Becoming: The Balance Bringer (The Balance Bringer Chronicles Book 1)

by Debra Kristi

  Kaia exhales. “How am I to know you are truly family? Because the last time we met, you said it was so?”

  “You doubt me?” Dreya says, a pitch to her voice. Her eyes widen, and her hands jump out at her sides. “Did you not enquire? Ask your father?”

  “Of course not. You said—”

  “I know what I said,” Dreya snaps. “But if you have reservations, talking to your father would have put them to rest.”

  Kaia straightens her shoulders, but the movement fails to release the tension running along her spine. “Upsetting my father is not something I care to do.”

  “Understood.” Dreya studies us, a cat-like smile forming, curving her ruby-red lips. She appears cold, calculating. “You fear I will best you.” She laughs, one sharp snicker, then turns to leave.

  “I fear nothing of the sort,” Kaia states, packed with empowerment now. She lifts her sword, takes it firmly in her grasp, and prepares to fight. “Pull your blade.”

  Dreya stops, and I swear I can feel her excitement buzzing in the air. When she turns to face us, to face Kaia, her eye color swirls in a tornado of violet particles. She draws her blade and tips her head. “You have chosen wisely.”

  “That remains to be seen.” Kaia takes the first step, to the side. Dreya matches her, moving them in a circle. And the swordplay dance begins.

  Dreya lunges. We spar with the clash of swords and the spark of metal on metal. I don’t want to watch, except I’m held captive without a choice or will of my own. I am Kaia, and so I see what she sees, feel what she feels. We travel swiftly about the meadow, crushing flowers beneath our feet, and for a fleeting moment I think, Why did it have to be here?

  We whirl around, holding the sword above our head one minute and striking down low the next. Kaia maneuvers astonishingly fast, but for every surprise maneuver she makes, Dreya has a block just as prompt. Her attack strikes are also impressive. But it appears to all be in good fun. Kaia even smiles. And so we keep moving, swinging, and blocking.

  “I held such high hopes for you,” Dreya says, her head held high, lips pursed. “Not always, mind you. At your birth, I expected you to succumb to the shortcomings of the half-breed, wither, and die. When you did not, I began to wonder…maybe truth lay in the foretelling. It was possible my brother’s relations with the warrior whore ’twas not for naught. ‘Tis possible you were the one spoken of. Great things could dwell within you.”

  Kaia tries to listen, but she can’t afford to lose focus on the sparring, which is becoming more intense and severe. For the briefest of moments, her mind flickers to another memory. A mention of a foretelling. The vision isn’t long enough. I get only brief pictures in my mind, but I recognize the old psychic. Still, it’s not enough. And though I try to grasp at them, it’s no use.

  This is no longer fun. Kaia’s breath is labored, and sweat trickles down her back. She tries to block Dreya’s moves, so Dreya circles her, a commanding grace in her strut. It’s clear Kaia is no match for the ageless huntress. Cold, cunning determination settles in Dreya’s eyes, and she trains them on Kaia. Kaia needs to run, except the blows never stop long enough to give her a chance. And she’s ruled by anger, upset by Dreya’s slander against our mom. She has an appetite to fight, and she hungers for victory.

  Dreya lets out a long breath, sounding exasperated. “I had hoped we could work together. You at my side. Alas, it can never be.” She swings the sword to the sky, then pauses, seemingly lost in thought, long enough to give Kaia a chance.

  We turn and run. Run as fast as we can. The ache pulses through our legs, and we bear down fiercely, the ground rocky and uneven under our feet. The air ripping through our sweat-matted hair. I’m not counting the steps or tracking the distance, and I have no idea how far we’ve come when something drops before us, blocking our path and bringing us to a grinding halt.

  There, wavering in the ground, is Dreya’s sword. We could go around it, but undoubtedly her attention is now on us.

  “You could not have believed it would be that easy, could you, Kaia?” Sickening amusement fills Dreya’s voice. We turn, face her, behold the sparkle in her eyes. “Tell me. Did you engage him?”

  “Who?” Although Kaia’s the one answering, we’re both confused. What him is she talking about?

  “The ‘no one of concern,’ love. The gentleman who just left.” Dreya sounds annoyed and gestures in the direction the boy left the meadow earlier.

  “At times. But in jest. We never undertake anything serious. Not like this.” Kaia inhales, covering her mouth with her hand. I can’t believe it. Is petty jealousy creeping in?

  Dreya is far from amused. “He was a good boy, before he met you. A magnificent creature.”

  Dreya knows the boyfriend?

  Kaia stiffens and plants her feet firmly in the ground. Her sense of protectiveness toward this guy is overwhelming. She’s going to stay and fight. Fight for him. And it’s going to get her killed. This can’t be good. I will my eyes to close.

  Dreya wanders nonchalantly in our direction. “You came along like a virus, and ruined him. There is no way around it. ’Tis blatantly clear. He truly loves you, and it has destroyed all he ever was. For that, I cannot let you live. You understand, do you not?”

  No! We don’t understand. Lack of understanding doesn’t keep Kaia from standing tall and silent, her heart warm, savoring the words he loves you.

  Come on, Kaia! Get with the program! I long to shake her from the inside. The space between Dreya and us is folding in on itself, bringing her closer with each second. The sun glistens off the heavy blade’s polished steel when Kaia picks it up, preparing to fight once more.

  “Not this time, child. This time, we play my way.” Dreya flicks her finger.

  The earth cracks, bursting a large rock from the ground. It flies across the meadow and slams into our hand. Our sword hurtles out of reach. Pain pulses through Kaia’s blood-covered fist, but she refuses to give in to Dreya. Reaching behind her back, she wrenches Dreya’s sword from the dirt, then assesses the witch’s approach.

  Dreya saunters in our direction, a sneer playing at her lips. “Will you never learn? You cannot win.”

  As if from the heavens, hundreds of small rocks fall upon us, pelting us from every direction. Kaia tries to protect her face while holding onto the sword. It proves too difficult. We drop the sword and curl into a ball. We’re being pounded and need to protect as much as possible. Cuts and bruises sprinkle the landscape of Kaia’s body.

  When the stone shower finally stops, Kaia’s both afraid to look and afraid not to look. The longer she waits, the more of a disadvantage she’ll have. She lifts her head, sees nothing. All is clear—for about a second. Dreya swoops in, lifting Kaia with one hand around her throat. The other hand wraps around both of Kaia’s wrists, trapping her–‒us. Her long, skinny fingers are cold and clammy and make my skin crawl.

  Dreya peels back layers of Kaia’s soul with her penetrating stare. What I once thought of as pretty lavender eyes now turn inky-black, shifting in color around the edges, like a mood ring. She might have held us there for an eternity, her grip ever tightening around our throat, but she finally drops us to the ground like a sack of spoiled eggs.

  “A shame. Your easy defeat would indicate you are not the one.” She circles our beaten body, glaring down upon us. “Still, we could have been something together—you and I.”

  Flash-swift, she grabs a fistful of Kaia’s hair, yanks her head back up, and leans wretchedly close, whispering into Kaia’s ear. “Goodnight, dear.”

  Sharp, stabbing torment rips through the world, and everything bleeds deep red. White blotches pop into view. I fight the panic, aching to claw at the pain.

  Dreya lowers us to the ground and sits by our side, observing. We try to lift our head, needing to survey the ache. There is nothing beyond the dark stain rapidly spreading across our blouse and vest.

  The edges of my sight fade, black engulfing the white. Is this what it’s like to d
ie?

  Kaia turns her head, seeking Dreya. Why? I don’t want to see her.

  Burn in hell, witch.

  Dreya sits silently, watching Kaia fade away. Not looking smug or content, but curious, rather.

  “Why?” Kaia’s voice comes in a whisper. I ache for Kaia. Want to hold on to her, heal her, know if she is truly real.

  Dreya raises a brow. “Ask your father on the other side.”

  That’s when I see it. Her hair is different, but it is clearly the same woman. Dreya is the flaming, blood-covered, mad warrior I saw in my vision killing Mom! I want to wrap my hands around her neck and squeeze.

  So weak. We’re fading. Kaia tries to lift her hand. It’s so heavy it sticks to the ground. Tacky warmth spreads out around us, around Kaia’s body. We try to twist, behold the damage. The pain is too excruciating. Everything’s turning so dark, we can barely make out Dreya. “I don’t understand.”

  “I know, love.” Dreya holds Kaia’s hand and drops a patronizing pat upon it. Her other hand appears with a flower in its clutches. A Nerine lily. Our vision narrows ‘til all we see are the silky curves of the exploding pink blooms as Dreya shoves it down our throat.

  Coughs burst from our throat. Kaia claws weakly at Dreya’s arm, the strength to stop her no longer possible. We can’t breathe. Can’t gasp for air.

  Encompassing blackness. Everything lost.

  Morning brings little relief. I roll to my side and my body moans, my feet tangling in the sweat-slathered sheets. If Kaia had simply told me how she died during any one of our hundreds of dream-walks, I could have been prepared. But, no, I’m made to live through each distressing moment. Negative energy still dwells within my core, and I attempt to expel it via one forever, drawn-out breath. My fingers and toes reach for opposite ends of the room, my sore body stretching to awake.

  Sunlight sneaks in through the slants in the blinds, brilliant linear patterns slashing across my bed. It’s too bright, so I turn away, yank the pillow over my head. Today will be painful, my pounding head an indication of this truth. It’s not every day you get to brutally die and wake up the next morning.

  The alarm buzzes, and my body responds with a jerk. Somewhere at the other end of the house a door slams, followed by low-toned conversation. I sigh, shove the pillow away, and rub my hand across my face. Must wake up, Ry is here. He never misses Sunday breakfast. Can’t blame him. Mom makes the most mouthwatering omelets I’ve ever tasted.

  I roll out of bed, land with a heavy thump, an instant stab of protest ricocheting through my feet. Splintering pangs and knotted cramps from running, sword fighting, and dying are my morning welcome. My heart weighs in my chest like a boulder, dragging me into a sorrowful pit, anguish for Kaia. I rub clarity into my eyes, thoughts from my mind—they’re too painful, too real.

  Avoiding an onslaught of depression and determined to attack the day with some form of mild zeal, I maneuver my sorry carcass across the hall to the bathroom. Light on, brush in hand, mirror, and evaluation of my morning dreadfulness. Whoa. I really do look hideous! Who knew a dream could have such an effect? Tired is one thing, but this—

  The brush topples from my grip and bounces on the counter. Instantly, I have the water running and I’m scrubbing at my face. Scrape or scour, swab or swipe. No amount of water and rubbing will wash away the dark circles under my eyes—or the marks all over my body. On the bright side, the new look pulls attention from my ugly red birthmark. My new markings echo Kaia’s bruises, after being pelted by the rocks, that is. Are they the same? Is it possible to get bruises from a nightmare?

  No injury has ever followed me out of a dream before.

  “No injury.” I whisper the words to my reflection, recalling the fight’s conclusion.

  My heart kicks my ribcage. If it could, the beating would crack my breastplate. I swallow any fear of what I may find and lift my shirt. I know before I look there will be no dagger wound, because I am standing here alive. And there is no gaping hole, no slash in my side. I press at the skin anyway, check to see if anything hurts. I poke and stretch, searching for scars. No cut. No massive mark.

  Relief washes from my soul. My muscles slack, and I exhale one exaggerated breath, reaching for my toothbrush.

  “Missed ya last night.” Crystia startles in the doorway. “Wow! You look horrible. What happened? You get run over by a Mack truck or something?”

  Grinning with a mouth full of toothpaste, my answer is garbled. “Very funny.”

  She sits on the edge of the counter. “No, seriously. You look like cat caca. Maybe you should go back to bed. Or go see a doctor.”

  I rinse and spit, then escape the room, heading for the breakfast table. I don’t want her concern.

  My mom and Ry are chatting and joking and smiling as they gather the meal together in the kitchen. I walk toward them, a twist in my gut tightening. Last night’s near-miss with Ry is still fresh in my mind. My hand grazes across the top of the dining room table, and I pause. Mom used the nicer dishware and placed Ry’s fragrant spray of Nerine lilies as the centerpiece. He always provides a bouquet in exchange for the free meal. But Nerine lilies—after last night’s dream? Hard to bear. I frown.

  The sun shines through the sheer curtains at the end of the room, permeating the space in a warm glow. The scene is as lovely as a spring floral display. Especially when Mom appears in the kitchen doorway, a platter of fluffy omelets in hand. Ry is close on her heels. The delicious scents of freshly cooked egg, ham, and melted cheese mingle in the air and set my stomach to rumbling, soured only by the memory of my mom’s death. Everyone’s death. It wasn’t real—or was it? I need to know.

  “Good morning, Janssen family.” Mom halts at the sight of me. Like she’s been slammed by one of Dreya’s nasty rocks. “Anala—” The plate slips from her grasp.

  Our breakfast falls toward the carpet. Any second, the clatter and crash of dishes against servingware. But none comes.

  Agile hands snap in, snatching the platter and saving our meal. Ry places the jostled breakfast on the table, then approaches me, his face chiseled in hard lines. Using his right hand, he grips my chin and gingerly tilts my head to and fro. He stares at my bruises, his expression thawing.

  “You all right?” He touches one on the side of my left brow. “Do they hurt?”

  “Not really.” I focus to Mom. She stands a few feet away, hands clasped firmly over the rim of the chair, knuckles white, eyes red. “Seriously, Mom, it doesn’t hurt. I’m fine.”

  She nods, continuing to stare and study me, all emotion erased from her face.

  “She looks like total cat caca. I said as much when I first saw her,” Crystia chimes in. “What really happened last night, Ana? Swinging party get out of hand?”

  I roll my eyes, wishing she’d remain silent.

  Ry releases me, yet I can still feel his intense stare. His study of my skin, my bruises.

  “That’s me,” I quip with a forced sound of nothing amiss. “Big party animal. You missed one unforgettable experience.”

  Mom’s stoic resolve vanishes with a cough, and she briskly leaves the room.

  Ry closes his eyes and sighs. “I’ll check on her. Why don’t you two get breakfast set up?” He hugs me like we haven’t seen each other in ages. When he releases me, he kisses my brow. “I’m glad you’re all right.” He leaves, glancing back at me before exiting the room.

  An eternity passes without their return. I want to sneak down the hall, listen in on their conversation, but I don’t. I sit at the table with Crystia, fiddle with my fork, watch my eggs go cold. When they finally do return, join us at the table, you could cut the awkward silence with Kaia’s sword. At least no one is asking questions about my new bruises.

  When breakfast is done, the table cleared, and the dishes rinsed, Mom kisses my cheek and hugs me like she’s never going to see me again. “Never wanted this for you. You deserve better.” She brushes the hair from my face.

  I shift, causing my hair to drop an
d cover my birth-mark again.

  Her face mellows. “Anala. You should be proud of your mark. It’s the mark of a warrior.”

  My lips torque to the side. “Right.” I tug at my hair, indulging a deeper need to hide. “What didn’t you want for me?”

  She looks at me, guarded, yet brimming with sadness. “The dreams, honey. We can talk later. I’m late. I need to open up the shop.” A brisk kiss to my forehead, and then she’s bidding her adieu to Crystia and Ry.

  My stomach drops. I want answers. All I get are more questions.

  Through the window, I watch her pull out of the driveway. There’s a frown etching across my heart, and it has Mom’s name on it. Idly I play with the small chocolate I stashed in my sweater pocket and head down the hall to my room. Some people check their daily horoscope. I have something better: my little chocolates with the short sayings wrapped inside. I allow myself one a day and look forward to the little words of wisdom on the wrapper. Not to mention the smooth milk chocolate melting in my mouth.

  “What’s it say?” Crystia’s peach body lotion precedes her, arriving a moment before she peers over my shoulder. As if she could read the tiny writing that way.

  “Don’t know. Haven’t opened it yet.”

  “Open it! I’ll tell you what mine said.” She grins mischievously. “Yes, I took one from your stash. The magical confection knew exactly what I needed to hear.” She giggles.

  My brows arch, and I use silence as my weapon.

  “All right,” she says, shoulders sagging. “Mine said, ‘Shopping makes everything better.’ So I’m hitting the stores.” She throws her arms up merrily. “Your turn.”

  “Shopping? With what money?” I try not to balk. Instead, I unwrap my own chocolate.

  Crystia’s antsy. Makes it difficult to keep from laughing.

  “What’s it say? What’s it say?”

  “My Gaea, girl. Relax. It’s not a winning lottery number.”

  In minutes she’s managed to pluck me out of my Mom-induced funk. I straighten my back, flatten the foil, and enjoy her restless fidgeting. “Mine says, ‘Learn from your history, but live in the now.’” Kaia’s death dream flashes through my head without warning. “Huh.”