“What’s this? Your diary?” Brux asked, flipping the book back and forth. “I’m flattered.” Pieces of the burned text came loose and crumbled onto his lap.
“Careful with that!” Van scolded. “Read the cover.”
“—ridicus Lib—lus? Veridicus Libellus!” He strained to keep his voice in check. “How—what are you—where?”
“This is a first,” Van mocked. “You. Being unable to speak.”
“Seriously, Vanessa,” he said sternly. “How did you come across this text?”
“I—I, uh . . . found it,” Van said, worried by his tone. “Um, in the woods.” Maybe she shouldn’t have shown him.
Brux opened his mouth to speak.
Van flashed him her palm. “Listen. I know having this on me is dangerous—I don’t need to hear it.”
“Dangerous on account of it being Manik’s text, yeah,” Brux said, “and because the Balish regulate all the books in circulation. You have to have papers to own a book showing that it is Balish authorized.”
“I don’t have any papers,” Van said. “I didn’t show it to you to get a lecture. I showed it to you because I need your help deciphering it. I think it has information about the Coin.”
“Did you have this text the whole time? Is this how you knew we should head north?”
Van conceded, giving him a timid nod. “Nobody else knows about it. You can’t tell anyone!”
“Not even Paley?” Brux opened its cover with great care.
“No,” Van said. “Paley is incapable of keeping anything to herself. I need you to look at the map.” She reached over and carefully flipped the pages for Brux. “Make sure I read it right, and see if there’s anything else that could be helpful to us—or Daisy. Maybe we can get word to her somehow.”
Brux remained unnaturally quiet, as he perused the text.
“I know the Balish consider it the diary of a madman,” Van said. His unresponsiveness made her uncomfortable. “Maybe it’s nothing. We could just forget about it.”
“The Balish discredit it because they discredit Manik,” Brux said, his nose buried in the text.
“But he was the Balish king during the Dark War, when Goustav defeated the demons and scored a victory for their side, right? So why?”
“Manik intended to share the victory with the Lodians, and he had the poor sense to marry a Lodian princess, Zurial—Amaryl’s baby sister. Hardly worth it, because Zurial died during childbirth the same night his brother Goustav rose against him.” He flipped through the pages, completely absorbed. “The Balish never forgave Manik for being a Lodian sympathizer. It was the main reason for Goustav’s Rebellion.”
“I can hardly read any of it,” Van said, squinting at the text. “I mean, some of it makes sense. It’s weird. Some of the words I understand.”
Brux lifted his nose out of the book and narrowed his eyes at Van. “You can read some of these words?”
Van shrugged. “Yeah, why?”
Brux kept gaping at her like an idiot.
“Stop it, Brux! My eyes didn’t burn out, obviously.”
“Daisy has a knack for reading the Language, too.” Brux shook his head. “Never mind. I think I can figure this out.” He turned to the first page. “The ancient words are difficult to translate. The text being singed doesn’t help, either. Here.” He pointed to a single paragraph on the first page of the book. “It translates loosely: To future generations . . . don’t let history repeat itself . . . during our time all was lost to Darkness . . . battle not against each other, know thy true enemy . . . heed my words.”
“But what happened? Demons rose, Goustav destroyed them, then turned around and killed everyone who opposed him,” Van said, confused.
“Is that the real story? The whole story?” Brux flipped back and forth to various pages. “He gives us some warnings. Listen to this—do not misuse the energies of nature—”
“The Coin?” Van asked in a rush.
“I think so. He says not to use the power of the Coin against each other—that’s an incorrect use that damages the soul, which will make it more difficult to cling to the Light. Only use the Coin’s power against true evil. And here, look.” Brux pointed to a different paragraph. “Under no circumstances must the Anchoress surrender her Light. Do you realize what this means?”
“The Coin is an object of Light, and don’t surrender it to evil? Darkness? Evil Darkness?”
“No. I mean—yes. What I mean is—Manik just confirmed the Anchoress bloodline survived the Dark War! Uxa was right!”
“Ooooh. No wonder the Balish don’t want anyone reading it!”
“Listen—he says there is a heavy spiritual obligation attached to use of the Coin.”
“Told you so,” Van said smugly. “Don’t surrender it to Darkness.”
“This is incredible,” Brux exclaimed. “The Coin is a magically charged object in its own right. It has its own magical properties. So someone undisciplined or irresponsible can benefit from its power.”
“But you still have to access its energy to create your own magic?” Van asked.
Brux nodded. “Manik says you have to be pure of heart and use it only for the good of the people. If one accesses the power of the Coin with the intent to use it against other humans, which is an alignment with evil, it will cause the holder to fall into the depths of Darkness. Their soul will be lost. One must constantly temper oneself against the constant inner pull, back and forth, between Darkness and Light. One tip toward Darkness, and it will amplify this part of the soul.” Brux pulled his nose out the text and stared at Van. “The belief that the Anchoress must be worthy to wield the power of the Coin must come from this part of the text. If she uses the Coin’s power against another person, her soul will become corrupted.”
“Does he say which spell Goustav used to create his demon-killing weapon?” Van asked.
Brux shook his head. “No.” He turned back to the text. “But here’s something about the Coin’s magical properties. I can’t make out too much of it—looks like it attracts luck . . . leads the holder on the correct path . . . useful for battle strategies, escaping enemies. The negative properties—the shadow side of the Coin—” Brux pointed to a charred area on the page. “Can’t read it. The rest is burned out.” He started flipping the pages. “Manik mentions Luxta here . . . ”
Van leaned in toward Brux and looked at the spot he pointed to in the text. His scent, being that close to him, made her stomach unsettled again, except this time in a good way.
He continued reading silently. “Wait a minute . . . ” He scrunched his face. “This can’t be right . . . ”
“What is it? Something about the Coin? Are we going the wrong way?”
He ignored Van, turned to a new page, and kept reading. After flipping through a few more pages, he stopped and glanced at her. “It’s a prolepsis.” His jaw slacked. “This text. It’s a prolepsis!”
“So?” Van didn’t know what a prolepsis was, and she wasn’t about to ask him.
“He wrote this as a warning to the Lodians. He’s trying to warn against something that he predicted would happen in the future.”
“How would he know about the future?” Van scoffed. Something Brux had read in the text bothered him, and it wasn’t the prolepsis.
“After the death of his wife, Zurial, Manik went insane from grief. He became a hermit and spent the rest of his life living in the hollow of a giant tree, where he spent his time in reflection and meditation and wrote this text.”
“He was psychic?” Van raised her eyebrows.
“It seems so. At least, he believed he could predict the future.”
“That’s probably why people thought he was crazy. Check this out.” Van reached over and fanned the pages to show Brux the hidden map. “That’s the Coin, right? In the north? Fomalhaut?” She pointed out the crude drawing of a circle with a pentagram in it.
“It is,” Brux said. “We’d need to show Elmot to be sure.”
“No!”
“We’re the team closest to the Coin. The others need to know, Van. It’s selfish of us to keep this from them.”
“You can’t tell anyone! You promised!”
Brux’s tone became even more serious. “The night your father disappeared, did he give you anything else besides this text?”
Van bristled over Brux figuring out her father was Michael Cross, which was exactly why she didn’t want to share the text with the rest of the team. “I never said my father gave me the text. I said I found it.” Brux was so infuriating.
“Van, as Aelia Cross’s daughter,” he said fidgeting, “your bloodline . . . its purity rivals mine, Daisy’s.” He paused to see if she had any recognition of understanding.
She didn’t.
“It makes you a contender for being the Anchoress-in-Waiting.”
Van shivered, whether from the coolness of the night or from exposing herself to Brux, she didn’t know. Or maybe it was from the realization that she might carry the magical bloodline of a legendary warrior.
“None of them have figured out I’m Michael Cross’s daughter, right?” Van asked, referring to the rest of the team. Uxa had announced her last name when she separated them into teams, but no one had mentioned the connection so far.
“At first, we debated about it,” Brux said. “Then we figured if you were related to Michael Cross, you would have told us.” Brux snapped the text closed. “It’s time to wake up Elmot.”
She reached to take the text from Brux and, for a split second, worried he wouldn’t give it back.
Brux threw her a lopsided smile and handed it over. “Keep it safe.”
Van slipped the text into a pocket of her backpack, while Brux shook Elmot awake.
“Already?” Elmot mumbled. He forced himself up and sat by the fire. His clothes appeared as neat and pressed as ever.
Van and Brux inflated their sleeping bags.
“I’m not sure I can sleep,” Van said. She envisioned waking up with Jorie’s axe at her throat for being a traitor like her father, all because Brux blabbed. “Are you sure you’ll keep this a secret? All of it?”
Brux nodded, the tips of his soft blond hair sparkling in the campfire light. “At least, it explains why you’re here.” He grinned. “Paley, I’m still not sure about.”
Van gave him a wary eye.
“How about this? You can stick close to me.” He unzipped his sleeping bag, pulled Van in, and squeezed her to his chest.
“You’re sure we’re not related, right?” she asked.
Brux chuckled. “Absolutely not. Our families’ bloodlines have been traced back as far as possible by historians. The Lakes and the Crosses do not share ancestry. We’re good.”
Van snuggled into Brux. He was a perfect fit. Being wrapped in his arms made her feel cozy and safe. Before drifting off to sleep, she felt him gently brush his cheek against her hair.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Day 6: 5:36 a.m., Living World
The sun ascended, throwing peach-colored light across the horizon and waking Van. Her body felt achy but warm from being nestled in Brux’s arms.
She jolted. What if the others saw them like this? What would they think? Obviously, all of the others, except Paley, had taken watch and had already seen them. Van wriggled, trying to get out of the sleeping bag and causing Brux to stir.
“Humph?” he said groggily. “What’s up?”
“I don’t want Paley to see us,” Van said in a low voice, as she hastily climbed out of his sleeping bag.
“Why not?” Brux mumbled.
“Mornin’,” said Jorie with a wide grin. She had taken last watch and now sat on the lookout log. Her Mohawk looked straight and perfect, as she tossed dirt onto the fire. “Let’s get moving,” she shouted. “Everyone, up!”
Elmot did a full body stretch in his sleeping bag and yawned. He rose, beaming at Van and Brux. “You two have a good night?” he asked solicitously. “Do tell.”
“Shh!” Van said. She pointed to Paley, then put her index finger to her lips.
“Love secrets,” Elmot whispered conspiratorially. “We’ll talk later. For now, mum’s the word.” He mimicked locking his lips.
A groan came from Paley’s sleeping bag, which showed lumps of movement from within.
Jorie walked over to Trey, who still lay sound asleep. “Where’s a buffalroo when you need one?” She prodded the sleeping bag with her toe. “C’mon, pretty boy. Up!”
“Okay, okay,” Trey grumbled.
They had no water to wash with, which mortified Van. She desperately wanted to take a shower. For breakfast, they each had half of a dried auroch strip and shared a few sips of water from one of their wineskins. They packed up the campsite, being sure to leave the area the same way they had found it, with no trace they had camped there. Then they began their all-day trek to Dricreek.
By early evening, the weary group found themselves trudging down a muddy dirt road.
“Dricreek is ahead,” Elmot announced.
Shoddy, box-shaped houses popped up with more and more frequency. The few villagers they passed tended to their own business and paid no mind to the travelers. The people appeared shorter and thinner than those Van had seen earlier on their journey. They reached the hub of the small village, which consisted of a handful of rustic rectangular dwellings clustered around a wide, muddy clearing. The village and its people seemed rudimentary, as if the place had been state-of-the art a thousand years ago.
“Maybe we can get Beowulf to show us around,” Van whispered to Paley. They both giggled, delirious from exhaustion and lack of food.
“It’ll do,” Jorie said in a tired voice. “Let’s check out the longhouse.” She led them toward the largest dwelling, which, on closer inspection, seemed sturdy, despite its weathered appearance.
Van and Paley hung back on the front porch, while the rest of the team went inside.
The handmade wooden sign above the doorway read Ox’s Bunkhouse. To the side of the entryway lay a small, lumpy shag rug.
“Shouldn’t that be in front of the door?” Paley said.
“Leave it alone,” Van said, scanning the longhouse’s exterior. “Well, this place looks slightly better than sleeping on the ground.”
Paley nudged the rug with her toe and jumped back, startled, as did Van. The rug rose up onto four legs and whimpered.
“It’s a living mop,” Van said.
“I think it’s a dog.” Paley bent down to scratch behind what seemed to be the dog’s ears, Van grabbed her arm.
“Don’t touch him!” Van whispered aggressively. “He could bite you.”
They left the mop-dog and entered the main hall—a wide, one-level hovel. Roughly finished oversized dining tables lined the two long walls, leaving a walkway down the middle of the rectangular room. Along the back wall ran a bar that, despite its well-worn appearance, looked like a newer addition. Animal skins hung on the walls as decorations, giving Van the willies.
Because they were in Balish-occupied territory, Jorie delegated Brux—a male—to go to the bar and negotiate their stay with the bartender, while the others hung back.
The bartender, a rugged man with a hardened face, cackled at something Brux said. The man flashed a gap-toothed grin, while he haggled with Brux over a price.
While Brux paid the man, a white bird flew in from the open door. It landed on a rafter. Nobody seemed to notice or care, but it gave Van a chill. She recalled a superstition that claimed a white bird indoors was an omen of death.
Brux returned to the group. “Ox, the owner, wouldn’t take s-stips.”
Van figured s-stips were the silver unmarked coins, as opposed to the bronze stips, or b-stips.
“He’s afraid of breaking the law since Prince Devon’s death,” Brux continued. “He heard the Balish are nearby, may even come here. I gave him one losc for all of us. Pretty steep for this area, but it’s better than sleeping on the ground.”
“Hardly,” Van m
urmured.
“What did he think was so funny?” Jorie asked.
Brux shrugged. “I told him we were marketier’s scouts in search of the Runestar.”
“He appreciates the futility of our journey,” Trey quipped.
Ox ceased his pointless task of rubbing scuffed tin mugs with a grayish dish rag and led them through the back doorway, down a muddy path, and to a bunkhouse he called the “King’s Castle.”
Van assumed he had spoken tongue-in-cheek. The dwelling before them in no way could be mistaken for a castle. The hut, shaped like an oversized tent made of wood, had a sloping thatched roof that reached to the ground. Six doors led to six separate rooms, each able to sleep four people. No other travelers were staying in the bunkhouse, and paying with a Balish-stamped silver coin entitled each of them to get a private room.
Van dropped her backpack onto what looked like a sheepskin bedspread. She choked from the resulting dust wave, then sat on the edge of the cot-size, wood-frame bed. She kicked off her hiking boots and massaged her throbbing feet, longing for her pink, fuzzy slippers. She had no sooner lain down to rest her weary body when Jorie knocked, summoning Van to join the others outside.
“I just talked to Ox,” Jorie said. “He didn’t know anything about ancient documents in the area or any rumors about any valuable artifacts from the Dark War, Runestar, or anything else.” Jorie winked at them, so they would know she also meant the Coin. “He’s not serving dinner until after sundown.”
“Ugh!” Paley said. “I’m starving now!”
“The farmhands must come here to eat after a hard day’s work,” Brux said.
“Makes sense,” Elmot agreed. “The town’s size is deceiving. We’re surrounded by out- buildings. Small farms that sell their food to larger towns like Agerorsa. Some specialize in animal husbandry. The area’s also known for its millers and blacksmiths.”
“Well, aren’t you quite the book of facts?” Trey quipped.
Elmot smacked Trey on the arm, as Jorie said, “Ox told me to check out another eatery called the Grotto. It’s on the edge of town a mile or so down the road, open twenty-four seven.”
Shock of Fate: A Young Adult Fantasy Adventure (Anchoress Series Book 1) Page 20