Reluctant Gods (The Awakening Book 2)

by Keri Armstrong

  She nodded, running her finger softly across the image. “Yeah. I wish they were in this picture, too.”

  So did I. My chest ached from too much emotion, and my head from too much confusion. I pushed back from the table. “I need a little break from all of this. Do you want to take a walk or something?”

  She put the photo on the table with a sigh. “Yeah. Let’s go down by the lake. I am not sure I can take much more drama right now. Whatever is in that darn box can wait until I’ve had some hot chocolate and a cupcake.”

  Sara and I paid for our Bennison’s Bakery goodies—a red velvet cupcake for her, a vegan carrot cake one for me, along with a few more for later—and step out on the busy Davis Street sidewalk, considering our next move. We’d been trying to figure out what to tell Caleb and Allie about our trip to the attorney’s office. They knew ahead of time that we were going, but part of the agreement to open the safety deposit box was complete confidentiality regarding its contents.

  “But they’re our best friends,” Sara said for probably the hundredth time. “How can we not tell them anything about this?”

  I shrugged, not knowing either, and wished we could get their opinion. “Do you really think it matters? I mean, it’s not like they’re going to tell anyone, and how would anybody know if we swore them to secrecy anyway?”

  We each contemplated the white frosting on our cupcakes for a moment. Would it really hurt to tell? Who would know?

  Sara picked at the wrapping around the mini cake. “I guess maybe we should open the box first and then decide.”

  I nodded and huffed out a little laugh. “That’s probably right. I mean, how embarrassing would it be if we made this big deal out of it and it just turns out to be some sort of joke, anyway?”

  She laughed. “Yeah, we’ll probably open it and a clown on a spring or something will pop out.”

  “Oh, God, anything but a clown!”

  We chuckled. Neither of us had ever cared for clowns. In agreement, we started walking back toward home.

  “Hey, gorgeous! Wanna chill?” a male voice called out.

  We’d made it maybe two blocks before the Frat Rats noticed. I was actually surprised we’d make it all the way to the bakery without incident as it was. Sara was looking adorable as usual in her tight jeans, boots, and short jacket. The sun had decided to grace us today so there plenty of people out and about.

  Sara frowned lightly, used to the attention, but never welcoming it. I moved closer to her side. “Just ignore it, as usual. It’s too pretty a day to worry about this nonsense.”

  Her chin went up slightly and we picked up the pace.

  “Not today, boys,” I called out breezily, waved at them with a handless arm, and moved my head so that the breeze took the wig back from my face a bit.

  And there it was: the momentary stunned silence. We took advantage of it to quickly cross the street. However, one was braver than the rest and came jogging after us. He ran up around us until he was jogging backward in front of us both.

  “Hey, ladies, don’t be so selfish with those baked goods now,” he said, nodding at our Bennison’s bag. “There are starving students in this town.”

  Okay, I had to admit his grin was pretty cute, and he turned it on both of us. I glanced over at Sara, and she seemed a bit hesitant.

  “Are you really hungry?” she asked.

  He grinned wider and wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Oh, darlin’, you have no idea.”

  Ugh. Did he really think that was going to work? I rolled my eye then looked at Sara. Oh, for goodness’ sake! Was she blushing?

  She actually stopped and started to pull the bakery box from the bag. “Um, I am sorry, you can have one, but we’ve really got to go,” she said, and offered him a cupcake.

  “You are nothing less than an angel of mercy.” He reached into the box, grinning, and took the lemon one I’d been planning on having later. I glared at him as he turned back to Sara.

  “So, what’s your number, Angel? I’d like to text you my thanks.”

  She closed the box, her face pink as she struggled to get it back in the bag, so I said, “You already thanked her. We have to go now.”

  Since Sara still wasn’t looking at him, she missed the way the twinkle in his eyes turned hard when he looked at me.

  “It will only take a second,” he said, grinning quickly when she looked back up.

  “Sorry. Maybe I’ll see you around later.” Sara ducked her chin, held my arm with her free hand, and tried to move around him.

  “So, what, you’re just going to give me a cupcake and leave?” A hint of belligerence entered his voice.

  “Hey, be grateful you got that much,” I said.

  He cut a hard gaze at me. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

  Sara drew up—always one to take up for everybody but herself—but I shook my head at her. “Let’s just go. We have more important business to take care of.”

  “What could be important then befriending the hungry?” Our neighborhood pest tried to put back on some charm as he leaned in toward Sara. “I think you and I—

  Whatever he was about to say was interrupting by his sudden yelp, a delayed reaction to his friends calling, “watch out!”

  Sara and I backed up quickly as a large, hungry looking dog leapt snarling out from behind some bushes. I did a double-take when the thing clamped jaws around the guy’s leg, causing him to drop his cupcake and scream like a teenage girl as he tried to shake it off.

  Holy crap, is that a coyote or a wolf? I couldn’t tell, but suddenly I was pretty sure this was not an ordinary stray pet.

  The other guys hesitated a few seconds, before their questionable courage kicked in and they ran over to help. The dog-coyote-wolf, whatever it was, took off, but I could have sworn it looked me right in the eye before it left.

  Sara’s would-be suitor was on the ground, squalling like a two year old, though I can’t say I really blamed him. Blood was seeping out from his torn pant leg as his friends helped him up, cupcakes and hook-ups forgotten as they hurried away toward to get help.

  We hurried toward home ourselves, also shaken.

  After we’d comforted ourselves with more cupcakes and tea, our moment of truth had finally arrived.

  It was just Sara, me, and an old, blackened metal box that, if Marcus Lange and my grandmother were to be believed, had been handed down in our family for centuries—possibly millennia. We cleared a place on the dining room table, and stood back from it a little; each of us a bit scared to get too close for fear of what might actually be in there.

  “What if it’s like, a skull or something?” I said.

  Sara’s nose wrinkled. “But what if it’s like some treasure?” she said, excitement in her voice. “You know, like gold doubloons and rubies and stuff.”

  I looked at the box, doubtful. “Then why has our family never been rich?”

  “Fair point.” She drew a deep breath. “Well, there is only way we are going to find out.” She picked up the key off the table and handed it to me.

  I tried to hand it back. “Why do I have to do it?”

  “Ok, fine. We’ll do it together.”

  We wrapped our hands together around the key, and it shook slightly as we awkwardly tried to fit it in the lock. Our position and nerves just made us push the box back slightly, rather than fit the key into lock. My knuckles scraped against the cool metal, and I had to move my hand away as Sara tried to steady the box.

  “Ok, I’ll hold it steady, and you open the lock,” I said.

  She nodded, and biting her lip, pushed the key into the padlock. A few starts and stops later, she got it to turn, which caused us both to squeal and jump a little.

  “Okay, okay!” she said. “This is it!” She gave it a pull and a twist and the lock was free. She put her fingers at the edge of one end of the lid and nodded at me to take the other. “On the count of three…”

  I nodded, and lifted my side at the same time she did hers. Breathing
as if I had just run up a flight of stairs, I looked in the box.

  “Seriously?” we said simultaneously.

  “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

  Inside were another box and more envelopes.

  “Well, One of those darned envelopes better contain another key,” Sara said. She reached in to pull out the second box. “Whoah, it’s heavy.”

  I reached in to help her, and together, we pulled it free, scattering envelopes in the process. As I gathered up the paper, she said, “Finally, we are in luck. This one isn’t locked.”

  I sat aside the additional envelopes as she opened the box. Inside were an ancient looking book and a small metal gong, made of some dull, yellowish metal that I wasn’t sure if it was tarnished brass or something else, with what looked to be a depiction of some kind of bird embossed in the metal. I reached for it, and put it on the table. There was a small mallet, about an inch or so in diameter and about four inches long that went with it. I gave the gong a little tap.

  The sound it made was surprisingly strong for such a small instrument.

  “Huh.” Sara said. “That’s weird.”

  “So, what’s with the old book?” I pulled it toward me and she put a hand on it.

  “Stop being so grabby! You already got the gong.”

  “Well, quit poking around and let me see already.”

  “Poking around? What are you talking about?” Irritation colored her voice.

  “Good grief. Just joking.”

  “Well, you quit hogging everything. You got the gong and the letters.”

  “We don’t know if they’re letters or not.” I said, and pushed some toward her. “Here, you take half, then.”

  She put them in a pile in front of her, then reached over and gave the gong a tiny tap. Once more sound filled the room out of proportion to the size of the instrument, and it sounded slightly different this time. She shook her head. “That is so weird.”

  I agreed and sat down in a chair at the table, scraping some papers toward me. “Ok, so let’s see what these have to say. Maybe one of them contains the curse of the ages.”

  Sara sat opposite me and took some of the envelopes. Some were so old I was afraid they might disintegrate under my hands. I carefully opened one of the new looking ones and gingerly took out the contents. It was a hand–drawn map.

  Together, we looked at the map. The ink was nearly faded yet we could still make out a trail leading to spot that looked as if it had been touched by human hands many, many times – the paper was thinnest there but still slightly legible.

  Sara’s hand shook as she pointed to that circled spot on the weathered paper. We slowly looked back up at each other.

  The spot marked the place where our parents had died.

  I swallowed hard and grabbed up what looked like a new letter, and to my surprise, it was more from Gran, and addressed to me.

  ‘While you and Sara are both strong in your own ways, you are the one, Phoebe; for, like me, you are hard and sound at core. Read carefully what I must say, and believe.

  You and Sara are now the only representatives of one of the most ancient families in the world. You will laugh at me when I say it, but one day it will be proved to you beyond a doubt, that one of your grandfather’s ancestors was a priestess named Izzara in what is now Egypt. She lived well over 70,000 years ago, before the great flood covered the earth and wiped all evidence of their advanced society.

  Izzara broke her vows of celibacy and fled from Egypt with a Prince of Royal blood who had fallen in love with her, and after many trials, finally landed in what later became Mexico then eventually, the United States. Here they endured great hardships, but were at last entertained by the mighty king of a savage people, a white man of uncommon beauty, who—under circumstances which I cannot enter into, but which you will one day learn from the contents of the box, if you live—‘

  Sara gasped and interrupted the reading. I had to admit, I had a strong WTF moment too, but quickly went back to reading.

  ‘—he finally murdered your ancestor Izzara and her husband. However, an attendant of the king who had also fallen in love with her managed to save her twin sons and sent them away before the flood came.’

  “What flood?” Sara interrupted again.

  I was wondering the same thing but said, “I don’t know. Just let me read it, okay?”

  ‘Some centuries later their descendants came to rest in we now know as Italy, and there, took on the name of Vincent, perhaps considering their survival. Five hundred years or more afterwards, their direct descendants migrated to what became China, under circumstances of which no trace remains, and they remained for many centuries until one of their lineage migrated to England in the reign of Edward the Confessor. From that time to the present day you can trace your descent without a break.

  In 1821, your great-great grandfather took on an expedition in connection with this box you now own, and like all the former expeditions related to it, ended in disaster, and he barely escaped with his life. On his way back, he travelled near Mexico and met your great-grandmother.’

  Sara and I looked at each other. We knew our great-grandmother was Mexican—and her dark features still lived on in our dark hair and eyes. But this was news.

  ‘I know you girls, like your parents before you, thought your grandfather’s insistence on homeschooling you was ridiculous. But there are reasons for it, which you will come to see. It kills me to tell you all of this. But I am dying now, and if I don’t tell you, I know my soul will never rest. Even now your grandfather whispers in my ear. “Tell them the truth!” he says.’

  “Whoah, Granny was losing it, wasn’t she?” I said, and raised my brows at Sara. She gave the same nervous chuckle I had, yet the tension was still thick.

  ‘I have jotted down the course you must continue to follow in your education, and the education of any children you may be cursed to have.’

  “Cursed?” Sara and I yelled at the same time. She grabbed the letter from my hand and continued reading, anger in her voice. She read out the list of things we had been hammered with since childhood: Arabic, Greek, Egyptology, Spanish, Native American studies, etc. Really, it was an interesting education—at least, to me, it had been. Since Sara wasn’t quite as scholarly-inclined as I was, she had struggled a bit with it all.

  She humphed and continued reading:

  ‘On the twenty-first birthday of the eldest member of each generation, that one will take the keys you have been given open the iron box, view the contents, and say whether he or she is willing to undertake the quest. There is no obligation for anyone to do so, and it is my most fervent and desperate hope that you will not.

  Nevertheless, you must always make sure that the iron chest is passed on to your heirs, or more likely to Sara’s. Listen, Phoebe, don’t refuse this part. Believe me, this is to your advantage. You are not fit to mix with the world—it would only harden you. Given your brains, you will probably enter some lucrative profession, and the income that you will derive from that, combined with what I have left you, will enable you to live a life of scholarly leisure, which should suit you nicely.’

  Sara paused and looked at me anxiously, but I just tightened my lips and nodded for her to go on, swallowing back the bitter hurt that burned through me.

  ‘For your own sake, Phoebe, as well as Sara’s, please put this box away and forget about it. If I could bring myself to destroy it, I would, but I find that I can’t do it. Even beyond your grandfather’s wishes, and what I know my sons’ wishes would have been, I can’t make myself do it. It’s such a profound treasure, if only from a standpoint of history. I’ve no doubt that no family in the world can lay claim to such an item as this.’

  I touched the envelope by the keys with a shaking hand as Sara read on.

  Phoebe, swear that you will follow these directions to the letter.

  “We’ll see,” I said quietly, then Sara continued reading.

  ‘Phoebe, your grandfather bel
ieved there is no such thing as death. Only a change that could, under certain circumstances, be indefinitely postponed. I don’t believe that last part, but I do believe the first.

  Oh, Phoebe! Life is not worth the trouble, except when one loves her family—at least, mine has not been; and yours likely will not be either, but Sara’s may be if she has the courage and the faith. Let her live that life, Phoebe. Keep the box and put it away. Do not open it. Do not get pulled into its nonsense or take your cousin with you. Live in blissful ignorance, child!’

  “What the hell?!” Sara flung the letter down, and embraced me, trembling. “I never knew she was so crazy and mean. I’m so sorry I left you with her, Phoebes.”

  I drew found the key and in the midst of almost perfect silence, as Sara and I were both holding our breath, I inserted the strange-looking silver key, and pressed this way and that until at last the lock yielded, and the contents stood before us. It was filled to the brim with some brown shredded material, not really like paper but more like old leaves or something.

  Sara motioned to me to go on emptying the chest.

  The next thing that I found was a parchment carefully rolled up. I unrolled it, and seeing that it was headed, “Translation of the Uncial Greek Writing on the Potsherd,” put it down by the letter. Then followed another ancient roll of parchment that had become yellow and crinkled with time. I unrolled it and saw it was Latin translation of the Greek original. It was so delicate and old I was afraid of ruining it. I carefully put it on the table and peered down at it.

  “Look Sara!” I said, excited. “Do you think that’s really the date?”

  She bent down next to me and squinted at the parchment. “Wow.” She looked at me wide-eyed. If we were right, the date was around the beginning of the sixteenth century.

  Immediately Sara reached back into the chest and pulled out something hard and heavy, wrapped up in yellow linen, and put it on the table. Slowly and carefully we unrolled the linen, and found it contained and ancient looking bit of pottery of a dirty yellow color. It was the size of a sheet of notebook paper and maybe a quarter of an inch thick, and densely covered on both sides with writing in the later uncial Greek character, faded here and there, but for the most part we could still make out the writing. It looked like it may have been broken and repaired a few times over the years, which didn’t surprise me. It was obviously very old.