by Kerr, Toni
Flashes of light reflected off the surrounding trees like fireworks on the Fourth of July. It could have been lightning or explosions from wands or weapons. The rain and cold evaporated. Voices seemed foreign, like a different language connected with the light. Then, even that became too muffled to comprehend.
Energy accumulated around him, absorbing into him. Direct strikes brushed his skin as certain attacks tested the shield, which seemed to shift in color and grow stronger with each hit. Fear should've been threatening his judgment, or make him freak with panic, but the entire attack seemed fascinating. He wanted to observe and experience everything.
The attacks changed and the molecular essence of energy in the shield altered with the combinations. The shield reacted on its own; collecting and organizing strengths, layering them into a thickness of protection that made absolute, perfect sense.
How much can it absorb? He remembered the same sort of phrase being the kiss of death in Oliver's lesson. Flashes of light in the distance turned into burning trees. He watched silhouettes of other men fighting, beyond his personal attackers. Oliver's men? The Makai?
Inspiration washed over him—what did he have to lose? No reason he couldn't put forth some effort to save himself. If I could just…redirect—
The shield became a brilliant blinding light, consuming the space between himself and Sabbatini's men. They couldn't shield their eyes fast enough.
Pure brightness spiraled upward and out, saturating everything. The core orb continued its skyward path, leaving streaks of green sparks in its wake. The clouds flickered an emerald-green for a few moments before everything dissipated to rainy darkness. Only the eerie flames on distant trees remained.
Tristan got to his feet and blinked at the sky in a confused daze. Rain battered the heat in his face. He hadn't expected to walk away, yet here he was, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Had he fulfilled his promise to Gwenna? He limped toward the trees that weren't on fire, too fatigued and exhausted to move any faster. The wind rushed at his back. He wished he had the coral and noticed the headlights of four-wheelers racing through the forest.
He hobbled faster until he came to a rock wall, forced to turn around and face the wind. He'd never outrun a fire. Nor could he outrun four-wheelers. People were still fighting in the valley below, though he couldn't remember walking up any sort of hill.
The fire had spread. He couldn't guess whether Dorian would stay to protect the trees, or run to save herself. "Little trees and everything that grows, be safe and strong. Survive this night. Gain strength from the wind and health from the rain. Keep each other well. Keep Dorian safe because...." Tristan's mind went blank. He searched the sky for the falcon, flooded with fear and sorrow. Was she safe? None of the fighters looked like Oliver, or anyone else he might recognize. The Makai wouldn't know he wasn't one of Sabbatini's men. The roar of four-wheelers drew closer.
He had to reconstruct that intricate shield, but couldn't turn away from the battle, drawn toward the six people silhouetted by flame. Were they actually using swords?
Headlights shined on his face and he couldn't blink, or get himself to move. People were shouting.
42
- FRIGHT IN THE LIGHT -
"TRISTAN."
Tristan ignored the voice and the weight of a hand on his shoulder, still mesmerized by the six in the firelight. He felt the coral in his hand. Something like fingers pressed over his eyes, plunging him into a shower of rainy darkness.
He blinked. The fire was out. Icy rain drenching him to the bone. His knee throbbed with pain and lights shined in his eyes. "Where'd they go?"
"Who?"
"I don't know, just…lots of people. The fire." Tristan looked to see who he was talking to. The faces he saw didn't make any logical sense. "What are you doing here?" He had to turn away from the glaring headlights.
"We came to get you out of this mad fiasco," Victor said cheerfully, his teeth gleaming in the light.
"The Makai are already sweeping the area," Landon added. "We certainly don't want to be caught in any crossfire."
Tristan focused his eyes again to be sure they were his schoolmates. They'd been in Gwenna's house after she was murdered. "How did you know?" Maybe they were angels. Maybe that's why he couldn't look at them without being blinded. Maybe he hadn't walked away from Sabbatini's men at all, but had simply gotten lost, failing to follow the light arching into the clouds when he should have.
"Cut those lights, would you?" Landon said.
Lights from both directions went out, leaving them all in darkness. A purring engine shut down, then another. His stomach knotted with dread. "You're not with Sabbatini, are you?"
"No. There's no time to explain."
"But the four-wheelers…." Tristan could barely keep his eyes open.
"They are no longer a problem," said Victor.
"Dorian's still here, we got separated." Tristan took a step to start searching, but they stopped him. "There was a fire."
"She's already home with Gram. Where do you want to go?"
"We can take you anywhere," Landon added.
Tristan briefly wondered what might have happened to his mother. "I'd like to be with Gram and Dorian, but…I don't know exactly where."
"We know where they are."
He couldn't bring himself to ask if he was dead or not. "Will you be around for a while?"
"We'll see what the boss says," Victor said with a wink.
Tristan nodded. The boss might just be God. Hadn't Gram suspected guardian angels? "A lot has happened since I saw you before." They probably already knew everything if they were angels. Maybe the rain put out the fire. Or, maybe Landon and Victor had just saved him from the fires of Hell.
Victor's teeth glistened in a wide grin.
"I'll take him," Landon said.
Tristan's stomach churned as Victor steadied him. Dorian's lake reflected everything, glassy calm in the bright blue sky. Gram's cabin stood behind them. Still shading his eyes, Tristan glanced up at Landon, then shut his mouth, afraid of making a fool of himself for knowing so little.
"We'll send Dorian to the cliff house when you're settled, I'm sure she could do something for your knee."
"How did—" of course they knew about his knee and where he lived. "Is Gram still here?"
"She's fine," Landon answered. "Dorian's with her at the moment."
Tristan couldn't tell if Gram and Dorian were both alive, or both dead. He started for home, pointing the way.
"No worries, I know where it is," Landon said, looking across the lake at the correct location.
"You do? Of course you do."
In a blink, Tristan stood in front of the cliff house and lost his balance again, disoriented by the shift in scenery. Panic struck him so hard, he grabbed hold of Landon. Afraid of falling. Afraid of the dark. Afraid Dorian wasn't really with Gram. What if the falcon couldn't find his way back? And the fire. It would track him down like the shadow of death and burn him alive before anyone knew.
But his back was warm, not on fire.
Tristan forced his eyes open. Landon and Victor had him pinned against the boulder along the edge. He couldn't get his lungs to take in a breath.
Landon was trying to tell him something, but the statues were screaming and he couldn't plug his ears. Cliffs crumbled beneath his feet and he couldn't back up fast enough.
"Tristan, don't do this!"
Tristan heard himself gasping for air and tore at his neck to get the strangling cloak off. Sunlight burned his eyes, but when he squeezed them shut, bodies melted into streams of blood.
"Listen to me. Please," Landon said quietly. "You're safe here. We just want to get you inside where you can warm up and get some rest."
Tristan shook his head frantically, unable to explain the shadow that would devour him if he slept.
Suddenly the thought seemed illogical.
The shadow would only find him if he was out of his body, and if someone attracted it by dying in his
presence. That wasn't likely to happen again. Tristan stared at Landon, working out other illogical fears. He finally nodded, so embarrassed by his actions he could hardly speak to apologize.
"It's okay, really." Landon backed away. "You'll probably have dreams, too. Just remember, they're only dreams."
Tristan nodded again and hobbled into the cliff house with Landon at his elbow and Victor behind him. It couldn't possibly be normal to be so terrified of irrational things.
"I'll start a fire," Victor said.
"No!" Tristan shouted before Victor could get near the kindling.
"But you need to get warmed up," Landon said. "Your body temperature's dropping."
"I have blankets." Tristan didn't want to know how they knew about his body temperature. His heart started racing again and he couldn't breathe. "I'll get some dry clothes on."
"Okay, no fire."
Huddled under the cloak, Tristan peeled off the silk robe, hoping they hadn't noticed him wearing it, and stuffed it into the duffle bag. He pulled out a pair of dry sweatpants and slipped them on. His fingers were still too numb to undo the clasp of the cloak and he let Landon do it for him.
"It's Dorian's. Used it for cover in the dark." The adrenaline from his panic drained. It was all he could do to keep himself standing. "Been trying to get rid of it all night. The clasp." He was too tired to explain further and slipped a T-shirt over his head.
"I don't think Dorian will want it back." Landon held out the sodden wad of a cloak and Victor chuckled as the shredded fabric dripped mud on the floor. Tristan couldn't figure out if they were making fun of him for wearing women's clothing or not.
Landon draped the quilt over Tristan's shoulders and helped him into the hammock. He probably wasn't dead if they were worried about his body temperature.
"I want you to stay, but I-" Tristan stared at the pair, afraid they'd disappear if he shut his eyes. "Will you still be here? I really need to talk to you." His vision blurred; he could barely keep his eyes open. "I don't want you to think I…."
"We'll see," Landon answered. "I don't think it will be a problem. You did, after all, manage to get yourself here."
"I did?" Tristan was certain they'd brought him.
"There's a lot going on right now," Victor added, fiddling with the reel on the old fishing rod stashed in the corner. He quickly put it back when Landon gave him a scowling look.
Tristan couldn't follow and gave up trying. It sounded like a 'no' and change of subject. He laid himself down and tried not to sound bitter, knowing he should be grateful for everything. "Next time, could you arrange for just a little extra time?" He closed his eyes, hoping he hadn't offended them. There was so much he needed to know.
He bolted upright.
"What!" Landon asked, catching hold of Tristan's shoulders and keeping the hammock from flipping.
Tristan resisted being pushed back down. "The shadows!" He hated himself for letting the fear resurface. "I have to know what lives in the shadows!"
"Nothing's in the shadows," Landon said, glancing to the darkest corners of the cliff house.
"I got away before, but it'll find me. It knows me now."
"You'll be fine," Landon said. "We won't leave while you sleep, someone will be here."
Tristan shook his head. It wouldn't make any difference if an entire army of angels watched over him. Especially if he was the only one who could see it.
43
- JACQUES THE FALCON -
UNDER A STARRY DARKNESS, Jacques glided toward the center of the amphitheater and furled his wings at the last second, landing softly in his more natural, humanoid form. The surrounding seats, usually overflowing with generations of guardians, sat empty but for a small handful.
"We, the Seraphim Council, have determined your actions to be reckless and against the greater good."
In a skyward glance, Jacques sought peace from the eternally vigilant Polaris. "My allegiance has always been for the protection of all concerned."
"We believe your actions prove otherwise. Has it not been your chief responsibility to obstruct all visions for this descendant?" The voice of Andros boomed in echoes throughout the arena, until silence resumed its unearthly coldness.
Jacques couldn't deny allowing Tristan to witness the fiery vision for selfish reasons, but it wasn't the argument he'd expected the council to use against him. In hindsight, such a young boy would never understand nor recognize its meaning, making it a foolish effort, unworthy of the risks. "The vision presented itself at an untimely moment. I could not, in good conscience, allow it to pass without notice."
"When you achieved custody—" Andros corrected himself. "When Tristan had the Emerald Child in his possession, time would have been more wisely spent in returning her home, where she can be kept safe from people like—"
"People like Donovan?" Jacques fumed, not at all surprised by the discrimination.
"Many more lives will be lost," Molajah added, the darkness of his disappointment filling Jacques' soul.
"Lazaro Sabbatini sought power and received his just reward. Every encapsulating gem would have reacted in a similar fashion. He knew it well enough, weighed the risks and chose—"
"We're speaking about the human race! No death is reasonable. In addition," Andros continued, "you purposely led the descendant astray to better serve your personal desires."
"We had time before the Emerald would be available." Jacques stood on firmer ground with this particular argument. "Mandissa is a highly respected dignitary, without alternative or selfish motivations. The descendant needed proper instruction, and the knowledge obtained created the possibility of retrieval."
"But that's the problem, Jacques," said Molajah. "The boy didn't need knowledge to produce a comprehensible map. Further, he wouldn't have needed to save the Emerald Child on the cliffs, had you not led him there to begin with."
Andros signaled Molajah into silence. "Do you deny orchestrating a highly dangerous situation, effectively putting both the dragon and the Emerald Child at risk, resulting in the physical contact between the two?"
Jacques chose his words carefully, keeping his frustration hidden behind a loud, proud voice. "We are to protect the Faerie races. The purpose and given right of any dragon descendant, especially one declared Designated, is for handling the enchanted casings: any and all if necessary. I foresaw him needing Valkyrie assistance and he would not have left Ireland without Dorian. We and the gems protect each other, with instinctual synergy decreed by the ancestors of each gem child and the Seraphim Dragons." Jacques silently wondered if Dorian and Tristan would survive each other as mates. He hadn't considered her history with the burial cave before leading Tristan to the island.
Molajah shook his head. "Because of your poor judgment, we must now face that neither of our objectives will be fulfilled. Worse, he may have taken on additional powers he has no control over."
"You define Tristan by his lack of ability," Jacques said calmly. "Yet you deny him the most basic, fundamental education. He has no training. How can you ask him to retrieve the Emerald, and not teach or warn him about the Emerald's power? How shall he prove himself worthy?
"Knowledge creates ability, not only to understand himself and his nature, but to comprehend what we are demanding of him. If we helped him, perhaps he can go farther and finish what we have failed to accomplish."
"You had very specific instructions, Jacques. It is not your place to change this ruling, nor is it to disregard the purpose of this council. Tristan has been judged undesirable and unworthy, no matter what his origins are."
Jacques couldn't believe they were so stuck on the same criticisms. "Before Tristan took his first breath, you decided his genetics would be unacceptable. Yet, with all you have put against him, he has acquired the designated position by you, the same condemning council."
"Only because there was no closer choice. His mind is intolerable and you lack respect."
"His mind is clear and brilliant. It is traini
ng and control and knowledge that he lacks. He deserves attention, a supportive education, and reevaluation."
"You, as his guide, deserve reevaluation," Andros shot back. "You have failed, Jacques. Do you understand what that means?"
"I believe he can finish what we couldn't, but he doesn't comprehend the communication. I am one of the very few—"
"Within that lack of comprehension," Molajah said, cutting him off, "he's managed to physically cross an entire continent to an island of your choosing, then halfway around the globe again to gain possession of the Emerald. Clearly, you have some control. You must demand the immediate safe-placement of the Emerald, before it causes more harm. Human lives will continue to be at risk. We are bound to defend all the races, not just the faeries."
"You seem to think that by keeping Tristan down, leaving him untrained, allowing him to exist at the barest minimum, that the powers of the Seraphim will continue protecting everything sacred. But what happens if we run out of options? If the dragons become truly extinct, will we, here in this realm, survive without the living tie? What if he happens to be a shifter, and doesn't know enough to keep his humanity? Will the faeries be lost and sealed forever with no chance of being reborn?"
"Are you done?"
"No. If Tristan draws this map, we run the risk of telling the world where each of these precious stones are. Will the innate powers of each gem be available to any human if there is no one with Seraphim blood alive to sustain the curse of protection?"
"What do you think a child would do with such training? He could destroy everything we've built for the last millennia in an irrational, thoughtless heartbeat. The map cannot remain in this descendant's head, lost to us forever. It must be duplicated in a form to be used by a more capable prospect."
"Then teach him how to do it properly," Jacques said.
"We order this Emerald to be delivered immediately, without further delay or excuses."
