“Calm self. Listen. Think.”
I wiped my face on my sleeve and snuffed my snot up my nose. I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths. I tried my best to focus on what Madame Wong was trying to get through my thick head.
“Miss Emily notice that universe filled with pairs of things?”
“Pairs?”
“Many things come in pair.”
“I’m trying to see what you’re saying, but I’m not understanding.”
“Man and woman. Life and death. Light … and dark.”
“You mean opposites.”
Madame Wong didn’t say anything. I opened my eyes to make sure she was still there. She wasn’t speaking, but she glowed a bit more brightly.
“The Goddess and Ciardha are opposites? Yes, I can see that. Light versus dark. But they can’t be–”
“A pair. Why not?”
“He’s so … and she’s so …”
“Necessary for each other.”
“Are you saying one cannot exist without the other?”
“Precisely.”
“That’s why Ciardha didn’t destroy Brighid.”
Madame Wong glowed more brightly.
“Miss Emily see why even if could destroy Ciardha, must not?”
“I think I see. If I were somehow able to destroy Ciardha, then I’d destroy Brighid too?”
Madame Wong was silent, but she affirmed my question by glowing more brightly than she had before.
“The world rests in the dark,” she said. “Each thing creeps back into its true nature within the shelter of darkness. And dawn brings possibility. Universe needs both, yes?”
These aren’t exactly things I’d sat around thinking about. I’d been a little too busy for philosophy.
“Miss Emily understand nature of who you are?”
“I thought we went over this three years ago. I am one with Akasha, with the Web of All Things.”
“Yes, yes. Akasha. First lesson. But what created Akasha? Answer that and Miss Emily see a truth. Important truth needed to set things right.”
“Okay, fair enough. I don’t know the answer to that. But how do you propose I find the answer? I don’t suppose you’ll tell me ’cause, you know, that might be too easy.”
Out of nowhere I felt like I’d been smacked in the back of the head.
“Did you …?”
“Madame Wong told you, no need physical form to teach.”
“Teach? You mean beat me. Why do your lessons have to hurt so much?”
“Sometimes truth hurts.”
“Okay, okay. You’ve got my attention. Now what do I have to do to get the answers I need?”
“Journey. Enter stream.”
“Ride the river of Akasha?”
“Precisely.”
The last time I’d trained with Madame Wong, she stranded me in a dark forest and left me to rot there until my mind tripped out enough to enter the Akashic Field. I’d thought being alone with myself in that thick copse was a painful, horrible thing to endure.
Looking back, it seemed more like a silly dream than a nightmare. I’d been living in a true terror-filled world from hell since then. I was no longer afraid of a dark forest or of being alone with my own mind. But I also didn’t want to waste my time wandering aimlessly in circles or sitting on my can waiting for the point where I was so exhausted that I tripped out enough to enter the Akashic Field.
“Madame Wong, you’re not going to strand me in the dark forest again, are you?”
“Miss Emily not need that lesson again to find way to Akasha.”
“Good. But Madame Wong, I’m not sure it’s a good idea for me to enter the Akashic Field. I mean, the last time I didn’t want to come back. It was difficult to pull myself back into my body and return to this reality.”
“Why Miss Emily come back, then?”
Good question. I remembered feeling the essence of my mom all around me and through me. I was a part of her, and she was a part of me. And I knew who I was and my purpose more clearly than I ever had before – or since. It was so beautiful and it all seemed so clear. I heard my note – my unique frequency – and I never wanted to leave that place.
But even within the comfort and beauty of Akasha, I’d remembered Fanny, Jake and my dad. I’d remembered how they needed me. And it was that, the …
“Love,” I said.
“Yes. Miss Emily love still?”
“Of course I still love. Fiercely.”
“Then Miss Emily come back. But first journey to Akasha.”
24. Strawberry Fields
Jake
I spent my days in Corina’s kitchen being a scullery dude. I scrubbed pots, peeled potatoes, and washed the floors. I kept my head down and my eyes averted. I did what I was told but kept my ears open and my mind alert to any piece of information I could use to help me plan an escape.
Time marched by slowly. There were no windows in the kitchen or the hallways I trudged through as I was led from one place to another. There were no clocks to be seen, and I didn’t have my watch. There was no sun, no moon. Only the incessantly white light and hum of fluorescents overhead.
And there was Corina. She seemed to always be there, barking out orders and calling us foul names.
I knew it was time to get up when my door banged open and a grunt pulled me from the floor that was my bed. I was marched to the kitchen to start my day of service for Ciardha and his growing legion of the Dark Mob.
I could tell it was midday when the cooks began making lunch food. I knew it was dinnertime when Dark Mob waiters carted out dinner dishes covered with those silver-domed lids.
Ciardha and his people ate well. Eggs, sausages, potatoes, and fluffy waffles with fresh strawberry cream for breakfast. I saw grilled chicken and crisp salads or sandwiches on fresh-baked bread hauled out for lunch. And oh, the smell of dinner made my stomach double back on me in pain. Roast duck, pan-seared fresh-caught fish or chicken was served with savory rice or potatoes and the ever-present fresh bread.
All I and the other slaves got to sample was the smell. If any of us had dared to lick a spilled drop or eat so much as a thimbleful, we’d have been beaten to within an inch of our lives.
The smell was enough to drive me crazy. Us slaves got two meals a day and always the same as I’d had the first day I’d been in Corina’s kitchen. Hunger allowed me to choke the garbage down, and starvation taught my stomach to not hurl it back out. I’d be no help to anybody if I starved to death.
And it appeared that Ciardha didn’t want us to starve to death. He wanted us alive. Ciardha’s human body needed food, but Lucent Energy was his true sustenance. Day by day, little by little, he gnawed at our souls until they were devoured completely or we died. We were like the juicy fly caught in the spider’s web. The spider would slowly feed off us until nothing was left but an empty shell of a body.
I knew I could resist many temptations that Ciardha would throw my way to get me to turn. I was surprised to learn that food, something that I’d never thought much about, could end up being my downfall. My stomach was in constant pain from the hunger. I was weak, listless, and unable to focus or concentrate. I was surrounded every day by the best food left on the planet, and I couldn’t eat so much as a crumb of bread.
I imagined my ugly end. Me, snagging a chicken leg from a plate, and Corina catching me and beating me with it until I was a Jake paste on her floor. She’d order someone to mop me up, and that would be the end of me. Death by chicken leg.
I tried not to think on it too long. If Ciardha found out that I could be bought as easily as all that, he’d send me a room service feast in exchange for my soul.
Nights alone in my cell were the only thing that kept me from going totally bat-shit crazy. Granted, the night wasn’t very long. As near as I could tell, I got dumped into my cell around ten and dragged back out around five. I maybe had seven hours to myself each day.
When they closed the door behind me at night, my body wanted n
othing but sleep. I would stumble to the ground and curl myself into a ball, trying to preserve my little warmth.
But instead of sleeping, I forced myself to stay awake long enough to meditate. My body wanted sleep, but my mind needed the focus that only conscious meditation could bring.
I commanded my back to sit upright even though it screamed in rebellion to lie down instead. I forced my mind to be still even though it wanted to race with thoughts of revenge and to relive the hurts I’d suffered at Ciardha’s hand.
I breathed in and out and in and out. In and out. In and out. Every time I began to think about how I wanted to strangle Corina with some cooked spaghetti, I’d force my mind to think a positive thought instead.
It wasn’t easy to do, and it became harder each day of my captivity. But I had to stay Lucent. For me, and for Emily and for my family. The only way I knew to keep the darkness from taking me was to hang on to the good thoughts. I had to hope.
Hope. I held onto it like it was the last scrap of bread on Earth. And it sort of was.
I hoped that Emily was still alive and still Lucent and that with the help of Greta and Tristan she’d find an answer. And I hoped that my nightmare would be over, and we’d be reunited and live a life together.
I didn’t think much beyond that. Just to be together again. To have our first real kiss, followed by a second, then a third. A lifetime filled with the caress of her soft lips, the spicy scent of her wafting into my nostrils, filling me with desire and passion and peace all at the same time. The feel of her soft breasts against my chest as I pull her into my arms.
I hoped I’d get to make love to her someday. I longed to be gentle with her and shower every inch of her with soft kisses, feeling the subtle warmth of her body rise to meet my lips. And I wanted to escape with her to a world filled with wild abandon. Most nights I’d fall asleep with visions of Emily straddling my thighs, her high, firm breasts so close, I could reach out and touch them.
So much for meditating. I’d go from yogic breathing to heavy breathing. Apparently, even starving men can get it up. But hey, I felt alive – hopeful – almost happy even when I allowed my mind to think those thoughts.
My thoughts of Emily kept me going. My hopes for our future allowed me to get up off that floor and keep doing what they told me even though I felt like telling them to go to hell.
I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep every night, exhausted and hopeful that one day, I’d be able to live my dreams.
* * *
After countless days (or maybe months) of the same old kitchen grind, I was yanked from my hard bed, but the guards didn’t take me to the kitchen. Instead they took me through the lobby where we’d battled the Dark Mob and out the front door.
My mind immediately raced with possibility. I was like a rabbit that had been trapped by a wolf’s paw, but the wolf lets up a bit, and the rabbit can’t help but look for a way to escape.
As we walked onto the sidewalk, I could see about a half-dozen shuttle buses lined up around what used to be the valet entry. They were old hotel mini buses like the kind hotels use to shuttle guests around. But I guessed the buses wouldn’t take us on a fun excursion.
My escort shoved me into the second bus in the line and ordered me to sit. I tried to take in my surroundings before I sat down. I’d perfected the shifty, darting eyes approach. With my head held still and tilted slightly downward, and without looking anyone directly in the eye, I scanned the scene. There were three other guys that sat on the long bench back seat. They all looked to be in their mid-twenties. They were big guys. I couldn’t see their eyes, so I couldn’t tell if they were turned, but I figured they were either Dark Mob or brand new in the ranks of Ciardha’s slaves. Anyone who’d been a slave for any length of time wasn’t in that good of physical shape.
I saw a woman, probably about thirty, in a seat a few rows back. I didn’t see any other women, but I saw several guys in the seats around me, all with their heads down, eyes cast downward.
Then I caught a glimpse of him. He was in a seat alone, a few rows in front of the burly guys in the back. He looked out of the window, not eyes forward and downcast like the rest of us.
He looked so familiar. He was probably about sixty, his light, brown, shoulder-length hair sprinkled with grey and matted pretty badly. The guy’s face was covered in a full beard and mustache, his sideburns melding into the facial hair giving him a grizzled look. He’s been here a while.
He looked like if he stood up, he’d be about six feet, maybe six one. But he didn’t look to weigh much more than 160 pounds. His shirt hung on him. He wore glasses, but how they remained on his head was a mystery. They looked dirty, scratched and broken.
I took my seat and kept my head forward even though I wanted to turn around and look more at the guy behind me. His face was playing in my mind, and he seemed so like someone I once knew.
And those glasses. I’d seen those glasses before. I knew them …
“Liam!” I shouted out. I looked behind me before I could think to stop myself. The guy didn’t turn to look at me. He kept his face to the window. But it had to be. It had to be him.
“Liam,” I said again. The second time I looked right at him.
“You there. What the hell? Turn around, and keep your mouth shut.”
Before I could turn, I felt a strong punch in my back. I figured I’d get more than a single punch once we were at our destination. Whatever I got would be worth it because before I turned around, the guy with glasses turned his head and looked right at me.
In that instant between me calling his name and the punch to my back, Liam looked at me. His movement was so slow, he looked like he was a film in slow motion. His eyes were vacant and rimmed in red, surrounded by dark circles. But his eyes were not the black void of one who had been turned. He was still in there. He was still Liam.
He turned his head back to the window. I wasn’t sure if he knew me or not. He showed no recognition of me.
Maybe he recognized me but didn’t want to show it in any way so as to not call attention to himself. Or maybe I looked worse than I knew and he didn’t recognize me anymore. I had no mirror, so I had no idea how I looked. Without medical treatment or decent food, my nose was still swollen from my first beating. I had a beard growing out on my chin. My usually short hair was down past my ears and nearly to my shoulders.
He doesn’t recognize me.
Liam looked like dog shit, but at least he was alive and still Lucent.
Hope surged within me. Hope along with a powerful desire to grab Liam and bust the hell out of Ciardha’s prison before it was too late.
* * *
We drove for about an hour. The grim, overcast sky of the city gave way to sun peeking through clouds as we traversed into a rural environment, so close yet so far from my prison home. After many weeks holed up inside with only artificial light, the fresh air made me feel alive again.
And the sun! I could see why the Egyptians worshipped it. We take it for granted and assume it will be there each day like it was the day before. But when you haven’t seen the sun for weeks, the barest touch of it on your skin is enough to make you want to kneel in the dirt and weep and raise your voice in joy, singing its praises.
But there was no time to weep or pray. We were shoved and pushed along to a vast field covered with strawberry plants.
People spilled out of the mini buses, probably about fifty of us in all to about fifteen or twenty of Ciardha’s minions. I liked those odds. Except that the numbers still weren’t fair. We were fifty or so weak, beaten down and nearly starved to death people versus fifteen healthy, well-rested, well-fed shadow people. No, the odds were undoubtedly in their favor.
We stood quiet and still, like obedient slaves should, waiting to be told what to do. Finally, a guy in his twenties stood in front of us and said, “Okay, you shitheads, you’re picking strawberries for the master today. Them’s his favorite, and these been grown just for him. So don’t none of you even think
about eating any, got it? You pick ’em and put ’em in the pail, gentle like. Don’t smush ’em. Any of us catch any of yous so much as lickin’ the juice off of your fingers, Pilot here will cut those fingers right off. See?”
There was a chorus of mumbled yeses. The guy Pilot to whom he referred was one of the burly guys who’d been at the back of my bus. He was holding a machete, and he looked like he was aching to use it on somebody.
Each of us was handed a gallon-size bucket and showed to a patch of soil covered in berry plants. I used my darting eye technique to search for Liam. I was in luck. He was only two rows away from me, and there was no one in the row in between.
I had to talk to him. If I could only talk to him, I was sure he’d recognize me. If we could talk, Liam would help me come up with a plan to escape. With Liam’s prodigious brainpower added to mine, surely we could come up with something. Maybe together we could think like we had in Dublin and come up with the idea we hadn’t thought of yet.
There was only one thing for me to do. I had to bust my ass picking stupid strawberries. If I moved fast enough and he moved slowly enough, I’d be able to catch up to him and maybe we could exchange a few words. I wouldn’t have much time, but maybe I’d have enough time that we could at least come up with a way to talk again.
The berry picking was backbreaking work, even more tiring than being a scullery dude. Bend over, pick the ripe ones, put them in the bucket, and move to the next plant. I ignored the fingers of pain spreading across my back and hips and continued to move as fast as I could.
The guy who’d walloped me in the back on the bus would come by and whack me with a billy stick every now and then. I ignored him and the pain as best I could and kept picking.
Get to Liam. Gotta get to Liam.
I moved fast, but Liam didn’t move as slowly as I’d thought – or hoped – he would. When he’d looked at me, his eyes had looked vacant. I figured he’d become weak and would move like a tortoise through that field.
The Akasha Chronicles Trilogy Boxed Set: The Complete Emily Adams Series Page 69