CHAPTER 20

SAUM’S STORY

I bolted upright in bed, my breath ragged as dream fragments I couldn’t hold on to crumbled fast. I grabbed my journal, the pen inside the pages rolling into my palm like magic. But upon opening the book, I saw fresh pages which had been written while I slept.

 

     My eyes breezed over the handwriting as though the situation would be less shocking if only it wasn’t mine. It was-- but there was more—I’d written the essay for the writing contest, and it contained things about Saum that I couldn’t possibly have known.

 

      Leaping from my bed, my fingertips white, I gripped the journal to re-read a passage:

 

     Saum was a proficient swordsman who became one with his sword in a single, deadly dance that left his rivals astonished. He trained until the night cast a sheen of sweat on his face that matched the color of his sword. Afterward, he’d sit alone with a warrior’s focus in his eyes, listening to the stone whisper along its edges.

 

        There were no words to explain how I’d written what was on the page, and my life had become such that I had no interest in even trying. But with the dream that inspired the words, so close, I shut my eyes hoping I’d see his face. All I saw was the joy shining inside his dark eyes when he fought. I rubbed my nose, sniffing as I returned to what I’d written:

 

I did not know you, but you impacted my life as though I did. I may have passed you in the halls, ignorant of how you would later awaken me with the brightness of your spirit. But now you will live inside me forever. Saum the courageous. Saum the warrior, the sword of flesh that will shine for eternity. We lost you too soon, yet your life will teach us to never give up on ourselves, to never let the darkness win, to persevere through the fight, through the fear and through the darkest of nights…’

 

      I didn’t change a word even though it read more like a poem than an essay. I knew the kotes would chalk it up to my imagination and taking creative liberties. But I had no idea how the Cheveyan students and community would react. Later that day, after I put the essay in the bin on the administrator's desk and entered the hall, as a rush of air pushed through my lips.

 

      The boost of confidence that my hobby of writing screenplays with Echo had given me, tanked after three days of not hearing a word about my submission. I put it out of my mind, though when the edition of Herald came out, I had every intention of reading the winning pieces.

I barely noticed the girl with brown skin and shoulder-length black hair as the doors of the physics class softly shut. I looked up from the notebook to give my eyes a rest and watched the girl whispering in the teacher’s ear and then the two of them scanning the rows of students. Their eyes stopped on me and my spine straightened in the seat.

 

     Ms. Standback beckoned me with a wagging finger and a voice reminiscent of the Wicked Witch of the West, ordered me to accompany the student.

 

     Neither said where I was going to, but they didn’t need to. Things like this happened all the time at my old school, and now that my mother had a car, she either had a flat tire or had forgotten to pick up an ingredient needed for tonight’s dinner.

 

     I trailed my escort down the hall, wondering why the text from my mother hadn’t gone off yet. A few moments later, I stopped checking and took in my escorts’ stylish outfits—dark kecks, a crisp white shirt, and loafers that echoed against the marble tiles. She was too young to be a student teacher, but she had the air of one. When we reached the stairwell, she turned with a youthful grin and mischievous eyes.

 

     “Mr. Peterson read your essay and is waiting for you in the newsroom.” Her smile spread wider. “He likes it!” she added, thinking my shock was about the essay and not my mother or that there was a place inside the school called the newsroom.

   

      I had forgotten most of what I’d written, but noticed she didn’t give off an air that I was facing a critique that would land my head on a platter. But I felt jittery even still.

~

     “What do ya think?” Mr. Peterson asked, tilting his dark curls that caught the sunlight streaming in from the window. He had a big smile that instantly put me at ease and melted away the apprehension.

 

     “I’m happy you liked it,” I said, confused by his expression that suggested he’d won the lottery.

 

     “You’re gifted.” His smile sobered and he shook his head.  “Far too wise for your young years… Perfect.” His brows furrowed with thoughts. “Perfect!”

 

     Mr. Peterson’s demeanor exuded warmth, and when he smiled, a kindness shone through.

 

      “So… Are you saying I won the contest?” I asked, still not sure of what all of this meant.

 

     “Yes.” His reply was filled with emotion. “My word, yes.”

 

     “But it’s not an essay, not really.” I fretted.

 

     “No, it’s not. It’s much more than that. It spoke to the soul of Saum.”

Speaking of Saum’s soul, I felt like Mr. Peterson could see into mine. I bit my lip, anxious about his assessment. He spun around, his gaze flitting about the room as he rubbed his hands together. “We shall publish it as-is for Monday’s edition.” He said walking away from me and toward an old black bookcase. It spanned the entire wall, and he reached up on his toes to browse the top shelf.

 

     “Monday’s edition?” I mumbled beneath my breath. Neither he nor my escort heard my whisper, but suddenly the contest and what it meant to win, felt alarmingly real.

 

    “I’d like to assign a column for you. Our sports season is about to begin.” Mr. Peterson’s thick, stubby fingers pulled a large, dusty book from the stack. “Know anything about basketball?” He looked over his shoulder at me.

 

    “Yes.” I nodded, remembering Uncle Joey, my mother’s brother, visiting my father to watch the local games. Mr. Peterson mumbled “good,” replacing a book and selecting a different one.

 

    Rob could help me with some of the rules I’d forgotten, I thought, watching Mr. Peterson with growing interest. One of his hems had lost its stitching and hung over the side of his dark shoes, and his shirt was as wrinkled as an elephant’s hide, He reminded me of an absent-minded professor, but his bright, alert eyes and the extensive library hinted at a scholarly mind.

 

     I glanced toward the girl who escorted me, next. She hadn’t moved an inch since entering the room and her eyes were trained on me with a kind, wide-eyed smile.

 

     Curiosity burned inside me as I wracked my brain trying to remember my essay. A few lines flickered through my brain —  Afterward, he’d sit alone with a warrior’s focus in his eyes, listening to the stone whisper along its edges...The words brought images to my mind that could’ve easily been written in a fantasy novel. Maybe that’s what Mr. Peterson and the girl thought too—but for them, living here had proved that reality and magic were interwoven.

 

      Questions danced in my escort's eyes and she beckoned me with a slight nod and a knowing look that held secrets I followed her toward the windows where a row of desks with old-fashioned computers sat. She perched on the edge of the desk where a black and white composition book sat, a pen neatly at its side and the computer screen displaying a superhero standing in a triumphant pose at the summit of a snow-covered mountain. I had a sneaky suspicion that was where she sat, though the cartoon contradicted her adult-like attire.

 

     She rolled the chair next to her, toward me, its wheels squeaking in the background of Mr. Peterson pleasant humming.

 

     “My name is Rhianna.” She said once I’d settled in, her eyes bright and sharp. “Did you know Saum? You just started Water House High, so you couldn’t have, right?”

 

      Boy, she didn’t waste any time, I thought, hearing myself answering her, and admitting the truth before I could come up with a clever ambiguous reply. I sounded nonplus, but that didn’t stop her mind from struggling to make sense of my response. “I never met him personally.” I added, hoping the implication would lead her to provide a satisfying conclusion.

   

       Her eyebrows rose and fell and her lips twisted as she debated whether to push me for more information. I held my breath, hoping she wouldn’t, and when she began talking about the Water House High’s newspaper, the Herald, I breathed out a satisfying sigh of relief.

Printed on actual paper like old newspapers and published every two weeks, the Herald highlighted the school’s athletic and scholarly achievements and the valley’s unique cultural identity.

 

      According to Rhianna, the entire valley loved reading it. “My column is called ‘All Things Valley,” she said, explaining the research required as well as the interviewing she often had to do. “Last week, I interviewed a few members of a group from Spain and Greece who are staying at the Coburgan Spa.”

 

     Her comment reminded me of the article I read when I researched the Valley, and my eyes light up. “I read about the Duke of Coburgan,” I began, more eager than I would’ve wished. “Do they really bring people back from the dead?” I asked, feeling silly the moment the words came out. But she leaned in and I braced myself for a good mystery. I knew in that instant we were going to be good friends, though no one could ever surpass what Echo and I had. Yet, having friends or even a single, close friend was generally viewed as important.

 

     “I’ve interviewed people after their spa visit, but they sign waivers of nondisclosure.” She began, then continued in a hushed voice. “But I have pictures of people arriving with walkers and leaving without them, and others who were thin and frail, but weeks later are robust and radiant.”

 

     My eyes swelled. “You have pictures?” I marveled, craving more.

 

     “It wasn’t that difficult after I discovered most guests usually arrive on a Thursday and leave two weeks later on Friday mornings.” She winked. “I thought you were Cheveyan.” She said leaning back in her chair and changing the subject. “Most of them have jet black hair and eyes, but the tribe took in free Africans and some of the investors of the Town Square married a few of the Cheveyan women. You remind me of the ones that look like they were made from gold.” She nodded her head once. “They have golden-brown hair and skin just like you.”

 

      I chuckled and shared that my Nana said I looked like I was made from a ray of sunshine when I was born.

 

     “I didn’t know Saum, but I knew of him.” Rhianna leaned toward me again and the cover of the death ceremony pamphlet flickered behind my eyes. “He was the captain of the football team.”

 

     “What did you know about him?” I asked, hoping to have some of my questions answered. I wondered if she believed he’d committed suicide, but I knew asking her would only make her wonder about me. She was too inquisitive to not think the question was suspicious.

 

     “He was driven and practiced hard.” Rhianna began, her voice still hushed as though Mr. Peterson had supernatural hearing. “The things he did on the field were unbelievable.” Her eyes lowered, and dark lashes splayed against her cheekbones. “He was so handsome and humble…” Her head slowly shook as though painful memories had surfaced, and my heart pricked when a sorrowful expression flashed across her face.

 

    “What kinds of things did he do on the field?” I asked, unable to resist. She twisted her lips with uncertainty, glancing over at Mr. Peterson, who was now sitting behind a cubical that hid him from our sight.

 

    “He was fast… like really fast and super strong.” Her eyes darted to the side where the row of windows let in the pale light from the cover cast day. I sensed the windows held some kind of significance, and another part of the essay I’d written quickly came and went.

 

     “A few times, I saw him in the back of the school doubled over in pain… All the Cheveyan boys play hard, some so hard, they get sick.” Rhianna examined her fingers as they twisted nervously. “But I think it was more than that.” She said, her chest rising and her lips trembling.

 

     “Don’t cry.” I said softly, noticing the tears gathering at the rim of her dark eyes. I reached out for her hand to squeeze it, and she sniffed back the tears.

 

     “I think whatever was wrong with him was going to stop him from getting into the pros.”

 

    “That’s horrible!” I cried, wishing more than ever that I’d met him. My nana always told me I was good at consoling people, and I’d come to realize it was true. But what she said next caused a fissure inside my heart.

 

    “Did you know he was discovered in the forest?”

    “No… How was he found?”

    “He was on Cheveyan land, so all we know is what the tribe told the principal. But the kotes rumor is that he jumped off a cliff.” Her voice was so soft, I had to strain to read her lips.

 

     “And the Cheveyan rumors?”

 

    She shrugged. “We’ll never know. They’re lives are locked in volts, but every now and then some of us see things.”

     “How did the kote rumor begin?”

    Her eyes went round and panned away from mine. I swallowed hard; I’d gone too far, I was sure of it, but when her mouth parted, a chill raced up my spine.

 

    “I was in the bathroom stall when I overheard a kote girl telling someone about it. Her friend was rock climbing when he heard the patrol whistle. She said he could see into a part of the territory and he used his AI to zoom in.” Her voice escalated. “He said Saum’s veins were black!” A hand flew to her mouth and horror turned her eyes glassy. “And his body… part of his body was burned to a crisp.”

 

     I sat back fast and my back slammed against the chair with a sharp thud. His wounds weren’t consistent with a fall and questions I knew I couldn’t ask raced through my mind. I bit my lip again, this time so hard it hurt. I told myself to breathe and to be patient. Now that I’d be writing a column for the Herald, I didn’t have to rush things. I could bide my time and gradually ask any question that helped me puzzle things together-which was quite a bit at the moment.

 

     “The Valley is ancient, not just old.” She sighed, toying with the silver bracelet around her wrist instead of her fingers this time. “The woods are on sacred land, and the Cheveyan aren’t just Indians; they’re shamans and magicians.” She rolled her eyes, but not at me. “The kotes say those things are just urban legend, but I know different. When I was a little girl, our dog, Duchess, got lose all of the time and headed straight for the forest. When I’d go searching for her sometimes I’d see leaves and bushes swaying all the way down the trail. Except, there was no one there making the leaves and bushes sway.”

 

     “What about the wind?”

 

     She shook her head. “No wind.”

 

    I thought about the forest and the amulet waiting somewhere for me to discover it.  And if there wasn’t any wind, Rhianna had seen wind chasers. The idea that beliefs from ages past were still valid and being proven true made my heart race in anticipation of seeing them for myself.

 

     Despite Rhianna’s loquacity, I enjoyed getting to know her. She had a raspy voice that was oddly relaxing, and her varied conversations kept me engaged. I didn’t think once about everyone in the Valley getting to read my peculiar essay on Monday, and some of what Rhianna told me, convinced me even more that Saum died trying to save Earth.

 

 

 

    The weekend had come and gone without any more visions of the warrior or Azeban wreaking havoc on anyone else’s life.

 

   When Monday arrived, I spent the morning busy with transferring into Mr. Peterson’s Research and Article Writing Course. The school’s counselor met with me to explain that I’d have to drop my Art History class, which I enjoyed, but not as much as the prospect of becoming friends with Rhianna and learning the craft of writing. The Herald wouldn’t be distributed until the afternoon and my mind was pleasantly engaged as I spent time with the counselor. She reminded me of my 7^th grade science teacher and we chatted with ease as we ambled down the sunny corridor.

 

      After the transfers had gone through, we spent the latter part of the morning going over the semester’s schedule for Mr. Peterson’s class. I began noticing the sensation gazes against my skin. They felt like cool dew-drops against my skin and it was difficult not to look up, but I never did. I was the new girl in school, but I looked forward to the novelty wearing off.

 

     Rhianna was waiting for me outside Ms. Carmichael’s Social Studies class when I filed into the hall with the rest of my classmates. Clutching a book to her chest, she shyly extended an invitation to have lunch with her. She was excited about me meeting Carlo, the other writer for the Herald. If he returned from his bout with Mono as expected, I’d meet him. The thought of having two friends was thrilling and I considered that Rob may have just been right when he said my personality would attract friends.

 

      I agreed to have lunch with her and Carlo, happy that I didn’t have to sit alone, even if watching Mr. Aziz and Ms. Carmichael’s clandestine meetings made me feel I had a secret the others would die to know.

 

 

 

CHAPTER 21

SOMETHINGS OFF

 

I listened to Rob fill my mother in on the office shenanigans, desperate to push the thoughts about the Herald’s release from my mind.

 

None of the students complimented me on winning the essay, not that I thought they would, but I was sure many of them had read it. The atmosphere inside the halls felt different, and by my 7^th period class, I felt like a goldfish inside a glass bowl.

 

“Did something happen in school today?” My mother asked, holding her glass of wine mid-air. “You seem preoccupied.”

 

She’d changed since she began preparing dinner, it was like she’d found her purpose or something. “I think I met my first friend.” I said with a small smile and not wanting to talk about the essay. “She’s lived here since she was 7 years old, and I’m learning a lot about the Valley.” I glanced in Rob’s direction. “Her father is an attorney for the tribe too.”

 

“Really, what’s her surname?” He wondered, but I told him I hadn’t thought to ask. “Humm, well, I just happened to speak with a Mrs. Jean Pierre today.” He began, moving on, or so I thought. “We were both shopping at Seneca’s bakery when she told me her daughter wrote for the Herald and that I should pick up today’s edition. Apparently, a new student wrote a winning essay.”

 

When his mask of nonchalance disappeared, his eyes twinkled to life. He moved the linen napkin to lift the Herald from the table.

 

 “And guess who wrote it?” he grinned, placing it back and breaking apart the fresh buttery bread. “I didn’t know—”

 

“You won an essay that made it into the school paper?” My mother interrupted before Rob could finish.

 

“It was about the kid that committed suicide...” I mumbled as my face grew warm. “The principal encouraged us to write about suicide prevention.”

 

Rob’s jaw bulged as he chewed the bread and his brows furrowed. “I read it.” He said taking a big sip of water. “It was great, but more like a poem than an essay.”

 

My mother smiled proudly.

 

“It seemed like you knew him, but he was Cheveyan…” He said, letting the words hang like an unspoken question.

 

I pretended I didn’t notice and feigned an anticipatory moan as I sliced into the chicken.

 

“Your friend’s mother asked me how you knew about his passion for fencing.”

 

I’m sure she did, I thought. She was a kote just like we were, and kotes didn’t know things about the tribe.

 

“I explained that you were just being imaginative, but where’d you learn about polishing swords?” He asked, staring at me.

 

I felt trapped as I played with my food and considered my response. The tension mounted as I flicked the rice grains from the sauteed asparagus. “No one taught me. I must have picked it up from reading about warriors and dragons.” I tilted my head and gave him a charming smile, hoping to throw him off my trail. “I’d heard he was an exceptional athlete and would’ve made it to the pros, though.”

 

"Cheveyans never leave," Rob stated, shaking his head with conviction. “And if they do, it’s because they’re marrying someone from another tribe.”

 

So, he did know things about the tribe? I thought, wondering how much more he knew and noticing the pride on my mother’s face.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

“The rumors about you are flying.” Rhianna said, snapping her fingers with a wave of her hand.

 

Whatever the rumors were, they couldn’t have been as dramatic as her gesture, I thought, shaking my head with a soft chuckle.

 

“While at the library, I overheard two Cheveyan girls whispering from behind the bookcase. One of them said you were from the Canadian tribe.”

 

“What?” I asked, somewhat shocked as I removed my lunch from my lunch bag.

 

“Are you?” She wondered.

 

“No,” I laughed. “I’m just a regular girl—born and raised in Philadelphia.”

 

Carlo’s desk was still unchanged since I saw it last it. Rhianna noticed me eyeing his computer and shared that she was going to have to take on additional responsibilities. I thought of Echo working at her family’s market and felt guilty for having little to no responsibilities at home.

Rhianna wasn’t worried though and confidence radiated from her as she systematically addressed each responsibility and what it would entail.

 

“The basketball season begins at the end of November.” She dipped a spoon into her creamy yogurt to stir the cherries inside it. “Don’t forget to brush up on the rules of the game.”

 

My head bobbed, I knew Mr. Peterson had assigned the sports column to me, but my thoughts were still on the rumors about me and the Canadian tribe. I wondered why the girl made my origins sound so certain, but her assumption provided me with an opportunity to warn someone about

Noric’s scheme without raising too many eyebrows.

 

“My parents moved here when I was in the third grade, so we’re not outlanders anymore,” Rhianna changed the subject out of the blue. “Of course, we’ll always be kotes even though my dad is the lead attorney trying to restore the land that was taken from the tribe.”

 

I asked about her father, wondering if he too worked in Center City and drove a Langdon bullet. She said yes to both before asking me about Rob.

 

“He works for the Silver Rain family.” I said, readjusting the layers of my sandwich to keep the chicken, tomato, and basil from sliding off to the side.

 

“That’s the chief’s surname.” Her voice was an octave higher and breathy. “There are a lot of Silver Rains are in town,” she informed me. “The ones with the dark hair and bronze skin are usually full-blooded Cheveyan, but anyone with Silver as a surname, is a descendant of Chief Starman Silver Rain.”

 

I nodded, interested in any details about the tribe that came my way.

 

“Some of them have unusual blue-green eyes.” She explained between sips of her bottled juice, adding that it was a characteristic of the Chief’s mate, Raseka. Discovering that the warrior in the visions was the celebrated Cheveyan chief and his partner was Raseka caused me to almost choke on my sandwich. It was jarring to hear Raseka's name spoken outside of the astral or dream world, I realized, remembering the carvings on the stone in the cave. “R-S” stood for Raseka and Starman. Das had a lot of explaining to do the next time we communicated.

 

“I bet you can’t wait for the fall solstice rowing event.” She said, jumping to another subject with a spike of excitement. “Everyone will be there.”

 

“Rowing?” My eyes lifted with curiosity. “I think I’ve overheard kids talking about it.”

 

“Everyone in the valley is talking about it.” She said, sounding eager to share all its details. “The event is centuries old; everyone attends, even reporters.” Rhianna’s storytelling was captivating, and her flitting from topic to topic made a smile rise to my lips that I tried to hide. I never liked to get bogged down in worry, but Rhianna’s quick wit and lively conversation kept me on my toes. “And guess who’s rowing?”

 

 “Who?” I asked, taking the obvious bait and feeling certain that we would become good friends.

 

She dreamily closed her lids, her hand clutching her shirt over her heart.

“Max and Vixbi.” She purred.

 

“Who are they?”

 

“Oh, my God,” She gasped and I couldn’t help but chuckle. “They play for the Cougars, our basketball team! Mr. Peterson didn’t tell you about the trilogy?”

 

“I’ve heard about the trilogy, but I thought they were a band.” It made sense now that I thought of the exchange: two cheerleaders passing by in the lunchroom, giggling with hushed voices. “So, they’re athletes…”

 

“Yes, super talented athletes, but it’s not just that. They’re the most handsome boys in the entire school.” Rhianna finished, a look of certainty in her eyes. “Are you going?”

 

“Going where?”

“The rowing event.”

How could I resist? I thought, hearing myself answering that I would, though I had no idea how I’d get there. “Where is it held?”

“Inside the forest, where the creek runs through the canyon.”

My heart sped up like it was on jet fuel. Inside the forest where the creek ran through the canyon? It was just the place I needed to go to find the amulet!

 

“Some families use the occasion to take their horses out, but I just got a glider.” She beamed. “Do you have one?”

 

I hesitated before telling her that I didn’t. My mind was on how there would be throngs of spectators that would make searching for the amulet impossible. My face lit up when she graciously offered to collect me and take me home after the celebration was over. I thanked her. Everything was in place- the universe was conspiring to work things out for me, and I had a way to get to the forest I’d been fantasizing about since I read the article about the Wissahickon Valley.

 

I looked forward to seeing the entire community, Cheveyan and kotes alike, and discovering who this trilogy was that made Rhianna blush like she was twelve again. 

 

Thoughts of the rowing event occupied my mind as I attended the few classes left before school let out. I’d only ever visited city parks, but my imagination, fueled by countless fantasy novels, painted vivid pictures of thick foliage and mysterious enchanted trails. The final bell rang, and I joined the crowd rushing down the long flight of steps that emptied into the parking lot. Anticipating the picturesque journey back, I searched the parking lot for Mr. Claude's black, luxury car. He was Rob’s father’s driver, but now that the senior Maguire was tired, Mr. Claude had extra time on his hands, and he took me to and from school every day.

 

Mr. Maguire’s driver was the grandfather type who always had a wise word of advice whenever life didn’t go as planned. He helped me cope with Saum’s death more than he probably knew and told me stories about Rob when he was a little boy. He described him as a carefree child who always had a smile on his face. Rob was different now, and his serious and ambitious personality made me curious about what caused the change, or if this was simply the inevitable fate of all adults, excluding my mother.

 

I spied Mr. Claude leaning against the side of the car and engaged in conversation with a young man who had long dark hair and a T-shirt that clung to him like a second skin. Mr. Claude was tall man, but next to the young man, he looked smaller and wiry. I studied the broad-shouldered stranger, noticing the attention he got from the other students as they crossed the parking lot.

 

He was stoic and composed and unfazed by the attention. While Mr. Claude animatedly described something that required hand gestures, the young man listened with just enough interest to appear polite, but there was something distant about him. He had a Cheveyan look about him, and his nod to several Cheveyan athletes seemed to confirm it.  

 

I hadn’t reached Mr. Claude when the young man abruptly turned around as if he sensed me. Dark eyes scanned me from head to toe as the weight of the backpack shifted from Mr. Claude lifting it from my shoulder with a welcoming smile.

 

“This is Tayen.” He added, placing the bag in the rear seat and then excusing himself to approach a faculty member who waved his way.

 

His departure left me feeling uncomfortable and confused, but Tayen’s greeting distracted me, and when he turned his back to the students and stepped toward me, all the thoughts I had were replaced with an unnerving chill.

 

Tayen closed the space between us with a cool, unreadable gaze. “I’m Saum’s brother.” He said, his eyes narrowing with subtle tension. I tried to feign nonchalance, but a trembling breath eked up my throat.

 

“I’m sorry about your loss.” I said, sounding as nervous as I felt.

 

Tayen’s gaze dropped, his brows furrowing as he thanked me. “I’m here on behalf of my parents. We read your—poem.” A glance away exposed the elegant curve of his high-bridged nose and the strong line of his chin, typical features of a Cheveyan. "My father asked me to thank you for not spreading the false rumor of his death."

 

A wave of emotion swept through me as my doubt about Saum's suicide was confirmed with certainty. “We know the students were asked to write about suicide prevention… Yet you didn’t.” The intensity inside his eyes increased, stealing words I had intended to say. “Many in our community read your poem, and I’d ask you how you knew about his love for fencing, or that when he trained, his sword was as much a part of him as his flesh. But I won’t.”

 

He looked down and then to the side. A vein throbbed in his temple as his jaws flexed. “His fighting prowess was a source of great pride for my parents, and your words captured that with such eloquence.”

 

The space between my eyes began pulsing before it opened and Das’s presence spread like a cocoon that encased us both. When Tayen exhaled, the space between my eyes absorbed his breath and fashioned it into cord that linked us together. The expression on Tayen’s face told me that he felt it too.

 

Before I could stop myself, a rush of panicked words poured from my mouth, each syllable sending tremors through me. “The enemy is going to target the young fighters during the battles.” I whispered, my eyes darting around at the Cheveyan students still watching us from afar.

 

Steel glinted inside Tayen’s eyes as his face turned to stone. “Are you sure?” he pressed, taking a step closer. The rage inside him felt like an aura surrounding me in its simmering fire.

 

“Yes,” a gush of air filled my lungs. “I’m—I’m 100% sure. And one more thing.” My voice quivered when I took a breath. “Noric will be using fighters captured from another world where there was a civil war… They’ll use the war to turn on each other.”

 

Tayen looked visibly stunned. “That would give us an even greater advantage.”

 

I nodded, hardly believing what I’d just done. “I can’t tell you how I know, but—”

 

“I understand.” He stopped me before I could get all the words out. “You don’t have to say anything, and no one will know this knowledge came from you.” His voice sounded gravelly, and a fierce potential for violence simmered in his eyes, poised to erupt.

 

I nodded again, but now with relief. “And please… tell your parents I’ll never forget Saum.”

 

The emotions that shimmered inside his eyes pricked my heart, and then he gripped my shoulders and pressed his forehead to mine. The cords connecting us tightened into golden threads. He’d branded me. I had no idea what that meant, but I felt it, and my flesh tingled where his fingers pressed into my skin.

 

Electricity thrummed inside my veins that turned my blood into licks of fire—It was Tayen’s blood I was feeling and my heartbeat scrambled to contain whatever was going on inside him.

 

He gave me one last look, his unreadable eyes delving deep into mine before he turned to leave. He moved with a fluid, animalistic gait, as if he frequently tested his physical boundaries. He reached his car in no time and was sliding his tall frame into the seat of the silver Porsche still oblivious or not caring about the eyes watching him. My legs felt unsteady as I watched him, my mind spinning as the quiet engine hummed off into the distance.

 

Once Tayen was gone, all eyes turned on me, and the cord between my brows, now armed with an awareness, heightened my senses. Whispers were as audible as nearby conversations, and the word “X-helo” echoed from one group of Cheveyan students to the next.

 

There was no doubt in their assumptions, only hushed disputes that divided the students into two camps. A group of predominantly male students believed one of my parents belonged to the X-helo sect, while the other group, primarily female, proudly declared I was an X-helo in training. As the murmurs continued, I learned X-helo’s were clandestine operatives who infiltrated the highest ranks of the government, corporations or any group, whether within the tribe or the outlands, that posed a threat to the tribe's survival. They collected intelligence and relayed it to higher-ups and the elite "High Command" branch.

 

The two camps agreed on one thing—my X-helo connection was why I lived outside the fold and why I would stay in the shadows and never acknowledge my ties to the tribe.

 

The last conclusion was a disappointing blow, and my lungs felt like two blocks of ice that were painful when I tried to breathe. The last thing I wanted was to be a stranger to them. Mr. Claude was returning. I looked at him, my thoughts, miles away.

 

 

 

CHAPTER 22

THE PAST RETURNS

 

“So, what’s this rowing event?” My mother asked as Rob drove us to Oenikka’s, the most popular restaurant in the Town Square. He’d had his first meeting with the Cheveyan Council earlier in the day and my mother made reservations hoping it would be a nice way to end the evening.

 

My mouth parted, but before I could get a word out, Rob answered, lowering the visor as the rays of the sunset pierced the windshield. “The celebration commemorates Chief Silver Rain and the duke, whose friendship founded the village.”

 

My mother turned in her seat, captivated.

 

The elegant décor of Oenikka’s was soothing, and the subtle aroma of the chef's rich and flavorful spices greeted us as we entered. Before us, a cluster of Cheveyan families waited for the hostess to escort them to the restaurant's private dining area. It was set aside for them but also allowed the tribe’s attorneys to conduct meetings in private.  

 

I watched the families with a keen eye, fascinated to observe the tribe from up close. One of the wives caught me staring and gave me a smile that was both comforting and mortifying.

 

When the owner’s daughter, the hostess, returned, she greeted us with a mixture of warmth and formality. Then the usual dance began: my mother showered her with compliments and Rob inquired about her father as we followed her to the window table. The soft lighting created a calming atmosphere which when my mother and I first moved, was a welcome reprieve from the newness and changes in our lives. It also gave me and my mother a chance to experience one of our favorite things—people watching.

 

The decorative lights around the barks and branches of the trees that lined the street shone beyond the window as I thought on things and Rob and my mother chatted in the background.

 

Rob brought up the rowing event again, this time insisting that we all attend as a family. “I thought we’d go shopping in Center City this weekend.” He added, topping his and my mother’s wine glasses with the deep colored Cabernet. “The Archambeau Boutique is having its grand opening.”

 

My mother squealed with delight, its construction started in the spring, and after we moved to the valley, we thought we’d never get to see it completed. “

 

Will you be coming?” He asked me. “Or do you and your new friend have plans?”

 

“No, we don’t have plans.” I answered, wondering if Center City would still feel magical after all that had happened since the move.

 

“Do you need anything? A new backpack or winter coat?” Rob asked. He always wondered if I had anything that needed replacing, as though clothes and material things had an expiration date of a few months before they needed to be given to charity. But the two of them had already showered me with gifts, and far more than I needed or could possibly use.

 

“A puppy,” I answered, the words escaping my lips without much thought. Rob stopped mid-sip of his wine, before he asked me to repeat what I’d said. “A dog,” I smiled as a nervous feeling settled in my stomach. “A

Yorkie.” I tilted my head in a proud display. My mother pursed her lips, because she knew my act; I had a knack for projecting confidence to hide my insecurities.

 

“I miss Princess.” She mentioned as Rob’s stunned silence continued to grow. With glassy eyes, she clutched her chest and released a dramatic sigh into the quiet air. “I didn’t expect you to want another dog after-”

 

“Mother!” I cut her off before she could tell Rob that my father was responsible for our Yorkie’s death, on the very night he’d nearly killed her. My father hadn’t meant to kill Princess—but that detail was irrelevant. He’d trampled over her tiny body with his big work boots while chasing my mother who was running for her life.

 

He could’ve saved Princess if he wanted to-- if beating my mother to a pulp hadn’t been more important than his puppy dying and his daughter crying hysterically. He didn’t hear her whimpering over my wails. Those things were related to being frail, and weakness wasn’t something he couldn’t comprehend. He just wasn’t built that way.

 

Princess died in my arms, but not before her body convulsed and soft whines turned to ragged breaths. If it hadn’t been for Mr. Monroe breaking down our door and calling the paramedics, I would’ve become an orphan. I spent a year in foster care while my mother recovered from her injuries, narrowly avoiding being adopted by a woman who treated me and the other children like unpaid servants. The only thing that saved me were my nighttime screaming fits which went against her quiet rules.

 

The foster mother, Ms. Harper, called social services and told them to find another placement on account of my nightmares. To her horror, rather than getting rid of me, she was made to attend "compassionate parenting" classes. My struggles with food began after she would send me to bed without dinner as punishment. After a while, eating didn’t matter, and when I’d wake up from a nightmare, I was too weak to scream. Ms. Harper never once asked us why we came into care, or said how bad she felt that we missed our families. She was a cold, unfeeling person who spent her days on the sofa talking on the phone. When she did speak to us, it was only to tell us what to do around the house and what to get at the store. Staying in her home until my mother was released from the hospital was the hardest thing I ever had to do.

 

Rob’s eyes revealed he knew the truth about all of that, and my face burned with shame. I wished I could disappear. I stared out the window to avoid looking at him, but all I saw were memories of Princess’ last moments, and my mother lying in a pool of blood.

 

“A Yorkie, huh?” The smile in his voice made me look at him. His eyes were warm and crinkled at the corners. “When’s the last time you got an A on a test?” He asked, defusing the tension—I always got A’s on my tests.

 

“Last Thursday, English Lit.”

 

His eyes narrowed in a thinly veiled display of disbelief. “Are you sure?”

I chuckled softly, the weight of the shame lifting and fading away as my mother reached under the table and grabbed my hand.

 

Conversation was lively as we drove home, and thoughts of my father and that night retreated back to their usual hiding place. When Rob pulled into the garage, something with a huge red bow caught my attention. When the two of them turned in their seats with smiles on their faces, I craned my neck to see through the windshield.

 

“I didn’t want you to have to rely on your friend, nice as she is, I’m sure.” Rob said, the doors of the bullet slowly opening like wings.

 

“No way!” I cried, staring with disbelief at my very own glider. I launched myself from the car the moment the door was wide enough to dash over to it. The purple Scorpion-class glider, with its enormous red bow, gleamed in the garage lights. “Holy Babylon!” I bellowed, fist pumping the air.

 

“I guess she likes it.” The sound of Rob’s unrestrained laughter rang in the background.

 

“I’m not sure.” My mother’s voice was sing-songy as she wiped a tear from her cheek. I gave them both a hug, Rob’s eyes becoming glassy and filling with emotions that washed over me.

 

“What are you going to name it?” My mother’s question sparked my curiosity and made me ponder. Naming it hadn’t crossed my mind before, but the idea was thrilling.

 

“A name?” I muttered, my mind ticking away as the image of Aramis sitting inside his convertible bullet, with the words “Fire Dragon” elegantly hand-painted on the back, came to mind. “Dragon.” I said, mesmerized by the dapples of light gleaming on its coat.

 

 

 

 

                                                                                   

CHAPTER  23

JULION’S NEWS REACHES THE HIGH PRIESTESS

 

The whispers of countless names followed Xanti wherever he lived. They were a testament to the immortal life given to him by Raseka’s healing. The god, Azeban took her life as payment for saving Xanti, punishing her for defying destiny and letting the warrior live.

 

Only the Nakolas’s and the many children Xanti had through the ages knew his true identity. His secret came at a significant cost, forcing him to weave a life of separation from loved ones in order to conceal his immortality. He now had family and tribal ties in North America and Canada.

 

Xanti returned to the valley six months ago when the chieftain, Tavi was ready to retire. He was Xanti’s grandson, but the tribe would think they were welcoming his Tavi’s nephew and deepening the already loyal ties with the Chatouk tribe of Canada. There were a few things that Xanti brought with him from his old life- his horse, Waya and the necklace Raseka had worn since their wedding day.

 

The wind was brittle as he rode through the forest, each stride of Waya's swift gallop biting at his face and tangling the steads mane. He had urgent news to present to his daughter, Oheo, but the guards, believing him to be the new chieftain, would make him wait for an audience with her.

 

He rushed into the Great Hall's foyer, his eyes darting around a corridor that hadn't changed at all in the thirty-plus years since he'd last seen it. His heart skipped when he happened to see Navi passing by at the end of hall. The corridor was filled with everyone heading to the dining hall, and several council members’ pleasant greetings were lost in his single-minded purpose to get Navi’s attention. 

 

Navi heard his name echo beneath the buzzing conversations, and when he saw the fire in Xanti’s eyes, it stopped him dead in his tracks.

“We rarely see you,” Navi said for the benefit of the council members noticing the exchange. But when he pulled Xanti aside, he urgently asked what was going on.

 

“It takes a lot to get reacquainted.” Xanti mumbled as the last of the council members passed them. What he said was true, getting to know the shopkeepers and farmers and teaching lessons to the new recruits took time, but his comment was for made solely to downplay his presence.

 

“What is it?” Navi whispered once there was no one around.

 

“Where is Oheo?” Xanti pressed.

 

Navi’s gaze swept over several healers strolling arm in arm, their soft giggles a stark contrast to the robust laughter carrying from a group of warriors further down the hall. “We were just together a second ago. She was looking for Blu, and on her way to Kaisha’s quarters. Can you brief me on the way?”

 

There was a lot on Xanti’s mind, and he’d meant to ask about Kaisha. Her close bout with death was a surprise to all who knew her. Azeban’s trickery was well known throughout the kingdom and even beyond. “You’ll find out soon enough…” He said, answering Navi’s question. “How is she recovering?”

 

“She’s improving nicely. Come and see for yourself.”

 

He’d be nothing but a stranger to Kaisha, he thought, following Navi. She was barely a year old when he left the tribe, but he’d never forgotten her. He even recalled Oheo's tales of the girl's development, and how she showed signs of being a Shavvi healer. He wasn’t surprised by the news. Kaisha’s eyes were as dark as they come, just like most Shavvi’s.

 

“She won’t remember me.” Xanti said as his heart lingered in the shadows filled with loved ones he’d left over the years.

 

“Let’s hope she doesn’t remember you.” Navi said, not knowing how he’d explain Xanti not having aged in three decades. He pushed the button of the lift and watched the numbers light up as it descended. “She’s sharp as a whip, but still weak, so maybe you’ll be lucky.”

 

Xanti let out a short, inarticulate grumble as they stepped inside, the polished gold walls shimmering softly as they ascended to the healer’s quarters, which were also on the floor where Oheo’s chambers were. Her suites consumed the entire south wing, as well as the exclusive apartment reserved for the Master Star Seed. Regardless of who she was, Oheo would guide her before she became the tribe's emissary and, eventually, High Priestess.

 

A guard stood in the heart of the landing, where the four halls converged. The lift and a broad, doubled stairwell were where he stood post, ensuring that no one disturbed the High Priestess without first going through him. However, when he saw Navi, accompanied by the new Chieftain, he simply nodded and allowed them to pass.

 

Xanti found Oheo sitting at the side of Kaisha’s bed, and Blu at her side staring at the sleeping healer. Her beauty was evident even with her eyes shut, and her expression placid, but it was good that she wasn’t awake. She needed her rest and he’d find out another day whether or not she remembered him.

 

Once the four of them were in the hall, Xanti relayed the news about Noric’s plans to target first-level fighters. “I can’t get it out of Tayen.” Xanti explained when he was pressed with how Tayen came by the information. “He said it was a matter of honor and wouldn’t say any more of the matter.”

 

Oheo’s mind raced. This was useful information, but her intuitive whispers were telling her there was more to this than the news. “What if it was the Master Star Seed who relayed the information?” She said, sharing her thoughts out loud.  

 

“It had to be an X-helo.” Xanti was sure of it, but Oheo glanced at Navi. X-helo’s were under his domain, and he’d know if one of them left their assignment.

 

“If an X-helo returned, they would’ve let us know.” Oheo added, stressing her point. “And they would have met with us by now.”

 

Xanti eyed his daughter. She was a stubborn child, and wouldn’t let go of an argument if she thought she was right. He held his tongue as he always did. Time hadn’t changed his lack of appetite for back-and-forth debates. Right now, they needed to agree on a plan, and if tweaking was required, then they’d tweak it. But they had to start somewhere. The news Tayen gave him was too important to get lost in the weeds.

 

“He was also told that the number of Noric’s troops would increase.” Xanti began, feeling everyone’s emotions fill with alarm. “But the world they conquered was in the midst of a civil war. He has it on good authority they will turn on each other and not the warriors.”

 

Navi’s brows raised. That information could only come from a few sources, and an X-helo was certainly one of them. Blu remained cool, observing facial expressions and having a few thoughts himself.

 

“Sounds like X-helo intelligence.” Xanti mumbled.

 

“She wouldn’t know about the prophecy and who she really was…” Oheo said defending her point. “The information was likely received through a vision.” She added, feeling 16 years-old again. Self-recrimination followed, it felt prickly and distasteful. His conclusion that the source X-helo intelligence stung with their steely, direct delivery, and the realization that she still needed her father’s approval rankled her.

 

When she felt like this in the past, they’d tell him that he should just reveal his true identity and take his rightful place as head of the Cheveyan dynasty. He always refused, claiming his immortality would come with the heavy mantle of being worshipped like a god, and after his experience with Azeban, that was the last thing he wanted.

 

Navi sighed and shook his head. “An X-helo wouldn’t make themselves known if their cover was compromised…”

 

Navi’s comment stung. Everyone except Blu disagreed with her.

 

“They’d return without saying a word to any of us until it was safe.” Navi finished.

 

Xanti's insistence on his point put Oheo’s teeth on edge. “Right, they wouldn’t risk exposing their cover.” He said, noticing Oheo’s flushed cheeks. “It’s the only reason why Tayen would defy me.” He added softly, hoping to take the edge off the building tension.

 

The High Priestess took a deep breath. Xanti's soothing voice was the gesture of reconciliation she needed. Perhaps he and Navi had a point, but she couldn’t shake the screaming intuition that there was more to this than what either man believed.

 

Her eyes flittered toward Blu, who’d become increasingly withdrawn over the last few weeks. It was Kaisha’s close call with death that occupied his thoughts., she could see it in his eyes. mused, meeting the gazes of the three men and drawing the authority inside her to the surface. “We’ll leave it for now.” There was an edge in her voice and each of the men inclined their heads. They knew that tone in her voice meant she was Queen Bee again, and if they rattled her hive, they’d get stung.

 

“If you don’t mind, I need to relay this to High Command and the generals.” Navi bowed again and rushed off, his boots clanking loudly before he vanished in a blur.

 

“I could contact the X-helos in the field and let you know who doesn’t respond.” Blu finally offered. He might’ve lost his telepathy, but he knew when Oheo’s emotions were hurt. “We could determine who spoke to Tayen.”

 

“Perhaps another time.” If Oheo inherited any traits from Xanti, it was the ability to let things go and move on. The one thing that bothered her at the moment was Blu hiding his thoughts behind a cloak. It wasn’t only forbidden to do so in her presence; it didn’t make sense, they were all family. Looking into his eyes reflected nothing, the window to his soul was closed. She’d let it go though; meetings were probably a sore reminder of his disability. “What you can organize is additional protection on our borders to prevent foot soldiers from being close enough to use their telepathy.”

 

Blu caught Xanti observing him before he acknowledged Oheo’s comment orders. All this talk about the war made him hungry for a brisk ride or a sparring match with the biggest warrior he could find.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 24

 THE BRAND OF THE AMULET

 

 My AI was on audio and a voice with a British accent warned about debris on the roads and detours. Today was the Fall Solstice Rowing event, but it had rained last night and not knowing how to navigate the road changes, I decided not to take the glider and instead, hitched a ride with Rob and my mother. I used the field behind the house to practice using the gears and making sharp turns. I didn’t view it as a waste of time, especially finding out that the motor could stall when temperatures dropped, or if it snowed.

 

My mother packed sweaters and bottles of water for us, and we got on our way, reaching the Town Square in record time on account of the empty streets. I saw two large red and yellow painted buses parked outside of Oneikka’s. We passed a line of people waiting to board them as we headed toward Shawnee Drive and then turned onto it. Shawnee was the only road that led to the private lands of the tribe and the bullet stopped, floating on the air at the entrance of the gatehouse.

 

An elderly Cheveyan man, his tall frame stooped with age, emerged from the small building. He used a device that beeped sharply several times after he aimed it at Rob’s license plate. The bollard silently lifted, and he waved us by, his eyes alert as we entered the territory. 

 

We passed groves of trees that lined both sides of the road, their fruit laden branches arched above and cast us in shadows sweet with the smell of berries. We passed through the canopy and the daylight returned along with a notable stillness. There was a noticeable sign that warned trespassers would answer to tribal authorities if they entered without approval on the side of the road.

 

After the gatehouse and the grove, Shawnee Drive transformed from a town of quaint shops to a winding country road of soft green hills.

 

Futuristic homes with dome-shaped roofs and wide windows that reminded me of enormous insect eyes dotted the hills. They were amply spaced, and more homes came into view as the road straightened for a bit. Flags with various symbols were displayed on every door. Most of them were white, but there were red ones too, clapping like thunder and their crimson hue radiating a sense of foreboding. I asked Rob what the red flags symbolized, my stomach stirring as goosebumps rose along my arms. When he didn’t respond, I looked over at him, and then my mother. They were frozen, my mother’s fingers hovering over a curl on her forehead and his eyelids in a permanent squint from the sun. The bullet still glided effortlessly down the road, even following the mild bend.

 

“I’m not sure,” he finally said when everything returned to normal. I didn’t respond, barely breathing. We passed a stretch of farmland where livestock grazed lazily and a flock of sheep galloped in the field. We were near the forest where the article I read said magic ran deep. Rhianna came to mind again, and I wondered if she’d arrived already.

 

Several riders emerged from the far side of the hill, their long dresses billowing as the breeze rustled their hair and sunlight glinted against the horses' muscles. As the landscape climbed, my back pressed into the seat, and I heard the faint crackling of electricity.

 

“Can you hear me? Julion? Julion, can you hear me?” It was Das and my heart leapt with quiet excitement. “You just opened the astral portal.” Her voice was rich with jubilance. “Can you hear me?”

 

“Yes.” I answered inside my mind, not fully understanding what everything she said, meant. “How?” I questioned.

 

“I want you to pay attention, because right now, your awareness is surrounded by multiple realms. I’m sending energy through the cord that connects us. Can you feel it?” I nodded as something protruded from the space just between my eyes. As it grew, it began to vibrate like a miniature motor.

 

“Good, this is the only portal you need to focus on. See if you can get hold of it with your mind, and send energy in my direction.”

 

I didn’t know how to send energy, but I closed my eyes anyway and tried. Startled, I saw a shimmering, golden cord extending from deep within my brain to a floating orb of light about ten feet away, its luminescence, captivating. The crackling sound from earlier continued as I imagined moving energy down the glowing surface. When it reached the orb, it expanded in a flash of brilliant radiance. I’d done it, I thought, an excited rush of air tumbling down my throat.

 

“Vee-rry good.” Das said, sounding impressed and pronouncing each word in staccato. “I can confirm that connection has been established. We can communicate outside of the dreamworld now.”

 

“Astonishing…” I whispered too low for my mother and Rob to hear.

 

“Time seemed to stand still a while ago. Was that just my imagination?”

 

“No, it happened when you opened the portal. It must be the magic in the air. The forest is ancient, the cliffs that surround it have been there for millions of years, untouched.”

 

Das’s words made our excursion to the trails and forest even more thrilling. “Did Tayen believe what I said about the warriors being targeted?”

 

“Yes, and he relayed the information. Warriors are being saved as we speak.”

 

Waves of relief and pride washed over me, bringing with them a deep sense of solace. “I did it,” I whispered, almost not believing it myself.

 

“Yes, we knew you would.”

 

My lips curved with quiet satisfaction. “Now I need to find the amulet.” The air prickled with infinitesimal droplets made of colorful light—for the first time in my life, I actually felt magic. “Are you here to help me find the amulet?”

 

“I am here because you opened the portal. As for finding the amulet, you have everything you need to locate it. Just trust the process, Julion, and you’ll be fine.”

 

Rob’s voice sounded in the background as though he was worlds away. But when he uttered the name, Xanti Silver Rain, my ears perked. “His estate is up ahead.” He said, his husky voice dry and relaxed. “The chief’s three oldest sons never married outside the tribe, so Xanti is full-fledged.”

 

I had a feeling Rob wasn’t correct about Xanti’s heritage, certain he was a human-extraterrestrial hybrid. I asked Das about my suspicions as Rob continued and she confirmed my guess was correct.  

 

“His mother was from Cheveyo,” she said, sparking something inside me.

 

“The Valley feels different from the outlands.” I continued with my questions, intent on getting as many of them answered as possible. “Is that because the tribe is from Cheveyo?”

 

“Correct. The tribe is a hybrid of human and extraterrestrial origins. Their species feeds from the sun, it amplifies their vitality, increasing their senses, speed and strength. And because of their presence, the sun has altered the territory as well.”

 

My mind splintered, part of me wanting to ask how the sun changed their land and sparking questions about their extraterrestrial lineage. “So they’re related to the Langdon family?”

 

“The only Langdon that has an extraterrestrial lineage is Aramis.”

Fireworks exploded inside my chest. “Aramis is X-helo, isn’t he?” I asked, certain the articles I’d read about him taking down the corporations that polluted the planet were part of a larger plan for world peace.

 

“Very good Julion. The X-helo occasionally use him when their missions align, but no. Only tribal members can be X-helo.”

 

A breeze swept through the clearing, rustling the dark leaves as the grass shivered like water under a passing wake. The sound carried through me, not just around me. Every blade bent with intention. Every leaf chimed with a fragile, silvery tremor.

 

The earth tugged at the roots beneath us, a deep magnetic pull threading trees and plants into a single, breathing network. I felt it—an underground pulse, ancient and aware, whispering through soil and stone. The forest wasn’t just alive; it felt every footfall that passed through it.

 

Signals passed through the roots like quiet lightning, traveling far beyond the clearing, far beyond sight. The ground remembered every footstep. The trees held stories older than language.

 

The sound of tires over gravel cracked through the sensation like thunder, and the spell broke. The world returned, cars, voices and movement rushed back, but the echo of the forest lingered, humming just under my skin.

 

“Well, we’re here,” Rob’s voice, announcing our arrival, pulled me back to the present, though I was still merged with Das and the invisible life circulating through the clearing. The click of his seatbelt was unusually loud, and the musty scent of the woods filled my nostrils with a sudden, sharp intensity.

 

“Well Julion, you’re about to see what a forest looks like.” My mother said speaking for the first time since entering Cheveyan territory.

 

I managed a smile as our eyes met on the surface of the rearview mirror. A shudder ran through Das’s cord, making me look up just in time to see a man walking towards the bullet. He was mistakenly Cheveyan, tall, jet black hair pulled back into a loose band and his extraterrestrial DNA rippling like silent waves through the air. He held out his hand to halt the vehicles in front of us to wave Rob through.

 

“That’s Xanti.” The pleasantness in Rob’s voice hinted at his fondness and admiration for the man. I studied his masculine gait and his regal posture.

 

“He’s the one Tayen spoke to,” Das murmured.

 

“He knows who the warriors are?” I asked, heat igniting in my chest.

 

“He was a warrior… long ago,” Das replied—then an unmistakable oops slipped out.

 

“Long ago? He doesn’t look old enough to—”

 

I heard a sharp click as the portal slid shut. “Hello?” I whispered, but Das was gone.

 

Xanti’s presence drew me in like a current. His fingers gripped the window ledge as he leaned close, his wide shoulders blocking the sun that gleamed on bronze, corded arms.

 

“How’s it going?” I could see Rob’s big smile in the side-view mirror as he opened the ceiling compartment to retrieve his sunglasses. He slid them to the top of his hair, his auburn curls, damp with humidity, clung to his forehead.

 

“Busy as ever, “Xanti’s voice resonated inside my chest and something told me that if I touched him, my fingers would pass through him like water. “The cars started arriving at five a.m. I meant to get back to you regarding Fairmont Park’s security proposal. Thanks for squashing that.”

 

Rob chuckled. “When they asked me if you’d like them along the hiking trails I had to force myself not to laugh. They begged me to run it by you,” he shook his head. “What part of not wanting to repeat history don’t they understand?”

 

“The human need for conquest,” Xanti smiled. “They’ll never stop trying.”

 

“Yeah, you’re probably right. But you can count on me.”

 

“I know. Before my uncle stepped down, he told me I could trust your father. Looks like we’re both taking over for the great men in our families.” Xanti’s eyes were raven, and his ebony hair shone like the surface of a river beneath the night sky. He was a mature man, but that didn’t diminish the feeling of familiarity. Something drew me to his hands as the symbol of the amulet played behind my eyes. Somehow, the two were connected, I just couldn’t imagine how.

 

I called for Das. The cord between my eyes quivered—then stilled.

A breeze carried Xanti’s scent into the bullet, ocean air threaded with honeysuckle. As my eyes closed, his heartbeat surged through me—so powerful it swept my mind into darkness and stars. For seconds, I saw portals and endless realms. I slammed back into myself, my breath catching.

“You had an early start,” Rob laughed. “Better you than me.”

“I’m used to it.” Xanti’s gaze shifted.

 

A young man, was directing cars. He was a youthful version of Xanti with muscles carved like stone and a smile too easy for the danger in his eyes.

Xanti looked his way, raising his hand to alert him to a truck overloaded with youths.

 

That’s when I saw it—the symbol of the amulet, branded on the surface of his palm. It looked like ink, but it vibrated with life. Power slammed into me, my head going light as blood rushed through my body.

 

Without warning Xanti’s gaze panned away from the younger man and followed an invisible line—straight to me.

 

Our eyes locked and scattered my thoughts.

 

Shock flashed across his face—gone in a blink, but it cut deep. His stare pressed into me, invasive and cold. I felt him inside my thoughts, precise and surgical—until light flared behind my eyes and a barrier slammed into place.

 

His brows pinched. Confused. Das blocked him from knowing my thoughts.

 

“Excuse my manners,” Rob said, breaking the moment. “This is my fiancée, Monica, and her daughter, Julion.”

 

Xanti nodded politely, as if nothing extraordinary had happened. “The pleasure is all mine,” he whispered. The words crushed me anyway.

 

“Let’s catch up soon,” Rob said. “I have updates.”

 

“Lunch at the Bear Claw instead of my office,” Xanti agreed, glancing toward a rowdy 4x4. “Less stuffy.”

 

“Perfect.”

 

He saluted Rob and tapped the roof. “Alright, folks.” His eyes found mine again, giving me one last soul-shattering gaze that seared itself into my being.

 

                                                   CHAPTER 25
                                           MAGIC FINDS JULION

 

Rob steered the bullet into the parking area, separated from the woods by a metal railing. As soon as the doors opened, I ran into the open air, the delicate scent of blooms and woodsy moss washing over me. The woods called me like a siren and my heart pounded at the thought of entering a new world. A thin, dusty trail, barely visible in the dappled shade, snaked between the trunks of mature trees. I glanced back at my mother and Rob still gathering their things before shoving aside the overgrowth. Thin branches left tiny cuts on my fingers that tingled as I walked down the widening path. I passed through an invisible membrane of magic that left a cool sheen on my skin and a lingering chill. I stopped, stunned, as colors intensified and the sounds of scurrying animals filled my ears.

Columns of light filtered through the canopy, shimmering like emerald stained glass and ringing like chimes. The verdant kingdom was sentient, the eyes of nature watching me as I looked back, the hues of differently shaped green leaves too many to count. The air was thick with secrets as I replayed my own—the clues recorded in my A.I. The amulet was in a cave near a cliff overlooking the water… behind it, the lion’s head… further away, the misty grove and hidden glade. I repeated the words like a mantra. Two small boys, a whirlwind of energy and laughter, nearly knocked me over as their distracted parents lagged.

I turned when I heard my mother’s voice and the boy’s father mumbled an apology.

“It’s made of schist,” Rob said, gesturing to the rock face. I touched it, running my fingers over the soft green moss and feeling the life inside it whisper.

“You may need this.” My mother handed me my white sweater, and I tied it around my waist as Rob took the lead, looking like cool on steroids, sunglasses perched in his auburn hair. He reminded me of a stylish archaeologist, khaki kecks and trailblazer boots worn from previous visits. My mother and I looked like the kotes we were, dressed more for a luncheon date than hiking.
Kote or not, my mother was striking—dark eyes, perfect almond shape, bronze skin glowing as sunlight filtered through. It was obvious why Rob went to such lengths to win her heart. Echo’s face flickered through my thoughts. If we were making a movie, Rob would be the dashing archaeologist, my mother his charming assistant, and I would be the enchanted fairy wishing to be human. I smiled faintly, missing Echo even as I amused myself with the absurdity.

I trailed behind, my hair becoming a frightful sight as loose strands tickled my sweaty neck. The knot at my nape bobbed erratically before I yanked the band free and secured it higher. Moments later, perspiration rolled down my temples, fallen ringlets crawling like insects.

Maybe you should try a little magic on your hair, Das said quietly. It’s all around you.

“What is?” I wondered.

Magic. It’s powerful here. Try it. Command your hair to behave.

I chuckled but tried. “Behave,” I said sternly.
No, no. Words are alive. They enjoy pizzazz. Make them fall in love. I’ll teach you a spell.
Could this be the beginning of my magical education? I nodded eagerly.

“Beloved strands that tickle me so, I command that you behave and cease my woe.”

Very clever, I laughed. “Okay… Hair on my head, so heavy and curly, stay inside the band and stop being girly.”
I could feel Das shaking her head. I tried again. “Beautiful mane, with ringlets of golden brown, I command you not distract, so my mind remains sound.”

Nicely done—two spells in one! Das said. I whooped softly, making my mother glance back.

“It’s nothing,” I smiled. “Just admiring the splendor.”

Rob pointed toward a thicket where a rusted banister peeked through vines. A staircase of moss-covered rocks descended into the forest. Anticipation surged as he took my mother’s hand and disappeared into the undergrowth. I lagged behind, lost in the magic shifting the colors around me, the chorus of life humming on the currents. We took the stairs, shadow and light pouring through thinning leaves, and after a short meander, reached the hiking trail.
I’d made it.

Towering trees flanked the path, soaring toward blue sky, strength pulsing like sentinels. They guarded a new world winding around ancient rock and cliffs fading into fog. We stood there, breathing in pine and damp earth, until a gaggle of rowdy kids zoomed past. Rob sighed, unbothered.

A family parted as we stepped onto the path, my mother and I staring across an abyss separating us from rugged cliffs. We were within a canyon, inside the belly of the earth. She clasped her hands, smiling as wind lifted her curls. I leaned over the splintered railing. A beach and fast-flowing stream roared beneath the forest canopy.

“Where are you?” I whispered, stunned. I’d found the stream and cliffs from the clues—yet they stretched for miles in both directions.
Rob and my mother walked ahead, fingers intertwined. I remained transfixed, the cord to Das vibrating faintly as unfamiliar emotions skittered through me. The forest blazed with color, but now I sensed an interconnected web of magic thrumming with life. Hints of hidden knowledge whispered, fading before I could catch them.

 

 

CHAPTER 25

MAGIC FINDS JULION

 

Rob steered the bullet into the parking area, separated from the woods by a metal railing. As soon as the doors opened, I ran into the open air, the delicate scent of blooms and woodsy moss washing over me. The woods called me like a siren and my heart pounded at the thought of entering a new world. A thin, dusty trail, barely visible in the dappled shade, snaked between the trunks of mature trees. I glanced back at my mother and Rob still gathering their things before shoving aside the overgrowth. Thin branches left tiny cuts on my fingers that tingled as I walked down the widening path. I passed through an invisible membrane of magic that left a cool sheen on my skin and a lingering chill. I stopped, stunned, as colors intensified and the sounds of scurrying animals filled my ears.

Columns of light filtered through the canopy, shimmering like emerald stained glass and ringing like chimes. The verdant kingdom was sentient, the eyes of nature watching me as I looked back, the hues of differently shaped green leaves too many to count. The air was thick with secrets as I replayed my own—the clues recorded in my A.I. The amulet was in a cave near a cliff overlooking the water… behind it, the lion’s head… further away, the misty grove and hidden glade. I repeated the words like a mantra. Two small boys, a whirlwind of energy and laughter, nearly knocked me over as their distracted parents lagged.

I turned when I heard my mother’s voice and the boy’s father mumbled an apology.

“It’s made of schist,” Rob said, gesturing to the rock face. I touched it, running my fingers over the soft green moss and feeling the life inside it whisper.

“You may need this.” My mother handed me my white sweater, and I tied it around my waist as Rob took the lead, looking like cool on steroids, sunglasses perched in his auburn hair. He reminded me of a stylish archaeologist, khaki kecks and trailblazer boots worn from previous visits. My mother and I looked like the kotes we were, dressed more for a luncheon date than hiking.

Kote or not, my mother was striking—dark eyes, perfect almond shape, bronze skin glowing as sunlight filtered through. It was obvious why Rob went to such lengths to win her heart. Echo’s face flickered through my thoughts. If we were making a movie, Rob would be the dashing archaeologist, my mother his charming assistant, and I would be the enchanted fairy wishing to be human. I smiled faintly, missing Echo even as I amused myself with the absurdity.

 

I trailed behind, my hair becoming a frightful sight as loose strands tickled my sweaty neck. The knot at my nape bobbed erratically before I yanked the band free and secured it higher. Moments later, perspiration rolled down my temples, fallen ringlets crawling like insects.

Maybe you should try a little magic on your hair, Das said quietly. It’s all around you.

“What is?” I wondered.

Magic. It’s powerful here. Try it. Command your hair to behave.

I chuckled but tried. “Behave,” I said sternly.

No, no. Words are alive. They enjoy pizzazz. Make them fall in love. I’ll teach you a spell.

Could this be the beginning of my magical education? I nodded eagerly.

“Beloved strands that tickle me so, I command that you behave and cease my woe.”

Very clever, I laughed. “Okay… Hair on my head, so heavy and curly, stay inside the band and stop being girly.”

I could feel Das shaking her head. I tried again. “Beautiful mane, with ringlets of golden brown, I command you not distract, so my mind remains sound.”

Nicely done—two spells in one! Das said. I whooped softly, making my mother glance back.

“It’s nothing,” I smiled. “Just admiring the splendor.”

Rob pointed toward a thicket where a rusted banister peeked through vines. A staircase of moss-covered rocks descended into the forest. Anticipation surged as he took my mother’s hand and disappeared into the undergrowth. I lagged behind, lost in the magic shifting the colors around me, the chorus of life humming on the currents. We took the stairs, shadow and light pouring through thinning leaves, and after a short meander, reached the hiking trail.

I’d made it.

Towering trees flanked the path, soaring toward blue sky, strength pulsing like sentinels. They guarded a new world winding around ancient rock and cliffs fading into fog. We stood there, breathing in pine and damp earth, until a gaggle of rowdy kids zoomed past. Rob sighed, unbothered.

A family parted as we stepped onto the path, my mother and I staring across an abyss separating us from rugged cliffs. We were within a canyon, inside the belly of the earth. She clasped her hands, smiling as wind lifted her curls. I leaned over the splintered railing. A beach and fast-flowing stream roared beneath the forest canopy.

“Where are you?” I whispered, stunned. I’d found the stream and cliffs from the clues—yet they stretched for miles in both directions.

Rob and my mother walked ahead, fingers intertwined. I remained transfixed, the cord to Das vibrating faintly as unfamiliar emotions skittered through me. The forest blazed with color, but now I sensed an interconnected web of magic thrumming with life. Hints of hidden knowledge whispered, fading before I could catch them.

 

              CHAPTER 26

        SAVED BY THE TRILOGY

 

After saying goodbye to my mother and Rob, I headed down the winding trail of lively onlookers and rowing enthusiasts. I was on my way to find Rhianna, she’d just texted me with instructions, and I gazed down at the stretch of canyon wondering how I’d cross the impassable chasm to reach her on the other side of where I was now.

After fifteen minutes in, I noticed people vanishing into a cave. After passing one of the landmarks Rhianna had given me, I realized I needed to take the same route.

I paused at the shadowy entrance, inspecting the walls for cobwebs and the sound of flapping wings. The only thing I noticed was a drop in temperature and the hollow cackles of children’s laughter as they rushed ahead of the crowd.

My AI went off a few seconds later. It was Rhianna calling me again.

“They’re standing right next to me.” Her voice was both shrill and muffled, like her hand was covering her mouth. Deep voices of males talking over each other traveled through her device and aroused my curiosity. “Hurry before they leave,” she whispered before the connection cut off. My thighs burned as I hurried the rest of the way. The trail looked identical to the one I’d just left, and I looked around before scampering toward the wooden railing. My heartbeat shivered at the condition of the hill. The gouges left over from last night’s rain looked more like an earthquake had ripped open the earth and left exposed roots and soil that hadn’t seen daylight in a centuries.

I craned my neck as a breeze parted the branches and the beach below came into view, wider on this side of the stream. A hill of mature trees and rocky soil stood between me and Rhianna and the trilogy, the froth on the water twisting like a serpent through the canyon. I crouched to slip through the wooden rail, the woven edge of my sweater snagging as I squeezed past its narrow gaps.

A breeze cooled my sweaty brow as magic prickled along my skin. Another followed, and a white balcony peeked through the trees—the Coburgan Museum, the final landmark Rhianna had given me.

A case of the jitters hit as I took in the terrain. It wasn’t just uneven—it was jagged with rocks and thick roots. I sighed and stepped forward. The forest floor yielded softly beneath my sneakers. Bark snapped. Cold mud seeped through the soles, turning my socks brown. Laughter and the stream carried faintly below, rallying me. I quickened my pace, squishing slick leaves into the earth.

I grabbed a vine, ignoring its scratchy bite, and glanced up at clouds drifting between branches and shafts of gold painting the bark. This was the forest where the emissary and Xanti had traveled countless times. The wind whipped the sweater at my waist, and something inside my chest stirred—new, bright, alive

I went as far as the vine would give me, then caught the next one the breeze swung my way. Branches swayed and the rowers came into view—white kecks, blue shirts, broad shoulders, easy strength. Heat washed over my skin. I forced my focus back to the descent and bent my knees, angling my feet.

“Don’t forget to use the vines for leverage,” Das whispered.

I clenched my jaw. I had this. Then I saw it—a wide gash in the slope, an abrupt drop of four feet. Debris crumbled with every step. I tightened my grip and reached for the next tendril the wind offered.

Thorns bit into my fingers. Instinct jerked my hand back and my balance faltered. My knees buckled and I slammed into the damp incline. Twigs and leaves whipped my face as I clawed at the ground. Dirt jammed under my nails and the world blurred into green and brown as I slid faster.

A massive boulder loomed in line with my descent. Vines swung everywhere—none close enough. Spells, I cried, as my shirt peeled up my back. I spat nonsense, begging magic for mercy. Nothing answered. A scream tore from me. The amulet’s symbol flashed on the boulder rushing toward me. Too late. The begging stopped and the world froze in place.

I was closing my eyes when two streaks of light—incandescent and fast—skimmed the earth like shooting stars. A strong, warm hand yanked me back. My fall snapped to a jarring halt. Large hands hauled me upright, my breath ripping from my chest as the death meant for me was denied.

Unsteady and disoriented, I stared. Two strikingly tall youths stood before me, their beauty unreal. I blinked, expecting them to vanish, but the magic only deepened, turning their skin to molten gold and bronze. I knew it with certainty—they were Cheveyan.

“Heavens of Babylon!” The cry tore from me, tangled with questions—where did they come from, how did they find me, did I really see the amulet carved into the stone?

“Wind chasers,” I heard Das murmur as the spinning slowed.

The youth who steadied me had golden-brown eyes that held mine before he guided me to a trunk wedged between the trees.

“Sit down.” His voice was gravelly, his skin and eyes sparkling as though he’d swallowed sunlight.

I obeyed, sensing his raven-haired companion settle behind me like a wall. His gaze burned between my shoulder blades. When I turned too quickly, I caught the iridescent shimmer in his green-blue eyes before he looked away.

“Her hand,” the golden Cheveyan said.

I lifted my palm. Blood beaded along tiny scrapes, numb and tingling. The raven-haired one came over and knelt in front of me. Large hands lifted mine and brushed away soil. I braced for pain—but none came.

The golden youth leaned against a tree, watching. The air between them pulsed with unspoken words. Then something stirred deeper in the forest. A white mist slowly swirled toward us, silent and alive. I didn’t panic. I only watched as a golden orb bloomed inside it.

Filaments unfurled, spinning a translucent cocoon around us with veins that throbbed with light.

A single thread pierced my caretaker’s chest, slid through the golden youth, and then me. I gasped as our heartbeats echoed together. Magic twisted, weaving threads that bound us. Our AIs blinked in unison.

“Chi-zin…” the golden Cheveyan muttered.

Das’s barrier flared in my mind. I didn’t question it. I only sank into the peace.

My caretaker pressed his fingers along the bones of my wrist, traveling up my arm. He exhaled, relief crossing his face. He wiped dirt from my cheek. I was about to thank him when pressure swelled at the crown of my head—burning, splitting.

Cold air tore through me, then warmth poured in, pure life flooding my veins. It surged into my injured palm.

“Chi-zin…” he cursed as the welts on his arm vanished.

Shock flickered between us as the power raced from me into him. He stood abruptly, pacing, energy crackling through his stride until something in him calmed.

When he returned, he tore fabric from his shirt and wrapped my hand with careful precision.

The Town Square bell rang. The cocoon shuddered, unraveling into gold strands that fell to the forest floor. The bond between us strained as it thinned.

A wave swept through my heart. It felt hollow.

I studied him as he finished wrapping my hand. His hair so dark it sheened blue, as a line of sunlight ran down the sculpted ridge of his nose and etched across his chiseled cheekbones.

Strength thrummed beneath his skin, sunlight coursing through his veins. When he moved, it sent my emotions skidding into unknown territory.

“We should inform Xanti,” his friend said.

“Xanti?” I echoed.

“He can fetch a healer.”

My caretaker lifted me. I stumbled. His hands caught my waist, steady and warm. The life force surged again, fierce and fast, and when his hand slipped into mine, something inside me stilled.

We descended together. The invisible threads between us tightened and slackened with every step, alive, aching. I sensed their curiosity, their caution, the questions they wouldn’t ask.

By the time we reached the beach, we would be strangers again.

The knowledge settled deep inside me, heavy and even more hollow. For the first time since entering the forest, the magic didn’t feel wondrous. It felt lonely.