04 Last

by Lynnie Purcell

  “And you think your family history will help with that?” she asked.

  “I’ve been told that by a seriously untrustworthy Watcher named Odette. I don’t know if I believe her, but I couldn’t take the chance she was lying. That’s why I’m here.”

  A chuckle surrounded me, echoing back of the hills a hundred times. The laughter was disconcerting. I looked at Daniel, wondering if she was laughing because she was about to kill me or because she liked me. He shrugged in a question and went back to looking at the hills.

  The laughter died down as suddenly as it had begun. The loudest sound was a wicked wind blowing the tall grass around the ruined structures. I looked around for any sign that she had not just walked away, but there was nothing. She was a ghost in a ghost town.

  “I will answer your questions,” the voice said from directly in front of me, closer than I had expected.

  I jumped at the unexpected closeness and gripped the sword tighter without thinking.

  A woman stepped out from the shade of one of the buildings. One second there was shadow, the next she was there. Her features were of no race in particular. She had a medium complexion and characteristics of all races. It was as if she were older than races; older than the divisions humans had built up over the years. Her eyes were a mixture of all colors, a strange patchwork that held a magnetic pull. She was assessing me in the same way I was assessing her. Her eyes were full of recognition I did not possess. I was curious at what she saw.

  I held the sword out to her.

  “This is yours,” I said.

  She stepped closer, cautious despite the tentative peace we had formed. She took the sword from my hand in an elegant grab and held the blade to my throat. I didn’t move, though my heart beat faster. The historian’s eyes were harsh.

  “The only way I am going to believe is if I can see your history,” she said. “Marcus knows about this sword. He might have sent you. If you refuse to let me read your past, you die.”

  I held out my hand.

  “You want to do this now or did you want to think up some new threats?” I asked.

  She looked at me with a confused expression on her face.

  “It’s easier if you don’t try to understand her,” Daniel said to her. “She’s willing to let you look.”

  The historian nodded at his advice. She ignored my hand and focused her eyes on mine.

  “Lower your mental shield. I will not harm you,” she said.

  I did as she asked. The historian’s eyes bored in to mine, and I felt my father’s necklace grow warm against my skin. It was the warmth of welcome. I saw the historian flinch slightly as I felt the warmth, but she was undeterred. The warmth was not an obstacle. As soon as my mental shield was gone, memories I had no control over surged up in front of my eyes. I saw everything, even some things I hadn’t known I remembered. I remembered days before I was born: swimming in sea of amniotic fluid, the sound of Ellen’s voice and the sound of a melodic voice that felt vaguely familiar – the voice of my father. I saw days from before I could speak, my years of moving from city to city, the day Ellen had told me the truth about my parentage, the fear that had followed me since that day, all of the minor trouble I had gotten in to while searching for something to keep me occupied and away from the fear, meeting Daniel, my first kills, what had happened in New Orleans, my time in torture-land, the tattoo that had been put on my foot, Lorian’s death and my rescue of Nemesis, rescuing Han and Beatrice… All of the images swirled around my head in a methodical way as the historian brought them up one-by-one. The visions stopped as my memories reached the present.

  The historian lowered the sword from my throat.

  “Welcome to my home. Be careful to stay close to the building on the right. The road is laced with mines,” she said.

  She turned away from me and followed the dirt road, being careful to stick to the right side. Daniel and I exchanged an amused look.

  “Well, that went well…” I said.

  “She didn’t cut off your head,” Daniel pointed out.

  “That’s true,” I said.

  “We should probably follow her,” Daniel said.

  I did my best to keep to the right side of the road, following in the historian’s footsteps. It was stressful and entirely like walking through a minefield. I expected the ground to blow up at any minute. Daniel kept close behind me.

  The historian took a turn behind two large buildings that looked like they had been an office building at one point. The space was narrow. I had to turn slightly to one side to fit in between the space. At the end of the buildings was an opening to a tunnel. There were wood panels blocking the tunnel, but there were a set of stairs leading up the side of a mountain. The historian walked up the stairs and disappeared out of sight.

  I hurried up the stairs after her, hoping there were not any more surprises, and saw another entrance in to the mountain. It was closed off as well, but there was a small opening to the left. The historian walked through the opening. I hesitated before going in.

  Another tunnel…another closed-in space.

  Daniel touched me on the elbow. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” I agreed quickly.

  It was more a cave than a tunnel; a cave unlike any I had ever seen. Or had I seen it before?

  Walking through the small opening and looking at the cave was like looking at a memory, the sort of memory that could only be recalled in blurry detail, as if I had seen through someone else’s mind. It was more a familiar feeling in my gut than a concrete memory; a sense that I had walked in on the scene in front of me several times.

  The cave had a white, marble floor. It was very tall, taller than I had expected. I could not see the ceiling; it was only shadow and darkness. It made me feel less as if the walls were pressing in on me, though the feeling lingered. The area was lit with recessed electric lights etched in to the very stone. To my left was a small area that looked as if it was the historian’s ‘home.’ It had a small chair, a table and more books than I could count. They were everywhere. Directly in front of the entrance was a small table that held a glass box with a white rose encased in it. I stared at the rose, trying to place where I had seen it and the cave before. Further back in the cave I saw a desk and several monitors. The monitors showed the surrounding area. The whole area was covered with video cameras, including the mountains and ways that seemed impassable to me.

  The historian was waiting near the lone chair.

  Daniel paused at the entrance of the cave. He looked pained, as if the idea of walking across the threshold was something he would rather not do. The historian looked between him and me with a sly smile.

  “Do you fear walking in to my home?” the historian asked Daniel.

  “I fear my blood boiling in my body and dying a painful death,” Daniel said. “May I come in?”

  The historian cocked her head at him.

  “I have seen Clare’s past, but not yours. There are many things Clare does not know about you.”

  “Is that the payment you require?” Daniel asked. “My history as well? Will you trust me then?”

  “Trust…” the historian mused. “We will start with permission to enter my home.”

  Daniel nodded and looked at the historian as I had done. His green eyes were lit by a strange fire as the historian started pulling his memories from his mind. It was the fire of reliving all of his choices and experiences as I had. The historian’s face flickered occasionally as Daniel’s memories surprised her. I was not sure what she saw, but I was jealous. Seeing his whole history was something I would have liked to experience. No secrets – just the truth, all at once.

  It took the historian longer to flesh out Daniel’s history. When she was done, she looked at Daniel with shadowed eyes. They shared secrets – secrets I was not sure I would ever know. The historian finally nodded.

  “You may come in,” she said.

  Daniel finally stepped in to the cave. He looked around, but did no
t seem to recognize the cave as I had. The historian looked at me again. Her gaze was intense, but a small smile appeared on her face.

  “You look like her, you know,” she said.

  “Like who?” I asked.

  “Your ultimate grandmother,” she replied. “Though you have your father’s eyes. Her eyes were the warmest brown I have ever seen or will likely ever see again.”

  “My ultimate grandmother?” I asked. “Isn’t that impossible?”

  “A misnomer, of sorts,” the historian agreed. “But it fits for our purposes.”

  “You should know that I’m not great with long build-ups,” I said. “I’m kind of impatient.”

  “Yes. I noticed that,” the historian said. “I will not waste your time then…In the beginning, our kind, Watchers, as you call them, was not hidden. We were a proud people. We had cities. We had empires. That was before the flood. A small kingdom was ruled by a queen. She had three children by an angelic father. A set of twins and a younger daughter. Two boys and a girl. The boys were set to rule the kingdom jointly, and the girl to be its sword wielder – its protector.”

  “A girl protector?” I asked, impressed that a woman had been set as defender of a whole kingdom. “Really?”

  “We are Watchers. Gender does not matter as much as aptitude,” she explained.

  “Right…” I said.

  “The kingdom was peaceful. It was serene. But peace could not last. A prophetess’ life was saved by the brothers. In exchange, the prophet told of a vision she had. She did not think of the implications of telling the truth; she spoke without foresight, ironic for one who sees so far ahead. But she was young…foolish.”

  “I’ve heard this part,” I said. “You’re talking about Odette and the vision she shared with Lorian and Darian.”

  “Yes,” the historian agreed.

  “What does that have to do with my ultimate grandmother?”

  “Farrah…” the historian whispered in a voice much different than the one she had used at the beginning of the story. It was one laced with regret. “Farrah was different than her brothers. She took her responsibilities seriously. She was guardian of the throne. She was protector. She loved her brothers, but the prophecy had made war between them. It was tearing up her homeland. People were dying. She was desperate to stop it – her attempts to make peace between them were ignored. They were too focused on power. She finally called on Nemesis to end the fight. Though the bargain was for her life, it was not enough. Lorian and Darian joined forces to capture Nemesis and put her in her prison. What Lorian and Darian did not know – what their selfish fighting did not allow them to see – was that Farrah had fallen in love. The man was a human, normal. The kind of man our kind would have looked down on, even then. But Farrah did not see a human man – she saw someone she loved more than life. She concealed her pregnancy, even from her mother, who refused to take sides in the fight. Days before her deal with Nemesis, she gave birth. Though the man loved his wife, and would have given anything so that she would live, Farrah convinced him to flee the country, with the aid of a friend. Farrah knew the prophecy held new meaning. If the brothers lived and she died in vein, her child would be hunted down and killed. She could not take the risk. If she were successful, her child would be free to come back and rule the country, as was the child’s right. The man and her child were taken to a new country far away. For some reason, the child’s powers were muted. She held a normal life, with only minor psychic awareness. She was as human as her father was.

  “The girl grew and had a family. One family gave way to another and so on. The families moved around the world as the years passed. The story of their past was forgotten with time. They became farmers, bakers, people that never stood out, though they maintained a curious psychic ability. Lorian and Darian, who had destroyed their home with the fighting, continued their battle away from the humans, after the deadly outcome of the flood, never knowing that another heir had survived as well. The family finally found their way to the New World. They eventually settled in a rural area…to continue their tradition of farming. Originally known as Michael’s Farmstead, after the family, the area is now known as King’s Cross.”

  I looked at her. Then I looked at Daniel. Then I looked her again. I could not think of anything to say. My first thought was skepticism. There was no way my family had that sort of history. There was no way I was related to Lorian and Darian or their sister. I had always assumed I was different because of my father. He was the answer to my oddness. It was easier to blame him for why I different; it was easier than blaming Ellen. I couldn’t believe the historian.

  “What’s your angle?” I asked. “Why are you lying to me?”

  “Lying?” the historian asked. “Why would I lie?”

  “Why would anyone lie?” I asked.

  Daniel took my hands and forced me to look at him.

  “The historian doesn’t lie,” he told me. “I told you that.”

  “Everyone lies.”

  “You don’t,” Daniel pointed out.

  “Everyone else does,” I said.

  “She doesn’t,” he told me.

  “Maybe you’re lying. You lie.”

  “That was low,” Daniel said. “And doesn’t change anything. Why can’t you believe her?”

  I pulled my hands out of his and crossed my arms.

  “It means that I’m different because of Ellen.”

  “And not your father?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s not Ellen’s fault,” Daniel said.

  “Just her history,” I said.

  “It is what it is,” Daniel said. “At least you know.”

  I shook my head. There were still more questions. Things that didn’t make sense. I turned back to the historian, my combative stance unchanged.

  “How come, if it’s my family that is different, others didn’t show the same…powers?” I asked. “How come they didn’t start reading minds at sixteen and inexplicably picking up abilities they can’t control?”

  “Your mother was the first Michaels to refuse a calm life – a life as a farmer or baker. She was untamable…the spirit of Farrah was strong with her. She went in search of an exciting life. Then she met your father. He was one of the fallen. What was dormant in your mother was woken in you. There has never been another like you…You are the evolution of our kind.”

  “Evolution…” I repeated.

  The word sounded so weird coming from a person who had stayed the same for thousands of years.

  “I am certain it is difficult to come to grips with the truth. When I discovered my own lineage consisted of thieves and cutthroats I was very distraught,” the historian said. “Your history, though, is noble. Complicated, but noble.”

  Her words were reminder that my history was longer than I had ever thought. My grandfather’s book had been the beginning of the truth of my history – her words were the conclusion. All the hints made sense. I could no longer deny the truth. My family was different. My whole world shifted. A part of me that had always questioned why I was different fell away. The questions of the past were answered. The only question I had now was how my past would change the future. It was still a pretty big question.

  “So I’m supposed to be the most powerful Watcher to ever live?” I asked.

  “The problem with seeing the future is that it keeps changing,” the historian said. “The past is solid. The future is unwritten. Odette is confident in her visions. I am confident only in the past.”

  “So…you don’t know if her prophecy is about me?” I asked.

  The historian looked between Daniel and me. Her look suggested the truth was more complicated.

  “I did not see her vision. But I heard it…once. I cannot see how it meant anyone but you, now that I’ve seen your past.”

  “You’re not certain you trust the future Odette has spoken but you are certain I’m the one in the prophecy,” I said. “Do you know what the word ‘consistency�
� means?”

  Daniel had a more important question.

  “You heard the vision? From the source?” Daniel asked.

  “Yes,” the historian answered.

  “Can you tell us?” Daniel asked.

  “There’s not much to tell,” the historian said. “Just what I said. That the last of the Michael line would be the most powerful Watcher in the world. That’s all she said. Even then Odette was enigmatic.”

  “Alright…fine…” I said. “We know why I’m a freak. We just don’t know what it means for stopping the vision Daniel had of the end of the world…which is a pretty major thing not to know.”

  “Which is why Odette said we would be back,” Daniel said.

  “Know-it-all future-tellers are annoying,” I said.

  “I would mistrust anything Odette asks of you,” the historian said. “Even a request to see you again.”

  “We might not have a choice,” Daniel said. “We don’t know where to go from here. We have the truth…but no clue where to direct that truth. Marcus is a truth we have to face…but we don’t know if there is a greater truth we have to face.”

  “I thought we decided Israel?” I asked. “We decided to go there. Why don’t we start with that, instead of trusting Odette with our future?”

  “You are going to Israel?” the historian asked.

  “It’s where we think Marcus is holed up,” Daniel said.

  “It would make sense,” the historian said. “That is where I sent him.”

  Daniel and I both stared at the historian. Her words implied she had not only talked to Marcus but the meeting had been amicable. Our faces were enough of a clue for the historian – she knew an explanation was necessary.

  “It was the early 30s – of the last century. I was lonely. Marcus sought me out. Instead of killing him – as I should have – I allowed him to pass…He said he had some questions about the past. I answered his questions…”

  Her story did not feel complete. I wondered what had made her feel like letting him pass.

  “What did you tell him?” I asked.

  “He seemed very concerned about the war. He told me he was looking for a way to end it. I explained a time would come when Lorian and Darian would die and the true heir would rise. I didn’t say more, but he pressed me. I told him to go to Israel to search for the clues. I told him, if he was clever, he would discover what I meant…he would discover…you”