Lichgates: Book One of the Grimoire Saga (an Epic Fantasy Adventure) (17 page)

“Welcome to the real Hillside.”

They sat in silence.

“I’m in over my head, Braeden.”

“You’re smart. You’ll figure it out,” he said with a grin.

She smiled back. “Thanks.”

“So did you just finish speaking with the Queen?”

“No, I was with Gavin. He found me afterward.”

Of course he did. Braeden shook his head.

“He showed me the dining area and we just talked for a while. He seems nice.”

Braeden brushed his shredded grass into the water. “You can’t trust him.”

“What? His family adopted you. He’s your brother. How could you say that?”

“He’s my brother, which means I know him better than you do. He only wants to use you, Kara.”

“I think you’re being hard on him. He was nothing but nice,” she said.

He shifted his weight on the rock, and the small blue stone Aislynn gave him jabbed his side. It sent a wave of pain shooting up his back, and he grumbled. The stone was warm when he pulled it from his pocket. He stood and moved to sit beside her, slipping the small blue square into her hands as he did.

“What’s this?” Kara asked.

“I have no idea,” he admitted. “Aislynn asked that I give it to you. She said her ancestors found it a few centuries ago in their gardens, but since it has the Grimoire symbol on it, she wanted you to have it.”

Kara studied it, lips pursed. It was clear that she had no idea what it was, either, so he stretched out on the grassy lakeshore. She cleared her throat several times, as though she was about to say something, but always swallowed her words at the last minute.

She slipped the stone into her pocket. “What’s eating you? Since that meeting you’ve seemed off. Different.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” he lied.

“For someone who hides who he really is, you’re a terrible liar.”

He glared through his half-closed eyelids, and she blushed. Whispering about Carden to Aislynn was risky enough when they’d spoken in hushed voices, but Kara hadn’t even tried to be quiet.

“Never say that out loud, even as a joke, or when alone,” he said. “This is all I have, Kara. I can’t risk losing it.”

“Is that why you’re so upset? You feel like you’re lying to these people?”

“You need to stop.”

She ripped out a few blades of grass, leaned over to him, and sprinkled them over his head. He leaned forward and brushed off the pieces that caught in his ear.

“What—?”

“Look, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dangerous, I’m already in as deep as a stranger can go. I’ve met royalty—sorry, Bloods—and I was chased by an army. I saw dragons. There’s a vicious isen thing trying to kill me. My dad—” She stopped short, her breath hitching.

“Basically, you don’t scare me,” she went on. “You’ve got a troubled past, well so do I. Most people do. We do things we’re not proud of, things we wish we could take back, but what’s done is done and all you can do is try to redeem yourself in the present. So cut the crap. I’m just trying to help you out.”

She marched back through the orchard and disappeared behind a wave of apple blossoms that shook free on a breeze. He grinned and watched her disappear. When she was gone, he resumed his stare into the lake.

Ripples on the still surface caught his eye. A large white head peeped above the water, its hair highlighted with every shade of blue. The mermaid had no color in its solid white eyes, which scrutinized him for a moment before it slid back beneath the water. He brushed the last of the grass from his hair.

Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dangerous, huh?
He laughed. Where did she come up with that?

CHAPTER TWELVE

SECRETS

Kara walked down the only path she could find in the orchard and wondered if the Grimoire would be able to tell her why Braeden was so frustrating.

After about ten minutes, the trees along the trail grew thicker, which meant she had somehow transitioned from the orchard to the forest. She set her hands on her head and examined the woods, biting her lip in defeat. She’d wanted to go to her room, not take a hike. The leaf-covered trail behind her was as wide and flat as a road and easy to navigate, but she wasn’t ready to face Braeden yet.

The summer sun beat on her neck through breaks in the trees, and she could smell the warm salt of her sweat. The air was clear, cleaner than even her favorite routes through the Rockies. The crystal sky blistered through the gaps in the leaves above as the canopy rustled with small furry creatures that scurried from limb to limb, too fast to see. Leaves fell to the ground as they ran, marking the creatures’ route as they coursed through the branches.

She took a deep breath and couldn’t suppress the smile that spread across her lips. Hikes were for letting go, so that was exactly what she would do. Her boots crunched on fallen sticks as she turned away from Hillside and began her impromptu trek.

The air was cool, but not cold, and breezes snaked through the neck of her loose tunic, drying the sweat on her back. The wind pulled the scents of bark and copper from the pines, which tickled her throat. She reached in instinct for the water bottle she didn’t have and laughed at herself when it wasn’t there.

A woodland chorus of chattering leaves drowned out any nearby streams, so she continued along the trail. She rubbed her pendant and listened to nature until the gurgle of a brook hissed from around a bend in the narrowing road.

The stream’s high banks dwarfed its shallow water as it twisted through the forest, hidden as it was behind a row of thick oak trees. Patches of sandy ground lined the edges of the creek, just wide enough to stand on, and the roots of a gnarled old willow dug uneven stairs into one of these narrow embankments. Kara took the makeshift steps one by one until she reached the riverbed and stepped out onto the few feet of space which separated the mud wall from the current.

She knelt to take a sip. The water was sweet, with what she could have sworn was a subtle note of apple, and she drank until her mind buzzed and all she wanted to do was sit and watch the water. Cold dirt pressed against the back of her head as she leaned against the river wall, but it was a soothing contrast to the warm beams of sunlight that fell through the treetops and heated her cheeks. She closed her eyes and savored the day.

A weight pressed against her lap and when she looked down, the Grimoire’s faded crimson binding rested on her outstretched legs. She hadn’t meant to summon it, but she shrugged. She might as well ask it something while she was alone.

“Can you teach me something about magic?”

The cover flipped open, but none of the pages flicked forward. The hair on her neck prickled.

A flash of heat poured over her shoulders and down her arms. The freckling light dissolved around her and left an inverted imprint on her vision. Though the sound of the stream bubbled by, she could no longer see it.

A thin ball of light appeared a few feet away. It stretched and unwound into thin wisps that whirled and popped as they took on the shape of a figure. They formed the outline of a cape, and then a hood, and then the pointed tip of a nose. They continued spinning and curving until a man stood before her, made of the same stuff through which she’d seen Twin’s and Braeden’s memories. He raised his head to look at her.

A
crack
snapped in her ear. She flinched. Shades of green and patches of brown flooded her vision, and the rush of the stream became a deafening roar. The air was sweeter, though, and she found an unknown smell, like honey, sifting through the wind as it passed her. Even though the darkness had receded, the wispy figure before her had not. He stood still, silent, and watchful, and she could see the creek through him, bustling about on its way.

“Vagabond?” she whispered, as if he would dissolve if she spoke any louder.

He nodded.

“How? Where did you—?”

“You called.” His cloak shifted to reveal a wispy hand, which pointed to the open Grimoire in her arms.

“Well, technically—”

“Excellent!” The hood shifted so that his nose pointed to her pocket. She wished she could see his face.

“You already have one of the four map pieces,” he continued. “I’m impressed!”

“I—what?”

“The stone in your pocket.”

She pulled out the square Braeden had given her. The dark blue stone reflected glinting streaks of sunlight, and its flecks of gold twinkled like stars. It was vaguely familiar, but she didn’t know why.

“That is one of the four map pieces,” the transparent Vagabond said. “When you find the other three, it will become the key that will open the door to my village. It’s imperative that you find them soon.”

“Why?”

“The village is hidden and safe. I left many unfinished projects there, and I hope you will finish them.”

“What projects?”

He laughed. “At least you aren’t afraid to ask questions. That is essential to surviving as a vagabond.”

“You didn’t answer me, though.”

“I will, someday. The secrets there can’t be told. You must see them to understand. Oh, it’s good to speak again!” He laughed. “For a thousand years, I had little company.”

Nice change in subject. “So what are you? A ghost?”

“I suppose so. My soul is tied to the Grimoire, like a soul living in another’s body.”

“Oh, so it’s really you answering when I ask it a question.”

“No. The Grimoire is its own entity, filled with all of my observations from life. When you ask a question, it takes you to the journal entry that will answer you. I, however, am a real spirit. I was a man once. The Grimoire has never known life the way I have, so it has been rather dull company. I sat alone, waiting for someone to pick up where I left off.”

“I’m in way over my head,” she said again, not intending to do so out loud.

“Have faith in yourself. You would have been killed by now if you weren’t strong enough to survive Ourea. The Grimoire would have found a new master if that was the case. Yet, here you are.”

“As comforting as that is, I still have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Few do. That’s why you must find my village—well, your village, I suppose. It will help you.”

“Right, the map,” she mused. She rubbed the blue stone and put it back in her pocket. “So where are the other pieces?”

“There is one piece in Hillside, Ayavel, Kirelm, and Losse. Where are we now?”

“We’re in Hillside, but Braeden says this was from Aislynn. She’s the Ayavelian Blood.”

“Who is this Braeden?”

“I think that’s a conversation for another time,” she answered, glancing around. If she couldn’t speak to Braeden about his past by the lake, there wasn’t much chance that a forest with lots of hiding places was much safer.

“Very well,” he muttered. “Four of my vagabonds each hid a map piece in the various kingdoms’ gardens, so it is best for you to look there first. I wish I could tell you where they are, but not even I know, since...well, I died before they could tell me. It worries me that the Ayavelian Blood found one. That means they were not hidden well enough. I hope you are still able to find the rest.”

“Wow. That’s reassuring,” she said, but she cleared her throat. “Sorry if that was rude. I guess I should cut back on the sarcasm.”

“I am unfamiliar with that term, but I will try to remember it. Now, why did you bring me forward?”

“I wanted to learn something about magic.”

“The first technique I learned was flame manipulation. Do you know it?”

She shook her head.
I don’t know anything.

“We will start with that, then. You must first stretch out your palm,” he said. He raised his sheer hand until it was just in front of him and bent his elbow. His hand relaxed, and he twisted his palm until it faced the sky. She copied the movement.

He tapped her arm. “Your elbow is too stiff. Relax your body. Tense your mind.”

She took a deep breath and sank into her stance. The sweet air tickled the space between her eyes, so she focused on the sensation.

“Good,” he said. “Think of the wood around you. Smell it. Imagine the rough grain of the bark on your skin.”

She remembered running her hands over tree bark as she climbed up the stiff slopes of the Rockies. The curves and dips in the wood always reminded her of small rivers or old scars. The coppery bite of pine needles clung to her nose.

“Now,” he continued, “feel the breeze sweep over you and grab it. Pull it into your hand.”

The wind combed through her hair. She wasn’t sure how she could grab something like air, but she listened to the rustle of leaves scraping against each other and to the way the breeze whistled past her ear. Her wrists and cheeks tingled. She closed her eyes.

“Now all you need is a spark.”

Her fingers twitched.

The movement was soft, but it was enough to jerk her from the sweet mountain memories. Her veins smoldered. Her muscles numbed. The icy race of adrenaline throughout her body dissolved the warm tingle and cleared her mind of all thought. The sensation shook her knees, and she lurched forward as if someone had pushed her. Her eyes snapped open.