by Cora May
Chanta, can you hear me? the voice said for the third time. Please, please answer me! It’s Brin!
Well, duh, Chanta thought. She had already drawn that conclusion, but it didn’t answer why she could hear her voice inside her head. The voice sounded so frantic, too. Like Brin was in trouble. Of course, she already knew that to be true, too. She was stuck on the wrong side of the portal. That was cause for alarm in anyone’s voice.
Chanta, please, the voice said again. Please, if you can hear me, say something!
Chanta felt so stupid. So wholly, utterly stupid.
Yet, she couldn’t leave that voice unanswered. Not when she begged so pitifully. She wasn’t sure how to respond, though. Not just the words she needed to say, but how did she say them back to the voice? Was she supposed to speak out loud?
She couldn’t do that. For some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to say words to an empty room. Even when she sucked in a breath and formed a sound with her mouth, nothing left her lips. Not even the barest hint of a whisper. Breath was the only thing that brushed past.
It was an admittance of crazy if she started answering voices out loud. If someone walked in, if someone was watching, what would they think of her? They would think that she had finally cracked. They would say that all those months being locked up in her mother’s house had finally driven the poor girl insane. They would look at her funny as she walked down the halls, some people averting their eyes and others feeling pity for her. She would be the nut of the school, and probably, sooner or later, she would get taken back down to the basement to be locked up like Douglass. That’s what this school did with their crazies, wasn’t it?
So, no, she couldn’t bring herself to speak out loud. Yet, the voice only kept begging.
Chanta, I’m sure you can hear me. The connection is there. Please, just say something.
She took another breath, preparing herself, but this time preparing herself to speak internally. She tried to direct the thought at the voice, to make it an answer. She still felt stupid, though, so the only answer she could come up with was a typical, stupid, sarcastic answer.
Something.
One word. But it would be enough. It was still a direct answer, clearly meant for the voice. The voice gratefully accepted it, too, as sarcastic as it was.
Chanta! Oh, thank the Province, Chanta! You can hear me. I knew you could.
Brin? she asked, directing the thought inside her head again. Brin, what’s going on? Am I crazy?
Asking the voice inside one’s head that very question was a sure sign of craziness, she thought to herself. She tried to keep that thought away from the voice, though. She wanted to know what was going on.
No, no, Brin said. Her voice sounded shaky now, like she was so stricken with relief she was crying. No, it’s really me. I’m a Communicator, remember? And you’re… Well, I don’t know what you are. But whatever the Obsidian does for you, it allows me to make a connection to you. It’s really me!
Brin! Chanta thought, her heart leaping in her chest. You’re okay! Where are you?
Suddenly, Brin went silent. Chanta waited for an answer, but none came. She started to panic. She was gone again.
Brin? she asked in her mind. She waited again for an answer. Brin, are you still there? Brin!
I’m here, Brin finally answered. Her voice was a lot quieter, a lot more subdued.
Chanta felt her heart skip beats for a new reason now. She closed her eyes, but a tear still escaped through her lids. She asked the question she knew the answer to.
Are you okay?
Silence passed again, and that was all the confirmation Chanta needed.
I’m in the Realm of Darkness, Brin finally answered. I… It’s not really important what’s going on right now. But, Chanta, I think I know what’s going on in your Realm. I mean, I have a guess. I’ve been watching everything around here, putting the pieces together. Some things are starting to make sense.
Like what? Chanta asked.
There’s this man—well, this demon, really. They’re called Anam Dorcha, but he seems so much viler… His name is Donlarr. He’s… very evil in this world. But he’s the key, I think. He works with Dimonis directly. He’s, like, his pet or something.
There it was again—her last name. Larr. It wasn’t a common name at all, and suddenly she was seeing it everywhere in this school. Where had she seen it before, though? It seemed like so long ago, but it was tugging on her memory. She thought back over the few days she had been at the school.
Then it dawned on her. She had read about a Larr in the very beginning of her stay, back in the room in the basement.
She ran to the desk she had been given when she moved into the new room. She remembered seeing the books somewhere, but she didn’t remember where she had put them. She was a bit slovenly, too, so she had to throw aside some sweaters and wrappers. It was amazing—she had only been there for a few days, yet she had already made a mess of her own area. But she found it, under her schedule of classes. The leather-bound book that held the strange history of this place. It was there, precisely where someone—probably Avery Swan—had left it. She flipped through the pages until she found what she was looking for.
In the year 1956, the world took a drastic turn for the worse. That was the year the Realm of Darkness gained the upper hand in the war. It began with one human, by the name Don Larr. His stone was not one of the traditional seven, and, though some people know it still, has not been written down for the protection of future bearers. The stone he had allowed him to command the Anam of both Realms. The Anam that were under his control had no choice, and, as far as we know today, were not even aware of what they had done. Though that last bit is wide speculation, it is important to include the possibility in this book for the protection of the Anam, Solas and Dorcha alike. Larr would use his ability to force the Anam to open a portal for him. Once the portal was opened, linking the human world to any of the Realms he commanded, he was free to lead his army into the Realms.
There it was. Her last name. She started to have a sinking feeling. The Obsidian stone seemed to allow her to command the Anam, and that was precisely what Don Larr had done with his eighth stone. The feeling in her gut told her that they were related.
Brin, she sent the thought out. I think you’re right. And I think the Obsidian stone has something to do with it.
What do you mean?
I think it gives its users the ability to control things. Like I controlled the Anam.
Brin went silent for a moment. Chanta could tell that she was thinking, trying to put together some more pieces of the puzzle.
Do you think that’s how Dimonis controls Donlarr?
Chanta gulped. She hadn’t quite connected that specific thought to her train, but the idea made her shudder. It would mean she was somehow related to Dimonis himself.
I don’t know, she said. It could mean anything, really. I don’t know anything about Dimonis.
What she didn’t say, what she didn’t want to admit, was that she was sure her family had something to do with it. She could vaguely recall Creggor’s words. He had said something to the effect of the Obsidian having been bred into her, not Blessed into her. He might have known another piece of the puzzle, too, she decided. He had told her, warned her, not to seek him out, but she knew she was going to have to.
There was still another matter to consider, though.
Addy and I are going to get you out, she told Brin. She’s on her way now, and she’s going to come up with a plan. We’re going to—
No! Brin thought back, more forcefully than Chanta was prepared for.
Chanta blinked.
It was a moment before she could collect her wits about her, and another moment before anything was said between the two.
It was Brin who broke the silence.
I mean, not yet, she said. We can communicate now, and that’s a good thing. There’s something going on in this Realm, something that is affecting everyone else.
And I have direct access to figure it all out. I need to stay here.
That’s suicide, Chanta scolded her. I may not know much about the Realms, but I know enough to assume you’re trapped in Hell. And what happens if you die there? What happens if Dimonis finds you in his Realm and kills you? Or makes you his servant? Or—or—I don’t know. So many bad things could happen. Do you think you can hide in there forever? You’re not a spy.
Enough minutes had passed by before Brin responded that Chanta began to wonder what, exactly, had happened to her already.
Don’t come for me. Not yet.
Don’t be absurd.
It was a feeble argument, but one she had to put out there. It was the only one she had, really—what other argument would she need? Brin was being reckless and stupid. She would get herself killed. That wasn’t something Chanta wanted on her conscious.
Brin? she asked when she realized the voice in her head was not just silent, but vacant. Was she gone? Brin?
She waited for an answer. The only thing in her head, though, were her own thoughts.
Brin!
The door swung open just then, and Chanta looked up from the book she had been staring down at. Addy was closing the door behind her. She looked over at Chanta with a look that said she was as lost as Chanta herself.
Brin? Please come back. Addy’s here!
“I’m sorry,” Addy said, somewhat out of breath. “I didn’t think… I didn’t know I would… I was pulled into…”
She had no clue where to start explaining herself. It probably didn’t help that Chanta was still staring at her, no words having come out of her mouth in greeting, but Chanta wasn’t wholly aware of the situation in front of her.
Brin!
It was no use, she knew. Brin was gone.
“Look, I’m sorry.”
There it was. No explanation. But it did seem like Addy might have recovered back to her normal, bossy self. Chanta could deal with that better than an Addy taken by surprise.
“It doesn’t matter,” she waved the weak apology off. She had to make sure she was speaking out loud and not only in her head. The words seemed awkward coming out of her mouth.
“The entire school knows that Brin’s gone now,” Addy told her. “I mean, I knew they would, but I got pulled into Prisanni’s office today to be questioned about it. I played dumb. She suspects Jace, and I… I might have let her believe it.”
Chanta could tell that Addy felt guilty over that admission.
“So?” she offered. “Jace doesn’t know anything. His name will be cleared. It’s not a big deal.”
“Sure,” she said. “We have our own problems to worry about anyway. Do you think you can open another portal?”
Chanta’s mouth tightened. Did she think she could do it? If she was answering honestly, no, she wasn’t sure she could. The confidence of the morning had worn off, and any need to explore her power had gone with it. She wasn’t sure she could do anything at the moment, other than crawl into bed and sleep for the rest of her life.
That wasn’t really the question she should be asking, though. The real question was, whether she could or not, should she? Was it even worth it if Brin wasn’t going to come with them anyway? Brin had made up her mind. She had spoken with a firm resolve and carefully left out the bad that she clearly needed to be rescued from.
“Chanta?” Addy prompted.
“I talked to Brin,” she admitted.
Addy cocked her head.
“What do you mean? Before this all happened?”
A grimace escaped before Chanta could hide it. She was about to explain something she wasn’t sure she knew how to handle, but that didn’t matter. Addy had a right to know—more of a right than Chanta had to the conversation she had with Brin. It should have been Addy that was communicating with her, not Chanta. They had been friends for much longer, and it was Chanta’s fault she was stuck in that place anyway.
“No, just before you walked in.”
Addy took a moment to let it sink in.
“How?”
“I don’t know,” Chanta admitted. “I guess because she’s a Communicator, and I’m—whatever I am. Our stones are, like, compatible in that way, I guess. Or maybe just because she knew how to reach me. I don’t know, I don’t understand any of it. But she told me not to come. So, it doesn’t matter if I can make a portal or not. She doesn’t want us to rescue her.”
Addy had to take more than just a moment to chew on that. Chanta dared to look her in the eye, and she didn’t like what she saw there. Anger. Addy was angry. Chanta could hardly blame her, though. She would be, too, if she were Addy. She’d be mad if she were Brin, too, really.
“She’d rather die in the Realm of Darkness,” Addy began reproachfully, “than be rescued by her roommates? She told you that.”
The last bit wasn’t a question, but a statement with an accusation behind it. Liar. Coward.
Chanta stood her ground.
“I know something bad is happening to her,” she said. “I know because she wasn’t answering my questions. But she’s finding out information. She says there’s this Anam—his name is Donlarr—and she thinks—”
“Donlarr?” Addy asked, disbelief in her voice. The anger faded from her face, but so did everything else as the color drained from her cheeks.
Chanta gulped.
“Who is he?” she whispered.
“She can’t be around him. We need to get her out. Now!”
“I don’t think she is around him,” Chanta said. “That wasn’t the feeling I got. I think she wants to be around him. And she’s not going to leave until she is.”
“That’s moronic!”
“That’s what I said,” Chanta told her. “That’s when she stopped talking to me. That’s when she cut the communication. She’s not going to tell us how to get her out or where she is. We have to let her do her investigation. We have to.”
She could tell Addy didn’t like anything she had to say.
But it didn’t matter, because Addy was powerless in this decision. She knew that, too. Both of them knew it. Chanta was the one who could open the portal, and Brin was the one who could communicate to them. Addy was only the muscles, and admittedly the brains, of the operation. Without two cooperative roommates, though, there was nothing she could do about the situation but wait.
So, as she gritted her teeth, she turned to sit on her bed and simmer.
“Tell me what’s going on,” Chanta asked after some time. “I’m really confused. How do you know who Donlarr is?”
Addy looked at her. For several minutes, that was all she did. She was contemplating something, Chanta could tell that much. What was on her mind, though, was beyond Chanta’s wildest guess.
“I can’t tell you anything I know,” Addy finally said. Then, with a bit of saltiness, she added, “Maybe you should ask Brin.”
That was all Chanta needed to hear from the girl. She strode across the room and into the hall, slamming the door behind her.
Brin was out searching for information, searching for pieces of the puzzle. She wouldn’t let herself be rescued until she put that puzzle together. The least Chanta could do is help her solve it.
Chanta had walked through the halls with purpose. A plan was already beginning to form in her head, but she needed someone first. She didn’t know enough about the world to figure it out alone, and she wasn’t sure she could trust Addy anymore. At least, not at that moment. She would have to let the girl cool off for a long while.
She could use a break from her anyway, she decided.
Chanta ran straight to the place where she knew the Keepers would be hanging out. Every stone had their own place, their own common room, it was called, where they could relax and form relationships with each other. There was one specific Keeper she wanted to talk to.
The Keeper’s common room was filled with Emerald. The carpets were a dark green, accented by the wooden furniture. Each cushion on the furniture was, of course, an E
merald color, and there seemed to be Emerald stones accented inside the wood as well. Chanta wondered if those were real stones, or if they were only faux. For some reason, she got the feeling that access to the stones was highly regulated. Perhaps she got that feeling from the way Creggor and George had made it seem, or perhaps she took it away from the oath she had signed and turned in that day. Whatever the case was, she had the impression that the accents in the room were all fake.
There was a spread of food on the table on the far end of the room. It all looked very inviting. The meat was steaming still, as were the peas and potatoes, and Addy realized that it had probably been the dinner she was supposed to have eaten in the dining hall downstairs. There was a dessert table, too, that looked equally as inviting. There were cupcakes decorated in rich blue and red frosting, and bowls of fruit. There always seemed to be an ample amount of food in the castle. She wondered how Prisanni managed that, especially with so many children running in her halls.
It was a passing thought, though, and one that was neither here nor there. Chanta looked around the students that dotted the common room. It was one of the quietest rooms in the entire castle, even quieter than the echoing hallways. That was because each student had their faces buried in a book. It was one of the weirdest things she had ever seen—weird, only because this wasn’t a library, and none of the students looked as if they minded reading. She thought back to what she had read about Olly and wondered if it was a common trait amongst the Keepers—to be smart, and to be always seeking knowledge.
Another passing thought that didn’t matter in that moment. She finally found the Keeper she was looking for. He was sitting by the window on the floor, his legs outstretched before him, as he pondered the book in his hands.
Fenneck.
She strode toward him with a purpose, not caring who looked up from their books to take note of her. Not caring until it was he who turned his smoldering eyes on her.