“We’ve got her. She’s not going anywhere,” one of the men said in a low voice.
Afraid, I wanted to scream or close my eyes. What had happened to my life? I just wanted to go back to the way things had been: my grandfather alive, going to college, drinking coffee with friends and thinking about my future as a cultural anthropologist.
Without warning, the winds sprang to life around me. The surge was so strong that it felt like a tornado had descended. I felt my hair fly up in all directions and the men slowed their approach.
A strange surge of cold electricity charged through my body, and I felt my backpack turn to ice. Then the wind lifted me off my feet and I felt myself floating through the air, held aloft like a magician doing a levitation trick.
“What the …” I had time to say aloud before I saw the ground rushing up to meet me. The gusting winds stopped as suddenly as they’d started, and I hit the pavement hard enough to jar my teeth. I rolled as I hit, clinging to my backpack.
I was on the other side of the group that had blocked me from my car. I didn’t know how or why, and this was no time to stop and think about it. Thankful to be alive and free for the moment, I got to my feet and ran for my car.
I risked a glance behind me and saw the winds still swirling around my assailants. Dead leaves rose into the air in twisting columns, and I saw them struggling against the gusting breezes, trying to get to me.
I wished that I knew what they wanted for sure, but my instincts told me that at least in this, Simon had been telling the truth. They wanted the Board and were willing to do anything to get it. I had to get away.
Jumping into my car and throwing my backpack into the passenger seat, I saw that the winds had finally died down and the men were getting closer. I turned the key in the ignition and prayed that it would start as well as it had when I was trying to get away from Simon.
It did. The engine caught at once and roared to life.
I didn’t hesitate, but slammed it into gear and floored the accelerator. My tires squealed as I pulled a tight circle in the parking lot, and I grimaced, knowing that I was leaving skid marks. Father Andrew would not be happy about that.
Torn between exhilaration and panic, I took off into the streets.
Two blocks later, I looked back to see if they were following me, but I saw no one. Still, I kept turning at random streets, left then right, not following any real direction. My hands were clenched on the steering wheel so hard that my knuckles had turned white.
Eventually, I realized that either they hadn’t followed or I’d lost them. My heart rate finally slowed down and that’s when I started shaking so hard I had to pull over and wait for my body to calm down.
There was nothing like being chased by thugs, I realized, to lend the mysteries of life a certain morbid depth. With this cheery thought came another. I didn’t know who I could trust and what was really going on. My life was a mess, and all I wanted to do was go home and hide. Then I realized that home wasn’t even safe.
For the first time since my grandfather’s funeral, I started to cry.
6
“What do you mean you failed—again?”
“My Lord, this girl … she is already using the Board’s powers, even untrained. She used the winds to escape our men.”
“Did she? Using the Board is one thing, but controlling it is quite another.”
“Also, our contact reached us. He claims to have been able to get in touch with her again.”
“Find out when and where and if he fails this time, pick it up yourself. And don’t lose her this time,”
When my tears finally stopped, I pulled out my cell phone. For a minute, I sat there, wondering how to get in touch with Simon. I had to believe that even if he talked about things I didn’t understand, he knew things I didn’t. Instead, I speed-dialed Tom. If anyone besides Simon could help, it would be him.
He answered on the second ring. “Jenna,” he said, as always, cheating with the caller-ID. “What’s going on?”
I took a deep breath. “Tom,” I said. “I think I need some help.”
I could almost feel him switching gears. “No problem,” he said, suddenly all business. “What do you need?”
“A place to crash for a while—a night anyway.”
“You got it,” he said. “When will you be here?”
“Fifteen minutes,” I said. “I’ll pick us up some coffee on the way.”
“You’re a wonderful woman and I forgive you for every mean thing you ever did to me.” He paused, then added, “Except the time you tried to pull my hair out by the roots when we were in junior high.”
I laughed weakly, but it was a real laugh nonetheless. “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll see you in a few.”
“I’ll be here,” he said, then broke the connection.
I went by the coffee shop and headed over to Tom’s apartment. He must have been watching for me because he opened the door before I could even knock.
“Come in,” he said, taking his caramel latte out of my hand, and gesturing me inside. He shut the door behind me and locked it, then followed me into the living room.
As usual, his place was a chaotic mess of books, software packages, and computer equipment jammed onto shelves, the sofa, chairs, and his desk. I tossed my backpack on the floor at my feet, pushed several stacks of stuff out of the way, and then plopped down on the couch with a sigh. Tom’s apartment was small and decorated like a typical college bachelor in scrounged garage sale furniture. I took a sip of my triple-shot mocha and realized that my mind was bouncing all over the place.
Tom sat down in a plush chair and sipped his own coffee appreciatively. His sandy brown hair would turn a golden shade of blonde in the summer, and sometimes when I looked at him, I could still see the young boy he used to be.
After a few minutes, he said, “Want to tell me what’s going on?”
I thought about it and shook my head. How could I tell him when I didn’t understand myself? “No,” I said. “Not really. I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about it yet.”
He nodded. “Fair enough,” he said. “When you’re ready, I’m here for you.”
I smiled weakly at him. “I know, Tom. And you’re a saint for giving me a place to crash. I think I just need to rest for right now.”
“Happy to do it,” he said.
Tom was my best friend, and wicked smart, too. I resolved that I would talk to him as soon as I had wrapped my own brain around what the Board was and why I was being chased for it.
“Thanks,” I said. “I mean it.”
“I know you do, Jenna,” he said. “I’ll follow where you lead—I always have, you know.”
Both of us laughed, sharing a memory without having to speak it aloud. When we were kids, Tom was always the quiet one, smarter than I was and happy to do whatever I told him … like hide in the trunk of a broken down car. He’d been stuck there for hours waiting for someone besides me to find him.
“Listen,” he said, “I’m supposed to be going out with Kristen tonight, but I can cancel if you need the company.”
I shook my head. “No, I just want the quiet. You go ahead. Kristen would skin you alive for canceling a date with her to hang out with me.”
“She is a little jealous,” Tom admitted. “But … I kind of like it, too.”
“We’re not fighting over you, Tom,” I said. “You’re hers for the taking. I’ve got more problems right now than whom I’m going to date.”
“I know,” he said with a wistful smile, “but wishful thinking is a form of optimism.”
“Is that so?” I asked. “Well, go right on being wishful, then … and go on your date.”
“Okay,” he said. “The bed is already made with fresh sheets. Why don’t you crash in there tonight? I’ll sack out on the sofa when I get homes
“You’re very sweet … for a geeky nerd,” I replied.
“That’s me,” he said. “Sweet, geeky nerd.”
I laughed. “Get
out of here and have a good time. I’m exhausted.”
“No offense, but you look it,” he said. I threw a pillow at him, which he dodged gracefully before getting to his feet and grabbing his coat. “You want me to call later and check in on you?”
“No,” I said. “I plan to be sleeping like the dead by then.”
“All right, catch you later, Jenna. Make yourself at home.”
“Thanks again, Tom.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, embracing me in a quick, warm hug, then quietly slipping out the door. I heard him lock it from the other side.
It was sweet that he hadn’t pressed me for more information. Tom was like that—an interesting mix of smarts and common sense and decency all rolled into one package. Not for the first time, I wished I felt something for him other than that. He deserved it, but it wouldn’t be right to try to feel something I didn’t or to lie to him about it. I was content to have him as a friend, and even though I knew he would have liked more, I hoped he was happy with what we had as well.
I didn’t have any clothing with me, but when I went into Tom’s bedroom, I found that he’d already set out a clean T-shirt as well as two towels.
I made long use of the shower, then slipped into the T-shirt that was emblazoned with a giant picture of William Shatner as Captain Kirk from Star Trek along with the words INTERGALACTIC STUD. I grinned and put it on.
I curled up on the bed and pulled the Board and the journal out of my backpack. Setting the Board and its case aside, I opened the journal to the back. If it had been my grandmother’s, the most recent entries would be there.
I gazed down at the page and blinked in confusion. I couldn’t even begin to read the words. I hadn’t even seen letters like these before. It wasn’t English or even Latin text. I almost cried in frustration—the words were a lot like the symbols on the Board, meaningless to me. I didn’t recognize any of it at all, and I felt both disappointed and angry. It wasn’t fair.
The sting of tears ran across my vision and I swept a hand angrily over my face. I was not going to cry again. All I wanted was some information, a clue as to what was going on. I stared at the book, completely frustrated. Help me! I wanted to scream.
As I stared at the page, the indecipherable letters blurred, shifted, then cleared. I blinked, but they were perfectly readable now. The language was English, and with wonder, I looked at the top of the entry I had turned to:
The Chronicle of the Keepers, May 9, 1992-Margaret McKay Solitaire
My grandmother! Excited, I continued reading.
Our line is broken … my daughter, Moira, is dead and the trust must be passed on to my granddaughter, Jenna, though it is a poor inheritance I leave her.
But there must be a Keeper … without one, who will control the Board?
I have kept the Board safely hidden away, as my mother instructed me, and I have never used it. The temptation to do so has been strong, but I have been able to resist.
Moira was ready to take on the mantle-she was so strong and gifted … will Jenna have the same strength? Only time will tell.
My mind raced. As far as my grandmother and mother were concerned, the Board was real. A real what I didn’t know, but questions filled my mind. Foremost among them was the question of who made the Board.
I’d no sooner had this thought, when I felt myself pulled away from Tom’s apartment and into another place and time—a place and time where I was no longer me …
From the tower window, I see a still and flat land before me, an empty desert of baked earth and small scrub brushes flattened by wind. The sky is overcast, the reddish clouds above are thick and heavy. It is not sunset or sunrise, but the reflection of heat and flame. Part of the city beneath me is on fire and I suspect that whatever we have wrought has gone terribly wrong.
The tower is massive, soaring into the sky above the city like a gigantic arm thrust toward the heavens. It is made of clay bricks that mirror the dull color of the plains below. Behind me is a small, square worktable. I turn my attention back to my duties.
A mirror above the table catches the light and I see that my linen shift is stained with soot and something else … blood. The symbols stitched into it, that mirror those on the Board set upon the table, are unmarked. The magic that preserves them still holds. I glance at my face in the mirror, and my tired eyes stare back at me. There is a flash of power in them and I know I can continue.
I must continue.
I pick up the long, curved dagger from the table, its point as vicious as a tiger’s claw. I hold it carefully, poised over the Board. Just completed, the runes are sharp-carved into the rough surface, the wood branded with scorch marks and soot. The symbols are fresh and crisp.
It is ready to be awakened.
I am enthralled by this moment. Along with the others, I have worked so hard to create these items of Power, and in the currents of magical energy, I can tell that we have succeeded … and yet maybe we have failed. I do not know for certain, but to stop now would be the death of us all.
I hesitate, draw in a careful, steadying breath, and plunge the dagger into the wood surface. Something or someone screams, a noise that is everywhere yet nowhere at the same time. I continue to carve the final rune.
I realize that the sound is coming from the Board itself. It is alive. It is awake. And something … something dark and unsuspected has come into the Tower.
I draw the final line of the goat’s head rune, and ignore the pounding on the door. “Shalizander!” a voice cries. It is rough and urgent. “Shalizander, stop!”
I cannot stop. I must finish. Too much of my energy has been put into this to end now. There is a flare of light beneath the door and it cracks, then splinters open. The door falls away from the hinges, and I manage to finish the last line without ruining it.
The room fills with birds—hundreds, perhaps thousands. Wings beat at the air and sharp beaks and claws tear at my clothing and the tapestries on the walls. I stumble away from the Board, keeping my hands up to protect my face.
The air is filled with the scent of feathers, and I scream, calling on the last vestiges of my strength …
There is darkness and the birds are gone. I rise from my knees, and grasp hands with the man kneeling next to me. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I lost control of it.”
He could be my twin, our skin is the same deep bronze, our hair the same onyx black. Only his eyes are different, a pale blue that shifts in the light.
“Do not be afraid,” he says. “We have succeeded.”
There is a mark burned into his face, across one cheekbone. It is the goat’s head symbol with the horns. His burned flesh is an angry, red welt, yet he doesn’t seem to be in any pain.
I want to believe him. I love him, and yet …
“What went wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says. “Nothing is wrong, my love.”
I want to believe him, but I don’t. There is something foreign in his eyes and as I try to gather my courage, I know what it is. The dark presence I felt enter the Tower when I finished the Board is here … it is in him. But it wants more. It wants us all.
I stumble away from him, my mouth open to scream. That is when he starts laughing …
I sat up in Tom’s bed, gasping, the vision—or had it been a dream?—so dear it was like watching a movie in my head. My head pounded and my stomach rolled. I put a hand to my forehead and rubbed my temple. I must have fallen asleep while reading the journal. It is on the bed next to me, dosed, and in the other room, I heard Tom snoring away on the couch.
I looked at the dock next to the bed. It was almost nine in the morning! I realized that I’d been asleep for almost twelve hours. Confused, I would have sworn that I had only sat down on the bed a few moments ago. The vision or dream or … whatever … had lasted hours, not minutes.
From my backpack on the floor, I heard the beep of my cell phone telling me that I had new messages. Ignoring it for the moment, I got up and went into t
he bathroom, then turned on the coffeemaker that Tom had preset before going to sleep the night before.
The coffeemaker gurgled as it finished brewing, and I poured a cup and returned to the bedroom. I got my cell phone out of my pack and saw the little icon telling me I had one new message. I keyed the command to listen to it and heard Professor Martin’s voice: “Jenna, I don’t know what happened yesterday, but I did speak to that colleague of mine. He would love to see the Board and thinks he might be able to help you with some information on it. His name is Thaddeus Burke, and he owns a small antique shop downtown. I’ll be there around ten this morning if you’d like to meet me with the Board.”
There was a brief pause, then he added: “Jenna, I really am sorry about yesterday. I hope you let me help you. Artifacts like the one you’ve discovered are very unique and I’d love to have some small part in discovering its significance.”
He added a quick address, then hung up.
I couldn’t understand why I had reacted the way I did yesterday myself. I’d known Professor Martin for two years. He was a wonderful teacher and a good person. I had gone to him for help and then run out of his office like a terrified schoolgirl. I owed him an apology. Besides, if he had information about the Board, I had to go.
I glanced at the journal and decided not to look at it again for a while. I had hoped it would give me more information—a connection, maybe, to my mother or grandmother that I’d never had—but there was something disconcerting about reading it … like it had taken me into the dream I’d had the night before.
Still, at least now I knew that Shalizander was a name … almost like it was my own. In the dream, I was her.
I dressed hurriedly and scribbled a note for Tom. I left the journal hidden in the back of his bottom dresser drawer, but put the Board back in my pack, then slipped quietly out of the apartment. If I was going to make it on time, I couldn’t wait for Tom to wake up. I’d talk to him later and tell him as much as I could.
Keeper of the Winds Page 7