Shock of Fate: A Young Adult Fantasy Adventure (Anchoress Series Book 1)

by D. L. Armillei

  The writing on a granite stone relief indicated they had arrived at Lodestar Station. It reminded Van of the House of Lacus, except this atrium appeared long and rectangular, rather than round, and more embellished: the columns were Corinthian; white stone benches encircled the flourishing green flora; and on the far side, above one of the several high-arched exits, hung a colossal clock with roman numerals. The clock had four hands and varying phases of the moon on its face. Oddly, the station seemed empty of people.

  “Wow! What a ride!” Paley said, patting her hands up and down her body. “Yup, everything’s still here.”

  “Let’s go while the station’s deserted,” Van said nervously.

  “Where is everybody?” Paley asked, grinning. “Doesn’t anyone live in the Living World?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s creeping me out,” Van said. “The elevator to my classes opened into a normal-looking hallway. Our room looked just like a regular classroom, except it had no windows. The gym had high walls with windows near the top. All I could see was sky. I thought we were close to the domed roof of the House of Lacus.” She raised her eyes toward the rows and rows of windows on the floors surrounding the atrium. “Now I know my classes were here, on one of the floors above us.”

  “The elevator must be a direct route to the floor of your classroom,” Paley added. “The swirling disc is probably the public crossing route. If the Grigori took your class through the main portal, I’m guessing you would have suspected something fishy going on.”

  “And no way we would’ve been able to keep it a secret,” Van agreed, as she took in the enormous oil paintings of important-looking people set in decorative silver frames lining the walls. Some were depicted in light blue robes, others in fancy togas. “I rarely saw anyone when I went to class, except my teachers and Uxa.”

  “Uh, I hope nobody is looking out any of those windows right now,” Paley said, glancing up. “I doubt the Grigori allow kids to use the public portal.”

  They hurried off the landing and rushed toward the archways. Each had an engraved stone sign indicating a destination. Van pointed to the one under the clock. “Look, that says Lodestar Village. Sounds like a good place to hide out.”

  They had just reached the archway when they heard pounding footsteps coming from the landing behind them.

  “Grigori!” Van said.

  “People!” Paley said at the same time.

  Van and Paley raced down the exit ramp and burst onto the sidewalk. Eventually, they slowed to a jog.

  Van glanced back at Lodestar Station. The monumental structure towered over the village and reminded Van of her class trip to the White House. But no Grigori stormed after them. They slowed to a walk, giving Van time to catch her breath and scan the panorama.

  As she took in the beauty of the village, joy poured through her, so profound that her past seemed as if covered by an oppressive film of gloom. Each breath cleared away the murkiness she never knew was hidden inside her. She loved the dazzling village: the rows of fairytale cottages lining cobblestone streets, the spectrum of green trees that seemed to wrap the village in a blanket, the surreal blueness of the sky, the grassy rest areas with their gorgeous array of colored flowers and inviting stone benches. A mountain rose in the distance, so magnificent Van had trouble believing it was real and not a constructed backdrop.

  “Look at all the cute shops!” Paley squealed, gaping at the quaint cottages. “One of them has to be a restaurant. I’m starving!”

  Van inhaled jubilant scents of rose, jasmine, and cypress, as they meandered down the winding stone sidewalks of the bustling village, hoping to blend in and evade any snooping Grigori.

  Her heart opened to the plethora of people before her. Some chatted, while taking an afternoon break on the benches. Others sipped sparkling water from eye-level fountains. Most moved along in their colorful, stylish clothing with fabric-made store bags dangling from their hands and elbows. The women’s clothes varied between dressy pants and pencil skirts; most wore stunning calf-length capes over their outfits. The men wore casual tunic-styled shirts with tight-fitting trousers tucked into calf-length boots. They all appeared well-dressed, even the children and the women sporting jean-style pants.

  Not wanting to gawk at them, Van directed her attention to the shops’ display windows. She and Paley passed handcrafted jewelry stores; a candy shop flaunting specialty fudge; a place that sold archery equipment, camping gear, and other sporting goods; and another that displayed upscale dresses.

  Van paused to gaze at a red A-line dress she recognized—Genie had worn a similar dress to yesterday’s Jaychund festival. Her stepmother must have bought it on one of her “off-island” shopping trips. A man swept out of a shop called Lodestar Village Apothecary, jostling Van out of her thoughts. Her heart skipped a beat, as she took in the midnight-blue uniform of the Grigori.

  He was followed by a blonde woman wearing tan skinny jeans and a matching tight-fit tee under a tan cloak with an elaborate silver clasp. The couple, engrossed in their conversation, didn’t notice Van.

  “What does HG Huxatec say?” asked the woman. “Michael Cross was her First Assistant, after all.”

  Van’s stomach did a flip. They’re talking about my father! People treated him like a celebrity on their small island; still, Van was surprised to discover his popularity in this world, too.

  Paley was busy drooling over fudge in a candy shop’s window, so Van trailed behind the couple—close enough to hear their conversation, yet far enough away not to be noticed.

  “She’s still in the meeting,” said the Grigori, “with President Sterling, the rest of the Lodian Consilium, and the Grigori—at least, the ones who didn’t get stuck watching over the Station, like me.” He made a grunting sound. “Along with the entire Balish Counsil, including King Nequus.”

  The woman grimaced, then said, “The Balish are always looking for ways to cause trouble with us. They hate the Lodian democracy, now more than ever.”

  “Cross has put us in a precarious situation. HG’s worried about the outcome of the ruling.”

  “I’m sure she has a plan to fix this mess, no matter the ruling,” said the woman. She glanced behind her back, as if sensing someone listening.

  Van zipped into a nearby shop, waited a few seconds, then continued to follow the couple. Thankfully, crowds bustled along the sidewalks, and Van blended into the rest of the pedestrians.

  “Do you have to get back to work?” the woman asked the man.

  “Yeah, my break’s almost over. We’ve got a couple of guys watching the station, but they’re probably spying on the meeting instead.” He chuckled. “I will be when I get back.” He continued in a serious tone, “The Balish have gathered enough evidence this time for the repeal of Manik’s law. If we lose protection of that law . . . ” He let out a breath and shook his head in trepidation.

  “The Balish will invade Salus Valde,” said the woman. “This is huge.”

  “HG doesn’t want to cause mass hysteria, with the public thinking we’re on the brink of Dishora,” the Grigori continued. “It won’t be long, though, before people hear about Class III demons killing Prince Devon—”

  “Harrus, shush!” the woman said, cringing.

  Miss Nutting had told Van that the demons had vanished from the Living World. There can’t be demons here, thought Van. Lodestar Village is way too peaceful for that. Then she remembered the mud-like demons in the Native Island legends storybook she saw in her father’s study. A chill of truth rippled through her skin, causing her to shudder.

  Harrus lowered his voice, “—and notice the simultaneous disappearance of a high-profile figure like Cross. The rumors about his past will resurface.”

  “Alleged disappearance,” she said.

  “If he was rotten enough to murder his first wife all those years ago, he’s rotten enough to be involved with a takeover of Salus Valde. He was guilty then, and he’s guilty now. What? Don’t give me that look, Fiona!”
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  Harrus’s words shook Van to her core. Her father hadn’t killed her mother; Van had, when she was born. This was common knowledge on the island. Besides, her father worked in security. He protected Salus Valde. He would never be involved in a takeover. This guy had it all wrong.

  “He’s involved all right,” Harrus continued. “He’s been sidling up to that Balish princess. What’s her name? Solana. The power-hungry, money-grubbing—”

  “Aelia was a star—loved by all Lodians,” Fiona said. “What happened to her was a national tragedy.” Fiona shook her head as if to emphasize the waste of a life cut short. “We all felt emotionally invested in her future, even people like you who didn’t know her personally. Except you’re still holding a grudge against Michael for marrying her, aren’t you?”

  “Me and the rest of the Lodian community,” he said. “Since when does a dirty commoner get to marry into one of the purest Lodian bloodlines? Maybe sixteen years ago, but not anymore, thank-the-Light-and-all-that-is-good.” Harrus straightened his right hand and made a sideways figure-eight gesture in front of his chest. “And then keeping Aelia’s last name after her death! And giving it to that . . . that . . . Balish replacement wife of his.”

  Van’s jaw dropped. Genie is Balish? Miss Nutting had said Genie was from another tribe, but Balish? No wonder the women on the island hated her. They must have sensed that Genie was the enemy. Or they subconsciously absorbed the tension exuding from the Grigori who knew Genie’s history. This must be why Miss Nutting used the word asylum when she told Van about her stepmother.

  “She’s Antares-Balish,” Fiona said. “Not Balish-Balish.”

  “Humph, no difference.” He wagged his index finger at Fiona. “Being banished to live on Providence Island for marrying Aelia wasn’t a high enough price for Cross to pay.”

  “He confided in me once, you know,” recalled Fiona. “One night, after his wedding to Aelia. We worked late and went down to the pub for a drink—”

  Harrus glared at her.

  “Of course, this was before I met you,” Fiona quickly added. “He was distraught and had one too many mugs of mead. Told me deep in his heart he regretted marrying Aelia. It was the day he found out she was pregnant with his child.”

  “So, eight months later, he decided to lure his pregnant wife into the woods of Tipereth to kill her off? The lousy scoundrel. What were you thinking, having a drink with him?”

  The woman trembled. “Michael did leave poor Aelia’s body behind in the woods. Destroyed all her belongings when he got back, I heard. Didn’t want a single trace of her left behind. Their baby was lucky to have survived.”

  “Did it? No one has heard hide nor hair of the child for fifteen years.”

  “They say it’s a girl who lives on Providence Island. You know what it means if she exists, don’t you? If the child survived—”

  Someone roughly grabbed Van’s arm, spinning her around.

  “VAN!” It was Paley. “Has this world turned you deaf? I’ve been calling after you. I want some fudge!”

  The couple twisted around at Paley’s outburst.

  “Are you two okay?” Fiona asked, pausing long enough to eye the two of them.

  “We’re fine,” Van muttered, still stunned from the conversation she had overheard.According to them, Van’s power-hungry, money-grubbing, wife-murdering father lurked out there somewhere, hanging around with the Balish Princess Solana, plotting against the Lodians. Against me.

  “Why are you looking at us like that?” Paley said to them. “Am I not allowed fudge?”

  “We’re fine,” Van said again. She nudged Paley’s elbow. “Come on.”

  Thankfully, the couple was too busy to make any further inquiries and went their own way.

  Deep in thought, Van followed Paley back to a candy shop called Serendipity. Van’s father and mother had been banished from Salus Valde and forced to live on Providence Island for marrying each other? It didn’t make sense, although it explained why her parents hadn’t gone to Canterbury Bells.

  Paley picked up some Rocky Road fudge and candy coins the shopkeeper called chocolate “stips.” In a daze, Van went through the motions of being impressed with the wide, mouthwatering selection of petits fours decorated with tiny flowers, mini-pies piled high with whipped cream, and a variety of handmade chocolates—dark, white, milk, in cubes and barks, with nuts, without. Finally, she grabbed a box of rock candy off the shelf, just so they could get moving.

  Van had no appetite for sweets or anything else. She felt torn between running home and hiding under her covers forever and staying to discover the truth about her father. I always thought I had killed my mother when I was born. Van chewed on her lip. Being freed from this guilt came with the price of knowing her father had murdered her mother, which was no better. That couple is wrong! Van concluded that her father hadn’t killed her mother, she had. Then Van buried the conversation in a dark corner of her mind.

  Paley slapped their candy down on the counter.

  “This together?” asked the cashier, whose thick white mustache blew out at the ends when he spoke.

  Van nodded. Paley snickered at the man. Any another time, Van would’ve found the cashier’s resemblance to a walrus funny.

  “That’ll be a quarter pec.”

  Van paused, confused.

  “Don’t look so shocked,” the cashier said. “The Balish raised prices on everything. It costs me a fortune to have my ingredients shipped into Salus Valde. Besides, my confections are worth every pec!”

  “Pecs?” Paley asked. “What the heck is a pec?”

  “Um—” Van looked at the money in her hand—dollars! Earth World money! She snapped her hand closed. “Ah, hold on a sec.” Van slipped off her backpack and ruffled around until she found the burned text and pulled out the coin she had found in her father’s study. “Here you go.”

  “A bagoc!” said the walrus. He narrowed his eyes at them. “Don’t you have anything smaller?”

  “Uh, no,” Van said. After the man gave her change, she shuffled Paley out of the shop.

  “Where’d you get that weird money?” Paley asked, popping a large piece of fudge into her mouth.

  “Found it in my father’s things,” Van said.

  “Awesome!” Paley smiled, showing fudge smears on her teeth. “It never crossed my mind that this world would have different money. Good thinking, Van!”

  They continued strolling down the main road in the village center. As Paley entertained Van with a running commentary about every shop they passed, Van noticed that people glanced their way a little too often. Suddenly, it dawned on Van that no one else wore shorts and sandals or carried backpacks. She and Paley didn’t exactly blend in. Van shoved Paley down the nearest side street. “It’s getting late. We need to find a place for you to hide and wait for me to get back.”

  “How about there?” Paley said, pointing halfway down the shaded cobblestone street at a hanging wooden sign that read Three of Cups. On it, a faded painting depicted three Medieval-looking maidens, merrily toasting with gold chalices.

  “I don’t know, it doesn’t look like a bed and breakfast to me,” Van said. The sign made her think of a Medieval castle.

  “I won’t need a bed and breakfast after Uxa accepts me onto the project. Besides, I need real food.”

  “But what if—”

  Paley grabbed Van’s elbow and pulled her toward the Three of Cups. “We can ask about local bed and breakfasts while we are in there, after I eat!”

  Paley opened the heavy wooden door without hesitation. The crowded, noisy eatery had an aged stench, which caused Van’s nose to stuff up. The exposed beams and stone hearth worked with the eatery’s tavern decor. Van glanced down, expecting a dirt floor and heartened to see wood planks.

  They weaved their way through the crowd, passing a table of women dressed in bonnets and puffy-sleeved dresses, chitchatting and nibbling from small dishes of cooked meats and breads. Some patrons sipped funny-lo
oking drinks. One had a spiky plant sticking out of a tall glass; another was a clear liquid with a red candy heart in the bottom of a fluted glass. Most of the men sipped from tin mugs brimming with froth. The crowd seemed content, giving the eatery the feel of a local hangout. Van nudged Paley toward a table discreetly located in a corner, and they sat down.

  “How cool is this?” Paley said, her eyes darting every which way.

  “Keep your eyes on the clock,” Van replied. “I don’t want to lose track of time.”

  A bouncy barmaid with wavy, canary-yellow curls appeared at their table, looking like one of the maidens from the sign outside. “Hey, girls! My name’s Plexa. What can I get for ya?”

  “Do you have a menu?” Van asked.

  “Menu? All’s we got is the board.” Plexa bobbed her head toward a massive blackboard scrawled with messy chalk writing, telling of the day’s fares. “Just say what you want, and I’ll fetch it.”

  They both gaped at the board, overwhelmed.

  Plexa eyed them more closely. “You girls don’t look familiar. Where’re ya from, anyway?”

  Van drew a blank. She searched her mind for a plausible explanation for why two obvious outsiders had appeared in this eatery and couldn’t come up with one.

  “From that giant white building down the road,” Paley said.

  Plexa drew her eyebrows together. “You came from Lodestar?”

  “Sure, that’s right,” Paley said. “We came from Lodestar.”

  “We’ll have two— ” Van said, hoping to stop the conversation as she searched the blackboard. “Sassys, please.” As far as Van could tell, the drink contained lemon, ginger, mint, cucumber, and something called Gabba Grain.

  It worked. The bar-maiden stopped scrutinizing them and bounded away to get their order.

  “Paley, we need to leave. The waitress is suspicious.”