Five: A Maor Novel (Maor series)

by Caroline Greyling

  ‘Drink,’ she says.

  I swallow the concoction, which is bitter with the lack of honey. I don’t know what’s in there but I do taste rosemary and sage. When the glass is drained, Nan takes it from me, places it in the sink and I wait for her to return to me before I ask:

  ‘Do you love Jake?’

  She smiles at me.

  ‘Of course I do. I’m not in love with him, that would be impossible, but -’

  ‘Impossible?’

  She stops and her smile fades a little as she gives me a searching look.

  ‘I’m just curious,’ I say quickly, ‘I mean, does my aura affect him too?’

  ‘Heavens, no!’ Nan says, with a little laugh, ‘Can you imagine? How would he ever concentrate enough to protect you?’ She shakes her head. ‘Your seastnan is immune to your aura. Just as he is immune to falling in love with you, and you with him.’

  She turns and begins to pack bandages back into the first-aid kit, oblivious of the shock and disappointment coursing through me.

  ‘No, thankfully, you never have to worry about that. Kael could never fall in love with you.’

  The after-effects of Nan’s words stay with me well into the early hours of the morning, making sleep impossible. The pain in my wrist doesn’t help either and eventually, I give up and crawl into the window-seat, with Five on my lap. It’s not easy to write with my left hand but this is the only way I know how to make sense of the chaotic emotions swirling around inside me.

  It takes me a while to settle on one particular word and the page is scribbled with an array of crossed-out words: disbelief, sadness, broken-heartedness, until I finally scrawl the closest word that can explain the cold, emptiness inside me. Hopelessness.

  Kael could never fall in love with you. What is it that he feels for me then? What drove him to kiss me – twice? If it’s not love and it’s not my aura, what is it? And if it’s supposed to be ‘impossible’ for me to fall in love with him, why does my heart stutter every time I see him? Why do I long for him to touch me?

  The sound of my cell phone startles me. The ringtone is enough to send dread curling through my stomach. Nobody calls at this hour unless it’s life or death. I snatch the phone up quickly and check the caller ID; it’s Jenne. My heart skips a beat as I hit ‘answer’.

  ‘What’s wrong, Jenne?’ I say.

  My heart plummets as I hear the faint sound of her sniffing.

  ‘Oh, God, Shaylee,’ she says. ‘Your house – it’s gone.’

  ‘What,’ I say, feeling an icy shiver creep up my spine. I spring up and begin pacing agitatedly before the window. ‘What do you mean, gone?’

  ‘They burned it to the ground!’

  ‘What? Who? Why?’

  ‘God, I don’t even know what they were. They wanted you!’

  The icy shiver turns into full-blown panic.

  ‘My parents – are they alright?’

  Jenne lets out a sob.

  ‘No, please, no!’ I sink to my knees as all the blood rushes to my stomach. I feel a rush of wind and then Kael stands before me. He reaches out but I shake my head.

  ‘Talk to me, Jenne!’ I demand.

  ‘They stabbed your mother, Shaylee. With iron.’

  Kael’s eyes lock with mine and they are filled with a mixture of sympathy and horror.

  ‘Is she -’ I hesitate, unable to articulate the rest of the sentence but Jenne spares me from having to ask.

  ‘She’s still alive. Dad’s treating her but – it’s bad, Shaylee. I don’t know if she’s going to make it.’ Her voice breaks and the sound of her sobbing doubles me over. Kael reaches out toward me, but I bat his hand away and turn my wild eyes to his.

  ‘I have to go to her,’ I say but he immediately shakes his head.

  ‘No, you can’t come here!’ Jenne says, ‘That’s exactly what they want!’

  ‘But it’s my mother!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Shaylee,’ Kael says, ‘but she’s right. We can’t risk -’

  ‘Dammit, she’s my mother!’ I shout, my voice full of anguish.

  A tremor rolls through me and Kael eyes me with alarm. He steps forward and wrests the phone from my ear.

  ‘Jenne? Shaylee has to go. Keep us updated.’

  He disconnects the call and forces me into his tight embrace. I struggle, remembering the last conversation – or should I say argument – I had with my mother. I don’t deserve comfort. I’m the reason my mother lies injured. I’m the reason she might not make it. Why do I always put the ones I love in danger? Why do I always hurt them?

  The pressure inside me builds but Kael holds me tight until I give up and sag against him. He lifts me, cradles my body in his lap and sits with me at the end of the bed, rubbing his hand in small circles across my back. I lay my head against his chest, but I don’t cry.

  My gaze settles on the pot of chrysanthemums beside my bed and I just stare at them. For the first time ever, their heads are turned away from me.

  Chapter 50

  Betrayal

  Tastes like: Lime.

  Smells like: Decay.

  Sounds like: A whimper.

  Feels like: A tattoo-needle, scraping into your flesh.

  Looks like: Judas’ kiss.

  Kael is staring at me from the other side of the horse-shoe. His expression is worried. I think he expects me to cry, but I can’t squeeze any more emotion out from my wrung out mind or body. Besides, crying would be a relief, and I don’t deserve any.

  I know this emergency meeting is important. Nan called it to discuss the escalating events. They’ve spent the past hour – or is it more – discussing the kidnapping, the fires, and the attack on my parents…

  I’ve been sitting here, but I haven’t heard a word. Snatches of phrases and sentences flit through my head in an incoherent mess.

  Kael could never fall in love with you.

  It’s bad, Shaylee.

  He’s immune to you.

  We don’t know if she’s going to make it.

  I should be there, with my mother. She annoys the hell out of me most of the time, but she’s my mother.

  I blink and frown, trying to focus on what Nan is saying but I only catch the tail end of Kael’s response to her question.

  ‘The kidnappers were human,’ he says. There are a few surprised murmurs.

  ‘But what would humans want with Shaylee?’ Sarah asks.

  ‘They must be working for someone,’ Kael says, ‘or something.’

  A hushed stillness descends on the meeting.

  ‘What if they return?’ Nan asks. ‘How are we going to protect Shaylee?’

  I expect Kael to reply with his usual: ‘it’s my job, I’ll protect her’ but he glances at me, drops his gaze to the table before him and doesn’t speak.

  ‘There’s a way,’ Tristan says, drawing everyone’s attention.

  He rises from his chair and moves slowly to the centre of the horse-shoe.

  ‘We can’t take chances anymore,’ he says, looking at each person sitting around the table but avoiding my eyes. ‘If the Weres are recruiting humans, it takes things to a whole new level. Even if we’re right about Shaylee’s attacks, we can’t rely on the advanced warning anymore – not if they’re using humans. We can’t have her falling into the wrong hands. We’ve waited centuries for this opportunity.’ Tristan’s voice is firm as his eyes finally come to rest on me.

  ‘You are my blood promised, Shaylee’ he says. ‘I want you safe. There’s only one way to ensure that.’

  My heart sinks as his meaning sinks in.

  ‘Tristan…’ I say.

  ‘No, let me finish. I know what you’re going to say: you need time, well we’ve run all out of that.’

  ‘I’m not ready,’ I say, shaking my head.

  ‘What the hell is it that you’re waiting for, Shaylee?’ Tristan asks, coming toward me and growling with frustration.

  My eyes go involuntarily to Kael. Tristan frowns and follows the direction of m
y eyes. For a moment, he seems confused as he stares at Kael and then he returns his gaze to mine and a range of unidentifiable emotions flicker across his face.

  ‘Well,’ he says, this time, with a hard edge to his voice. ‘It isn’t just about you anymore, Shaylee. I say we vote on it.’

  I stare at him, and then let my gaze flow over the rest of the group. Most of them are nodding their heads.

  ‘Tristan -’ Nan says, a warning note in her voice.

  ‘No, Tanya,’ he says. ‘This affects all of us. We should have a say.’

  ‘This isn’t the middle ages,’ she replies. ‘It’s Shaylee’s choice.’

  ‘There’s too much at stake here Tanya. We can’t wait anymore.’

  I stare at Tristan in horror. Is he being serious? Does he really intend to force me into marriage?

  ‘Let’s vote. All in favor of an immediate wedding raise your hands.’

  ‘Tristan!’ Nan raises her voice. ‘You are out of line.’

  My eyes flit around the circle as, despite Nan’s outrage, people start to raise their hands.

  ‘No!’ I shout, jumping to my feet as rage and anxiety war within me. ‘You have no right to force me. It’s my decision and I’ll make it when I’m good and ready. Until then, Kael will protect me.’ My eyes fly to his. ‘Tell them,’ I plead. ‘Tell them you will protect me.’

  ‘Can you, Kael?’ Tristan asks quietly. ‘Can you promise us without a doubt that she will be safe in your care and that she won’t be hurt again?’

  Tristan’s eyes move to my bandaged wrist and Kael’s gaze follows. He stares at the white material, flicks his eyes to mine, and then slowly, he drops his gaze and gives a slight shake of his head.

  The world fades away. I stare at Kael’s downcast head, unable to move, unable to breathe. His betrayal is a knife, ripping into my chest, drawing out my heart, leaving nothing behind but an empty, cavernous space. He doesn’t love you, the words reverberate in my head. I turn and walk out of the meeting hall.

  I don’t know what was said after I left the meeting. I don’t know the outcome. I don’t care. As I sit, staring out of my bedroom window in the middle of the night again, my insides feel like ice, and it has nothing to do with the open window that billows the chiffon curtains over me.

  I consider my feelings with cold detachment, like an eagle, circling its prey from above. I should probably feel angry at how the Circle treated me, like some kind of object to be bought and sold, but I can’t muster anything as passionate as anger.

  How do I blame them, when all they’re trying to do is protect their families. I’m a danger to all of them and my track record isn’t promising. Those who love me, and those who try to protect me - die.

  My mother’s face surfaces in my mind and my throat closes. I wish I was there with her, holding her hand, apologizing for the awful things I said the last time we spoke and for the calls I ignored, but it’s better that I’m not. In fact, the further away from her I stay, the better chance she’ll have at survival.

  And Kael…

  The memory of him, eyes downcast, shaking his head at Tristan’s question does something to my cold heart; it’s kind of like pins and needles and it makes my throat constrict.

  I press my face through the open window and try to breathe in, but my chest is so tight that I can’t get enough air into my lungs. With a gasp, I fling the window wider, but it’s still not enough. I’m suffocating inside.

  With one fluid movement, I step out onto the oak branch and balance like a trapeze artist from branch to branch until my feet hit the patch of bare earth at the base of the trunk. I start walking, across the landscaped lawn toward the street, across and into the copse of trees lining it. Moonlight filters through the canopy, illuminating the gnarled roots in places, catching a pair of tiny bright yellow eyes in between the leaves.

  Kael would have a fit if he knew…or would he? Maybe he doesn’t really care? He doesn’t love -

  Pain slams through me, obliterating my train of thought. I clutch my one arm good around my middle as the familiar waves course through me, driving me to my knees in the middle of the forest dirt.

  There is a sudden scurry of movement behind me, but before I can turn, something soft is shoved over my face and the harsh odor of chemicals fills my mouth and nose. I immediately try to hold my breath, but it’s too late. I push against the hand covering my mouth but in mere seconds, the darkness threatening at the edge of my vision becomes all encompassing.

  Chapter 51

  Hostility

  Tastes like: Cayenne pepper.

  Smells like: Hot, Durban curry.

  Sounds like: A growl.

  Feels like: The hard bristles of a hair brush.

  Looks like: A rugby player, arms akimbo and legs apart.

  I hear voices, deep and male, echoing around me as I swim up through the haze of chemically induced sleep. Every sound seems distant and my head throbs. I try to move my hands and give an involuntary whimper as the slight movement sends pain slicing through my temples. Something rough bites into my wrists and it’s agony against my existing injury. I lie still, and try to take stock of where I am.

  The last thing I remember is being in the forest. Memories flash disjointedly through my mind: the Circle meeting, the vote, Kael’s betrayal. A fresh wave of desolation breaks over me as I picture Kael’s downcast head...

  I should never have gone walking alone in the forest at night, it was stupid, but I’d been so destroyed by Kael’s reaction, I hadn’t been thinking straight. Look where that has gotten me; here I am, trussed up God knows where.

  Instinct urges me to lay still and listen. I need to get some idea of what, who and where I am before I give away the fact that I’m awake to my kidnappers. Voices reverberate off the walls of my prison, but it’s difficult to determine their proximity because there is a strange echo quality to the sounds.

  I crack my eyes open into narrow slits and survey my prison. It’s a cave of some sort. Large spot-lights gleam up from the rocky floor on which I lay, illuminating the reddish-grey tones of the walls of the cavern that appears to be empty, except for me.

  The scene looks oddly familiar and I struggle to recall where I’ve seen it before. The only caves I’ve ever been into are the Sterkfontein caves, a million miles away in South Africa, and this looks nothing like the ‘Cradle of humankind’ where the infamous remains of ‘Mrs. Ples’ were discovered. But I’ve definitely seen it before, in a picture or brochure…

  That’s it! The brochure Kent had shown me for the Outdoor festival. I remember seeing a picture of Clearwell caves in the brochure, which corresponds to the cavern I’m in. The excerpt beside the picture had described the history of iron-ore mining in the area and touted Clearwell as a prime location for caving fanatics.

  I focus on the voices, which seem to be coming from outside this cavern.

  ‘Go check on the girl,’ one voice says. There’s a hint of an accent that I can’t quite place. Russian maybe?

  ‘She’s out cold,’ another voice replies, in a lilting cockney accent.

  ‘How do you know? Do you have x-tray vision?’

  ‘Can you hear anything? ‘Sides, it’s not like she’s going anywhere.’

  ‘Just go check!’ The accented voice replies irritably.

  ‘Why can’t you go?’

  ‘Because I’m guarding the entrance,’ the accented voice growls and I hear a single, distinct click. ‘And because I’m the one with the gun. Now go.’

  The other voice grumbles unintelligibly. I hear shuffling and then footsteps. I shut my eyes and force my body to remain limp. The footsteps grow louder and there’s the slightest movement in the air around me.

  Then I feel boots brush against my rib-cage. Even with my eyes closed, I can feel him staring at me and it takes every ounce of willpower to keep my eyes shut and my body immobile. He stands there a moment, and nudges me lightly with his boot. I bite the inside of my lip.

  ‘What’s so speci
al ‘bout you, little girl?’ the man mumbles under his breath. I hear a joint crack and feel the slight pressure of his shins, resting against my torso. He must be hunched down beside me, and from the sour smell, he’s leaning over me. I almost jump when I feel one hand touch my thigh and despite my efforts, my breathing increases tempo. He doesn’t seem to notice as my muscles tense and he continues, talking to himself. ‘What’s he after?’

  One hand slides against my chin and he moves my head slightly to the side, but when I feel his other hand move from my thigh, to the edge of my blouse and start to lift it, all pretenses are off.

  With lightening reflexes, I whip my head into his hand and clamp my teeth down hard. The flesh is hard and bitter with sweat but I manage to rip into the softer flesh on the side of his hand and taste blood for second, before he wrenches his hand away with a howl.

  He scrambles back and falls onto his backside beside me. I spin sideways on my back, lift my legs against my chest and put all my strength into a kick, aimed at his groin.

  ‘What’s going on in there?’ the Russian voice shouts from outside the cavern as his partner lets out another yelp. I sit up and raise my aching bound hands, intending to bring them down hard onto my kidnapper’s head but he has recovered enough to grab my arms, midair. He squeezes my injured wrist and my vision goes blurry.

  ‘Bitch!’ he snarls and snaps my head sideways with a forceful slap through the face. ‘You’ll pay for that!’

  He slaps me again, hard enough to see stars and pushes me away with enough force to send me flying backwards. There is a loud crack as my skull makes contact with the rock wall behind me. Agony lances through the back of my head. A boot connects with my rib-cage and I cry out.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ The accented voice sounds from behind my attacker, just as he lands another kick to my thigh. I groan and try to keep my eyes focused on the man, to block the next move, but my head is heavy again and something sticky and wet is seeping into the collar of my blouse.

  There is a scuffle as someone or something wrenches my attacker backwards and blackness descends once more.