Beside her stood a tall man with blood-red eyes. His gaze was hard and cold as winter; after a searing instant, I broke eye contact with him, stung. His face was impassive, angular and comely, like he had been chiseled out of stone. He also had long golden hair, reaching his ankles, though it was pulled back into a thin ponytail trailing down his back. On his cheek was the same tattoo that adorned Veija’s shoulder. The tattoo was also etched twice on each of his arms, visible through stitched holes in his silk periwinkle shirt. He wore a blue waist-long cape that was caught behind each shoulder to avoid hiding his tattoos. A strange silver and black skirt of metal armor hung at his waist, under which were baggy black pants that tucked into knee-high black leather boots. To top off his bizarre wardrobe were jeweled armbands and a neck ring that strongly resembled a metal choker.
“Welcome, Vendaeva,” Veija said, recapturing my focus. She curtsied.
I bowed back, managing to make it appear natural. At least, slightly natural. Okay, so I stumbled a bit, but no one laughed (because Crenen's snicker doesn't count). “Thanks,” I said, cheeks burning.
“We have much to speak of.” She motioned inside the giant tree. “Please, follow me.”
I glanced to my side to get Crenen's blessed permission and blinked as I recognized two other familiar faces. Somewhere along the line Jenen and Menen had joined us and stood now behind Crenen.
The latter nodded his head, and I took that to mean it was okay to go with the Seer. We all started follow her, but as we took a step forward, Veija halted, glancing back at us.
“Please, only Vendaeva may come within.” She turned around, eyes apologetic. “Even His Highness must remain here.”
Crenen blinked, but shrugged and plopped down onto the wooden landing, adopting a flat stare. Jenen’s eyes narrowed, but he also sat. Menen kept his place behind Crenen and remained standing.
I turned back to Veija, who nodded, and I entered the structure with her, noticing that her silent attendant had come along. “I thought only us two—” I began without thinking, but she cut me off.
“Lon comes with me, no matter the reason. Even if I told him to stay behind, he would not.”
She was acting a lot less ditsy.
“So, does Lon speak?” I asked, studying the stone-faced man. We were standing in darkness, the dim light from outside barely enough to make out his expressionless features.
She turned, just visible in the gloom, and Lon slipped next to her without a sound. “Only when he needs to,” she said, the smile back in her voice.
I shrugged, allowing her to continue our walk. “When we last spoke, you mentioned that you had no idea how I was supposed to save Paradise. Do you know now?”
She hesitated and shook her head. “It has not yet been revealed.”
“Huh,” I said for the sake of responding. What the heck was I supposed to do in the meantime? “So, what are we talking about, then?”
“I wanted to speak with you.”
“About what?” I stepped closer in my attempt to adjust my eyesight to the dimness.
Instantly Lon stepped in front of Veija, holding his arm out. His eyes locked on mine, daring me to approach. I took two steps back.
“Lon!” Veija said. “It is okay—he is Vendaeva. He will not harm me.”
I didn’t think he would listen, but Lon stepped aside, still glaring.
“You’ll have to forgive him,” she said. “Lon is my brother, and he is more protective that he need be.” She tossed the last bit at him.
“It’s fine. I’d probably do the same for my sister,” I lied.
“It is still unforgivable. Come. Lon will walk behind us both.” She spun on her heels after shooting a pointed look at her brother. I smirked. Ditsy or not, she certainly was cute.
“Nice skirt, pretty-boy,” I whispered as I brushed past Lon.
Perhaps that comment began the next chain of events, but I couldn't be certain. In any case, that was the beginning; that was what started our eternal feud.
9
The End
Would the stairs never end?
Veija led me down and down a stairway spiraling into the oppressive gloom. From somewhere—I couldn't pinpoint where—a little light trickled through; just enough to keep me from tripping over my own feet, or on Veija's trailing skirts.
Then there was Lon, following close behind me, eyes burning into my back. If we walked much longer, I was worried I might fall down dead.
“We are almost there,” Veija said after what seemed forever. (Maybe all these forevers were the reason this place was called Paradise, instead of any aspirations toward peace or salvation.)
“Okay,” I said, at a loss for anything more constructive, let alone eloquent.
“Almost” apparently meant another fifteen minutes. The spiraling steps gave way to an unadorned vestibule, at the end of which were two giant wood doors, carved with swirling symbols and runes. Blazing torches rested in sconces on either side of the doors, lighting the details of the etched doors and casting long shadows behind us. Veija approached the doors, then turned, skirts swishing.
“Prepare yourself. You will walk upon sacred ground.” Her voice was amplified by the room's natural acoustics.
With her pronouncement, the air turned heavy, still. I drew a breath, waiting for the punchline, knowing it wouldn't come. This isn't a dream, I admitted to myself, understanding at last how much this mattered to these people. How much they needed me. Why else would they put up with my whining? My weakness?
But what could I possibly offer them? How was I supposed to help?
I just wanted to go home.
“Are you ready?” Veija asked.
I nodded, lying.
She nodded back, then turned and waited as Lon walked past me, then her, and rested his bespangled hands on either door. Muscles tightened as he pushed inward, and the doors gave, silently swinging aside as Lon stepped forward.
Blue light flooded the vestibule where Veija and I stood, and the shadows fled as darkness retreated to the room's furthest recesses. I held up my arm, momentarily blinded, but I pried my eyes open and lowered my arm again.
Something was moving in the room beyond those open doors. As I peered inside, gray eyes squinting against the light, I thought I saw countless glowing orbs floating about, scattered across an enormous chamber. The source of the light.
Veija drew nearer to the gaping entrance, her outline bright, hair shining. She turned after a moment, beckoning with one graceful hand. “Come, Vendaeva.”
I hesitated, heart stammering against my chest. “What is this place?”
Her eyes danced with shifting light from the moving orbs. “Are you prepared to be Vendaeva?”
How could I answer? I wasn't sure what it entailed. And, aside from coming through the great, muddy Phudel, what proof was there that I was their guy?
I opened my mouth to respond, but still couldn't answer.
I want to go home.
“I see.” Her tone was soft. She stepped from the chamber, and Lon followed behind her, allowing the doors to close with an ominous boom and resounding echoes across the vestibule. The torches were dim and cold after the brilliance of the orbs, yet an emptiness I hadn't known I was feeling vanished now that the doors were sealed. A strange relief washed over me.
“You may return to your companions, Key,” Veija said into the gloom.
I felt a stab of guilt, knowing I’d failed her test. Bowing, because I wasn't sure how else to exit, I turned and retreated up the stairs, leaving Veija and her over-protective brother behind.
When light appeared in the winding stairwell, I jogged until I reached the top level of the grandfather tree, gasping. Hands on my knees, back arched, I drew deep breaths, focusing on them to keep from reflecting on Veija's disappointed gaze. It wasn't really working.
I straightened, running a hand through my hair until it snared in the sap. With a scowl I disentangled my hand, ignoring the snarls I'd just made worse. I fix
ed my eyes on the tree's exit and sprinted toward it, desperate to find my former companions. The repressive feeling I’d experienced when I saw the orbs had returned, lingering now like a weight on my mind and soul. If there was one person who could distract me from this, it was Crenen.
I stepped into the fresh air of the Realm of Yenen Clan. Evening was descending, casting a deeper gloom across the city.
Crenen and his cronies were gone. Searching for them, I gazed down the fifty steps to where the bowing crowds had been. Now only a few dozen people milled about, heads bowed, pallid faces drawn. A city this large should have been bustling, yet now it resembled a ghost town, complete with roaming specters.
“They do not believe you can save them,” Hiskii's silken voice said from behind me.
I whirled, startled. “I, I can't save them,” I said. “I'm not Vendaeva.” Despite my adamant claim yesterday that I would save Paradise whether Crenen liked it or not, I knew better than to believe myself. I was a liar. Liars aren't trustworthy. Up until now everything had been a crazy dream; a bizarre, freakish nightmare with a few perks—like gerani and being important. But it was different now. I was not the heroic type; I couldn't save people from a terrible disease. Doctors did that—not teenage boys with penchants for lying.
Quiet Sneaky Thing frowned at me, yellow eyes boring holes into my head. “I see. Very well, boy. Sa Vais wants you. Come.”
I followed the silent figure, descending the steps with leaden shoes.
Justifications ran through my head as I walked. I couldn't be Vendaeva. It was ridiculous to believe otherwise. And if I was—if that were even remotely possible—did it matter that I had failed the test? Could people really blame me for being hesitant? Part of me wanted to be the prophesied hero. Ensure my survival and, sure, I'll do whatever you want. I'll even try to destroy the Paradisaical—or whatever—disease.
As if that could happen.
The emptiness deepened, and it wasn't until I reached the tree Hiskii led me to that I understood what it really was. I was homesick. I'd had enough of this world. I'd had enough of feeling pressured to heal the dratted place.
It was impossible.
“Go.” Hiskii nodded to a flight of wooden stairs that circled up the trunk. “They are on the second level. Sa Vais is waiting. Go.”
I obeyed, and without taking note of anything, I walked up the steps. When I reached the second story, I pulled the first door open.
“Well, well,” Crenen said cheerily from within, where he sat at a long table laden with food. Menen and Jenen sat with him. “Come, eat.”
I stepped inside, closed the door and planned to sit back and think miserable thoughts when my eyes caught sight of several bowls of plump, juicy gerani. My mouth watered and all my cares melted away.
“Sticky Sap Boy smell like tree, yeah?” Crenen said, his fanged smile stretching wide.
“You’re the one who didn't let me take a bath first, yeah?” I retorted, gesturing with my spoon between mouthfuls of food. After eating a few gerani, I’d discovered I was famished.
Crenen raised one eyebrow. “In any case,” he turned to Menen, “he smell like tree.”
Menen merely nodded, chewing his food. Crenen leaned toward him to insist he speak. I took that moment to glance over at Jenen.
As I’d suspected, he was watching me. As I hooked his gaze, I offered a smile, hoping it wouldn’t make him furious. He tore his eyes from mine, focusing on his own food. The kindness he’d shown me when I first arrived in Paradise was long gone.
I admired his ability to block out all the noise Crenen was making as he prodded Menen’s shoulder with a sharp knife, demanding that he “sniff Sticky Sap Boy for self, since nose is broke.”
As Crenen rattled on, my thoughts threatened to turn down dreary paths again, and I reached for another gerani to drown my sorrows.
“What Sticky Sap Boy think of Mysterious Girly Guy?” Crenen asked, giving my hand pause as it hovered over the nearest bunch of gerani.
“He means Lon,” Menen supplied, receiving a glare from Crenen.
“Sure, speak to Sticky Sap Boy but not when Master order so, yeah?”
“As you wish, Master,” Menen bowed his head obligingly.
Crenen blinked, speechless for once. Then he shrugged it off and swiped the Paradisaical Purple Fruit I’d been aiming for as he gazed at me, waiting.
I stifled a scowl, selecting a different gerani. “Well.” I recalled the loathing gaze Lon had given me after my remark on his skirt and his continued disdain below ground. “I don’t much like him.” Nor he, me, chances were.
Crenen cackled. “Seem arrogant and cold, yeah? Much like Sick Nasty Dog.”
I nodded fervent agreement.
Speaking of Jenen... “Hey, Crenen, you always have a reason for everyone that you name, er, what you name them…” So, I could have phrased that better. “What I mean is—Tall Strong Jerk’s name is obvious. Mine…is…also obvious,” I admitted, denial aside for time's sake. “But what about Jenen? Why ‘Sick Nasty Dog'?”
Crenen glanced at Jenen, as though he was no more than an insignificant bug. “When little, Sick Nasty Dog get sick lots.”
“And when I betrayed Yenen Clan, I became a ‘nasty dog,'” Jenen added with a sardonic smile.
“Exactly,” Crenen said.
“You betrayed your clan?” I asked.
Menen cleared his throat, gaining my attention, and shook his head, but Jenen and Crenen shot him withering glares. He took a bite of food and became silent. I made a mental note to ask Menen the facts later. In the meantime, I decided to inquire into as much as they would allow. “If you betrayed your clan, how come Crenen wants you to be the leader?”
Jenen glanced at Crenen with a calculating look and then scooped food onto his wooden spoon. “I wish I knew.”
I turned to Crenen.
“No business.” He swiped another gerani.
Before I could try another approach, the door into the tree opened and Mysterious Girly Guy—Lon—entered. His stony red eyes fell on me.
“Yes?” I asked.
“Her ladyship desires another conversation.”
I stood, glancing back at Crenen, who had somehow managed to get his hand caught in Menen’s grasp, a large gerani clutched in his arrested claws. Neither of them was focused on their silent battle any longer, but instead watched Lon and me, curiosity written clearly on their faces.
“I’ll be back,” I said, sparing a fleeting glance at Jenen, who watched his food intently, raven hair hanging like a curtain in his face.
I followed Lon into the darkness outside. We walked down the steps until we reached the ground, but instead of heading to the grandfather tree, Lon guided me through the city, heading in the opposite direction. I took the opportunity to study my surroundings. Lights shone in many of the treehouses, though more than double that were eerily dark and silent. No one was out now, save us. As we passed one tree, I thought I heard sobbing coming from within the dark abode. A chill ran down my spine, and I walked just a tad closer to my guide.
A while later, as the trees thinned, we reached a wide, deep, black pool of water. Here the canopy of leaves relented, revealing a breathtaking view of the nighttime sky and two full moons directly above us. The scene was reflected in the pool, glistening with the luminous celestial wonder.
Lon approached the water, eyes studying his stony reflection.
“Come here,” he said. “Look.”
I stepped up to the bank and gazed into the depths. The moons' reflections were so clear in the still pond, I almost believed they were the real thing; that somehow, I stood on top of them.
“What do you see?” Lon asked.
I knew this was one of those profound, rhetorical questions, and I knew the answer he wanted me to state. “Me,” I supplied as I glanced at my reflection. I did a double-take then, meeting my own gray eyes, somehow different from before. My honey-colored hair was much longer now, and tangled, sticking wildly i
n all directions because of the tree sap. Despite this, while I hadn’t shaved since my arrival about a week ago, no stubble showed on my face. Longish hair, but no beard? That made no sense.
“Is there something wrong, Vendaeva?” Lon’s voice was mocking.
Why was it that everyone gave me the urge to hit them around here?
“No,” I said, looking up.
“Do you like Paradise?”
I shrugged. “Sure,” I lied with ease. It wasn't a complete lie, though. A part of me, small though it was, did like it here. Did want to help. But I couldn't, could I? Was it possible? Even just a little bit?
“You are homesick.”
I clenched my fist. But the more honest part of me felt the longing for home return. It was a battle of longing versus pride—not an easy fight. Finally, I sighed. “Yeah. I kind of miss my family.” As soon as I said it, I regretted doing so. My cheeks warmed.
Lon laughed outright, a peculiar light in his blood-colored eyes. “Well, then, Key—what say you? Shall I send you home?” I stared as Lon's eyes changed color, glowing a brilliant metallic gold.
“W-what?” I stepped back as his words sank in. My heel touched the water, and I halted. “Drat.” I tried to scramble from the pool, but Lon was too fast. Though his slender fingers pushed me almost delicately, as though he only grudgingly touched me, it was enough to make me lose my balance.
I fell back, flailing my arms as though to make them wings. A splash sounded in my ears, somehow distant. Sparkles of water flashed among the stars, while the man in the moon laughed with glowing, golden eyes.
Just one moon.
I awoke on my dreary neighborhood street. Sitting up, I gazed at the gloomy houses lining the suburban lane, at the school not too far away, at the potholes littering the paved road, ignoring the pounding rain flattening my hair against my head.
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