by Kerr, Toni
- SEVEN OF SPADES -
TRISTAN ALTERNATED BETWEEN walking and jogging along the shoreline, energized by the thought of playing with the cards. He hadn't had time or reason to play with them before. Maybe they really did hold the key to everything? There had to be some hidden meaning to the word "play" or "focus".
The rock at the base of his trail looked a lot like a dock from a distance. The fishing pole and jug were right where he'd left them. He emptied the jug over the nearest bush and carried it to the end of the dock-rock, kneeling carefully to reach the deeper water.
Before the jug touched the surface, Tristan caught sight of his reflection and froze. The whites of his eyes and his teeth nearly glowed in contrast to his skin, which was completely black with soot. He wasn't sure if he should laugh or cry as he sat back on his heels. The smooth lake reflected everything perfectly. Beautifully. No wonder the old woman couldn't stop laughing at him.
He shook his head and got back to the business of filling the jug, then took off his shirt and dunked it to scrub his face and arms. He could've sworn he'd done a better job earlier, but the black on his shirt was proof enough. How embarrassing.
Half an hour passed in the cliff house before Tristan could remember the rules to solitaire. Discouraged by a continuous losing streak, he'd resorted to cheating. Bored with that, he shuffled several times and spent the next three hours doing everything from games to tricks. Disappointed that the cards appeared to be completely ordinary, he made a fire in the woodstove and went to bed hungry.
In the morning, Tristan rolled out of the hammock, deciding to unpack and stay awhile. He headed outside to restock the firewood and discovered a basket on the porch with food and necessities wrapped in a thick blanket.
"Thank you, Gram!"
Ecstatic at having real food, he carried the basket inside and sampled everything as he unloaded. He put fruits and vegetables in a pile, along with a bag of nuts and loaf of bread. He lined up the other items: some sort of oil in a dark bottle, a long knife and cutting board, a bar of soap, towels, a box stuffed with wooden matches, and a blessed roll of toilet paper.
Tristan used the soap and a hand towel to wash his face and arms again, glad he didn't have a mirror to see the state of his hair.
With a major boost to morale, Tristan tucked his hair behind his ears and went back to playing cards. He forced the ends into cracks in the table to make a stable foundation for a tower. Cards balanced against each other, forming an awkward structure, three stories tall. He concentrated on the fourth layer while his hand shook with the final card.
A quick breeze came through the window as the falcon landed on the sill.
"Don't!" Tristan watched the tower topple. With the exception of one card. The seven of spades—the last card he'd placed at the top.
He stared with his mouth hanging open. It seemed real enough, hovering a foot above the table's surface. He reached out to take it, surprised to see his fingers slip through. Like a mirage. In the time it took to glance at the falcon, the card disappeared.
"Did you see that?" Tristan almost tripped over the stump of a chair in his haste to stand.
The falcon didn't do anything out of the ordinary except eye the basket of food.
"Hungry? Take anything I have." Tristan took a few steps back from the table, allowing the bird room to fly, but it stayed perched on the sill.
Tristan tore a chunk of bread from the loaf, careful to not make any sudden moves, and set it as close to the bird as he could reach. The bird merely eyed Tristan with what might have been mild curiosity.
"Don't want it?" Tristan picked up the bread, unable to resist taking a bite for himself, and cautiously walked around the table, closer.
The bird had to be at least a foot and a half tall. Its curved beak looked freshly sharpened, but it had never given him anything to fear. Tristan held the bread on his fingertips, locking eyes with the falcon, taken in by the depth of golden-orange.
An intelligence far greater than any bird at the top of the food chain stared back at him. Tristan blinked first and the bird snatched the bread from his hand before flying away.
Tristan watched in awe, then sat on the stump and stared at the scatter of cards. He picked up the seven of spades for closer examination. Growling pleas from his stomach begged for more bread, but he set up the cards again instead, saving the seven of spades for last. When everything balanced nicely, with the final card in place, he blew them all down.
Nothing happened, except they all fell.
He repeated the process five times, with his stomach growling, each time leaving him more certain he'd imagined the ghostly card to begin with.
* * *
Now that Tristan had basic living supplies and a 'cliff house' instead of a shack, the view from the top of the mountain filled him with wonder. Aside from the blackened trees, the valley below offered a million shades of green. Every rock in the lake seemed ready to tell him something, and the sky itself wrapped him in warmth. No sign of the village, though. Not even a bare spot where the circular courtyard should be.
He looked for an airstrip, but maybe they only used seaplanes. Maybe a door near the courtyard led to an underground civilization. Maybe he missed seeing a boat dock because of high-tide. There didn't appear to be any boats anchored off shore, nor any nearby islands. He spotted the falcon circling above the lake and put his doubts aside.
Tristan kept the cards in his back pocket and walked down to the shoreline, carrying the soap, a towel, the jug of water, his toothbrush, and a change of clothes with him. He scrubbed his skin raw and minimized the knots in his hair before putting on fresh clothes, then sat cross-legged in the full sun with the cards. At least he was getting good at shuffling.
He made a mental to-do list of things he should do each day. He'd have to ask Gram how long she expected the training to last…if he should make plans to repair the shack for winter or not.
"Tell me, Tristan."
He whirled to his feet, spilling the cards, startled that Gram could sneak up on him without making a sound.
The woman's stark white blouse and denim skirt hung just over her knees, with dainty green slippers for shoes. A wad of tangled yarn, probably a shawl, was draped over her folded arms.
"Have you learned anything?" she asked, politely ignoring his reaction.
"Did I learn anything?" Nothing. Tristan scrambled to pick up the cards before the wind might whisk them away, trying to think of excuses before remembering she'd hear all his thoughts.
He tried to think of something better and realized having no excuse was not the problem. How could he keep her from hearing every stupid thing in his head? He growled at himself, but couldn't keep his mind still. Had he called her shawl a wad of tangles? He meant artistic.
"Nothing interesting happened with the cards?"
Tristan recalled the single, suspended card. "Yes! But I got so frustrated, I forgot all about it. I saw a card...." There was no other way to describe it.
"Well, it is a deck of cards." The woman smiled and held back a laugh. "What about the card?"
"I built a tower and all the cards fell except one. The seven of spades. It was the last card I put at the top." It sounded silly, saying it aloud.
"That is interesting." Gram's eyes wandered over the lake, seeming to mull it over. "Was the detail sharp or fuzzy?"
"Sharp." Tristan combed his fingers through his hair, hoping it didn't look as bad as it felt. At least his face was cleaner this time. "Thanks for the stuff. I'm sure I would've starved by now."
"You're welcome." She faced him with a slight smile. "Did you touch the card?"
"Yes. Well, no. I tried, but it wasn't there. It looked real, but wasn't. If that makes sense." He scratched his head, suddenly doubting whether he saw it at all.
"Was the original card amongst the others?"
Why hadn't he thought to check the cards for a duplicate? He shook his head and stuffed the cards back in his pocket. "I don't know." He co
uldn't read her expression. "It was in the pile when I cleaned up, but I don't know if it was in both places at the same time. I got frustrated and that's about it." He sighed and got to his feet. "Was something different supposed to happen? I did try, I really did."
Gram still didn't say anything.
"Does that mean you aren't going to teach me?"
"Heaven's no! I'll still work with you. I didn't want to tell you how to play with the cards because I didn't want to prevent you from trying things on your own. What you did is very good, though quite different than what I expected." Gram turned and walked the trail along the lake. "Come with me, please."
Tristan followed, leaving everything behind.
24
- A PAIN IN THE HAND -
TRISTAN KEPT AN EYE on Gram's feet. She kept a faster pace than he would have expected from a little old lady in the humid heat of an afternoon. He amended the thought to include petite, graceful, and wise, then smacked himself.
"Please stay in my footsteps for now, and learn to avoid stepping on the plants. Dorian has been doing some transplanting through here, and many of these little ones aren't quite established. She'll be very angry if we upset her plants."
The two veered away from the lake and walked for an hour before they came to a wide waterfall. The trail led behind the curtain of water, into a misty cavern. Gram sat on a log, beckoning him to do the same. They sat side by side, facing the backside of the thunderous downpour.
Tristan was about to ask what they were doing when she shouted over the noise. "I hope you won't feel bad, but we're not going to discuss what you did with the card."
Tristan leaned closer to hear the old woman.
"My plan is to teach you the most important things first. Which aren't necessarily the easiest."
He sat back, not sure if the news should make him feel better or not.
"Being amongst all this racket forces a person to pay more attention than one normally might. See how you find it difficult to hear me? Give me your hand."
Tristan hesitated. What was she planning to do with it?
"I'm not going to hurt you. Not more than necessary, anyway…." Her voice trailed away, overpowered by the crashing water.
Tristan took a deep breath and held out his hand.
"The first thing you ought to learn," she said, while taking his hand in hers, "is how to defend yourself."
He pulled his hand back instantly, suspecting she might throw him into the waterfall. "I can't swim."
"I'm not going to throw you in." The woman laughed. "It's important you learn how to protect your mind and body. I assume you've realized the disadvantage you're at if everyone can hear your every thought at all times?"
Tristan nodded.
"And I can tell you have a strong mind. Now," she held out her hand, palm up, waiting.
Tristan eyed her warily and placed his hand in hers.
"I want you to feel what will happen before we begin."
A slight burning sensation crept along the back of his hand and he jerked it away again, clasping it to his chest.
"Oh, have it your way," Gram said to the roof of the cave. Her next words blended too much with the noise. "I can manage well enough without the contact, I just thought it would be more polite. You'll learn to prevent me from attacking your hand."
"How would I possibly do that if you don't need contact?"
"Like I suggested yesterday, simply shield your mind. Block my attacks with your mind."
Tristan shifted uncomfortably. Could this woman really attack him in some sort of mental way? The location didn't help him focus; it made him nervous.
"Doing it properly will limit others' access to your mind, denying some completely. This means people will be prevented from hearing or suggesting thoughts."
"Why would anyone suggest thoughts?" He suspected she'd gone mad and eyed the way out.
"Why? To do you bodily harm. Like the pain in your hand. Like Sabbatini, to control a situation."
The woman's eyes intensified. Tristan wondered if he should drop out immediately.
"Perhaps we shouldn't start here." Gram patted his knee and stood, looking down at him. "I forget how little you know. We could start with something less important to break you in gently."
"No!" Tristan cursed his fleeting thought of dropping out. "I don't want my thoughts out in the open. I really need to learn. It's just this shield thing. I don't understand what makes it."
"Shielding your mind is something you learn from experience. With this method, you will physically know when you've created a proper shield, rewarded by the lack of pain. Most people can concentrate their powers better when forced to focus, but let's get away from this noise."
Gram led the way from behind the waterfall to a bench at the far side of the pool where a canopy of graceful trees seemed to huddle over them. She wrapped the shawl around her shoulders and smoothed her skirt. Tristan sat beside her.
"Usually, people with certain gifts are born into families with certain gifts. They aren't always the same, but the children are guided into adulthood learning to expand, perfect, and conceal their talents. After all, no child wants it known that they did in fact steal the cookies."
Tristan's mother would've caught him stealing more than cookies. More like pain meds and sleeping pills from her secret stash. He turned away from the lush scenery, torn between shame and need to defend his actions.
"There is an entirely different world going on, if your mind is open to it. In this other world, the laws of nature are different. Distance is irrelevant. Work is pointless if not for personal enjoyment. The principles of physics don't apply in the same standards you're used to.
"Take our little group on this island. We are happy and peaceful, respectful of each other and our lifestyle, surviving on the land without the pollution of the world you come from. We are satisfied and content with our lives. There are groups like ours all over the world who live with the same philosophy. And then there are some who are not so satisfied. They spend their time and energy at war, finding new and more torturous ways to kill each other."
"Like Sabbatini?"
"Yes." Gram sighed. "There is little enforcement for people like us. One would hope morality should be enough to keep order, but, if one chooses to be evil, there's not much to prevent him or her from being so. You see, a person cannot be imprisoned if he can use his mind.
"You have a choice. If you wish to remain quiet and meek, like most of us, you can live peacefully—But with the knowledge that you haven't gone out of your way to improve the world you live in. If you insist on getting involved, like you have been, you—"
"But I didn't—"
The woman held her hand up to signal silence. "You will surely die at the hands of your own ignorance. My recommendation would be for you to stay low and learn how to defend yourself. Take advantage of what time I can offer you."
Tristan could agree to the idea of staying low and defending himself, but how would it help him get the emerald? "No police?" He thought back to the police who drove him home. If they weren't the real police, who were they and why did they step in to help in the first place?
"There are a few societies who take it upon themselves to help those in need," Gwenna answered. "But Evil can be a strong being. Power is power, and he who has more often prevails. Good people don't seek power the way the evil people do. If at all, we seek it to better defend ourselves and loved ones."
"So, you think someone stepped in to help me when Gwenna was murdered? How would they have known?"
"Maybe because they were already on Sabbatini's trail. Hmm…." She remained silent for a long moment.
Tristan bit his lip to keep from interrupting.
"If you choose to learn what little I can teach, you should be able to leave this island. It will be a difficult process, one that many are not capable of achieving. I feel I should also advise you, your time is now limited."
"Why?"
"Did you notice no one
came to my aid when Sabbatini entered my store?"
"I heard them thinking when I found the village, and you said they were a bunch of cowards."
Gram remained silent. "It's sad to say, but people don't often risk becoming involved when something is evil. They'd rather see if the situation will somehow fix itself. Or flee altogether, like some of us already have. Your stepping in has drawn attention to yourself. Sabbatini may not have noticed all of you, but he noticed something. It's likely to eat at him and he'll be better prepared next time."
"What if I can't do it?"
"You wouldn't be here if you weren't capable of something. We just need to figure out what."
"I got here by accident."
"The world isn't that small and very few things are accidents."
"So, no police. No laws?"
"We have moral guidelines. It's how one defines honor and good character. It's how one would define the difference between Good and Evil. A cheater and a hard worker." Gram watched the pool of water for a long time before speaking again. "Someone made the choice to interfere with the path of your life, directly changing the course of your future. It's quite possible you were meant to go to prison for sweet Gwenna's murder."
"But I didn't—"
"It's one thing to lend assistance when a person is innocent, but they did more than that. They gave you tools to train yourself, and the coral to keep you well. They took your fate into their hands without giving you an informed choice to decide for yourself. I, for one, would have to wonder why you've been denied such knowledge in the first place. Especially if you have dragon blood in your veins. And saying it aloud, perhaps it is a foolish mistake for me to offer such schooling."
A wave of despair crushed his lungs. "I don't have dragon blood. That's just crazy."
"It's not crazy at all, considering how you've become involved with the emerald, not to mention the map. And I'm not sure it's my place to tell you, or that you should even know."
"Know what?"
Gram hesitated as she seemed to consider other options. "Legend says Seraphim Dragons once roamed the earth. But as they began dying off, along with the races they governed, they took a human form and mated with a select few. The humans with dragon blood survived long after the dragons were gone, and they might have been held responsible for the protection of the gems. Guardians.
