning it so it wouldn’t hit the pipe behind him.

  One eye was swelling shut, but his other shone grey-blue and alert as he came to. Mark’s face went ashen as his gaze tracked the cut on my face. “What did he do to you?” He tried to take a deep breath and winced.

  “I’m fine. He just wanted to be sure I wasn’t the Restorer anymore. It’s nothing. Are you okay?” Inane questions were my specialty.

  Mark must have been thinking the same thing, because his mouth twitched. “Just fine.” Then his eyes narrowed. “As long as we can keep them from whatever they’re planning, I’ll stay fine.”

  I lowered my voice to a harsh whisper. “Mark, this is crazy. Cameron will kill you. Why are you doing this?”

  He didn’t answer right away. His whole body sagged, and he stared past me. “I was just thinking about Anne and her ‘regrets.’ Remember?”

  I managed a watery smile. We’d often take walks after supper with Jon and Anne to spot the heron, box turtles, and myriad wildlife that visited the neighborhood pond. One evening a few years earlier, when Mark and I were lost in conversation, Anne tugged my hand. “Mommy! The regrets flew over the pond.”

  I crouched beside her in confusion, puzzled by what regrets she was having at age five. Maybe she was composing a haiku. She shook her head until her curls bounced, then she pointed. I glimpsed gleaming white wings as a stately egret disappeared beyond the tree line. From that moment on, whenever I saw the huge wings soaring over the pond, I prayed for my own regrets to float away with the same grace.

  I glanced behind me to be sure Cameron wasn’t listening. “What are you trying to tell me?” I whispered, leaning close to Mark.

  “Susan, I quit training as a guardian. I fled Lyric. Then I decided to stay here even though the clans were in danger. If I can do something . . . anything . . . to stop Cameron from causing more damage, it’s the least I can do.”

  I sat back, more afraid than before. “So that’s what this is about? Regrets? Atonement?” More tears ran down my face, stinging the cut on my cheek. “Mark, we’ve been through this before. You are the bravest man I know. You don’t need to prove anything.”

  He gave me a steady look and didn’t speak.

&nbs
p; My panic grew. “They aren’t giving up. How far do you plan to take this?”

  He grimaced as he shifted position. “My father gave his life for our people. How could I do less?”

  Cold dread twisted like an icy blade beneath my sternum. This wasn’t just guilt about his past choices. Mark’s whole model of what it meant to be a man was tangled up in memories of the father he barely knew. Sacrifice, martyrdom, death. “Mark, you did what you were supposed to do. You brought restoration like the prophecy said you would. You think the only way to make a difference is to die? Please. I can’t let you—”

  “Hey, Mom. How come the alarm system is turned off?” Jake bellowed from the upstairs hall. I sprang to my feet.

  Cameron was already racing up the steps.

  “Jake, run!” I shouted, scrambling toward the stairs. Something crashed overhead. My warning had come too late.

  Chapter

  5

  Susan

  Cameron flourished his gun as he forced Jake into the basement. Jake looked pale, but seemed wound up with reckless energy and ready to throw himself into a confrontation. When he saw the blood on my face and shirt, his expression changed and some of his jittery vigor dissolved. This wasn’t a game or an attack scenario he had practiced at the fencing club.

  I stepped between Mark and Jake, wanting to protect each from the sight of the other. Cameron elbowed me aside and pulled my son forward. Jake saw his father and gasped. He stumbled and his cheeks lost their remaining color. Mark’s chin dropped in weary resignation.

  Cameron chambered a bullet with a loud click and aimed the gun at Jake’s head. “I had a son once. He was Jake’s age when he died.” An eerie sliver of rage flickered in Cameron’s eyes. He would enjoy squeezing the trigger.

  I turned my panicked gaze toward Mark. He had seen it too.

  “I’ll open the portal for you.” His words were quiet, layered with shame and defeat.

  Relief eased some of the cramping in my muscles. Mark would agonize later about being forced into this decision, but he would be alive. Jake would be alive. It was the only choice.

  “Untie him.” Cameron wasn’t smirking in triumph as I would have expected—probably disappointed he wouldn’t need to do more violent “persuading.”

  I pried the ropes loose, and it took both Jake and me to help Mark to his feet.

  “My workbench,” my husband said between ragged gasps. He was having trouble standing and breathing at the same time. As soon as Cameron and Medea left, I’d drive him to the emergency room. He could come up with some explanation for all his injuries. He was great at making up stories.

  We helped him to the corner of the basement where he kept all his woodworking tools. A counter attached to the wall held a bewildering assortment of bins that overflowed with nails, screws, and odd bits I couldn’t even guess the purpose of. He shoved aside a couple of the boxes, pulled out a drawer, and lifted a smooth black stone from the back.

  “I need to line it up with the others in the attic.” His words mumbled past cut and swollen lips. Cameron nodded and gestured with his gun. We made our way slowly up the stairs.

  Medea, still in the kitchen, uncoiled from her chair. “Jake. It’s so good to see you again.” Her voice was a low purr.

  A wave of nausea gripped me. I fought it down and concentrated on helping Mark stay upright. “Don’t look at her. Don’t talk to her,” I warned Jake.

  Medea’s laugh sparkled, and I found myself liking her. I ripped away that illusion and glared. She laughed again, and I stormed toward the pull-down stairs in the back hall.

  The sooner we sent them on their way, the better.

  The attic was stuffy and ridiculously crowded with all of us jammed into the small space. Piled in the corner were the bags that Cameron had lugged upstairs earlier. I hoped that somehow they wouldn’t pass through the portal. Whatever they contained was sure to cause trouble for the clans.

  As soon as Mark positioned the three stones, humming energy began to drone.

  Cameron watched with an officious politician’s smile. “Thank you. You’ve done a great service to the people of Lyric.” It startled me to realize that Cameron still believed his own rhetoric.

  “Chief Councilmember”—I forced a respectful tone that almost made me gag—“I know you want to keep Lyric safe. Whatever you’re planning, the Verses already promise that your people will be protected. Look at how the One delivered Braide Wood at Morsal Plains, or stopped the attack on Lyric by sending a Restorer.” My voice grew impassioned. “You don’t have to form alliances that are forbidden or gather weapons—”

  “You are not addressing the Council now.” Cameron’s eyes turned cold. “You had your fun. Stirred up trouble. Inconvenienced me.” He took a step toward me. Mark stood up, one of the stones in his hand. The buzzing faded and Cameron’s gaze jerked toward Mark.

  “Leave her alone or you’ll never go back.” Mark’s threat wasn’t diminished by the brokenness of his body. His will was a steel core that wouldn’t be bent. Beside him, Jake’s eyes widened in admiration.

  Cameron was less impressed. “Stop wasting time. Open the portal.” He swung his gun toward Jake, and Mark turned back to his work. He eyed the angle and proximity of each stone. He moved one of them about two feet farther to the side. The humming grew, and threads of electrical light crackled in the air. I looked down, biting my lip. I didn’t want Cameron to read my face and notice what I had just recognized.

  Mark had positioned the stones the wrong way.

  He glanced at me with a grim smile that he quickly covered. I worked hard to hide my own surge of glee.

  “It’s working.” Mark stood, stooped under the low rafters.

  Cameron looked ready to make another speech, but Medea rested her hand on his arm. “Don’t forget what you promised me.”

  His gaze caressed her face. “Of course.”

  Jake inched closer, but Cameron’s attention swung back to him. He wasn’t careless enough to give any of us a chance to jump him.

  “Hand me those bags.”

  Jake hefted one of the heavy duffel bags, ready to swing it at Cameron’s head.

  Medea noticed. “Thank you for helping us, Jake. You’ve been very important to me. I won’t forget.” The soporific words leached all resistance from him, and he handed the bag to Cameron and gave another to Medea.

  “I wish we could take you with us,” she added, her voice oversweet like vanilla icing, “but it’s not in our plan right now. Perhaps we’ll come back someday.”

  Those words sent a shiver through me. Mark put a protective arm around Jake, who looked as dazed as when we’d pried him out of bed for Easter sunrise service. I watched them, warmed by Mark’s gruff tenderness as he looked down at our son. I almost missed the movement at the edge of my vision. I turned to react. Too late.

  Cameron grabbed me and pulled me into the space between the stones at the same moment he and Medea stepped forward.

  I twisted, trying to wrench away. I had one glimpse of Mark and Jake, their faces stretched in shock. Mark shouted something, but I couldn’t hear it. A huge thunderstorm crashed around my head, and my ears ached from pressure as if I were on a rapidly landing airplane. Everything went black except for fragments of light—broken glass that sparkled and jabbed my skull with the pain of a migraine. I was being crushed, or expanded, or torn in two.

  “Mark!” I tried to scream, but I couldn’t hear my own voice. I swirled in a tornado of electrical energy that built to a frenzy and then short-circuited. I couldn’t hear or see anything anymore. Stray crackles of static skittered over my skin.

  Then I felt nothing.

  Chapter

  6

  Jake

  A light flashed with a loud pop, and my mom disappeared with Cameron and Medea. My body jerked with the kind of tw
itch you get when you’re almost asleep. I snapped awake as if windshield wipers had scraped away the confusing blur in my brain. I could think again.

  My dad stumbled toward the space between the stones. He could barely walk, but he was going to throw himself into the portal.

  I grabbed his arm. “Dad! Wait. We need a plan. We need swords.”

  He moaned and sank to his knees. “What have I done?” I could barely make out his words. Blood trickled from his swollen lips.

  Panic rushed through me like when Cameron had stepped around a corner of our living room with a gun aimed at my face.

  “Dad, it’s okay. We’ll figure this out.” He was the parent. He was supposed to reassure me.

  He looked up at me, struggling to breathe. His face held an expression I’d never seen before—something so hopeless that I stepped back. What’s wrong with him? Then I blinked and the expression was gone. He was my dad again. He’d figure out what we needed to do.

  “Come on. I can drive you to the doctor’s. Then we’ll grab some supplies and go after them.”

  Dad shook his head. “I don’t need a doctor, but we should bring some gear.” He made his way unsteadily to the opening in the floor.

  We climbed down to the hallway. I planned to convince Dad to go to the clinic, but the cooler air downstairs seemed to revive him and he limped to the bathroom with only a little support from the walls. Once he washed all the blood off his face, he looked better, so I decided not to press the point.

  What would we need? My memory of the past hour was a little foggy, and a dull headache throbbed every time I tried to remember my conversations with Cameron and Medea. I hadn’t stopped them. Had I helped them? My stomach clenched. I was afraid to ask.

  Dad rummaged in the closet by the kitchen door but winced as he reached for a backpack.

  “Just sit down and tell me what to pack. I’ll take care of it.” I yanked open our freezer and pulled out a bag of peas. One of Mom’s tricks. It worked on sprained ankles, black eyes . . . all kinds of injuries that the four of us brought home.