by Calinda B
“You can do it. I’ve heard you have restorative powers.”
“That may be true, but it takes a toll on me when I use them.”
The entire head pops free from the rock, revealing a misshapen skull covered with stringy rattlesnake colored, twine-like hair. Stone beads are woven into the strands, hanging from stringy locks. The head turns to face me and says, “You can recover in here.”
“I don’t think so.”
“It’s nice in here.”
“You’ll take advantage of me.”
“I’m a great lover.”
My face crumples in disgust. “No, thanks. You’re not my type.”
“You’ll be pleased.”
“I said no. No to this whole, idea, too. I won’t restore Armando Navid to health. That’s giving the enemy a second chance to kill you like a game of Russian roulette. No, thanks.” I’m so mad at myself right now I could scream. First, we wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Armando. Sober, my three guys, and I would be traipsing along, fed, a solid team. But no, Armando the prick took care of that for us. Well, okay, Daniel made a mistake, too, but he’d have joined me soon and we’d all have food. God, I hope they’re still alive, I think, heartbreak creating tiny fissures along my chest. I run my hand along my forehead and tug at my hair, frustrated.
“Who’s got your sword, Light Rebel?” He says, in a slithery, viper like voice.
“I’ll get it back.”
“How?”
“The sisters will help me. I’m sure they want it to be in my hands, not yours.”
The head laughs. “My dear girl, you lost your sword through no real effort on my part. How do you think they’ll respond, knowing that?”
“I’ll explain that I was hungry, famished, actually.” My stomach growls as if punctuating my point.
“If you really were a Light Rebel, do you think I could have taken your weapon so easily?”
I shake my head, scowl, and turn away from him. He’s right. Another stupid move on my part. I really need to master this stuff. I’m starting to believe I’m rather naïve when it comes to living in a world of magic.
“Well?”
“Well, what?” I spit the words out.
“Do we have a deal?”
I think about restoring Armando to good health. I despise the man. I’ve had more than my fair share of trouble with the asshole. He’s an evil jackass, hell bent on sabotaging his son, determined to kill me if he can. That’s like doing a good deed for your terrorist captor, besides the fact that Daniel will kill me with his bare hands if I save his father. “I don’t think so.”
“How far do you think you’ll get in your quest, Light Rebel, if you don’t have your weapon?” Another snarky laugh leaves his mouth.
I want to rip his lips off and ram his head into the rocks. “I’ll manage. It hasn’t served me very well so far.”
“That’s because you’ve encountered no one but me.”
“I said, I’ll manage. I have tricks up my sleeve.”
“We both know that’s not true.”
“What, that I have no tricks?” I glare at him. “I have plenty.”
“No, that you think you’ll manage. You’re a newbie at all this sorcerer stuff. You’ll be dead before you know it.” He draws a finger along his skinny neck.
My gaze lands on my dog, staring up at me. His tongue is heavy, hanging out of his mouth. He’s panting and appears listless. He’s lost weight.
Crap. I’ve got to take care of my faithful companion. I sigh. “How do I know I can trust you?”
“You don’t. Your mother said you have great intuition, though.”
“How do you know what my mother said to me?”
“I was on the other side of the wall, listening.”
“Fuck. You’re nothing but a meddlesome prick, you know that?”
The face laughs. “Don’t you want to know my name?”
“Why should I?”
“You and I are going to spend time together after you return with Armando Navid.”
“Like hell I will.”
“You’ll see.”
I shake my head. “Okay, what’s your name?”
“Mason.”
“Very funny. A mason is someone who works with stone.”
“Seems apt, doesn’t it?” He grins.
“Okay, have your fun. Mason it is.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he says, extending his arm from the stone wall.
I look at it, shrug, and reach for it. When I make contact, I’m immediately whisked through cool igneous matter into his cavernous domicile, standing before a naked male—naked except for a small leather piece covering his junk. His skin is that same gray and brown tone I’ve grown sick of seeing. It’s got the texture and appearance of a beige elephant. He’s got a hefty paunch, sagging skin—especially around his jowls—and looks as old as these mountains. Not only that, he smells like damp, musty stone. “Damn it! Tricked again!”
“What makes you think you were tricked,” he says, scratching under his hairy armpit.
“I’m here aren’t I?” I gesture to my surroundings.
“Please sit. As soon as we bind our agreement I’ll send you on your way.”
I hear the sound of Sober whining and scratching at the stone wall. “You’d better let my dog in or he’ll hurt himself.”
“No problem,” Mason says. He strides to the wall, turns a handle I can’t see, and pries open a huge door.
Sober shoots through the door, races to my side, and checks to see that I’m okay. “I’m fine. I feel a little stupid, but other than that, fine.” I scratch his head and turn to my captor. “Why did you have to pull me through stone matter while you simply opened a door for my dog?”
“Would you have walked in if I’d opened the door?” He turns his back to me, mumbles something and a burst of light flashes in front of him.
“Probably not,” I say, cocking my head to study him.
“Exactly.”
It looks like he’s opened a magical drawer in the wall. He turns, holding a huge brass key, fits it into a slot in the door, and a lock snicks shut. Then he places his body so I can’t see the wall again, mumbles, the light bursts, and I hear the grating noise of stone against stone, sliding open and then snapping shut. When he moves away, I see nothing but a smooth, seamless wall.
“I have to keep out interlopers,” Mason says, as if in explanation.
“Do you get many of them up here?”
“Not really, no. But it’s important to stay protected with a sturdy lock and magical binding that only I can remove—as long as I have the key, of course. Speaking of which…” He turns his head right and left, apparently searching for something. “Where were we? Binding contracts, that’s right.” He steps to a stone desk; slides open a drawer, pulls out a leather folder, and flips through pages of parchment. “Here we are,” he says, retrieving a document. “A document of binding contract, version 3.5.7.” He grabs a quill pen, dips it into an ink well, scribbles on the document, blows on it, and then hands it to me with a flourish.
Dated this day of the moon, twenty-two thousand ten, a binding contract between Mason Boulder and the Light Rebel. The Light Rebel shall return the sorcerer Armando Navid, fully healed, fully functional, within three days hence, I read. “Mason Boulder, huh? That’s original.”
He smiles and bows.
“Three days? How do I know I’ll find him by then?”
Mason shrugs. “You don’t. But I’d suggest getting a move on.”
“What happens if I don’t deliver?”
“Let’s see. I could start a landslide, an avalanche if you’re near a snowy incline, I could block your way with boulders,” he says, ticking off options on his fingers. “Or, I could…”
“I get the picture. You’ll find a way to kill me.”
“Exactly.” He nods and smiles. “My offer seems quite generous, given that you’ve lost your sword, and you have no food.”
“I supp
ose. Why don’t you feed me before I sign as a gesture of good faith?”
He narrows his eyes, looking at me suspiciously. “Why should I do that?”
“Where can I go?” I shrug my shoulders.
He cocks his head, considering. “That seems fair.” He reaches for a silver bell hanging from a strip of leather and rings it.
“Yes?” A head with a chef’s hat pops out of the stone wall.
“We have guests. Bring us all food and beverages. Prepare a to-go bag for our companions with three day’s food.”
“Can’t it be five?” I ask. “I still have a ways to go.”
“You’ll be coming back here to recover, don’t forget.”
I paste a wounded expression on my face. “I might not make it in three.”
“Okay, four days of travel fare.”
“Coming right up,” the head says, disappearing into the stone.
Mason shuffles to a cupboard and retrieves the sword. “I never intended to keep it,” he says, handing it back to me. “I mean, she’s a beauty and all, but I haven’t the faintest clue how to wield such a weapon.”
“You’re pretty trusting,” I say, slipping it into the invisible scabbard by my side. I could kill you. I could blast open these walls.”
“You could try. You’d never get out of here alive, though.”
“Another spell?”
He nods. “You can’t be too careful.”
A few minutes later, the chef appears, bearing a tray that smells heavenly. He lifts the delicate carved stone lid to reveal an assortment of food—breaded fish, cooked and braised beets, julienne potatoes, and butter beans. Small salads rest in their own bowls. He whistles and a tiny, beige-clad dwarf races down the hall carrying a dish of chopped meat, vegetables, and raw eggs for Sober. He places it near my dog. Sober proceeds to gobble his meal, his dog tags clanking softly.
“Slow down, Sober. Be polite.”
“He can’t help himself,” Mason says. “You shouldn’t either. Eat.” He waves a hand at me.
I pick up a fork and swallow the mouthful of saliva pooling between my cheeks. I stab a bite of fish and bring it to my welcoming mouth. “Mmm,” I manage to say. “Best fish ever.”
The chef beams.
“And these potatoes—to die for!” I’m scarfing down food, forgetting to breathe, I’m so frigging hungry.
“Slow down, child. Take your time or you’ll have a belly ache.”
I glance at him. Mason seems to care, at least a little. Perhaps I judged him wrong. “Hard to do. I haven’t eaten much for days.”
“At least drink spring water between mouthfuls. It’s got a healing, restorative quality. It only bubbles deep in the caverns here.”
The chef fills my glass and I empty it in one gulp. My belly glows with satisfaction. “This is fantastic. Water never tasted so good!”
Mason grins. “I’m glad you’re here.”
I scoff between mouthfuls. “Right. You got what you wanted out of me,” I mumble, mouth full.
“Don’t be silly. I don’t get that many visitors up here. It’s a welcome distraction from day to day life.”
I glance at him and sense he’s not kidding.
“I could use a friend or two, you know.”
“Huh,” I say, still shoveling food. “I hardly qualify.” Finally, I push the plate away, having filled it three times. “I think you’re right. My stomach is pitching a fit.”
“You’ll need to rest. We have plenty of space.”
“I need to go. I only have three days to bring Armando back to you.”
“Rest. I insist.”
He’s right. My eyelids are rather heavy. But…you should leave while you still can, I tell myself. Alas, my body has other things on its mind. And so, I yield to the body’s desires. It is the temple in which my soul resides…my soul with its goddamned missing pieces.
Chapter 26
“Before you go, I’d like to give you something,” Mason says, rummaging in a storage closet.
“Uh, okay. What is it?” I ask, standing from the breakfast table. Sober and I are well-rested, well-fed, clean and restored for the journey ahead. Even Sober got a bath, much to his disdain. My hair hangs in a long, sleek braid down my back. We’ve been loaned a leather backpack filled with needed supplies, which I’ve promised to return when we bring Armando back. My gut still twists into a knot when I think of the trade I’ve been forced to make by my own folly. Damn, damn, and double damn. And I wouldn’t have been in this situation had Armando not blown up our supplies. My hands ball into rage-filled fists. Deep calming breaths, Engles…deep calming breaths.
“It’s just a little something I traded for long ago. I never had a need for it, but it seems you are…” His voice trails off. “Here it is!” He pulls out a stone box and blows on the lid to get dust off.
“A trade?” I ask.
“Lost traveler, much as yourself. He wanted something from me, I insisted on a trade.”
“You’re big on bargaining.”
He ignores me. “Hand me your napkin, will you please?”
I do so and he wipes off the stone lid before setting it down before me. “Open it.”
“Does it come with some sort of favor attached? Do I have to bring it back within a certain time span?” I say, arching an eyebrow.
Mason appears hurt. “It’s a gift, Light Rebel. Scout’s honor.”
“Do you even know what a scout is?” I ask, still skeptical. “You seem sort of…well…isolated up here.”
“I do read,” he says with a sniff. “Open your gift.” His ancient face appears eager, expectant.
I heft the cool, heavy, buffed to a sheen box and pry open the top. Inside lays brown velvet. Why would it be any other color? I think, gently plucking apart the folds with my fingertips. Resting on the velvet is a gold… bracelet? Necklace? I can’t really tell. It looks too large to be a bracelet, too small to go around one’s neck. It has five settings where gemstones should be. “This is interesting. It’s missing a few pieces, but it’s still a finely wrought piece. It looks like something a friend of mine would have crafted.” I turn the piece over and over, inspecting it from every side. Sure enough, there’s the tiny mark of my mother’s former and my current jeweler, Diego Rivera. People sure like to gift me with jewelry, I think with a sniff. Me, who used to only wear tiny earrings, if that.
“Who is your friend?” Mason asks.
“Diego Rivera.”
A look like greed or lust flickers through Mason’s eyes and quickly disappears. “You mean I’ve held the artistry of Diego Rivera, descendant of the Toltecs, all this time?” He makes a breezy gesture with his hand to indicate something light, of no consequence, but the look on his face speaks of something else.
I can’t put my finger on it, but I make a note, filing it away for a later time. “If he is your friend, then this was truly meant for you. How fortunate you arrived here. It was meant for you all along.”
“Who are the Toltecs?”
“The Toltecs are sorcerers of antiquity. They lived in Mexico before the conquest.”
“No kidding?” I say, fascinated.
“You don’t know your sorcerers’ history? How is that possible?”
“My life took an unexpected course when I was a child,” I say. By Armando’s design…you know, the man you’ve asked me to restore to good health. “I didn’t get to my magical training when I was supposed to.”
“I’ve heard rumors to that effect,” Mason said, thoughtful. “Well, never mind. That’s a story for when you return.”
“I don’t plan on hanging out.”
“You will,” he says congenially.
“Where do you think the gemstones are…the ones that were meant for this piece?” I ask, fingering the shiny gold.
Mason squints at me. “You really don’t know much, do you?”
“How should I know anything about this piece? I’ve never seen it in my life,” I say, my cheeks growing hot.
/> “Perhaps. But you don’t know what it is? No inkling?”
“No! I don’t.”
A dry chuckle escapes Mason’s throat. It sounds like someone rubbing two stones together. “My dear Light Rebel—this is a soul keeper.”
A curious shiver rolls along my spine like an ocean wave. “A what?”
“A soul keeper. Aren’t you looking for missing parts of your soul?”
“I might be.” I glace at him out of the corner of my eye.
“Once you find them, this will keep them safe.”
“Why wouldn’t they reside inside of me where they originated? Why do I need a soul keeper?”
“Child,” he scoffs. “A soul keeper is an ancient artifact for cases such as yourself. When you’ve lost parts …through no fault of your own,” he quickly adds. “A sacred piece of jewelry infused with magic will keep them where they belong—in your presence.”
I frown. “Does that mean I have to wear it all the time?”
“Sort of. You’ll see. You will need to attend to it daily—sort of like a ritual, like brushing your hair. It will become automatic until you do it without thinking and you’ll…what’s the term…you’ll freak out if you forget. Did I use the term properly?”
“Yes,” I say, still frowning. “Is it like a fake limb kind of thing? You know, a prosthesis?”
“Excellent analogy. Yes, it’s like a prosthesis…sort of. Well, no, not really. There’s no comparison. But that comes close,” he says, nodding and smiling as if he’s afraid to hurt my feelings. “See what happens when you put your beautiful ring near the piece.” He looks at the ring and swallows hard.
What is it with this guy? I hold up my hand and touch the two together. A humming vibration emanates from both pieces, making my fingers itch, and the two pieces pull toward each other as if magnetized. Then, the sensation stops. “What just happened?”
“You’re not ready.”
“What am I not ready for?”
“You haven’t mastered courage yet.”
“How do you know?”
“If you had, the dino-stone would have embedded itself into the bracelet. You’re close, but not quite there.”
I feel sort of deflated, like I’ve gotten a C+ on a test instead of an expected A. I was a competitive student in school—it was one of the only things I excelled at when I lived in the pastel world of my aunt.