by Laury Falter
Most students passed him silently, with their heads down, an extreme departure from the usually talkative crowd. Ironically, only those with the most to lose kept their heads up. My cousins and the Caldwells, Jameson included, entered the room with a proud tip of their chins.
I was the only one who took a different approach. I looked him in the eye while passing by, sending an unspoken message. If he was going to cast against us, I wanted him to feel certain I knew it was him. It was a maneuver Jameson would not approve of, so I was thankful when he entered before me.
As I did this, one thing stood out…I didn’t see in Theleo what I’d expected. There was no defiance, no resentment, and no threat whatsoever. If I had to name what I saw, I’d label it curiosity.
All of the emotions I’d expected from him were actually coming from me; this realization left me a little unnerved as I moved by him.
Inside the classroom, I noticed the Caldwells and the Weatherfords were following the agreed upon course of action. Appearing to still be at odds, the families stood on opposite sides of the room. I took my assumed position next to my cousins, daring a quick glance at Jameson in the process.
He unabashedly stared across at us, his handsome face disturbingly expressionless. It was the perfect disguise. He looked like he was hesitantly complacent about our presence there. The rest of the Caldwells avoided eye contact with us. They were focused on the teacher in the center of the room.
She was short and petite, wearing an abundance of flashy jewelry over a deep blue business suit. Her makeup was dense and the heels she wore added five inches to her slight stature, bringing her total height up to about four feet. She sternly surveyed this new crop of students, as if she were envisioning beating each one with a stick. Her thickly-outlined lips opened, and I expected her to start screaming. A few others leaned away, already wincing, before she spoke a word.
Surprisingly, her voice was hoarse and muted, sounding like she’d just gotten over a bad case of laryngitis.
“What’s wrong with her?” whispered a girl behind me.
Another girl responded, with an edge to her voice. “Nothing. Vires took her voice. She’s just now getting it back.”
Without having been told, I knew this newest teacher’s name. Ms. Roquette. I recalled Jameson mentioning her when I’d first met him. Apparently, her punishment for whatever crime she’d committed had come to an end…sort of.
Ms. Roquette was talking still, a sound that resembled wheezing, so I needed to concentrate to pick up every single word from her. As I listened, what she said drew me in, intriguing me.
“From air and fire, water and land…energies of our world lend me a hand…return my voice this bright mooned night…if it must be so…replace it with sight.”
We watched as her grey eyes drifted upward and to the right; I held back a gasp, realizing she’d abruptly gone blind. But that wasn’t the only sign. Emptiness claimed her eyes; creating a void…deep, dark, and impenetrable.
As she spoke again, her voice – which was originally so low it was unlikely she could have taught class - jolted everyone in the room.
Suddenly, it dawned on me exactly what I’d just witnessed. Ms. Roquette traded her sight for her voice, redistributing the energy from one physical function to another.
Glancing around the room, I found that I wasn’t the only one impressed. The rapid jumble of words rushing from our professor’s mouth seemed like gibberish until listening closer, which forced us to focus on what she was actually saying.
I caught up midway through one of her sentences. “…and I’ve agreed. So I’ll be discussing historical figures.”
It took me a second to understand what she was doing, but I finally grasped it. She was speaking as fast as possible, trying to get everything in she wished to convey before her ability to speak was taken away. Apparently, displacement of energies didn’t last very long. Unfortunately, now she was also screaming. Her shrill voice rang in the back of my ears, making it nearly impossible to focus on what she was saying. Thankfully, throughout the lecture, it tapered to a normal range for about five minutes and gradually disappeared, becoming barely a whisper. She’d repeat her incantation with various sections of it replaced – “Dark of night and rising moon…listen intently to this witch’s tune…” or “Give me voice on these hallowed grounds…eye of bird and claw of cat, fulfill this request and lend me sound” – and then she was able to continue her lecture. She followed this cycle; though, huffing and rolling her eyes each time her voice began dissipating, it clearly antagonized her, but she fought through it.
During the two hours of class, Ms. Roquette talked about those responsible for the successful revitalization of the Vires, which also made the forces what they are today. The words “unscrupulous death squad” hovered in my mind, but Ms. Roquette had better manners than to include that in her lecture.
The revitalization had taken place within our lifetime, invigorating an isolated, disorganized group into a cohesive fighting force using rigorous desensitization lessons. I wanted to tell Ms. Roquette that it worked. The Vires appeared to be automated robots, and when given instructions, they weren’t carried out because of loyalty to their commanders or honor for their position…they did it simply because they were told to. They even abandoned their own family stones in order to wear a moldavite, the true mark of a Vire.
Ms. Roquette rambled on to the next topic, Phillip Turcott; this actually made me stand up straighter and listen more intently.
His name garnered blank and confused stares from the rest of the group, because it wasn’t associated with a title and no one had ever heard of him. He was obscure, an enigma, sifting through the strands of communities formed by those in our world. But he had one sole purpose…discovering the identities of two individuals. Both were considered, by The Sevens, to be extremely dangerous. The first individual he sought was dubbed The Nobilis, and presumably would be the person responsible for starting a war within the provinces.
The announcement of the second person Phillip Turcott sought after actually made my heart skip a beat.
Ms. Roquette was forced to whisper the name, given that her voice was, yet again, fading. Nonetheless, it sounded to me as if she was shouting.
“The Relicuum,” she wheezed, pausing to recite an incantation and starting to speak again. “The Relicuum, for those unaware, is the person capable of acquiring residue, the supernatural gift of those who are in the process of dying.”
As comprehension washed over me, I struggled not to show the alarm I felt going off inside me; though I’m not certain how successful I was. My nerves were tugging on my muscles, causing each one to feel like a rigid tightrope.
My mind was racing with broken sentences and half-conceived ideas, but only one thought landed firmly enough to grasp…Jameson and my cousins had mentioned The Relicuum before, and they already determined who it was. They were confident they knew who was able to amass all the supernatural gifts known to our world and who was deemed a threat by The Sevens.
If they were right, Phillip Turcott was out there looking for…me.
As casually as my nerves would allow, I took a peek at Jameson’s reaction. He wasn’t staring at me, as I assumed he might. The Vires in the room – our greatest threat and the ones who would gladly hand me over if they knew my true identity – were his solitary focus. The flex of his muscles and the position of his body told me he was ready to take them on. Fortunately, they remained in place, quietly observing, as they had been the entire duration of class. Eventually, Jameson’s tension eased and his eyes stopped moving between them to center back on Ms. Roquette.
No one asked any questions about Phillip Turcott and Ms. Roquette didn’t offer any picture, description, or likeness of him, leaving me to wonder how I would possibly see him coming before he identified me.
It didn’t matter though. I was just as concerned about her next subject.
Before announcing him, she paused, as if she were gathering her co
urage. It was the only moment she wasted throughout the entire lecture, during the times she was able to speak. Still silent, she tilted her head higher and ardently began.
“We are honored to have a legendary figure here tonight. I would be remiss if he went unacknowledged. Theleo Alesius, take a bow.”
Every student’s head turned in his direction, and despite being under their scrutiny, he remained stoic: unflappable, tense, and focused. He didn’t move in the slightest.
“Theleo joined the Vires when he was just two years old. He immediately excelled in all physical and intellectual exercises, rising above his classmates. He was so adept that an entirely new, separate rank was established to foster his level of capability.”
She’s warning us, I thought.
“Theleo was so good that he was naturally chosen as the very first Praesidio, a guard to The Sevens. In fact, he developed his own force, some of whom you see with him tonight.”
Most of the class, including me, glanced around at Theleo’s squad, all of whom maintained the same composure as their boss.
“Having perfected the art of combative casting, he is now sent into the field with an entirely new focus…”
Despite being temporarily blind, Ms. Roquette moved her head in the direction where she’d last seen me and said, “He is here to deliver information back to other Vires…an emissary to The Sevens. But don’t let his platonic position deceive you. Those who he has been assigned to watch have one thing in common…”
Her voice fell away…this time suddenly, and she rolled her eyes in frustration. “They’re all…” she tried again, but it came out a wheeze. Whatever she was struggling to tell us was clearly significant.
We waited, her effort to finish her sentence gripping us.
“They’re all…” Obviously irritated, she slapped a hand to her throat.
Then…unable to overcome her last bout of muteness…she mouthed the word…accentuating it so there was no misunderstanding.
I heard it loud and clear.
“Dead.”
Piecing together her final statement, I turned cold inside.
Those whom Theleo has been assigned to watch…are all dead.
Jameson retained his detached persona, acting as if he were listening like everyone else in the room. But I knew better after catching him glancing at me from the corner of his eyes. A flicker of unease crossed his expression but, recognizing his lapse, he quickly blinked, swallowed back the emotion, and regained his aloof composure. It lasted even after class ended. He lingered behind with his family, ensuring that I left safely first.
I was certain he was thinking the same thing I was, the same thing our families were:
Theleo Alesius is now watching us.
3 RELICUUM
The notions of all I’d learned tonight cycled in my head until I’d reached Aunt Lizzy’s house, brushed my teeth, and fell into bed. As my cousins quieted down, and after a threat from Nolan to knock Oscar’s head off if he didn’t stop mistaking their toothbrushes, I still couldn’t shake the looming discomfort.
Ms. Roquette, whether intentionally or not, had just pointed out our most dangerous enemies. Unfortunately, only one of them I knew by sight, Theleo.
My antagonizing thoughts gradually dwindled down, leaving one in particular. The name Phillip Turcott began to repeat faintly in my mind.
If I was The Relicuum, he was after me, and I still had no idea how to identify him.
For the next hour, I tossed and turned, twisting myself around the bed sheet. Just as I dozed away…
Phillip Turcott…
Phillip Turcott…
Phillip Turcott…
Vires were threatening enough, but for some reason, this man sent a pang of fear through me.
In less than a minute, I was downstairs, although I wasn’t fully aware of where I was heading until my subconscious stopped me outside Aunt Lizzy’s study.
The door was ajar, and through the opening, I saw only one thing. Shelves stuffed with books.
While pushing on the doorknob, my metal bracelet slid down my arm; the quartz crystal embedded in it tapping lightly against the wood. It was the only sound in the house, and it seemed to reverberate through the rooms. I grumbled under my breath at my lack of grace but didn’t hear anyone stir from upstairs.
Once inside, I located the desk lamp and turned it on, but it offered such little light I almost turned it off again. I then made my way across her study, stumbling on the carpet and catching my toe on the leg of a foot rest. Just then, I began to wonder if my clumsiness was a subconscious sign proving my apprehension about being here. I paused and evaluated that thought, finding it to be true. Although I wasn’t sure what I was going to find, I didn’t expect it to be all that comforting. Shoving my worries aside, I began squinting in the darkness, reading off the titles of the books Aunt Lizzy had collected.
Having been in her study once before, I had perused her assortment but didn’t recall seeing the name Turcott on any of the books. After a thorough sweep, I resigned myself to the fact that it was because there wasn’t any. There was, however, a book given the general title RELICUUM. Curious, I pulled it from the shelf and took a seat at the desk where, thankfully, the light was more suitable.
It was winter in New Orleans, and cold weather had a way of creeping inside old houses. Aunt Lizzy’s being no different; it was chilly as I sat in her study, but that wasn’t why goose bumps spread across my arms. It was the words. As I voraciously devoured them unlike any I’d ever read, they stirred within me, causing the bumpy reaction. By the time Miss Mabelle cleared her throat loudly from the doorway, I was trembling, and my stomach felt queasy.
I didn’t even jump. Fear already had an unrelenting hold on me.
“Could you…” My voice sounded weak, which I hated. After clearing the tightness from my vocal chords, I started again. “Could you get me a cup of something warm?”
I expected her to retort with something callous like “Git yer own damn tea” or “Whatchoo think this is? Some café?” But she turned and headed for the kitchen, bringing back a mug of steaming, black liquid. I didn’t ask what it was; I didn’t really care at this point. Judging from the taste of it, I determined it was a custom tea mixture.
She took a seat on the guest chair across from the desk, leaning her ubiquitous cane against the wall, and folded her hands across her protruding belly. She was waiting, staring unabashedly, until I spoke.
I knew my voice carried a tone of ridicule, but somehow, I was unable to control it. The stream of words that tumbled out was candid, leaving no question as to how I felt.
“I had finally conceded that my relatives – the entire line of them – are witches. Took me a while, but I did it. Then, I accepted my ability to heal…” I paused, pushing back the remorse at not having acknowledged it sooner. “I’ve accepted it…accept it and use it as often as I can. I’ve also appreciated the fact that I can levitate. It’s the one gift I really enjoy exercising.” Stopping again, this time I sighed and warily dropped my head against the back of the chair. It was shaking in refusal by the time I lifted it again. “But I can’t be The Relicuum. I can’t. I’m just a fluke, an accident that happens to be more capable at healing and levitation than the rest of our world. Being more capable doesn’t make me The Relicuum.” I leaned back in the chair again, but only briefly. The nerves in my body wouldn’t allow me to stay still for very long. “No one even knows how to identify The Relicuum. They’re just assuming I’m the one.”
She paused before answering, clearly deciding if and what to say. In perfect enunciation, as if Miss Mabelle had heard it countless times before, she proceeded to unmistakably define the person known to be The Relicuum. “Born in September, under the full moon, she will be raised without a family. Innocence will prevail, until witnessing the first death. She will reside, at one point in her life or many, within the Crescent City. Love will rescue her.” She paused to assess my reaction, though, I wasn’t certain I show
ed any. She continued. “Discovery is particularly dangerous for her. This is because after finding a home…her enemies will find her. From then on, only her gifts will keep her alive.”
She stood, lifting the thick cover of the book in front of me, and opened it to a page I hadn’t read yet. There, in the second paragraph, were the exact words she’d just spoken. I shifted uncomfortably in the desk chair…I fit that description perfectly.
It dawned on me, if she could recount those details, I was sure there was at least one other person who could do the same. Phillip Turcott. My intuition was urgently telling me he was using those same criteria to identify and locate me at this very moment.
I took a sip from my mug and waited for the hot liquid to leave a singed trail down my esophagus, both warming me and distracting me from my thoughts, before allowing my attention to return to the page.
“Yeyas,” Miss Mabelle stated, confidently. “I know’s about The Relicuum.” Having returned to her traditional southern dialect and preferred linguistics, she somehow comforted me. I didn’t want Miss Mabelle to change. She was a rock: strong, sturdy, and independent. Not only did I like her that way, I needed her to be that way.
“Do you know what she’s expected to do?”
“Save her people.” Her voice was blunt, emphasizing the weight of her statement. “But that ain’t gonna happen any time soon.”
“Why?” I hesitantly asked.
“The Relicuum’s a spoiled little girl right now. No idea’s what she possesses. No idea how ta use it. N’ no interest in learnin’. Wouldn’t trust her with an old brick.”
Miss Mabelle knew I was fighting the possibility of being The Relicuum, so her words stung me.
“Chil’ probably don’t even know what relicuum means…”
“What does it mean?”
“Residue,” she uttered flatly.
