Providence (Statera Saga Book 3)

by Amy Marie

  On the ramp, Joe reaches up to open the door of the jet that brought us to France. “You guys load up, I’ll go in and file to get us back home.”

  “No need,” a voice interrupts us from inside the plane.

  It can’t be.

  My eyes peek up with a dim spark of hope.

  “Char?” I ask.

  “Hey, sis!” She rushes down the steps to hug me.

  I hold her back at arm’s length to get a better look at her. She’s still pallid, but her smile outshines any illness. “How?” It’s the only word I can manage to get out.

  “Tara let us in. She told us what you were up to. Dansé and Besim are inside. I’ll let them explain. I’m just happy to see you safe,” she says, hugging me again.

  “Likewise!” I say in relief, stunned to the core.

  “Oh my God, Char!” Rafe races from the building at full speed to pick her up in a loving embrace. He twirls her in the air and sets her down to plant a firm kiss on her lips. “Thank God you’re safe.”

  I divert my eyes, partially to give them privacy and partially because I’m full of jealousy. I’ll never have an embrace like that again.

  Then Rafe does something I would never have expected. He gets down on his knees and kisses Char’s stomach.

  I can’t believe my eyes. My breath hiccups, but can’t form any words.

  Char glimpses my reaction and gives me an apologetic smile. “Enough with the charade,” she shrugs. “I know you think I’ve been avoiding you, and honestly, I have,” she explains. “I’m so sorry. I just wanted you to concentrate on protecting yourself instead of always protecting me. We didn’t want to burden you with worry.”

  Tears fill my eyes at the revelation. “I-I don’t know what to say!”

  “Everyone’s been trying to protect me.” She turns to Rafe. “Rafe, you know I love you, but you can’t live in fear that Uncle Mike’s tragedies will become your own. We’ve learned from the past, and look how far we’ve come!”

  “I can’t believe it!” I laugh and move in to hug both of them this time, giving Char a congratulatory tummy pat. I haven’t felt happiness like this in what seems like ages.

  The others join us in the joyful reunion on the ramp in front of the plane. Rafe catches everyone up and we introduce Inigo and a very timid Shkote’Nsi.

  “But where’s Mr. Sinclair?” Char asks when we tell her about our meeting with Broderick.

  “We couldn’t bring him along, but we didn’t want him to get hurt either,” Rafe explains. “He’s tied up in Inigo’s apartment with plenty of food and water to hold him over. Hopefully Lilly will realize he’s not of further use and leave him be. I’ll call and have the police check on when I can.”

  “If we’re not going home, where should I file the flight plan to?” Joe asks.

  Everyone seems to turn my way.

  I stand back for a moment, amazed. I never thought we’d get this far.

  “Well, we have all the elements. We have the Statera, the necklace, and the dagger. I think we need to go back to where it all began,” I suggest.

  “Heliopolis?” Inigo asks.

  “Let’s go find the Temple of the Sun,” I agree.

  Chapter 18

  As we depart Paris for Cairo, everyone settles in to their separate tasks. Tara sits up in the cockpit with her husband, more than happy to keep him company and help with the flight’s duties.

  Professor Besim settles in at the front of the plane, gripping the briefcase that contains the Statera, as Inigo hammers him with question after question about the book and our journey.

  Rafe holds Char in his embrace as he reads through the printed pages of Mr. Sinclair’s book, looking for any clues that might’ve been overlooked. Char cuddles up tight to his side with a smile on her face, listening to his excited chatter.

  A few rows back, Dylan is practically glowing at the opportunity to speak with his elemental soul mate, though he and Shkote’Nsi are making slow conversation. The fire soul’s English is very limited. He did his best to listen and pick up what he could, but for the past two-hundred-and-fifty years he was a prisoner of the destructor’s dark power. The only conversation he ever had was with his master.

  I thought I’d be happy for Dylan when he finally got this chance with his soul mate, but after what I just had to do with Darcy, I just can’t. Though the others try to engage me in various conversation, I only want to be alone.

  At one point in the flight I try to hide in the serving galley in the back of the plane, but Besim stumbles out of the nearby bathroom surprising us both.

  “Oh! Is everything alright, Nora?” he asks.

  “Yeah. Just needed a break from everyone, after… everything,” I shrug, struggling to hide my emotion.

  Besim nods in understanding, turning to leave the galley. After a moment’s hesitation he twists back. “You know, what you did today was very brave. Sometimes the difficulty after such an act doesn’t lie in wondering whether or not you made the right decision. The difficulty is knowing that you did, and trusting that there’s still a way for things to work out right in the end,” he says. “Don’t forget to have a little faith, my dear light one.”

  He sounds so much like Uncle Mike, my eyes well up. Before I even have a chance to respond, he exits the galley. As he passes through the curtained entry, I notice Dansé tucked away in a seat by herself near the back of the plane. She wipes a tear away from her cheek as she stares stone-faced out the window.

  Recognizing her pain, I take the seat beside her. “How are you?” I ask her. A silly question, all things considered.

  “I’m guessing the same as you,” she says with a small shrug.

  “Besim mentioned you’re the reason they got out safe?” I ask.

  “The Midewin, actually,” she says in a whisper.

  “I’m so sorry. I heard she didn’t make it,” I offer my condolence, though it feels so weak compared to the depth of my sympathy.

  “Are you? Her killer sits on this plane,” she snaps, catching me off guard.

  “Dansé, he was possessed. You know—”

  “I know the Midewin is dead. She helped you, and she paid with her life. Even in the end, she sacrificed herself to save us. She made one last prophecy with her last ounce of strength, and it killed her.” Tears run down her cheeks now.

  “She did?” I ask. This is news to me.

  “Yes,” she sniffs. “She saw the wave coming. She warned us to leave. And she—” she cuts off as she glares over my shoulder in anger.

  Shkote’Nsi stands behind me. “I am sorry,” he says to Dansé. He points to her and then to himself. “We talk?” he asks.

  “I have nothing to say to you,” she turns to look out her window.

  “Please,” he says the word in their native language, but I catch the plea in his voice.

  “Just hear him out,” I whisper to her. “It’s not every day you get to talk to an ancestor of your tribe.”

  “The Midewin was an ancestor of my tribe. That thing is an abomination,” she spats, not even bothering to look his way.

  This is getting nowhere fast. I decide to take Shkote’Nsi by the arm and lead him back up front to sit with Dylan. “She’s dealing with some grief. She just needs some time,” I try to reassure him before realizing he probably doesn’t understand me.

  “Women!” Dylan picks up on the tension and tries to make a joke, but it gets lost in translation. At Shkote’Nsi’s blank stare, he ends up shoving his foot farther into his mouth. “Not that there’s anything wrong with them. I love women. I mean… I prefer to…” he says, glancing between the two of us.

  I’m not sure if I want to laugh or cry. Dylan’s so confused. He wants so badly to make a connection, but he just doesn’t know how. And who can blame him? His soul mate is a two-hundred-and-fifty year cursed Native American man. It’s going to be pretty hard to find common ground.

  Shkote’Nsi watches Dylan with eyes wise from his extended years. He somehow unders
tands the struggle and confusion. He reaches his hand out to lay it on Dylan’s. No words pass between them, but the understanding is there in both their eyes. No need for labels, their connection has no boundaries. Shkote’Nsi squeezes Dylan’s hand before letting go. He points to the back of the plane where Dansé sits. “She burns,” he says after a moment of trying to find the right words.

  “Yes, she’s angry right now,” I do my best to interpret his meaning. “But she’s been a great help to us. She’ll come around.”

  “No.” He shakes his head, frustrated. He points to himself and then to Dansé. “Shkote’. Shkote’.” The Potawatomi word for fire. I remember it when Dansé told us about her nickname — the name she was given at birth.

  “You think… she could be like you?” I ask.

  Out of nowhere he stands and goes on a rant in his native language pointing to himself and gesturing all kinds of action. There’s no way for us to understand what he’s saying, but his dramatics have caught Dansé’s attention from the back of the plane. She’s not the only one. Everyone in the cabin is now watching him in fascination.

  “Can you please translate?” I ask Dansé.

  With a huff, she grudgingly moves closer, listening to the fire soul’s story. After a few seconds, she begins speaking in translation:

  “He says as soon as he was born, his tribe knew what he was. He says it happens that way sometimes. Though, prophecies are always different. Other times, it takes years to reveal. There are many paths that may be taken, but the one who sees all knows where you will end up all the same. He says he has hunted the elemental souls for the last two-hundred-and-fifty years at evil’s command. He has seen how it works.”

  Tara’s head pokes around the entry to the cockpit. As Shkote’Nsi continues, she moves back with the rest of us to listen.

  “It can happen many different ways. That is part of the winding paths. It allows free will to take its turn. Sometimes, after death, a soul bides its time before coming back into the world. But sometimes, the soul moves right to another adult with potential, sometimes a child, sometimes a baby in the womb. There’s no rhyme or reason, but there is a sign. Something that signals a potential soul. It can only be recognized by another spirit of the circle. Sometimes it’s an earth-shattering moment, sometimes it’s so small you can barely detect it. But you can see it the first time you look into their eyes. That’s how you glimpse the soul.”

  He uses two fingers to point into his own eyes, and then gestures to ours.

  I share a glance with Tara, better understanding the tragedy with Joe’s sister Aria. I find myself wondering if Shkote’Nsi was the one who killed her. The fire soul begins talking again, almost in answer to my unspoken question.

  “I have wronged you all. In this life, or the past. I can never thank you enough for saving my soul from the harness of evil, but I must ask you all one favor now.”

  “Of course,” says Dylan. “Anything. What is it?”

  Shkote’Nsi points to himself. “Nsa nin,” he says in his language, pressing his fingers repeatedly into his chest, just beside the necklace.

  Dansé stares at him in horror.

  “What?” Dylan asks her. “What’s he saying?”

  Her answer silences us all.

  “He said… ‘kill me’.”

  Chapter 19

  “No,” Dylan doesn’t hesitate in his response.

  “He’s asking…?” I trail off, unable to fathom the request.

  Shkote’Nsi witnesses our reaction and launches into another rant. Dansé does her best to keep up. “He says it’s too much to bear the burden of playing evil’s assassin. The curse may be broken, but his heart cannot carry the weight.”

  “I’ll help you!” Dylan argues. “We all will! It’s not your fault!”

  “He says it is not natural for him to be alive today. It’s a crime against nature, and it’s the only crime he finally has the power to make right. He asks for our help. He doesn’t belong here. He asks us to give him a noble death of a warrior, a true Potawatomi.”

  Shkote’Nsi moves in front of Dansé, speaking directly to her. He points between her and himself, continuing to speak, but she’s given up on translating for us. The conversation stays between them.

  “What’s he saying?” Dylan asks her, obviously starting to panic. He’s just found his counterpart, and now he’s facing losing him again.

  When Shkote’Nsi is done speaking with Dansé, I attempt to object on Dylan’s behalf. On behalf of us all, really. “You can’t do this. We need you. We’ve reached the point of looking into the void and facing the emptiness head on. Our final battle’s just begun. This is the first time we’ve ever gathered all the elements together. We can’t afford to lose you.”

  “Exactly,” Dylan says. “It’s insane that we’re even discussing it!” He steps in front of Shkote’Nsi. “You were robbed of your life! You were held hostage in your own mind to perform unspeakable acts for that monster for too long. If we win, you’ll get to start fresh! You’ll get a new life! You’ll be free!”

  Dansé does her best to pass Dylan’s words along. The young native man meets Dylan’s worried eyes and begins talking in a gentle tone.

  “He says that’s all he wishes for… to be free. You more than anyone should understand what’s in his heart and grant him this mercy. He wishes to join his ancestors. He wishes to make a noble sacrifice in atonement. He wishes more than anything for you all to understand. This is what’s meant to happen.”

  Shkote’Nsi goes on to say something, but Dansé stays silent. He repeats himself, turning to look at her, but she stands still as a statue, refusing to translate. He turns to us, angered at his inability to communicate. He points to himself and then to Dansé. He repeats the word Shkote’, and then points to his eyes.

  “Dansé, what’s he saying?” I ask.

  “He’s wrong,” she replies.

  “Wrong about what?” asks Rafe.

  “Shkote’,” he repeats to me, almost in question.

  “You want fire?” I ask. I reach into my pocket to pull out the lighter I always carry, and hold it up. He nods his head, signaling me to light it.

  My thumb flicks the flint wheel in motion, sparking a small flame. Shkote’Nsi reaches for the flame, ensnaring the blaze in the palm of his glowing hand. He waves his other hand to make the flame larger. “Look,” he says, one of the few words he’s picked up in English. He points from his eyes to the flame.

  “You want me to look into the fire?” I ask him.

  He catches enough to understand me and nods his head.

  “Like a prophecy?” Dylan asks.

  “Prophecy!” Shkote’Nsi repeats the word he was looking for. He turns back to me, nodding in encouragement for me to look into the fire.

  I concentrate on connecting my light to the warmth of the flame. It happens easier this time, after the time before in the Valley of Fire. The connection is more open, instant. There’s a shared warmth in our powers. In seconds, I’m pulled into a vision.

  When I focus my eyes, I’m standing in a makeshift hospital room with Dansé and the burnt Midewin. The older woman is lying in bed, connected to several beeping monitors.

  “Grandmother, hold on. Please,” Dansé whispers to the dying woman.

  Grandmother!

  The term of endearment catches me off guard. I had no idea Dansé was related to the Midewin.

  “My child, it’s time for you to listen. I don’t have much time,” the Midewin says. “There’s something coming. You and the others must leave, immediately.”

  “We’ll all go,” Dansé interrupts.

  “No, my child,” she says. “The next wave of death is coming. I dreamt it. But I also dreamt of you, and what you’re destined to become, my little Shkote’mskwe’.”

  “The Shaman said I’m never to use that name. We’ve spent my whole life hiding our relation, hiding my name. He said it was to protect me. Why did you tell the others?” Dansé asks.

>   “Because it’s time for you to accept the fire in your blood. We are descended from the cursed one. He may be controlled by the Mjumnito now, but he will be returned to our ancestors soon. And the torch will be ready to pass on to you.”

  “What if I don’t want it?” Dansé asks, the bitterness evident in her voice.

  “Dansé, it’s true the choice is yours, and it will not be an easy one. Our world rests on delicate scales. Great sacrifice is certain to be required.”

  “I’m not sure I can, Grandma,” Dansé says as tears fill her eyes.

  “No one ever is, child. You have the potential. The choice is yours to make.”

  With those last words, the vision fades. I’m brought back to the cabin of the plane as Shkote’Nsi tightens his fist to extinguish the flame.

  “What did you see?” Dylan asks when I blink my eyes.

  I turn to face Dansé. Part of me wants to scream at her. Does she think any of us wanted this? To have to sacrifice? I lost my normal life, my family, and my soul mate. Does she think I wanted that? She knows she has the potential, but she wants to run from her responsibility.

  Her cheeks flush red under my scrutiny. A single tear falls from her eye.

  My breath puffs out as I calm myself.

  This isn’t her fault.

  Coming to a decision, I pull the two Potawatomi to the back of the plane. “Translate for me,” I whisper to Dansé so only the three of us can hear. At her nod I continue, pointing to Shkote’Nsi. “If you want pass on the spirit of fire and join your ancestors, that’s your choice. We’ll find a way to help you. But the choice of who you pass your soul to is not yours.” I point to Dansé. “It’s her choice. It always has been, and it always will be.” I turn to her and lay a consoling hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. You can help us without picking up that burden. You have the potential, but it’s definitely your choice. You’ve already been a great help to us, you and your grandmother. Thank you.”

  Dansé’s mouth hangs open at my words. It’s obviously not what she was expecting to hear. She doesn’t realize she stopped talking, so she finishes translating everything to Shkote’Nsi.