Pyxis: The Discovery (Pyxis Series)

by K. C. Neal

  Psychological bond? Was she talking ESP?

  I put the quiche in the oven, set the timer, and joined them at the table. Aunt Dorothy seemed absorbed in her tea mug for a moment. When she looked up, her eyes had that steely quality I’d seen yesterday when she reprimanded me. I sucked in a shallow breath and held it for a few seconds.

  “The two of you will need to perform a similar rite,” she said quietly, and looked back and forth between us. “Afterward, you will be tied together, linked. You’ll be in syndesmo, we call it. It’s a vital part of your role as the Pyxis.” She looked at me, and then at Mason. “And your role as the Shield. When the Pyxis is absorbed in using her, ah, strengths, she becomes very vulnerable in certain ways. It’s the Shield’s job to protect her during that time.”

  Nervousness rippled through me. My strengths?

  “Aunt Dorothy?” I said, trying to keep my voice even and whine-free. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t get this at all. Why the need for all the magic and Guardians and such? It all just sounds crazy. I mean really crazy. I don’t understand why we need to protect the meadow or the convergence or whatever. Or why it has to be us. What if we don’t want to do it?”

  My throat constricted a little as I waited for her reaction. I didn’t want to anger her, but I couldn’t keep ignoring the doubt and disbelief that nagged at me.

  “I know it’s a lot to take in, my dear,” she said with about as much patience as I’d ever seen her display. “And frankly, there’s only so much I can explain before you just have to experience it for yourself. I believe I told you already that the convergence is the source of the materials that make the pyxis liquids. The botanical material used to make the liquids is extremely rare and valuable. You can imagine, I’m sure, that it would be disastrous to let them fall into the wrong hands.”

  “Actually, I really don’t know what the liquids are for. What makes them so valuable?” I said.

  “Each has an influence over the emotions, and therefore the actions, of the person who ingests them. They will be quite important for you, my dear, as part of the training that comes after you’re linked with Mason.” She pursed her lips and watched me for a second, almost daring me to push her with more questions.

  I slouched a little, realizing the finality in her voice meant she wasn’t going to tell us any more about the pyxis. She clearly had her own agenda for what and how much she wanted to reveal.

  “Back to the convergence,” she continued. “The convergence is special for other reasons, too. It’s a place where there is a permeability in the fabric of our world. A sort of weak spot between the world we see around us and the world we can’t see. In that other world, every person on earth is vulnerable to whatever inhabits it, whatever controls it.”

  My head throbbed a little, and I squeezed my eyes shut for a second. “You’re saying there are, like, two universes?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” she said. “Think back to your dreams. In the very vivid and memorable ones, does it not seem that you inhabit a world that is somehow complete in itself? It’s not the same as your waking world, of course. Sometimes it closely resembles our world, and sometimes it seems almost too absurd to understand.”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” I said.

  “Your dreams are an entry into that other world. In some ways, that world is very much like this one, the world you know. But things happen in that world that could never happen here.”

  I remembered what Mason had said about our dreams leaking into our waking lives. “So our dreams aren’t just figments of our imaginations, crazy crap firing between the synapses in our brains when we’re asleep? It’s like our minds are actually inhabiting an alternate universe?”

  “Exactly,” she said, pleased with my understanding. I glanced at Mason and suddenly suspected that he already understood all this—that he was just waiting for me to catch up. “A dream is a state of mind in which you’re inhabiting that alternate universe. And the convergence is a physical location where the two universes are especially close to one another. By entering the dream world, you gain access to people’s dreams, in effect, and—”

  “If you can get into their dreams, you can basically get into their brains,” I finished for her. Goosebumps spread across my arms. “That’s terrifying.”

  “It’s certainly not a thing to be taken lightly. And as to why it has to be you, well, in your case, that’s a matter of lineage. The next Pyxis is always the daughter—or granddaughter, in your case—of the previous one. The Shield is always a male, but it is not passed down through a family line. The Guardians may be male or female, and the guardianships are not passed down, either. But just because the Shield and Guardians are not inherited doesn’t mean they have any more choice in the matter than you do.”

  “So what happens that makes someone become a Shield or Guardian?” I asked.

  “We don’t know for sure. In the case of the Shield, it’s usually someone who has some relationship with or affinity for the Pyxis.” I tried very hard not to think of everything that had happened between me and Mason, but I felt my face growing hot. I carefully kept my eyes on my great-aunt.

  “The Guardians are always people known to the Pyxis,” she continued. “But beyond that we really don’t know how the selection process works. There are certain signs, rather like auras, and Doris and I both observed them between you, Mason, and Angeline many years ago.”

  “We know from our dreams that there’s something threatening the convergence, right?” Mason asked. Aunt Dorothy nodded. “Then shouldn’t Corinne and I go through the rite soon?”

  “That would be best,” she said. “The sooner the two of you are in syndesmo, the better. I do hope the other Guardian reveals him or herself soon. I believe that may be hastened by your linking with Corinne.”

  The timer went off, and I pulled the quiche out of the oven.

  “So what’s this rite all about?” I asked from the stove.

  “We’ll need about three hours, if I recall correctly,” she said, straightening purposefully. “The rite itself takes only a few seconds, but you will need time to recover.”

  I glanced at Mason. He looked a lot calmer than I felt.

  “Does it hurt?” I asked.

  “No, no, but you will feel quite disoriented for a while afterward. Even when you recover consciousness and you’re able to move about normally, it will take many days—weeks—to fully adjust. But there’s no reason we can’t do it today, if you’re both free for the rest of the afternoon.”

  “Should we do anything to prepare?” Mason asked.

  “We will need the pyxis,” she said. “And the two of you will need to be ready to take a little nap until the disorientation subsides.”

  I dished up three plates of quiche and brought them to the table. The last thing I wanted to do right now was eat, but it sounded like once we started this rite, I wouldn’t be able to do much of anything for several hours. We ate in silence.

  When he finished eating, Mason laid his fork across his empty plate and looked at me. Like so often lately, his hazel eyes reflected a mix of worry and determination. “Are you ready to do this?”

  I took a deep breath and nodded. “We might as well get it over with. I’ll have to run home to get the pyxis. Do you need anything?”

  “No, I’m okay. I’d like to stay here and talk to Aunt Dorothy, if you don’t mind,” he said. I felt the slightest twinge of jealousy, but I said nothing. I rose and cleared our empty plates.

  I drove home alone, and, grateful to find the house empty, I retrieved the pyxis from the space behind the wall heater, and then changed from my jeans into comfy leggings. I grabbed my favorite fleece blanket, too.

  Standing in the doorway, I paused to look around my room. The next time I stood here, I’d be different somehow. I knew I’d be back later that night, but it felt like I was getting ready to leave on a long journey. I took a deep breath, gathered up my things, and went out to the car.

  || 32 ||
>
  MASON AND I SAT side-by-side on the end of the double bed in the guest room of Aunt Dorothy’s house. I held my black-and-purple fleece blanket on my lap. The pyxis sat on the low dresser with its lid tilted back. Aunt Doris mixed up a glass of water with one drop from each of the orange, green, and yellow bottles, then poured half of the solution into a second glass, and emptied the rest into a third glass. One for me and one for Mason, I guessed.

  “Before you drink, you each need a drop of this.” She pulled a small glass bottle from the pocket of her cardigan. It looked like a miniature version of one of the pyxis bottles; the solution it contained was inky-black. “A drop of this will lower your psychological barriers and allow the solution to help you form the link. Open up.”

  We both opened our mouths obediently, like baby birds waiting for breakfast. A single drop fell on my tongue, and I grimaced at its bitterness. It tasted like a very strong, very spoiled lemon. I felt Mason shudder beside me, and I snickered.

  “Now, I want you both to lie back in the bed. Go ahead, lie down and get comfortable.” She slipped the little bottle back in her pocket and made shooing motions at us.

  We both kicked off our shoes, scooted back on the bed, and lay against the pillows stacked in front of the headboard. I spread my blanket over both of us and then folded my hands across my belly. My heart raced with nervousness, and I folded my fingers into my palms to keep from raising them to my mouth to chew on my nails. Mason reached over to take my hand, and almost immediately, my pulse slowed.

  A strange sensation began to sweep over me. It was a little like being drunk, except everything around me seemed to be vibrating. I looked over at Mason in alarm, and he winked at me. He was taking all of this so much better than I was.

  “Now you’re going to drink, but not from your own glass,” Aunt Dorothy said. She stood on Mason’s side of the bed and handed one glass to him and one across to me. “Corinne drinks from Mason’s, and Mason drinks from Corinne’s. No need to drink it all. Just a few sips will do. In a moment, you’ll feel extremely tired. Let yourself drift. Don’t fight it. It’s okay to fall asleep.”

  Mason held his glass for me, and grateful to wash away some of the horrible taste of the black liquid, I took three swallows from it. I held my glass for him, and he drank from it, keeping his hazel eyes intent on my face. We both handed our glasses to Aunt Dorothy, and within seconds, the world started to go gray and fade. Was this supposed to happen? I felt panic rise in my chest and tried to sit up.

  “Issh okay, Corinne,” Mason slurred. “Don’ worry.”

  I felt him squeeze my hand weakly, and then I lost consciousness.

  * * *

  I sensed light through my eyelids, but they didn’t want to open. I heard a quiet, incessant chattering, like a TV or radio in the distance. I tried to lift my hand to my face, but my arm didn’t budge. Why was I paralyzed? I must be dreaming. I tried to shake my head and wake myself up.

  My eyes finally opened, and I looked around the room. How long had I been out? It was still light outside, so it couldn’t be too late. The whispery chatter still seemed to fill my brain, so I propped myself up on my elbows and shook my head a couple of times. Yikes, big mistake. I sank back against the pillows as dizziness reeled through me.

  Are you okay? Mason’s voice filled my mind, and I jumped. I suddenly remembered the rite, the bottle of black ink, Mason’s hand warm around mine. I turned to look for him. He lay on his stomach beside me, watching me silently with his head resting on his folded arms.

  Sorry, did I scare you? I’ve been waiting for you to wake up. I didn’t mean to yell.

  I stared at him. A tiny smile played across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

  “Pretty freaky, huh?” he said.

  “Was … was that…” I didn’t even know how to pose the question.

  Yep. I heard his voice in my head again. Now you try.

  Uh … do you hear that chattering? I silently sent the thought to him.

  He nodded. I think I’m hearing the stream of your thoughts. Like background noise. And you’re probably hearing the same from me.

  Are you sure we’re not asleep? Or high? Or … dead?

  Pretty sure, yeah. Guess this is how it feels to be in syndesmo.

  I wanted to reach into my ears and scratch my brain. It was like a wad of static-filled fuzz was stuffed in my head. I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head, and another wave of dizziness swept over me. I swallowed hard against a rush of nausea.

  “You’re both awake. Wonderful!” Aunt Dorothy appeared at the door. I tried to sit up, but another bout dizziness consumed me, and I fell back to the bed. “No, don’t get up, my dear. You’re going to feel like that for a bit. Give it another hour or so before you try to walk. Wouldn’t want you to bump your head or twist an ankle.”

  She sat on the edge of the bed near my feet. “How is the link working? Have you tried communicating with each other?”

  I frowned and nodded. “There’s a chattery buzz in my mind. Mason thinks it’s his thoughts running through my head, like background noise.”

  She nodded. “Yes, that’s to be expected. Don’t worry, you’ll learn to tune it out when you need to.” Easy for her to say. I wanted to claw my eyes out so I could get to my brain and make the static stop. “But what about communicating? Can you hear each other?”

  “Yeah, complete sentences and everything,” Mason said. “It’s wild. Like having two-way radios installed in our heads.”

  She clapped her hands. “Oh, I do wish Doris was here. She’d get such a kick out of this. But now I should leave you alone for a bit to recover. Just lie still. And practice some more, if you’d like. You should be able to pick up on each other’s emotions and moods. Soon you’ll be able to convey images and physical sensations, such as tastes and smells.

  “Oh, one other thing. It would be wise if you each chose some sort of symbol to associate with the sensation in your mind. It can be anything—a color, an object, a word. But if you can attach something to the sensation of another person being inside your mind, it will be easier to shut them out when you need to.”

  “Will Mason be able to tell if I’m, um, shutting him out?” I asked.

  “Yes, he will have the sense that your presence has receded somewhat from his mind. Like turning down the volume on the TV. But you can never completely close yourself off from the link.” She patted the blanket covering our legs and left us alone.

  I turned onto my side to face Mason, and he did the same. A symbol…. I watched his eyes for a moment, focusing on the tiny flecks of gray, brown, gold, and green in his irises. Then I closed my eyes and concentrated on the sensation of his presence in my mind.

  Everything okay? he asked.

  I’m just trying to come up with a symbol. Do you have one yet?

  Yeah … can you see it?

  No, I don’t see anything. What is it?

  Your purple chair. The one in your room.

  I laughed. Seriously? Why that?

  I love it. It’s cool and unique. Like you.

  Thanks. I felt a blush spread over my face and opened my eyes.

  Got one yet?

  I nodded. I pictured a sun-dappled Ponderosa pine and imagined the smell of warm wood, pine needles, and resinous-vanilla. It was perfect. It had the sort of permanence, peacefulness, and steadiness I’d always associated with Mason, and the smell reminded me of the soap he used.

  Do you see it?

  I closed my eyes and concentrated hard on forming every detail of the tree in my mind, as if I had taken a photograph with my phone and sent it to his brain.

  He gasped, and my eyes popped open.

  “Holy … I could see it, Corinne,” he breathed, and he looked at me in wonder. “Ponderosa pine. How did you do that?”

  I smiled triumphantly. For once, I was getting the hang of something before he did.

  “I pretended I took a picture of it with my phone and tried to, like, message it
to you with my mind. I tried to picture everything, down to the tiniest detail.”

  Why is that my symbol?

  Because you’re so tall. I grinned. Just kidding. The colors of the tree match the colors in your eyes. It’s strong and well-grounded, like you. And it smells like your soap—warm wood and vanilla.

  I like it. This is really amazing, isn’t it?

  Yeah, in a very disturbing sort of way. I wondered what I’d do when we could feel each other’s emotions and sensations. The thought made me want to squirm.

  Why disturbing?

  Well … there’ll be times I might not want you to know what I’m thinking or feeling. I’m sure you can, um, think of your own examples.

  Now it was his turn to blush. Hopefully, we’ll figure out that volume-down thing pretty quick.

  I nodded. We both lay quiet and still, and I listened to the stream of whisper-chatter streaming through my mind. I couldn’t really make out individual words, but that was probably good. It’d be easier to ignore that way.

  Mason reached out and brushed his fingertips over my cheek, trailing warmth across my skin. Whatever happens, whatever we have to face, I’m glad it’s with you.

  Me too.

  Lulled by the whisper in my mind and exhausted from taking in the new sensation of my link with Mason, I sank into sleep.

  The crackle of burning logs and the smell of wood smoke woke me moments later. I opened my eyes and took in the cove, dark and empty except for the small fire in the stone-lined pit on the beach, and Mason sitting cross-legged and staring into the flames.

  Violent flashes of burgundy, purple, and blue light streaked through the night sky, reflecting off Mason’s face to create a sickening, bruised palette on his skin. I scanned the cove and the lake for signs of the black fog, and finding nothing but the usual flora, I shoved my hands into my hoodie pockets and scuffed through the sand to the fire.