Shades of Atlantis

by Carol Oates

  No! Wait, I protested, freeing myself from Caleb to throw my arms around my parents. I have so much I want to ask. Things I want to say. My father laughed lightly. We will be together again. Until then, you have things to do, a life to lead. He hugged me warmly.

  While my mother wrapped her arms around me, my father hugged Ben.

  You have grown into a fine man, a brave man, he said. We are very proud of you.

  Ben appeared a bit choked up. I knew this was harder for him; he had so few memories of our parents, even fewer than I did. To him, Lewis and Carmel were our parents, and I sensed his guilt mingled with happiness now that he was faced with the people that gave their lives to bring us into the world. My mother hugged Ben, and as the six of us stood close together, she placed one hand on my face and one on Ben’s.

  Goodbye for now, my darlings my angels.

  My tears broke through to the surface. They both backed away from us, and suddenly we were spinning again, the lights swirling like before. This time when we stopped, Caleb’s parents were waiting for us with Joshua and Eila by the Stone of Destiny. The crowd had dispersed, although I could still make out a few figures in the distance heading away from us. The sun was much higher in the sky than when we left.

  Annice stepped forward and embraced Amanda joyfully. I’m so glad you’re still with us.

  We have to get out of here, Samuel warned. Tourists are starting to show up.

  How long were we gone? Caleb asked.

  Over an hour.

  Lucien? Caleb inclined his head to the base of the mound.

  Taken care of, Joshua answered with one eyebrow raised. I didn’t even care what that meant.

  We should go now. Eila opened her jacket to flash her bloodstained clothes. We don’t want to have to explain.

  Where’s John? I wondered glancing around.

  Annice brushed her fingers over my cheek. He’s gone. She forced a comforting smile. He was very brave today, but seeing you disappear — it was just about all he could take.

  Right, I understand. I sighed, hoping he was okay.

  As we noticed the first of the tourists arriving at the spectacular ancient site, we made our way to the Land Rovers parked down the road. As we walked I wondered whether the tourists coming up the hill actually realized the magic and wonder of this place. How long would it be before they could learn the real history of Tara?

  Epilogue

  The weather was unusually warm for the beginning of March. It hadn’t rained in days, so the grass at Tara was dry and crisp under my feet.

  Pale, wispy clouds streaked across the sky like brush strokes, but otherwise it was clear blue, and the sun was at its highest for the day. I shut my eyes to feel the heat on my face and let the gentle breeze blow my hair across my cheeks. I had grown used to ignoring the tourists and walkers wandering around the hills, instead getting lost in my own thoughts and recollections about what had happened here less than half a year ago.

  I knew we had been to the otherworld, and the memory of being in my parents arms was fresher than it had been in years, but it was fading fast, so by now it was like a half-forgotten dream. I held onto the feeling, but as I looked around the landscape at Tara, to the west where the oak and chestnut trees stood, to the northeast to the mountains of Morne, and to the east to the hill of Skryne, it was impossible to remember what Tir na n”g looked like. Caleb assured me over and over that was how it was meant to be, that we took from the experience what we were supposed to and the knowledge we were brought there to learn. That should be enough for now.

  Ben and Amanda went back to Camden the very next day. I agreed to ship all her things to her; no one could blame Amanda for wanting to get away from the site of her own death as quickly as possible. I saw Ben’s reluctance, but in the end he needed to be with Amanda. More than Tara, wherever Amanda was, was his home now. Joshua went to Vincennes with Eila; she felt it was her responsibility to tie up loose ends concerning the Council: properties, artifacts they held, business dealings. I didn’t need to know the details; my connection to the Council was now severed, and I intended to keep it that way. Zeal went into hiding after the battle, but I was sure Caleb was still keeping track of him.

  Caleb and Samuel continued their research with some help from Eila, piecing together the true history of the Guardians, the history that Zeal and Lucien had tried to manipulate. They spent hours some nights in the study at the house in Oxford, poring over papers Eila sent and the ones Ben had brought with him from Camden. I found out that the history of sudden deaths in the previous generations of my family weren’t as accidental and unfortunate as I’d always imagined. It was all too morbid for me to think about just yet.

  Samuel did explain to us about an ancient tradition among Guardian royalty; apparently Lia F·il was not only used in the ritual to announce the bloodline. It was also used in a joining ceremony. When a rightful ruler stood before the Stone with his or her mate and the Stone showed its magic, they were joined for eternity by an unbreakable bond. It was the ancient Guardian equivalent of a marriage ceremony. So when the Stone’s magic took us to TÌr na n”g, for all intents and purposes under Guardian tradition, we were married.

  Annice returned to her work as a counselor helping young people grow into adults free from prejudice and hatred. I hoped in time I could follow her in a similar direction, using my gifts to make the world a little better and maybe one day to see the prophecy complete.

  I couldn’t settle back into the London apartment I had shared with Amanda or the house in Oxford, so after several long weeks of being edgy and feeling misplaced, Caleb and I returned to Tara. At the end of November, we rented a small house on the outskirts of the pretty town we had passed on the way to the battle last September and set about scouring the countryside for a more permanent base. For the time being at least, I had to be here.

  There was only one thing I had to do before I left London. I had spoken to John on the phone a few times, but he said he needed time to adjust to the new reality he found himself living in. I knew I had to help him, and I had to see him face to face before I went anywhere.

  The day before we came back to Ireland, I met John in the garden beside the church in Clerkenwell. The day was cold and there was no one around the park. I got there before him and sat on one of the benches to wait. I adjusted my wool hat and the hood of my parka, then blew into my hands and stamped my feet to keep warm. He was late, and I wished I’d asked to meet him somewhere indoors, even though I knew this would be easier.

  I finally spotted him at the gate and pushed back my hood. As soon as our eyes met, he turned away and just as quickly turned back, his indecision clear. I could switch the colors on and off now at will most of the time some days control still eluded me, but I was getting better. The colors that were mingling around John’s body were hard to read; they churned and changed, darkening then brightening. He was so confused, in so much pain, that my heart gave a small jolt. His nose was mostly healed now, but his jacket didn’t fit quite right; he was thinner than I remembered. His sandy brown hair poked out from under the baseball cap he wore, and a shadow of stubble covered his face.

  I stood and smiled brightly at him, hoping it appeared more sincere than it felt. Hi, I said, beaming. It’s great to see you. He smiled back, but it was strangled, and again my heart jolted. When I reached forward to embrace him, he seemed unwilling. He leaned in and pulled back before leaning to me again and giving me an awkward hug. I had to remind myself not to feel offended or let his reaction hurt me; it was a human reflex to shy away from what’s different. For John, that was me now. He still had light purple smudges under his eyes, but I wasn’t sure if they were the remnants of the injury inflicted by Amanda or if they were from lack of sleep. Underneath all that, he still looked the same; he was still handsome and tall with a naturally athletic physique. When he found his voice, he would still speak with the soft British accent that caught my attention the first day we met. He was still kind, loving, generous
, and brave; all those things were still there in the dejected man I saw in front of me.

  I took him by the hand to sit down with me on the bench and carefully examined the colors around him again. He held on tightly to my hand but gazed down at the ground.

  You’re doing that thing, aren’t you? he accused. He seemed irritated.

  What thing? I asked innocently. I knew what he meant. When I first spoke to John on the phone after the encounter at Tara and he appeared to be okay with the whole Guardian thing, I stupidly told him about reading people’s energy in the colors around them. I bitterly regretted that now. It didn’t make it easier for him to understand apparently it was making it harder.

  You know what. His annoyed eyes flashed to me. It’s not fair; it’s like you’re looking into my head.

  I exhaled, slightly disgruntled, allowing the colors to fade to nothing.

  There, they’re gone, I said with a pout.

  Good. He smiled, and his big brown eyes lit up. You really don’t want to be inside my head at the moment.

  I smiled too, seeing his miserable exterior crack for an instant to reveal the John I knew underneath.

  I never stood a chance, did I? he asked, his expression darkening again.

  That’s not true, I said, shaking my head in protest against his skepticism. If things had been different — if it had been the way I thought

  You mean if he was really dead, John snapped.

  I winced at his words. He was pulling at the tips of my glove one by one, loosening it.

  Yeah. I paused. I couldn’t say the words and tried not to imagine it was ever a possibility. I wanted to feel something, I really did. If there had been more time — It was probably true. In time, with John’s patience and perseverance, I might have loved him. Not in the way he wanted or deserved, but enough.

  He took hold of my glove, pulled it off slowly, and then cradled my wrist in one of his hands.

  With Caleb, it’s hard to explain. We were part of each other before we were even born. It was more than love; it’s what we are, I whispered.

  I know. John chuckled darkly.

  I tightened my eyes at him, and he stared back at me for a moment.

  Don t! he warned, guessing I was about to leap back into his head again. John ran his fingers over the back of my hand, studying the silken texture and golden skin. He raised his eyebrows for a second and sighed.

  That’s the problem, Triona.

  I still wasn’t sure what he meant, but I hoped it wasn’t what I had been dreading the last few weeks. That would mean doing something that I really didn’t want to do. The third option. John looked at me and forced another smile.

  I’m sorry I got you involved in any of this, I told him honestly.

  His forehead furrowed, and he turned his attention back to my hand.

  It’s too late to be sorry. Anyway, I’m the one who opened Pandora’s box. I wrenched my hand away. This was stupid; all I was doing was dragging out the situation. If John was this unhappy, I knew what I had to do.

  An old woman came into the park with a child in a stroller before I had time to act. John was observing too as the woman helped the little girl onto the sidewalk. The child was wearing a big, puffy, red coat, a woolen hat on her head, and old-fashioned mittens with no fingers on her hands, the kind that would have a string running through the length of her sleeves. The little girl ran off into the grass giggling, happily picking up dry leaves and little bits of twigs as the woman pushed the stroller to the bench next to us and sat. John chuckled once loudly, making me turn to him.

  Can he give you that? he probed, nodding toward the carefree little girl. Can he give you the kind of future you want? The girl ran toward us, smiling broadly, and held up a small broken twig in her hand. Stick! she announced proudly, pressing the twig into my hand.

  The old woman came over quickly after her. I smiled at the cute little girl with rosy cheeks, her strawberry blond hair falling over her forehead and neck from under her hat.

  Yes. Stick, I agreed, holding up the twig.

  John muffled a snicker. The woman grabbed hold of the child’s hand, but the little girl resisted, trying to pull away.

  I’m sorry, she’s just learned that word, and she’s telling everyone, the woman explained, barely hiding her pride at the child’s efforts.

  I reassured her with a smile and turned back to the little girl. You’re very clever.

  The girl beamed again, obviously thrilled to receive the reaction she wanted, and the woman smiled graciously before tugging the girl away toward the gate.

  Thank you, I called after her, waving the twig in my hand. The little girl looked back over her shoulder still giggling. What I wouldn’t give to be that carefree, I thought.

  Well? John pushed, watching me closely and holding my glove in his hand.

  Someday, I murmured, lowering my eyes to my knees.

  After a long minute, John stood up and started to pace in circles in front of me. I peeked up at him, keeping my head lowered. He was deep in thought; his expression was troubled as he slapped my glove lightly across his hand.

  So you’re leaving? he asked, though it was more like a statement.

  Yeah, tomorrow.

  He stopped pacing and glanced down at me with resignation in his eyes.

  Then he sat down again and took my hand, sighing. His eyebrows knitted and formed three small lines over his nose. If that’s what makes you happy. He paused, waiting, no doubt, for me to contradict him. A last ditch effort.

  I scowled at him instead. Of course it would make me happy.

  Okay, okay. I give up. His face eased. I’ll make a concerted effort to get over you. He held one hand up in a scout’s salute. Scout’s honor! I grimaced at him dubiously. Not that I didn’t think he could ever get over me. I just didn’t believe he really would try. He ran a finger over my cold cheek tenderly.

  You are sensational, he sighed wistfully. But I know with enough time I can move on — I know I can.

  I still wasn’t sure if he was trying to ease my conscience or convince himself. His eyes seemed far away and disturbed.

  It’s the other things — His words trailed off, and his cheeks reddened.

  I was stunned to realize he was ashamed. I had brought all this to his door, dragged him into a world of gods and monsters, and he was the one feeling ashamed. How ironic was that? I pushed off from the bench and laid my hands on his arms crossed over his chest. He stopped pacing to flash me a half smile, but it wasn’t authentic. I could see in his eyes he was struggling.

  I had seen John be brave; he had faced Caleb, and he had followed me into the unknown. Yet, now he was here and he couldn’t find the words to tell me how he was feeling or what was haunting him.

  John, talk to me, I pleaded.

  John’s lips twitched nervously on one side, and he turned away from me.

  His shoulders drooped miserably. This, what you see. It’s not real. There are things going on that you don’t know you don’t see — I winced. He was quoting my own words back to me. He paused to sigh, and I felt sick with the apprehension of where this conversation was leading us.

  You were right. I don’t want to believe there are things like real magic out there. Gods walking the earth — monsters — His voice trailed off.

  The last word struck me like a physical blow. He saw me rip the heart clean out of Lucien’s chest and hold it while its pulse faded and it died. How could he see me as anything more than a monster now? I knew that what I had done wasn’t the act of a monster I was simply trying to protect everyone, including him. But I had spent long enough feeling human, living the life of a human. I could imagine how it would have looked through his eyes.

  I slumped back down to the bench with my head in my hands. You think I’m a monster, I whispered.

  His hands were on mine quickly, easing them away from my face. John was hunched down on the ground in front of me, and he lifted my face so our eyes were level. I’d never seen anyone
look so tortured.

  No, no, he insisted. I know you’re not a monster. I saw what he was doing to you and what happened to Amanda.

  I was intensely relieved to hear him say that. I smiled and shivered from the cold. John sat up on the seat beside me again, putting both his arms around me.

  It’s the others the one who tried to kill Amanda. I didn’t think it necessary to correct John’s assertion that Zeal had only tried to kill Amanda.

  He’s in my dreams. Every time I try to sleep, I see his menacing black eyes. I tightened my eyes quizzically. I thought Zeal’s eyes were gray. Maybe it was my superior eyesight or maybe it was John’s imagination overworking, making Zeal look even scarier than he was. I made an effort to bring my attention back to John, who was still talking.

  I see total strangers and they seem to move quicker. They look different. They’re glaring at me, and when I look again, they’re gone — or they were never really there in the first place. He smiled wistfully and shook his head. I don’t know. I see them all — gods or monsters, they all terrify me. I embraced him tightly, resting my head under in his chin where I could feel the throbbing of his blood through his neck. I wouldn’t, couldn’t leave him like this. I have something I want to tell you. I sighed. My heart ached so much it was hard to breathe. I was at a crossroad again, and no matter what I did, one of us would be hurt, but I had to choose.