The Turquoise Tower (Revenant Wyrd Book 6)

by Travis Simmons

  “I like that you think my services here will go unpaid,” Grace huffed, setting the boxes down near the glass shelves. She balled her fists into her back and stretched out the cramps.

  “It was nice of Dalah to let us move here,” Rosalee said, peering out the front door, her duster held loosely at her side.

  “Where else were we going to go?” Grace asked. She looked out at the black and white checkered floor of Fairview Heights. The ground floor of Fairview Heights was a perfect spot for the apothecary, after the one in Meedesville had been destroyed. When Maeven decided not to return to Meedesville, Rosalee had no other connections to tie her to the town. “Dalah certainly is a business woman. I heard she’s going to make the entire ground floor of this hotel into a mall.”

  “Well, at least Begget’s Apothecary will be the first store,” Rosalee said, bouncing slightly on her feet, still getting used to the feel of her wooden leg.

  “Yeah,” Grace said.

  “You don’t sound pleased about that,” Rosalee said.

  “It’s more than that. This place is a palace of wyrd,” Grace said, indicating the circular brown room, though she meant so much more, like the entire inn. “What happens if the Well of Wyrding is ever tampered with again?”

  “I don’t think that’s likely, do you?” Rosalee asked. “I think you feel something else. Possibly that you don’t belong any longer? The life you knew for the last twenty years is gone. What will Grace Ellengar do now?”

  “You’ve always been able to read me so well,” Grace told her friend.

  “I can read everyone well,” Rosalee waved her hand through the air around Grace. Grace knew her red-headed friend was indicating her aura.

  “For so long I’ve been a teacher, a guide. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have my own life.” Grace sank into a chair, looking around at the various boxes of herbs, ointments, salves, and oils. Tears welled up in her eyes. “And I feel horrible for thinking of it that way.”

  “Now, now,” Rose said. “I know what you mean. Now that Maeven is off doing whatever it is he’s doing, all I have is this shop.”

  Grace nodded. It didn’t help. Maeven was still alive. The only one she had left alive was Joya, and she was secluded away in the Shadow Realm. All that had been of her old life was gone, besides the friends who had shared it with her. Grace was lost, seemingly without direction, and for the first time in a long time she felt the weight of her years. Even if the earthen wyrd within her strengthened her body, there was a weariness that had claimed her soul.

  “Have you heard from Joya?” Rosalee asked, dusting the glass counter that would hold her cash box and other seasonal displays.

  “Not much. Cianna and Devenstar are settling in there, helping her work out the kinks of opening the borders of the realms to trade.”

  “Any resistance?” Rosalee asked.

  “None that she’s mentioned.”

  “What about Sara?”

  “A lot of rebuilding to do. She seems to be throwing herself at the problem head-first. It’s her way of dealing with not dealing.”

  Rosalee nodded. “There’s more than enough rebuilding to do all over.”

  Grace nodded, looking out at the lobby of the hotel and seeing familiar faces and strangers alike bustling away on repairs. The hotel had been shut down since the Well of Wyrding had been tainted. Rama was right beside Dalah, giving orders, telling cleaning crews which rooms were safe to clean, telling teams of sorcerers which rooms still needed to be cleansed.

  “Oh, Rose!” Flora said, stepping into the apothecary. She looked around the circular room, from the display case with the money box to the shelves that lined all the walls. “This is coming together nicely.”

  “You haven’t seen the best part,” she told Flora. She led the sorceress back to the store room, and Grace heard Flora gasp. It was a lofty ambition—all of the space to grow her own indoor herb garden that she could harvest and dry for sale. Rosalee had a business plan, too, and it was to only buy that which she couldn’t grow on her own. She had even employed Pi to help her plant and enchant certain herbs to strengthen their powers.

  “How are the others settling in, Flora?” Grace asked, stepping to the open doors of the store room.

  “Oh, Pi has plans of staying here once the hotel is up and running. I think Dalah has offered her a job. Maintaining or something like that. She wants to revamp the hotel so that it can’t be easily tainted again, but I’m not sure how Dalah plans on doing that. Chy will be staying with Pi and going to school at the academy here; there’s no telling when our old one will be up and running.” Flora was reading the labels on the large bins in the back.

  At night Rosalee would disappear into the back of the shop while Grace worked in the front, getting the apothecary ready for when Fairview Heights opened again. Rose would hum to herself as she planted the seeds of the various plants. The size of the store room was staggering, and there was no doubt Rosalee would have to hire on more people to help her tend it once the shop was up and running.

  “That will be good for them,” Grace said.

  “And yourself, Grace?” Flora asked.

  “She’ll be working here,” Rosalee insisted. “I’ve promised her all the ale she can handle, all the men she can bed, and Dalah has even provided her with a room.”

  Grace smiled at Rose and crossed her arms over her chest. “I doubt I’ll get around like I used to in my old days,” Grace reminded Rosalee.

  “But I’m sure you’ll give it your best.” Rose winked at Grace.

  “So you will be staying here?” Dalah asked.

  Grace thought back on her life before Sylvie’s children had taken over every facet of her being, and she sighed. It was a long life of traveling, and that was a hard thing to put to sleep. Wandering was in her bones, in her spirit. It was who she was. And now that she knew she was the Moonchild, there was no telling what the Goddess had in store for her life.

  “It sounds as good a plan as any,” Grace said. “I think settling down is finally something I can do.”

  She turned around and looked at the coffee-colored walls of Rosalee’s new store in the lobby of Fairview Heights and smiled. Surrounded by her friends, by the lure of a large city, the gardens around the hotel and the balmy spring air. She could get used to this place. She could get used to this life. It would give her some time to reflect and heal. She could get used to how the magnitude of the city filled her with wonder, with a sense of a new life.

  Grace smiled and went back to her job, unloading the ‘C’ herbs onto the glass shelves, wiping each one down with a rag before placing it, label forward, on the shelf.

  “Well,” Rosalee said. “You seem to be in better spirits.” Rose slipped a delicate hand into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a small spray bottle.

  “Don’t you start spraying me with that shit now,” Grace said.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Rose said, dropping the bottle of sage spray into a basket they were using for trash. “I think it finally did its job and cleansed the bitch out of you. I might even get rid of the bell I used to hang above my door before you visited.”

  “Oh, now I know I’ve graduated,” Grace said and smiled.

  “Well, there’s still that sarcasm, so I might have to hold on to them for a little longer.”

  Rosalee put her arm around Grace and pulled her in tight. Grace returned the hug, relaxing into the comforting embrace of one of her oldest friends.

  “Welcome home, Grace. I’ve missed you, my dear friend.”

  THE END

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  FLIP THE PAGE FOR A SNEAK PEAK OF A PLAGUE OF SHADOWS, BOOK ONE OF THE HARBINGERS OF LIGHT.

  The dream was always the same. She was standing in a room, or at least she thought it was a room. Abagail could sense walls around her, a confined space, but outside of that, she couldn't tell for certain that she was in a room. It was dark, completely and utterly. She could see nothing before her, save the fleeting fears her eyes played out on the screen of blackness that surrounded her, pressed in on her, and corrupted her.

  Abagail wasn't sure why the darkness scared her, why the emptiness all around her frightened her more than any nightmare of ghoul or fiend, but it did. In all of her nineteen years of life, she’d never been more scared. There was a nothingness with the darkness, a stillness and emptiness so complete that if she thought too long on it, Abagail was sure she would lose part of her mind to the darkness.

  But more than the darkness, it was the assuredness that she was alone here that frightened her most. It felt to Abagail as if she were the last living person in all of her homeland, O. In fact, it felt like she was the only being left alive in all of the great black expanse that fell over O when the sun set.

  In the distance Abagail thought she saw a point of light, and she started walking toward it. But it might have been an imagination of her mind, because as she drew closer, the light pulled back, traveling further away from her. What was more, at times the light seemed to vanish altogether, and Abagail wondered if she was actually seeing a light at all.

  Then came the sound of tinkling water. A babbling brook somewhere nearby. The light in the distance pulsed violently, and as it did, the flare illuminated a thread of water that ran toward Abagail, between her bare feet, and off into the distance toward some looming shadow behind her.

  The pulse of light grew and grew until noise of its coming filled her ears nearly deafening her. The light roared around her, flaring so bright and chasing away the shadows in a blinding pain that seared her eyes. Abagail fell to the ground, the tendril of water swelling higher, engulfing her knees and soaking into the green linen dress she wore. The wind made by the noise rustled her short black hair.

  Hands clamped to her ears, Abagail tried to tell herself that the All Father was with her, that he would protect her. But she couldn’t be certain the All Father really was with her any longer. She clung to her belief and wore it like a mantle to protect her against the noise, the light, and the water that was rushing up around her.

  And then it stopped. Abagail knew that it stopped, because she could no longer feel the wind that came with the light. Tentatively she opened her hazel eyes to the clearest, crystal blue sky she had ever seen. Puffy white clouds raced through the expanse, casting shadows across the emerald grass surrounding her and the river she floated in.

  Despite being day, there was a light in the sky, like one she’d only heard of in tales. The sun was dancing merrily in the sky, mixing with wavering lights of pinks and greens, purples and oranges. Together they appeared to make a ripple effect as if the lights were waves of water lapping at the sky.

  Abagail looked around herself. She didn't know where she was, but she knew that she was at the beginning of something amazing.

  Something called from behind her, and Abagail turned to see the most amazing tree she'd ever seen before. The tree rose up out of a well so large she couldn't see the edges of it. Every kind of flower and fruit, every kind of tree that was, had been, or ever would be comprised this towering monolith.

  The wind that had come with the light still tugged and pulled at the branches of the tree, and though it was some distance away from her, Abagail could clearly hear the movement of the tree as if it were right beside her. It sounded like the rushing of water she heard in the river behind her home.

  Abagail listed backward, and took a deep breath of the fresh air. She knew where she was and what she looked at. She was at Eget Row, and this was the Tree at Eget Row. The birthplace of all the worlds.

  But still the tree called to her like a song from the sweetest dream she’d ever heard, and Abagail could do nothing to resist the pull of the tree and the song that vibrated within her core at the sight of such splendor.

  She pulled herself out of the river, and up onto the grassy bank. Butterflies puffed into the air at her coming, and she watched their wings beat a path through the warm air. The grass was warm and velvety beneath her feet, and for whatever reason, she didn’t worry that she would cut her bare feet on some rock, or meet with a snake as she might worry about in the wild woods behind her home.

  Still the tree called Abagail on.

  She hadn’t realized precisely how far away the tree and the well were, but eventually she reached her destination. Standing beneath the Tree at Eget Row, Abagail couldn’t even see the top, it stretched so high into the clouds and was obscured from site. Even the lowest of the branches were well above her, and seemed all but worlds away.

  The well surrounding the tree was also gigantic. When she was farther away, the well appeared to be nothing more than a small band around the base of the tree, but now that she was closer, the well was twice her height, and stretched so far to either side as to appear to be a wall, rather than anything round.

  But that wasn’t enough for the tree, she was right there beside it, but still the song called her on. She started walking around the well, not sure where she was going, and barely able to take her eyes off the swaying branches far above her. Eventually her feet led her to a set of stairs that wound their way up the side of the well.

  Hours it seemed she climbed the weathered stairs, always getting closer to the top, yet seemingly still miles away. But, when she finally reached the top and gazed into the silvery liquid within the well, it reflected a sun that hadn’t moved an inch in the sky.

  Abagail wasn’t sure what the liquid was. At first she thought it might be water, but it wasn’t moving like water. It moved much more like the colors in the sky had, almost like air. There seemed to be a lightness to the liquid, and she bet if she placed her hand in the water, that it wouldn’t get wet.

  Abagail kneeled down to test the theory when she glimpsed a shadow moving under the surface of the strange liquid within the well. Whenever she saw shadows, it reminded her of what the priests told them of such things. Evilness lurked in shadows. The greed and self-serving nature that had pushed the Gods away had also called about another type of creature called darkling, those who were kin to the shadows.

  It was because of these teachings that Abagail retreated from the edge of the well, away from the liquid, and away from the shadow that lurked underneath. But she couldn’t go too far, or she would topple over the edge of the well and likely plummet to her death.

  She stood at the edge of the well, teetering on the brink. Abagail couldn’t seem to get her legs to obey the warning in her mind, telling her to run. She considered going back down the stairs, but the song that had drawn her forth was calm now, sated as if it had her right where it wanted her. The song seeped into her body, quieted her racing mind and calmed her hammering heart. Abagail couldn’t understand the sudden change, but she felt right as long as she was doing what the song wanted.

  After all, this was the same song that had created Eget Row around her, right? This was the same song that created the holy place from with all of the nine worlds came?

  The liquid began to churn as the shadow underneath rose higher, and no matter what the song said, her heart began to race once more. She held firm, however. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She felt at her waist where she always kept her silver dagger, the ore that all darkling detested, but it wasn’t there. Within the dream, she must have lost the dagger somewhere.

  But it was too late to look for it, because the shadow was parting the surface of the silvery liquid, and revealing itself to her.

  Instantly she relaxed. It wasn’t a darkling after all, but a large, twisted root. As the root rose out of the water it uncoiled, openi
ng up and showing that along its length there were buds of giant flowers of multiple colors.

  But it was one specific flower that drew her attention. The flower was orange, velvety, and opening even as she watched. Inside wasn’t like any other flower, there was no pestle, no stamen. Instead there was a fluff of something that looked like cotton, and a naked woman with short dark hair and milky skin.

  She’d heard the tales. At the end of time, when all had crumbled back into darkness, two humans would survive the destruction. A man and a woman. Lif and Lifthrasir. This must be Lifthrasir.

  But it didn’t make sense. Those were just stories. Even though the priests said the end time was coming, no one actually believed them . . . did they?

  Again, Abagail wasn’t certain.

  But there wasn’t any time to think about that, because as she watched, Lifthrasir began to stir. Abagail’s sight was diverted from the woman who had survived the destruction of the cosmos because another flower was opening, this one blue. It unfurled and shrugged open to the noon-time sun, and exposed a male body, curled in a ball, his back to her.

  But he was close enough to her that she could see the golden hair shimmering along his legs and the way the muscles were bunched under his tan skin, and the golden wash of hair that adorned his head.

  Abagail blushed and turned back to the woman in time to see her sit up, stretch the biggest stretch one could imagine, and yawn like the roar of some waking bear.

  But it wasn’t the yawn that startled Abagail. No, what startled Abagail the most was that the woman who emerged from the flower, the same woman who had survived the end times in order to repopulate all of the nine worlds, was herself.

  The leaves of the great tree started to shiver. The image of herself turned to Abagail, and it wasn’t until Lifthrasir turned more toward her that Abagail was able to see the vine that attached to the figure’s bellybutton like an umbilical cord.