‘You have got to be kidding,’ I say, dropping my voice, praying that Kael can’t hear, but knowing that he can. ‘But I don’t even know him, Nan.’
She sighs and looks up at me again.
‘I know this is all confusing for you, Bluebell,’ she says, ‘but just give it a few days and things will start to make sense.’
Nan looks up at Kael; he meets her eyes and pushes himself away from the tree. He comes to the bench and stands just in front of us.
‘Kael is your royal bodyguard, although the word doesn’t quite seem adequate. There is so much more to being a seastnan than just physical protection. The seastnan bloodline is as important as the royal bloodlines and can be traced back just as far. Kael has many talents that will help him to protect you, but it’s a two way street. You two need to trust one other implicitly. You haven’t had the benefit of growing up together, as most seastnan and their charges do, but the bond is there, you just need to nurture it.’
I think about the surge of electricity when my wrist touched Kael’s. He’s not touching me now, but I can still feel the thrum in my veins and in the tingling of the tiny scar on my wrist. Perhaps this is the bond Nan is talking about.
‘Shaylee,’ Nan says, twisting her body toward me, ‘you are not to go anywhere without Kael. It is imperative that you obey his every instruction.’
The word ‘obey’ has a strange effect on me. I know Nan is trying to protect me but I find myself rebelling at the mere mention of the word. I’ve spent my whole life ‘obeying’ my parents. When am I ever going to be free to ‘obey’ my own instincts, my own dreams, and my own ambitions?
I look away and give a short laugh.
‘Do I get a collar with that leash?’
Nan frowns and pulls my chin around to face her.
‘It’s no laughing matter, Shaylee,’ she scolds. ‘You can’t imagine the extent of the danger you’re in. There are things out there that would think nothing of killing you, or worse, to access the power in your blood. Kael is the only one powerful enough to protect you from them. You need to obey him like your life depends on it – because it literally does.’
There is such force behind Nan’s words that I bite back the words that have slipped to the edge of my tongue at the mention of that word again. I swallow and give a small nod, even though every fibre of my being disagrees.
Nan gives me a relieved smile and stands.
‘I think you’ve had enough excitement for one day, let’s get you home.’
I still have a million questions to ask; about the Maor, about talents, about bonds, prophecies and promises, but I’m just too tired to argue. I drag myself off the bench and sway a little as I straighten. Kael immediately steps forward but I hold my hand up. I’m not going to repeat my embarrassing faint and I don’t need someone else hovering over me, treating me like a pathetic glass specimen. I’m stronger than he thinks. I take a deep breath and walk toward the car.
I am so completely beyond exhaustion, I can’t sleep. I glare at the bedside clock for the hundredth time since midnight, give up and drag the downy duvet over to the love-seat. I wrap the duvet around my shoulders, curl into the seat and lay my head against the cool window.
The night is pitch black outside, with barely a hint of moon in an overcast sky. Every now and then, the clouds part and the crescent moon casts an eerie yellow glow on the fountain below. It makes me think of the horrors that Nan hinted at today.
I wonder what kinds of creatures are out there, capable of making a fearless woman look afraid. I wonder what things they want to do to me that are ‘worse’ than death. I wonder how a boy my age can protect me from them.
The thought of Kael, makes me sit up straighter and I glance toward the hedge that separates our property from the next, where Nan has told me my seastnan lives. There is a light on in one of the rooms. Is it Kael who can’t sleep? Why can’t he sleep? Does he feel my restlessness? How far does this bond between us extend?
My head aches from all the questions spinning around inside it. I feel a migraine coming on and the lack of sleep is just making it worse. I bring my hand up to rub my throbbing temple, but in the process, I catch sight of the tiny scar on my wrist and pause. It still feels funny – like it’s alive with energy and the intensity appears to be directly related to the distance between Kael and me…or Tristan and me…
Tristan.
There is something that pulls me to him too. It’s a softer kind of siren song, like a persuasion rather than an electrocution. Is this the ‘blood promise’ bond that Nan spoke about? How exactly does the ‘blood promise’ work anyway and is Nan serious about this whole marriage thing?
God my head hurts.
I throw off the duvet and rummage in the bedside drawer for the migraine pills I stashed there earlier. If I don’t get some sleep, I won’t be able to function in the morning and I need to have a clear head when I confront Nan with all these questions. I swallow two pills with a swig of water from the bottle I always keep handy on my bedside table. Then I sprawl sideways across the bed and wait for the medication to hit my bloodstream.
Chapter 11
Cosy
Tastes like: Warm Christmas pudding.
Smells like: Home-made chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven.
Sounds like: Logs crackling on a fire.
Feels like: A hand-made jersey.
Looks like: A puppy, asleep in the curve of its mother’s belly.
I wake, crumpled and aching to the shrill ring of a telephone. Sunlight streams through the window, directly into my eyes. I throw one arm over my face and grope along the floor for my cell phone with the other hand. My neck is frozen in an inhuman position and there is a dull throbbing in my head, made worse by the realization of who is on the other end of the line.
I chose that bland ring tone especially for my mother and I’m not sure I’m ready to speak to her yet. My finger hovers over the red reject icon but I sigh and touch the green one instead.
‘Baby, why haven’t you called?’ mom’s voice berates me across the airwaves. ‘Your father and I have been worried about you!’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, although I most definitely am not. ‘I’ve just been a little busy – you know - trying to understand everything you’ve been hiding from me.’
I hear the sharp intake of her breath a thousand miles away and realize how incredibly angry I am. It isn’t just a simple lie. It’s my entire life she has fabricated.
‘Your father and I had good reason for keeping this from you,’ my mother says. ‘We did what we thought was best for you at the time.’
‘You just delayed the inevitable.’
I hear the catch in her reply: ‘We only wanted to keep you safe.’ God, I am so sick of that word. There is a beat of silence. ‘I wish we could be there with you.’ Her voice wavers but her weakness only hardens my resolve.
‘Were you ever going to tell me?’
‘Yes, someday... We just didn’t expect this.’
She exhales on the other end of the line and I can picture her, sitting by the kitchen counter, one perfectly manicured hand on the back of her neck and the other cupping the portable telephone receiver to her ear.
‘When were you going to tell me about Tristan?’ I ask, gripping the phone against my ear and turning my unseeing gaze to the horizon.
Another beat of silence.
‘We weren’t.’
‘So you were just going to drop the bomb on my wedding day?’
‘No -’
‘The day before the wedding then?’
‘Shaylee, stop it! Just listen -’
Something inside me snaps at the word ‘listen’. It feels like that’s all I’ve been doing my entire life; ‘listening’ to what others have to say and ‘obeying’ what others tell me I should and shouldn’t be doing.
‘No,’ I say, ‘you had your chance to talk and I’m done listening. I won’t be getting married to a stranger, and I won’t be taking orders fro
m that glorified bodyguard-’
‘Shaylee Greene!’ mom interrupts, voice rising. ‘This isn’t a game. You have to listen to Kael!’
‘Why should I? He’s only a year or so older than me. I’m tired of listening to everyone else. It’s my life and I’m going to start doing what I want for a change.’
‘Shaylee Greene! You do what he says, do you hear me?’ she shouts frantically into the receiver. ‘He’s your protector!’
‘I don’t need protection. I can take care of myself,’ I say and hang up.
My cell phone rings and I flip the side switch to mute. A few missed calls later, another phone begins to ring somewhere in the bowels of the house, but nobody answers and eventually, it stops. The sudden silence is deafening. I can hear the electricity humming in the appliances and the soft whisper of the water fountain below my bedroom window.
Apparently Nan is not home. I wonder where she has gone and then I wonder why she’s left me alone, after all that talk of ‘things’ and ‘protection.’
I shrug, grab a pair of jeans, one of my more colorful crochet tops that hangs lose over one shoulder in hippie style and a strap top for underneath, and then I head into the shower. When I’m done shampooing my hair, I give it a quick towel dry, twist it into a loose knot at the nape of my neck and dress quickly before heading downstairs in search of food.
There isn’t much in Nan’s refrigerator that appeals to me, but I manage to find a small packet of mini tennis biscuits in one of the cupboards to munch on as I stroll through the house.
When I come to the front room, I stop in front of the large windows and stare out at the green lawn. A vision looms in my mind. Me, five years old, stomach aching from laughter, tumbling down the sloping lawn. At the bottom of the slope, where the lawn meets forest, I stumble to my feet. The world shifts beneath me but I turn and shout, ‘Come on!’ and disappear in a drunken zigzag into the trees.
It feels like more than just a vision. It feels like a memory.
‘We’re all next door.’
I jump at the voice and spin to find Kael leaning against the door frame. The memory is still so vivid in my mind that I sway against a wave of dizziness. I reach instinctively for the nearest chair to steady myself, but instead of plush velvet upholstery, my hand connects with warm flesh. My eyes shoot up to Kael’s as a crackle of energy passes from my fingertips into his arm.
‘Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,’ he says, frowning at the place where my hand touches him. I steady myself and quickly snatch my hand away.
‘Where’s Nan?’ I ask, inching a step backwards. I can’t help myself; I don’t understand this connection between us and it scares me.
‘At our house for lunch. It’s kind of a weekly thing.’
‘Oh… have you been waiting for me?’
‘Of course,’ he says, ‘you didn’t think we’d leave you all alone did you?’
I shake my head, although that is exactly what I was thinking.
‘Your mom called, by the way,’ Kael says.
I groan and close my eyes.
‘I figured you didn’t want to talk to her, so I promised you’d call back tomorrow.’
‘Um, thanks.’ I glance at him and wonder just how much of our telephone conversation my mother has shared with him.
Kael straightens and sweeps a hand toward the door.
‘The food’s just about ready,’ he says.
‘Right.’ I follow his gesture and lead the way out the front door. Kael falls into step beside me and together, we make our way toward the hedges that separate Nan’s property from his.
‘Are you feeling better today?’ he asks.
‘Yes, thanks,’ I say, flushing at the memory of fainting in the hall – and the memory of his arms around me. I hate that his first impression of me is one of weakness.
‘You were up late,’ Kael observes.
‘So were you,’ I reply.
He gives me a wry smile.
‘One of the side-effects of my job.’
I want to ask him what exactly that means. Where does he work, or is he referring to his position as my bodyguard? What does he mean by ‘side-effects’ and how does that translate into insomnia?
We’ve reached a gap in the hedge and Kael steps back, puts his hand on the small of my back to lead me through and I forget what I’m about to say. The static flows between us until we’re on the other side of the bushes and he drops his hand.
We pause on the other side and look at each other. The look is pregnant and awkward, like we both want to talk about this thing that happens when we touch, but we’re too afraid to broach the subject. After a moment, Kael glances away, at the house and says: ‘Well, this is it.’
I turn my attention to the modest single storey home that looks almost frugal beside Nan’s double storey. There is a distinct aura emanating from the earthy, face brick façade and cottage-pane windows. The porch is covered with hanging plants and I can smell rosemary, lavender, sage, garlic and roast meat. I’m not sure if the herbal aromas are coming from the home-made, hanging herb garden, or from the kitchen.
‘It’s lovely,’ I say, and mean it. Even from the outside, I can tell this isn’t just a house, it’s a home.
We head up the steps and Kael opens the door for me to step through. Inside, is a living room, modestly furnished with an oversized, brown sofa. Piles of well-thumbed books are strewn across a rectangle, wooden coffee table. A small bookcase in the corner is filled with old and new recipe books, and there is a magnificent cuckoo clock that dominates the wall opposite the front door. A small basket lays on the floor, beside an old leather armchair, overflowing with spools of embroidery thread in every color imaginable.
The room is empty of people, but full of life. The smell of roasting meat wafts, with the sound of laughter from somewhere at the back of the house.
‘They’re in the kitchen,’ Kael says. I follow him through a room with an enormous pool table into a large open-plan dining and kitchen area.
‘Bluebell!’ Nan rises from a bar stool at the curved kitchen counter. ‘Did you sleep well?’ I nod, kiss her cheek and step back to take stock of the other occupants of the room.
‘Let me introduce you to the Gregors,’ Nan says, ‘This is Sandra.’
A grey-haired woman with pink, apple cheeks and laugh-lines around her eyes beams at me and limps around the counter. She wipes her hands on the blue and green checkered apron spanning her ample waist, throws her arms around me and squeezes.
‘It’s great to have you home again, love!’
Her voice has a touch of Scottish brogue and it rumbles from deep in her stomach, gentle and joyful in one. I’m not used to hugging strangers, so I squeeze her back awkwardly for a second, and then step back. She’s looking at me like I’m a long-lost daughter and it makes me feel guilty and warm at once. Should I remember her? Why don’t I?
She smiles at me, grabs hold of my hand and squeezes. She seems to understand me somehow. It’s okay if you don’t remember, her eyes say, I remember you. I blink back the unexpected moisture in my eyes, squeeze her hand and return my attention to Nan.
‘You’ve already met Jake,’ Nan says. She takes a step toward Jake and slips her hand into the crook of his arm. It’s such a casual movement, but my eyes lock on the point where her pale fingers meet Jake’s sun-bronzed skin. I look up at his face, then at hers, searching for any tell-tale signs. Does electricity flow between them too? Is this a normal seastnan thing, part of the bond? Both of them are smiling and there is no hint of discomfort or awareness between them. Have they just become so used to this phenomenon that they no longer notice it?
‘This is Kael’s brother, Kent,’ Nan says, drawing my attention to the younger version of Jake with the mischievous eyes. He can’t be more than two or three years younger than Kael, but there is an air about each of them that makes the difference seem like decades.
‘The Kent who gets into trouble playing pranks?’ I ask, remembering the s
nippets of Nan and Jake’s conversation in the car. Jake laughs and ruffles his grandson’s hair.
‘Your reputation precedes you, my boy,’ he says.
‘Aw, gramps!’ Kent grins, face reddening. He grabs his grandfather around the back of the neck and rubs his knuckles playfully against his graying head.
‘Now boys,’ Sandra admonishes, as they erupt into a playful fight, nearly toppling the vegetable trays beneath the counter in their exuberance. ‘This kitchen is too crowded, off with you.’
Kent plants one last right hook on his grandfather’s arm and scampers out of the kitchen with Jake hot on his tail and their shouts of laughter trailing behind.
‘You too, Kael,’ Sandra says but he makes no move to follow. She frowns and waves a dish towel at him. ‘Go on. Shaylee will be fine here with us for a while.’
My seastnan grunts, snatches a bright red apple from the fruit basket on the counter, looks at me one last time and disappears from the kitchen.
Sandra watches him go with a pensive expression.
‘That boy is way too serious,’ she mumbles.
She shakes her head and hands me a knife, glass bowl, two tomatoes, a cucumber and a head of lettuce. I assume she wants me to make salad, so I start chopping as she busies herself peeling potatoes. Nan sits on the opposite side of the counter, watching us.
We work in companionable silence and I begin to relax, content just to bask in the warmth of a well-made home. Is this how it was before, I wonder.
‘Right, Bluebell?’ Nan says, after a while. ‘What would you like to know?’
Chapter 12
Uncertainty
Tastes like: A new recipe.
Smells like: A stranger.
Sounds like: The ‘Um’ in a sentence.
Feels like: The scales of a snake, slippery smooth and dangerous at the same time.
Looks like: A hand, hovering over a plate of sweets.
There are a million questions whizzing around in my head. I’m afraid I won’t remember them all and I have no idea where to start.
Five: A Maor Novel (Maor series) Page 7