The Red Pearl

by C. K. Brooke

  ANTONIA WATCHED THE SUNRISE THROUGH Robin’s window. Each strand of gilt light illuminated the nightstand beside her, until she was left staring at the miniature scroll she’d placed there the night before.

  She slipped out of bed. The man stirred beside her, but did not awaken. Soundlessly, she dressed. Her hand closed over the furled parchment, and she stole from the room. She was startled by Maverick, who greeted her in the hallway. Beckoning the dog, Antonia crept out to the front porch with him. Alone with the animal amidst the early chatter of birds and faint whirring of ciqédo, she unraveled the scroll.

  She gazed down. Quilled onto the page was a single drawing in red ink—the same ink, unmistakably, in which the map had been written. Antonia’s breaths quickened as she registered the likeness, every detail, each angle depicting an image she knew unbelievably well.

  Staring up at her was none other than a portrait of the bust of the goddess, Azea. It was the very bust before which Antonia had been made to pray three times a day, back at her old temple.

  But how could it be? And why?

  Antonia traced the drawing with her finger, her pulse racing. She knew the bust at the temple was centuries old. It could’ve easily been chiseled in the era of the Torcan-Elphysian War. She also knew it was unique—not a copy. But what could it possibly have to do with the Red Pearl?

  Her eyes widened. Clutching the paper, she swiveled around and dashed back into the cabin, hopping over Dr. Watkins’s smorgasbord of contraptions. She shuttled back into Robin’s bedroom, Maverick tailing her.

  Robin, who was just waking up, blinked against the sunlight. “Antonia—?”

  Breathless, she launched onto the bed beside him. “I know where the pearl is.”

  He frowned.

  “It’s in the bust of Azea, back at my old temple!”

  The man’s brow knit together. “In the bust?”

  She nodded. “I think so. You see, it’s tradition in the Ancient Elphysian religion that every deity’s likeness contains something significant to imbue it with spiritual properties, never to be extracted. For example, in the west, there’s a statue of the god Daurys, which contains the collarbone of his most famous High Priest. And it’s rumored there’s a whole nugget of blue silver in the likeness of Hykklei, the mountain goddess…”

  “But what makes you think the Red Pearl is in Azea’s bust?” he interjected.

  Antonia handed him the little paper. “This is what I was trying to tell you about last night. It was hidden in the copper ball.”

  He squinted down at it. “Annie, there are thousands of statues out there. How do you know this portrait depicts the exact one from the temple you served at?”

  Antonia sighed. As a former priestess-in-training, these sorts of questions were not uncommon. But was all of Otlantica truly so ignorant of its own spiritual culture? “Every likeness of any Elphysian deity is entirely unique, Rob,” she explained patiently. “It’s bad luck to replicate one. As such, there’s only one bust that looks just like this.” She snatched back the paper. “And trust me, I know it’s the one from my temple. I was made to kneel before it enough times during the last six years!”

  He rubbed his brow. “So, what are you suggesting we do?”

  “Not we.” She eyed his bandage. “You need to recover. I know my way around the temple. I’ll go back and get it myself.”

  Robin gaped at her. “You want to rob a temple?”

  “You robbed a grave.”

  “Yes, but that was different, Antonia!” His eyes were round. “That was a dead man who neither knew nor cared, and couldn’t come after me. You could get into serious trouble if you’re caught—!”

  “I won’t get caught.”

  He dragged his fingers through his hair. “Enough. We’ve got to stop this crazy quest, before one of us ends up dead, or in prison.”

  Desperate, Antonia gripped his wrists. “Don’t you want to find the pearl? We’re so close, darling—!”

  “No, I don’t want to find it anymore,” he growled. “Can’t you understand?”

  “The pain behind your eyes speaks plainly to me that you do,” she countered.

  “But more than anything, I want you to be safe,” he contended. “If you return to that temple, you could be apprehended for stealing, or else punished for running off in the first place. And what about the Greyer Woods?” He spoke over her as she tried to object. “You’d have to cross them to get there. The place is swarming with ciqédo, Annie. And you’re allergic!”

  Tears burned her eyes. “I cannot let you sacrifice your dream for me.”

  “You sacrificed yours for me.”

  Antonia fell silent.

  “Gods.” Robin shook his head, regretful. “You were on your way to Elat, to meet your knight in shining armor…”

  “Rob, I…I don’t see it that way anymore.”

  But he didn’t seem to hear. “Please, don’t go back there,” he begged, petting her cheek. “For I couldn’t live if you never returned.”

  Antonia swallowed. She couldn’t make such a promise. She was unable to explain; she only knew that the pearl was his. And she loved him enough that, if he’d not finish the search himself, then she would find it for him.

  ROBIN HAD ALREADY GONE TO sleep for the night. He was sore from his stitches, and tired from the journey behind them. Antonia, on the other hand, could not rest. She glanced down at her forearm. Her ciqédo bites had completely healed. Meanwhile, the insects’ songs rattled in the trees just beyond, in the Greyer Woods.

  Casually, she leaned up against the porch railing. Dr. Watkins stood puffing a cigar beside her. “Doctor?” she addressed him.

  He looked at her.

  “Do you know of any, um, ciqédo repellant?”

  “Repellant?” The man thought for a moment. “Garlic oil.”

  She nodded. “Thanks.” She tried to grin innocently, indicating the forest in front of them. “Staying just outside the Greyer Woods, and all…trying to avoid another attack, you know.”

  “Wise.” The doctor returned her smile. “I believe we’ve a jar in the pantry. You may help yourself.”

  “How kind of you.” Antonia smoothed her skirts. “I suppose I’ll be going in, now. Thank you again,” she added, “for letting us borrow your prototype. Our expedition was truly spectacular because of it.”

  Dr. Watkins inclined his head. “I’m glad to hear.”

  “I’d wager that, when Rob is feeling better, he’ll tell you all about it.”

  “I’m sure he will.” The older man gave a friendly chuckle. “At any rate, Antonia, I am glad that my unruly son did not manage to frighten you off.”

  Antonia laughed. “I assure you, Dr. Watkins, he tried.”

  After bidding each other goodnight, she returned inside the cabin. A trip to the pantry was in order—and then, just before dawn, a visit to the stable.

  THE BLACK HORSE SNORTED IN the darkness.

  “Shh.” Antonia held out her palm, revealing a sugar cube. The stallion lapped the offering from her hand.

  Quietly as she could, the young woman dragged a stool from the corner and climbed up into the horse’s saddle. The creature swished its tail, but remained in place. “Um.” Antonia glanced around with uncertainty. “Giddy up.”

  The horse didn’t budge.

  She took hold of the reins and jiggled them. “Go on,” she told it, but to no avail. Antonia sighed, thumping the creature’s sides with her heels in frustration. To her surprise, it lifted its hooves and proceeded from the stable.

  Curious, Antonia clicked her heels into its stomach again, and the steed set into a trot. Well, that wasn’t so hard. She glanced up at the early sky, just beginning to break with dawn, and steered the horse into the sunrise. The Temple of Azea was east. And with the speed of Thaddeus Watkins’s horse, Antonia could make it the
re by nightfall.

  It was perfect. The dark of night was the only time she would brave infiltrating the temple, anyway. Otherwise, she was bound to be seen, for the front door was the only way in or out. All temples were built that way. It allowed the gods to keep watch of everyone coming and going, and prevent sneaking or deception.

  Antonia guided the sable horse into the brush, where it wove carefully between the maples. If she technically belonged at the temple, then she wasn’t sneaking. And she wasn’t deceiving anyone, she reasoned, if no one but she knew about the pearl in the bust. Finders, keepers. Right?

  Besides, even if the pearl was in the bust, that didn’t mean it belonged to the priestesses. Nay, it belonged to whomever sought it diligently enough to find it. In that case, Antonia believed that person was Robin.

  She ducked beneath a low bough, inhaling the balmy morning air. She wrinkled her nose, however, as her skin and garments reeked of garlic. She’d applied the oil liberally before her departure, and brought the rest of the jar with her, in hopes of staving off the ciqédo. For now, it seemed they were still sleeping. The forest was gentle and quiet.

  From morning to evening she rode, until her thighs and backside ached. On several occasions, she heard the familiar, eerie hum of a ciqédo swarm, and shuddered at the crinkly flapping of their wings. But they generally left her be. It appeared the garlic oil was working.

  At last, by sunset, she could see the cornfields surrounding the temple. After leading the horse for a drink at the stream, she guided it downhill and dismounted. She secured its reins to a tree. “I’ll be back,” she assured it. It huffed, tossing its great nose from side to side.

  Antonia fed it an apple, then turned to the fields, scarfing down a bite of fruit herself as she jogged. Her bottom was so numb, she nearly fell over. But oh, what relief to move her legs again.

  The white stone building was immersed in starry darkness, its pillars casting imposing shadows under the moonlight. Antonia’s stomach dropped. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to turn around and run. What was she doing back here? How could she have willingly returned? And what if Rob was right—what if they forced her to stay?

  She gnawed at her lip, battling with herself even as she climbed up the steps. Robin didn’t give up when he was told the treasure map was buried with a corpse, or when his best friends had betrayed him. He didn’t give up, even when Antonia was kidnapped. No indeed, he had climbed mountains to rescue her. It was the least she could do to step into this blasted temple one last time.

  Her hand trembled as she extended it to the door. She was relieved to find it unlocked; but then, this also made her nervous. For, if the girls hadn’t latched the door for the night, it meant that not everyone had retired yet. Someone inside was still awake.

  Her pulse pounded. She had to go in now, while the door remained unlatched. It would be her only opportunity. She would simply hide, if need be, until the last of the priestesses had gone to sleep.

  Antonia kept to the wall as she snuck in from the vestibule, her nostrils filling with the dreaded scent of incense. Two candles flickered at the altar, but the sanctuary was elsewise empty. She exhaled.

  The alabaster bust of Azea rested serenely upon the altar, just as it always had. Antonia approached it with caution, unable to decide whether she had missed it. Although, perhaps she had never really left the goddess. Perhaps the gods dwelled everywhere, not merely confined to carvings in temples.

  She stroked its stony hair, the back of her hand lingering against Azea’s cheek. With a glance over her shoulder, Antonia covertly tried to lift the statue, but it was quite heavy. With both hands, she braced the bust and wobbled it. Yet, she couldn’t detect whether anything moved inside.

  She frowned. Would she have to break the bust to get to the relic? Or, could there be an opening somewhere? What if there was a hole in the bottom, for accessing the pearl? Gathering her strength, the young woman heaved the bust off the altar, and slid her palm along its smooth base.

  “Looking for something?”

  Antonia gasped, nearly dropping the statue as it slid from her hands. She caught it just in time, her heart throbbing, and looked up. Her legs quivered to behold the woman who had just spoken.

  “H-how long have you been standing there?” Antonia stammered.

  Marcella, High Priestess of the Innían Temple of Azea, remained calmly in place. “The whole time.”

  Antonia lowered the bust back onto the altar, her eyes never leaving the High Priestess’s.

  “I must say, I am surprised to see you back.” Marcella shook her golden curls. “I knew from the beginning you never had the calling. Sadly, thus is often the case with youth who are offered to us against their will.”

  The priestess glanced down, examining her long, slender hands adorned with bracelets and rings, and decorated with sacred symbols in brown dye. “To become a priestess is not, I feel, a decision a woman’s family should make for her. But ah, well.” She shrugged. “Many parents beg to differ.”

  Antonia blinked. “S-so, you won’t force me to stay?”

  Marcella eyed her. “No offense,” she said, “but my coven is better served without those who do not wish to be present. Although, I must inquire,” she indicated the bust, “what you were intending to do with my goddess?”

  Antonia swallowed, her palms beginning to sweat.

  “If you don’t answer me, I can only assume you intended to steal her. In which case, I should have to summon the police.”

  “No. N-not steal her.” Antonia’s voice was hoarse. “I was only trying to get to the relic inside.”

  “Relic?” Marcella surveyed the statue. “I don’t believe anyone knows what relic our Azea contains. She is very old, you know. She came all the way from Ancient Elphysia. For centuries, she belonged to the private chapel of the Oléans family in Purto Klinto, Axacola, until they kindly donated her to us.”

  Antonia gave a start. “Did you say Axacola?”

  Marcella merely looked at her.

  “Where is Purto Klinto?”

  “It’s an island,” the High Priestess answered, “located off the Axacolan coast.”

  Antonia’s mind raced. The island on which she and Robin had found the copper ball must have been Purto Klinto. From its burial site at the kissing boulders, the drawing in the ball would’ve led the savvy seeker to the property’s private chapel. At that time, the bust had resided there. It all fit together. The pearl had to be in the bust!

  “Please.” Antonia moistened her lips. “May I excavate the relic? I only wish to know if I’m correct…”

  “I am sorry. But whatever Azea contains is never to be removed.”

  “But—!”

  “Enough.” Marcella held up a long hand, her expression growing cold. “I’m afraid I must ask you to leave now, Antonia.”

  Antonia was about to argue when a noisy rumbling sounded from outside. Startled, both women turned. Heavy boot steps plodded up the stone stairs, and the door to the vestibule groaned open. Her heart smacked to see Robin and his father emerging into the sanctuary, their hair windswept.

  “Annie, what are you doing?” Robin marched up to her, his expression livid. Dr. Watkins followed behind him, pocketing the key to the prototype.

  Marcella looked alarmed. “Excuse me, but our doors are closed to male visitors at this hour.”

  “It’s all right,” Antonia assured her. “I know these men.”

  “I don’t care,” the High Priestess snapped. “For the safety of my coven, I must command you to depart at once.”

  “Not a problem,” said Robin between his teeth. He seized Antonia’s elbow. “We were just leaving.”

  “No.” Antonia tried to pull away, but Robin tightened his grip.

  “Are you trying to get us arrested?” he demanded, boring his eyes into hers. “Now, come on.”

>   Antonia thrust away again, but the man restrained her. Furious, she whipped her elbow back with all of her strength, and Robin finally lost his hold. Her arm sailed through the air, colliding with something solid. She stumbled backward into the altar. A deafening crash sounded behind her, as Marcella shrieked in devastation.

  “What have you done?”

  Panting, Antonia turned. The likeness of Azea was no longer intact, but a mass of alabaster shards shattered across the wooden floor.

  By then, the commotion had drawn the rest of the priestesses to the scene. One by one, the sanctuary’s borders filled with sleepy figures draped in salmon pink robes.

  Antonia looked down again and finally spotted it: a glimmering, ruby-red sphere, rolling aimlessly amidst the powdery rubble. Immediately, she grabbed it, and shoved it in her pocket.

  “She’s taken something,” cried one of the apprentices. “It’s in her pocket!” The girl pointed at Antonia.

  Horrified, Antonia looked to Robin. The couple bolted, shouting for Dr. Watkins to follow. But the priestesses rushed to the vestibule, barring the way. Cornered by the entire coven, Antonia could only watch as Marcella approached her with an outstretched hand. “Give it to me,” she commanded.

  When Antonia did not move, the priestess nearest her dug a hand into Antonia’s pocket. Antonia felt ill as the young woman extracted the scarlet orb, and handed it over to Marcella.

  The High Priestess’s eyes enlarged. “Oh my,” she breathed. “The Red Pearl.”

  “Give it back!” Tears streaked down Antonia’s cheeks. “It isn’t yours!”

  But Marcella only gave her a cool look, and slipped the pearl into her robes.

  “Please,” Antonia begged, as the other priestesses restrained her arms. “Just let him see it.” She cocked her head desperately in Robin’s direction. “Let him hold it, just once…”

  “Antonia,” Robin whispered sadly. “It’s all right, my love. I’ll be fine.”

  Marcella’s jaw tightened. “You have vandalized my property.” Her nostrils flared. “And destroyed my sacred goddess.” She turned to the youngest apprentice, the one who had sold Antonia out. “Hydi, go into town and summon the police.”