by Kade Cook
She tries to recall all her practiced words she wants to use in order to convince this woman she must give her a stone but now that they are here, Gabrian draws a blank—her eyes wide and searching in a sudden panic attack. This is no time for her brain to stop working. Rachael’s life may depend on it.
“Now remember what I said,” Shane whispers to her. “I can’t guarantee she will even meet with you let alone give you a stone. You are not a…”
“Schaeduwe, I know, sacred request. I got it, but I have to try.” She exhales and her wide eyes, now covered in a glassy sheen, stare up at him in angst.
“She might even banish me for even bringing you here.” Shane rubs his hand through his hair, knowing that after this unexpected visit, it may be the last time he sees his little friend. Breaching the unspoken contract of secrecy may cause her to up and pull freight, disappearing once again to protect her identity.
Shane made Gabrian swear an oath never to speak of this meeting to anyone if he promised to bring her here. And she did, without question, only thinking of her own needs. She considered the magnitude of what she is asking him to do and knows the request is causing him grief. But with a loud rap of Shane’s knuckles against the wooden door, they are here, and it is too late to change her mind—not really but she needs this stone.
“Oh, and remember what I said about her appearance,” Shane gently reminds Gabrian. She nods in accordance.
“What about my appearance?” A gruff crackle catches their attention as the heavy door slowly creaks open. Through the darkness, just beyond the entry, is Madorrah—her green glowing eyes merely slits and her mouth twisted impishly to one corner filled with mischief.
Gabrian looks upon Madorrah as she pulls on the door to widen the birth enough to allow them entry—a proud Schaeduwe warrior spirit exuding with greatness and knowledge contained within this small twisted form. Her immediate reaction to the little woman is adoration. Something about her makes the Borrower feel at ease—a miracle in itself, given the reason why they are here.
“Come in, come in, you are letting a draft in,” she says, hurrying them and pushing past to close the door once they are through. The room, now dark, smells of earth and metal. The only means of light are glowing splinters that slip past the edges of the large thermal blanket hanging on the other side of the glass wall. Not wasting any time on proper formalities, Madorrah grabs Gabrian by the hand and tugs—leading her to the already opened hearth of her world below.
Looking up at Shane, and seeing him grin while he silently follows behind the two, Gabrian gives her shoulders a quick shrug, allowing the woman to drag her away with a playful grin. Is this normal? she asks, sending the silent question just to him.
He only smirks, shrugging his shoulder in reply.
She twists her grin and edges herself onto the lip of the hatch, letting her legs fall into the hole Madorrah has just disappeared into. She steals another glance in Shane’s direction.
“Just go in,” he assures her, waving his hand. “It will be fine. She lives down there.”
Gabrian’s face twists, her brows bunch in this revelation, but is relieved that they are going to her home and not some secretive underground tunnel dug throughout the island. At this point in her life, nothing would surprise her.
Dropping down onto the second level, Gabrian smiles, not expecting to witness such beauty constructed beneath the shed. It is warm, glowing, and it smells so good. She is surprised at how clear the air is, not damp and musty at all, like one would expect. The meticulously placed stones are a masterpiece and her eyes drift over every one—wondering if the woman placed them where they are as she found them or whether she melded them into the shapes she desired. Either way, it is a spectacular display of creativity.
“Come, come now, my dear. Sit with me while the tea is still warm.” The old woman beckons, waving Gabrian over to the polished stone protruding out of the wall fully set for company with cups and fixings.
“How come you never set the table this fancy for me?” Shane teases, nearing the table and pulls over a wooden stump—carved and cared for—delicately constructed and shaped into a seat.
“Because you are not as interesting as she is,” she taunts, hobbling past him just near enough to pull at one of his curls. “Now mind your manners, I have company.”
A chuckle escapes Gabrian’s mouth and she decides that she likes this old soul, regardless of the outcome of their meeting. Watching the banter between the two in front of her is heartwarming. She may be a bit on the gruff side, but there is much beauty within Madorrah despite her war-torn exterior. Gabrian can see why Shane is so taken with her—adoring every ounce of her being and willing to keep her safe.
Madorrah stops for a moment and sighs. She grabs three spoons from within the spun wooden vase upon her countertop and returns to her new guest, glancing briefly at her. She places the spoons upon the table and lowers herself onto her stool. Once settled, she directs all her attention to rest upon Gabrian. Though her eyes seem cloudy and faded, they are thoughtful and wise. Gabrian holds her gaze, swimming in the bounty of what she sees within—lost somewhere in a dream, surrounded by what feels like a thousand souls.
“I see your mind. You wonder why I do not seek the magic that lingers within the Veil.”
Gabrian snaps back to the present, sharpening her focus on the holder of the statement, a bit surprised at her words. Unsure if the woman can read minds, or if she is just really good at reading people, Gabrian tucks away her thoughts about seeing Madorrah’s form. It is not hard, actually. Other than the fact she stands in a crooked stance and displays a few scars on her skin, she is still quite beautiful. Not in the same degree of the other Shadow Walkers she has met but she still exudes the same awe factor that just seems to seep through them—a natural part of who they are.
“I, um…” Gabrian fumbles with her thoughts.
“Time is too precious, and I have no need of superficial façades. It is the beauty that lies beneath the skin that truly counts,” she concludes, picking up her cup, and gives Gabrian a wink though the slender wisps of steam rising up from the hot tea inside.
Gabrian smiles and nods her head knowingly. A few battle scars are nothing more than reminders to let her know she is still here, still breathing—that she survived the cause of those scars. Madorrah’s words sing out as if she is speaking directly to her, sending her a cryptic message of some sort. Gabrian’s eyes narrow a bit and look away for only an instant, trying to decipher the code.
Madorrah’s eyes sparkle and she nudges Shane’s arm as he sits quietly, sipping his tea. “It is like looking into a mirror.”
He surfaces from his muted state and grumbles a response, “What? A mirror…what are you talking about?”
Madorrah’s eyes return their gaze to Gabrian. Her smile broadens across her lips, making the scars deepen in their folds. “She looks just like her, a spittin’ image.”
“How would you know?”
“I know things. I have seen things,” she grumbles back at him, willing to rise to the challenge.
Shane’s eyes widen, and he sets down his tea. “You have been to the Veil. Wait a minute. What on Earth were you doing there? You hate the Veil.”
“I don’t hate the Veil. I just choose to not slip deep within its magic. I want to enjoy and get the most out of my time here before I am forced to succumb to its calling.”
“How? By living underground in a hole, like a hermit, never leaving these walls or going outside into the sunlight?”
“Ah, the sun is overrated anyway,” she declares, waving away his insinuations, and goes back to her tea. “Who needs it?”
“Um, everything on this planet?”
Gabrian waits patiently as the two rattle on with their banter back and forth but the fact Madorrah knows her mother, and she has hinted the fact she has been to see her, is a pretty big spill of unspoken information. “Excuse me, I don’t mean to be rude and interrupt your conversation but what is
this about you seeing my mother in the Veil?”
Madorrah’s face flattens. Her words silenced, realizing she has spilled the beans. Her eyes dance to Shane then back again, gathering her thoughts. “Oh, that.”
“Yes, that…is she all right?” Gabrian sets her tea down and watches the old woman’s every move. “When is she coming back?”
“I can’t tell you, dear…It is not my place,” Madorrah offers, shaking her head and lowers her eyes just for a moment.
Feeling the heat creep into her face from the clear shutdown by the woman fuels Gabrian’s need to push for unanswered truths. Just as she gets ready to bombard her with questions, she hears the words she dreaded would come.
“I can’t help you today,” the old woman says softly, pushing her twisted body up from her stool. “I wanted to see you, look upon you with my own eyes so that my decisions are validated and the clarity in my choices pristine. All I can offer you is…she loves you and that you must believe in yourself in order to find what you seek.”
Gabrian’s stomach aches. Unsure if it is the strange tea she just drank or the continual feeling of exclusion from the beings in this Realm—always seemingly left out of the loop just enough to keep her guessing and confused as to how to press forward—she sits still, slipping her finger around the roughly-shaped clay cup and bites down on her bottom lip just enough to keep her tongue silent in her mouth and keep it from lashing out at the old woman.
“And, I am sorry, dear.”
Gabrian forces her gaze to clear from her unfocused staring, to meet the storm clouds brewing within the old woman’s eyes.
“I have to deny you your request—the one that you were seeking today.”
Gabrian’s eyes narrow under her pressed brow and her jaw pops, no longer hiding her frustration. “What do you mean? I haven’t even told you why I am here.”
Shane slides his hand over to touch hers, but she rips it away, not allowing his well-meant sympathy. The woman clears her used cup from the table and removes the half-filled cup from Shane’s hand, putting them both in the sink. She then shuffles her way closer to Gabrian and waits for the girl to release her grip on the cup in her hand. Seeing the old woman’s wants, Gabrian relinquishes the cup, still trying to figure out what just happened.
“I understand your intentions, and I feel the internal desolation that wreaks havoc on your soul, but you are not Schaeduwe. I cannot give you what you seek,” she says, patting Gabrian on the hand where Shane had just tried. “I am sorry, child. I wish I could help you,” she says, turning her back to Gabrian and retreats with the cup.
“But you can, you have the magic.” Gabrian jumps to her feet, chasing behind the woman—towering over her and filled with confusion as she tried to plead her case. “Shane told me about the stones and how you…”
“Oh, my dear,” she breathes out shaking her head slowly, raising her boney hand to rest on Gabrian’s arm. “The only solace I can give you is that there are rules. With everything we do, there must be rules. It is necessary to enforce them in order to maintain balance, however cruel and harsh they may seem at the time, they are still necessary.” She steps past Gabrian who stares at her open-jawed and stagnant. “But,” the old woman continues, now standing in the dark entrance to the back room. “If you understand the rules in their entirety, then you will also learn that they can be bent—not broken mind you, but indeed they can be bent.” With those words slipping off of the old woman’s tongue, her form disappears into the darkness.
Shaking her head at the cryptic words, Gabrian asks, “What does that mean? Madorrah?” Gabrian steps closer to the spot where Madorrah had just stood but she is gone, no longer in the space that occupies the room. Gabrian turns to Shane wearing a sour dip in her mouth, her eyes confused and blank.
“I think she is done being social for today,” Shane says, rising from his wooden perch, and slides it back against the wall where he found it and sighs, hoping he has not strained his good graces with the little creature and that she will not run—knowing there is nothing he can do about it now. What he does know is that it is time to take Gabrian home and deal with the unfortunate aftermath that may follow.
“I know you didn’t get what you came for but at least she let us in the door. That is huge. I think she likes you,” he says, trying to help her see the magnificence in that.
But Gabrian just marches past him, making her way to the hole in the ceiling, and ignores his attempt at humour. “What is it with you people? Can’t any of you talk without twisting everything up into riddles?” She grips onto the wooden ladder and begins her ascension to the surface, hoping that this was not just a waste of her time—wondering if the old woman’s words held more within in them than what was allowed—that somewhere in between the lines of their strange conversation there is something hiding, something she can bend that must not be broken.
42
NECESSARY MEASURES
In the still of the night, Gabrian lies motionless on the surface but beneath her skin, every nerve is alive and aching to explode. A replay of Madorrah’s cryptic message and odd encounter is on repeat accompanied by images of Rachael’s body lying vacant without its owner.
I know that the old woman seemed crazy, and maybe she is, but I feel that she was trying to make me see something, something just for me…but what?
The old woman’s mood shift was immediate when questioned about Cera and the request of the stone denied. Rules, there must be rules…they cannot be broken but they can be bent, Gabrian whispers in her mind and eerily enough, the line reminds her of someone else she knows. Her body shudders, eyes scanning to see if her movements have disturbed the large body next to her, but he only utters a low guttural growl as he rolls over on his side.
She slides her fingers down to rest them over the smooth stone lying flush against her skin—its subtle vibration warms her as the tips of her fingers run along its edges, memorizing every curve of its existence. Pushing gently against the delicate metal that sheaths the gift, it bends with her touch, entrapment easily manipulated by her will. Her thoughts continue to search through the riddle, searching for a clue as she continues to twist and mold the enchanted metal.
Then, like a whispered secret from a long-lost friend, something enters her mind, the clue revealed, clearing in its meaning and of what she is to do with it.
Not wanting to be babysat or have eyes on her every move objecting to her decision, she slips inside Shane’s mind, only for a moment, and dances with his tumbling coloured images of slumber. A hint of guilt shadows her decision for what she is doing but she pushes it away as she takes his hand in hers and coerces his subconscious into a deeper level of slumber, temporarily—just long enough for her to slip away.
Removing her covers, she carefully slips out from beneath them. Finding yesterday’s clothes draped over a chair, she bundles them up beneath her arms and quickly dresses just outside the room, and steps out into the darkness of night.
***
Stepping as lightly as she can, Gabrian makes her way down the corridor, closer to room 231. Ducking into every shadow, she avoids any and all life forms as much as possible, wanting to stay out of the eyes of the nearby watchers. Nearing the last few steps of her trek, she hears the rumbling of two minds. The two thugs she encountered no more than a few hours ago are on guard, senses still on high alert searching for anything and everything—especially for a certain unwanted ‘Borrower’ who may try to pay her friend a visit.
“Damn it,” Gabrian curses under her breath. She bites down on her bottom lip, knowing what she has to do. Compulsion is not something that she likes to do—taking away someone’s choice or tampering with free will is against her morals—but she has to get to Rachael and these two are not going to let her do that unless she uses this part of who she is. The price of the guilt she will carry is worth it, just this one time.
Slipping in as gentle as she can, and trying to make her way in undetected, Gabrian finds the hum of their
consciousness. Interweaving her own vibration in with theirs, she whispers her wordless enchantment. You do not see me. I am nothing more than a mirage manifested from fatigue. Close your eyes, search for nothing more than a moment of slumber, a moment that will wash away the ghost before you. When you awake, all will be well, as it should—undisturbed and forever on guard.
Never really having done this depth of compulsion before, Gabrian holds her breath as she steps out from her hiding spot behind the wall of the adjourning corridor and into the watcher’s direct line of sight.
A quick shift in their movements, and a sudden flare of blue shifts within their enclosing auras, sends Gabrian’s heartrate through the roof and nearly deafens her from the pounding in her ears. “Ah crap, I am cooked,” she spits out, turning on her heels slowly, ready to make a run for it.
One of the guards raises his hand and rubs at the edge of his eye just before lowering it and closing his lids, resting in their positions.
She halts her retreat and exhales a loud breathy reply. “Huh, cool.” Hoping that she sent them deep enough into their dream, Gabrian hurries across the floor, turns the knob on the door, and slips out of sight.
The high-pitched beeping of the monitor drags Gabrian from the shadows of the door. Her light steps echo loudly in her ears, though they are nothing more than the sound of the flutter of a butterfly’s wings against the wind.
She reaches in across the metal bars, slipping her fingers beneath Rachael’s motionless hand and grips it gently. Her response is void and it rips at Gabrian’s heart, her sight quickly blurring. She lifts a hand to wipe away the wetness then reaches out to trace her fingers along the edge of the bracelet bound to her wrist. Prying gently at the metal binding, she slips her thumb beneath its hold and pushes. At first the metal refuses but then gives way, allowing her to pull it free from her arm as if it were attached by mere string. Holding it tenderly within her palm, she lowers it over Rachael. Twisting her wrist over to face the ceiling, Gabrian touches the bracelet to her skin, preparing to attach it. Upon contact, the metal reacts and recoils from the touch, twisting inward, refusing to give in to its owners request to bond with her friend.
