by Kerr, Toni
"He's only just begun," Ardon whispered.
"Tell me about it! How much damage will he cause before he learns anything?"
"He honors us by showing his heart, by allowing us to take part in his growing process."
Dorian crossed her arms and huffed. "You mean, if he asked you not to watch while he made a ninny of himself, you'd turn your vision from him?"
"Why not? We would do anything to help his journey continue in good health."
"You have a lot of faith in someone who doesn't give you the time of day."
"He might not recognize us now, but his spirit does."
"Ha!" She'd never met anyone so oblivious to his surroundings. Though if she thought about it, maybe she wasn't as angry with him as she was with the plants for adoring him, regardless of his respect in return. They didn't usually take such a personal interest in people.
"His spirit recognizes you as well. Couldn't you feel it?"
"What?" No way would she be talked into liking the guy. "He's never been here, we've never met."
"You are the guardian of his cave and he knows it."
"I am not! And it's not his cave. He doesn't even know about it!"
"He will."
An idea brought a smile to her lips. If Tristan was to stay on the island, maybe he should take cave shifts like everyone else. The cave would keep him cut off from the plants and then she could talk some sense into them.
27
- CONQUERING THE UNKNOWN -
TRISTAN COMPLETED HIS MORNING chores without any issues of pain in his arm, and thought about going back to the target practice clearing, on the off-chance of making a better second impression if the girl showed up. But without arrows? He chickened out and went back to building card houses. He finished the fifth layer when Gram appeared in the doorway, startling him.
"Hi!" Tristan said, trying not to bump the table while making room for her to step in.
"For you." She held out a basket of food and motioned for him to sit after he put it on the counter. "What do you see when you look at a card?"
Tristan studied the last card he'd put on the tower. "A three of hearts?"
"What else?"
"Uh…it's red?" He watched her lower herself onto a stump from the corner of his eye.
"And?"
He stretched his neck closer and squinted at the card. "There are little dents in the paper?"
"Really?" She sounded surprised, making him wonder what he was missing. "Anything in those little dents?"
Tristan looked closer still. "I don't think so." He focused into the pattern of holes, looking for possible dirt or hand oil. Soot? He could imagine bacteria he might have transferred, from handling fish every day.
The cards toppled and the three of hearts stayed, hovering over the table with nothing beneath it.
"Hey!" Overjoyed, he faced Gram and felt like hugging her. "It worked!"
"Not 'it', you. Do yourself a favor and take credit for once."
The card had vanished when he turned back. So did his joy. "It was there, wasn't it?"
"Yes. Excellent work." She put a hand on his shoulder and nodded with a proud smile.
His happiness faltered a bit more. Had anyone ever actually been proud of him? What if he couldn't manage something so abstract again? What if he disappointed her? He swallowed the lump in his throat and shook his head, confused by the crazy, somewhat illogical emotions. He barely knew the woman.
"I believe you're ready to move on."
Tristan eyed her warily. "You're not hearing my thoughts?"
"I suppose I could if I wanted, but it's rather rude." Her simple words swept away the heavy expectations he'd inflicted on himself. "Your thoughts are your own," she added.
What a relief! "You mean, all I had to do was make a card stay?"
"You needed to be able to concentrate on more than one task at a time. The pain pressure is still being exerted upon you."
"Oh. I thought you stopped."
"No. It will continue for as long as I can manage." Gram picked up a card and studied the artwork. "Self-preservation. Defense is becoming more natural, requiring less of your deliberate attention." She rotated the card and finally flipped it over. "This is a lovely deck."
Tristan chose a random card, never really paying attention to the art before now. When he glanced at Gram, she threw her card into the air. He sucked in a breath to protest, but the card began spinning in one spot, three feet above the table.
He watched the card, completely amazed. No strings, no magnets. Real magic.
Gram's face lit with pleasure and she seemed twenty years younger. "Why didn't I ever think to use cards? They're quite clever and very manageable, with just enough resistance to make everything fun." The card settled into her hand like a butterfly. "We used leaves and orange peels. Did you ever study molecular physics in your school?"
"No." He denied all knowledge, knowing only brief definitions.
"You'll develop a feel for it over time. Molecular mechanics is a key factor for most extrasensory perceptions and activities. Everything contains its own energy. When you make the slightest calculated adjustment to the force of any element, the most wondrous events take place.
"Start with pushing something along. If you can't use the cards just yet, try something else. Something smaller might help psychologically. And before you know it," a card from the pile on the table raced to her hand, "this too will become second nature." The scattered pile of cards sprang to life, coming together in a perfectly organized stack. She placed her own at the top. "How I do love the cards!"
Gram stood and Tristan followed her outside, working up the nerve to ask about the girl he met in the clearing. She stopped abruptly to face him. "The forces I'm putting against you have been strengthening at regular intervals. Once I've reached a limitation, I plan to add two other individuals. Don't worry yourself, but do be prepared. Don't do anything experimental while in dangerous locations, like on this ledge, or by the water if you don't favor swimming." She smiled sweetly, winked, then walked away. "Just something to keep in mind."
"Thanks for the food!"
"You're welcome. One more thing."
"Yeah?"
"The page with images—the one Gwenna gave you. May I see it?"
"She said...." Tristan paused. What could he do with it? Maybe she could help him figure it out. "Sure, I'll get it."
Tristan found the page in his backpack and brought it outside. The paper had separated while drying, leaving tattered edges and peppery blossoms of mold bleeding yellow on the top and bottom. She held it to the sun and peeled the stiff layers apart, careful not to crack the creased seams. "There are images?"
Tristan eyed the flattened page nervously. "It needs to be folded a certain way, but the last time…well, I folded it wrong so I wouldn't be sucked in by accident."
"Please fold it correctly." She held out the page.
Tristan's stomach tightened, he almost took a step back. "Maybe you could make contact with it? Gwenna said it would be everything I needed, but I can't figure out what I'm looking for."
Gram stared at the page and handed it back. "Perhaps we should trust Gwenna in this. She had a plan when she gave it to you, and you can't rely on anyone's interpretation but your own."
"But I'm sure you could figure it out. It's really not bad, more like a dream that won't end until someone pulls the plug." A nightmare was more like it.
"In that case, I'm willing to stand over you while you make contact, because there's a high probability it will kill anyone without dragon lineage. Just like the emerald."
Tristan gulped. "The emerald?"
"You said it would take care of herself. I imagine this paper could do the same, depending on who made it."
"Gwenna?"
"Too big of a gamble to guess, so be careful. Perhaps you'll know when it's safe, that's about the only advice I have for you. Let me know in advance and I'll be here for you."
Tristan nodded and watche
d her go.
For the rest of the afternoon, he begged and pleaded for the cards to move, with half his attention replaying the horrors and destruction he'd seen in the map. He tried recalling information about physics and molecular structure, but couldn't find any relevance. And then there was that girl he couldn't stop thinking about.
The mental shield collapsed three times in his lack of focus; the pain had spread throughout his entire upper body, making it perfectly clear why she'd warned him about dangerous locations.
But by late afternoon on the following day, he could move small objects. He'd gone outside to look for something smaller, rewarded by the squiggly trails left by the smallest grains of sand. He progressed to rolling small pebbles, bringing a handful to the cliff house to practice with. By firelight, he built card houses, getting a card to hover above the table almost every time. He could also move a select card without touching it. It wasn't as smooth as Gram's card, but still something to be proud of.
Immersed in experimentation, he steered flying cards in every direction, completely entertained by the mystery of it all. When he realized the morning sun cast more light than the fire, he fell into the hammock, exhausted, only to wake a few hours later, anxious to try new things.
He hiked to the backside of the mountain on a mission for more firewood. It took an hour to get the right feel, but he made several trips to the cliff house without physically carrying anything. The theory seemed easy! When the stack of wood overflowed, he went back to cards.
"This should make it tricky." He balanced a single card on its edge, not bothering to wedge it into a crack, then leaned another against it. He kept adding cards to make the tower eight layers tall. He blew them all down. None moved. He blew harder, still nothing. Had he locked them in place? He stayed focused and paced back and forth, wondering how long they would stand. He nudged the table with his knee, unable to stop grinning at his success.
At once, all the cards leapt from the table, spinning through the air. He watched in awe, following the swarm around the room.
The instant he wondered what the girl would think if she saw him now, they fell to a scattered mess on the floor. Stunned, he knelt to pick them up, but it seemed a waste of effort compared to how Gram did it. The cards dashed into a perfect pile, as if they were being sucked into a vacuum. He couldn't believe it.
As he hiked down to the lake with the fishing pole, small pebbles scuttled off the trail. "It's so easy! Why couldn't I do it before?"
The first fish went to the falcon, as usual, and Tristan wondered if this astonishing new power came from being on the island, or if he'd always had it. How different his life could have been had he known.
Torn between loneliness and elation, Tristan gathered pinecones into a rolling cluster, migrating them up the trail to the cliff house with his mind, leaving them arranged in a pyramid on the porch. Would he ever see the girl again?
There had to be something bigger to try. Something more.
28
- RAINING ROCKS -
TRISTAN FOUND A NEW TRAIL to explore and glanced over his shoulder to keep the area mapped out in his head. He rolled his shoulders and stretched along the way, willing his muscles to relax. Maybe he shouldn't take breaks. Maybe he should go straight to the village and ask to see the girl, just to get his arrows back. And to get her name.
Something dropped from the sky, landing in front of him. He staggered back, catching his heel in a vine, and landed hard on his butt. She stood at his feet, the girl who'd stolen his arrows, taller than he remembered.
"Who said you could come to this part of the forest?" she demanded, staring down at him with her hands on her hips.
Somehow, his memory had been neglecting her harsh personality. "Who are you?"
She shifted her weight and rolled her eyes, as if the question couldn't be more stupid. She couldn't be the Dorian Gram raved about, but who else?
"This is a very special place and I would appreciate some courtesy from those who enter."
"Courtesy?" He stayed on the ground for safety, wondering if he should have expected people in the trees. A daisy-chain wreath around her head seemed completely out of place. "I didn't see any 'No Trespassing' signs."
"Do you need everything spelled out on signs?"
Tristan scratched his head and scanned the forest. It looked the same as any other part he'd walked through.
"I have a message for you."
"You do?" He got to his feet and brushed off the dirt. "What is it?"
"You're to work with Oliver for a few days."
She sprung from the ground and ended up standing on a branch, ten feet high.
Tristan gasped, curiosity overcoming defensiveness. "How did you do that?"
She didn't even hold her arms out for balance and ignored the question. "Oliver wants to meet with you today."
"Today?" Tristan tucked his hair behind his ears. He hadn't seen anyone besides Gram and this girl. "When? Who's Oliver?"
"What, your busy schedule getting in the way of your precious training?"
"Are you always this nasty?"
Her mouth opened, then snapped closed.
"Where am I supposed to meet him?"
"Just follow me." She secured the same leather bag over her shoulder and tossed the wreath of flowers. "If you think you can."
"Now?" Following her couldn't be that hard. How fast could she go in such a skimpy outfit? It was practically a dress. But everything about the way she looked seemed to clash with her personality—he'd have to remember that.
"No, tomorrow." She leapt to the end of a higher branch. But instead of the branch snapping with her weight, it bowed and sent her flying to the next tree.
"Wait!" Tristan yelled after her, leaving his mapped out trail behind.
She didn't stop or look back, zigzagging all over the place. He ran through thorny bushes, slipped and fell off rocks while crossing a wide river, and ripped his jeans on a pointed stick. He stopped to catch his breath, studying the forest for hints of which direction to go.
Both ankles hurt and his bad knee stung. Completely alone, he doubted she'd come back for him. Why had he wasted so much time thinking about her?
"Amazing, isn't she?"
Tristan spun to see a large man with a scruffy beard, resting comfortably on his knee with one giant, mud-covered boot propped up on a boulder. "Amazing? She's an insane maniac." How could he miss seeing the man when he entered the clearing? The only thing the man needed was an axe and big blue ox.
"I used to think the same way—ball o' spit and fire she is. Gram says you're a quick study. Have you managed anything?"
Tristan liked the man's candid demeanor, despite being intimidated by size. "Several things!"
The man looked skeptical and made a show of examining his stubby fingernails.
"I made an entire deck of cards fly around the room and collected fifty or so pinecones into a big rolling ball." Invigorated by finally telling someone, Tristan gushed on. "I cleared the whole trail of all the loose pebbles from the cliff house to the lake. I think I'm really getting the hang of it!"
"Hmmm." The man nodded as he walked around the clearing, his eyes searching the ground. "You are a quick study. More than one item is tricky to keep track of. Fifty…." The man continued nodding. "Fifty is just darn impressive. I reckon there's no need for us to start so basic."
"What?" He'd been proud of himself, but the sudden feeling he should have played it all down filled his gut with dread.
The man picked up a small, mostly decayed log, covered in moss. "Name's Oliver." He tossed the log in his hand for better balance. "I'll be teaching you self-defense."
Tristan dove to the side as the log came within inches of hitting his head.
"Little slow, not bad." Oliver picked up a second log and kept walking, his eyes getting narrower with malicious intent.
Tristan's entire life came to this final moment in time: stranded on an island with some lunatic giant attacking him. He
dropped to avoid a smaller, even more decayed log, hearing it whoosh past. Something smacked against the back of his head, exploding into a shower of bark and clingy moss. "That's not fair!"
"Nothing's fair when you're fighting."
"I'm not fighting." Tristan shook dirt from his hair, determined to be more prepared.
"Hmm. That is a problem," said Oliver, rubbing at his chin with a free hand, holding the next log with the other.
A mass of rotting wood crashed into the back of his knees. He spun to see, met with a blanket of slapping moss and flinging dirt in his face. "Stop already!" Rubbing his eyes only made it worse.
"Ah, vision. How we depend on thee."
Tristan blinked hard, too angry let his eyes flush the dirt out naturally.
"Blinding your opponent is often a good way to gain the upper hand in a combat situation."
"You've always had the upper hand," Tristan complained, keeping his eyes squeezed shut. "What am I supposed to do?"
"You've learned to defend your mind; it's the same. Defend your body."
Tristan pictured a wall large enough to hide behind.
"Ready?"
"I guess." Stopping would be nicer. A log hit him between the shoulder blades. "That's not…." He stopped complaining and pictured the quilt over his whole body. Another log hit him in the gut, dropping him to the ground. "Would you give me a chance?"
"Not likely."
Tristan concentrated on covering himself with thoughts of the quilt and the blanket Gram gave him, a small rock pelted him in the shoulder. He pictured a brick wall around himself. The next rock thudded against an invisible barrier and landed with a faint plop in the grass. "Did I do it?" He tried opening his eyes and failed to drop fast enough: the next rock cut into his cheek.
Dirt stung and blurred his vision, but he forced his eyes to stay open. He couldn't find Oliver anywhere. A pinecone hit him in the back of the head and he spun, half blinded by the sun. Pinecones flew above him like seagulls, dive-bombing him one at a time.
Imaginary bricks stacked around him with a metal lid for cover and the pinecones ricocheted away. He didn't dare get overconfident when rocks circled in their place.
