As soon as it touched my skin, my vision went black. I panicked, thinking the ring must have been cursed with some sort of dark magic that caused me to go blind.
An audible scream escaped my lips as the darkness was replaced by a vision. It felt like I’d entered a dream, though I knew I was fully conscious.
In front of me, a young boy—maybe twelve years old—sat in an animal pen, surrounded by sheep. One lamb sat in his lap as he stroked its wool and quietly hummed to it. The other sheep all stood around the boy, fixated on him as if he were some fascinating creature. It was odd behavior.
I stepped closer to the boy. As I did, I recognized his brown eyes and tan skin. His sandy blonde hair was familiar as well. I was looking at the child version of my father. A short laugh bubbled up in my chest. He was kind of funny looking as a kid—lanky and awkward, unlike the strong man I’d come to expect. The sheep’s behavior made sense now—Dad could control animal life. Animals always loved him wherever he went.
Realizing what this must mean, I looked around myself. Out in the distance, I could see a cobblestone street, just like the one in front of Trent’s house. Between the boy and the road, a small, brown cottage stood, similar to Trent’s as well, though not precisely the same. The clear blue sky and thick forest to the east also reminded me of Cyrus, which is exactly where we must be if I was looking at the 12 year old version of my dad.
A voice interrupted my reverie. “Hey, Carmichael!” a young girl called, as she ran from the direction of the road to where my dad sat in the pen. It was odd to hear him called by his full name. I was used to people calling him Mike or Michael.
“Hey, Rosaline,” the boy responded, his face lighting at the appearance of the young girl.
Rosaline was my middle name, I realized with a jolt. Could I be looking at my mother for the first time? Intrigued, I moved closer to the kids, examining the girl in particular.
The resemblance between us was unmistakable. She had long, auburn hair, freckles that danced across her nose, and green eyes, just like me. There was even a similarity in the wideness of her forehead and the shape of her lips. If I had pulled out a picture of me at 12, I would have looked just like this girl.
In the same instant, my heart threatened to explode with delight and shrivel up in fear. I had always wondered what my mother was like, but I’d never expected to meet her, and certainly not like this, whatever this was.
“Are you going to come to the clearing today? The kids from school are going to play Catch the Fiddler,” the girl asked, looking eager.
Carmichael’s face fell. “I can’t. My dad has a lot of chores for me to do around here, and he would not be happy if he came home to find them undone.” Something gleamed in the sunlight as the boy shifted in his seat. I realized he was wearing the ring I had just found on a chain around his neck.
“Okay, maybe next time,” Rosaline said, obviously disappointed.
Suddenly, the scene before me started to ripple and fade until it was no longer visible. In its place, a new scene began to take shape.
I was standing outside at twilight in an open, grassy field. I spun around and saw a large, white tent with lanterns strung about, lighting the inside brilliantly. Music was playing from a live band that sat on a small stage on the opposite side of the tent from where I stood. A table of food lined one tent wall. In the middle of the tent, several teenagers wearing dresses and suits were dancing. A banner above the band read, “Fifth District of Cyrus Spring Formal: Welcome, Students!”
Interesting. So they must have some sort of schooling in Cyrus where they also had dances, just like in the human realm. I’d have to ask Trent more about this sometime.
I scanned the faces of the pimply teens until I found two faces that were familiar. Carmichael and Rosaline spun around in the middle of the dance floor, looking awkward but happy.
The song that was playing ended. Rosaline—in a silky purple dress that draped around her lean frame and fell to the floor—grabbed Carmichael by the hand and pulled him over to the food table. I quickly made my way over as well, accidentally stepping on one girl’s foot, though she didn’t react in the slightest. Apparently, I couldn’t be seen or felt in these visions.
Carmichael scooped some red punch into a glass and handed it to Rosaline. “Thanks,” she said shyly, sipping from her glass.
Though the similarities between Rosaline and me were still apparent, she was older than she had been in the last vision, closer to my age. The differences between us were more pronounced than I’d noticed before—primarily the fact that she was a hundred times more beautiful than I was.
I scanned the crowd again, looking for a face that could compare. There wasn’t one. Rosaline was, by far, the most beautiful girl at the dance. Carmichael stared at her, as if realizing the same thing I was at that moment.
“What?” Rosaline asked shyly, her long eyelashes flashing as she looked from the floor to Carmichael’s eyes.
“Nothing,” Carmichael answered, looking quite good himself. He’d thickened up since the last vision and had grown several inches. “You’re just… beautiful, you know.” His eyes dropped to his shoes as he finished his compliment.
Rosaline’s face lit up. “Thanks, Mike,” she said, blushing.
“Want to go for a walk?” Mike asked.
“Sure,” Rosaline answered. Mike took her hand and they left the dance, wandering out into the open fields.
The scene faded once more as a new image appeared.
This time, I stood on top of a hillside that overlooked a beautiful, crystal clear lake. I looked around, trying to find Mike or Rosaline. I spotted them about twenty yards off, just below the crest of the hill.
To my surprise, Mike was on one knee, holding out a ring to Rosaline who stood in front of him, her hands covering her mouth.
I wasn’t close enough to hear what was being said, but I saw Rosaline nod as Mike jumped up, grabbing her in an enormous hug. He spun her around and then kissed her jubilantly.
The scene faded and recreated itself once more.
We stood outside a small brown cottage—the same one from the first scene, I realized, as I saw the pen of sheep in the distance.
Carmichael and Rosaline stood on the front porch, bathed in light from a lantern that hung by the door. Both looked older—in their early 20s or so. They were deep in conversation, and it didn’t appear to be a pleasant one. Mike’s face was contorted in a deep, saddening pain.
I moved closer to hear what was going on.
“I’m so sorry, Mike. I really, truly am. I can’t do this,” Rosaline said, tears streaming down her face as she shook her head in dismay.
“Please, Rose, we can make it. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. We can get away from all of this. No one will be able to tell you what you can or can’t do anymore. It can be just you and me. I promise,” Mike’s voice broke.
“I wish it were that simple, Mike. I really do. I’m sorry, but I have to go now. Please don’t try to follow me.” Rosaline ripped the ring off her finger and slammed it in Mike’s open palm.
She turned to leave as Mike caught her arm. “Please, Rose, I’ll do anything,” Mike begged, blatant desperation in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed as she ran down the steps into the night.
“I love you, Rosaline!” Mike called after her. “Please, no!” Mike’s sobs rent the night air. He turned and punched the lantern behind him, the glass shattering at his feet.
The scene faded once more. This time, the setting that replaced it was my father’s bedroom and the gold ring in my hand. I’d returned to reality.
For several minutes, I couldn’t move. The sound of my Dad’s cries ripped at my heart. Why had she left us? They seemed so in love, even though I’d only seen the briefest glimpses of their life together. If only she had come with us, to the human realm. If she had, she would still be alive.
With a shock, I realized she might not be dead after all. Dad had always claimed she’d died in th
e wars in Cyrus, but Trent said there were no wars recently. It would be so wonderful to meet her in person.
I ached to pick up the phone and call my Dad for some answers. I also wanted desperately to comfort him. Though I was furious with him, I also loved him and hated seeing the depth of his pain as my mother left him. How could I, though? What would I say? Sorry, to have snooped through your stuff, but your relationship with my mom really sucked, and I wanted to let you know I’m here for you. I don’t think that would go over very well.
Besides that, I couldn’t very well explain what had just happened. Perhaps the ring was magical—it could hold memories connected to it and then share them later on. If that was the case, I’m sure my Dad would know about it. I wonder why it would have chosen those specific memories to hold onto.
If only Trent was here. I could ask him if he’d ever come across any objects like this one.
That thought had me looking at the clock. It was only barely afternoon. Hopefully Trent would be eager to come get me today and show up sooner rather than later. Though after how awkward I was last night, that wasn’t likely.
I spent the next few hours trying to be patient. I distracted myself with more mundane household chores, which wasn’t helping. I checked the clock every few minutes, wondering why he hadn’t shown up yet.
When two o'clock rolled around, I began to really worry. He probably wasn’t going to come at all. I’d totally blown everything with my awkwardness.
A horrific thought hit me. Maybe he hadn’t meant to do anything at all last night. Maybe he wasn’t leaning in for a kiss, and I’d just embarrassed both of us for no reason. Of course that was it. He wouldn’t want to kiss me when he had a perfect girlfriend like Meraki.
The next hour was consumed with another mental beating. I was such an idiot. Trent was not interested in me.
Finally, I heard a knock at the front door. I checked the peephole first and saw Trent standing on the steps, hands in his jean pockets. The slightly tattered green t-shirt he wore hugged his chest muscles nicely, not that I should be thinking anything like that. I was determined not to make a fool of myself today.
With a steadying breath, I opened the front door.
Trent smiled widely. “Hi, Ava. Sorry it took me awhile to get here. My mom needed a lot of help in the gardens. She’s running a produce stand out in the city center today and tomorrow.”
“You kidding? I didn’t even notice the time,” I lied. Trent didn’t look convinced.
“Of course not,” he winked with an easy smile. My stomach fluttered. “Ready to go then?”
“Just one second,” I said. I took off up the stairs to grab my backpack, which had the ring shoved into the front pocket. I ran back down the stairs, tripping on the last step. Fortunately, Trent was waiting at the bottom and caught me.
“Sorry,” I blushed, standing up quickly and straightening my shirt.
“You’re sort of clumsy for someone who has the gift of speed,” Trent chuckled.
I ignored the jab, holding my hands out for Trent to take so we could Travel.
Chapter 12
The Cottage
We landed in the middle of Trent’s red living room. I kept my balance fairly well this time. Trent hardly had to hold on to me before the dizziness faded and I felt normal.
“You good?” Trent asked, ducking down to meet my eyes. Even that small amount of eye contact had me blushing again.
“I’m fine.”
“Cool,” Trent said, pulling me by the hand to sit on the red sofa with him. “So what do you want to do today? More practicing?”
“That would be great!” I said. “But first I have a question for you.”
I pulled my backpack around until it rested in my lap. I fished out the ring from the front pocket and dropped my bag to the ground. I looked at the ring with trepidation, not quite sure how to proceed.
Trent laughed. “What’s up, Ava? Just tell me.”
Before I said anything, I decided I wanted to see if the same thing would happen to Trent when he touched the ring.
“Give me your hand,” I said. He gave it to me, and I opened his fingers, turning his palm so that it faced upward.
“Are you a fortune teller too? You gonna read my palm?” Trent teased.
I rolled my eyes, dropping the ring into his hand. I waited with bated breath.
Nothing happened.
Trent stared at me, his left eyebrow raised. “You gonna explain why you gave me this ring?” he asked.
I frowned. “Nothing unusual is happening? You can still see me here in front of you?”
“Yes?” Trent questioned. “Shouldn’t I be able to? You’re kinda scaring me, Ava.”
“Dang it. You were supposed to see a vision,” I explained.
“Ha, I’m not a seer, Ava. You know I’m just a Traveler.”
“A seer?” I asked. “There are Cyruns who can see the future?”
“Of course. Or the past. They’re pretty rare though. Even more rare than Travelers are.”
I took the ring back from Trent’s hand and examined it closely.
“Is there any possibility that an object can be enchanted to retain memories?” I asked.
Trent thought for a second. “I’ve never heard of anything like that, but maybe. Why do you ask?”
I sighed. “I found this ring today in a box of random things my dad had hidden under his mattress. When I picked it up, I saw pieces of memories from the past.”
I explained every detail I could remember about what I’d seen that afternoon. Trent’s expression increased my anxiety as he became more and more engrossed as I went on.
“—and then I saw her run off into the night. My dad called after her, crying, but she didn’t come back. How could she just leave him like that?” I finished.
Trent stared at me, the wrinkle between his eyebrows growing more pronounced as he thought.
“Say something!” I said, exasperated. “You’re driving me crazy!”
“Sorry,” he said. “It’s just strange. I’ve never heard of a seer receiving a vision like that.”
“I’m not a seer,” I denied.
Trent gave me a skeptical look.
“I’m not!” I insisted. “It’s just the ring.”
“Then why didn’t the ring show me the vision?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it chooses when it wants to reveal its memories.”
“Uh huh,” Trent said, not convinced. “You said you have some sort of precognition powers, right? How often do you normally get feelings about the future?”
“Usually small things a couple times a day. Bigger things a couple times a month. Why?”
“How often have you had those types of feelings since you came to Cyrus?”
I paused, thinking. “Honestly, I can’t remember having one at all. That’s kind of weird for me. And it’s weird I haven’t noticed. I guess I’ve just been distracted by everything that’s been going on.”
Trent stayed silent, thinking.
“What is it?” I asked him.
“Well, it could be that your precognition was sort of a stirring of you full seer abilities, which aren’t actually about the future at all, but about the past. Maybe that’s why you never got any clear pictures of the future in the human realm. This could be further development of your abilities now that you’re finally connected to Cyril again.”
I considered. “That would sort of make sense. But I’m not convinced yet. One set of strange visions doesn’t prove anything. It is definitely odd I haven’t been sensing more about the future though.”
Trent looked at me incredulously. I punched him in the arm. “Can we just… go do something else? Please?” I begged.
“Sure. What do you want to do?” Trent asked.
“Umm… can you take me to the city center? Where your mom’s stand is? I’d love to see what a Cyrun city looks like.”
“Sounds great,” Trent said, though his tone implied otherwise.
&n
bsp; “What’s wrong?”
“It’s just… the city can be dangerous. There are a lot more of Tenebris’ guards around and you’re going to be an unfamiliar face.”
“We’ll keep a low profile, I promise.” Trent looked like he needed a bit of convincing, so I batted my eyelashes playfully.
His face broke into a smile. He rolled his eyes and laughed. “Fine, but you have to promise you’ll do exactly what I say.”
“Scouts honor,” I swore.
“What?” Trent asked, confused.
“Right, uh, it just means I will.” I laughed.
“We’re going to need to change your shirt,” Trent commented, looking me over in a way that made me self-conscious.
“What’s wrong with my shirt?” I asked, looking down at my Kate Bossner concert t-shirt.
“Well, nobody is going to have any idea why you’re obsessed enough with a girl named Kate so as to wear her face on your shirt, nor will they recognize any of the city names across your back.”
“Oh, right,” I said stupidly.
“It’s fine, come with me.” Trent pulled me up from the couch. He led us up the small staircase that separated the kitchen from the front room.
The upstairs of the cottage was exceptionally small, with just two bedrooms on either side of the stairs and a bathroom in between. The angled roof was obvious as we entered his parents’ bedroom. The ceiling slanted down until it touched the floor on one end. A bed with a pink quilt on top was shoved against that wall. A small chest stood at the foot of the bed. At the far end of the room, there was a petite wardrobe that would hold only a modest amount of clothes. Trent walked up to it, pulling open the doors to reveal the few articles that hung inside. He grabbed a plain white t-shirt and handed it to me. “Will this work?”
“Yeah, that’s fine,” I said, taking the shirt from him.
I waited for him to leave so I could change. He stared at me expectantly in return. It took him a moment to realize why I hadn’t started. We stood in an uncomfortable silence until he said, “Oh, right, sorry, I’ll uh, just step out while you, ya know—”
He tripped over the chest at the edge of the bed in his hurry to cross the room. I chuckled once. He glanced over his shoulder self-consciously before he exited, pulling the door closed behind him.
The Cyrun Page 9
