Anthony and Marcus leapt up and reached back down to hoist Desiree up after them. As Amara waited for the path out to clear, she turned her head to see the Apollumi standing in the archway. Her eyes met with Chiyo’s and hatred flared like hot lava between them in the half of a second before she scurried out the top and darkness reigned again.
Chapter 17
Like Calls to Like
The hatch opened up near the beach, not far from where they had left their boat moored. Fantails of sand kicked up behind them as they ran for the small craft, which suddenly seemed as if it were the safest place in the world to be. Boarding quickly, they rushed across the rough waters, desperate to put space between them and the Apollumi. To keep moving was their only safety.
The trip back was silent as they each contemplated the things they had seen and done inside the tomb during their private nightmares. Amara’s hand pressed against the front pocket of her jeans, comforted by the feeling of the heart beneath her palm. She had to tell the others that she had found their final clue to the Weaver’s lair, but until they were far enough away from the Apollumi, she wanted to give them no more knowledge than they needed.
The boat bumped up onto the shore and they scrambled to put two feet back on dry land. They made their way back to retrieve the Fairlane, and Amara glanced over her shoulder at the span of water. A shiver ran through her, and she knew she never wanted to lay eyes on Crimson Cove again.
As they rounded the corner, Amara froze. Flashing lights and crowds of people stood just beyond a yellow police tape line. In the waning day, the scene seemed as surreal as if it were something staged within a movie, or some type of bad dream. She tried to make her mind understand that the police cars and ambulance existed, and John Sharky was most surely not okay. Instead, she stood with her mouth gaping, her heart pounding, and no will to do any more than that.
“The Apollumi.”
When Marcus whispered their enemy’s name, she only heard the words as a distant and incoherent sound. Her eyes followed the paramedics as they wheeled out a gurney. Transfixed by the snowy white sheet covering the body beneath it, Amara stepped forward. She dipped under the police tape and side-stepped the officer who tried to stop her progress, forcing her way through to the back of the ambulance.
John’s wrinkled face had been smooth and wise when she had last seen him, a stranger who had somehow become a friend. Instead of looking into the kind and gentle expression she wanted to see, Amara saw bruises, swelling, blood, and pain. Yet, she felt relief, because he still lived.
The paramedics’ rough hands pushed her back as they said words she didn’t understand. All the world sounded as if it were buried beneath waves crashing down on her eardrums. Ducking under an outstretched arm, she made it to John’s side, crying in uncontrollable sobs as she gently took his hand.
One eye had completely swollen shut, the skin already blue and purple as if angry storm clouds had gathered beneath it. Yet, his good eye swiveled to stare into Amara’s. John squeezed her hand, and his split lips parted to reveal bloody teeth in a brave smile.
His voice was faint and his words were slurred, “I’m finally free. Thank you, Amara. I’m going home to my Dahlia.” His eyes closed, and his body took a final shuddering breath. John Sharky passed on in the middle of a street, and there was not a damn thing she could do.
A police officer asked questions, but Amara didn’t speak. The other’s covered for her, saying she had known the old gentleman from fishing trips at the cove. Just a young girl scared by death, they lied. The officer accepted their story and allowed them to leave. Marcus nearly had to carry Amara to the car and put her inside.
She managed to mumble, “Go south,” through her sobs, but then lapsed back into silence.
Amara felt as if she had been crying forever. The tears never seemed to cease for a weak human. I am no stranger to death. I have seen thousands die. I am not this pathetic creature so tied down to emotional outburst that I can’t function. He was a man. No more. Why do I grieve for him? I am a Keeper. I hold a bloodless detachment to this world. Yet, I cry and cry. Tears for hope, fear, love, and pain. So many damn tears.
As she tried to convince herself to overcome her newfound humanity, the miles ticked away. They drove on, exhaustion and hunger edging its way into their bodies and their minds. Each took consolation in the others. It seemed as if the whole world was against the four of them, and there was little they could do.
Marcus held Amara in his arms, letting her sniffle and cry against his chest. At last, she sat up and wiped the salty wetness from her cheeks. Pushing her palms against the denim covering her thighs, she felt the hard shape of the gem in her pocket.
Amara spoke in a drawn and tired voice, as she said, “I have our final clue. I know where we are going.” She dug in her pocket and pulled it out, pinching it between her thumb and forefinger as she held it up. The dim street lights didn’t provide much illumination, but the gem still twinkled.
Desiree turned in the seat, vying for a closer look. “Please tell me it’s magical, because I can buy those for a dollar at the discount store.”
Amara’s voice was flat and emotionless, “I doubt the local dime store sells rubies.” Briefly turning her attention to the road, she instructed Anthony, “Take the next exit. We need some food and gas.”
They kept their pit stop brief, drive-thru fast food and a quick dip into the small gas station for personal needs, before hitting the road once more. Holding the heart in one hand, while she stuffed fries in her mouth with the other, Amara finally felt whole once more. Just feeling the power within the stone helped to center her.
“Where are we going, Amara?” Anthony looked worried. The skepticism in his eyes told her he thought she was losing her grip.
“I need to put some distance between us and the Apollumi. If we keep them hunting us here on the Earthly realm, I think we may be able to escape into the mists. There’s someone there who is going to want this heart back, and they may be able to tell us where the Weaver’s lair is.”
Marcus folded her into his arms once more, “Who is that, my dear?”
Amara fought against the stinging behind her eyes. “The man or woman who died giving it up.”
“Wait! What!” Desiree looked more perplexed than ever.
Amara looked down at the stone, refusing to meet the others’ eyes. “I was being tracked by a Reaper long before we reached Crimson Cove. Death calls to those who have escaped it for as long as I have. In the cave, I battled him, and I won. That is how I got the heart. You see, Keepers are the balance between life and death, but when one dies violently, they become a Reaper. An escapee of Sheol, bent on chaos. The Reapers are the ones that bring about sudden and unexpected death. They thrive on bedlam and destruction. Their breed is everything evil that a Keeper is not.”
“I don’t think I understand.” Desiree looked to Anthony and Marcus, who both looked lost as well.
“I’ve heard whispers of a Keeper who went crazy and killed some of the elders many eons before I became one of them. Those are the only Keepers I know who have died in such a way as to have created a Reaper. A soul that old would surely know about the Weaver’s lair. If we return the heart to the spirit from which it came, the soul may grant us the knowledge we seek.”
Marcus nuzzled her closer, feeling the agitation tense her muscles. “How will we find the spirit?”
Folding her fingers tightly around the gem, Amara’s voice became an eerie sound as she said, “Like calls to like. The heart will always lead you home. For now, we travel south. Stay on the highway until you see the sign for Uniontown. Once there, you will follow Highway A until you come to a fork in the road. Travel right, and when the road ends, we will have to go on foot.”
Anthony carefully watched her in the review mirror. “You’re going to need to tell me where we are going, Amara. I don’t like the way you’re sounding. You got me a little freaked out.”
Amara’s eyes flashed with ange
r. Her patience and her will had been tested more than she could take. The acid in her tone could have scoured the flesh off of Anthony’s face. “We are going to my home, Anthony. Is that okay? We are going to the one place no one would ever think to look for me. I am not of this world and no longer of the other. I am a shadow, and no one but the Parcae know my origins. There is no one left there to remember a girl who lived thirty decades ago. There’s no one left there at all!”
No one knew what to say, the silence in the car became nearly deafening. Amara shrugged out of Marcus’s embrace and laid her forehead on the cool glass of the window, watching the world go by. Someone flipped on the radio, and a crooning voice singing about a dustland fairytale lulled her into a fitful sleep as the song interloped on her dreams of princesses and devils in boxing gloves.
When next she woke, it was to a soft kiss on her cheek. “Hey, baby girl, we’re making the last turn.”
Amara sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes. When she looked out across the moonlit fields of yellow Indian grass, she felt a longing and an ache inside of her. Her memory, even after all the years that had passed, dredged up to sweep over her and carry her away. She could see the world as it had been when she was just a girl and the Keepers didn’t exist to her.
The blacktop road ended, taking them onto a forgotten gravel street, overgrown with clumps of grass and filled with potholes. Anthony drove slower, afraid to scrape the bottom of the Fairlane, and Amara’s impatience made her want to leap from the car and run the rest of the way.
She knew what it would look like when they finally turned onto the path that would lead them through what remained of the river ravaged town. She could already picture the crumbling bricks, cracked concrete steps leading to weeds, the rusted metal twisting like wounded limbs, and the sun bleached boards rotting away.
As the car crawled and bumped through the dark night, she forced herself not to weep again. She had not cried for her family when she left them, she had not cried centuries later when she had come to see what had become of them, and she would not cry when she sought solace in the remains of her past.
They came to where the post office had once been. The building had fallen away from rising flood waters and the passage of time. The only thing that remained was the barred window in a partially standing stone wall and the rusted metal sign that dangled precariously above it. The metal whined as it blew gently in the breeze, giving an eerie cadence to the ghost town.
Amara nodded her head toward the crumbling remains. “That building wasn’t here when I was a child. Most of these ruins hadn’t even been built then. We had log cabins and thatch houses braced by oak beams. There were no cars, we were lucky to have a horse with no buggy. We lived by our own strengths and died by our own weaknesses. I look at the world now, and I see that it’s no wonder this little town died away as it did. Then again, I wonder with all the miracles of the times, how it could not have found a way to survive.”
As if she were speaking to them from a dream, Amara ordered Anthony to pull over behind a large cropping of young trees. As they piled out of the car, she grabbed up the flashlights and handed them to the others. Lost between the reality of what was and the memory of what had been, she spun in a slow circle, turned to the left, and began walking. The others followed without a word.
“My father owned the brewery, and though the people of the town helped, I don’t believe there was a wooden timber or stone that his hands did not touch. I can still hear the clanging of his hammer as he shaped the copper for the fat bellied pots. Whenever I smell hops or yeast, I think of him. Morta encouraged me to forget these things, but I never could. They were the staples of the life I left behind, and I wanted to hold them to me forever.”
They cut through the tall grass at a steady pace, their flashlight beams bouncing out in front of them like fairy lights. Instead of climbing to the top of the hill, where large flat stones rested as the only tribute to the building that had been there, Amara cut around the side. Her eyes searched the dark for something the others could not see.
She stopped and pointed her beam across the distance. “See there, near the bottom, that’s it. That is the doorway into the storage house.”
Her steps grew quicker as she nearly jogged up the incline, and the others allowed her to pull ahead. Amara was thankful for the space. She needed just a moment to come to terms with revisiting a place she had cherished as a human child. With a deep breath, she tugged at the door, the last barrier standing in her way.
The old iron hinges, stubbornly rusted shut and clinging to the stone frame, refused to give. Amara growled in frustration and kicked at the door. The heel of her boot caved in a small section of the rotted wood, and she fell to her knees. She didn’t care if her hands were bruised, bloodied, and full of splinters by the time she was done. She had come too far to let rust stop her.
Marcus and Anthony ran up behind her, puzzled by the frantic way she raked her nails into the small crack. Pulling Amara to her feet and setting her to stand by Desiree, Marcus scowled down at her as if she were a naughty child.
Feeling the iciness of the stare, Amara tried to explain through ragged breaths. “We will be safe inside. We can rest, and then we can travel the mists to the other side. We could win this. I just need to get us inside.”
His voice was hard as he replied, “Hurting yourself is not going to accomplish anything, Amara. When are you going to realize that you are not their Keeper anymore, and you were never mine? We are equal, and if you need help, ask for it.”
Marcus turned his back on her, and she felt emptiness in the pit of her stomach. She had never stopped to think to ask for their help. She was the one who was supposed to look out for them, not the other way around.
Together, Marcus and Anthony kicked, the door cracked and groaned. They kicked again and again, until finally, the ancient wood shattered like glass. Dust rose up from the dark opening that beckoned them to enter, leaving them coughing and choking in the wake of their destruction.
Amara stepped inside, breathing in the faint smell of barley, hops, and yeast. As if she hadn’t forgotten a single thing from her childhood, she let the light in her hand settle on the ancient wooden barrels dotting the back of the brick cavern. The memories threatened to flood in and take over her emotions again, but she swiped away a rogue tear and turned to the others.
“We can haul out some of the old gunny sacks and shake the dust out of them. We’ll sleep in shifts. I don’t want to try to take you into the mists with our heads scattered and exhausted,” cold and detached, her voice echoed in the cavernous room.
Marcus tried to hold her, but she shied away, laying a hand on his chest. “Go rest, I’ll take the first shift, since I slept in the car.”
“I napped on the way here, too. I’ll stay up with Amara,” Desiree volunteered.
Chapter 18
Ghost in the Mists
The sun was just beginning to peek up above the horizon as Amara opened her eyes. Marcus and Anthony stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the blue and gold skyline. She couldn’t make out their facial expressions, but their shadowy figures stood rigid.
Nudging Desiree awake, Amara moved toward the guys, concern written on her features. In a whispered tone, she asked, “What’s wrong?”
They turned, surprised to find her standing so close.
“Nothing. We were just talking. Um…I…we are worried about you. You’ve been acting strange since we left Crimson Cove, distant. Is there something you need to tell us?”
Her tone had an edge to it even she could hear, “No. I’m fine. Now, it’s time to begin.” Spinning around, Amara stalked to the rear of the cavern and waited.
As the others joined her, they nervously shifted in the cool recesses of the half-pipe shaped stone vault. The old oak barrels, stacks of burlap sacks, and the thick cobwebs lent the place an air of forlorn sadness.
Amara held out the crimson gemstone in the palm of her delicate hand. Even in the dusky ligh
t within the vault, it collected and projected glimmers of light. Amara’s eyelashes fluttered closed and her chest rose and fell in a deep breath. When she opened her eyes again, there was a hint of closure hidden in their depths.
The sun rose higher in the sky, and its rays filtered through the open doorway, bathing the room in golden light. Caught in the many facets of the jewel, the light absorbed the brilliant red and danced in effervescent flickers across their stunned faces.
“Join hands. I’ve never done this. I’ve only heard of it in legends and whispers. If it works, you will feel yourself lifting and may experience vertigo. Whatever you do, do not let go.” Looking to Marcus who stood on her right, she added, “Grab my wrist, but don’t cause the jewel to fall.”
Amara’s hand linked with Anthony’s, his held Desiree’s, and she gripped Marcus’s tight enough to make him wince. With an encouraging smile, he completed the circle by gently wrapping his long fingers around Amara’s wrist.
The smile she gave him was weak, barely pulling up the corners of her lips. “Remember, do not let go. Hold on to me, no matter what.”
She didn’t wait for the nods of understanding. Instead, Amara simply began. Her small fingers tightly closed around the heart, pressing until the point of it cut into her palm. She summoned the Keeper’s gifts that lay hidden at the center of the ruby and power surged through her veins, causing her heart to pound.
The transition took longer than she remembered it ever taking before. At first, she worried she wouldn’t be able to transport them all, but then the mists appeared as faint, ghostly whispers in the distance. A force pressed against them, pushing their presence back as if caught in a wind tunnel, but Amara concentrated harder.
Yelling out into the dark matter engulfing them, she reminded the others, “Hold on! No matter what, don’t let go!”
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