It gave the voice life. It made the voice human.
That made it real.
His cheeks are shadowed, sunken in, and his eyes seem to bulge out of their sockets. Black, dirty and matted hair hang at the sides of his face and his skin is a desiccating gray. His skin is rotting. My eyes widen.
Those aren’t shadows on his face. His cheeks have decayed, they’re holes.
My stomach churns when I see a cockroach crawl out of his cheek and disappear into his long, thin, black beard. I can’t move. I’m frozen and my feet are planted where I stand. Every instinct is telling me to run, but even if I could, where do I go?
The man flicks his wrist toward me in one brisk movement. His closed fist shoots open, throwing me back against the wall.
I blink a few times, moving my hand to the side of my head; my hair is damp from blood. There crouching in front of me, is myself. But instead of freckles, he’s covered in scars. His dark curly hair is longer now, in dreads that hang around his face. His cheeks are stained with dirt and blood.
“Let me help you,” he says in a hushed tone.
Apollo.
I wake up in bed with air caught in my throat. Sweat trickles down the sides of my head. I press my fingers against my scalp and look down at my hands.
It’s not sweat.
I slide out of my bed and peer down the hall to make sure no one else is awake before I slip into the bathroom. I rinse the blood from my hands before turning my head, examining my wound.
“How is it… possible.”
I wet a towel and press it to the side of my head. Looking back at the mirror, I jump back at the sight of Apollo.
When I blink, he’s gone.
I’m seeing things. I’m seeing things — just like I have before. It’s no different than that day in the Woodlands last year, the day that started everything.
I don’t look in the mirror again. I just leave. I go back to my room. I want to pretend like I never saw anything. I have to. I have to hold it together.
I don’t go back to bed. Instead, I sit at my desk and start tinkering away at the stockstill clock I found in the dragon book. Stockstills can make time stand still for the wearer.
For weeks, since coming up with the idea of getting Nova to stop aging, I’ve been trying to figure out how to reverse it, and I’m no less closer now than I was before.
A muscle in my hand spasms and a small metal piece breaks off of the inside.
Frustrated, I slam the edge of my desk with my palms. The prism falls out of the book and clatters onto the wooden surface. I reach to put it back, noticing the light traveling through it has separated as it sits beside my candle.
“Rhiannon!” I yell as I get up, grabbing the string of the prism. “RHIANNON!”
I fling open my door and she’s standing just on the other side. She yawns sleepily, but she doesn’t look like she just woke up. Then again, her hair is never a mess.
“Yes?” she asks, blinking. Her eyes widen suddenly, she’s looking at the side of my head. “What happened —”
I cut her off, “Put this on.” I hold out the string for her to wear around her neck, but she only stares at me curiously.
“What is it?” Her eyes shift between me and the crystal.
“It’s a prism,” I say. “It’ll, well. It separates the beams of light into a spectrum of colors. You can go out in the sun, I just know it. I know it.”
She takes a step back, shaking her head.
“Are you insane?”
“Maybe a little? I don’t know, try it,” I say, taking a step forward.
“No!”
“Rhiannon, please. Just trust me.”
She narrows her eyes. Inhaling deeply, she glares at me before pulling it around her neck. “If I burn up, I will come back as a specter and I’ll kill you myself.”
“I’m sure it will work.”
I follow her down the stairs and to the front door of the cabin. The sun is only just beginning to rise. If it doesn’t work, it shouldn’t hurt her much.
I hope.
I wrap my hand around the knob of the door and look at her. She doesn’t look at me, she only nods. I slowly pull it open and step back. Rhiannon takes a deep breath and walks outside, holding her head held high.
She turns around. She’s frowning. She looks down at the prism and then at me. “I can feel the sun, but,” she stops before she finishes her sentence.
“But what? What?”
“I mean it feels like —” she stops again and turns around. “It hurts, but only a little. I can feel it. I can feel the sun! Artemis!” She squeals, I have never heard her squeal before. She runs to me and grabs my arms. “I could kiss you!”
I shake my head quickly. “Please don’t.”
“No,” she says, shaking her head too. She laughs. She doesn’t take her eyes off of mine. A small smirk peeks at the corner of her mouth. “I wouldn’t, but I could.” Rhiannon turns away from me, she extends her arms out and she twirls, barefoot in the melting snow. “I haven’t felt warmth since —” she stops spinning. Her smile fades. She looks at me and forces herself to smile again. “What does it matter,” she continues while she moves toward me. “I can feel it now. Thanks to you.”
But I don’t smile back. “You deserve it,” I say.
Her smile disappears again. She takes my hand, her touch no longer burns. It’s not cold, it hasn’t been since I died. She can’t invade my mind anymore either. I haven’t decided yet whether or not I like the silence. So far, it’s lonely. When she looks at me, her eyes tell me she’s confused. She can’t read my thoughts anymore, she doesn’t know what I know.
“You deserve it,” I say again. I make myself smile this time. She deserves it.
I sit on the porch stairs while she twirls under the sunlight. She comes back to me after a while, her smile fading again. Rhiannon sits down beside me and nudges my shoulder with hers.
“Is there anything you want to talk about?”
I don’t look at her. I remain facing forward, staring at where she once stood. There are a lot of things I need to talk about, but none of which I want to talk about.
“Your head’s still bleeding,” she adds. “I could smell it from there.” She turns to face forward as I reach to press my fingers against my head. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened,” I say.
“You don’t have to lie to me.”
I sigh. “I think something bad’s going to happen.” Still, I don’t look at her, but now I can feel her eyes burning holes into the side of my head. “I had a dream I was in the Underworld, and the Grim Reaper saw me. He threw me against the wall and I woke up with this.” I look at the blood on my fingers. “Apollo told me to let him help me, but I don’t know what that means.” I turn to look at her. “How am I supposed to let him help me?”
“Block him out of your mind.”
A voice coming from behind startles me. I turn around and see Alekoth standing there. Just like Weylan. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. I don’t know why I couldn’t tell he was my father. “You have to. That is dangerous, Artemis.”
I stand up and dust my pants off. “Okay,” I say, slightly agitated. I don’t put up an argument. I know he doesn’t want one. I look past him and see Amelia standing in the hallway, looking at the three of us. “I’ll do my best,” I say, returning my focus onto Alekoth.
Just smile and act the way they want you to, and they’ll leave you alone. That’s what I’ve gathered. People care, but there are ways around that. As long as you give them what they want — you make sure they don’t have a reason to worry. You don’t give them one. I wait till he leaves before I turn back to Rhiannon. She’s staring at me curiously, and I can tell she doesn’t believe me.
“I’ll do my best,” I repeat.
She raises an
eyebrow. “Mmmmhmm.” She crosses her arms. She doesn’t believe me. I guess she has no reason to. I won’t abandon my brother. She knows that. I don’t abandon people. I clench my fists at my own thoughts. I don’t abandon people… Alekoth says Jace will come back. I need to believe him. But how can I believe he’s being honest with me when I know for a fact I’m not being honest with him? I wonder if he knows too.
My parents know everything.
Chapter THREE
happy birthday artemis
The nightmares still come, but I’ve gotten better at managing it. Somehow, I’ve figured out how to wake up before things get too intense. Outside of my head, at least. Before I yell, before I break my hands punching at the wall. Before I rip through my skin with my own nails. Most times, I can wake myself up.
Most times.
Maybe Apollo’s helping me. Maybe we’re connected now. I don’t have answers, and I’m too scared to ask anyone.
Other days, I’m not so lucky.
I’ll wake up in a jolt. Sweat will trickle down the sides of my face, my hair is drenched. I’m gasping for air. Sometimes my throat burns from screaming. Sometimes, my nails are bleeding. Sometimes my arms are too, sometimes the wall is.
Today was one of those days.
Rhiannon sleeps on Jace’s old bed now just in case it happens. She knows I lied to my dad, or at least she suspects. She’ll crawl out of the bed and do her best to hold me down. Usually, she’s strong enough.
“Are you okay?” she whispers, while I gasp for air. She lets go of my wrists when I nod.
“Your dad’s really worried about you, you know.” She sits down beside me as I sit up. I scoot over on my bed and lean my back against the wall, avoiding any eye contact with her. “You should talk to him.”
“About what?”
She sighs. “Whatever this is.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine —”
“Please don’t tell me how I feel, okay? I’m not Jace and you can’t comfort me — you can’t heal me.” I slip off the bed. I regret it as soon as it leaves my mouth, but I don’t apologize. I pick up the Skinharvester beak on my desk and put it around my neck. “I’m fine,” I repeat, but I know she’s not who I’m trying to convince.
“I just don’t want —” she purses her lips together. “You shouldn’t have to feel so alone. It’s your birthday.”
“Thanks, but could you leave?”
She averts her eyes as she nods, letting herself out of the room.
It’s been two months since Jace left.
Christmas presents for him sit in the corner of our room, but after everything that’s happened, the holiday seems silly. My birthday seems silly.
Though not everyone seems to agree.
“Happy birthday, Artemis!” Amelia bursts in through the door, carrying some kind of brown pie.
“That’s not real mud, is it?”
“I’ve learned since then, thank you.”
I smile. Amelia was a terrible cook and an even worse baker. A few times in my childhood, Apollo and I tried using the stove, thinking we could do better. In our minds, there was no way we could do worse.
We did worse.
She never caught our brownie on fire. I don't think Remacle ever really forgave us for that, even though we did manage to heal him and keep him from dying.
I drag my finger through the top and taste it just to be sure. We might've set our brownie on fire, but she's put dirt in a pan and called it a mud pie. To my surprise, it’s chocolate. She puts it down on the desk and crosses her long, slender arms. Her red hair is carelessly thrown up in a ponytail.
“You gonna come down today or are you planning on spending the rest of your life in here?”
“Well, I’m trying but people keep bothering me.” I wipe my finger against my shirt.
I can’t do this.
I can’t stand here and act like I’m okay. I start shaking my head. I scoff. “Why did you do it…” I say softly, not meaning for her to hear, but she does.
“Why did I do what?”
I look at her.
“Let Stanton cover it up? You knew it wasn’t a cave-in.”
“Artemis, I know you’re angry, but don’t take it out on me. I told you,” she shifts her crossed arms uncomfortably. “A lot of things are fuzzy from then. I don’t —” Amelia starts shaking her head. One hand reaches for her temple while the other pushes me away from her.
I’m no longer in the cabin.
I’m back in Valfield, back in the same cave.
Amelia was the first to arrive, and she fell apart the second she spotted her brother. She slumps to the ground and buries her face into the material of David’s shirt, just as I remember her doing it all those years ago. I can’t look at her, but even when I look away, I can hear her gasping. She’s struggling to breathe, but she can’t quite manage through the crying.
Other guardians have appeared now, one of them talking to Stanton about the gorgons, and just like I remember, he dismisses it. They all start to fade.
I don’t understand.
“I didn’t!” Amelia snaps at me. I shake my head. Back in the cabin, I rub the sides of my head with my fingers. Did I just time travel?
I stagger backward, my surroundings seem to fade in and out of focus.
The cabin fades again. My surroundings are full of fog, but I can see people, barely.
“I don’t think it was a cave-in,” Amelia says to someone, and two men behind her exchange glances. I think they’re also guardians. “I don’t know what happened, you guys did something to me, but I know that wasn’t it. I think there was — I think I saw —” she shakes her head. “It was violent.”
The men grab her by her arms and start to drag her away. “No!” she screams, again and again, until her voice dies out.
The fog dissolves.
There’s a white hallway now, steel doors on either side of me with small glass windows at the top. I inhale deeply and boldly look into one of the rooms.
There’s a man laying on his bed, he does nothing but stare at the ceiling. His lips are moving, I’ve seen Rhiannon do something similar when she was caged. Maybe he’s counting. I glance up at the white ceiling. Counting what? I don’t know.
I swallow hard and walk to the next door.
There’s Amelia.
She’s on the floor, on the opposite side of her bed, wedged into a corner. Her red hair is frazzled, and she’s mumbling to herself. She shakes her head, then smacks her temple as though her memories aren’t right.
“Somehow she keeps remembering,” someone says from behind me. I turn around. One of the same men who had grabbed her was now talking to Stanton. “It’s like she’s fighting against it. Maybe we should send her back.”
He peers into the room and just shakes his head.
“Send her back where? To the mortal world? Are you insane? We’ll try a different method tomorrow.”
They’re torturing her. I clench my fists. I could strangle him. But when I step forward, I fall, and everything fades to black.
“Artemis, what’s wrong?”
I rub my temples again. It’s Rhiannon.
“Chronomancy,” I mumble. I don’t open my eyes. I don’t know what I’ll see.
“It’s okay,” she whispers. She laces her fingers with mine and squeezes my hand tightly. I still expect her touch to sting, but it doesn’t. I’m not used to it. “It’s okay,” she reassures.
I open my eyes, and Rhiannon is looking at me, her eyebrows are scrunched together at the center — and Amelia — Amelia backs away from me.
Her eyes are wide. Wider than I’ve ever seen.
“Amelia —”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. Her eyes are glistening. “No.” She leaves in an instant.
I
remain staring at the empty doorway.
“I didn’t mean to…”
“Whatever happened, it’s not your fault.”
“How can you say that? You saw her.”
She takes a seat on my bed again and forces me to sit down beside her.
“Look at me,” she tells me. I sweep my eyes over to her. “You’ve only been a chronomancer for two months, Artemis. Two — and you died to become one. You died. I don’t know what chronomancy is like, but no one expects you to get it right away. No one expects you to have it all figured out. You didn’t even want this.” She inhales deeply and closes her eyes for a second. I wonder if she’s smelling the blood on my hands. “Chronomancy — your main ability — is to gain insight through time, is it not? Is that not what you did?” I look away from her and she squeezes my hand. I can nearly feel the bones start to break. I look back at her. “You’re learning how to deal with it, and so are we. Okay? We’re all learning.”
“You’re right.”
She frowns and tilts her head. “About what?”
“I don’t want to feel alone.”
I slip my hand out of hers and lace my fingers together in my lap. She purses her lips together.
“What was your brother like?”
I frown. “What? You said — I thought you knew him?”
“I mean before. What was he like with you?”
“He was — good,” I say. I can’t think of the right words to describe him. “Obedient, he listened. He was everything I wasn’t, and everything people expected me to be. Rhiannon —” I say as my thoughts pull me in another direction. “Do you think it’s possible we’ve switched places?”
“I’m — what do you mean? I don’t understand.”
“When we were attacked in Valfield, they were after me. The gorgons tried to kidnap me. What if I’m supposed to be the necromancer?”
She frowns and fixes her pale blonde hair, despite no strand being out of place. She doesn’t look at me, and I can see her eyes darting around the room.
The Midnight Strider (The Chronomancer Chronicles Book 2) Page 3