Descendant: The Revelations of Oriceran (The Kacy Chronicles Book 1)

by A. L. Knorr

  The sound of snapping and breaking branches made Sol take a sharp breath.

  They’re following me?

  Sol gritted his teeth as both harpies let off simultaneous screams. He heard the cracking of breaking limbs and then the sound of something heavy landing in the canopy below and behind him. He glanced down to see a thick dreesha limb fall and crash through the more fragile bottom canopy, leaving a gaping hole. Squawking birds flew up from the trees, scolding the harpies for disrupting them.

  Sol’s right hand went down to his blade and his left hand reached back over his shoulder to grasp a short spear from his quiver.

  If I am going to have to fight…

  Sol didn’t finish the thought as he saw a break in the canopy beneath him. Surely they wouldn’t follow him down even further; they couldn’t maneuver at all through a forest of the much smaller oaks. Encouraged by the idea, Sol dove towards the break.

  Realizing their prey was going to evade them, the harpies screamed a grating, eardrum-destroying cry. The sound of their leathery wings bellowing against the air spurred Sol on. He didn’t dare look back, but every hair on his body stood at attention, anticipating a rake of claws across his legs at any moment. One swipe of those nasty talons and he was very likely finished–if the wounds didn’t kill him, the infection would.

  Pinning his wings back and praying for a safe break through the canopy, he braced himself. Yellow sparks and flashes of light went off in his vision. Before Sol had time to realize what he was seeing, he was through the break. His sight went black and the sounds of a thousand voices and crackling lightning filled his ears. There was a bone-breaking, tooth-jarring impact and Sol knew no more.

  CHAPTER THREE

  "I was beginning to get worried," said Jordan from the front steps as Allan got out of his Land Rover. His ginger hair was ruffled from driving with the windows down and his glasses were dusty. Allan was a tall, slight man with a narrow face and generous lips. He was pale, freckled and handsome in his way. Fine lines bracketed his mouth and Jordan frowned at the dark smudges under his eyes. "Tough week?" She crossed the gravel and helped her dad bring his small suitcase, laptop bag and briefcase inside the manor.

  "Very," Allan sighed. He set down his bag and pulled his daughter in for a hug. "I'm destroyed. Is there any bourbon left?" He released Jordan, reached into his suit coat pockets and dumped a handful of paper money, change and receipts onto the foyer table.

  "Well I sure don't drink the stuff," Jordan shuddered. "That bad, huh? You going to numb yourself with alcohol until the pain of politics goes away?"

  Allan laughed. "I don’t think there’s enough alcohol in the world to accomplish that monumental task." They passed into the parlor. "You did light the fire, after all,” Allan observed as he collapsed onto the sofa in front of the flames, toeing off his dress shoes and stretching his legs out in front of him. “You’re such an amphibian. Always with the cold toes, just like your mother.” Jordan was familiar with the stories of Jaclyn freezing Allan in bed with her cold feet.

  "Cal lit it," Jordan said as she crossed to the sideboard. "He was here when I arrived."

  "Good ol' Cal,” Allan mused fondly.

  A wide variety of hard liquor was displayed on the antique wooden sideboard and backed by a mirror, making the selection look twice as bountiful. Jordan removed the lid from the bourbon decanter and poured a drink. Her dad took it neat; no water, no ice, no nothing but nose-singeing, throat-closing alcohol. He swore it went down smooth. Jordan held the bourbon away from her nose so she didn't have to smell it and delivered it to her dad.

  “How did your exams go?" Allan asked her as she plopped down beside him and kicked off her sneakers.

  "Aced them," she sang. Jordan came from a long line of overachievers, which she fit right into like a set of those multi-colored Russian dolls.

  "Atta girl. Any thoughts on where you want to do your PhD? Maybe VCU, so you can stay close to home?"

  Jordan shrugged. Allan always brought the conversation to the future and Jordan was usually prepared, but this time, she didn't have any firm answers. "I was thinking Europe, maybe Spain?"

  Allan took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Why? It's a cutting-edge industry and America is the tip of the sword."

  "I don't know, Dad. How about we just chill out and enjoy the weekend? You want to go to the stables tomorrow? Go for a ride?"

  "Maybe Sunday," Allan replied. He waggled his eyebrows at Jordan. "I'm gonna pick up my new toy. You want to help me set it up?"

  "What is it?"

  Allan leaned back and slid down into the soft cushions. "I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise," he said with a grin that Jordan was sure hadn't changed since he was a little boy.

  "I won't be tricked into lining up four thousand teensy toy soldiers like last time," Jordan tilted her head down and gave him a look.

  Allan bellowed and slapped his knee. "That was a good one."

  "If Mom had been here, she would have skinned you for making me do that," Jordan laughed.

  Allan's smile faltered. His hazel eyes flicked to the photographs on the mantel and then back down to the fire.

  "Her birthday is next week," Jordan said. "You want to go visit the grave?"

  The frown that crossed Allan's brow was there and gone so fast, Jordan wondered if she'd imagined it. Allan took a breath and looked over at his daughter, at her beautiful teal eyes—the shape of Jaclyn's—and her thick lashes.

  "Why don’t we make that an every-five-years event instead of an annual one, Jordy?"

  Jordan blinked and the corners of her mouth turned down. "Because that's how she would be slowly forgotten," she said quietly. "Is that what you would want, if it were you?"

  "Yes," Allan said immediately. "I would want my loved ones to move on, not hang on to the dead."

  "We don't know for sure that she's dead." Jordan began the debate that was as old as her ability to have an adult conversation with her father.

  "She's dead, darling." Allan pinned Jordan with a look. It was compassionate, but resolute. "And she wouldn't want you to go on holding out hope for the impossible."

  "No body, no proof," Jordan replied. "You had the headstone erected in Hollywood Cemetery for Grandma and Grandpa so they could have some closure before they died, but it's still just a stone atop an empty plot of earth."

  Allan sighed and, with one hand, rubbed his eyes underneath the frames of his glasses. He dropped his head back on the top of the sofa and rested his bourbon glass on the arm of the couch. "I don't think it's healthy, Jordan."

  "You didn't raise me to give up," said Jordan, stoutly.

  "I didn't raise you to waste your youth pining for a dead woman, either." Allan spoke so sharply it was almost a bark.

  Jordan tensed, stung. She had never heard her father refer to her mother as a ‘dead woman’ before. It was so impersonal, so cold. "Dad…"

  Allan sat up and turned to her, regret etched into his features. He put a warm palm on the back of her hand. "I'm sorry. You know I loved your mother more than I loved anyone. There just comes a time when you have to move on. You've been so loyal, so devoted to her; to a fault, Jordan.” Allan sliced a hand through the air. “It's time to pack up all that memorabilia you have in your room," he gestured to the photos on the mantel, "and everywhere else."

  Jordan's eyes widened.

  Allan's voice softened at the look of horror on his daughter's face. "I'm not saying to forget entirely; I would never tell you to do that. Just…" he gestured toward the line of frames holding various images of Jaclyn, "pick one and let that be it. This place feels like a shrine."

  Allan got up and went to stand in front of the fireplace. His hand was up on the mantel, but his eyes looked down into the dwindling fire.

  "I'm going to turn in for the night," Jordan said.

  "Jordy—" Allan said, turning. "Don't go to bed mad."

  "I'm not mad, Dad. Just tired," Jordan said. She got up and went to kiss
Allan's cheek. "Have a good sleep."

  Allan kissed her cheek in return and wondered if he'd spoken too soon. He watched his daughter leave the parlor and he set his jaw. No, it isn’t too soon. My daughter is an adult now. Pining is unhealthy. It would be better for her not to be reminded of her mother every time she was in this house, every time she looked up.

  Allan's hazel eyes went to the image of Jaclyn in her debutante dress. Her painfully beautiful face smiled down at him. That smile used to warm him to his toes, but now it taunted him. He set his bourbon down on the mantel and began to take the pictures off the wooden shelf. The one that showed her holding flowers and standing next to her father in his black tails—their wedding photograph. The casual shot of her, taken on the tree-swing hanging from the old oak in the back yard. One by one, he took them down and tucked them into the cupboard under the bookshelf.

  By the time Allan doused the flames and went to bed, there was only one shot of Jaclyn left in the room. It was a small, oval portrait, hidden among a collection of them hanging on the wall behind the grand piano. Now hers was just one picture among many.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The next morning, only five minutes after her dad had left, the sound of gravel popping under car tires drew Jordan to the window. She squinted at the silver Rav4 with the rental plate that came to a stop in front of the manor. The silhouette of long hair didn't help Jordan identify the driver through the windshield, but when the door popped open and a dark-haired woman with an olive complexion got out, Jordan gasped.

  Jordan rushed through the parlor and the foyer to open the front door and greet her nanny of thirteen years. Throwing the doors open wide, she cried, "Maria!"

  Maria's lined, gunmetal-gray eyes misted over and her face lit up. "Bambina, look what a beautiful woman you've become." She opened her arms wide.

  Jordan melted against the bosom of the woman who'd been the only mother she'd ever known. "We haven't seen you in years," Jordan said, pulling back to look at Maria's face. The added lines and gray hairs couldn't diminish Maria's matronly beauty. "Come in, come in. What are you doing here?"

  "I'm sorry I didn't warn you I was coming. Sort of a last-second decision," Maria said, as they passed into the house. Jordan thought Maria's accent seemed stronger than usual. Perhaps she's been spending more time in Belize with her extended family. "Is your father home?" Maria asked. Her gray eyes searched the foyer and she peeked into the parlor.

  Jordan noticed how Maria's brows drew together. Is that fear in her eyes? Jordan dismissed it. Maria had no reason to fear Allan; the two of them were thick as thieves while Jordan was growing up. A time or two, she’d even suspected they cared far more for each other than they let on; she had even daydreamed that one day Maria would become her mother by marrying Allan. But it never came to be.

  "Not at the moment, he's gone to the post office to pick up a package. Come in. I have some of that lavender iced tea that you love."

  Maria looked relieved. "No, thank you, sweetheart. I'm really just passing through on my way to the airport. I can't stay." Her eyes flashed to the driveway through the front window.

  "Oh, that's a shame," Jordan said, surprised. "Where are you going? Back to Belize for a visit?"

  Maria ignored the question and set her cloth purse on the foyer table and then rifled through it. "I just wanted to drop something off—something that I thought you should have." She withdrew a small white box tied with a blue satin ribbon.

  Jordan's eyebrows shot up. "You got me a present?" Her eyes went to the white box; curious as to what kind of gift a nanny of years past would give a girl who had everything. She took the box from Maria and pulled her into another hug. "You're so sweet." She grasped the end of the blue ribbon.

  Maria put a hand on top of Jordan's, staying her fingers. "Don't open it now," she said, her cheeks coloring. "Wait till I'm gone." Her eyes misted up again and she brushed them away with the side of her hand.

  "Hey," Jordan said, putting a hand on Maria's shoulder. "What's going on?"

  Maria smiled at her through weepy eyes. "I'm moving back to Belize."

  "You're moving? Like, for good?"

  "Yes, my family needs me." She squeezed Jordan's shoulders. "I'm sorry this is such an abrupt goodbye." She began to move toward the door. "I'm afraid I didn't plan very well."

  "Wait." Jordan trailed after her, anxiety twisting in her gut. "Don't you want to say goodbye to Dad?"

  Maria stepped out onto the driveway. She looked up at Jordan as she pulled the car's door open. Jordan stopped abruptly at the flash of grief in her nanny's eyes. It was only there for a moment, but it was enough to set Jordan's heart pounding.

  "I can't, dear. I'm already late." Maria's voice broke and she cleared her throat.

  "Maria-" Jordan began. "Is it your family? Is someone sick?"

  "Take care of each other," Maria said. She slipped into the driver’s side and closed the door.

  Jordan walked to the driver's side window. "Wait!"

  What was with her loved ones these days? First her dad seemed to want to skip over the visit to her mother’s gravesite and now her nanny, not seen in years, couldn’t seem to get off their property fast enough. Jordan felt disappointment clutch at her belly.

  Maria kissed her fingers, put her palm flat against the glass and mouthed, “Goodbye.” A tear slipped from her eye and she wiped her cheek as the car pulled away.

  Jordan watched the vehicle circle the drive and then disappear beneath the canopy of oaks. She stood there for several minutes after the vehicle had gone, her heart heavy and her mind bemused. She went back inside, the floorboards squeaking as she approached the foyer table and picked up the small white box. Pulling the ribbon off and lifting the lid revealed an antique silver locket and chain, nestled in cotton. She picked it up and marvelled at the cold weight of it. The locket had delicate scrollwork around the outside and a strange flourish in the center; a symbol of some kind. She turned it over and saw the repeated pattern on the back. Her thumb found the small silver clasp and the locket snapped open.

  Jordan gasped and adjusted her glasses. Stepping through the open front door, she held the locket in a beam of morning sunlight. Her hand flew to her mouth. Inside the locket was a hand-painted portrait of her mother. Jaclyn’s face was relaxed in a closed-mouth smile; her brown eyes wide open and focused slightly upward. Her brunette hair was pulled half-back and it cascaded down behind her ears and over her collarbone. The painting was a perfect likeness; just the hairstyle seemed strange, like she had dressed for a starring role in a movie.

  Jordan grabbed her purse off the table and fumbled inside it for her phone. Holding the locket open in one hand, she turned on her phone with the other and gave it a verbal command. "Call Maria," she ordered. "Turn on speakerphone." The phone dialed and two long dashes sounded.

  "The number you are calling is no longer in service," answered the electronic voice.

  "What?" Jordan said aloud with surprise. "Hang up," she commanded. She scrolled through her contacts and checked the number she had entered for Maria. She frowned. The digits seemed right, but she hadn't called Maria in a long time. Maybe she's changed her number? But then, why not give me the new number before she left? Maria didn't use email, so phoning was the only way to get a hold of her. Jordan didn't even have an address for her in Belize. "Dial Maria," Jordan said again and waited.

  "The number you are calling is no longer in service," repeated the voice.

  Jordan hung up the phone and let out a frustrated breath. Where did Maria get the locket? Why does it have a portrait of my mother inside it and how long has Maria had it? Questions elbowed one another in Jordan's mind. The locket had obviously belonged to her mother first, so how had it come to be in Maria's possession?

  Time slipped by as Jordan stared at her mother's image, chewing her lip and mentally stewing. When the sound of Allan's Land Rover coming up the driveway reached her ears, Jordan headed out to meet him. Maybe he’ll know something ab
out the locket.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "Jordan!" Allan called as he got out of the Land Rover. "Would you mind grabbing that dolly from the basement and helping your old dad?" He was practically dancing in place with excitement.

  Jordan halted and headed back into the house, tossing a question over her shoulder. "What did you buy, a Panzer?"

  Allan let out a contagious giggle and Jordan couldn't help but laugh.

  "You'll see," he teased.

  "Where is the dolly?"

  "In that little closet next to the potato cellar." His brows drew together for a moment as a thought occurred. "Think you'll need help carrying it?"

  Jordan rolled her eyes. She climbed and ran regularly and had even won her division in the Richmond Marathon, beating the tall hill at the end, known as ‘Lee’s Revenge,’ that had stopped many a runner from finishing. And yet, somehow, her father still saw her as a little girl who would need a man to open the pickle jar for her. "I'll be right there."

  She made her way down into the cool, dusty bowels of the manor. The dolly was just where Allan had said it would be. She hiked back upstairs with the metal contraption, swung open the front doors and pushed the dolly through.

  Allan had the back of the Land Rover open and a wooden crate was sitting on the tailgate.

  "Sweet mother of crap, Dad. That box is huge. What did you buy?"

  Allan grinned. "Help me get it on the dolly and up the stairs."

  The two of them got the crate balanced on the metal platform and Allan wheeled it backwards across the gravel to the steps, where Jordan pushed it from underneath to get it up the stairs.