Descendant (Secrets of the Makai)

by Kerr, Toni

  "Not really. I'd say maybe three pages overlapped into one. From the outside, the paper looks blank, but when you touch it...it's like another world. I don't know what to do with it."

  Gram's brow furrowed as she settled deeper in concentration. "When the time comes, I'm sure it will be revealed to you properly." She straightened herself and looked ten years younger, a shining sparkle returning to her glassy eyes.

  "It's too late. I didn't have the page sealed when I got here. I mean, being dumped in the ocean wasn't exactly part of my plan. It got wet. And mashed. And dirty. And now there's mold."

  "But you kept it, yes?"

  Tristan nodded, even though the paper seemed to be nothing more than a dried-out, solid mass of cardboard pulp.

  Gram smoothed her apron and stood, taking the damp towel from Tristan. "Since you've gone through so much to get to me, the least I can do is teach you what I can." She held out her hand to stop him from denying he had come on purpose. "I feel I must inform you, this is really not my area of expertise. Whoever thought I could—well, I'll need some time. And you'll need much more than what we, here on this island, can give you if you intend to pursue that emerald." She offered a wastebasket for the broken pieces of teacup. "Go back to the cliff house and wait—"

  "I can't wait."

  "Only for a day or two. I need to help Dorian organize a plan for re-harvesting and arrange repairs. I'll also need to research some things and chat with a few people." The woman smiled genuinely, then changed her expression to something he couldn't read.

  "Am I in trouble?"

  "Of course not. It's just, well…. It's curious you've gone so long without…. I mean, it's odd they would neglect you on purpose. You're practically an adult." Gram spun around and put her attention to the mess in the storeroom. "Away you go, before Dorian gets here." She returned for the towel on the central counter.

  Who could have neglected him more than his mother?

  "If you get tired of waiting, young Tristan, play with those cards."

  "Cards?"

  "Didn't I catch something about a deck of cards?"

  Tristan remembered her use of the word 'focus' bringing the Focus Pocus deck to mind.

  "It's an excellent idea," she continued. "I'm only sorry that after all these years, I never came up with it myself."

  "What am I supposed to do with them?"

  "Just play around. It's quite simple. See what happens."

  "But they're just ordinary cards, aren't they?"

  "Of course they are. Now go on. I'll come see you when I can." She weaved through the chaos to get to the far corner while Tristan kept himself from jumping in to help.

  "I promise I won't forget about you," she said, shooing him away without looking.

  "But the emerald—I made a promise."

  She took a deep, exaggerated breath and glared at him. "Do you honestly believe that man will just hand you the emerald if you ask nicely?"

  Tristan scowled. "No. But...cards? How is that important?"

  "Trust me. And I wouldn't want to set limits for you, by telling you what to do with a silly deck of cards. Consider them a learning tool." She turned her back on him again. "Now go away! Lord only knows what Dorian would think to find you here with all this mess. She's never going to let me hear the end of this one...." Her voice trailed off to a mumble, and something about dragon blood.

  "Won't he come back?"

  "Who, Sabbatini? I'm sure he will, but you don't have anything to worry about. He's not after you." Gram paused, narrowing her eyes. "If Sabbatini had something to do with Gwenna's death…. He never approached you to ask what you were doing there? Just to make sure Gwenna didn't give you something he might need?"

  Tristan shook his head. "I was going to tell the police about the map, that the murderer would probably be after me for it, but it didn't feel right. It was like they didn't remember arresting me in the first place. So I ran. I've never talked to the murderer."

  "Maybe you have been followed." She seemed to work out the rest of the scenario to herself. "Yes, perhaps more than one guardian angel has followed you, if you've managed to avoid him entirely. Without even knowing it. Nothing would have prevented him otherwise."

  "He probably just knew I knew nothing and never suspected a map. I mean, seriously, who am I? He'd already gotten away with murder, and the emerald." Tristan shut his mouth and swallowed hard when she grimaced. "I'm sorry."

  She nodded, turning away. "I attempted to prevent him from noticing anything particular about you, you may have felt it when he looked at you."

  The woman did more than that—Sabbatini didn't seem to see him at all. Like he was completely invisible. "Why?"

  "I didn't want him snooping around in case…well, in case I needed to know something first. See? I can be very self-centered. But, it appeared to be unnecessary."

  "Is that why he left?"

  The woman stared at him hard, like he was guilty of something. He began fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "What?"

  She looked about ready to say something, then changed her mind. Her eyes softened. "He could've easily overpowered the two of us. Maybe something more important came up. Maybe you confused him with your…." She didn't finish. "Let's just hope he didn't have enough time to recognize you under all that soot." She smiled. "Or, maybe a guardian angel is here with us now."

  Tristan used the back of his hand to wipe his forehead, transferring all sorts of black grime. He cracked a smile and had to laugh at himself. "Guess I was in too big of a hurry to get here."

  "Why?"

  "I saw smoke. At first, I thought the fire had spread, but then it looked more like someone's campfire. A chimney maybe? Anyway, I rushed over to, well, to get off the island."

  Gram nodded, eyeing him suspiciously. "Aren't you full of surprises."

  "I'm sorry about the fire. I saw a plane and didn't realize…."

  "It's okay." Gram straightened herself and took a deep breath. "Everyone has some sort of power, some more than others. For you, it will be a matter of how far you're willing to open your mind. Then, it'll be based on how strongly you wish to deal with what you find. 'Focus' is common terminology."

  "But how—"

  "I've agreed to help you, but you must be patient. I really do need more information before I can work with you. Otherwise.... And this—" Gram waved a hand over the mess and sighed.

  Tristan understood. "Where does he live? I mean, what if I accidentally run into him when you're not around?"

  Her steely sharp eyes made him wish he hadn't asked. "You don't believe he lives here among us on this island, do you?"

  "Well…." What other explanation was there? "When I asked where he'd gone, you said he went home. Doesn't that mean…?"

  "I also said we have an international clientele."

  "Yes, but how do they get here?"

  She shook her head and eyed him from head to toe. "They transport themselves."

  Was she joking? She started shoveling things into the pot faster, mumbling something about much work and little time. Tristan stared. Why would he leave, to play cards of all things, with so much to do? The cleaning would go faster if she'd let him help and the emerald was closer than he'd ever imagined.

  Gram's stern expression caught him off guard. "Your first lesson is trust. If you can't trust me now…I'm telling you to start with those cards. They just might teach you how to focus."

  Serious? To trust her immediately, under such unexplainable conditions, for no good reason, other than the fact that she seemed willing to help...to an unknown degree…. She could be senile for all he knew.

  The woman seemed to be waiting for his decision and he hated that every thought waved at her like a big red flag. She was his only chance. He couldn't face Sabbatini alone. He had to trust her. With a resigned sigh, he nodded and left the cottage so as not to upset her further.

  He'd give her two days. Max.

  22

  - JEALOUSY REARS ITS LEAFY HEAD
-

  DORIAN LEFT THE WORKBAG in her bedroom and toured several areas for the latest gossip. She tried to stay open-minded about the new kid, but plants from the Himalayan gardens on the east side of the island were actually bitter for being planted on the highest mountaintop, complaining at the unfairness of it all, unable to uproot themselves and move to the rocky hilltop above the cliff house. She gritted her teeth and moved on.

  The Sierra gardens showed signs of withered dehydration in their angst, while the silvery luster and fragrance of the moon garden was half of what it should be. And all because he had found a place to live and would probably never meander their way. The shade-lovers in the Lost Woods and Bayou felt the same, disappointed moping weakening their strength and will.

  What was with everyone? Dorian didn't dare swing through the trees, afraid the tension might cause a lack of flexibility in their limbs. By the time she reached Arcadia, the plants had stopped speaking with her.

  Anger mixed with the threat of tears. What could Arcadia possibly have against her? She looked over the best of the best—hand selected for this prime location; full sun to heavy shade, mist from a waterfall to hot rocky cliffs, aerated and calm waters. Overcrowding was the only problem anyone ever faced.

  Dorian dove from the top of the waterfall, determined to coax information from the more even-tempered water-dwellers. They were just as upset as the Himalayan rockers because, apparently, word had spread from Atlantis that the boy was leery of going under water—that he probably couldn't swim—which meant he would likely never go in deep water. Their water.

  Worse, the grasses fought with the lilies, jealous because the lilies bloomed on the surface, visible if the boy should walk by.

  Dorian knew the underwater plants envied the land species at times for being more noticeable, but usually they all understood how their environments made them unique and gifted. Now, plants in the darkest crevasses wilted in their hopelessness.

  She swam to the surface, her own anger and jealousy changing to complete bewilderment. The plants hardly ever cared about people. What was so different about this stranger?

  She hopped out of the water and caught the words of a Myrtle. "Come now, we will not do him any favors by neglecting our duties. What if he calls upon us? We must stay strong! Vigilant! We must not become bitter with each other."

  That was when the seriousness of the situation hit her.

  * * *

  "Oliver!" Dorian called as she ran. She spotted Gram sorting through stuff on a table just outside the back door of the shop and ran faster. "It's him! We need to get him off the island right now!"

  Gram wiped her hands on a dishtowel and waited for Dorian to get closer. "I knew they wouldn't keep it from you for long." She transferred a stack of bowls to a cardboard box. "I'm sorry, dear. I put in the request."

  "What are you talking about?" Dorian asked. "What are you doing?"

  "Sabbatini…didn't the trees tell you?"

  "No, but we have to find Oliver right away. I figured out the balance riddle from your song—the boy really is affecting the balance!"

  "Slow down, there's something I need to tell you."

  "It's the plants!" Dorian ignored Gram, desperate to explain quickly. "I admit it made me mad when the plants said they'd happily burn for him, if that's what he wanted, but it's gotten way out of hand. Plants in Arcadia are actually wilting!"

  "Why don't you come inside? I'll make you something to drink."

  "Don't you see?" Dorian scowled as Gram headed inside the shop. Maybe she wasn't making the situation clear enough. She stomped her foot, then followed. "Right now, the plants don't care about their duties or contributions to the world. All they care about is him. They're bickering because he can't be everywhere at once."

  Dorian froze when she stepped inside. She gaped at the empty cupboards and drawers, then stepped into the pooling sunlight in the front half of the store, gazing up at the bright blue sky where the roof used to be. The scent of cleaning solution clung to the damp mortar around the rock walls, and years of wear and tear on the floor had been stripped to raw wood. A jumbled pile of lumber in the courtyard had to be all the shelving.

  Dorian faced Gram with her hands on her hips. "Renovating? Now?" Half of the plants drying from the beams were less than a day old. What was Gram saying when I arrived? "What request did you put in?"

  "I asked the trees and shrubs to keep quiet." Gram stroked her long braid, something she only did when she was troubled.

  "Why?" Usually it wasn't so hard to get Gram talking.

  "Sabbatini was here. I didn't want you rushing back."

  Dread sank to the pit of her stomach. "Where's Oliver and Eric?"

  "They're fine! Eric's plane went down, but he's okay. Oliver didn't know because, well, the cave wouldn't release him until Flynn could take his place. Or something like that."

  Dorian's lips twitched with anger, hatred growing toward that cave and its demands. They should never have checked on it in the first place.

  "Everything will be fine," Gram said, glancing around the empty room. "It's a major cleaning job, but weren't we planning to do it eventually?"

  "But all the product, what happened to it?"

  "Smoke, vapors, contamination…we can't keep it, not even for compost. I've kept everything else—the oils and creams, most of the pre-made items. They're out back."

  "We are going after him for this, right?"

  "No. Not if we don't have to," Gram said, turning away. "We don't have the resources."

  Dorian clamped her mouth shut, massaging the tense muscles in her neck. She was sad for the plants who'd given parts of themselves for a greater cause, only to be wasted and thrown away with no recourse to make it better.

  Oliver appeared in the courtyard with a toolbox and several long boards balanced on his broad shoulder. She'd almost forgotten what she needed him for and rushed out to meet him.

  "Did Gram tell you about the boy?" Oliver asked, eying her warily, like he expected her to burst into tears. "If we had to choose again, I'd have treated him the same way."

  Dorian glanced at Gram, wondering what else they weren't telling her. "You knew he was upsetting the balance before now?"

  "No, nothing like that," Gram said, heading back outside with a load of glass dishes. "He showed up about the same time Sabbatini did. I met him."

  "He was part of this?" Dorian couldn't believe it. Maybe she'd misunderstood.

  "In a good way," Oliver said. "He's not here for Sabbatini, I was wrong about that. But I still stand by my actions to watch him like we did."

  Gram left her load on the table outside and returned. "He's a nice boy. I've agreed to help him."

  Dorian's jaw fell open. "Didn't you hear me? He's upsetting the very nature of the plants! Remember when we were trying to figure out what would change a plant's behavior? It's happening!"

  Gram clasped her hands together and took a deep breath, keeping her eyes closed. "I don't know what to do with that information."

  "Easy! Get him off the island before the plants forget their real purpose."

  "If what you say is true," Gram replied, "then sending him away will merely give them cause to rebel, rather than the simple neglect they seem to be going through now."

  "This is more than simple neglect." Dorian stopped and started several times, anger fighting logic. "It's not a phase they'll grow out of!"

  "The boy saved my life," Gram said, as if announcing the time of day.

  "What?"

  "Sabbatini threatened me and the boy stepped forward."

  Oliver growled, sorting through a selection of tools just outside the front—Dorian stopped short when she noticed the front door missing.

  "His name is Tristan," Gram continued. "He seems like a very nice boy, just a bit uneducated. And Gwenna...." Her eyes began to well up with tears.

  "Who's Gwenna?" Dorian asked.

  "The only thing that matters is that an incredibly long list of coincidental events b
rought him here. I must help him."

  "But Gram!" Dorian bit her lip. This probably wasn't the best time to tell her she was too old for such a job.

  Gram straightened herself when Oliver reentered the room.

  "How did he save you?" Dorian asked. Though 'why' might have been a better question.

  "He merely stepped forward."

  "That's it? Sabbatini's destroying the place and some kid steps in…The End?"

  "Pretty much, yes."

  "Still doesn't make sense," Oliver snapped. "Something's up."

  Gram fiddled with her silver braid and didn't say anything, drawing Dorian and Oliver's attention. "What aren't you telling us?" Oliver finally asked.

  "Gwenna was the guardian of a Seraphim Emerald. I don't know for sure what that means, but some stories say the faerie races sealed certain gifted children—one male, one female—inside mystical gems, so that they may remember their past and repopulate at a future time, if and when the dragons thought it safe to release them. A different version says the dragons gave each race a special power to keep them protected, and each race merely stored that information in the gems for safekeeping in case there came a time when it wouldn't be handed down their line of generations.

  "I don't know what happens if they're all destroyed, or how many might be left, or if the power can be absorbed by humans. But they say each stone has a curse to protect itself. Gwenna gave the boy a map, just before Sabbatini murdered her and stole the emerald. Which means Sabbatini will need the map if he intends to find other stones, which leads me to believe someone has been protecting Tristan from Sabbatini all along his journey to our island."

  "What makes you think Sabbatini had anything to do with her murder?" Oliver asked.

  "Tristan recognized him. I suppose I should tell you he suspects he's wanted by the police for Gwenna's murder."

  "Tristan murdered her? I thought you said—"

  "The fact is, Tristan didn't arrive here by accident. Someone kept him in one piece and brought him here on purpose."

  "Who's your best guess?" Oliver asked. "The Makai?"

  "No. The Seraphim Council."

  23