It happens again, though it’s much less profound this time. A cool, white calm spreads behind my eyes, floods through my body, and I feel at ease for the first time since last night.
Trebor lowers his hand. “Better?”
I nod, still feeling the light pressure of his fingertips on my skin. “What does that mean in your language?”
Trebor shakes his head and grimaces. “It’s a secret. You learn to control your magic without that, and then I’ll tell you.”
I roll my eyes, and look down at my hands. “Okay. Focus…casually.” It takes a few moments of clearing my mind and feeling my way towards a gentle flow, but soon enough my hands begin to glow amethyst. “Ha! Easy. Kind of.” I raise my hands and wiggle my fingers, sprinkling bits of magic into the air. “Now what?”
Trebor points to an apple tree about twenty feet away. “There’s a wraith over there.”
“What?” I hiss, and jump to my feet, scanning. Sure enough, high-beam eyes blink open, into the darkness, and a toothy grin fills the shadows beneath. The tall, thin, not-quite-man-shaped shadow takes a step forward.
“Trebor?” I worry as the wraith slinks closer, spreading his arms as if expecting an embrace.
Trebor stands behind me. “I’ve got it covered. But you try, first.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Sure you do. You did it last night.”
I swallow, and the buzz returns to my veins. It’s just my fear, I realize. My need to control is because I’m afraid. I’m not afraid though. I’m not afraid, I tell myself, but the hammering in my chest says otherwise.
“Easy,” Trebor says, putting a hand on my shoulder. Of course he knows my heart is racing—his heart would be racing too.
But if he’s calm, maybe my heart can imitate what his heart should be doing.
I take a deep breath, let my heart follow his, and raise my hands to the wraith.
It stops, cocks its head, and bares huge, pointed fangs. The wraith hisses, growls like a jaguar, startling me before it jumps—
I cry out in surprise, letting loose a blast of light from my hands that sends me flying backwards into Trebor, knocking us both down.
Somewhere in the dark, the wraith cries out and fizzles into shadow, but meanwhile I’m lightheaded and breathless on the ground—on top of my teacher.
Trebor chuckles beneath me. “Are you okay?”
I moan, pressing my palm to my head to hold my shifting brains inside. “Why didn’t you warn me before we got started?”
“I knew you could handle it. Come on.” He helps me sit up, but I’m so lightheaded I just keep falling forward. “Whoa…” He catches me again and lets me lean against him. “Dizzy?”
“Yeah,” I breathe.
“Power backlash,” he explains. “Another thing to work on. But you did it, right? You took care of your first Sura.”
“Did I kill it?” I wonder, going pale. Even if they’re demons, I don’t like the idea of murdering them.
“No, just sent it back where it belongs, in Sheol.”
I put my hand against him to push myself up, and notice the light is gone from my fingers. Then I notice my hand on his chest, his arm around my waist; I become aware of the fact that my thigh is pressed against his, that to anyone who didn’t know better, we might look like teenage lovers fooling around in the woods at night. I feel his heart beat a little faster under my hand, in my own chest, and wonder if he’s realized the same.
I clear my throat and sit up straight, putting space between us, fidgeting with my hands in my lap. Even in the best of situations, I’m not good at boy stuff. Hell, Trebor isn’t even a boy, he’s an Irin. And besides, there’s no stuff to happen, we just—
“We should get you home,” he interrupts my train of thought. “The Sura will be out in stronger numbers until after Beltane—the nights are getting thinner.”
“Right. We should go.” I pause. “Wait. Thinner? What are you talking about?”
He looks at my fidgety hands when he speaks. “Beltane—the first day of May—is one of the nights when the veils between our worlds are thinnest. The weeks leading up to it are when the veils become thin—we call them the Thin Nights. Sura can slip into your world more easily then.”
“Oh. Do they cross into Shemayiim, too?”
Trebor shakes his head. “No. They can't. They can't really exist in Shemayiim; it exists on a wavelength too disparate from theirs. The same is true of Irin and Malakiim—our wavelength is much higher than Sheol. We can't exist there either, not without Falling.”
“But you can all exist here, in my world.” I cock an eyebrow. It seems convenient, like the justifications of a schizophrenic for his belief in his own hallucinations.
“Yes. This world has a greater spectrum of order and chaos, good and evil.”
“So, can I exist in all three worlds?”
Trebor blinks. “I think so. I’m not sure. No human has ever come to Shemayiim—and the Malakiim would be pissed if they did.”
I frown. “The Malakiim sound like a bunch of stuck-up control-freaks.”
He laughs. “Yup.”
“Then why do you work for them?”
Trebor finally looks at me again, considers something, then scans the darkness around us. “Come on, we should go. It's not safe out here.” He stands and takes my hand, pulling me to my feet, but he lets go of my hand once I'm standing too.
We head back through the nunnery parking lot just outside of the orchard and begin the walk home. It's quiet, nothing but the distant whisper of traffic on Main Street, and the chirping of crickets and creepers, until Trebor finally decides to answer my question.
“We're not given a choice, really,” he says. “We're born and bred for service. We were created to walk among humans, to spy on you, and protect you. There really isn't a life for us besides that, at least not in Shemayiim.”
“So, what, you're slaves?” I ask, angry on his behalf.
“Not exactly. We're a class of people whose purpose is pre-determined—more like a caste. The Malakiim are in charge. They make the laws. And we have to live by them.”
I can feel myself bristle against their authority, even though it's not over me. Not yet, anyway. “What kind of laws are you talking about? I mean...besides their policy on Sura and Falling. Are they like human laws?”
Trebor bristles, too. “Some are. But they're trying to maintain order in a system that encompasses much more than personal responsibility and morals. Murder is illegal, yes—but an Irin would never murder, unless he had Fallen. It just doesn't happen. The laws that exist have more to do with preserving the purity of our magic, and all the separate races.”
“Purity of the race? But if some of you Fall, that doesn't affect the rest of you, does it?”
“No. I don't mean it like that.”
I think about it. “Oh. You mean...breeding.”
“Yes.”
I squirm. “So has that been, like, an issue in the past? Irin and Malakiim?”
Trebor laughs. “No. There are other races in Shemayiim, other than the Malakiim and Irin. And besides, the Malakiim are incorporeal in Shemayiim. But…” He raises his eyebrows. “They can come down to earth and take up human form. A long time ago, one of them did that. In fact, she fell in love with a demon, and they had a child together.”
“Oh,” I coo. “That’s kind of romantic.”
“Except then the Malakiim tried to execute them all for their transgression.”
“Oh. Okay. Less romantic.”
Trebor shrugs. “If it makes you feel better, before she was executed, the mother gave her immortality to her lover and their child, protecting them from the Malakiim's wrath.”
“Yay! Romantic!” I cheer. “What happened to the lover and their child?”
“Um. Well. They’ve been sealed up in a tower in Sheol, ever since.”
“That's horrible.”
“Yes, it is.” He looks sidelong at me.
I swallow.
My heart is doing strange things, playing cat's cradle with my innards, and I wonder if he feels that, too.
“The Malakiim fear that the union of any of the different races might create a creature more powerful than they can manage. So far, we've been evenly matched, the Irin and Sura. The Malakiim have great power as well, but they can't risk coming to Iritz and becoming mortal. They send us to police the Sura—and humans, because they don’t like it when you remember how to use your magic.”
I turn to him, eyebrow arched. “Then why are you trying to teach me to use it?”
“Because if I don't teach you to control your magic, it will find a way to control you. Magic is a force—like lightning or fire. It is not good, and it is not evil, but left to its own devices it will destroy everything it touches. Chaos is necessary for creation, it's true, but think of your own mind. You can let it run wild and it can drive you mad, or else you can control the chaos, focus your thoughts, and solve problems, understand consequences, and make decisions.” He works his jaw, biting down on some hard truth he doesn't want to let out.
“So, wait a minute. If we're so dangerous, and the Malakiim are so controlling—why do they allow us to exist at all?”
Trebor looks strangely at me. “They're not total monsters.”
“Just partial?”
He smirks. “Maybe. But besides that, human faith—and there is a lot more of it than you realize—that's what keeps them alive. It's your own wild unconscious minds that have given life to other worlds, other beings—angels, demons, heaven, hell. Those things have always existed, but like undeveloped photographs. If no one knows a thing exists, does it really exist at all?”
“What are you talking about? Are you saying we created you? That we created the Malakiim and the Sura?”
“Origin theory is all chicken or the egg at this point. What I'm saying is that these things couldn't have come to exist in these forms without humans.”
I can't honestly wrap my brain around that, but I nod and keep walking. The street is empty, the village silent, and I feel very insignificant indeed.
“Hey,” Trebor says after a while, looking at me. “I know this is still probably pretty overwhelming for you. But I promise, the magic part isn’t as hard as you think. Once we figure out how to get past this barrier, using magic will be intuitive. We just need to figure out how to fine tune you.”
“Like a well-oiled machine,” I mutter, almost laughing. “What you mean is figure out how to make me relax and stop holding on so tightly. Stop trying to control everything.”
He smiles. “Maybe.”
“And what then? When I know how to use magic, I mean.”
He cocks his head. “You'll be safe.”
“And where will you go? Will you keep looking for the key?”
Trebor looks at the sidewalk disappearing beneath our feet. “I'm not sure any more.”
“Why not? Won't the Malakiim be mad if you drop the mission?”
Trebor opens his mouth, then closes it. “It's complicated. But I worry that maybe the Sura are using me to find the Key, and I'm not sure it's worth it any more to continue the search.”
“Can't you call for backup or something?”
Trebor inhales, shakes his head. “No. Not this time.” He forces a smile. “But let's not worry about it for now. There are other pressing matters at hand.”
“Yeah. By the way, I need to tell Kyla everything that's been going on.”
Trebor straightens, nods. “Okay.”
“The Malakiim don't have a law against that?”
He laughs. “Oh yes, they do. That's an absolute no-no. But they're not here, are they? And besides, she already knows about Sura, and she knows you can see them.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, that settles that.”
“Why haven't you told her already?”
I shake my head. “Because I'm a coward. I'm afraid she's going to hate me for not telling her, or think I'm a freak, or worse, be afraid to be my friend.”
Trebor laughs. “Your best friend? Kyla, of all people? She's going to be ecstatic.”
I wince. “Maybe.”
“You really have a fear of people leaving you, don't you?”
I wince again. Called out. “I have a very… tenuous sense of place. Almost no sense of belonging. My father loves me, but we're like strangers most of the time. Kyla is loyal to me—we share things no one else can, and we've known each other since birth. You know what I am—know more about me, probably, than anyone besides Kyla.” My cheeks grow warm. “I know I shouldn't, but I use you all as anchors, holding me in place. If I lose you—any of you—I'm afraid I'll drift out to sea and never come back. And I have no idea what that metaphor means, only that it fills me with so much dread, and so much sadness...” I grimace, and clutch my chest. “It's like a hole in my heart, threatening to swallow up everything that means anything to me. Everything I know about myself. Everything I believe.”
“You are the hole in your heart, Ana,” Trebor says. He's said it once before. “If you filled it with your self, you wouldn't feel so precariously grounded.”
“My self?” I wonder. I know what he's saying is true, but it feels impossible. “How can I know who I am? How can I love who I am? I am all the people in my life who have supported me, who have mocked me, who have left me behind. Those things shape who you are.”
Trebor nods. “I know. But you—the real Ana—the Ana who was before all of that, and who still is—you're the person who decides how to let them shape you.”
“It doesn't feel like a decision.”
“No, it never does. But with distance, there's clarity. Understanding.” He sighs. “Bad things happen. Terrible things happen. But so do good and wonderful things. That's just part of life. Usually other people are involved, but ultimately it comes down to us, and how we choose to respond. How we choose to grow, or remain where we are. How we choose to hold on, or let go.”
I feel some hard and twisted part of myself unclench, deep inside. My shoulders drop. I feel tired. “How are you so wise and insightful? Please don't pull a vampire move and tell me you're, like, a thousand years old.”
Trebor smiles. “It's easy to be wise when the pain doesn't belong to you. Also, being from a world that’s familiar with magic and metaphysical philosophy helps. But, I think there's more wisdom in you than you realize.”
I scoff. “I doubt it. Sometimes I feel like I'm just a child, which, in a way I guess I am. Other times I feel like I'm older than death.” I shake my head.
“There's wisdom in youth, as well as age.”
I look at him. “You are, aren't you.”
“Are what?”
“A thousand years old.”
He laughs. “Does it matter?”
I blush and shrug. “No. I guess not. But I guess if you're really old that makes you super creepy for spending so much time with me.” I give him a crooked smile, but I still feel inexplicably shy about it. “Maybe I should start calling you 'Gramps'?”
Trebor laughs again. He shakes his head at me. “Nineteen.”
“Years, or centuries?”
“Human years. Rotations of the planet Earth around the sun.”
“Hmm, still a little sketchy, but I think I can deal with a two or three year difference as opposed to five hundred. Or even fifty.” I raise my eyebrows.
“Good. I'm glad you're not too creeped out by me.”
I laugh. “Well, honestly, if you stalking me and being not human doesn't creep me out, I don't know what would. I guess you can't scare me off too easily.”
“That's one of the things I love about you, Ana,” he says softly. “You have every right to be afraid, but you're still brave as hell.”
“I'm actually scared as hell, most of the time.”
“But you keep going. And you don't give up. That's bravery.”
I angle my chin upwards, trying to look clever. “Or is it stubbornness?”
“Maybe.” He smiles. “But whatever it is, it'
s admirable.”
“So now you love and admire things about me. Careful Trebor, the angels will be on your tail soon.”
He sighs, and looks sidelong at me again. “Good thing they don't come down here often.”
My cheeks burn, and my attempt at looking clever fizzles. I smile a very small smile instead, watching my feet move over the sidewalk.
“Ana...” Trebor starts, but hesitates.
“Yeah?”
He dithers, staring at the ground one moment, then back to me the next. Finally, he shoves his hands deep into his pockets and says, “I understand why you haven't told Kyla. Sometimes you spend so long being told that one way is the right way, and that certain rules are the only rules, and it's impossible to feel okay about it when you break free from them. You might not have had a choice, even—the decision might have been forced on you, but not on the rest of the world. The rest of the world still thinks you're wrong—you're a freak. How can you know she won't too?”
I definitely feel like he’s not talking about me and Kyla anymore. “Sure,” I agree. “It's kind of like that.”
“I just...I want you to know I understand what that's like. And why you've kept it a secret.” He nods to himself. “But you're right. It's time to tell her the truth.”
I nod. “Okay.”
Trebor surprises me by reaching for my hand. He gets a firm grip on my fingers, opens his mouth to say something else, then stops. He looks quizzical. “Did you hear that?”
I listen. “I don't—” But then there is this terrible ripping sound, and a pulse of fair white light somewhere off beyond the houses and trees, possibly in the orchard we just left. The light spreads across the village like an aftershock, passing through us, ringing my bones.
“Shit,” Trebor hisses, and pulls me along, breaking into a run.
“What is it?”
“Not human, I can tell you that much. Come on.”
— 37 —
When we reach my house, Trebor tries to laugh it off. “We're safe now. Don't worry.”
“What was that? It was like it fell from the sky.”
He shrugs lazily, even though we’re both panting from running. “Listen, it doesn't matter. We're here, you’re safe. No one saw us.”
The Hierophant (Book 1 in The Arcana Series) Page 16