Descendant

by Giles, Nichole

  He takes my things and leads me down the stairs, and as I do a quick doors-locked-stove-off check, I find myself anxious to be on our way. When I meet Kye at the front door, he fingers my necklace. “That’s pretty. What is it?”

  “Alexandrite. Maybe it’ll help clear up some of the fog for me.”

  “How does it change colors like that? One second it’s purple, the next it’s green.”

  “Depends. Mood. What my body needs. Sometimes it’s lighting.” I fill Erda’s bowls with food and water. “Watch over Mom for me.”

  Kye pats her furry head. “Is she a good watchdog?”

  I squat down to hug her and scratch behind her ears. “Only if licking a robber to death makes a good defense.”

  Erda only whines a little when I leave her inside and lock the door, but it gives me a sad pang just the same. Kye stows my duffle bag in the back of a black SUV and opens the door for me. “What does it mean when your necklace turns that purple-blue color it is now?”

  I slide into the seat, my ribs throbbing again. “It’s giving me strength to take a risk.”

  “Well, now, that’s handy, isn’t it?” Kye closes the door and walks around the car, as steady on the icy road as he was in the moving bus. Oh, yeah. A big-enormous-giant-crazy-stupid risk.

  SIXTEEN

  The Journey Begins

  “Are you okay?” Kye asks as he buckles his seatbelt.

  Our plane—small as it is—has two seats on one side of the narrow aisle and one on the other. The airline staff includes two flight attendants and two pilots, because—I assume—it’s some kind of law that every airplane has to have at least two people on board who know how to fly the thing, and two to keep everyone calm if we go down.

  I clear my throat and try to shake away my nerves. “Yeah. Why?”

  “You seem a little ... off.”

  “Really? A little off?” I snap. “Huh. And here I thought I was doing so well, all things considered.”

  He freezes, glancing sidelong at me. “What’s wrong?”

  I stare out the window as the attendant seals the door and the engines roar to life. Don’t take it out on him. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be a brat. I have a massive headache.” Might as well admit it. “And I’m sad. I feel like this is it, you know? Like I’m growing up and leaving home and nothing will ever be the same again. Ever. I didn’t expect it to come so soon.” My voice cracks on the last word and I turn my face away to hide the sheen of tears in my eyes. This is not the time to turn into a crybaby.

  “I’d love to lie and say you’re wrong, but I can’t.” His hand caresses my cheek. “It’s okay to be sad, though. Some parts of growing up really suck.”

  “Yes. They really do.” As the plane moves onto the tarmac, I do my best to get comfortable and close my eyes. I’m still so tired.

  “Do you want some aspirin? I’ll ask the flight attendant for something.”

  “It won’t help. The broken energy has to funnel out while the good energy stitches back together. This really isn’t the best day for me to travel.”

  His fingers graze my cheekbone again and my heart stutters like it did on the bus. Then his lips touch mine—soft as the brush of a feather. “I’m sorry,” he breathes. “Go ahead and sleep.”

  And I do.

  The next thing I know, Kye’s shaking me awake. “Come on, Abby, time to change planes.”

  My eyes pop open. “Where are we?”

  “Salt Lake City. One more flight and we’ll be in Las Vegas.”

  He looks so cheerful, so encouraging, I don’t have the heart to tell him that all Eric’s bad energy is about to find a way out of my body via my mouth. It’s a good thing we’re taxiing to the gate. As we disembark, the coolness of the breezeway soothes my nausea a bit. I breathe deep—taking in the winter air perfumed with airplane fuel—and will myself to hold in the contents of my stomach until we find a restroom.

  Upon seeing the sign with the gray triangle lady, I bolt, leaving Kye calling after me. When I emerge several minutes later, I feel like a new woman. Not only have I expelled the majority of the bad energy that was causing me pain, I’ve washed my face and gargled an entire fifty-cent bottle of mouthwash from the dispenser.

  “Feeling better?” Kye looks me up and down, as if inspecting me for defects.

  I nod. “Lots. Do we have time to eat? I’m starving.”

  His eyebrows crinkle together. “But you just ... I thought you were sick?”

  “I was.” I dig into my purse, looking for my wallet. “Most of the bad energy’s gone now, but I need some protein to help finish the job. Another couple hours of sleep, a few more trips to restrooms, and I should be good as new.”

  With an arm around me, he steers us to the nearest food vendor. “You bet. How do you feel about cheese?”

  The lights from the Strip cast a festive glow in the dusky sky as the plane circles to land. We catch a taxi and head for the Luxor, where the guy we’re looking for supposedly works. Thousands of blinking lights wiz by, making me feel as if I’ve stepped into a time vortex. Too bad I can’t go back to the night Gram died and undo everything. “If this guy is Akers’s friend, why couldn’t we just call him? Why come all the way here for our answers?”

  “Lan doesn’t think it’s safe to talk about this stuff over the phone. He’s probably right.”

  The pyramid is built from blocks of black glass rather than Egyptian clay, and a bright light pierces the sky in a straight line from the top. Our driver stops at the curb in front of the entrance.

  “Why didn’t he come himself?”

  “Landon and this guy, Juri, had some kind of falling out,” Kye says. “He wasn’t sure the guy would talk to him.”

  The line for the check-in desk winds around the lobby only feet away from tables where women in flashy mini-dresses sit next to men in T-shirts with poker chips stacked at their elbows. Egyptian symbols have been etched into walls, and another pyramid—a smaller version of the building in which we’re now standing—advertises an IMAX theater. We move with a strong sense of purpose, up an escalator, past the theater, and stop near a shop boasting a King Tut display to look closer at a board etched with fake hieroglyphs.

  I touch the symbols for peace and happiness, hoping this journey will end with both.

  Kye’s looking at a marking without a caption. It isn’t in line with the rest and it’s not made from the same characters. The shape looks like an upside-down Y with a line through it and two small marks in the upper corners.

  “Whaddayaknow. This place is marked.” Kye removes a piece of paper from his pocket, unfolds it, and holds it up to the symbol. His paper is stamped with an identical symbol.

  “What is it?”

  “The mark of the ancient Elen. Not to be confused with the Dark Elen.”

  “Does that mean we’re in the right place?”

  He studies his paper again. “Hope so.”

  From the corner of my eye, I catch movement in a nearby shadow—a short man in a brown trench coat, watching us. My stomach clenches. The man is shaped like an orange, and something about him feels both familiar and wrong. “Kye.”

  Kye grabs my hand, dragging me down the escalator into the casino. The man doesn’t follow, but I can’t shake the feeling that he’s watching us.

  “Creepy.” I murmur.

  “Yes,” Kye agrees.

  We enter a door marked employees only and walk down a wide hallway into a utility room filled with computers. A tiny imprint of the symbol on Kye’s paper is etched on the side of an enormous metal box.

  On a large door, almost as big as my bedroom wall, the symbol is stamped into the frame about halfway up. Kye tries the knob but it’s locked, and when he knocks no one replies.

  I follow him back into the casino. “Maybe we should just ask for him at the front desk.”

  “We will.” He runs his fingers through his hair as we drop onto a bench. “I wanted to get a feel for the place, scope out escape routes. I hope this w
ill be easy, but with our luck, it won’t. We have to prepare for the worst, you know?”

  No, I don’t know. I wonder again what I’m doing here.

  Kye pulls out his phone and hits a button. “We’re here. This place is marked and I don’t know what it’s supposed to mean. We haven’t talked to that Juri guy yet, but I’m not getting a good feeling. Call me when you get this. It’s ten hours till we’re in the air again.” He glances at me and frowns as he deposits the phone in his pocket. “I wonder why Lan didn’t answer. He always answers.”

  “Maybe he’s in the shower. Or didn’t hear his phone ring.”

  A savory aroma tickles my nose and my stomach growls. Kye sends me an apprehensive glance. “Are you going to be sick again?”

  “Not yet.” I lean against the wall, probe my ribs with my fingers, and realize that the pain has diminished to a dull throb. This is good, since I expected them to be sore for another day or two. “But I’m getting hungry.”

  “Me too. Let’s find this guy so we can get out of here.” He pulls me up and keeps my hand in his as we head back through the casino to the front lobby. The lady at the information desk frowns when Kye asks for Juri but doesn’t know if it’s his first name or his last. She picks up her phone receiver and turns her back on us, speaking in a hushed voice. Facing us again, she gestures at a security guard. “Walt will take you to Mr. Juri’s office.”

  Walt, a big guy in a scary-looking uniform, eyes us up and down, causing my heart to pound in apprehension. No turning back now. We follow him down the same hall we explored a few minutes ago, but this time a cloud of dark energy looms, threatening to overwhelm me. The lights flicker and dim.

  I squeeze Kye’s hand until my fingers ache, trying to tell him something’s not right. He squeezes back. He feels it too.

  Walt opens the enormous door, and terror slams into me as I’m met with a pair of familiar cat-like yellow eyes. I know this man. I remember seeing him the night Gram died. His eyes bore into me and I feel an evil kind of heat in him. The blood drains from my face and the air backs up in my lungs. Kye squeezes my hand. “Abby?”

  “It’s him,” I whisper. “I know him.”

  The man shakes his head. “Can I help you?”

  Kye’s muscles go rigid and he pulls me close with a protective arm. “Mr. Juri? Landon Akers sent us.”

  SEVENTEEN

  Landon and Juri

  The round man swivels back and forth, resting his elbows on the surface of an expensive desk with his fingers locked together. Shelves line the walls, crammed with books and Egyptian-style artifacts that may or may not be authentic. Walt directs us to two metal folding chairs, then steps out and drags the heavy door closed as Mr. Juri starts to speak. “How is Landon these days?”

  “He’s doing well.” Kye leans back in his chair, faking a calm I know he doesn’t feel, exchanging pleasantries with Juri. My attention falls on a dusty, framed picture propped on a shelf near my head. I pick it up and rub the dust off. A much younger Mr. Akers has his arm draped around a younger Juri. I notice Juri’s eyes seem greener rather than dull yellow, and he wasn’t nearly so round. The men are standing next to a wooden sign that reads Welcome to Mount St. Helens. A tall, cone-shaped mountain forms a distant background. The picture is date-stamped March 14, 1980.

  “We were best friends,” Juri says, indicating the picture. “A very long time ago.”

  I hand the picture to Kye. “Is it rude to ask what happened?”

  Juri sighs. “Take it out of the frame.”

  Kye does as he says. There’s a note on the back:

  To Juri—my best friend and fellow adventure seeker. May you someday find the freedom you’re looking for and the life you deserve. If you change your mind, you know where to find us.

  ~Landon

  I glance at Kye, wondering what he’s thinking. He takes a deep breath as if unsure how to proceed, then says, “What can you tell us about the Elen?”

  Juri sits back and taps his lips with his index fingers.” Why?”

  “The Dark Ones are looking for some Keys. It’s important that we find them first.”

  Juri cocks his head to one side. “So, what do you want from me?”

  “Landon suggested you might have information that could help us,” Kye says.

  I squeeze my fingers together and lean my elbows on my knees to help me keep calm. My gut clenches again, hard.

  “Why should I help you?” Juri says, his eyes flicking to a shelf behind us. He’s considering it.

  “Because,” Kye says, “something really, really bad will happen if we don’t track down these Keys.”

  “Like, maybe end-of-the-world bad,” I add.

  Juri throws up his hands like he doesn’t care about the world potentially ending.

  “What about friendship? You and ... Landon were friends. I can tell you loved him.” I hold out the picture. “Look how happy you were here.” Juri stares at the picture but doesn’t take it. “He sent us to you because he trusted that you would help us. Please.”

  Juri stands, leaning against the desk. “Was,” he grunts. “He was my friend. Past-tense.”

  “We’re in trouble,” Kye murmurs, looking stricken—hurt. “Landon’s in trouble.”

  Juri picks up the photo and tosses it in a drawer. “The day after that picture was taken, everything fell apart. The world exploded around us, and when the dust cleared, we stood on opposite sides. I got no loyalty left for Landon. Haven’t seen or talked to him since.”

  “But you care about him. I can tell.” I inch my way around the desk so I’m facing Juri. “Whatever happened between you back then is history. Or it can be. If you help us, maybe you and Landon can make amends.”

  A look of despair flickers on Juri’s face. “That’s not going to happen. But ...” He stands, drags a heavy book off a shelf, and sets it on the desk. Then, reaching up the sleeve of his jacket, he produces a tiny silver key. “He saved my life once. I’ll share what I know, but then you’re on your own. My debt to Landon will be repaid in full.” When he turns the book around, I realize it’s actually a lock-box.

  Juri inserts the key and opens the top. Nestled in a bed of black velvet, a large, flat slab of clear quartz carved with a series of odd shapes around its edges gleams in the dim overhead lights, casting an eerie, greenish glow.

  “What is it?” Kye asks.

  “A Cairn Elen.” When we both give him a blank look, Juri explains, “An ancient slab stone that marks a spiritual pathway. They’re usually embedded in the ground at a sacred crossroads. This one holds a great deal of history and future prophesies of Dryden and the royal family.”

  On the opposite side of the room, Juri pushes aside more books to reveal a wall safe, from which he removes an object wrapped in gray linen.

  “What does it do?” I ask, glancing back at the enormous stone.

  “I’m getting to that part.” He unwinds the cloth and draws out a crystal blade with a jeweled silver handle. “It’s a dagger,” he says in response to our questioning looks. “Made of crystal quartz. Very, very old.” As he speaks, he slides the sharp point into one of the triangular shapes in the top of the Cairn Elen.

  A rainbow of colors spins around the room like a whirlwind, settling above the stone and melding into random shapes and forms. Kye and I lean forward, awestruck, as the hovering colors take shape and turn into a moving picture, not unlike a digital movie. An auburn-haired lady smiles, clapping a hand to her mouth as a handsome young man kneels, holding up a sparkling ring. She nods, and the man jumps up, hauls the woman off her feet, and swings her around in a circle. The picture fades and another one forms. Another woman—tall and statuesque—looks over her shoulder and crooks her finger.

  I recognize her from my dreams. My visions.

  Behind the woman, the colors form a middle-aged man in chainmail armor. He bows with a playful smile as he runs toward her and scoops her into his arms. Her emerald pendant catches the light and flashes as she tak
es his face in her hands. The embrace is intimate—and inappropriate between a queen and her bodyguard—yet I’m positive the man resembles the guard more than the burly king.

  Again, I keep my thoughts to myself.

  Next, a fatigued, war-worn man stumbles across a castle courtyard and falls on his knees in front of an enormous door. The door opens, and the man holds his hands out, begging, but the king’s servant glares at him, eyes full of scorn, and turns him away. With a look of desperation, the man reaches into his cloak, producing a jewel-encrusted crystal dagger, and offers it to the king. The servant shakes his head and closes the door as the man crumples to the ground, weeping.

  The colors swirl together and become the hands of a child, lifting a glowing stone off a crude rock pedestal. A young face is illuminated in the stone’s glow as the boy kisses it and drops it in a brown leather pouch tied around his wrist. He crows in triumph, only to have the world around him quake and rumble. The picture pans out, becoming a forest of trembling trees. The mossy dirt on the ground breaks in half and the fissure spreads rapidly between the child’s feet. Smoke erupts from the new crevice and billows after the boy as he runs and runs and runs, screaming in terror.

  When the lights fade, Juri whispers, “One more. There should be another.” Smoke pours from the place where the dagger meets the Cairn Elen and the picture blazes brighter as the colors swirl like a whirlwind, not taking a solid shape for several seconds.

  When it does, newborn twin boys lie naked on a cloth. One has his mouth open in a wail and his eyes glow amber, nearly red. His skin is deep purple, wrinkled and puckered from birth. The other baby appears to be the polar opposite of his brother. He smiles, his bright blue eyes curious and wise. A healthy blush tints his perfect, smooth skin, offset by downy-white, angel-soft hair.

  Rough hands reach out from under a dark cloak and take the darker baby away without ever being held to his mother’s breast to nurse. The lighter brother cries, but the scene leaves him behind to follow the cloaked figure, whose face remains concealed. He carries the other infant through a forest to a door in the side of a mountain. Holding the child above his head, the figure falls to one knee and calls out as if offering a sacrifice. The door opens.