Crux

by Julie Reece

  The scene clouds up and refocuses inside a building where the same guys appear to converse at some official council meeting. One guy, maybe the head honcho, stands in front of the others. Beneath his fur hat with horns, he puffs out his chest, his arms gesturing as though his opinion should be accepted without question.

  “The task to defeat this darkness is left to us.”

  “Brother Vistna, how may we achieve this feat? Will God protect us if we house the evil stone … ?”

  My head gets heavy; their voices distort as if I’m listening underwater. I can’t hear them, exactly, but I feel the intent of their words. The brethren seem to understand what the amulet is, what its capabilities are, and they form a plan.

  Men of different hierarchy and positions are brought within a center circle. Some put their hands on the men’s shoulders and chant. Others dance around the circle, leap or writhe on the ground.

  The Grand Poohbah with the horns on his hat shouts, “Swear your oaths brothers! Swear your obedience.”

  The men pound their chests with tight fists. “We swear.”

  “Swear your silence.”

  More pounding. “We swear.”

  The scene before me swims again, swirling like a whirlpool of colors in a slush drink machine until I drop the stone and sit trembling in my bath.

  Crap.

  Blades of grass from the monk’s garden float in the frothy suds around my feet. This is real, either that or I’m totally insane.

  Dang you, Jeff.

  Steam fills every crevice of the bathroom, billowing up from the still hot water. The trip took a lot longer in my mind than it did in reality.

  The smell of lavender wafts off my skin as I get out of the tub, slip into my bathrobe, and wrap my wet hair in a towel. I’m ready for that paper now; that and a good bludgeoning to the head to forget the mess I’m in.

  Wet feet leave prints across the floor as I plod through the apartment to the front door. The second I open it, I freeze.

  Jeff stands there with his hand fisted as though preparing to knock.

  Seriously?

  I peer out into the hall, checking both ways to satisfy myself there’s no one else coming. That’s when I catch sight of the dog—although said dog looks more like a black, shaggy bear.

  Who’s next, the Easter Bunny?

  The hulking beast trots past me and straight into my apartment. I open the door the rest of the way and gesture for Jeff to enter. “Might as well make yourself at home, too.”

  The animal climbs on top of my mattress, scratches around in my blankets, and lies down.

  I throw up my hands. “Can you shut the door? I’ll be right back.” I grab some underwear, jeans, and my new, red T-shirt with a blingy rhinestone peace sign on the front and disappear into the bathroom to change. “What are you doing here, Jeff?” I yell through the door as I tug on my jeans. I imagine it has something to do with the twenty panicked voice mails I left on his phone last night after ‘Baldy’ tried to abduct me in the grocery.

  “You left twenty panicked voice mails in my inbox, why else would I be here?” Insinuation lies barely concealed in his words, but when I peek around the corner his face is dead serious.

  Funny.

  “Okay, okay.” I emerge from the bathroom, rubbing a towel on my wet hair, and as I drop into a chair. “Remember the day we met? There were three big guys in army fatigues in on the money grab.” I pause to make sure he’s with me. At his nod, I continue. “Well, they followed me after you left. I guess they wanted my share, too. They even went so far as to have a taxi tail me, but I lost them in a parking garage.”

  Jeff stands and walks to the kitchen. I swivel in the leather chair Grey assembled for me, so I can track his movements. He opens the refrigerator door and peeks inside.

  “Anyway … one of them showed up at the market last night, said they’ve been looking for me. Dude, I was totally freaked. That and … I touched the amulet again, Jeff. I believe you. Well, I believe something sketchy surrounds you and the necklace thingy. No offense, but I need to know how to get rid of you … both of you.”

  He glances up from the refrigerator, his expression blank. “You have nothing but bologna and cheese in here.”

  “Ahh! I know that! Why is everybody so fascinated with my lunch choices?” I thumb behind me, “And what’s with the mutt?”

  As if on cue, the dog lifts his head from my bed. I’m already imagining the eau de canine he’s infecting my blankets with.

  “You said you wanted a dog.”

  “Dog, yes. Woolly mammoth, not so much.” I blow out a breath. “Oh, whatever. What’s its name?”

  “His name is Fenris, and he’s no ordinary dog.”

  The dog scratches his ear and shakes. That I believe. “So, what do I do, Jeff? Truthfully I think you’ve got the wrong girl. I’m not brave. I tend to run when things get dicey, so I have no idea why you think I should be trusted with this, er … whatever it is.”

  “Tell me what you saw when you touched the amulet.”

  I hesitate for only a second as I describe my latest experience. His eyes light up when I tell him how the monks recovered the necklace and about the meeting they’d held.

  “The amulet has been known to give its bearer visions of its history,” Jeff says. “The occurrence is coveted, and the information that’s revealed is valuable.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Jeff shifts in his chair. “The priests devised an intricate plan of protection. Three tiers of handlers exist for Alarr. That is the name of the amulet, by the way. The first are the Wielders—what you are.

  Wielder? I swallow.

  “They are the descendants of Orn, and there may be as few as one or two alive in the world at one time who can complete this task. Next are the Konrs, connected to Thorolf and Haddr. They use Alarr’s power for evil and must not be allowed access. The Guardians are the third and last tier. They can be anyone of value or who proves trustworthy. They protect the Wielders and keep Alarr from the Konrs.

  My eyes narrow. “Are you my Guardian?”

  “No. That is not possible. The role of Guardian is one of honor and sacrifice. He is Húskarl, a free man in service to another person—a relative or friend who can travel everywhere you go without raising suspicion.”

  An insistent knock bangs on my door. I stand to answer it. Grey waits in the hall, clutching a bag of Duncan’s Bagels. He glares at me, walks straight to my kitchen, and tosses the bag on the counter before turning to Jeff who is now standing, too.

  I position myself between them.

  “Who is this? What’s a Guardian?” His tone is low and fierce. “Someone better start explaining.”

  My mouth pops open. “How did you … ? You were listening?”

  Grey doesn’t answer, but his nostrils flare. I can hear him suck air through them. The men glare at each other. Their chests puff up like two World Wrestling Federation action figures.

  “Who the hell are you?” The question is fired from both of them at the same time.

  From the bed, the dog gives no more than a yawn in response to the testosterone twosome.

  Yeah, he’s a real killer.

  I roll my eyes and sink back into my seat. “Um … guys?”

  “Stay out of this, Birdie,” Grey warns.

  Oh, for heaven’s sake.

  “Who are you, her pimp?” Grey says to Jeff. “Get out of here old man, or I won’t be responsible for what I’m going to do to you.” His hands are fists at his side, his knees slightly bent. Every muscle in his body coiled and ready for a fight.

  Surprisingly, Jeff’s shoulders relax. He crosses one hand to his bicep and rubs the blond stubble on his chin with the other. “Who is he, Birdie?”

  “He’s a friend. He helped me get away from the apes that followed me the same day I met you.”

  Grey’s head snaps toward me. His brow creases in confusion.

  “How well do you know him?” Jeff continues.

&
nbsp; I see the wheels turning in Jeff’s head, and I don’t like the direction I think he’s headed. “Forget it, Jeff. Not him.”

  “Uh … you know I can hear you.” Grey says, crossing his arms. “And not me, what?”

  Instead of answering him, I stroll across the room to my new dog, letting him smell my hand.

  “How much did you overhear, boy?”

  Grey’s eyes narrow. “Name’s Grey Mathews. And I heard most of it, I think, but I don’t know what any of it means.”

  “That makes two of us,” I mumble. When the dog licks my fingers, I rub his ear, and the mongrel leans into the scratch. Impressed with the progress, I crawl on my mattress and lay alongside him, surprised to find he doesn’t smell bad.

  As I run my hand over his coat, I discover he’s much softer than he looks. “Hey, buddy,” I croon. In response, the dog makes a low rumbly noise. I bolt up, thinking it’s a growl, before I identify the rhythmic purr similar to a cat’s.

  “Birdie, go get the amulet. I’m going to explain the situation to your friend.”

  I roll from my bed and plod into the bathroom. Although I know I’ll never allow Grey to get caught up in my mess, there’s a part of me that wants him to understand what’s happening. Somehow Grey knowing makes me feel less alone, less psychotic.

  I return, careful to only touch the chain, and lay the amulet on the kitchen counter.

  Grey joins Jeff and me on the other side of the little peninsula. Grey’s eyes brim full of unanswered questions.

  “Listen, both of you, while I explain.” Jeff has this easy confidence when he speaks. He doesn’t yell, but somehow I have a feeling I’m going to do whatever he says anyway.

  “Look at the amulet. Every shape here has meaning. The lion’s mouth holding the stone represents the strengths of animals. These waves are water, and the wings represent flight.” Jeff’s fingers point out the various decorations. “Here, the sun’s rays indicate fire. The stone itself is healing, life and death. The stone has great power for a Wielder, but Guardians cannot use its energy. In the past, however, they have manipulated others for their own gain. That is why they must be chosen with care.”

  Grey lifts his head. His brow creases as if to say, you’re not buying into this whack story, are you?

  I am. I’ve seen things Grey hasn’t.

  Jeff lifts the amulet and drapes the chain around my neck. My body tenses, and I take a step back.

  “Alarr Skakki Víglundr,” Jeff says. “Birdie? Will you trust me to try an experiment with the amulet? To get used to Alarr’s power? I won’t let anything harm you.”

  I nod, interested.

  “Now, close your eyes—”

  “Wait a minute. Is this safe?” Grey’s focus flits between Jeff and me. “I’m not saying I buy into all this voodoo crap, but I don’t want her to get hurt.”

  “Worried about her, are you?” Jeff asks with a smug smile. “Oh, I think you’ll do quite nicely … if you decide to take the job.”

  “No job,” I counter and stare pointedly at Grey. “Dude, aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

  “I skipped. What job, Birdie? What’s he talking about?”

  I raise my hand. “Never mind, it’s all right. I want to try his … experiment.” I’m shaking and tense, but somehow, I understand I have to start down the path if I’m ever going to get this over with and reach the end. What I hope will be waiting are peace and a normal life. “I’m ready.”

  “Lift your arms and float, Birdie.” Jeff’s voice is strong and commanding.

  “Do what?”

  “Float.”

  Grey’s face reflects my inner thoughts. Yeah, he’s certifiable all right.

  I think ‘flight’, but nothing happens. “Didn’t work.”

  “No, Birdie. Don’t try. Just do.”

  I try to relax, but it’s so hard to let go.

  “Think of air, of the eagle,” Jeff says.

  I’m nothing if not a control freak, so I close my eyes and picture being in control of the eagle, riding it like a horse, making it do my bidding.

  “What the h … I want the job.” Grey’s quiet words exit on a rush of expelled breath.

  The wind lashes my face, penetrates my skin, wings.

  “I thought you might,” Jeff answers dryly. “But you’ll need more information first. You don’t even know what—”

  Whoa, this is massively cool. I explore the idea of weightlessness. The eagle’s mind melds with mine, our thoughts become one.

  “I don’t care. The job is mine.” Grey speaks toward me this time. Soft and gentle, his voice breaks through my concentration. “Bird, open your eyes.”

  Slowly, I raise my lids, glancing around to find I’m floating several feet off the ground. With breath gasping from me, I lose track of balance, physiology, physics and the eagle.

  My butt hits the floor. Pain shoots up from my tailbone, leaving it stinging and sore, but I ignore it.

  I was flying.

  Mother chicken, flying!

  8

  A gray sky looms beyond the window of Jeff’s silver Beamer; he’s taking us to his house in Buckhead. Wind tugs at the few remaining leaves that cling desperately to scattered oak trees lining Blackland Road. I relate to their plight, never having much control over my life. What little I thought I’d gained in the last weeks seemed plucked away just as fast. Like a cartoon character trapped inside a snowball careening downhill, I have no choice but to wait for the inevitable impact.

  Jeff said there’s more to explain, and afterward, we’ll get twenty-four hours to decide.

  In or out.

  Grey sits in the back seat, quiet as a stone sentinel. Fenris lies in the seat beside him. His white muzzle lying on overgrown paws. The dog always looks so bored. Peering over my shoulder, I seek Grey’s eyes. We don’t speak, but I wonder what he’s thinking. He seemed so impressed with Jeff, the amulet … my flying.

  Oh, sure, it’s all fun and games levitating around your living room, until someone loses an eye.

  Jeff turns onto Tuxedo Road and rolls up a cobblestone drive. As I turn back around, he stops at an enormous, wrought iron gate, hits an opener on his keypad by the steering wheel, and we pull up to what I assume is his house. No, not house, mansion. I begin to doubt he gave all his money away the day we met.

  A quick scan, and thanks to my fifth set of foster parents, I take a guess Jeff’s home is a completely restored, 1930’s European Tudor. Boy, I’m slummin’ now.

  The Darcy’s were a nice enough couple. They were the ones whose neighbor had the husky with eyes the color of Grey’s. Young real estate brokers, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, were stuck in the fast lane and all about making money, wearing designer clothing, and eating at fancy restaurants. They had no children, and I was their only foster. Mrs. Darcy taught me about fashion, dressing me like a life-size Bratz doll. Rarely home, they were married to their jobs. In no time, I figured out I was merely a novelty, an experiment in philanthropy, but it didn’t last. I got in the way of their travel and social calendar, and ten months after arriving, they gave me back to the state.

  We all get out of the car and go inside. The foyer’s heavy wooden beams against soft taupe walls remind me of a European castle. After a declined drink offer, Jeff asks us to accompany him to the gym.

  Gym?

  A medieval suit of armor stands to our left. I can’t help but stare. Sharp eye slots in the iron mask give the face a sinister appearance. Grey shrugs, his mouth curling into an encouraging smile as we pass through room after room.

  Behind us, Fenris pads over each thick area rug, his nails clicking against the pine flooring in between. The showy mansion is something the Darcy’s would have loved to list. A freaking fairy tale brought to life.

  Grey walks close to me as we follow along, the back of his hand brushing mine. His touch is warm on my skin, and my mind coasts to thoughts of his arms, his lips.

  My wishing for more than normalcy is getting pathetic.


  The ‘gym’ isn’t much smaller than the one at my last high school. Wood floors gleam. Tumbling mats hang on the walls, and a water fountain hums in one corner. Jeff gestures to a couple of red folding chairs near the door. We slouch into our seats and wait.

  “Thank you for coming,” Jeff says. The words sound extra formal in his funny accent. “I’ll get straight to the point. To defeat our enemies, we must work within limited windows of time. Many factors come into play: star alignment, the participation of Orn’s heirs, commitment of a Guardian—the list goes on.” Jeff paces back and forth, his hands deep in the pockets of the rain coat he never takes off. “Once every decade, a portal to the past opens. A descendant of Orn can travel to Gunnarr Blot, join the repetition of events at the battle site, and attempt Alarr’s destruction.”

  Grey holds up a hand. “If that’s true, why hasn’t anyone annihilated the stone before now?”

  “Attempts were made throughout the years.” The lines decorating Jeff’s face deepen. “Mental as well as physical agility are needed to complete the mission, and many would-be Wielders proved poorly suited to the task. Some were seduced by the power of the amulet, others died in battle. If an heir refuses the challenge, he cannot be forced. “The bonding process of Alarr forms a tie between the spirits of Haddr, Thorolf, and the Wielder.” Jeff’s eyes focus on me, “It’s the burn you experienced when you first held the amulet. Based on what I’ve seen, you’re an excellent candidate.”

  I shift in my chair as Jeff continues speaking.

  “Once Alarr marks the Wielder, Haddr does everything in his formidable power to stop them. He will hunt you, now, unless the bond is broken with your refusal. That’s why I brought you here. Should you accept the quest, the bond with Alarr completes, and you will begin training in this room.”

  I try to think of some clever quip to diffuse the panic engulfing me, but nothing comes. None of this is funny, and I’m tired of being scared all the time.

  My father’s face swims, faded and distant, in my mind. Didn’t he die doing the same kind of thing? He fought for the home and country he loved. While supporting mom and me, but also for an ideal, for the freedom of his countrymen, and people he didn’t know.