The extent of my powers.
It stands in front of me, staring, and I sense the evil intentions lingering behind the pitch black eyes. I’m a bloody mess: bruised, cut, and broken—body and mind. I close my eyes, feeling its presence, and concentrate on making it end. It
has
to end.
Gunthreon stands straight and walks to light one white candle sitting on a small shelf on the wall. “You need simple explanations right now. This will help. Relax while I continue.”
My pulse slows as the candle burns, and a calm peace enters my body. I breathe in deeply, letting the soft scent of lavender relax my head, my joints, my muscles, my heart.
Gunthreon continues. “You see, karma is something like a bank. Everyone either puts good karma in or they take it out by failing to do the right thing. You are, let’s say, the bank teller. Think of people you know who just happen to be very lucky, or unlucky, individuals.
Now think of how they say you are five people away from knowing everyone. I’m sure everyone knows, in some way, a karmelean.”
He stares at me as I
say, “Gunthreon, how much wine did
you
drink?”
“The cabbie is one I witnessed personally throug
h my window, and what about the...outcome of your attack?” he continues with raised eyebrows. “Relax, and truly put some thought into it.”
The bloody sludge. Everywhere.
Its
blood—gooey, black blood, trailing down my walls and sticking to my skin.
I try to wash the thoughts away, but suddenly feel, deep down inside, that I now need to listen to my self—my inner core reaching out t
o the girl broken by a monster—the girl with innocence lost, the girl with some possibly crazy shit going on in her life. With no shaking, and no fancy to run anymore, I say, “I thought karma just happens though, like the universe itself just does it.”
“No, the uni
verse doesn’t just do it—the universe
and special people
do,” he says. “There are those like you who influence and help karma along. It’s actually an extra component in your aura. Your aura is equivalent to a beacon, which calls to the higher powers to dish it out. There are good and bad people everywhere, and you help right the world by feeding information from individuals to the Higher Ones.
“Now you must think about your mother,” he holds up his hand as my body wants to suddenly stand and take movement. Towards who, or what, I don
’t know. “Yes, I know, a delicate topic. But we must. I know how important she is to you. You are holding her in this realm because you think she deserves to live—but, in reality, you are holding her here for yourself. Think,
really
think, of how your mom is possibly still here, with us. Her illnesses should have won, long ago. Let her go, Kailey. She has other duties to fulfill, and you do not need the bad karma yourself.”
Memories of
numerous visits to the hospital and endless doctor visits come flooding into my brain. “It can’t be possible,” I say crying, still mesmerized by his knowledge of my life. “How the hell do you know my mother?”
He holds up his hand, slowly forming the sign language for “I love you.” He says, “I’ve known your mother for some time now.”
I bury my face in my hands and let the tears flow.
Gunthreon gets up and lays his hand on my shoulder, gently. “The right choices can be the hardest,” he says. “Are you willing to hear the rest of the truth? Are you willing to accept anything I am to tell you and anything I may show you? You have committed in your heart, but I must hear it from your mouth, too.” He stares at me, as if life and death teeter on what I say.
“Yes, Gunthreon.” I feel things falling into place where I never before knew them to be missing.
“Kailey, close your eyes
.”
Chapter 8
Pure
The strong scent of grass underneath my nose wakes me up. I pull myself up to a sitting position in a patch of bright green grass and try to see through the fog around me. I recognize this fog and close my eyes, trying to force myself to wake up, this time for real. When I open them again, I see that I’m still in the same place. “Gunthreon? I don’t like this. Are you here?” I try not to be too loud.
I figure that the only thing I can do is try to relax. As I relax, the fog seems to lighten, and I
can see further. It’s dusk, and despite the nearness of night, I can see clearly within a minute or so.
Looking down at the ground next to me, I notice something shiny. It looks like a locket, and instinctively, like a magpie, I pick it up. An extremely long chain hangs from the locket, and I wipe the dust off of it, then fumble about trying to open it. Unsu
ccessful, I put it in my pocket, next to my ring.
A rocky dirt road lies up ahead, so I walk toward it. Along t
his road, I find old and once-beautiful buildings made of marble and slate, in ruins. I spot one unscathed building off the road, away from all the other buildings and I head in that direction, hoping I might find something or someone of interest, like Gunthreon. I can feel him here somewhere.
The building is smaller than the rest I’ve seen, and not as fancily built, but feels important, so I approach with caution. On each side of the modest wooden doors
are finely-detailed, winged gargoyles, also fashioned from wood, with various metal inlay across their face and wings. They are identical twins, the only difference being their expressions. One has warm, pleasant eyes and a smile on its face, while the other looks as though it’s snickering or just plain mean. I touch the one with the more pleasant face, and it suddenly winks at me.
I jump back, and I could swear it giggles softly.
The other only stares straight ahead, so I choose to ignore it. As I push on the doors, I find they are surprisingly heavy, and I gather enough strength to nudge them open, giving myself just enough room to squeeze through.
They open to one big
round room, and I see that the walls are lined with objects. They seem all to be weapons of sorts—extremely clean, usable weapons. Closest to me is a large, wooden hammer, and I touch it, caressing the wood. It feels old. I try and take it off the wall, but it doesn’t budge. The next object that catches my eyes is a silver Chinese star with eight very sharp edges.
Each object seems to have its own personality and I’m wondering who they belong to. Next to the hammer, is a particularly long sword, inscribed with beautiful, intricately etched characters of an unknown language which seem to sing to me of a battle between the wind and sunshine. Again, it will not move from the wall. I try another, and another, and yet another, with no movement at all. Yet I feel I need one.
Frustrated, I sit, staring straight ahead of me. That’s when my eyes lay upon the oddest weapon I’ve seen thus far. It invites me near, whispering to me, telling me not to be afraid, inviting me to touch. I stand and walk toward it, admiring its uniqueness.
The pole is made of a smoothly-
sanded cherry wood, and on one end is a crescent-shaped blade, littered with runes. The opposite end has a flat, spade-like blade, which reflects my complexion flawlessly as I stare into the metal; both are sharp enough to slice hairs. I yearn to touch the wood, but then I sense that something is about to happen, so I hesitate.
As an unexpected w
armth flows into the room, running over my feet first, I freeze. It slowly crawls up my body, touching my hands and forcing them to reach forward. As the heat envelopes my head, I suddenly yearn to possess this deadly treasure, so I touch it, and the pole comes off the wall with one pull. I embrace it, suddenly feeling I will never be disconnected from my new lover, because it is me and I am it. I swing, and it is light in my hands. The metal whistles as it slices air, singing its song of perfection—perfect balance.
Suddenly, I am torn from my find by a peculiar noise, accompanied by the faint smell of rotten eggs. I know the smell, and I run to the door, not wanting to be cornered in this room. That
’s when I see it standing in the road, and it’s huge—at least eight feet tall and five feet wide, with dark brown skin and fur. I recognize the feet—all three of them, situated like a tripod, with the center leg slightly forward. Its full hideousness is far worse than its feet alone. The huge eyes that take up at least 50 percent of its head stare at me while its mouth, which seems to take up the other 50, quivers, drooling some dark liquid. I can’t be sure, but it looks like it’s hungry. It stares at me as though I’m a huge medium rare rib-eye steak. There are sprouts of fur here and there around its body, and its arms dangle below its waist. It wears a large loincloth and short pants, both shredded on the edges. There is also a band around its waist, somewhat resembling an extra, extra, extra large fanny pack. I stand, frozen with fear at the realization that I’ve been visited by yet another hideous creature.
It was not a dream.
The delicious meal I just ate starts creeping up my throat, but I swallow, keeping it at bay.
A noise escapes from behind the creature. Its ears quiver, and its head turns all the way around like an owl’s, then swivels back toward me. I
’m amazed by its flexibility. Its skin seems to be in constant movement, and it begins moving toward me quickly.
It’s so fast. And so big.
I grab the pole and stabilize myself, knowing I cannot outrun this abomination, and it
’s time to prove I can take care of myself. Seconds before it reaches to grab me with its monkey-length arms, I duck and swing the pole out, but the creature jumps over me swiftly.
It lunges again quicker than expected, an
d I manage to somehow cut my leg with my own weapon. The flow of blood freezes me, vulnerability creeping up on me like a dark shadow. The creature makes the jump toward me. I fall directly down, sticking my pole spade straight up in its direction with my eyes closed. My movement is unexpected—by both of us—so the creature comes down slightly crooked as my blade nicks the inside of its leg.
Black ooze runs down its leg, dripping onto the dirt.
Black ooze
. Before I loose myself to the visions, I notice the tears in its eyes. This big, ugly creature—surely sent by Satan himself—is crying, and reeks of regret?
“O
w! You hurt Bu! How could you? Bu was only going to help you.” Its voice is undeniably male and youthful as it wipes the dark ooze from its mouth on the back of his hand, then proceeds to lick some off.
“Oh, gross,” I groan
, totally disgusted. I hold the pole weapon out in front of me.
The tears are as big as his eyes
as they roll down his cheeks, and I find myself feeling bad I hurt him, even if he was going to rip my throat out. I get closer to him, just out of arm’s length, and say, “You were going to eat me! Is this a trick? You feign pain, I come close, and
then
you eat me?”
He then does something unexpected—giggles.
It’s then that I feel it—purity. Purity of heart and soul is spewing from him, like rays from a sun, warm and soft as cashmere.
“Wait,” I say as I sniff the air. “You smell like chocolate.”
“Want some?” he asks as he raises his hand, covered in goo, to me.
“You did well for your first time. I see you found your weapon.” I swing around with my weapon in hand and see it’s Gunthreon who has snuck up behind me. The creature cries harder, turning toward Gunthreon for help. Gunthreon walks over and hugs him, talking to him in a soothing way, thanking him for his help in the “acclimation.” “We have a nice treat for you. Come back with us,” he whispers. “We’ll take care of you
r cut.” He then points to my leg. “Both of your cuts.”
Chapter 9
Silly-willy
Suddenly, we
’re back in the dining room, seated at the table as Gunthreon mends our injuries. My hands are sans weapon. I look around and see it nowhere, so I assume I dropped it. A feeling of despair comes and goes as I sit across from the giant creature, apparently named Bu. I stare in amazement at his size and despite his massiveness—and scariness—I feel comfortable sitting across from him, simply watching his delicate movements.
He eats his raw meat, smiling at Gunthreon all the while. He then gives me a hurtful glance, which actually makes me feel bad—but not so bad that I forget what just happened.
“So this was a test?!” I exclaim, suddenly back to my senses, and furious with both of them. “I could have been killed!”
“Yeah!” says
Bu, smiling at me. Then he adds, “Yes, but no?” His eyes turn questioningly to Gunthreon.
My mind turns over what I experienced, and I try to determine whether I should interrogate them or run out the door and leave the country.
“Where the hell were we?” I question. “It didn’t feel like anywhere around here. Gunthreon, what did you put in that wine?” My eyes narrow as I glare at him. “Do you have more to tell me? What is he?” I point to Bu. “And can you tell me how
he
got to my work the other day?”
Gunthreon’s facial expression shouts ignorance for a brief two seconds, and then he just stares at Bu with a furrowed brow.
“Bu,” he growls in a fatherly tone.
Bu now stares at his empty plate like a scolded child. His feet shuffle and sweat beads on his body. With
his head down, he says, “Bu couldn’t help it. Bu wanted to meet Kailey.” Then he looks up at Gunthreon and says, “You showed me her building once. Bu remembered where it was. Nobody else saw Bu!”
“You know, you scared the crap out
—”
Gunthreon holds up his hand at me.
“Bu, that was entirely wrong,” he says. “You know you cannot make people visit you in Renhala, even if it’s only in-between. You could have gotten Kailey hurt, or someone could have seen you. I should make you go home right now.”
Bu starts bawling like a grounded child. His tears somehow glow, lighting up the room with splendor. The twinkling lights are beautiful. They make me want to drink them up and dance around the room.
Reaching across the table, I touch Bu’s face with one hand and reach into my pocket with the other, pulling out the necklace with the locket I found. An unexplainable need to give him the treasure I found has me handing it to him. He holds it gently, opening it with great dexterity. How he does so with his huge hands, I do not know.
“You found it! You found it!” he cries. He gets up rather quickly and hugs me, squeezing a little too hard.
“Bu, remember your manners,” Gunthreon urges.
Bu lets go.
“Gunth, Kailey is cool!” He is dancing around his chair, making me smile, and making any tension left in my body dissipate.
“Kailey has blessed you because she knows how helpful you are when we need you. You are special and deserve a special present.” Gunthreon mouths “Thank you” in my direction.
“Hey, I think it’s my job now. Better get some practice, right?” I can’t help but feel good watching Bu continue to dance as he attempts to do the running man.
“You need to know there are rules that g
o with your job,” says Gunthreon, looking toward me. “There is still much to teach you, and learning will have to be fast, because the quest moves much too quickly, and things are starting to get bad. I will go get dessert, and then I will explain all about Renhala, the realm you have just visited. Bu, you want some, too? It’s berry cobbler.”
“Yes, yes, yes!” Bu is so worked up he can’t sit.
“Realm?” I yell to Gunthreon as he leaves the room.
Then it
’s just me and Bu.
“Bu, if you only wanted to meet me, why the scary rhyming?” I say, “Kailey, Kailey, come and slay with me’? That doesn’t sound very friendly to me. You really scared me today. Good thing I thought it was only a dream and didn
’t check myself into the loony bin.”
“What’s a loony bin? That’
s funny words.”
“It’s a place where they put crazy people,” I say. “Somewhere maybe I need to go after tonight.”
“You’re not crazy, Kailey! You’re silly-willy! I was singing a greble song my momma used to sing to me. It’s a...a...I don’t know.”
“A nursery rhyme?”
“Yes—a mursery rind.” He is really cute, despite his ugliness.
“You
’re called a greble?”
He nods without looking up at me.
“I like you, Bu. Can we be friends?” I cannot believe I ask.
“Yes, oh yes! Bu
don’t have many friends.” He examines his locket and appears happy and sad at the same time, tears and a smile gracing his face.
“Bu, what’s in the locket?”
“This.” He shows me a picture inside, which is a spitting image of himself, but with breasts, three of them at that. “Momma.” He looks just plain sad as he puts the locket around his neck.
“That locket was yours? Wow.” I whisper the latter to myself, amazed at the coincidence.
Coincidence is not in my vocabulary.
“She’s beautiful. You look just like her,” I say. I lift his chin with my hand, and he smiles a smile at me that could melt the North Pole. When Gunthreon comes back, my heart suddenly feels heavier.
“Better give me that cobbler first, because I have a feeling you’ll need to sweeten me up before you start,” I say. I brace myself, shove a
huge
scoop of cobbler in my mouth, and nod for him to begin.
“I want to start from the beginning. You need to know the whole truth about our existence, so listen, and when I am through, you may ask me questions,”
chatters Gunthreon. “Let’s go and sit somewhere more comfortable. Follow me.” He leads me and Bu to the purple and gold room in which Gunthreon and I first spoke, and there we find three armchairs. Bu frowns. Then, in the blink of an eye, there are one armchair and one loveseat. Gunthreon shakes his head at Bu, but he doesn’t pay attention, instead pulls my hand toward the loveseat.
“Kailey wants to sit by me,” he says, plopping his butt on the loveseat, still holding my hand. I have to sit, unless he lets go.
Gunthreon laughs, “Fine,” he says. “Kailey can sit with you.” I plead with my eyes to Gunthreon, and he only laughs harder. “You’ll find some tea on the table over there. Fill a cup and sit.”
I lift my body with lightning speed and proceed to speedily walk toward the teapot. I fill a cup and sniff the steam as it escapes my cup. It’s the same tea as before! Excitement fills me, and I feel like a child who
’s been given one of those huge, swirled lollipops the size of my head.
Cup in hand,
I sit next to Bu with folded legs, and he scoots over next to me, instilling a fear in me that the loveseat might tip up, dumping me atop him. But he is cautious, and I actually lean on him, quite aware I will probably smell like eggs henceforth. I lean against his fanny pack and something stabs me from inside.
“Bu, what
’s in this?” I query, touching the pack.
“My tools! Look!” He opens it up and shows me the many tools inside: screwdrivers, pliers, hammers, files—you name it. All are worn with age, and very sloppily—but most likely lovingly—have been scribbled on with the name “Bu.”
“Cool collection, big guy.” I smile at him as I give Gunthreon the thumbs up. I’m ready to be amazed, or scared shitless, whichever comes first.