Descendant (Secrets of the Makai)

by Kerr, Toni

  "Thank God!" Tristan got to his knees with an instant idea. "Can you find Oliver?"

  The falcon seemed to bow in response, without breaking eye contact. Tristan took the leather pouch from around his neck and looped it several times around the falcon's.

  "He's yours?" Dorian asked, staring at the bird with wide eyes.

  "I guess so. He's my best friend and he's saved my life more than once."

  "He doesn't mind being strangled like that?"

  "It's Cyanea coral. Gram knows it's mine. Not only that, but they'll have proof that I'm alive and well. Hopefully you too." Tristan made sure the strap wasn't too tight. "Can you fly like this?"

  The bird spread its giant wings and sprang from the log.

  "How did you manage to get Cyanea coral? It's extremely rare, you know."

  "Long story." He grabbed her hand and followed the log. "If we get separated, we should meet somewhere at dawn. Do you know what part of Ireland we're in?"

  "We shouldn't get separated."

  "Dublin. It's the only place I can think of."

  "That's crazy."

  "Listen." Tristan held her hand with both of his, waiting to make sure she understood the importance of what he had to say. "Your grandmother isn't doing well. There was an explosion in the village when you were taken, and I think it was your shop."

  "But you said you talked to her."

  "I did. I don't think she was seriously injured, but she didn't sound right. I couldn't see her while I was here with you." Tristan wiped at a tear trickling down her cheek, making a muddy smudge on her perfect skin. "What I'm trying to say is, you need to get home. I'm sure she's worried sick, and just having you back.... I'm sure you could help."

  Dorian nodded and sniffed, pulling her hand away from his.

  "If you had to, could you find the island by yourself?"

  "It's off the Alaskan coast somewhere, but I'm not sure I could find it. I've never been off the island before."

  "Never?" Tristan gathered a handful of mud and smeared it on his face, then gently across her forehead, nose, and each of her flushed cheeks. "My falcon will find Oliver and he'll come for you. If not, find a town or a road. Head for Dublin. Maybe you could find someone who knows about the Makai? They must be looking if they're involved."

  She nodded again, gathering a handful of mud to fill in the places Tristan missed on himself. "What makes you think Oliver will come because of the falcon?"

  "I don't know if the falcon can lead them here or not." They walked hand in hand, following the log as it tapered to a point. "I saw the falcon within an hour of being here, so it might be possible for them to come right away. Distance is irrelevant, right?"

  "You think Oliver could be here any second?"

  "Why not? But if they couldn't follow me, I'm not sure having the falcon will make any difference. It's not like it speaks. Can you actually follow something while disappearing and reappearing somewhere else?"

  "I really don't know."

  "Look." Tristan faced her again. "We'll be found eventually, by either good guys or bad guys. Get in the trees, stay close if you don't want to get separated, and I'll stay on foot. In Dublin, we'll meet…uh, in the center. There's bound to be something—a park, a courthouse. Leave messages for me in every place you can find, or on telephone poles if you have to." Tristan scratched his head. "Maybe an American Embassy? If we still can't find each other, go to the police and tell them truth. About being kidnapped."

  "We're not getting separated and the trees are…dead."

  "You're being stubborn."

  "They aren't flexible, they'll snap."

  "Come on, Dorian. If they can take this kind of wind, they can certainly take you." Tristan stared in wonder, surprised to see her eyes brimming with tears. He took hold of her shoulders, not just to shake some sense into her, but to touch her again. "Gram needs you and I can buy time for Oliver if I'm the one they catch. You know I'm right."

  He loosened his grip on her arms, distracted by her deep brown eyes, glistening with tears. Even with her face caked in mud and her tangled mess of hair soaked with rain, he couldn't peel his eyes away. "I want you safe." He leaned closer, until her breath feathered warmth on his skin. He shut his eyes and breathed in more of her, finally pressing his lips to hers.

  Her fingers slid through his hair and pulled him closer. His arms wrapped around her waist and back, pressing her body into his.

  She froze and pulled back.

  Tristan opened his eyes and let go of her, taking a few steps back as well. "I-I'm sorry."

  When she didn't respond, he swallowed his dejected pride and searched for more mud to put on his face.

  "I want you to do something for me," she finally said, biting her lip and turning away. "I know you won't believe me, and I'm sure you'll think I'm strange, but...would you...bless this forest?"

  Blessing the forest was not what he thought she was going to say, though he wasn't sure what she was going to say. Kissing her probably ruined everything.

  "You know," she continued, "encourage the trees to survive. Like I do for the plants at home."

  "Why me? Can't you do it?"

  "I don't have a relationship with these plants. You do."

  "Maybe we should get going while we still can."

  "Just do it!" Dorian took his hand and half-dragged him to the nearest little tree sapling.

  "You said they were dead, they look fine—"

  "The adults are dead, these are just babies!"

  Tristan scratched his head. "You want me to...bless them. Like a priest?"

  "Forget it."

  "No!" Tristan looked back to the little tree. "I can do it if it makes you happy."

  "Do it because you mean it." She took his hand and forced him to touch a limb. "It doesn't have any hope, can't you feel it? You can save it by willing it to live. Tell everyone they need to survive this weather, the ground conditions, the wind! Give them a reason to live."

  "Out loud?"

  Dorian's face tightened. "It doesn't matter how. Never mind."

  Tristan turned back to the tree, replaying her request in his head. "Okay, done. We need to get out of here."

  "Fine," she said. "Thanks. Here's how it goes. I'll follow you and we're not getting separated." She pulled off her boots and attempted tying the bulk of the dress into a knot at her side, while Tristan tried to remember what they'd been talking about. "I can't go very fast in this big thing anyway, and the largest branches should be strong enough."

  Tristan looked away to keep from noticing her exposed legs—long and sleek. "You'll need more mud if you're going to do that to your dress."

  "It's not my dress. I should have grabbed a table knife," she continued, yanking at the hem until it finally ripped apart. "If it wasn't black and if it weren't so cold, I'd take it off."

  Tristan smeared a handful of mud on the back of his neck. He heard a series of long tears in the fabric and kept himself from looking. "Can you hurry it up a little?"

  "Oh, forget it. Where's the mud?"

  He glanced in time to see her scoop her own mud from the ground, then smear it up her legs. "So much for being in a hurry," she mumbled, then stood tall for his inspection. "Am I covered enough?"

  He nodded, then pointed to her chest before averting his eyes. "The silver stuff."

  She scooped another handful to rub over the embroidery design, then hiked her dress up even higher to climb the nearest tree. He put the hood of the cloak over his head and risked a glance to the trees, unable to guess where she might be.

  Tristan released his breath and took off at a run through the torrential downpour, glad to be on the move. He stumbled over limbs and mossy rocks, needing to yank on the cloak whenever it snagged on things in the forest. The storm blew in full force, thunder and lightning every few seconds.

  "Over there!" a voice shouted.

  Tristan ran harder, twisting down a muddy embankment. There were no more trees for Dorian and time seemed to freeze a
s he soared over a ditch.

  He never made it to the other side, nor did he fall to the bottom. He couldn't move a single muscle, or blink—stuck in something that kept him hovering above ground. Two people slid into the ditch below, approaching with broad smiles until they saw his face. "What the bloody hell?"

  Tristan fought the strange confinement and struggled to breathe, suffocated by a semi-clear substance. The strangers were blurred by the distortion of the barrier.

  "Who do you think this is?" one of them asked. "Not like there's a bunch of people out here…and he was running."

  The other man shrugged. "He could have been a decoy…."

  "Take him to the dungeon, I'll keep looking for the girl."

  41

  - EMERALD SKY -

  TRISTAN LISTENED TO THE GUARD'S squashy footsteps keeping a rhythm with the rain. They moved along the cliff, back to the castle. No wind, no temperature. Just a heavy constriction that made him think of the statues. They were still alive. Waiting for something.

  His mind fogged as they descended the spiraled steps to the cell they'd used for Dorian. The dungeon door slammed shut and a burst of air pierced his lungs. Tristan dropped to his knees.

  "Try transporting yourself out of that!" The guard laughed, peering through a barred viewing window in the door. "Master will deal with you personally and I doubt you'll live long enough to see what happens to your pretty girlfriend."

  Footsteps echoed up the stairs and Tristan rolled his eyes. He'd be long gone before Sabbatini got to him and transporting himself had not been an issue yet. The door at the top of the stairs clanged shut and Tristan simply willed himself out of the cell.

  He had his foot on the first step when he heard a faint noise behind him. He waited to hear it again, eyeing the darkest shadows. Water trickled in a little faster than it had when Dorian was here, but other than that…. He took another step and heard it again, then spotted a stream of mud pouring from a crack in the mortar. A few more pebble-sized rocks crumbled from the wall and the sharp beak of the falcon broke through.

  "You're back!" Tristan kept his excitement to a whisper and ran to the spot, prying at the larger rocks with his fingers. "Did you bring anyone to help us?" The mortar fell apart and a larger river of mud splashed at his ankles. "You're the coolest friend ever. Why haven't I given you a name? How did you get behind this wall?"

  Tristan pulled more rocks away, curious that the falcon seemed to be retreating.

  "You can come out now." Tristan waited. "Don't tell me." He glanced up at the door at the top of the stairs. "Why do I have to go this way?" He hopped up on the ledge, scraping his belly to squeeze into the pitch-black hole, feeling through the sludge for rocks to pull himself in with.

  The tunnel angled upward to dryer ground and cobwebs clung to his skin. He wiped them away from his face and arms every few seconds. Hairy roots hung in several places, threatening to block the entire path. The clicking of the falcon's claws and a damp breeze kept him moving forward.

  "Why can't I just go the other way? It'd be a lot quicker. And easier. I barely fit!" The path gradually curved and descended. The breeze became a howling wind, sending shivers through his body. The end had to be near.

  "No, no, no." Tristan froze, listening to the waves crashing against rocks. Lightning flickered along the walls with a deafening crack of thunder. He quickly calculated where he was and parted the curtain of roots.

  Ocean spray mixed with rain pelted his face, stinging his eyes. Lightning lit the fierce surf below, a warning for how high he was. He remembered the narrow ledge and waited for the next flash. Above, roots reached out at odd angles, but he could see no path. He stretched farther, cursing the falcon. There had to be a reason to come this way.

  Tristan scanned the black sky, unable to find any answers.

  He guessed where the ledge might start, a few feet above the tunnel, and tugged on the roots like ropes, testing for strength and stability. On the next flash, he pulled. His feet slipped and fear clawed in his throat, but the roots held.

  With two high steps, he sat on the ledge, sucking in the wind. "Didn't I tell you I don't do heights?" Tristan yelled.

  He inched himself into a standing position. The cloak would kill him before anything else; clinging to his legs and arms, choking him, and getting caught up on twiggy dead branches and uneven cracks. He tried to get rid of it with the numb fingers of one hand, unwilling to risk letting go of roots with the other. The decorative clasp simply wouldn't budge.

  He gripped rocks when roots weren't available and took blind sidesteps along the ledge. When his footing gave way, he slid, twisting frantically to catch the nearest root. The cloak snagged on something and jerked him to a halt. He'd probably end up hanging himself, rather than smashed to a pulp on the rocks below. His feet thrashed, searching for a stable foothold.

  Something snapped, dropping him sideways in a shower of loose rocks and mud. The cloak tightened around his neck. The box ripped from the silk pocket and fell toward the surf in what appeared to be slow motion. A final crash near the bottom sent a sparkle in one direction and fragments of wood in the other.

  Tristan watched with horror and reached with his mind to save what he could. Nothing on Earth would make him give up now. A single rock and portions of the box flew into his outstretched hand. He held the pieces tight, momentarily forgetting his predicament in the excitement. It worked! He'd never tried retrieving something he hadn't set into motion himself, and it usually took time to study the properties in advance.

  He opened his hand to see if he had the correct pieces, feeling a soothing warmth seep into his flesh. A transparent green prism the size of an oblong Ping-Pong ball flickered in time with the lightning. Gwenna's emerald, the one Sabbatini had killed her for. Tristan frowned at the rough edges, surprised the stone wasn't cut into some fancy gem-shape, fit for royalty. What was he supposed to do with it?

  The stillness evaporated and he found himself hanging against the cliff by one hand. The freezing rain beat against him in thick waves. Not daring to risk losing the stone again, he searched for a safer place to carry it, finally jamming it into this mouth. He stuffed the box fragments back into the torn pocket and used the root like a rope to climb up to the ledge. Several hard yanks ripped the cloak free from the thorny bush that had probably saved his life.

  He thought of Dorian and thanked the shrub for its rugged strength. The fact that anything could grow on a cliff in these conditions was an amazement in itself. A series of gratifying thoughts lifted his spirit and distracted him from all the dangers. He didn't dare transport himself. What if his body fell before he could get it to safety?

  At the top of the cliff, flashes of lightning lit three guards standing at the castle's entrance, though none of them faced the cliffs. Another stood near the greenhouse. Tristan hefted himself onto level ground and raced for the forest, hoping to catch up with Dorian.

  This time, he protected himself in advance of someone spotting him, already thinking about how to shield his mind and body while on the move. Had the falcon given any indication of bringing help? He wished he'd thought to notice if the coral was still around its neck.

  Tristan skidded to a stop, coming through the trees into a clearing. A gathering of horses rallied near the center, with seven or eight men standing. Sabbatini stood among them with his arms crossed.

  "It's him!" someone shouted from the group, pointing at Tristan before he could duck behind a tree. "The one I put in the dungeon!"

  "Kill him," ordered Sabbatini. "I'm after the girl. Stay away from the greenhouse if you fancy your lives, but be on the lookout. The damned thing could be anywhere by now."

  A four-wheeler engine revved as its headlights turned toward Tristan. A tree exploded at his right. He ran in the opposite direction, spitting the uncut emerald into the palm of his hand to keep from inhaling it. He leapt logs and rocks, and raced upstream in a shallow river, hoping to throw them off his trail. The cloak had to go. He yanked
back the hood and fought with the clasp.

  The men on horseback caught up fast. The beams of headlights seemed to be looking for alternate paths, but headed in his same general direction. A few horses crossed the river behind him, others trotted up and down the banks, either waiting for him to double back, or looking for places to cross. A yell went out when someone spotted him.

  Tristan's heart pounded, pushing him faster. He hopped a stone fence and landed on firmer ground, increasing his speed. Before he could stop, momentum carried him over a deep crevice. His bad knee gave out on impact. He rolled to his back, pulling the cloak from his neck with one hand, the other still clutching the emerald.

  A black object sailed over the edge above him. Tristan rolled out of the way just as a man landed in his spot. The man's head struck the ground with a thudding crunch and his eyes locked on Tristan's. Dark blood oozed from his mouth. Tristan backed away with his stomach convulsing. At the top of the cliff, a horse with no rider whinnied, refusing to jump, and galloped away.

  Tristan pushed himself to his feet and ignored the pain in his knee. He staggered into a grove of trees, wondering why the men on horses were looking for a way down. Couldn't they just fire at his back?

  Past the thick grove, he limped in a straight line through yet another clearing, aiming for the trees on the far side. Sabbatini's men entered from both directions. They dismounted and had him surrounded before he could make it halfway across.

  Tristan kept the majority of his weight on one leg, shocked his life would end so soon after discovering something so positive about himself. He dropped to his good knee and hoped Oliver had enough time to find Dorian before anyone else did. Thank goodness he'd kissed her when he had the chance, though he still wasn't sure if she liked him or not. Would she miss him?

  What were Sabbatini's men waiting for?

  He refocused on the shield protecting himself and slipped the emerald into his pocket to have both hands available. If they tried to take him physically, he'd be done for in a heartbeat. Mentally, though, he felt oddly calm and clearheaded. He was ready. He could see the strength of the sphere around him and decided it didn't matter if Sabbatini's men could see it too.