Descendant (Secrets of the Makai)

by Kerr, Toni

  Tristan took a few steps back, eyeing the way out. He grabbed the nearest torch and held it ready, in case something emerged from the mud. The spot where Dr. Morley's tool landed began shifting colors, alternating between a dark blue and purple.

  Dread lurched up his spine. Not only had he killed one of the residents, but he single-handedly destroyed the cave that made the entire island secure. Pale pink spots of light convulsed in the thick mud, fading with darker colors as they spread. The walls rumbled.

  "I'm so sorry." Tristan dropped the torch and fell to his knees. He'd have to go down with the cave, too ashamed to show his face above ground. Nobody would believe him now.

  Transparent orange liquid dissolved everything in its path, eating through the mud. Flynn's body fell with a splash in the shifting ground. Tristan grabbed a handful of sand; pastel colors flickering as it trickled between his fingers. The walls around him shimmered. He stood and spun in a circle of wonder.

  Now the water was almost crystal-clear where the tool lay, with white sparkly sand beneath it. The black tape that Dr. Morley had wrapped around it was unraveling. Tristan stepped into the soupy mixture of color and reached for the tag of loose tape, determined to shake the tool free of confinement. The water tingled on his skin, dissolving the splats of mud and blood up his arm. He pulled the glowing spike out of the water and unwound the tape all the way, squinting his eyes tighter with the intensified brightness. When all the tape was off, he tossed it into the pool like a fish, unable to look at it directly.

  Mud turned to water twice is fast; the walls shimmered even brighter.

  The ground rumbled and rocks fell over the path. He had to tell someone about the cave. Maybe he still had a chance to explain. He took one last look at the extraordinary water and glanced at Flynn's body.

  It wasn't there.

  An arm whipped under his chin, squeezing his neck and pulling him off his feet. Tristan grabbed the crook of an elbow and pulled, making a gap for air.

  "Aren't you just full of surprises," Flynn whispered with a southern drawl, inches from Tristan's ear. "Bringin' me back to life like you did. Fixin' the cave to normal. Yesiree. I bet Lazaro would give his eyeteeth to set up shop here, with security workin' all proper. He might even try dunkin' a few of them statue people, see if the water works on them. One thing's for sure, I know he'd love to get his hands on you."

  Tristan pulled on Flynn's arm, struggling to be free. Why couldn't the man just die?

  "Let's go sonny-boy."

  Tristan felt a sharp jab in his side as Flynn shoved him toward the exit. His mind raced. He had to keep Flynn from telling Sabbatini about the water, even if it meant being buried alive. Rocks fell from the ceiling. He trudged up the hill of boulders with Flynn's arm still around his neck, hoping a rock would hit Flynn before him.

  At the top, rocks cascaded to the ground. But instead of forming a pile, they circled up. And up. Outside light shined through at the bottom, stretching taller as the rocks kept circling. "That'd be our way out," Flynn said, prodding Tristan into the light of day with a knife.

  Flynn jerked to a stop, yanking Tristan against his chest and tightening his grip.

  Dorian, Oliver, Eric, Landon, and Victor stood ten feet away.

  "I figured out the cave!" Flynn said, rocking side to side on his feet. "Tristan tried to kill me, so it'd stay broken, but I fixed it! Go see for yourselves!"

  "He'll bring Sabbatini and revive the statues," Tristan croaked, Flynn's grip unbreakable.

  "This is our spy!" Flynn arched Tristan's back, forcing him to his tiptoes.

  "Kill us both if you have to," Tristan said. The ground rolled like a giant wave. The cave entrance collapsed in an explosion of dirt and rock. "Don't open for anyone! Ever!" Tristan yelled as a last resort.

  Flynn wrenched him back into the knife tip, but it seemed nothing more than a pinprick stabbing at his side. Tristan shut his eyes and told Landon and Victor everything in a rush of thought, while Flynn carried on out loud about how Tristan had managed to be spy and student, fooling everyone.

  Then Flynn disappeared.

  Tristan staggered away from the pile of rocks, gasping for air.

  "What happened!?" Oliver barked, taking a few steps forward. "Where's Flynn?"

  "Tristan was telling the truth," Landon said. "We couldn't risk letting him go."

  "So, you killed him? Just like that?" Dorian asked, her mouth hanging open. "He was a decent man! A father and a husband! How could you just...?"

  "I did it." Victor raised his hand.

  "I thought I did," Landon said, glancing at Victor with a shrug.

  "You were both too slow," Donovan said, getting everyone's attention. He stood at the top of a nearby ridge, nearly silhouetted by the sun. "Your hesitation might have gotten everyone killed."

  Dorian scowled, then faced Tristan with a look of icy-cold hatred. "Maybe they believe you, but I saw you with my own eyes. You killed Flynn. If he didn't die in the cave, it wasn't because you didn't try. You were probably lying about a spy in the first place!"

  "The water—"

  "There's no water down there. Stop lying to me!" She stomped to him with her fists clenched and shoved his shoulder. "Say it! What was Flynn going to tell us about you?"

  Tristan felt the blood drain from his face. His legs trembled and he couldn't seem to keep his balance. Landon and Victor pushed Dorian aside and grabbed him. He just needed to sit is all. Landon seemed to understand and helped him down. "Dorian," Tristan watched her recoil from him, anger still flaming in her eyes.

  "You're murderers. All of you!"

  "Dr. Morley's tool fixed the cave. Flynn recognized it, that's how I knew." His voice sounded breathy for some reason. Dizzy waves circled in his mind. "I can prove it."

  Tears ran down Dorian's cheeks. Landon and Victor kept fussing over him.

  "He already told Sabbatini about the box. Alice covered for him. Ask her."

  48

  - THE BITTER END -

  TRISTAN ROLLED OUT OF THE HAMMOCK with a bandage wrapped tightly around his waist. He wasn't even sure what the problem was this time. Only one thing was for sure—Dorian was a lost cause.

  He put a T-shirt on and hiked down to the lake, thinking about Landon and Victor. He'd be in a better position to steal the emerald back if he went with them. But he also wanted their friendship. He'd have to trust Gram in regard to Alpheus.

  He searched the empty skies for the falcon, needing a nod of approval. Or direction. Anything.

  Dorian sat at the end of the dock-rock. Tristan kept his distance, trying to figure out what she had in her hands, unable to guess what sort of mood she was in.

  "Sun feels good, doesn't it?" she said, gazing over the lake.

  "I suppose." He hoped not to leave on bad terms and made an agreement with himself not to argue about anything.

  "We talked to Alice." Dorian got to her feet and fiddled with a collection of wooden pipes, held together by decaying twine. "She said she took his place while he ran a quick errand. But that doesn't mean he overheard us, or ran to Sabbatini with information."

  Tristan shrugged, wincing as the motion tugged at his wound. "How's Gram doing?"

  Dorian bit her upper lip. Her chin quivered and her eyes filled with tears. "She wanted me to play a spirit song for her journey, but I didn't. How could I? And now it's too late."

  Tristan stepped forward to comfort her. He could hug her and let her cry. He could apologize and explain what happened. But she shoved him away. "She died while we were dealing with you! I could have been with her if you hadn't…. And I have a boyfriend. His name is Philip."

  Tristan clamped his jaw shut and let his heart break in silence. How could he miss the fact that she was already dating someone? "You're the one who put me down in that cave in the first place." Who was this Philip, and where had he been all this time? Where was he now? Anger slithered toward his tongue, but he kept it in.

  "Why didn't you just transport us home from
Ireland right away? If I'd gotten here sooner, she would've been fine! We want you off the island. Now."

  "I'm already going with Landon and Victor."

  "Figures they'd want you in the Makai—you kill just as good as they do."

  "I didn't kill anyone and I'm not part of their group. They said I could go back to school is all."

  "Well, I think you should join them. You don't seem to have a problem killing people right and left. None of them do."

  "Come on, Dorian! He had me face-down in the mud, was I supposed to just lay there and give up?"

  "I'm not talking about Flynn." Her furious voice echoed off the trees behind him. "I'm talking about all those people in Ireland!"

  "What?" Now she had to invent things to fight about, and it was a good thing he didn't promise Gram he'd be patient. Why didn't Gram mention a boyfriend when he brought up the idea of dating?

  "Oliver would have found us eventually. He said you took out Sabbatini's entire army. I can't believe you're denying it. They had families, too, you know."

  Tristan stared at her as she took long strides along the shoreline, back to her side of the lake. The air seemed to go with her.

  "Oliver's a liar!" He blinked, trying to remember what happened in the clearing that night.

  "He is not a liar!" Dorian spun around. "And he didn't teach you any of that! And Gram wouldn't be dead if you didn't come here in the first place, taking all her life for yourself just so you could go off and kill people!"

  Tristan stood with his mouth open, speechless. Oliver wouldn't lie about something so catastrophic, and Gram…he gulped.

  "You took it too far, Tristan! My life wasn't even in danger until we escaped."

  Gram's was. But he didn't say it out loud.

  "And you know what's worse?" Tears rolled freely down her cheeks. "You said the cave brought Flynn back from the dead, but will it open for Gram? No! Because you told it not to open. Ever!"

  Tristan watched her run alongside the lake, the crushing weight of truth in her words leaving him cold and empty. He couldn't change anything—not Gram's death, not the killings. Not the way she saw him now. The only thing to hope for was Landon and Victor being his friends, and taking him away from the island sooner than later.

  - End of Book 1 -

  - Book 2 ~ Spring of 2014 -

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My heartfelt thanks goes to all the people who have contributed support, critiques, encouragement, and sheer brilliance toward the welfare of this novel.

  To authors Michelle McLean and Angie Townsend, who have consistently loved this story since the beginning of time (or close to it).

  To author David Toft, my Ireland expert who is always willing to share his knowledge, and would have been completely satisfied to see this book published five years ago.

  To Mr. E (of England), who took me under his wing at the earliest stages of my writing, and raised the bar on my personal expectations.

  To Joyce Shor Johnson, whose faith in me and this story kept me going at a crucial time.

  To Emily White, my final editor who swooped in with diamond polish to make this baby shine.

  To Kristin Ciullo, Marsha Kerr, Gretchen Stribling, Amy Paschall, Peter Lauf, Lena Goldfinch, Cheri Schmidt, Lisa Amowitz, Ron Glick, Tara Sloan, Margie Zerr, Julie Butcher, Eva Winter, Carly Rowan, Marva Dasef, Jeanne Tomlin, David and Hannah Baehler, Barbara Wright, Pattie Lawler, Adam Bales, Cole Gibsen, Jessica Verday, Trevor Hoke, Christine Fonseca, Colleen Rowan Kosinski, and Richard Pinkerton, who have all helped shape this novel in some way.

  To my online networks of amazing people: Operation Awesome, Scene 13ers, and Patrick McDonald at QueryTracker.net.

  Of course, none of this would be possible without the loving support of my family, who know firsthand how much time and effort has gone into this amazing endeavor.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Toni Kerr lives with her husband, two dangerously creative children, and a fabulous Australian Shepherd in the Pacific Northwest. She loves the outdoors, horses, the high desert, Photoshop, music, salty things, and writing in the wee hours of morning when all is silent.

  For more information,

  follow the author on Facebook pages

  or Twitter: @ToniKerr_Writer