Mom snatches it out of the air before it even has a chance.
She puts her hand on my arm and I glance up at her face, expecting her to be angry. Instead, her voice is small, quiet. “None of us know how much time we have left.” Before I can object, she continues, “But Judica’s right. I need to see you wear it again.” She places it into my unwilling palm.
I shift from one foot to the other for a moment, but I finally slide the ring back on my finger, shoving down the inexplicable sense of doom. The stone still feels more like a burden than a treasure, like it’s loaded down with expectations. It remains dark again, and the sinking feeling stays with me. What is wrong with me? Why doesn’t it fill with simple, gentle light like it does for my entire family?
Mom touches my arm again, and I expect something big to happen, something shocking, something electric.
Nothing does.
“Maybe you drained it, like it’s a battery,” Inara says.
I close my eyes and think about the weight of the stone and suddenly I feel something faint in the back of my skull. Like a small cup is sitting there, slowly filling with liquid. That’s wrong, it’s not a cup, and it’s not liquid, but I can’t think of any better description for it. My shoulders tighten and my neck shivers.
“What?” Judica asks. “What now?”
Mom squeezes my arm. “Stay calm. If this has anything to do with emotion, we should tread carefully.”
“What else do we know about this?” I ask. “I don’t want to freak anyone out, but a bucket in the back of my mind is filling and it’s near the top. I don’t know what happens when it overflows.” I try to pull the ring off, but Mom stops me.
We all wait. The sensation that power is oozing into that space is odd, and I can’t explain it, not even to myself. But finally it stops. And the ring begins to flash with light as the power overflows the cup. Not the gentle rays of light that sparkle when it’s on Mom’s hand, or Inara’s or Judica’s. This is different. It flares and flashes like burning chunks overflowing the top of a contained fire. Mom, Inara, and Judica all stare at it, their mouths dangling open in almost the same fashion.
“It’s gone,” I say. “I can’t feel it anymore, the filling sensation I mean. What do I do now?”
Mom shakes her head. “No one knows. To my knowledge, no one else has ever done anything like what you did earlier.”
“Maybe I haven’t either,” I say. “Maybe there was an attack earlier, a real EMP.”
“The flash came from the ring on your finger at the exact moment of the EMP,” Mom says. “If nothing else, Occam’s Razor demands the assumption that you set it off.”
I sigh. “You and your scientific postulates.”
“It’s a principle, little dove, not a postulate.”
Judica huffs.
Mom ignores her. “Think about the light the ring is giving off. That’s coming from you. Even without any kind of electromagnetic pulse, that’s a very strong reaction, much stronger than mine has ever been.”
“You’ve been wearing it for a long time. Maybe it’s excited for someone new.”
Mom tsks. “First of all, it’s not alive. Don’t personify it. Secondly, I’ve seen lots of women wearing their rings over the past nine hundred years and I’ve never seen this reaction, including its reaction to both Judica and Inara a moment ago. They say the stronger the ruler and the purer the DNA, the brighter the light.”
Judica growls, but Inara looks thoughtful.
“That makes no sense,” I say. “The reaction should lessen over time if that’s true. Any way you look at it, the three of us are farther removed from Eve than you.”
Inara clears her throat. “Unless God included junk DNA at the bottom of our strand. Perhaps the purest DNA requires a few deletions of extraneous materials. You’re seventh generation. Sevens come up a lot in the records and prophecies. It might be significant.”
“Loads of empresses are seventh generation right now. Plus you and Judica are, too,” I protest.
Judica balls up her fist, and her arm trembles. I know that look. She wants to punch Inara in the face.
“Maybe you haven’t decided what you want to do,” Mom says. “Channel your thoughts into something. Give the energy, or whatever it is, a purpose.”
“Okay. But what?”
“Well, we know the sprinklers are working,” Inara says. “Why don’t you try and set your photo on fire. Then maybe Judica will forgive you for targeting hers.”
I roll my eyes, but I don’t have a better idea. I focus on the picture of myself and will it to catch fire. Nothing happens.
“It’s not working,” I say.
“Failure is a choice,” Mom says.
It’s her personal motto. Every time I said I couldn’t do something when I was little, I’d hear “Failure is a choice, Chancery.”
I grit my teeth and look at the stupid portrait of myself reading. I stare at the useless, irrelevant kid who gets to sit around and read while the important people do stuff that matters, like weapons training, strategy, studying history of warfare, and diplomacy. I mean, I hate the idea of having to do all of that, but it sucks that I’ll never need to. I look at the girl in that portrait, her face unconcerned, her legs crossed at the ankle, flip flops skewed. Her life doesn’t matter, and the image is an accurate reflection of reality.
My life doesn’t matter.
I was born before Judica, but that’s not why Mom chose her. She chose my twin because I’m not good enough. I’m not the one Mom thinks is strong enough, not the one suited to rule. I’m too soft, too kind, and too weak. I focus on it all, on the ring I’ll never really have, the position I’ll never take, and the world I’ll never inherit. The power in that little cup flares to life, and the flashes from the ring intensify.
I feed the flames with my anger and frustration, and then I push on it with my brain, clamping down on the bucket until the ring flashes again. Not like it did the first time, but darker, hotter, and sharper. The fireball that flies out of the ring heads straight for the wall and blasts a hole in it, burning a path through the right side of my mom’s closet.
“Oh no! I’m so sorry!”
I race into the closet before Mom can stop me, plowing right into the burning clothing. The flames lick against my skin, tasting my wet shirt and shorts. I stare at the mess I created with horror, willing the damage away. Then, just as quickly as the fireball burst out, I suck the flames back. The fire around me snuffs out and the ring bursts once and then scales back to smaller, less insistent flashes again.
The plush, shaved ivory carpet under my feet is singed and smoke billows into the room in front of us. I glance around the closet and breathe in a huge, smoky breath, but at least the Marchesa for tomorrow was on the left side of the closet. I’m staring at it dumbly when Mom takes my arm and pulls me back, away from the closet. The sprinklers don’t go off and I wonder why.
“No sprinklers?” I ask numbly.
“I think you blew the generator,” Mom whispers. She slides the ring from my finger and gently pushes me toward her bed. Balthasar, Mathias, and Frederick burst in the room without even knocking.
“What’s going on in here?” Balthasar’s eyes flash and he waves his sword in the air. “Give me the EMP, Enora, just hand it over.” He holds out his free hand. “You’ve blown the generator now. Unless there’s a backup generator no one told me about, we are screwed.”
Mom sinks down on the edge of her bed with a sigh. “I hadn’t thought about that.”
Balthasar’s face darkens. “You hadn’t thought of it!?”
“I’m sorry. I promise there won’t be any more EMPs today. They’re kind of a single use thing and the last one has been used up.”
Balthasar notices the closet and expletives pour from his mouth. I listen closely and make note of a few new ones.
“That’s quite enough, Balth.” Mom grabs his arm and he pulls up short.
He leans toward Mom and whispers. “Are you alright?
What’s going on?”
“I’ll fill you in on more details later. You’ll recall I asked for fifteen extra minutes. I’m done now. You can begin replacing circuits in the generator first and work your way out from there. I’m truly sorry for the confusion and frustration.”
Balthasar opens his mouth as if to say something else, then rethinks it. He turns on his heel and marches out the door, dragging the others behind him. Edam turns and glances over his shoulder. Directly at me. His intense, deep blue eyes meet mine questioningly. The pulse from Mom’s ring didn’t burn through me that hotly.
I break eye contact with Edam, and he jogs down the hall to catch up with the others.
Once we’re alone again, I explode. Figuratively this time. “Don’t ask me to do that again, ever.”
“No kidding, freak,” Judica says.
“Judica, Inara, you may both return to your duties, but remember. Not a word about this to anyone. Ever. Chancery and I need to talk.”
Judica stomps out the door, Death on her heels. Once he’s gone, Cookie crawls back out from under Mom’s bed and curls up near my dangling feet. Inara walks calmly to the door, and as she ducks out, she turns back and throws me a double thumbs up. “Very interesting development.”
Normally that would make me smile, but with Lark decimating me today, and Lyssa’s execution, and now this, I can’t summon any humor. I’m hollowed out like a gourd.
Mom wraps an arm around my shoulder and I collapse against her, sobbing. She hugs me close and lets me cry on her for the second time today. Eventually, my tears lessen. I gulp in deep breaths and sit up.
“What do you need to talk to me about?” I ask.
“For starters,” Mom says, “after my party is over and the guests have returned home, I’ll be drawing up new heirship documents.”
“Excuse me?” I ask.
“I won’t lie to you. I still think Judica’s better suited to ruling, Chancy. Nevertheless, you’re my new Heir.”
7
“Wait, I don’t understand,” I say. “So what if the stone reacts only for me? Why does that change anything?”
“My ring is staridium.”
I nod. “Yep, the stone cut from the mountain, I know. God barred Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden. Afterward, as a sign He still loved them, He broke a piece from the gate in the wall and gave it to them so they could find their way back.”
Mom says, “Eve gave the stone to her youngest daughter, and then when Mahalesh’s daughters were on the brink of destruction, she gave each one a tiny piece of the stone and divided the earth between them to end the fighting.”
“Except for Shenoah,” I say.
“Correct. Mahalesh’s older sister by just one year was her dearest friend. Mahalesh gave the smallest piece of the stone to her. And she carved out a chunk of land for Shenoah, too.”
“You know, if Mahalesh hadn’t given a stone to Shenoah, we’d be mahaleshians.” I tut. “Evians sounds much better, so I suppose it’s good that Shenoah was an amazing sister.”
Mom raises one eyebrow. “Focus, Chancery. The point is that there’s a prophecy given by Eve herself that empresses do not often share. It predicts that one day, thousands of years after Eve’s death, one of her line will—”
“Isn’t everyone technically one of her line?”
Mom’s not in a joking mood, judging from her scowl.
“Sorry. One of the empresses will do what?”
“This isn’t a joke.”
I shake my head. “I know. I am sorry. It’s just hard to believe that any prophecy from thousands of years ago is really predicting anything that will happen, up to and including my strange reaction to a rock.”
“Nevertheless, the prophecy states that an empress will reunite Eve’s descendants and regain admittance to the Garden. By so doing, this empress will obtain salvation for all mankind.”
I try my best to look like I believe in any of this, but I have to ask, “Salvation? From what exactly? Avarice? Elitism? Too much perfection? Oh, I know. Overdose of preservatives.”
Mom’s lips compress tightly. “Mother had lots of theories, but ultimately, we don’t know.”
“Why’s this special prophecy such a big secret? Seems like keeping it quiet is a good way to possibly lose it.”
“Shenoah and Mahalesh’s daughters agreed to keep all of Eve’s prophecies secret. Only the current empress of each family has access to them. I’m violating that rule to explain this to you.”
I can barely force out my next question. “Why?”
“For generations, as soon as she reads the prophecies, every new empress has believed she would reunite the families and claim the right to re-enter the Garden of Eden. I know I certainly did, and Mother’s journals confess she did too.”
“And you think, somehow, I’m actually the one.”
Mom’s expression is grim. “No one has ever succeeded in uniting two families for more than a few days.”
“Clearly I was chosen for my strong leadership skills, my ferocity, and my deft political skill.”
“You have depths you don’t yet fathom,” Mom says. “And hopefully you’ll have decades with me to prepare before you need to take over.”
“I don’t even want to take over.”
Mom slams her hand down on her dresser. “I don’t care what you want anymore. We have an obligation, and you may be the only person who can save all of us.”
My eyes widen. Save the world? Me? By unlocking the entrance back to the Garden of Eden? Preposterous. “Do you even know where it is? The mythical Garden?”
Mom shakes her head. “I thought it might be on one of the Hawaiian islands. After all, they’re perfect almost all year, but I’ve combed them, and Puerto Rico, and every other paradise I could seize.” She leans against the dresser. “No one alive knows where the Garden is located as far as I know. Eve, if she remembered, took that information to her grave. In fact, as the world has shrunk with new technology, I sometimes wonder whether it’s not more of a vault of sorts, holding only answers. It’s awfully hard to hide locations these days of anything with any decent size.”
“Which means that even if I bring the stones together, it won’t help. We have no idea what to do with them.”
Mom takes my hand. “Chancery, the prophecy identifies the queen who will reunite the kingdoms specifically.”
As much as I want to dismiss her words, my heart falters. The EMP. The fire. The ring’s odd reaction. What if it means something? What if I’m suddenly expected to do things? Save people. An overwhelming sense of despair seizes me. That stupid rock chose the wrong sister. I can’t even save myself or my half-human best friend.
“You may recognize bits of it. Eve’s original journals refer to it, and it’s referenced again in the few copies we have of Mahalesh’s journals. There are even obscure references elsewhere. Obviously someone couldn’t keep quiet about it and told their Consort, and so you see mention of it in public places too, like Isaiah chapter five. ‘And he will lift up an ensign to the nations from far, and will hiss unto them from the end of the earth; and behold, they shall come with speed swiftly... And in that day they shall roar against them like the roaring of the sea: and if one look unto the land, behold darkness and sorrow, and the light is darkened in the heavens thereof.’”
“Umm. I’m pretty sure that doesn’t say anything about a woman reuniting the world, or a ring or an EMP.” If her prophecy is this obscure, I feel way better about my chances. I just need to convince her that it doesn’t say what she thinks it says. Bless prophets for being so obtuse all the time.
My mom turns and gazes out her window at the waves crashing against the rocky shore, lost in thought. I wonder if my lack of understanding disappoints her. Am I already failing in my new role as Alamecha’s salvation?
“Isaiah never makes any sense,” I mutter. “What does that even mean?”
“You’re being too literal.” My mom turns back to face me. “Isaiah’s writings are
about symbols. He was describing things he’d seen from so far in the future that although he understood them, no words he could have used would have made sense to the people at his time. How would you describe an iPhone to the early Jews? Or a helicopter? How about a nuclear bomb?”
“Pictures might help.”
“Be serious. An EMP wouldn’t even have done anything a few hundred years ago. It’s an electromagnetic pulse. It destroys electronics and wiring. I was born in a time so different from now that the people I knew then, my mother for example, would be utterly confused were they dropped here among my subjects today.”
“How old are the writings you’ve got from Mahalesh? Wasn’t she born in 3226 BC?”
“She was,” Mom says, “but they’re copies of copies at this point.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Are you at all worried that they’ve morphed?”
Mom stares at her ring. “Do you know how the stone was broken? The stone cut from the mountain was whole when God scooped it out, one solid piece.”
I hadn’t really thought about it. It makes sense, though. A shattered key seems pointless. “Did Eve break it?”
Mom shakes her head. “No, Mahalesh’s sisters hated her, except for Shenoah, but Eve passed the mantle of leadership directly to her anyway. It was smooth. She received an intact key, a complete chunk of staridium that would grant her access to the Garden.”
“Then how?”
“As Mahalesh neared a thousand years of age, her five youngest daughters, born within decades of one another, fought bitterly for control over the earth and its people. Their discord broke her heart.” Mom turns toward the window and when she speaks again, her voice sounds sad, as though it isn’t ancient history to her. “Shenoah proposed a solution—split up the land. There was plenty to go around. But Mahalesh feared it would eventually be divided too far. She felt the division would need to be limited.”
I knew this part. “Mahalesh couldn’t choose one of her daughters to rule. Shenoah suggested Mahalesh break the stone and give one piece to each daughter. Divide up the earth and let them each rule a portion to stop the fighting.”
Displaced (The Birthright Series Book 1) Page 8
