Gaia's Secret (18 page)

“But, Daria—” Cicero rolled away,
repositioning himself “—if you really—”
clank
“—want to
learn, watch me.”

I smiled as Alex darted across the space
between him and his dad. My whole life I’d known this
family—thought I’d known this family. It didn’t matter that I’d
seen them carry the weapons; it was astounding watching them use
them. Round and round they went, swords darting through the air.
Always controlled, always with such strength.

Captivated, I stepped closer. Alex was
smiling, but I could see his sharp focus. I could feel his raw
power, determination, and skill. Where did he learn that? He moved
with accuracy and grace, each movement fluid and precise. And then
we locked eyes.

It was all Cicero needed. In the split second
I had Alex’s attention, Cicero swung out his leg, uprooting Alex’s
stance. Alex fell on his back with a thud, his sword lying in the
underbrush behind him, and Cicero’s laughter was boisterous.

“I am the victor!” Cicero held his sword at
Alex’s throat with a smile. “And your son is my prisoner.”

It was difficult not to laugh. It was rare
seeing such childlike glee from Cicero—especially lately—and I was
afraid my laughter might snap him back to his own reality. His
reality ruled by, well, rules. Cicero re-sheathed his weapon as
Alex hopped to his feet with a grin, dusting himself off. His
cheeks were tinged with pink.

“You got lucky.” Alex re-sheathed his
sword.

“Pure skill, my boy.” Cicero patted Alex on
the back.

“So you admit to me being your son then?”
Alex laughed.

Cicero beamed. “No, absolutely not. Not
until—“

“Cicero? Alex?” Sonya called over her
shoulder. “Where’s the firewood?”

Cicero and Alex froze, eyes wide. “Still in
the forest,” Cicero said.

Sonya raised a brow. The wind ripped through
the trees, their protests filling the forest with violent
creaking.

“Be right back,” Alex said, heading off into
the forest with Cicero running after him.

Sonya shook her head with a grin, glancing at
me from beneath the low bough of the tree.

I joined her. “I’ve never seen Cicero so
excited before.”

She sighed, staring after them. “Duty and
responsibility have done that to him, but I know his light heart is
in there. It just doesn’t always show itself.”

I sat on a blanket beside her. She reached
into her pack and pulled out a tattered looking leather book.

“Was he like that when you met him?” I
asked.

“More so.” She opened the book, and began
reading.

I wanted to ask her more about the
transformation to duty-ridden Cicero, but she had focused her
attentions on the page in her hands.

“What are you reading?”

It took her a moment to hear my question. “A
documentary.”

A documentary? Out here?

Whatever her reasons, it was obvious she was
consumed by what she was reading, so I turned my attention to the
storm that was beginning to barrel its way through the forest. I
hoped the men wouldn’t be gone long. Any moment the clouds would
unleash their terrible fury on all the poor souls caught beneath
it. Namely us.

Just as the soft patter of rain descended
upon the treetops, Alex and Cicero returned, each carrying a few
chunks of wood.

Alex arranged the logs and used flint to
ignite a spark.

“Any word?” Cicero glanced at his wife as he
lay down his pillage.

Alex froze. Sonya exchanged a look with
Cicero, and I immediately felt Cicero’s irritation at himself.

“What do you mean?” I glanced at the guilty
trio. “What word?”

Sonya took a slow breath. “Your father has
made it to Orindor safely and should reach Pontefract by tomorrow
evening.”

“Love…” Cicero’s tone held warning.

I held Sonya’s gaze. “How do you know
that?”

“This.” She waved the journal in her
hands.

“Sonya!” Cicero was incredulous.

“
Dear
,” she said. “You already gave us
away. Daria is dealing with many things right now. It won’t do any
harm. I just read it myself.”

He held his wife’s gaze a moment before
taking a deep breath and sitting down. Alex turned his attention
back to his small fire. He was staying out of this one.

“This—” Sonya turned back to me “—is a
bindingbook.”

“You said it was a documentary.”

“It is.” She nodded. “But it’s a documentary
of our travels. It’s a way to communicate with another person
across long distances.”

I wanted to remind her that obscuring the
truth was still lying, but since she was the only one willing to
share information, I kept my mouth shut.

“This book,” she continued, “has a mate in
Stefan’s possession. He writes in his, and we see it in ours, and
when we respond in ours, he can see it in his.”

“How is that even possible?” I asked.

“Magic. Both are created from one, each being
a representation of the whole. What happens to one happens to the
other.”

“Stefan…does he share a book with my
dad?”

“Yes. Stefan is representing your father at
Court in his absence. With this book, Alaric can instruct Stefan
what to do. Stefan is also relating our travels to your father and
vice versa. According to Stefan, Alaric is right on track, about a
day’s journey from Lord Commodus Pontefract. From him, we hope to
learn information about the Pykans, or at least Alaric can raise a
warning before meeting us at Amadis.”

“And you’re just now telling me this?” I
stared hard at the three of them.

Sonya glanced at Cicero, who gave her a very
pointed look that said “I told you so.”

“It hadn’t come up,” Sonya answered
simply.

My anger flared. “Ever since you showed up at
my house I’ve been asking you about my dad. You could’ve let me
read this—actually, you could’ve let me write Stefan myself. Ask
him how my dad’s doing.”

“I’ll let you read, but you aren’t allowed to
write in it.” Sonya’s gaze did not falter, despite the
open-mouthed, incredulous look of her husband beside her.

“Sonya.” Incredulity had transformed to pure
horror.

“Cicero,” she continued, unfazed. “Let her at
least see that her father is fine.”

“Deal,” I said before she changed her mind.
“No writing.”

Cicero frowned as Sonya handed the journal to
me.

Sure enough, on the first page was a letter
addressed to the Del Contes and signed by Stefan. Next page. A
response written by Sonya to Stefan. Another from Stefan. The rest
of the book was filled with blank pages. How had I missed this?
When had she been writing?

Most of its contents were about things I
didn’t understand, but there were certain items of interest I
collected to my memory. Dad was fine, his travels were uneventful,
he was anxious to see us—see me—and relieved to know we were safely
on course.

After looking through the book, I couldn’t
understand why the Del Contes—namely Cicero—didn’t want me reading
it. But Sonya had put herself out there to let me see it, so I
didn’t ask any more questions. I handed the book back to Sonya and
warmed myself by the fire Alex had made.

Cicero and Sonya spoke in hushed whispers as
far away from us as possible. Considering we were all huddled
beneath a tree branch, it ended up being around the distance of a
few yards. Whatever dissension I had created was soon settled, and
the pair joined us as strong in their unity as ever. How they did
that was always a mystery to me. Having one parent didn’t give me
the opportunity to witness couples working through differences, and
the differences between Sonya and Cicero only seemed to make them
stronger.

The rain had picked up, its patter muffling
out every other stray sound as if nature was applauding its own
beauty. I felt a sort of peace, listening to the sounds of rain and
fire, and was thankful for the flames because with the storm had
come the cold.

Cicero passed around dried meats and stale
bread.

“Aren’t you glad you remembered the
firewood?” Sonya grinned at her husband.

He smiled. “I’m not sure what you’re talking
about. I remembered, but your son insisted…”

I didn’t hear the rest of what Sonya’s son
insisted, because they were huddled in chatter, their smiles
satisfied with each other’s company. They were quite the
pair—Cicero and Sonya, justice and mercy. They’d always balanced
each other well. When I was younger, I often thought that if the
day ever came where I considered marrying someone, I would want a
relationship like theirs. They were equals. They were each other’s
favorite companion. They had utmost respect for each other, which
was also probably why they were able to work through any
disagreement, like what had just happened.

My eyes found Alex’s.

For a moment he held my gaze, but then looked
back at the fire. A wave of his frustration filtered through me, as
if I’d offended him.

No, I wasn’t mad at him. I was furious.
Furious at him, at myself, because
I
still cared.

Flame

T
he next few days
blurred together.

Since Sonya had let the bindingbook out of
the bag, I wasn’t as anxious about dad’s safety. According to the
venerable Stefan, Dad was visiting with Lord Commodus. And this
Lord Commodus, whoever he was, knew nothing of the Pykans, was
disturbed by the news, and planned to travel with my dad to nearby
ports in order to ensure the safety of Orindor’s citizens. This
extended my dad’s stay by about two days.

Not that I was keeping track.

The forest remained saturated. The clouds
nestled themselves on the ground, and droplets of water clung to
the trees, making them shimmer when touched by the sun.

I’d grown accustomed to my leathers. They
felt like a second skin, doing a fantastic job moderating my body
temperature. They always moved just the way I wanted, stretched
just the way I wanted. A wardrobe of these might not be such a bad
investment. They were practical and durable and pliable; these
Gaians might be on to something.

I had wondered how Cicero had been navigating
through the homogeneous grey veil until I’d noticed a device in his
hands. A compass.

The little bronze object didn’t have the
usual directional markers of north, south, east, and west. Instead
other strange shapes and symbols dotted the circumference. Every
time I’d looked, the arrow hovered over a symbol that resembled the
letter “R”. And sometimes when I’d looked, that strange version of
“R” would glow a faint gold.

“It shows the direction of one’s needs and
desires—if you know how to use it,” Cicero had said. He’d even let
me hold it, but the arrow would only spin round and round.

When the fog lifted and the sun began its
descent, we stopped.

We had reached the far boundary of the
Kirkwoods. A narrow valley spread before us, and there was a denser
forest on the other side. From here, the trees looked much too
packed with green to actually travel through.

“The Arborenne.” Cicero stared out ahead.
“Follow me and keep your eyes open as we cross. I don’t want to be
seen entering the forest.”

The four of us tore across the strip of open
land, our horses panting with excitement. The cool air ripped
through my hair, Calyx’s mane splaying in a thousand directions. He
was so happy, his legs bounding with power across the ground,
kicking up clumps of soft earth. It was a momentary freedom for us
both—open sky above, open land all around—running freely through
the lake of tall dried grasses.

As we ran, something cold touched my senses.
I looked over my shoulder. Two dark figures stood in the distance.
Their cloaks beat in the wind, but they were still, standing like
two black pillars, watching us. I looked back at the Del Contes.
They hadn’t noticed, being so intent on the approaching green wall,
but when I turned back to the onlookers, they had vanished.

Cicero stopped before a net of vines.
Everything was so thick, so overgrown. I couldn’t see an entrance
anywhere, not even a break in the green.

Air ripped through the valley with such force
my eyes stung.

Then the vines started moving. They pulled
back like a curtain, revealing a trail that led deeper into the
forest.

I didn’t like the looks of this.

One by one we walked through. Hot, sticky air
engulfed me, chasing away the chill from outside. My leathers
turned soft and damp, sticking to my skin like glue, and my hair
clung to the back of my neck. Once we were all inside, the vines
wound together again, clearing all trace of our entry and the
valley beyond.

But I didn’t think much more on it because
something else distracted me.

This exotic jungle felt alive. Everywhere—in
everything—all I felt was power, radiating from the trees, the
grasses, the earth.

The air was thick with the fragrance of
flowers and heavy with humidity. Sparks of vibrant color—pinks,
oranges, blues—burst from deep within the green. So many strange
flowers, so many strange plants. Things I’d never seen before.
Leaves as big as my body swept the ground, belonging to trees the
size of a small house. Thick vines draped from branches like
tinsel, snaking around trees trunks covered in thick, lime-green
moss. The sides of the trail were flanked with grasses, the
shortest reaching my waist, making it impossible to wander off.
Chimes rang through the air, their melodies reminiscent of those
I’d heard our first day through the forests. Except here, they had
an ethereal quality, giving the breeze a beautiful voice.

“Stay close. We’ll stop before nightfall.”
Cicero led us forward, deeper into the verdant jungle.

Our trail looked like a single black thread,
barely wide enough for us to walk single-file.