CHAPTER FOURTEEN

 

 

It snows on Sunday, and by nightfall, everything is blanketed in white.  My mom decides to celebrate the occasion by making us both cups of hot chocolate with a swirl of whip cream.  We hang out in the den for the first time, curling up on the sofa as we stare at the pristine landscape beyond the sliding glass doors.  The hearth-warmed room is cozy and I feel like a kid again as I snug close to her and she adjusts the throw blanket over our legs even though we really don’t need it.   With mugs of hot chocolate in our palms and poised to our lips, for the first time in my life, we don’t need anything, not even the light from the lamp.  The blazing logs illuminate the room with a golden glow and my mom leaning her head against mine immediately brings back memories of roasting marshmallows with my dad back when he was still loving and could make us laugh until tears ran down our faces.  Some part of me wishes I could freeze this moment and store it in a place that would keep it forever.  But there’s another world opening up to me and some part of me wonders if it will grow so beyond the world she lives in, that I’ll be forced to make a choice.  I don’t want to thing about that.  Not now, or ever really.  We finally have the life she wanted, and Rob isn’t so bad.  In fact, he’s actually quite wonderful. 

                                                               ~

 

Monday starts out as a typical uneventful day. I have lunch with Rhianna, we reminisce about our hike through the woods promising to do it more often, and by the end of the school day, I have every intention of going home and hanging out with my mom again.  I climb onto Dragon zooming ahead and around my classmates’ slow-moving cars as we all head for the gates that lead to School House Lane. The frigid wind feels like a veil against my face, and cold slips between my squinting lashes.  The vision I had of the Black Sky land returns, but this time I see myself climbing the boulders above the glade as clear as day. Go there now!  I hear my dream-self whisper urgently. 

 

 “Why?” I ask, racing down the road as the cold air whips across my face. “I don’t want to,”  I complain, as a strong feeling comes over me warning me not to go there.  She only whispers again, this time even more urgently. I park along the side of the road eyeing the sign that reads Navajo Lane as I grumble under my breath.  The wind howls past my ears—confirmation I think about how it’s not a good idea.  

 

Right-- that’s the direction I’d turn to head home, but it seems my date with normalcy has been postponed.  I release the brake lever on Dragon’s handlebars; the motion jerks me backward, then forward and before I can complain anymore, I’m passing Navajo Lane with my heart pulsing so strong, I feel it inside my throat.  I turn onto Shawnee, the wood looms thick in the distance.   The horizon reminds me of lace made of fine branches and the tops of the trees look like they’ve all just had their ends trimmed.  I frown when something shimmers from one side of the road to the other at the entrance of the woods.  Like a child blowing a bubble from a toy wand, the translucent membrane shimmers with the colors of a rainbow. My teeth chatter gently as my faint heartbeat rides on the currents of the air. They start grinding when I think about whatever it is that’s demanding my urgent presence at Black Sky land.  

 

I hear a voice that’s not my dream-self and every cell inside my body quakes with alertness. 

 The membrane you see permeates throughout the entire universe.  The voice I hear radiates a regal presence, and I sense she’s far removed from this third dimensional realm.  My heart slams into my ribs as I try to comprehend that what I’m seeing reaches into forever.  She’s not done with me yet, and continues. 

 

It connects all things, and all life- everywhere. This is the element that fourth-dimensional beings will use to travel to other realms, and communicate with each other without words… And once you master those skills, this element will take you even further into the oneness of all.  Enjoy your first lesson youngest one.  

 

I don’t understand what she’s just said, I only know that I’m about to pass through it in a few seconds.  I squeeze my eyes shut as I ride Dragon through the membrane, and my fingers grip the handlebars so tightly my knuckles ache.   Once I’ve made it through in one piece, my eyes pop wide and a glistening sensation on the surface of my face tickles like drops of dew evaporating.  Everything looks different, I think as I zoom down the trail with the hair on the back of my neck standing as straight as an arrow.   I can’t pinpoint what’s changed, but something is different, and I look around trying to figure out just what it is.  Meanwhile, the wind threading through branches sounds like a giant sighing after a long day, which is item number one, in terms of what’s new and different.  My senses slowly begin to comprehend the little things that are odd, and I realize that it’s life. I feel it all around me.  The wind, the trees, the water, and even the rocks. They’re all alive, sensing me, and even looking at me, somehow. And they think that they are the only ones that are alive. I nearly choke at the thought that a rock could actually feel more alive or aware than me.  But it does, I realize looking around and vibrating with awe big enough to burst.  When I focus hard enough, I can detect fine luminous strings, like filaments connecting everything, including me, in a tangled wonderous pulsating web of life.  My mind zips out from the top of my head to soar toward the sun.  I have no choice but to follow, besides, the sun’s warmth softens the skin on my ethereal face, and as I fly closer to its powerful rays, I feel a vibration in the background of the heat. 

Its vibration grows stronger the closer I get.  And soon I notice the vibration is more like a pulsing rhythm similar to a morse code signal.  The sun is communicating with me!  The realization scatters my awareness like sand particles flying every which way in a storm.  The sun is alive--- more than alive, its intelligence is as massive as it is huge.  I gasp at the thought, and the sun sighs at my human arrogance and with a flick of its fiery licks, sends me whirling to Earth’s surface like a fighter jet struck by a missile.  My mind should be ticking toward numbness because of the strangeness of it all, but instead, my awareness dashes back toward my body expanding more by the second. 

 

The pathways inside the gray wrinkled matter that is my brain– twinkle brighter and I feel bodiless, indistinguishable from the wind, and one with the trees that streak by as I ride Dragon without managing to crash into anything.  In time, my mind gently parks itself back into my skull and when I’m a few minutes from the bridge that will lead me to Black Sky land, it begins to focus on the mission—whatever that is.  Slowing down, I eventually walk Dragon a little ways up the rockface and fortunately spy an opening between two large boulders just wide enough to serve as a makeshift shelter.  I slip Dragon inside the dark opening and continue my trek.  and I walk Dragon the rest of the way, then slip it inside the dark opening.  When I reach the trails inside the ancient woods, I look around to get my bearings and follow the golden carpet of fallen leaves until I see the smooth gray surface of the boulders peeking through the branches of the trees.  I’ve had enough practice at this now and I scale the rockface easily and only stop when there's no place for me to go because I’m surrounded by huge hundred-foot rocks that look like skyscrapers separated by dark narrow corridors.  I force myself to choose which trail to take, they’re all similar– no more than twenty inches wide, though they taper inward so that the actual ground is even narrower.  After a few steps in, the height of the rocks starts to cut off the daylight and the air around me turns into a strange, but warm shadow of blue.  I walk along the zigzagging path, the mist from my mouth blowing softly behind me until I reach a place where the boulder somehow got sliced in half.  Forced to choose between the fork in the road, I either continue down a path that tapers even more or one that leads upward and might actually land me on someone’s property.  A vision of Rob finding out and never letting me hear the end of his lectures makes the choice easy.   But the space between the boulders diminishes so much I have to lean my back on one side and use my arms and legs to shimmy toward the open sky.  When I'm a mere two feet away, I see there’s no more ground, just a wicked drop to the glade where I saw the circle of stones and the warlord on horseback.  I go motionless when the unmistakable scent of incense wafts by my nose, and then my ears attune to the soft pounding of drums. The rhythm is slow, and the atmosphere grows heavy with emotions that wrap around my heart like a fist squeezing it until tears rise up and settle on the rims of my eyes. I force myself to hold them back, but the currents of sorrow come tumbling in like a storm challenging me into a match of strength that I'm losing with every breath that I take. The drums get louder, the incense stronger, and my emotions shred with every passing moment. Something is ripping me apart, clawing at my heart and taking out huge clumps along with it. My breath becomes nothing but a quivering rise and fall of my chest inside a body ravaged with sorrow. I shuffle a step closer; my chest starts to heave as the torment I’m still struggling against scratches its way to the surface. I slide my body over with another step, and hear a whimper escape from my mouth.  My eyes lift to the foggy sky and I press my lips together and squeeze away warm tears. I’m at the edge of the boulder; another step and I fall to my death. I lean my head back against the wind- and water-polished rock, both afraid, and aching to peek at whatever is happening below.

 

I take a deep breath and peer down, but what I see makes me turn away.  My head thumps hard against the rock as my eyes lift woefully.  There’s a long row of dead bodies wrapped in white cloth. The image of the bodies stays fixed inside my mind, and when I breathe out, a cry carries on the currents.  I snatch my hand to smother the sound, but not quickly enough.  I sneak another look down at the glade, no eyes are looking up at me, but now I see about fifteen men, who all remind me of warriors. Their hair is pulled back and decorated with feathers.  A dark slash of paint beneath their eyes goes from one temple to the other. They’re surrounding women wearing dark cloaks.  Their faces are painted too, and they wear feathers in their hair or gold twine twisting around long braids. The women are scattered amongst the campfires wrapping cloth around more dead Cheveyans. The warriors, dressed in rust buckskin jackets, dark spandex leggings, and boots, stand solemnly, their hands behind their backs, their heads bowed as they silently watch the painstaking task. I see one of the women wipe away what I know are tears from her cheek. They’re streaming warm down my face too and I can feel the emotions of those below riding on the currents that I breathe. Their feelings make my stomach quake with an emptiness that rivets my soul, and my ribs tighten like a boa constrictor crushing my lungs.  I drag in a ragged slip of air and the sound cracks inside my throat before fluttering on the icy currents.

 

This is the blessing of the dead in preparation for the death ceremony and their journey to Sahalie.

 

My dream-self isn’t inside my head, instead she sounds as though she’s standing right next to me but there’s nothing left inside me to startle. I’m gutted by the dead bodies, and the pain is smothering every part of my soul in an avalanche of despair. I’ve never felt this empty-ever.

And you are chosen to ensure the next Harvest is successful, but to do so, you must make sure the warriors live to fight another battle, and then another, and another…

 

I gasp- discovering there is something left to startle inside me after all. Half-crying and half choking I utter-what?  “Me?” I whisper hoarsely. “That sounds like I’m supposed to keep them alive! What does that even mean? Chosen?” I shake my head helplessly. “And what is the Harvest? I’m not even allowed on the Black Sky land.”

 

There’s movement below and the conversation falls by the wayside. Men are beginning to double up to move the bodies that the women have finished wrapping. One man lifts the shoulders, the other grasps behind the calves. The body is supple, and the head dips—the sight slashes through my heart and sends it crashing to the pit of my stomach. It shatters to dust, hollowing me out even more. Some part of me wants to leave—actually, a big part of me wants to. This is too much to bear. I’m not Cheveyan, yet I feel as though the bodies below are my brothers and sisters, and I mourn them as though I have years of memories that will now quietly haunt my dreams.

 

My eyes dart around when the branches suddenly still.  The wind has stopped moving, and so has time.  I feel what I'm about to see before it unfolds and torment rages inside me before the images appear.  I can't shut the eyes inside my mind, they don't have lids and I have no choice but to see how all those below me perished! 

 

The Warriors are on a snowy field.  The white peaks of mountains fade beyond a cottony sky as white as the snow and on the surrounding land, pockets of Warriors fight in mostly one on one skirmishes.  They’re too far for me to see details, besides, my attention, and that of the warriors in my sight, is focused on a huge mass coming for them.   It looks like a tornado except the snow that it's blistering across isn't being scattered into smithereens.  I sense the mass has intelligence and it calculates its own width and speed as it maximizes its tactical advantages. 

 

As it nears, I can see that its spinning body resembles thousands of snakes instead of wind.  I cringe from head to toe and look over at the warriors for their reactions.  Only now do I notice their flesh.  Something is wrong, because the light that surrounds them fades in and out like a strobe light, and the realization of their death glares in their dark gleaming eyes, but valor etches their faces as they grip fiery swords and knives raised high in the air ready to fight with everything that’s left inside them.  Just before the mass devours the platoon, they all chant–fight till death!  Their courage overwhelms me and my heart bursts with pride and reverence. 

I have a clear view of the mass, its insides look like an Armageddon-level lightning storm as the warriors' weapons blaze its interior with hundreds of gold and red strikes that scorch its interior with deadly luminous lines.  Thick black smoke pollutes the air and ash soils the pristine snow—- the warrior’s weapons have set the enemy’s flesh on fire, dwindling it by half. The sounds of swords whistling through the air finally quiet and the inside of the enemy returns to its inky-black hue.   That’s it.  The warriors are gone- they died in a blaze of glory and there’s nothing left of my heart to shatter.  

 

The wind returns– with a howl that pushes my tears to the edges of my eyes.  They flutter quickly as I try to clear my head from the barrage of emotions sweeping toward me from both inside and below me.  My gaze lowers.  I see four men carrying two more corpses and when I look around, I see the large ceramic bowls filled with incense sticks.  Thick smoke clouds the air, its scent is strong enough to reach me.  I watch as it twirls toward the sky like serpents. The wind sweeps it away before it rises too high, it fades into the same oblivion as the warriors whom I’ll never forget. White flowers encircle each campfire where the women and the last of the unwrapped bodies are and loose petals flicker in the air like carefree butterflies.  For the first time, I have the courage to drag my gaze toward the unwrapped bodies.  I force my eyes to drink in every detail.  It’s warriors like these that I am tasked to save from this fate, but their severely charred flesh dampens hope and confidence.  The enemy didn’t use claws, instead, it devoured them— I know this now.  It drained the light from their bodies and extinguished their lives.  How am I to combat such an enemy?  I think, as salty tears fall down my chilled skin. I can’t tell their ages, but I can see that they aren’t all males; some of the dead are female, too. Whoever the Cheveyan are fighting is killing them indiscriminately and my eyes sting hotly.  I feel my dream-self reacting to the dead as well, and she bursts into a blazing inferno. I turn to look at her, and when she realizes I can see her, she vanishes.  My attention shifts toward the caves—the ones she wanted me to enter.  One day I’ll go inside them and see what it is that she feels is so urgent for me to see. 

 

I forget about both the caves and the questions when a hand grabs my heart!  Its fingers caress it gently, unlodging some of the pain and fear.  I sense a longing as sweet as a mother’s love comforting me for a few seconds and can almost hear her voice telling me it’s going to be okay. It’s not my dream-self, and it's not the higher, regal being who spoke to me earlier, either.  But her tone haunts me, quietly, and I sense whoever it is, is close.  I eagerly scan everyone, they all look strong on the outside, but I sense the truth inside them, and not one of them is in a position to send me comfort.  The bushes farther away from where they’re all standing, sway and I crane my neck half afraid I’ll see the enemy face to face.  An image of it devouring everyone below recklessly plows through my mind.  My jaw flexes tensely from the brutal carnage left behind and then I see the white patches of a tent beyond the rustling wiry branches. 

 

The opening flaps softly in the breeze and swells of power pour out from the inside. It flows across the earth below like a mighty wave over the sands of a beach. Whoever is inside the tent has captured my mind and I’m drawn to them.  My heart patters close to cardiac arrest when a powerful presence sinks into my chest and starts searching for the doorway to my soul. My lips quiver, the sensations are foreign—odd, they still my mind, and confused, I’m unable to make sense of any of it. All I know is that I need to see who’s inside the tent because that’s the person communicating with me, somehow. 

 

There’s movement below again.  Only now do I notice the men standing near the rock face almost directly below me, practically out of my scope of vision.  I get on my knees to get a better look, they surround one side of the glade like sentries, protecting the others. I’m careful as I stick my head out, to get a better look. They gaze around periodically, turning left and right.  A chill colder than the dropping temperatures sweeps over me when I realize they're on the lookout for danger.  I want to fuss with my dream-self for putting me in harm's way, but I don’t.  I don’t because some part of me needs to know that the tribe is in danger.  The young man who discovered me on Black Sky land is amongst the line of sentries.  Standing next to him is a woman, the only female from what I can see.  She’s tall, slim, but she holds herself with an aura of fierceness that sends a frightening dagger slicing through my gut.  Beneath the paint on her face is a scorch mark that mars her right cheek with three diagonal lines. 

 

I get back to my feet and look at the last of the bodies placed next to the other dead.  Now the women who dressed the warriors, move to gather on one side of the bodies while the sentries and the other warriors line up on the opposite side. Currents sweep through the site sending the flames of the campfire high into the air.  They dance wildly—more like spirits than fire.  I instinctively look toward the tent as it opens.  The power from inside it explodes into the air—my muscles tense when wisps of fire whisk across the site. Once they’re above the bodies they transform into symbols and remain suspended in the air as though they are blessing the dead.  When the wind blows, the symbols elongate, they remind me of serpents.  Their bodies swerve around the glade scanning everyone as though it senses an intruder is close by. I back away from the edge, biting my lip as my heart pounds loud enough for me to hear it.  Closing my eyes, I pray that when I open them, they will have faded back into wisps of air.  Apparently, that wish was too much to ask because I feel my narrow hiding space heating as if there was a campfire a few feet away.  I force my lids to part, and see yellow eyes inside the fire, studying me.  I feel its caution as it determines whether I’m friend or foe. My eyes slam shut when a blast of fire engulfs me.  I cry out, anticipating pain, but the flames are cool to the touch, and search my face like a blind person reading braille. The cool sensation runs through my hair like fingers, then trails the side of my neck before it shimmies down the inside of my coat and finds my palms. It swirls curiously in the center of both my hands.  Popping noises and sparks light up causing my already drum-rolling heart to accelerate even more swiftly. My eyes pop wide and my body stiffens when the fire sinks beneath the skin of my palms. Then, satisfied that I pose no danger, the fire zooms away and dissolves.  But when I look down at my hands my palms have the shape of a red spiral tattooed on them. 

 

I don’t have much time to be shocked—someone with a huge presence has just left the tent. I turn to see a man exiting it.  He bends down to hold the flap open for whoever is behind him.  Neither of them is the presence I feel.  And I wait. Two other men exit and stand at the side of the tent, while the first one who exited, still holds the flap at bay.  The air grows tense and my lids tremble as they slowly close.  I feel my lashes shivering.  Then my heart explodes softly and when my lids open and I see a woman in a gown of pure white.  The black cloak around her shoulders thunders in the wind and tears slip from the rims of my eyes and drop to my cheeks.  She’s the one who has my heart in her hand and what I feel for makes no sense.  But everything inside my mind and soul screams “Mother!”

 

The wind sings a sad ghostly wail, and words whisper softly from some place not of this earth. My heart stutters when the flames along the firewood rise higher than even the tallest warriors.  She finally enters the glade and my body quivers like a butterfly caught in a brisk wind.  Chills spread across my skin when I poke my face out further from the edge of the rock than I should.  I can’t help it; she draws me to her from the depths of my soul and everything inside me wants to call out to her though of course, I don’t know her name. 

 

A man walks at each of her sides, and the one who was the first to exit the tent walks a few feet in front of them all.  It’s obvious that he’s the one designated to take an arrow for her or confront any enemy that might attack.

 

I watch, my eyes never leaving her until the ceremony comes to an end and each tribe member sprinkles a fistful of dirt onto the bodies. The woman in white finishes the blessings and turns to leave. The men in her party follow suit until she pauses. Her face slowly turns to look back and the three men, alarmed, scan the glade.   When her face lifts toward me, the three men mirror her almost instantly and I jerk my head out of their sight, heart pounding hard and fast as heat scours my veins with fire. I inch away, sniffing and wiping my nose and the wet tears beneath my eyes with the back of my hand. I don’t stop, even for a second until I’ve reached Dragon.

 

My skull is full of air and my brain jiggles in the added space as I descend the bumpy terrain, heading for the trail.  All I want to do is reach Forbidden Drive.  My awareness spans two worlds, and my emotions feel like a pendulum swinging back and forth between emotions ravaging my senses and the chills slicing my insides every time I take a breath.  Dragon leans into a turn as I leave the deep trails of Black Sky territory and my eyes snap wide as I quickly swerve to avoid hitting a hiker.   He’s dressed in all black and is wearing sunglasses.  My brain hiccups.  It’s dusk, and he’s wearing dark sunglasses.  An arctic sensation colder than it should be, sinks into my skin. Sunglasses?  My brain acknowledges with a noticeable pause.  

“Ride faster!” My dream-self urges in a panic. “Faster!” she repeats as I squeeze the gas leaving a plume of dust behind me. I turn to look back—the man in black is jogging my way, his coat flapping like a cape. His cold eyes have me in this sight. A chilling swarm of doom courses through my body, hollowing out my emotions and leaving only a single, sharp blade poised in the center of my being. The tattoos on my palms start wriggling between the space of my hands and the handlebars. They slip into the air effortlessly and fly in the direction of the man like two frisbees.  I don’t look behind me, but I have a vision of symbols toppling him.  He’s on his knees, confused but staring at me until the darkening night and the dust from my tires gobbles me up.

 

                                          CHAPTER FIFTEEN

 

 

 

It’s official. The survival of the tribe is in peril, and somehow, I’m supposed to put a stop to it.  But what about the man in black?  Anyone who would run after someone on a moped going thirty miles an hour is desperate.  I know I’m in danger, and the worse of it is, there’s no one that can save me, because there’s no one for me to ask for help.

                                                      ~

I'm in the lunchroom, rushing in the direction of the table reserved for the friendless when for a second time, I think I hear my name.

 

“Juliona—Juliona, right?”

 

I did hear my name, and I stop, frozen like the icicles hanging from the branches outside the school. My eyes haven’t peeled away from the table I was heading for. I don’t want to turn to see who’s called me; I just want to stare out at the mesmerizing horizon and daydream about the mysterious woman whose invisible hand reached inside my chest. Did I really see symbols in the air, and did some kind of fiery being really touch my face and leave tattoos on my palms?   Well, the tattoos are still there, so I guess so.  But that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow.  

 

“Or is it, Julion?” the person adds.

 

My heart breaks at the thought of delaying my reverie but I turn around anyway.  My mouth gapes. “Yes—Julion,” I say looking into Max’s face noticing just how amazing his bone structure is. The ceiling lights fall onto his dark hair, and his buzz cut shines softly. My gaze lowers to the lunch tray in his hands and then lift to his eyes which are glimmering with … I almost want to say with interest.

 

As I look at him the dead bodies of his kinsmen and women parade behind my eyes.  I turn my face away and squeeze my eyes shut for a second.  The vision fades and the emotions follow a few moments afterward.   When my gaze meets his again, my eyes study him for signs of sadness or mourning. “Friends call me …” I say after swallowing a lump of air that nearly makes me cough. Friends, did I just say friends? I need to correct that. Starting off with a lie after having lied to Rob about the Cheveyans coming to the basketball game makes me feel like I’m on the verge of becoming a psychopath. Another illness M1000 definitely hasn't cured by a long shot.  "People call me Julion.”

 

“Julion,” he repeats, halfway sighing. His eyes radiate warmth and his dark lashes shine as he smiles, and my heart does a single cartwheel. “Come. Sit with us.” He motions his head toward the table where I see Vixbi and Jackson sitting, not noticing us yet. “Vixbi’s ego needs a hug,” he adds, chuckling with a deep warm tone. My entire body goes stiff with shock. First, he’s beyond gorgeous to look at, and even more so when he smiles. His glossy brows and dark lashes are to die for, and his eyes are so amazing I feel lightheaded. My gaze lifts to take in his broad shoulders and the round muscle that spans his upper and lower arms. A flash of heat crashes into my face and I pray my forehead isn’t sheening with perspiration. When I remember that he’s a wind chaser, I finally remember to scan his face and neck and then his wrists and hands. From what I can see, he has no scarring.  Maybe he's too young to fight.  He's certainly nowhere near as big or strong as the Warriors.

 

My lips part, but no words tumble out, only air. I have to actually tell myself one foot in front of the other, but they still don’t listen. Max stops walking and looks over his shoulder when he notices that I haven’t moved from where I’m standing.

 

“Unless you have other plans,” he adds cautiously—lids lowered, eyes serious and sending laser beams ricocheting inside my skull like they’re on some kind of search and retrieve mission. What’s with the Cheveyan people and their ability to make my brain feel as though it’s been scanned?   Well, there aren’t any thoughts inside my head to hook onto—just air molecules bouncing and bumping into each other.

 

“No …” I do a brief shake of my head like my mind is blown. Which it is. “No. Are you sure?” Hundreds of eyes are on me. They feel so heavy, it’s hard to ignore them and I want to scream at everyone to stop staring. That, or else tell Max to quit endangering my hermit-like existence! My knees nearly buckle, and then I start thinking of the song “The Show Must Go On” by Queen. My mom and I watched an old movie and that song played as the credits were rolling up the screen. I remember it and how grand the singer bellowed out the notes.  My blood pumps just like it did when I heard the song, and my feet start moving. 

 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Max replies to my question.  His voice is cool and unassuming and his amazing eyes twinkle as he holds out his arm. I feel as though I’m being escorted along an invisible yellow brick road. Except this is actually better—I’m on the way to the land of the trilogy. Everyone is still glaring at me—us. I imagine surveillance drones hovering overhead as well and I’m nearly certain I hear brains exploding as worlds collide into each other. Max and Vixbi don’t approach people. People approach them. In fact, I’m pretty sure they don’t even know there’s a world outside of theirs. And in light of my recent metamorphosis, I’m actually inclined to believe that’s true.

 

“What do you mean, Vixbi’s ego needs a hug?” I ask, our arms almost touching as my face scrunches up from confusion.

 

“You’ll see.” His face bends toward me as though it’s top secret.

 

Jackson is speaking with a kid next to him. He’s missed the whole scene—royal escorts consort to the table of kings. When he turns around, his mouth nearly drops to the floor. He checks Max and then Vixbi, who isn’t looking. But he and Max exchange some sort of silent communiqué, I think. Jackson pops up from his seat and offers it to me, then rudely orders the kid he’d just been chums with to give up his chair. It’s the only one left at the table, so the friend leaves and finds another group to sit with within a matter of seconds. Must be nice to be popular, I think, noticing his good looks. He’s not an indigenie, but I think he might be on the swim team if his wide shoulders, slim waist, and lanky legs are any indication.

 

I eye Vixbi. He hasn’t seen me yet. He’s slouched in his chair, one arm close to his mouth as he whispers a text to someone.  When he looks up and sees me, his eyes light up. He jerks his head from Jackson to Max twice before he manages a shocked “Hello” and sits up as though his mother taught him really good manners.

 

“I know you,” Jackson says, cutting Vixbi off just as his lips move to say hello.

So, Jackson’s the money, but does he outrank the other two? When I see his eyes sweep toward Max questioningly, I realize—not. Max is the king, and judging from the shadow that just lowered over his hazel eyes, he doesn’t appreciate Jackson interrupting Vixbi who was about to welcome me into the sacred circle. Even if only for today.

 

I don’t know what to say after witnessing the unspoken communication between them all and just look at them as images of the ceremony begin rattling through my head again. I wonder if they left white flowers and if they knew any of the dead.  Then I feel relieved that it was the warrior that caught me on the property instead of them! 

 

“I was at Robson McGuire’s New Year’s Eve party. Well, his father’s soiree,” Jackson finishes, referring to Rob and having no choice but to continue without looking like a court jester. “Last year, don’t you remember?”

 

“Oh yeah …” I’m stunned, and jagged pieces of memories slowly reassemble themselves into a vivid recall of the gathering. That was the first time I visited the Valley, and I remember feeling like a sparrow at a party for swans. There were a few kids there that looked to be college-age, but it was mostly adults attired in elegant evening dresses and fine suits holding colorful drinks decorated with cherries and limes while they chatted with shining eyes and pleasant smiles. Only now do I remember the three kids standing on the snow-dusted deck, laughing and animated in the frigid January air.  My blood shimmered inside my veins as I watched them having what looked to be a great time. Another memory flashes. Jackson is wrestling a smaller kid on the deck when one of the adults in the party notices. The man storms angrily toward them, and the temperature inside the room rises to inferno hot. My wide eyes scan the room of women with looks of horror and men with drinks held in midair, frozen. Everything is iron-hot tense. The man slams open the glass doors with one violent sweep, steps toward Jackson, and pops him hard on the head. Jackson cowers as the man leans in, itching for a battle. The man’s face is beet red as finger-thick veins bulge from his neck. I’ll never forget the look on Jackson’s face because it was so opposite to my mom’s defiant expression when she stood face-to-face with my father. Humiliation was normal for Jackson. Still, why would he want me to remember that night now?

 

“You’re the writer girl.” A voice invades my reverie sounding both scratchy and airy.

Stunned by my thoughts of Jackson, I turn to Vixbi who spoke the words. Distraction makes my eyes a bit dazed, but he doesn’t notice as he slowly nods his head like he’s just figuring everything out.

 

I watch his lids lower as he swipes at his wristband.  A blue light surrounds the face like a frame before contracting into a dot that disappears.  I see him, but I’m studying him for signs of distress on account of losing his tribesmen and women.  If he knows how they died, it has to be horrible to bear.  He seems normal as he cocks his head to the side and squints his eyes. He reminds me of some kind of Gestapo about to interrogate me and I take a deep breath, purposely distracting myself by looking inside my decorative lunch bag. It seems the safer of the two. “That’s me,” I mumble in a sing-songy voice and struggle with the cap of my organic pear grape juice. It’s made fresh in the Valley and Rob buys a case of it every other week. I thought I’d never get off soda, I think grimacing and huffing until Max silently reaches for the bottle. His large hand grips the top and with one twist, the sound of the suction releasing pops loudly.

 

“You ask some really great questions.” Vixbi’s voice is gruff, unlike Max’s soft raspy tone. It’s stirring for some reason and definitely matches his mercurial personality. “Does Mr. Peterson give you a list or something?”

 

Max sighs and I see him shaking his head from the corner of my eye. I only now notice him trying to pass me the juice and when our eyes meet, I notice the darkness from earlier has passed. But his brows crease his forehead when he notices the look on my face and the steam probably fuming from my ears.

 

“Does Mr. Peterson give me a list?” My head tilts. “No!” I snap, sharp enough to slice through the can of soda in Jackson’s grip.

 

Max laughs; his raspy chuckle rumbles deep in my chest. Vixbi looks taken aback and then I hear Jackson snicker softly in the background. I like being with them, even though Vixbi is annoying.

 

He apologizes, but I don’t accept it. He tries again, but it only makes me more irritated. I peg Vixbi as a chauvinist and tell him that his boorish ways remind me of someone. Everything freezes as Max leans his elbows on the table and lowers his face into his hands. Jackson eyes his soda can and starts making circles in the condensation and Vixbi rolls his eyes as though he’s in trouble or something.

 

“I meant no harm,” he offers, his brows raising with an apologetic slant.

 

“Vixbi has an issue,” Max mumbles, finally lifting his head. His voice is dry as sandpaper, but when he sees my wide eyes his face softens into a grin. “But his problem is entirely his own,” he explains, looking almost as apologetic as his friend.

 

Vixbi finally admits his problem and tells me that he thinks I’ve overlooked him by not interviewing him after the games. Without an iota of guile, he points out that he’s a beast on the court. Which is true. His moods are so changeable they inject me with excitement, and it’s easy to believe what Rhianna said about his nickname being Azeban.  I bet he’s the star of nearly every girl’s dreams of balmy summer nights at the beach. His brown skin shimmers with golden highlights, and his light brown eyes have hints of gold inside them too.  I watch him drag his hands through his ash-blond hair and purse my lips before I let him know that Coach Magee calls the shots and tells me who to interview. Max and Jackson break out in a loud burst of laughter which attracts every eye in the lunchroom. I’m sure the cleanup staff will have a time of it as they sweep hundreds of jawbones from the floor. We all talk; well, mostly Vixbi talks as Max listens quietly. I notice Vixbi and Jackson glance to Max every now and then as though they want to make sure whatever it is they’re saying meets with his approval and isn’t offending me. I wonder what makes me so special, but I suppose it’s because I look like I have some Cheveyan blood inside me. 

 

I think about that a little more, but every time Max moves, I feel a magnificent warmth bloom out from his body and wash over me.  It’s pleasantly disturbing, but when the warmth tingles down my spine and wriggles between my legs my cheeks feel rosy. He must have fire in his veins, I think, before noticing his natural body scent smells like spice and florals. It leaves goosebumps on my arms after the warmth from his body soaks in. I listen with excitement and angst as they talk about riding out to see the last run of the deer as they pass through the white trail. After the last run, the herd breaks up and they live solitary lives until the beginning of spring.  At the end of lunch period, everyone stays in their seats watching us as we walk out of the cafeteria together, Max surprises me by escorting me to my next class.   He stands by the door of my science class, but my mind doesn’t get the memo to say thank you or goodbye until I see a shade of amusement color his eyes. I swear I feel his thoughts searching my brain before he nods with a grin and tells me he’ll see me later. I call out an awkward goodbye, but his back is already facing me, and he’s way too cool to turn around. But he does though, just halfway, his hand raising in the air right before he rounds the corner of another hall. 

 

                                                              ~

 

I wonder why Max invited me to have lunch with him and the others. I wonder about how weird it felt when his thoughts were like liquid cool fingers coursing through my brain. I can’t answer any of those questions, but the parts of it that I share with Rhianna make for great conversation as she spends every moment trying to live through me vicariously. I feel like a criminal suspect with all the interrogation techniques she’s throwing at me left and right.  

During our conversation, she tells me that when the trilogy don’t have basketball practice, they venture into the woods with Santi.  She goes on and on about their nightly ventures while I can’t believe I just got handed their personal itinerary into a place that has somehow christened me in ways that I have yet to understand.  They don’t have practice tonight and my plans on staying late in the newsroom with Rhianna just got put on hold. 

 

                                                          

I ride so fast I’m flinching at the cold slapping across my face like tiny whips.  I feel free, like I’m flying and sparks are lightly careening into every part of my body and zipping along the currents.   I’m so full of excitement, the thought of how cold it’s going to be when the sun starts to set doesn’t bother me in the least.  I see two riders on dark gleaming mopeds riding in the opposite direction from Cheveyan territory and my already bursting excitement dials toward frenzied. I know it's Max and Jackson; I’ve seen them zipping madly through the school parking lot along with Vixbi, who is curiously absent. We’re all closing in on the crossroads at Shawnee Drive from opposite sides of the long mist covered road, but they’re engines are supped up, so they’re going way faster than me. When they reach the intersection, their bikes lean in on the turn and the smoke from their exhaust pipe shrouds them in a wide billowing cloud. My heart thumps hard, then races cardiac arrest fast. I squeeze the gas clutch and my body slants into the same turn. They’re so fast, their taillights are only tiny red dots by the time I pass through the membrane and enter the woods.  

 

The air starts to ripple, and I feel life teaming all around me. It makes my skin prickle and my senses spike with attention.

 

“You can sense me?” a voice asks, airy and soft as it travels on the wind currents.

I squeeze the brakes and slide into a long stop as thrilling ice splashes down my veins and dirt clouds the air. “Of course, I do.” I frown, confused. “You’re my dream-self!” I exclaim as air gushes out through a whispered scream. 

 

“I mean to say, can you see me now?”  she asks just when as a murky ethereal form suspended in the air, above the creek, glistens wondrously.  

 

“What are you doing outside of my head?”  I ask, scanning the landscape like a mad woman. 

“Waiting for you to be ready.”

 

I growl, raising my arms wide and shaking my fists as my mind whirls in a fog of confusion. “Okay … okay,” I mutter, trying to calm down. “But you’re my dream-self, right?  So how can you be– outside of me?”

 

I hear a rumble of quiet mirth before I get my answer. “I am many things, but for now, my designation is more akin to a goddess than dream-self…. And I rule magic, rebirth, and the regeneration of life…. But you may simply call me, the goddess of magic”

 

My heart stops and thuds hard against my chest before warmth crashes into the wall of my chest and spreads through my veins like fingers. “The goddess of magic,” I whisper as my senses begin to settle. “What do you want with me? I’m just Julion.”

 

The goddess laughs again. “Oh, my dear. You are far more important than you know.  For your destiny affects the fabric of the very universe.”

 

I shake my head. “I’m pretty sure you have me mixed up with someone else,” I say, turning to stare at the icy creeks and the dark cliffs that rise up and into the clouds.  My gaze snags on the wisps of mist as they climb the rock face and twirl around the barks of trees. “I know you’re a goddess and all, but …”

 

“I am here as your teacher and will always be inside you and yet not.  But freewill is the currency of the cosmos, and if you withhold it, no transaction is sanctioned."

 

I feel empowered, though talk of the cosmos is so far above my comprehension my blood freezes and my brain feels like a cube of ice. “I remember what you said when we were at the glade.”  I hear myself and sound hesitant and unsure, even to my own ears.  “I don’t know how to make sure the warriors live to fight another battle, and I saw what killed them.  It looked pretty unstoppable to me.”

 

Her form shimmers as though she’s surprised that I had a vision. 

 

“And I don’t know how to help them with the Harvest thing,” I mumble, “Especially since I’m not even supposed to be in their territory.” 

 

“So you saw the enemy?”  The goddess asks uncertainty in her timbre.

 

I nod.  “Yup… I saw it… It killed them all, just gobbled them up like a massive storm. They didn't have a chance, no matter how hard they fought.”

 

"Now they have a chance…" She says, sounding pretty sure.  "I realize this is much for you to take in… let's put that aside for now.”  Her voice calms me magically, because I was on the verge of losing my mind.

 

 “Why am I here?” I decide to ask.

 

“Where?” the goddess of magic asks in return.

 

“Here, in the woods. Why does my curiosity about Max and Vixbi burn like an unquenchable fire—the tribe—the woods, all of it? What claws at my insides and forces me to come back here, over and over?”

 

“Rasha…  She left the seed to stir your curiosity.  But as I am part of Rasha, I suppose you can blame me…. And to answer your question— the Cheveyan  you need to speak with, are beyond the reach of even the most of the tribe. So, you must acquire answers by venturing into the most basic level of reality, which is the natural world.” 

 

A huge wind sweeps by, and makes me think twice about the sarcastic comment I was just about to make. Rasha?  Her name is so familiar I forget to ask who she is. 

 

“Here the laws of the Great God exist at their most simplistic level,” she continues. “And one can know all of reality by simply observing how nature works …”

 

I nod, the quest to follow Max and Jackson far from my mind now. “So … the reason why I’m here in the woods is to understand the laws of the Great God of the Sky?” That sounds like a huge feat, and she’ll need a miracle if she expects me to figure those things out.

 

“Yes, and yes. You are the right person for the job, youngest one. It is your destiny,” she adds, reading my mind.

 

I climb off my bike to pace. “Well, I guess you’d know better than me, but …” I shake my head again, still in disbelief as I wrap my arms around my body for warmth. “Okay, and why am I curious about Max and Vixbi?”

 

“You are curious about them because the three of you will one day become something even more than family … And then of course, there’s you saving their lives.”

 

“Ha!” I exclaim, not believing a word of it. “Me? Save them? This has got to be … okay …” I stop when I notice the wind again.  It’s making thick branches on huge trees sway like they’re twigs, besides, I can tell she believes what she’s saying, and for the life of me, I can’t think of a way to argue with a goddess and win.

 

“Are you ready for the answer to your last question?” the goddess wonders as the air sparkles with atoms and electrons that remind me of tiny diamonds. 

 

I look around, distracted by how the light plays on the currents. I take a deep breath, swallowing the glistening air; it stirs down my throat and circles my lungs, spreading them wide so I can take in even more air.  I’m ready for her to answer the last question now.

“You are curious about the Cheveyan tribe because you'll need to understand the war before you can help them.”

 

I huff, kicking a piece of bark in the way of my stride.  It goes flying off the edge to where the hill descends. “Oh, I am sure you have the wrong person now!” I pace agitatedly from my bike to the edge of the wooden fence and back again more times than I can count. “I’m nobody. I would think you’d know that. I mean, I can tell you’re really powerful and all. So, I don’t know how you could get this so wrong.  But… I get it. This is what you really believe!”

 

The goddess of magic only laughs. My thoughts return to Max and Jackson and my head snaps in the direction that they rode down. My head cocks to the side and I squint disbelievingly when I see their tail lights moving in slow motion.

 

“And you think me capable of being wrong?” Her chuckle echoes, and unfurling time, Max and Jackson’s motors suddenly rip the air in half as they speed away like demon chasers. “Now go, and discover more, youngest one.”

 

Youngest one…  There her words go again, reminding me of something that feels deeply familiar.  I swing my leg over the seat of the moped and give her one last look before my tires swerve from the sudden speed.  

 

The deeper we go into the woods, the more the forest yawns awake with life. The goddess of magic follows like a cape at my shoulders and the air feels clear and pure as it pushes out my lungs.  My ears wriggle when I notice the wind’s voice: it’s wispy and airy, and its cousin, the crosswinds, are its chorus. 

 

Life feels like I’m seeing and feeling it through a high-definition lens hundreds of times richer than usual.  And I sense the creek playfully pushing the mist from its surface, half annoyed by it hitching a ride toward the river in the outlands. Unperturbed, the mist’s cloudlike fingers snake into the air and dance joyfully along the wind's currents moving in the same direction as the creek. It’s all alive, everything, all interacting in a blissful cosmic dance.  I shudder with a frightening thought that maybe I’m more than I think I am too.  But the idea is too unnerving, so I crank up Dragon’s speed and return my purpose---following the red taillights. 

 

Max and Jackson bend into a hard turn that disturbs the dirt along the trail and sends off a dust cloud that hides them from my view.  When the dust clears, they’re nowhere to be seen, but I know where they’re headed, and I slow my speed to a stop to think about my choices. If I continue to track them, I’ll be discovered because I know they’re heading to the other side of the beach where the mansion is.  I park Dragon, dismounting and walking closer to the fence to think things over.  Across the creek, the mansion glows softly against the red-orange hues of the sky as the sun sets. My eyes drop to rushing currents below.  They sound like soft chimes and the waning light lands on its surface like rubies cast into the water.  When the goddess returns, her presence announces itself by raising the hair on my arms and neck. 

 

“Be free and discover.” She whispers and the fog in the air floats weightlessly toward the mansion and scales its white stones.  When it begins climbing toward the balcony and roof, my senses whisper that something important is going to happen and I should stay.  The tattoos on my palms seem to agree as they begin swirling beneath my gloves. 

 

The night attracts a flock of bats that fly chaotically through the white fog hovering around the chimney, and without the cover of the leaves, the mansion’s blackened windows reflect the crescent moon. They look like a thousand eyes—all watching me.  And an eerie sensation plummets down my spine, and along with it, a twinge of guilt.  I’m spying on my schoolmates; I think just as a light on the bottom floor flicks on transforming guilt into spikes of curiosity before the breath inside my lungs pushes out into the chilled air. My hands reflexively grip the rough wooden railing and my fingers dig into the splintery cold surface.  

 

I wait for something to happen.  I can feel that it coming any minute now.  Meanwhile, the silence makes the cooing of the owls stand out, and time creeps by like a snail.   The sky is dark and when I look around images of the Cheveyan warlords’ scars come to mind, and soon after that, thoughts of the man with the sunglasses creep in too. I shiver a little and dig my fingers even deeper into the wood. 

 

A flash of light illuminates one of the windows. I startle, then cough, choking on the air when the flash zooms past the entire first floor of darkened windows in only seconds. The light stretches, illuminating what must be a corridor, one end to the other, with a blast of brilliance. It’s so fast I’m stunned frozen.  I shake my head, trying to organize thoughts and ideas to explain what it is I’m seeing. But then the light returns to the starting point, only to ricochet back toward the last window so mercurially that all I see again is a luminous comet-like tail stretching from one end of the mansion to the other. My thoughts collapse, scrambling and trying to make sense of the impossible. 

 

My gaze is still glued on the light as it continues to blister past the windows and snap backward into motionlessness. It’s a cannonball, my brain informs me. Max and Jackson are running amok, privileged youths inside a mansion without supervision with nothing better to do. But cannonballs don’t glow—or maybe they do, but I know for certain they destroy things, like the insides of a mansion. In that windows haven’t shattered, or walls crumbled, that theory falls by the wayside. All I know for sure is that I saw a fiery round of something. I watch as the light grows bright again–my heart races with every breath. Once it reaches maximum luminosity it literally looks like a miniature sun moving through space at the speed of light, back and forth the length of the corridor. I keep asking myself what on earth can move that fast when a wind rushes up behind me. It’s wind so I ignore it. Wind I know, human-size ricocheting light, I don’t. A voice speaks, demolishing the dark silence of the woods, and my hand clutches my heart as I practically shiver out of my skin. I slowly turn, praying that I don’t see a man in black once I’m facing whoever it is. 

 

“What are you doing here?” the person asks. I’d know that scratchy deep voice anywhere. It’s Vixbi, I sigh with relief.

 

Without missing a beat, I shoot right back. “How’d you get here?” It takes him a second or two to answer, and in that same moment, my eyes drop to a ground laced with twigs that crack and make noise. They’re everywhere. How could he approach me without making a sound?

“Doing my nightly jog.” The sliver of the moon is lost behind thousands of tangled leafless branches.  The night floods him with shadows and obscures his features. It makes the roughness in his voice standout. I don’t think I ever noticed how attractively low and husky it was until now. “What about  you?” he asks for a second time—a hint of suspicion inside the roughness.

 

Fortunately, the shadows are draped around me too, because I feel my face flush with embarrassment. Guiltily I slowly remove my hands from the railing to angle my body away from the Coburgan mansion. “The fall solstice.” I nod hoping he didn’t notice how I’ve turned away from looking across the creek. “I’ve come back many times.” It’s the truth, too. Well, sort of.

Branches rattle in the currents and a shaft of moonlight catches his honey-colored eyes. I see the reflection of the moon inside them shrinking—it’s because his eyes are squinting. Uh-oh …. Now his silhouetted head cocks to the side as though he’s confused about how my math is adding up. He shakes his head a moment later, accepting my explanation. Good, my two plus two equals four.

 

I sigh again—too softly for him to hear. “Maybe this is all old for you,” I add with a little edge.

“Right … outlander.” His voice is unusually gravelly tonight, I notice, as I wonder how he could’ve forgotten that.

 

“Yes, and you’re a descendant.”

 

He chuckles under his breath, looking down at his foot as he smashes a crisp twig to oblivion. It stands out singularly in the stillness, now I know how he arrived in silence. He was running like the wind. “Is that what we’re called?” Oh, right, the youth prefer to be called indigenies.

It’s a rhetorical question, though, and I’m itching to say “No—you’re called a wind chaser.” But his cadence hints at something that my antenna is trying to detect.

 

“Apparently,” I reply, my voice flat and my antenna still wriggling.

 

His mouth parts and his white teeth gleam like the moon, then his gaze snaps toward the light inside the mansion. It’s expanding again, much more quickly than before. It does that same meteoric flashing from one end of the hall to the other. Unlike me, Vixbi has no reaction, no quickening of his breath or craning of his neck. What he’s seeing isn’t odd to him. The moon twinkles in his eyes and he laughs, piercing the darkness around us. How far we are from civilization is suddenly a stark reality that sends a current of electricity down my spine and zings the hair on the back of my neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

 

“What is that?!” I ask, my voice breathy with wonder and excitement.

 

He doesn’t answer right away. “Something like paintball,” he finally mutters. “Only different.”

It’s my turn to cock my head to the side. Only different—well, that’s a mouthful for only two words. My lips part to interrogate him more. But the brilliance of the light dazzles even more than before. My mind is blown and all the words inside my brain turn to mash.

 

Vixbi has the opposite reaction as he laughs again. It’s unaffected and so full of joy and life I smile. My lungs open, dissolving the tense confusion I felt only moments before. Then I remember I’m with Vixbi—the chauvinist, my nemesis. My lips purse and I swallow the joy.

“I have to go.” His voice is edgy and eager. I’m tempted to interrogate him before he has a chance to leave, but he’s already trotting away, backward and still facing me. Then he stops. “It’s dangerous in the woods.” He starts trotting again like he really needs to get to where Max and Jackson are. “There are foxes around here.”

 

My mouth drops. I close it quickly and lift my chin remembering too late that he can’t see me. Looking brave is meaningless in the night; especially when my frayed nerves don’t even believe me. “Is that a joke?” I ask, proud of how disinterested my tone sounds.

 

He stops again and takes a step toward me. He’s nothing but a dark silhouette against a backdrop of a deep blue starlit sky. “No, it’s not. Should I go with you back to Shawnee Drive?” I still can’t see his features, but he sounds worried. Maybe he does have a heart.

I freeze when I see the outline of horses cantering further down the path and heading in our direction.  There are two riders approaching, sitting high on the saddle and cloaked in the murky obscurity behind Vixbi. One of the beasts neighs, disturbing the silence and grabbing Vixbi’s attention. I see the outline of his body swiftly twist in the direction of the animal. The riders are men—I can tell by their broad shoulders—but their hair is long and trailing on the gentle, frigid wind. The two massive beasts slow their cantering to a stop where they remain as only outlines of height and breadth. I feel uneasy as I watch Vixbi still studying them, my leather gloves tighten around my knuckles as my hands ball into fists. I hold my breath waiting for Vixbi’s anger to erupt and scorch the night with a threatening demand that the men identify themselves. Instead, he greets them with an easy voice, using an unfamiliar word that escapes my comprehension. The tension inside me melts like butter sliding across warm bread, and I breathe in a hungry gust of air.

 

“Sekon.”

 

When the two men greet him using the same word, I realize this is the first time that I’ve heard the Cheveyan language. Sekon is a beautiful word, I think to myself.

 

“This is Julion,” Vixbi announces, with a shade of pride inside his voice. I can’t help but be surprised, and then curious as to why. I’m nobody; well, the jury is out on that since the things the goddess told me about my destiny and all. But I’m a kote for sure, an outlander, and I’m not even convinced he likes me all that much.

 

A long object on the side of one of the rider’s belts just flickered on. It’s partially hidden beneath his coat, and only a sliver of it shows, but I wonder why he’s carrying a flashlight and how it turned on by itself. The object continues to brighten and when it becomes radiant enough to glow, I realize it’s no flashlight. When it grows dim, my eyes narrow. I lift my gaze to his face, but I can’t see anything except the outline of his body and the dark mounds of trees behind him.

 

When one of the riders says my name, I realize I’ve heard the voice before. It’s Santi, and he says my name in the form of a question right before he the rider exchange a brief glance.

“What are you doing in the woods at nightfall?” he asks as the other rider’s horse shuffles to the side. Its head bobs up and down before it lifts one leg to a resting position.

 

“It …” I stammer. My eyes are glued to the other rider’s side again. The object looks like it’s disappeared, but I know it’s only dimmed and is still right there, hanging from his hip. Rhianna’s story about the glowing sword and the trilogy on the mansion’s balcony with Santi finds its way into my head. My eyes narrow again. Whatever is at the rider’s side isn’t long enough to be a sword. Maybe it’s a knife. But still … “The woods have been calling me,” I finally get out. “Ever since the fall solstice,” I finish, admitting the truth and surprising myself as the words slip from between my lips. “Beckoning me,” I add, blaming my confession on the goddess of magic when I feel her crackling soundlessly around us.

 

“Beckoning you?” the other rider marvels. His voice is rugged and masculine, and I would bet my entire year’s allowance that he’s beyond handsome. I may not be able to see his face, but his magnetism mixes with my blood, and my muscles burn with heat and quiet my cold shivering limbs.  The inside of my coat begins to smolder, it feels delicious in comparison to the cold. “You’re the girl who wandered onto the Black Sky land?” The object at his side glows again. I wonder if it’s affected by his emotions and my neck cranes to get a better look at whatever it is, while I pray that he’s referring to the first time I wandered onto the property.

I pause before responding, as panic crumbles words into dust. I notice Vixbi look back at me and then toward them again as he senses there’s a story behind my trespassing. Curiosity rushes through me so fast it nearly pushes a question out of my mouth.

 

“Yes, yes, that would be me,” I say, finally getting around to answering his question. My voice is breathy with emotion, and Magic is hovering above us as though she’s curious too. I feel her sparking invisibly, tingling the surface of my skin like dew falling onto my face. Then she swirls majestically and engulfs us in her aura. I half expect to see her light up the space around us in a curtain laced with hundreds of shimmering orbs. She doesn’t, but both horses begin stirring and swishing their tails as though they can feel her presence.  All three men go as silent as the dead leaving me no doubt that feel her presence too. The tension in the air starts to thicken like a storm rolling on the crest of a wave. My eyes dart around and I feel edgy suddenly.  I brace myself as I sense something strange inching toward the brink of reality and about to reveal itself.

 

I startle when the rider’s gravelly voice shatters the silence. “It’s dangerous out here at night …” he says, snatching my mind from its hypervigilance. My eyes sweep to his silhouette, still straining to make out his features. “Drifters sometimes roam the woods,” he continues with his warning. “When you are beckoned, you should find an escort. A Cheveyan escort.”

 

“Drifters?” I repeat, air hollowing out my lungs from a quick sharp breath. “Do they wear dark sunglasses and long black coats?” I check, almost feeling relieved that my imagination over the strangely dressed man turned out to be nothing but a deranged homeless person. The relief doesn’t last long because I feel two beads of acid on the side of my face. It’s coming from the thick foliage and I have a feeling something is staring at me.  I bite my lip and the warmth from inside my mouth clashes with the cold.  The tip of my nose starts to freeze and my eyes sting from sudden arctic drop in temperature. There’s a drifter inside the bushes watching us—I’d bet anything I’m right! 

 

Meanwhile, Santi and the rider stare in the direction of the bushes so intensely, fear spreads across my chest and lightens my lungs to the size of dried raisins.  The object at the rider’s side turns brilliant white. I don’t have time to react because the goddess has other ideas as she composes strings of luminous light that connect me to the others, and them to me. Their emotions start sliding along the strings then crash through my temples and implode inside my head.  I blink a few times, and when my eyes clear up, I enter a world where their emotions are inside my body and I  can suddenly feel them!  I can feel their thoughts, their emotions. Everything! I gasp in a gulp of cold air wondering why she wants us all connected.  There’s a reason for it, but whatever it is,  I pray the communication only goes one way. 

 

I sense the rider first. His volatile emotions vibrate like someone’s fingers slamming hard against the lower discordant keys on a piano.  They dominate the filaments, pushing the others aside.  He’s a time bomb ready to detonate, and the flame is burning up the fuse faster than I can think.  But he’s talking to whatever is out there inside his head—begging the person to reveal himself.  He has a vision, and so do I.  I shudder when I see the image of him throwing his legs over the back of the horse and jumping to the ground.  He launches bullet-fast toward the bushes—his unhinged rage is so terrifying, I forget to breathe.  Santi, on the other hand, is deadly calm. He’s a thinker, whatever he does, he does without emotion.  I’m surprised by how cold he’s capable of being, but he’s had experience with whatever is out there, and it’s what’s responsible for what he’s become.  The images inside Santi’s head are blurred, just like the mist that shrouds the goddess.  I’m curious about that for the two seconds it takes Vixbi’s changeable emotions to slam into me.  He’s confused, he doesn’t have face to face experience with whoever is hiding inside the bushes.  But he knows danger is close by and he’s not afraid, not even a little.

 

“Protect her!” Magic whispers to the others, provoking swift glances from Santi and the rider in my direction when the bushes rustle for a moment.   Whoever it is, changed their position, but they’re still watching us. Tiny sparks begin swirling around the four of us, lighting up the night enough for them to get a good look inside the bushes, but my mind is elsewhere.  I’m looking at Santi and the other rider’s features for as long as it takes before the light flashes off and I have just enough time to marvel at what I saw of the rider, which was just a brief glance of wide shoulders and thick arms. But his looks don’t disappoint. Except, his masculine lines and chiseled bone structure are more exquisite than I even imagined. My veins swell as hot blood claws through them and rush fast to my heart.  The horses become restless and neigh, but no one seems to have noticed the flash of light.  Santi and the rider are too busy adjusting the reins and calming the animals.

 

“I’ll go with her back to Shawnee,” Vixbi sounds a little shaken and the iciness swelling from the bushes makes me wonder if whatever is watching us, is even human. 

 

The two men don’t say a word, but we remain connected, but I hear the rider calling whatever it is, a ‘drifter”, while Santi calls it,  ‘the  man in black’ and Vixbi screams–enemy.  

 

“I have my moped,” I say, my eyes darting around though I can’t see anything. Fear returns and whatever is in the woods looks my way as his eyes crawl over my skin like a colony of spiders climbing my flesh. I want to hop onto Dragon and fly out of here like a speed demon.

 

“This is no time to be courageous,” the handsome rider scolds roughly.

 

“Get the potential to safety now!” Santi barks harshly, mist pushing out from his mouth just as I see the outline of both horses turning and then the sound of their hooves pounding fast in the opposite direction.

 

“Come,” Vixbi says, taking hold of my arm and with haste, nearly drags me to my bike. The icy air is gone and replaced by the normal winter chill. I look back again but I know the drifter is deep inside the woods trying to escape from Santi and the rider.

 

 

                                     CHAPTER SIXTEEN

 

My face keeps lifting from my uneaten lunch to the landscape beyond the cafeteria window.  Images from the other night in the woods keep making an appearance inside my mind as  I scan the school grounds hoping to spy the trilogy walking along the hills in the distance.  I haven’t seen the three of them since that night and I’m fairly certain it’s because they’re involved in tracking the drifter. I sigh, my emotions shaky when some part of me thinks the reason I haven’t seen them is because Vixbi realized I was spying on them.  That idea makes my insides burn with red-hot embarrassment. 

 

I have the thought to test the web of lights woven by the goddess as I wonder if we’re still connected.  It doesn’t take long to get an answer and my chest billows quickly when images explode in high definition and sounds blast my inner ears!  

 

The rider and another man are deep inside the woods, walking fast, breathing hard as they both grip one of the drifter’s arms. My body tenses up, and my teeth clench hard when I see the fierce expressions on the Cheveyan woman and a large male following closely behind.  They’re scanning the area, their eyes slicing through the foliage as though they expect to be ambushed.  They all stop inside a dense part of the woods surrounded by groves of trees and a rocky incline that climbs toward a cloudy sky.  The rider releases the drifter’s arm and his brown suede jacket opens.  I see crystal nunchucks hanging from a holster at his side.  His hand reaches toward a pocket inside his jacket instead of the weapon and he removes a small brown bottle.  His face is set hard as he walks toward the drifter, unscrewing the bottle as he closes in on him.  The drifter is staring,  his eyes widening as the rider grows near.  The drifter starts thrashing his body to get free, throwing the other Cheveyan off balance as he struggles to keep him steady.  The svelte female warrior rushes over and tightens her hands around the drifter's free arm to keep him as still as possible.  Everyone’s eyes are on the rider as he lifts the hand that has the bottle in it. 

 

 The drifter  thrashes even more, his expression crazed and full of fear.  The rider pours whatever is in the bottle over the drifter’s head.  It drips down the drifter's face and his  eyes roll back as his body spasms like something foul is being forced out of him.  It reminds me of an exorcism and my heart patters fast as my skin  grows sweaty from intense emotions.  I feel like I’m standing only a few feet from it all, and when the drifter throws his head back and lets out a blood curdling yell I nearly jump out of my seat. But a breath later,  five men dressed in long black coats sweep down from the higher ground and surround the Cheveyan, crouching like animals as they surround them.  I don’t breathe and my hands grip the sides of my chair. 

The air inside the woods explodes with lines of wind that mirror the Cheveyan’s mercurial motions as they all go for their weapons.  I barely feel my knuckles aching from tightening my clutch around the edge of the chair as the fighting begins.  The Cheveyan have all chosen nunchucks, though at their sides, other weapons swell and contract light.  The Cheveyan’s go invisible, and all I see is spinning nunchucks and  squiggly lines scorching the air like luminous gold.  The drifters cower, their arms defensively protecting their faces before they turn to flee  back up the incline.  Swaths of wind block their escape,  and I can almost see the outline of the Cheveyan’s bodies as the drifters collapse, one by one to the ground like lumps of rock.  When the wind settles, the four Cheveyan materialize, hovering over the enemy, their eyes fiery as though the fight bumped up their blood just enough to enjoy it.  The skirmish was no more than a few seconds, but my heart is pounding like the fight lasted a lifetime.   

 

“Julion.  Are you okayI?” a voice utters; my eyes go round as my head swivels.

 

It’s Max!  It takes me a moment to speak because I’m still inside the woods, still standing just a few feet away from the warriors as I look at them with astonishment beaming out of my eyes.  Their skills were impressive, their movements blindingly fast.  I have so many questions, but the scene fades and I manage to shake my head having heard Max ask if I’m okay.  When the visions totally clears I notice the intensity in Max’s eyes as he scans me over. My eyes scan him too, looking for new scorch marks. I see none.

 

He asks me how I am again and something tells me he knows about the other night.  I think of the light ricocheting from one end of the mansion hall to the other and my brain goes back to grappling with what it could be all over again.  Then I think of  Vixbi introducing me like he was proud to know me, the goddess ordering them to protect me, and now I just saw the rider and three other Cheveyan as though I was actually there.   I take a deep breath realizing I have to get accustomed to this new life of living in multi-worlds. 

 

I’m about to lie and say I’m fine, but Max grimaces and doubles over in pain before I can say a word. His head is lowered, but I see torment etched on his brows and tightly shut eyes. A strangled cry erupts from the back of my throat when I feel a searing ache behind my ribs.  It doesn’t take long for me to realize I’m feeling what’s going on inside of Max. My eyes are squeezed tight as I calculate if what I’m feeling is anything close to what Max is experiencing, which on a scale of one to ten, is at fifteen. I’m close to fainting when I hear magic swirling around the two of us and something urges me to place my hand on his. My fingers squeeze his palm inside of mine.  The contact sends an immediate massive rush of cool electricity plummeting down my arm; it blasts through my palm and for the first time I realize the sensation that I feel when I touch Max is coming from me. Meanwhile, Max is like a magnet pulling at the energy with desert thirst. My inner ears wriggle when Magic begins popping inside the atmosphere surrounding us. It’s so loud I think she’s going to make an appearance right here and now. My pain lessens to a bearable level and my eyes swell at the same time that his gaze lifts to meet mine.

 

Max’s brows are pinched with confusion, but the grimace is gone, and I notice his other hand slowly dropping from his ribs. I sit up straight, jerking my hand from his, only realizing now that we have an audience. I know he’s wondering what the hell just happened, but neither of us says anything, not about the strangeness of the moment, or me touching him or us looking into each other’s eyes with obvious shock when the goddess started exploding her magic audibly.

 

“Where have you been for the last few days?” I ask, sounding more urgent than I intended. “I haven’t seen you around,” I finish, watching his eyes drop to his lunch plate. He twirls his fork around the spaghetti before taking a huge mouthful of the pasta dripping red with sauce. Part of me wants to grin at his bulging jaw, and wanting to smile right now feels like a big relief after all that’s just taken place.

 

“Tribal business,” he answers honestly and shocking me.

 

“Does it have to do with the drifter?” I ask, wondering if he’ll tell me even if it’s true.

He nods, surprising me again. My mouth opens to ask more, but he beats me to it and wonders if I’ll be at their next game.

 

I want to push him for answers but I don’t. It might cause him to ask me why I was across from the Coburgan mansion in the first place. “Yeah. Carlo was assigned another column,” I answer, playing like everything is normal.

 

Max starts drumming his fingers on the edge of the table. I try to stop looking at them, but I can’t keep my eyes from continuously darting their way. When I notice his lips curve into a small smile my lungs expand with air. Good, more relief.

 

“I’m glad to hear that.” He looks pleased to khow that I’ll be at the next game,, but his eyes are on me like lasers and my face warms.  “All of the games?” he asks, catching me off guard.

I swallow and feel nervous for some reason. “I think so, that’s what Mr. Peterson said.”

“Even when we travel?” he checks, seeming more relaxed by the moment.

 

I frown, my nose crinkling up as I consider traveling with the team. Of course, I’d want to. “Umm, he never mentioned it.”

 

“We won the last game and made division champs.” His eyes gleam brightly. I want to grin, but don’t.

 

“Yeah, I gathered that,” I say, giving him a how could I not know that look. Gazing into his eyes, I feel myself starting to drown inside them and I turn away for a second to get my bearings before returning his intense eye contact.

 

“You didn’t write about it.” He shrugs, his lids lower, and shiny long lashes splay against the edge of his cheeks.

 

I tame the smirk dying to spread across my lips. “The edition is bi-monthly. It’s coming out at the end of this week,” I say, wondering how he couldn’t know that. But then again, I suppose he’s been busy catching drifters and spending time in the Coburgan mansion doing weird things with flying lights.

 

He nods thoughtfully. “So, we’re going to start competing against the other division champs now. Some trips are two hours away.”

 

I frown, not sure where he’s going with all of this.

 

“Will your parents allow you to travel?”

 

Oh, so that’s where this is leading? My breath stammers inside my chest, which stays barreled out until I manage to exhale. It takes a minute and my words still come out awkwardly. “I—I only live with my mom … I mean, my mom and dad split up.”

 

He nods, and his eyes are on me like he’s trying to figure out the something that I’m apparently holding back.

 

“We live with her boyfriend.”

 

He nods again, his face void of any judgment.

 

“So, I’m not sure. I mean Rob loves you, you and the Cougars … So, I suspect so.”

 

His gaze does something that feels like he’s dialed something up a notch, and I feel like I’ve been captured on a hook. I’m pretty sure he’s discovered that I’m uncomfortable talking about my mom, Rob, and that we live with him. Proving him right, I turn away feeling even more embarrassed, and my eyes lower to my fidgeting fingers. I wish I could turn invisible.

“But he can be really …” I add, mumbling.

 

 “Really what?” he presses, his voice sounding scratchy. There’s a hint of anger inside his tone too. I know it’s not directed toward me, but I can’t be sure what’s just ticked him off.

“Puritanical.” I sigh, then add, “And no, he doesn’t give me the questions to ask you. It’s not like he waits for a game to be on the roster and then has this long talk with me.” I sigh, irritated with Vixbi all over again.  Besides, Rob is way too busy to write out questions for teenage athletes to answer. 

 

“I never underestimated you,” Max says, returning to twirling what must now be his ice-cold spaghetti. “Not after that article you wrote about Sam.”

 

I look up quickly. I didn’t know Max knew I existed then, let alone that he’d read anything I wrote. “You … you read that?”

 

He nods. “He was my older cousin. Well, not older … more advanced. ” His words trail off, and his eyes lose focus. “But we had some things in common,” he adds.

 

I wonder what he means, and if he’s referring to sports or something more. I hear myself pushing for an answer before I can shut my mouth.

 

“Like what?” I study him, looking for discomfort, but he doesn’t frown or look put off by my question. I sense a vague flush of nervousness, though.

 

His lips part, then his eyes drop to the floor. After a long silence, he just says that it was hard to say.

 

“His mother gave me something,” I add, hoping to lessen the tension by letting him know that we both have a connection to Sam. “I never looked inside the bag until … ” I don’t want to say when, but the night I saw the lights at the mansion triggered the memory of Sam’s mom giving me the gift bag. I’d stuffed it inside my study desk assuming it was a book that I knew I didn’t have enough time to read. But it wasn’t a book. “It was a diary,” I admit, my voice dropping so softly I can hardly hear myself. But Max definitely hears me, and his eyes sweep up with fire shooting out from them. I gulp and my stomach does a yoga move that feels like a roller coaster. I watch Max, my muscles tightening by the second as his lungs expand with air, slowly, like they’re a pot on the stove that needs to simmer down. The cold from his expression melts and his usual handsome smile returns.

 

“She … gave … you … his diary?” he asks, and I can’t help but notice his voice hasn’t gotten the stay calm cue. It’s dry, and there’s a tinge of danger in his cadence. I swallow hard and nod. “What does it say?” His stare sends an icy shiver slicing across my chest before finding its way between my ribs. 

 

I only read a few pages. I was hoping to find something that might explain the flashes of light, drifters in black, or anything about glowing swords and knives. When the first ten pages didn’t say anything even close to those things, I closed the book feeling more disappointed than ever. “He was different.” I answer him knowing I sound intimidated, which I am–in spades.

The danger in his eyes multiplies by ten and the mercurial shiver finds my spine and starts to creep up slowly as though it’s as scared as I am. My fingers curl into a tight ball to keep from shuddering. “He—he thought he was some kind of … spirit or ghost.”

 

Fire is still shooting from Max’s eyes.

 

All I really know is that it seems like Sam was having some kind of nervous breakdown. As I think about it now, I feel the same heavy sense of dread and pity for him. “He wrote that he couldn’t be around certain kinds of people. Not like he was better than them—but he thought they were, selfish… just living for themselves only.” I feel my eyes tear up. “I think he was mentally ill,” I finish, my voice nearly a whisper as it cracks.

 

“He was sensitive,” Max adds, finally looking like himself again. “I remember that about him.”

I breathe for the first time in what seems like five minutes. “Was he ill? Mentally?” I feel like I’m crossing a line asking that question. I don’t know how the words got past my lips without more of a fight and I wish I could take them back. Here I am, an outlander and a kote who just happens to have a diary that belongs—belonged—to a descendant. It’s suddenly falling into place how huge and unlikely it is that something like this would happen in the Valley. I lean toward Max, and he instinctively leans into me too. “He thought he could do things …” I whisper, lowering my eyes. They land on his hands. They’re large and strong-looking, but his fingers are retracting into a fist. I regret opening my big mouth once again.

 

“And …?” The weight of his eyes makes my breath quiver up my throat. I know he wants me to look him in the eyes. I don’t.

 

I pause; something tells me not to say it—but it comes out anyway. “He wrote that he could go into a place called the slip plane.” My eyes dart around to make sure no one passing by hears me. “He said it was like the astral plane … That’s crazy.” My eyes finally lift to look Max in the face—his gaze is laser-focused. “Right?”

 

He stays quiet, his lips are pursed, and his brows rest hard above his eyes. I’m absolutely positive that I’ve gone too far now. I have a feeling that Magic did more than connect me to the others; I think she made it impossible for me to lie.

 

“Why—how did you come by his diary?” he asks, not remembering what I told him already. Something about his question makes me feel afraid for Sam’s mother now. A light bulb goes off, and another part of the puzzle falls into place. I have a diary that belongs to a descendant of Chief Starman, the man whose tribesman revived a dead man! She had to be breaking some major rules by giving potential tribe secrets.

 

“His mother was upset that everyone thought he committed suicide,” I say, defending her, and hoping if she did something wrong Max will show her some mercy. “I met his father too. But when he left us, she was saying how she knew her son wouldn’t kill himself.” I can picture his parents in my mind. Now that I know how distinctive the features of Cheveyans are, I start piecing together that the mom is a kote, and it’s  his father that’s a descendant. “I think she wanted me to write another article. One that said he didn’t commit suicide …I think she wanted me to have proof … she was so nervous …” I can see her in my mind, her glassy eyes darting toward the next room where her husband had gone. “But I don’t think his father knows she gave me the diary.”

 

“He doesn’t know.” Max’s voice is rough, but he frowns as though he didn’t mean to say that out loud. I think of the magical connection again. Max looks into my face, his eyes are analytical and so cold, I shudder. “How much have you read?” he asks. His voice is low and I know this is a trick question.

 

“Not—not much,” I stammer. And it’s true. I flipped through it, but it was like reading science fiction.

 

“What did she say—or think—happened to Sam?” he presses subtly. I wonder if I might be in a world of trouble. And if I’m in trouble, Sam’s mother is doubly so.

 

My heart pounds dully at the base of my throat and I know my face is flushed. It’s so warm it’s distracting, but not enough for me to miss how he’s measuring my words like he has some kind of truth barometer inside him.  “She thinks it was an accident,” I answer honestly.

 

“What kind of accident?” His tone is still rough and his mind pushes into mine like cool icy fingers threading through my brain matter. The sensation is strange, and I don’t like it.

I wrap my arms around myself to stop the jitters racing through me and shrug. I’m caught in something much bigger than I ever imagined, and I could kick myself for telling him about the diary. “She didn’t say. Only that she thinks he didn’t mean to … get unalive.”

 

“Get unalive?”

 

“She thinks he did something—but that he didn’t mean for it to end his life.”

 

His stare reminds me of how Vixbi was looking at me that night in the woods. No amount of darkness could hide the intensity in Vixbi’s eyes, and no amount of silence can lessen the concern that Max feels in this moment. “And the slip plane?”

 

Fear strangles my words. “She never mentioned it,” I croak, then cough to clear out the shakiness. My voice is still shrill. I’m not afraid of Max, as much as I’m afraid of what this all means. And my guess is that there’s some kind of sacred canon that Sam’s mother violated.

Max nods. “She knew better than to read his diary,” he says, thinking aloud again, just as I have the thought that this  connection stuff is weird.

 

 “What do you mean?” I ask.

 

He jerks back in the chair, his spine as straight as a board as though he realizes he spoke the words aloud. Or did he? He manages a light chuckle, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes and his hands are still clenched. My gaze drops, and I see the veins along his skin coursing thick with blood.

 

“What teenager wants his mom reading his diary?” He sighs, finally relaxing his hands and rubbing them over his short buzz a few times before drawing them down over his face. The tension inside his body is tight and I feel the same coiled sensation in my shoulders and neck. This connection that the magic created between me and the Cheveyans is overwhelming. But I won’t ask her to sever it. I just have to find a way to manage their emotions, which, at least lately, are level-ten intense.

 

I smile too and probably do as bad of a job as Max. “Oh, right. I’d die if my mom read mine.” I sniker for good measure. It’s the best acting I can manage under the circumstances—new friends, room full of people, long-standing secrets in the hands of a kote-outlander.

 

“Do you still read it?” Max wonders and I feel him pleading for me to say no.

 

I can manage that, and it’s true, too. I shake my head quickly and give him the answer he wants to hear. “No, and I only read a few pages … it’s sort of mumbo jumbo stuff …. I’d say he was better at football than writing.” I laugh briefly. Max looks me in the eye. He’s smiling, but he’s actually still gauging something about me. I can’t sense what he’s looking for inside my head. Santi was good at hiding his emotions, too. “I put it back in my drawer.” I feel uncomfortable and trapped in the middle of a betrayal that I’m beginning to suspect is of mass proportions.

 

“What else did you read?” he probes.

 

I try to lie, but the truth twists inside my throat and comes flying out of my mouth. “I don’t understand what he was talking about,”  I hear myself saying as I fight holding back the rest. “But he said he wasn’t strong enough to fight them by himself …” I manage to keep the last of what he wrote in the back of my throat—a herculean feat under the circumstances.

“Fight who?” he pushes, making the words tumble out against my will–again.

 

“The mercenaries.” I hear myself saying. “The mercenaries and the field lieutenants who control the drifters,” I add, closing my eyes tightly and then opening them just in time to see Max springing out of the chair. I hear him mumble a quick, curt goodbye as the chair wobbles in the wake of his speedy departure. My body feels as tight as a rubber ball as I watch him heading for Vixbi sitting at the table not paying attention to us at all.  His head swivels when Max taps him on the shoulder and continues for the hallway doors. Vixbi’s sixth sense has him jumping up so quickly his chair does more than wobble, it turns over, bouncing loudly onto its side and causing heads to pivot in his direction. Jackson was in the seat beside him and he reaches down to lift the chair from its side. He eyes me as he slides it under the table. I can’t feel Jackson’s emotion, which is strange. I wonder why for a moment, then forget about it when he returns to his female companion all smiles and charm on full blast.

 

                                                     

                                       CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

 

It’s six thirty p.m. but the horizon looks as old as a midnight sky. I look behind me at the school’s empty parking lot. The only two vehicles are the warm car I’m sitting in and the team’s bus with a Cougar poised to claw something as it bears its long fangs.  I haven’t seen Max since he found out about the diary, and all the simmering excitement we exchanged about me traveling with the team is dead now. I thought Rob was going to be the downer in all of this, but all he said was as long as I slept with two floors between me and the team and was taken to and from the game by his father’s driver, Mr. Claude, that I could go. And then of course, he informed Coach Magee of the stipulations just in case I tried to get around them, which now, it’s a moot point. 

 

But as it turns out, it wasn’t Rob that was the threat to Max and my hopes, but Max. Sitting in the back seat of the car, consumed in the shadows, I gaze through the front window of the car as Mr. Claude’s choice of soft jazz plays from the car’s speakers.  It sounds muffled as compared to a Landgon’s crystal clear speakers, I think just before another fissure creeps across  my heart threatening to shatter it to pieces.  It feels like an elephant is sitting on my chest.  I twist in my seat when a rap on the car window startles me.  I expect to see a drifter, his dark ominous glasses catching the lights in the parking lot. Instead, my eyes lock onto Max’s. His arm is leaning against the roof and his head is cocked to the side. I lower the window, but all he does is beckon me with a click of his head and seconds later, we’re walking through the parking lot in the frigid cold.

     

Cars start to arrive as if on cue, and the team slowly ends up spotting the lot in small groups, chatting and animated with excitement about tomorrow’s game, from the looks of it.

Standing by the warm exhaust plumes of the Cougar bus helps with the cold temperatures but does little to break the ice cold silence between me and Max. Part of me wonders why he came over to fetch me to listen to nothing but the sounds of car doors opening and smarting the airwaves as they shut.  When Vixbi arrives I feel a little relieved.  He gives us a cheerful wave and Max suddenly looks a little more relaxed and my relief swells almost warmly through my body.  We both watch Vixbi heading toward Leo, he’s an indigenie, but only a freshman.  His hands are stuffed in his pockets and shoulders raised to keep in the warmth. I notice Leo and the other player at his side liven up now that Vixbi is there to inject them with his infectious personality. I feel his buoyancy too, even at a distance

 

“How is your wrist?” I ask, deciding to break the silence and also check on a rumor about a re-injury.

 

“Is this on or off the record?” Max asks, one brow raised questioningly.

 

I sigh, and the mist from my mouth ends up blowing across my face. “Of course, it’s off the record!” I scoff, but he’d answered the question without answering it, hadn’t he?

 

“It’s stiff,” he mumbles, looking down at it.

 

“You haven’t been icing it?” I say, knowing the answer to that too. I reach for his wrist and examine it as though I might see redness or swelling even though it’s too dark to see much of anything. We both feel that thing that happens whenever we touch. It unfurls with much less power than whatever happened in the lunchroom that day, but it snakes down my arm nonetheless and sputters through my palm like a malfunctioning fireworks. His eyes are peering at the top of my head and feel like two points of a flashlight shining on me. I don’t look up.

 

“Who taught you to do that?” The tone in Max’s voice is like his eyes, filled with curious emotion. I sense there’s a ton more meaning inside the few words he’s uttered.

 

I shrug, mostly because I’m not sure what he’s asking. Taught me? Taught me what? “It’s never happened until I met you,” I say, feeling that he wants more than a shrug. I lift my eyes to look into his, then peek around his shoulder as three more cars pull in one right after the other. Moments later several doors shut in quick succession and the erupting laughter sounds hollow in the darkness.

 

“Never?” Max asks.

 

“Never,” I repeat, feeling my attention being pulled by the cold.

 

It gets quiet again and the acid in my stomach starts to churn uncomfortably. “You know, I only read a few pages of Sam’s diary, and to be honest, I really didn’t find it that interesting,” I say in a huff. “I don’t mean to sound insensitive or anything,” I add quietly as the sting of acid lessens.

 

Max breathes in like me breaking the ice removes a ton of rocks from his shoulders.  “You don’t sound insensitive” is all he says, his eyes peering over my head at the dark road we’ll soon be traveling on. 

 

“Is his mother going to be in trouble?” I wonder, looking into his face with worry all over mine. 

 

He shakes his head. “I won’t tell anyone … I trust you …” His voice is soft and I feel too many thoughts inside of his head to know why. But it’s obvious he’s supposed to tell someone about what she did.  The thought of that is scary and all I can think is what would happen to her if he did?  “She’s gone through too much already,” he adds, his voice trembling. I’m not sure if it’s from the cold or some inner emotion.

 

I nod my head silently agreeing with him, then my brows pinch when he suddenly turns to look behind him as though he senses something, or someone. I crane my neck to see around his shoulder and see Tatiana, one of the teen models.  She's climbing out of a pale blue Beetle. Tatiana is an indigenie but her flawless brown skin isn’t as radiant as the others. Still, her clear blue tribal-shaped eyes that sweep up at the corners, along with her full-perfect lips, rank her as one of the most beautiful girls at Water House High. She’s known for her perfect application of dark eyeliner that gives her the Nefertiti look. She’s heading our way with a deadly gait and hips that sway from side to side like Ebony M-Jestic, the hottest female singer in America. 

 

Max turns his body halfway so that he can keep both of us in his line of sight for some reason. I shrivel as I watch her long midnight-black hair flowing in the breeze like a scene out of some movie. My stomach caves in at the realization that there’s no way to compete with that kind of perfection.

 

Max sighs, the cloud of condensation fades into the black air. “Don’t go anywhere.” He’s looking at me deeply; the intensity nearly stings and the coolness in his voice is pure alpha.

“Whatever,” I say, rolling my eyes.

 

Tatiana stops about thirty feet away from us; she’s in the shadows, and her long coat is open and flapping in the chilly currents. The scarf around her neck ripples like the tentacles of a jellyfish. The darkness engulfing her does nothing to cloak the icy knives shooting my way from those cold blue eyes of hers. Tatiana is fierce, and there’s no way he’s going to be right back.

 

“So, it’s true, the kote-outlander’s traveling with the team?” Her first words could slice a boulder and I shiver inside.  She’s in silhouette but there’s no way to miss her nod her head in my direction.  But I think it was the emphasis on the word kote that stings the most.  Kote, that means I have no Cheveyan bloodline, in other words, I’m nothing.  But I could have told her that. 

 

“Why weren’t you the one to tell me?” Her words carry with perfect reception on the currents and I feel an arctic wind blow across my body. It reaches straight to my bones just like the drifter’s gaze inside the woods. I stare at her, my eyes narrowing suspiciously as my ears wriggle as they try to hear Max’s response. All I hear is a rumble.

 

“I don’t care.” Tatiana cries. Clearly, Max has said something. “No, no, I don’t care. Kote, outlander, it’s all the same, Max.” Her finger is wagging, her head moving with attitude. “You have a car. You could have driven me.”

 

The wind picks up, its glacial temperature matching Tatiana’s anger. Whatever is going on, it’s caught Vixbi’s attention.  He’s  staring at Max and Tatiana, lifting his collar to his ears then he becomes as still as a statue. It takes a moment for the lines that connect us to get into gear, but I can hear his heartbeat.  It’s racing, and my blood rushes fast through my chilled trembling hands and limbs. Tatiana continues, her volume growing louder, her anger turning the moisture on my lips to chips of ice. I spin around and nearly run to the safety of Claude’s car, but when my hand wraps around the frigid latch, it nearly rips the skin from my palm. I let out a cry as I leap inside and billows of cold air follow on my heels.  My palm is red, but my skin wasn’t torn and I catch Mr. Claude checking on me through the rearview mirror. I give him a strained smile before twisting to look behind me at Tatiana again.

 

Max is standing alone in the dark, staring at Tatiana as she strolls away like a fiery blaze on a trail of kerosene.  Her arm extends as her key unlocks the car door with a beep and a flash of the front lights. A razor sharp knife hitches a ride on the air tumbling  down my throat when I see three men in black coats standing at the rear of her car.  They’re only partially hidden in the bushes and there’s no way that she didn’t see them.  I wait for her to scream, instead she just slides inside the car. 

 

From the corner of my eye I catch Vixbi and Leo roaring toward Tatiana. Max’s face snaps in their direction, and he joins them as they all fluctuate between invisibility and flesh.  Tatiana jumps into her car and screeches away angrily, missing Leo by a hair's breadth.  Her headlights sweep through the bushes where the drifters were, but they’re gone now. 

My chest trembles and constricts as my emotions swing like a pendulum from fear to heartache. I have to fight back tears over the idea that Max has a girlfriend. He has a girlfriend. Why didn’t he ever tell me that? My heart floods my blood with its shattered pieces that shred through every single vein inside my body.

 

I’m lost inside my mind when Max leans toward the window and startles me. Our eyes meet, mine filled with fear and rage and his—his are just intense. I don’t lower the window, I just turn my face in the opposite direction, then my head spins around when I feel a chill blow in and he slides inside.  His large frame forces me to begrudgingly shimmy across the leather seat. 

 

“Mr. Maxikai,” Mr. Claude greets him, his gravelly voice deep and grandfather-like.

 

“Just Max,” he answers, his voice tense and acidic. 

 

“Yes, sir,” Mr. Claude replies, turning up the soft jazz just a notch so he can’t eavesdrop on us.

 

“Why did you leave?” He asks sternly. 

 

I forget all about the men in black as I focus on ignoring him with as much silent attitude as I can muster.

 

He asks me again; his tone is softer now.

 

I choke, mostly with confusion. Tatiana’s beauty hurts, and I feel like a troll. “I don’t like … I don’t like arguing.” I opt for a half-truth, happy that the goddess allows me to at least not humiliate myself by having to tell him the real reason.

 

“I asked you to stay,” he reminds me, his voice, tight with frustration again.

My face snaps around, and my eyes spit out fire that could do more than cause a sunburn.

 

“You can’t make me watch what I don’t want to see.” My voice cracks as the words spring from my broken soul. I’m surprised I uttered those words as flashes of my parents fighting skitter through my brain. Max looks surprised too judging from the painful squint of his eyes. He turns away and eyes the darkness outside the car’s window before leaning back on the headrest.

 

Then he quietly reminds me yet again that he asked me to stay.

 

“Why? Wouldn’t that just piss your girlfriend off more?” Saying that is like releasing the cork from a champagne bottle. “Right,” I reply curtly. He has nothing to say. “My thoughts too,” I add, my ears burning hot with pounding angry blood, while my heart begins to shrivel like a decrepit fist.

 

He turns his long body in the seat to face me, cranking up one knee and resting his arm over it. I don’t feel his frustration anymore. In fact, the atmosphere inside the car feels almost inviting. My heart softens  like the petals of a tender bloom. I keep waiting to hear what he has to say, but instead, he just stares as though I can read his mind. I think about several weeks ago in the woods, when the goddess connected me to Vixbi, Santi, and the rider and I concentrate to see if I can feel  Max, but my emotions are so scattered I can barely feel my own emotions. . 

 

“So, why are you here with me?” I break the silence, and the atmosphere immediately tightens like a frayed rope.  I wonder if it could snap. And then what?

His lips part and this time he speaks, though it’s just a single word that comes out.

 

“Because …”

 

“Because what?” I insist, my heart quickening and cranking blood through the fissures that still haven’t healed. 

 

Max’s chest barrels out with air before his eyes sweep in the direction of his teammates. They’re animated, laughing, and talking in pockets of two and three as they file in line to board the bus. I expect him to tell me goodbye, but he doesn’t move. My mouth twitches and my fingers tremble a little. 

 

“They’re going to pull off,” I warn, not really wanting him to leave.

 

“You’re going to the same hotel,” he utters—finally completing a sentence.

 

His comment doesn’t really register until the bus pulls off. So, he’s going to ride with me all the way to Lancaster, a nearly two-hour drive from where we are? The night’s shadow obscures half of Max’s body, outlining his strong bone structure, shoulders, and the hand resting on his thigh. But it’s his face I wish I could see.

 

“Why didn’t you drive your own car and take Tatiana? Couldn’t you see she wanted to go?”  I ask wondering why I’m defending her after the sneers she made about me.

 

His mouth parts, and his eyes lift toward the trees where the moon's rays shoot between the branches. “Because …” he begins.

 

I sigh quietly, accepting his strange way of not using words like the rest of us. But maybe it’s a Cheveyan thing. I remember the woman in the white gown and black cloak catching me spying on the ceremony, and I saw how the men guarding her looked toward me at the same time. It was clear they communicated telepathically. But why Max thinks I can as well is confounding. Surely, he’s met enough outlanders to know that we don’t have that ability.

 

I watch his chest as it slowly rises; my breathing stops, thinking he’s about to say more after all.

 

“I don’t know why I can’t do what I need to do.” His voice is nearly imperceptible. He pauses; I see his silhouetted profile lift. He’s staring out at the road. I look out at it too, hoping he’s not sensing anything sinister.

 

“I’ve been trying to free her … but she won’t tell anyone … and if I tell them …”

 

I have a feeling he’s talking about the men in black standing behind her car.  They’re the enemy, I heard Vixbi call them that in his mind.  She can’t be on their side.  Right?

 

“It makes it impossible for me to be around her...forbidden even”

 

I shake my head, not meaning to, but  I’m pretty sure he’s just confirmed my suspicions. Tatiana is betraying the tribe. I don’t say anything, I just watch him as he stares outside the window and the Lexus pulls off. The vehicle is so silent it barely feels like it’s moving and apparently, Claude knows how to read a situation since he didn’t ask if Max was along for the ride. That’s more than I can say for my sixth sense.

 

Meanwhile, Max’s words are repeating themselves inside my head. That he can’t be around her. It sounds so cryptic. 

 

“Where did you go to school before you came to Water House High?” Max asks, changing the subject. His voice is soothing and I enjoy the change in mood too much to notice. 

 

“Girls High,” I answer, musing for the first time that I’d never gone to a co-ed school. Which was by design. My grandma Maria wanted to make sure I was the first in the family to go to college, so there could be no distractions for me.

 

“So, you guys live here with Rob, your mom’s fiancé?” Max sounds genuinely interested. My eyes widen and I lightly bite my lip.

 

“Boyfriend,” I correct him. “We live with her boyfriend on Navajo Lane.”

Max is silent for a while. “Is he the one you said Vixbi reminded you of?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“That whole girl thing—when Vix asked if someone gave you the interview questions.”

 

I take a deep breath. It sends butterflies to my stomach instead of air. “Oh, no, that was my dad.” My eyes scan the road ahead where I can see the taillights from the bus through the car’s windshield. “He was kind of a brute.”

 

I see him move from the corner of my eye as he studies me intently. My gaze drops to his thigh where his hand has just drawn into a fist. His fingers relax a moment later and splay wide on the top of his leg. When he turns his face away to stare out into the darkness I can tell he’s thinking of what I just said.  I’ll save him the embarrassment of asking for details.

 

“My dad was a wife beater,” I spit out like it’s easy to say. It’s anything but. I feel like I’m a failure, as though somehow my father’s shortcomings are my fault but I tell him the whole sorted story anyway.  He asks me if Ms. Parker was a friend of my parents.  I can tell he has no idea what the world is like beyond the territory of the tribe.   But something in Max’s voice sounds angry and I have a feeling if he knew me then, both he and Mr. Clyde would’ve burst into our house looking for my father. 

 

I shake my head to his question.  “They were total strangers. It was hard. I missed my mom and was worried about her. Ms. Parker didn’t care about me, she lied and told the social workers my mom never called or wanted to visit with me.”

 

“How did you get away?” he asks, sounding like someone who’s never heard a story even

remotely similar to mine though there are thousands of them in the outland.

 

I tell him the whole story about me showing up to court and can’t help but notice how impressed he looks. “Do things like what happened to me happen here too?” I ask, though of course, I know the answer.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Do the kids here get taken away from their parents?”

 

“No, not taken away … but people die.”

 

Yes, I know that firsthand. A lot of them—and all at once.

 

“No fighting between parents and the kids being taken away?” I push. I don’t know why, I guess it’s just my way to get him to talk. Listening to him relaxes me.

 

It takes a long time for him to answer. “The tribe is close, we’re almost like one spirit We have, you could say, a mutual enemy. So, we don’t battle each other. And if you’re not from the tribe, but marry into it, there are laws … agreements that get signed.” He pauses. “Hundreds of years ago indigenous children were stolen from their families by the government.  We learned our lesson, so anyone with Cheveyan blood belongs to the tribe.  Fighting is pointless, all of the children belong to one family, which is—“

 

“The tribe,” I finish for him, thinking he’s said a lot there. I don’t say anything else as I take it all in. But what stands out is the part about the enemy and that there are laws in the Valley. I wonder if I broke one of them by reading Sam’s diary.

 

After it’s quiet for a while I start talking again. “What happens to a kid if their parents die?”

“The family they’re closest with takes them in.”

 

I nod and think about what he said a few minutes ago. Sam’s mother, that’s who comes to my mind. I think Max is saying that Sam’s father because he’s from the tribe, is the primary parent. Yes, I can see that being the case. He definitely projected head of the household—arguments, pointless!

 

“My mom is half Puerto Rican. Her dad was African American and her mom was from Puerto Rico. They were both very religious and never agreed on how to raise my mom and uncle. My mom thinks life is supposed to be perfect, so growing up like she did …” I sigh, feeling sorry for her even though she’s a grown woman now. “She always believed in fairy tales and white picket fences.”

 

“You have a lot in common with the chief’s wife.”

 

I can see Max’s head nodding in the darkness.

 

“How?” I ask, filled with surprise and curiosity.

 

“The chief of our tribe was married to a woman who’d been a slave,” Max confides. “She was a mulatto like you … And my father is related to the chief on both sides of his family, so he’s pure Cheveyan and has African blood too,” he finishes, then looks lost in thought.

 

“I didn’t know that about Chief Silver Rain!” I sound breathless as the remnants of shock skirt through my veins.

 

I can tell he’s staring at me. It makes me feel both nervous and flattered, but using the chief’s name obviously perked his attention.

 

“So, she was black?” I say to keep his mind from dwelling on the evidence of my snooping.

 

“She was. She was fierce and beautiful … As children, we’re told the creation story and the story of our founding father, the chief.”

 

I smile, pleased that he’s sharing more. Every kid in the school would give an arm or leg for this moment, and I hardly believe it myself. “Can you tell me the story?” I wonder, though I’m sure he'll give me his typical one-word responses if he answers at all.

 

He takes a deep long breath and stretches his legs at an angle for more room. His calf rests on the top of my foot and a warm fire snakes up my legs. “The story we’re told is that she was exquisite. Her skin was dark, and she had bright blue eyes. Her hair was the color of onyx, it fell in waves to her waist. The man that owned her married her in secret. He was old, over forty years her senior, and rattled with illness. His name was Purnell, and he was fiercely jealous that other men would steal her away because of how beautiful she was. He never let her out of his sight, but maybe it had to do with the rumors that just her presence took away people’s pain.  But he vowed to never set her free. Ever.”

 

I stay quiet hoping he says more. When he does, my heart jumps with joy, then does a few somersaults.

 

“We’re taught that land absorbs the emotions of the humans who live on it.  So our territory was known for its healing waters and lands rich with medicinal herbs. People from other parts of the country would visit the chief to request healing, and Purnell was just one of the travelers who stopped through. He brought his young bride with him, and our tribe knew right away that she was special. In the traditions of the Cheveyan people, we believe there is the creator of all, and we call Him the Great God. He mated with Ocasta, the origin of wisdom. Together they had seven children: Asgaya, rules time, knowledge, and prophecy; her twin brother Anayehi rules the laws of hunting, combat, and war; Taiowa, love and beauty; Kopel gives us our desires and fertile harvests; Sedeni rules thunder, the sea, and winds; and Azeban is the trickster who rules the underworld.”

 

I interrupt him when I count only six children.

 

“And then there’s the earth deity, the youngest and favorite child of the Great God and Ocasta. She’s the only one who He allows to be born of flesh, and so she returns to our tribe every few centuries.”

 

“What is her power?” I ask, wondering why he didn’t mention her at first. 

 

“She’s the goddess of magic and healing,” he answers, adjusting his long legs once again.  I breathe in a sharp gush of air.  She’s the goddess that I’ve been speaking with, the one who whispered her father’s name and beckoned me to the woods. My mind feels like a comet falling to earth from some faraway place in outer space.  When my mind settles, I notice that when Max spoke of her, his voice was soft with hints of infatuation. When he continues with the story, I’m even more reeled in!

 

“When the tribe saw his bride, they knew she was the magical healer because the air began to sing and Magic twinkled in and out of existence. But only the tribe could see it.”

Yes, Magic does make the wind sing, and turns mist into fingers that trail through rocks and in between the trees, too. My attention is like a string attached to the words passing between his lips.

 

“How could a child of the Great God be a slave? Why wouldn’t she use her power to free herself?”

 

“She didn’t know who she was yet.” His voice is matter-of-fact, and when he continues my heart races with wonder and images of what she must’ve looked like. “Back then Starman, our chief, was only seventeen years old. His father, Kyon Silver Rain, was the chief, and his mother, Nalyeha, was the high priestess. Purnell’s bride was initially named Sky, and when she met the high priestess Nalyeha, a great storm swept through the Valley and thunder quaked all that night. This was the first of the prophecies that would cause us to know Sky was a child of the Great God. The other prophecies the scribes wrote were that she’d make the wind sing and the veil between this world and the next would become thinner.  They hoped she'd be the harbinger of the Great Harvest…but it wasn't to be.  Not then at least.”

 

The Great Harvest.  Something about those words lights up my insides like a sun going supernova. “What were the other prophecies to come?” I ask, his words causing my heart to race. . 

“The other prophecies were that her arrival would bring pain, and from that pain, the power of miracles.  The later prophecies were that when she returned again, a new era would be born.  And then the Great Harvest will unfold.”

 

I breathe in air and it rumbles like a thunderstorm inside my chest! Those words again –they engender a deep meaning and connections to far away realms and ancient prophecies. Somehow I know this. I just don't know how or why, and just when I'm about to ask I see a vision of our world bathed in a golden sunlight far different from anything I’ve ever seen. It’s richer, and knowledge and ideas dance on the proton particles and are available to anyone who simply desires to communion.  But what I’m struck by the most is that we did it. Mankind not only managed not to destroy himself or the planet, but we all walk the peaceful path of purpose. Art and creativity thrives, inventions unfold at amazing rates,  nature is treasured and relished, people get along, and….the rest is shrouded in fog, but it’s beautiful, whatever it is. I expect the goddess to do something spectacular, but fortunately, she just hovers quietly, probably intrigued by hearing the story of her life spoken through the words of another.

 

“The high priestess and Chief Silver Rain allowed Purnell to take to the waters.” Max continues snapping me back into the present. I feel disoriented and part of me wants to return to the reverie.  It’s filled with life, juicy, pulsating, wondrous life. “He slept for days afterward as the healing traveled deep into his body. Sky ran away on the second night, and no one knew where she’d gone. But when Purnell woke up on the fourth day and discovered her missing, he accused the chief and warned that he’d return with others if she wasn’t found.  He threatened to kill the entire tribe, but the chief still  refused to help him. Purnell left our land that night, healed, but without Sky, his bride with raven hair and blue eyes. The chief that we celebrate to this day was the one who discovered her hiding inside the woods many weeks later. She was malnourished and weak and the tribe took her in and nursed her back to health. She became one of us and  after she married Starman, she changed her name to Watseka. A year later Purnell returned to the land with a band of armed men just as he promised. A fight broke out and many Cheveyan were shot and killed or badly injured. The fighting was bloody.  We had knives and arrows, and they had guns and bullets.  Things were going badly for us, and then her magic came out–like a storm made of fire and wind … Purnell and his men were all killed in her inferno of anguish.  But the wounded were healed by her fire, and it restored them and even left them with abilities they hadn’t had before. She truly was the one, and from that moment on, Watseka was revered and beloved by our tribe. And even more so because she was a deity– a goddess– the actual daughter of the Great God.”

 

I listen speechless and overwhelmed that I know her, I know the spirit of magic and every hair on my arms and neck tingle with life. “The tribe has the blood of a goddess running through your veins?”  I sound dreamy, but not as dreamy as I actually feel. 

 

“Yes, blood from the higher realms.”

 

Of course, I think. And that’s why their skin looks like sunlight runs through their veins! “And African blood too,” I muse.

 

“We can thank Watseka for the blue in our eyes … But the chief took in many displaced people. Some were Indians whose lands were taken, some were African, and some European. It was his way, and he said that mixing the blood strengthens the healing powers of our land because the planet rejoices in our unity.”

 

I feel a rush of curiosity sweeping through me, plummeting down my arms and making my fingers tingle with excitement. “You never said what I had in common with Sky.”  I remind him not believing it could really be so.

 

He gives me a crooked smile and my already overworked antennae wriggles drunkenly. “Oh, well, both of you have an African and European heritage and belonged to someone who didn’t love you but wouldn’t set you free.” His teeth gleam bright in the dark. “And both of you were brave enough to free yourselves.”

 

 

                                                    CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

 

 

The plan is for the team to practice the morning of the game and for me to do a pre-interview with Max, Vixbi and Leo, then a post-interview with Max and the second lead scorer. That’s the strategy, but all I can think of is interviewing Max and I wonder if the connection we forged on the ride here still remains. 

 

I wake up early and mosey toward the window where the overcast sky spreads across the landscape. I can see the yellow grass on the soft hills shivering from the strong wind. I spy a caddie corner of John Adams High which looks to be a good ten-minute hike down the winding road.  Yawning loudly I saunter over to the video consul to order a cup of hot chocolate from the automated server.  Right before the server blinks out of existence I spin around and add a soft buttery raisin bagel to the order..

                                                                                ~

 

My lashes flutter in the wind until my eyes feel so dry, they hurt.  Except for a single car, the road is empty.  The car isn’t just antique– it’s ancient, and I imagine there aren’t many of those around anymore, and for good reason.  Its dull finish and dings are a rare sight on the roads and highways of zooming bullets with their high gloss finishes and outer bodies made from the same materials that they use to build rockets.  The parking lot of the hotel had empty spaces, I remember, eyeing the tall grass on both sides of the road.  I suppose the owner of the jalopy is visiting a guest at the hotel because there’s nothing else in the vicinity except the High School.   The wind blows again finding the holes inside my crocheted scarf.  My thoughts about the lone car fade and are replaced by the rich, creamy hot chocolate and the delectable soft buttery bagel which was good enough to have for lunch and dinner.  Well, maybe not dinner.  The landscape slopes mildly, and now I can see that the ten-minute walk will be more like fifteen. Fortunately, between my scarf-covered face and my new olive-green parka I should be okay, which is more than I can say about the school’s American flag fluttering so wildly its tattered edges look as though they may rip to shreds at any moment.

 

My eyes narrow as I reach for my hood and pull it over my head.  The black fur around the edges of the hood spreads a delicious warmth from my ears to my cheeks almost instantly, and now it’s only my shivering knees vying for my attention. I should’ve worn boots instead of sneakers, I think regretfully as my eyes dart to the side when I hear the sharp sound of the car door slamming. It’s probably the owner of the beat up car leaving the hotel, I think eyeing the school. Coach Magee said the gymnasium door was on the side entrance, but now I wonder which side he meant. 

 

The chain-link fence in the distance enclosing a parking lot jars my memory, and now I recall the coach telling me to take the shortcut through the lot. A dull ache spreads across my chest when I don’t see Max waiting for me at the entrance as I imagined I would. The road dips a little more and the muscles in my thighs tighten as I manage the decline with haste. 

 

The hair on the edge of my warm ears wriggles when I hear a buzzing noise that reminds me of a field of katydids.  My brows draw close. There’s no way for the insects to have survived the cold, but something is chattering all around me.  It’s not until the sound begins to create an eerie electrical current that slips under my skin that I grow alarmed.  A surge of adrenaline skirts through every vein in my body as the pressure builds to a voltage that makes the hair on my arms and neck zing with electricity.  I twist my face to peer behind me and gulp down icy air as my nervous system immediately screams code red. A drifter is following me.   He’s not the one I saw in the woods—but still, this is definitely not good news.  He's tall and gangly, and my eyes drop to his black, unlaced army boots that gap wide at his calves as his unbuttoned coat spreads out like a cape.

 

“Why are they so fascinated with you?” his voice calls out.

 

I’ve turned back to face the school, and my eyes are glued on the gymnasium door.  

“Why?  Can you tell me that?” he asks, far enough for his voice to sound faint, but not far enough to stop a dry painful shriek from rising up my tight throat.  I’m walking as fast as I can without running because I’m pretty certain that would only engage his animal instinct and send him chasing after me.  I honestly don’t see how I survive this, I reckon as a prayer for help leaves my lips.

 

The goddess of magic flashes into existence the second the last word from my plea leaves my mouth.  She makes the air shimmer around me and then leaves a trail of floating twinkling dust motes all the way down the road and in the direction of the building.  My wristband vibrates with a text message.  I know this is her doing.  It’s from Max.  I give the command for my A.I wristband to read it out loud.  Max’s text asks me  where I am,  trembling, I answer, lifting the wristband to my lips:

 

Man in black, sunglasses, following me on the road to school.

Help!!!

 

I turn around. He’s still there. I cringe; his gait is odd, stiff, like he's a puppet and someone else is pulling the strings. This feels surreal and nightmarish, but I walk even faster; my feet barely making contact with the white concrete.  My hands smash hard against the parking lot gates, and they swing open then clang loudly as they bounce back and forth.  I hope the speed that I’ve seen Max reach playing basketball still works outside of the court, I think as my eyes stare unwaveringly at the gray-painted steel door.  I'm praying like mad that it’s open, or that Max somehow blurs invisible and appears right next to me like everything is fine, and oh, by the way,  he’ll demand to know why  I didn’t ask him to walk with me in his alpha-like manner.

“It’s only a question!” The distance makes his gruff voice sound tiny, but it still spikes the adrenalin inside my veins with ice.  “You must be the one. The one they’ve been waiting for … the mercenaries know about their prophecies …”  His voice rises mockingly.  “You’re overdue by a few hundred years.” He finishes, and his chuckles rumble softly in the air.

 

Great God of the Skies … I hear myself muttering. Help me! The goddess swoops around me again, she looks like wind and she heads toward the building.  A warm tingling sensation spreads over my entire body and when I finally reach the door;  I grip the freezing handle, pulling it fast and with as much power as I can manage. It opens so smoothly, it sends me stumbling, I recover quickly though, and rush through a blast of wafting heat pouring from the ceiling vents.  The warmth melts the icy sensation left over from the drifter's eyes and I waste no time hurrying down the insanely long hall. 

 

The lights blink off just as I snatch the scarf down from my face.  Panic consumes me for the longest second in my entire life—then the lights come on, but begin blinking on and off, like a strobe. I know it’s the goddess, though I’m not sure how blinking lights help. A second after I have the thought, my thighs and calves start filling with something more than blood, whatever it is, it increases my speed and I’m nearly flying!   My fear takes a hiatus as the freedom of gliding through the air blasts electrifying thrills all throughout my body.  I follow the goddess who’s so wondrously beautiful as she twinkles in and out of existence that it sends my exalted emotions to dangerously blissful levels.  I study hard, trying to make out her real form inside the mist.  I feel more than see that she’s breathlessly ethereal.  She’s like a translucent angel whizzing down through the air.   My eyes sweep left to right looking for a closet door, a stairwell—anything, but there’s nothing except a ridiculously long corridor! I finally see a rectangular object, a shade lighter than the walls we’ve been passing by.  I realize it’s a door and the goddess zaps it with light then urgently communicates inside my mind, that I enter. 

The blinking lights flash into darkness just as the man in black enters the gymnasium door. I leap into the room, darkness engulfing me.   My lungs are greedy for air but I still hear the goddess’s voice telling me that there was no way for the drifter to see me enter.  I look around, my heart lowering from my throat back into my chest as I taste calm for the first time in what seems a very long time .  My eyes adjust to the dimly lit room and the row of tiny windows near the ceiling offers light in the shape of shafts that slant as they fall to the cemented floor.  The room is filled to the brim with buckets piled high, mops, and cartons of cleaning supplies in heaps stand nearly as tall as me. In the darkest part of the room batches of huge boxes and chairs stacked to the ceiling sit against the wall. There are lots of places to hide, I think, unballing my fists and feeling a tight achiness radiant toward my fingers on its way out.  My gaze lands on a broken mop handle laying on the floor. Its end is splintered into a deadly point.  It glows for a moment and I remember the weapon hanging from the waist of the Cheveyan ride.  I pick it up, examining its deadly point and imagining, for the first time in my life, jamming it into someone's heart and ending the life of another living being. 

 

This will do, I say to myself, gazing around for the best place to hide. There are a lot of boxes I could climb inside, but I know that’s too obvious. I gauge two bunches of boxes stacked inside each other and standing higher than six feet. There’s a sliver of space between them and a stack of chairs against the wall. The tight corridor it provides is dark and hidden behind another stack of boxes that will give it cover.  I flex my fingers open and closed and warm blood flows into my hands.  I slide a finger across the face of my wristband, tapping on the location icon and sending Max a map that leads directly to where I am, then I silence notifications and head for cover. I pray it offers me enough time to stay alive for as long as it takes for Max to get here as I shimmy into the tight space. My gaze and the hand with the weapon face the door though I can’t see it. That’s good and bad; it means if he enters, he won’t be able to see me either which is the best scenario under the circumstances.

 

Minutes pass. It’s quiet except for the air shivering between my lips. I wish I’d pushed back my hood as the fur warms my ears and sweat trickles down my neck.  All I can do is stand there, as still as a statue, praying the drifter is looking for a stairwell thinking I went upstairs to where a teacher or janitor might be moonlighting on the weekend.

 

No such luck—a splash of light falls into the room. I hear boots thumping dully against the cement. I picture him looking around the room. “I saw you in the woods a few weeks ago …” His voice is sandpaper-rough, but how is he so sure I’m inside the room? 

 

He passes by the boxes that are hiding me and snatches open a closet door that’s on the far side of the room.  Judging from the exaggerated lunge of his body, his aim was to scare the bejeezus out of me.  But his macabre heart does nothing but make the air ice-cold. I think of Tatiana for a split second, the air turned ice cold then too, and I wonder if he was the drifter in the bushes.

 

“The leader called you a potential …” He chuckles. “We thought the blue-eyed, brown-skinned girl was the potential judging from all the attention she gets.”  He pauses. “They treat her like a princess. Looks like someone got the facts wrong, huh?” His speech is slow and lyrical. “Fucking waste of an asset,” he huffs in a deep baritone. “But she gave us you … So I guess that’s something… "

 

His words make the bile in my stomach taste like acid and my hand tightens around the stick as he closes in on the corner of the room where I’m hiding. The glacial air reaches me and cold mist slips from my warm mouth and trails toward the ceiling. I shut my eyes tight, sending out yet another prayer to the Great God of the Skies, as I try to hold my breath.  After ten seconds of starving my lungs they take revenge and release a gush of oxygen the size of a small cloud. I curse my luck and see his eyes lift as he spies the condensation.  He immediately turns to start walking in my direction. 

 

The sound of his boots grows louder and louder as he closes in. “I suppose you’re the one.”  He says as the surface of his glasses reflect the boxes hiding me.  They go flying to the floor and tumble across the room.  He's found me! I try to slide out of the tight space and use the weapon in my hand, but he flings the boxes shielding me to the side.  I’m exposed with nothing to protect me except the jagged weapon.  Staring into his dark glasses, I lift the pointed edge to his heart. 

 

He smiles when he notices the stick trembling and the cold emanating from him makes every muscle and bone inside my hand feel brittle and painful.  I take a deep breath and tell myself that I have no choice but to pierce his heart to stay alive. It’s me or him, I think, right before my head slams hard against the cement wall. Calloused fingers wrap around my throat and thrust me backward.  I can still breathe. For now. And I still have the weapon at my side and still in my grasp.  

 

“I won’t hurt you if you tell me the truth.” His voice is hushed and dangerous, and I don’t believe a word he’s just said. “Are … you … the … one?”

 

I frown. "The one?"  I repeat hoarsely. His words make no sense, but I refuse to ask him what he means. His hand tightens around my throat, and my hand tightens around the weapon. I imagine impaling him and blood splattering all over me.  I rotate my wrist, the weapon faces his thigh.  I can’t reach his heart any more, but I can jam it between his legs!

 

“Are you the harbinger of the fourth dimension?” he asks, his face is so close to mine I can smell the scent of cigarette smoke on his breath. He startles, twisting around when a massive flash of light fills the entire room. I’m sure it’s the goddess, but when it dims, I see a huge warrior, his bent knee straightening until his head nearly touches the ceiling.  The breadth of his shoulders is massive. Dressed in a breastplate made of bones and beads I see a bow and golden arrows inside the quiver on his back.  My wide eyes drop to the polished sword at his side, then at his body that shines like he’s part sun.  His eyes take in the drifter, they grow dark and the anger that ripples from him shakes the room. I shiver in awe and my cells quake as reason scatters like fallen leaves. Somehow, he feels my thoughts, and looks in my direction.  The softness in his gaze is so fierce they could melt glaciers.   His thoughts pierce my heart too deep for words or comprehension. I only know that I am utterly safe and that he won’t let any harm come to me.

 

The drifter’s grip around my neck releases, my knees give in, and I tumble hard to the floor. Brilliant lightning flashing inside the room blinding me so that the only senses that are working are my ears.  I hear strange sounds like flesh hitting walls with blunt force. Grunts of pain eke out, and a pitiful cry pierces the room. The warrior growls, and through my tears I see blasts of light even brighter than the brilliance illuminating the room as he streaks toward the drifter.  I manage to see the warrior lifting the drifter and tossing him like a rag doll clear across the other side of the room. Chairs topple onto the enemy as he slides to the floor into a heap of limp flesh. He shakes his head awake, his face is a palette of smeared red blood. One glass lens is gone and I watch a single confused gray eye darting fearfully around the room as he pushes the chairs from his shoulders. He climbs to his knees and crawling on all fours grapples to stand. Eventually, he scurries through the half-open door like prey running from a ruthless predator. The luminous warrior turns to me again, then whisks to my side, leaving licks of fire in his wake. My eyes grow round and my body tingles with electricity.

 

He crouches at my side. “I’m sorry I must take your memories, youngest one.” He reaches for me, his hand grasps the side of my head. “I will return them one day, as always. I promise.”

                                                      ~

 

“Julion?” A voice rings out–husky and thick with emotion.

 

I’m on the floor, confused about how I got there and looking around like a madwoman. The rooms in disarray, like a tornado passed through it and dislodged everything from buckets and mops to the boxes and chairs. I call out to Max, my voice hoarse and uncertain as I stumble to my feet.

 

“Julion!” He’s just a blur, at my side in a moment’s time and helping me on my wobbly feet.

“Thank you!” I cry, throwing my arms around him. “You saved me!” I say over and over.

“It’s going to be alright,” he whispers, resting his chin on the top of my head. “It’s going to be alright.” Only now do I see Vixbi, agitated with mercurial readiness, his eyes scanning the room. They look lethal and bright with the hopes of finding something, or someone, to inflict harm onto.

 

“Where is he?” Vixbi huffs, still eyeing the mess. I wonder why he’s asking me; I wonder where I am and why I was on the floor.

 

“You said the man in black was following you,” Max replies, his voice gentle as he looks me over. “There’s blood in the hall.”

 

“And in here too,” Vixbi says, walking around inspecting the place. His eyes find the weapon at my feet and picks it up. “Did you?” he asks, looking at me with an intensity that could bore a hole through my head. 

 

Max shakes his head, quieting Vixbi’s questioning. “I have to take you back to your room,” he mutters, his voice now edgy with rage. “Can you walk?” he looks over at  Vixbi, who’s eroding the cement floor with his pacing. When Vixbi notices Max watching him, his eyes are so dark it sends fire ripping through my veins.

 

“How did it know you were here?” Vixbi asks, his bravado filling the room with more tension than the walls can take. I expect to see fissures any minute now.

 

“I don’t recall anything after entering the building,” I say, easing out of Max’s arms to gather my thoughts. My eyes study the bloody stick in Vixbi’s hand. “But what do you mean, it?”

The two look at each other. “I meant him—he was the same kind you saw in the woods?” His brows are scrunched hard over his eyes.

 

I shake my head. “Yes … he was in all black … he was following me.”

 

Max looks as though he’s had it. “I need to get you back to the hotel,” he insists firmly, taking my arm as he turns to leave.

 

I pull out of his hold as determination tries to creep back inside me. “No, no …” My voice shakes, and air flitters up my chest. My body feels the same fluttering turbulence. “I have to do the interview.”

 

His face turns to stone. “What?” he snaps, his voice flat and angry.

 

“I have to talk to Coach Magee … we were supposed to talk.”

 

“I’m taking you to your room.” Max is stern, ignoring my comment and moving toward the door again. My hand snatches from his grip and my fingers clench in a tense fist.

 

“I can’t let this—get in the way.” I sound convincing even to my own ears, though I have no idea how I’ll pull it off. I’m a mess inside and I'm confused as my mind screams that there’s a gap of time lost inside it annals.

 

“This?” he asks incredulously. “You’re calling the enemy following you—‘this’?”

 

The word enemy stuns me silent and my hand snatches to my neck when the side of my hood brushes up against a sensitive area. “Maybe he’s some kind of crazy stalker. You should know!” I look at the two of them. “You saw him behind Tatiana’s car. I saw you run over to her!”

They give each other sheepish glances, and Vixbi looks close to telling me something. Max’s head tilts darkly and Vixbi’s parted lips seal back up.

 

“Even more reason to get you back to your room,” Max utters softly. “You need to rest, Julion. You need your strength for tonight and we need to find out who helped you.”

 

“She used this.” Vixbi says, shaking the bloody stick in his hand. “She defended herself!” he adds, nodding proudly.

 

Max shakes his head. “The blood on there is splattered from something else …”

 

My hand goes to my throat when I notice it feels sore again. Max inspects it too. I watch the concern in his eyes dial toward rage. “Who had their hands around your neck?!” His roar is hushed; it rushes through my body anyway. My nerves are washed in more anger than they can bear, and I tremble like I’m naked in the snow. 

 

“I told you!” I cry, beginning to go numb. “I don’t remember entering the building!”

 

“We can’t let this go, Max!” Vixbi thunders with blade-sharp eyes as he starts to shimmer like a sheet of gold. “The enemy is following her,” he says, like no matter what Max has said, he at least needs me to know this.

 

I don’t like the word enemy, and I certainly don't like it mentioned twice.  Vixbi’s words set Max into action; his eyes lower as he paces from the wall to my side and back again. His emotions rumble like a volcano.  Without warning, his fist slams into the concrete wall. It makes an awful dull sound, a scream rips from my throat, it guts my insides and nearly drops me to my knees.  I rush to him, managing to stay on my feet.  I reach for his hand, staring blankly at the wall, he lets me lift his limb and examine it.

 

His awareness returns when I look into his face.  The rage melts, but his brows pinch just when I feel odd movement beneath the skin of his knuckles.  I don’t look, I just want him see strength in my eyes. I’m strong enough to do the interviews- I tell myself. 

 

His eyes study our entwined hands, and when I finally inspect his injury, there are no bruises, swelling, or even red splotches on his skin.  My eyes dart back to the gray wall—there’s an orange-sized crater in it. “You don’t even have a scratch,” my voice is soft with awe.

“The crack was already there,” he assures me.

 

I nod, my attention moving to the life force flowing from me as the mad rushing begins to slow. His eyes close slowly, then squeeze tight and his head drops back heavily. Two dots on the side of my face tell me that Vixbi is watching the exchange. Max shudders, lifting his head and flexing his fingers slowly in and out.

                                                            ~

 

They convince me to rest, escorting me to my room with orders not to open the door for anyone. I fall asleep and dream of a realm where gods and goddesses reside in a castle in the sky.  The sword at Anayehi’s side moves with his body as though they were one.  He’s smiling and walking over to me as sit by the window.  I can see Earth and am fascinated by the place where a canyon separates two worlds.

 

Anayehi looks down at me; love radiates from his eyes, but I sense the worry hidden behind his affection.  I’m not concerned though, and my lips curve naughtily as my fingers reach toward the hilt of his sword — the one he’s asked me never to touch a thousand times. But not because he’s mean—he’s just overprotective.  He doesn’t scold me today, and I look up at him questioningly as he studies me with shiny dark eyes. 

 

His rough fingers lift my chin. “I would have killed him if I weren’t forbidden to interfere,” he says dryly.

 

My eyes shine. He dotes on me, and far too much. “But you did interfere,” I say, my sly smile, beaming like moonlight. “Yet I suspect our Great Father God will forgive you,” I add.

He grunts and raises his brows, “But not Mother, I fear.”

 

                                                 CHAPTER NINETEEN

 

 

I attend the game that night, and each game until the Cougars win the statewide championship. What happened in Lancaster forges a closer relationship between me and Vixbi.  He’s like the older brother I never had, and he breaks with Cheveyan tradition when he confides that the drifter that tried to harm me was neutralized.  When I ask him what that means, he gives me a look that tells me I’m pushing it.  I tell him my secrets too, like how ever since that night in the woods, I’d been seeing visions.   I describe how I saw the rider pouring something over the other drifter’s head and Vixbi tells me that the rider would have preferred to use his sword, but they are supposed to use holy water instead.  

 

“We’re only to use deadly force when we’re forced to,” Vixbi mumbles before he swears me to secrecy– twice.  Anyway, he assures me that I have nothing to worry about and can put the whole mess behind me.  Life seems to be free of danger and my thoughts return to how I live alone in two worlds, with no one in either of them that I can really, truly confide in.  I’m forced to pretend that everything is normal, which, on a scale of one to ten, is Herculean difficult.

 

                                                          ~

 

Soft snowflakes drift gently against the black sky, some gathering at the edge of the windowsill as I work on the article about the last game that clinched the statewide championship for the Cougars. The halls of the school are bursting with pride, the store windows in the town's square are decorated with victory signs and I even received a blurb from the mainstream media over my action-driven writing skills. Everyone is happy for once, but as I stare out of the newsroom’s window at the nonstop snow, I realize I’ll have to return home to finish the article. 

 

The hall is empty and all I hear is the screeching of my sneakers as I scramble down the bright marble steps. Every now and then I peer over the railing to gauge my progress.  I’m four flights away and fantasies of hot chocolate, a toasty kitchen, and Rob with a glass of scotch as he sits in front of a warm fireplace waiting to read the rough draft of my article, dancing behind my eyes. 

 

My ears perk as laughter several floors above me bounces against the marble walls.  My eyes lift, and land on Tatiana and two of her model friends trampling down the stairs, photographs in hand, and giggling with playful panic as though they hadn’t noticed the weather either. My mind veers back to getting home and the best routes to take in light of the weather conditions. 

 

“Hey!” one of the girls calls out. Her deep voice sounding formidable and definitely unfriendly. 

I don’t respond as I continue down the blaring white stairs.  

“Hey!” the girl bellows again.  Her voice lilts with indignance, and stomping feet patter faster my way.  My pace increases too. Forty more stairs—forty more and I’m clear of the girls.   Dragon isn’t far, just around the side of the school, I think, moments away from zipping through sloshy snow.

 

I slam through the school doors—finally, and skid unsteadily across the icy landing like a surfer. I miss toppling down the snow-covered steps by mere inches

 

I reach the ground and march through the calf-high snow.  Light pours out from behind me as the girls race through the doors. They shriek, and I know why as I envision them sliding across the landing and colliding into each other like stodgers as they all reach for the banister. I hear screams, then giggles. They haven’t tumbled and broken any bones. I swallow a dull disappointed ache and keep my eyes on Dragon as white quarter-sized flakes slowly fall thickly onto the seat and handlebars.

 

By the time I reach it, the parking lot is silent and all I notice is the darkness and the hem of white that surrounds it.  My breath releases easily, disturbing the black air as images of hot chocolate with a dab of whipped cream bring a warm smile to my red cheeks.  I steer Dragon in the direction of the new tire tracks along the road and ride inside the gully to make my journey easier.  School House Lane looks like a wonderland filled with black branches that resemble hands adorned in elegant white gloves. 

 

I hear the crunching of snow behind me as a driver’s headlights engulf me and illuminate the road ahead.  There's a wicked abyss to the side of the road that I never noticed before as I zipped to and from school every day. It’s black and scary, like a fault line created after an earthquake split the ground in two. I huff when the car’s light grows closer and my hands tighten around the handlebars as I turn my head and squint back at the driver.  All I can make out beyond the snowflakes falling in its glaring flood of light is the car’s rounded hood.  It makes me think of Tatiana who's the only person in the Valley that doesn’t prefer the luxury of a vintage sports car.  The thought that she and the other girls didn’t leave the school grounds and were waiting for me makes my heart seize and send a jolt of icy electricity rushing down every nerve inside my body.

 

School Lane House is a narrow road and only more so because of the snow.  Which means if Tatiana wants to pass me, one of us has to veer toward the dark gorge, and I suppose that someone has to be me.  I edge Dragon closer to the side then sneak a quick peek at razor-sharp rocks that stick out from the walls and belly of the ravine like the tips of swords.  The air I swallow feels like a lump of ice that hurts as my windpipe sucks it down even further.  No one could survive a drop that far, I think.  And if the distance didn’t kill them, the impaling rocks would.

 

I glance to the side several times expecting her to pass, but she doesn’t.  She lays her palm on the horn instead, jarring the bejeezus out of me as my thoughts crumble like ruins and my concentration is reduced to shards of shattered glass.  My ribs close in on my strangled lungs and my steering worsens as the wheels zigzag and skid ever closer to the gorge. I try my best to focus on riding straight, but Tatiana’s horn is deafening more than just my ears. Maybe she just wants to scare the crap out of me, so I take the bike as close to the side of the road as I can.  If this is what she wants, I’ll give it to her and they can all laugh about how frightened I am as they zoom by in their safe, vintage car. 

 

A cry escapes from my throat when she doesn’t pass me on the road and my eyes dart toward the plunging ravine again.  I don’t want to admit it, but I’m realizing now that it’s not fear they want from me, but my very life.  The thought makes my achy, fatigued fingers grip the handlebar even tighter.  I can hear the engine of her car and feel snow smattering against my legs as she finally pulls up beside me. I expect her to roll down the window and yell some kind of profanity my way; instead, she turns the wheel of her car and forces me over even more. 

The sound of motorcycle engines rip the air to shreds and my eyes hesitantly leave the side of the road and look ahead of me.  Three riders are heading in our direction and a ray of hope injects me with life.  But when the snow falling onto my face begins to freeze into a mask and the air grows arctic I know that can only mean one thing. The motorcyclists are drifters. There's no way around this— I’m doomed.

 

A voice inside of me screams to speed up.  It’s not the goddess this time,  it’s that part of me that grew up in the streets and knows how to fight.  But this time, it’s willing me to fight to the death.   It’ll be a spectacular head-on collision that will kill us all, I think with crazed enthusiasm. Even Tatiana and her crew of the devil's concubines will go to their grave.

My tires spin fast, the snow spattering onto my kecks freezes into a cast.  My body is slowly becoming immobilized under a sheet of ice. I can barely steer, but all I need is to keep the bike straight, go as fast as I can, and never squeeze the brake clutch.  That’s all.  Unfortunately, the snow beneath my tire wheels has other plans and Dragon’s rear tires start to slide. I’m almost riding sideways as the tires scrape against the edge of the ravine.  The smell of burning rubber polluting the air won't stop me from completing the mission though.  I’m moments away from the drifters who I know are expecting me to choose the gorge over them!  They’re so wrong.  It’s only Dragon that doesn’t agree as the back tire drops over the edge. Everything slows down as I feel every inch of my fall into the shadows. 

 

The bike plummets to the bottom of the gorge, instinct kicks in and I reach for anything to grab onto.  Rocks tear through the left side of my body, shredding the material of my kecks and ripping through my coat—and my skin.  My hand grips a sharp rock, my fingers slide from the weight of my body.  I see light.  It’s just like all those people who’ve had near-death experiences say!  It engulfs me with warmth and love.  I’m dead. This time, I don’t make it; the fall was too impossible to survive.