The Mirror of the Moon (Revenant Wyrd Book 2)

by Travis Simmons

  The space before Rama’s face glowed with power, lighting her face in golden relief. Angelica had never seen a Message Orb wyrded before.

  “Dalah, emergency, Joya has been taken, Angelica beaten, the room penetrated … somehow.” In haste Rama threw the orb toward the patio. The golden ball of light quickly tracing its way to the intended recipient.

  “Sleep now, Angie,” Rama said kneeling once more beside Angelica, whose headache was back. Her face felt like it was swollen ten times its normal size. Rama smoothed her hand over Angelica’s features. With the passing of her hand all care and worry left Angelica, soon her eyelids were too heavy to keep open any longer, and they shut of their own volition.

  The last thought Angelica had was he took Joya, and without realizing it because of her stupor she sent that thought to Jovian as they raced haphazardly down the streets, winding their way back to Fairview Heights.

  The next thing Angelica remembered was waking in a soft bed to the worried faces of Maeven, Grace, and Jovian all staring down at her from places around the bed.

  “What happened?” Grace asked. “Where is Joya?”

  “He took her,” Angelica said thickly, her voice barely understandable from the swelling in her jaw. She tried to sit up but the room spun around her, and for a moment Angelica couldn’t remember being in a spinning room. With a groan she was forced back onto the bed by ancient hands.

  Grace pushed Angelica back onto the bed. “Stay where you are. I don’t think it would be a good idea for you to be moving just now. You will need to rest for a few days at the very least.” Grace scowled. “However, it is unfortunate that Joya has gone missing; we might not have that much time. We should be moving as soon as possible.”

  “I know,” Angelica said around the pain in her head. “It was the Tall Stranger.”

  “I didn’t think he was a problem any longer,” Maeven said.

  “Me either.” Grace looked down on Angelica with concern. “Tell us everything from the beginning.”

  So she told them.

  “You mean he no longer has access to his Wyrd?” Jovian asked.

  “That is what it sounded like.” At first I was blocked from reaching you, Jovian. I originally thought it was because you were so far away, but after he had Joya, and Rama found me, I was able to project my thoughts to you, she explained silently.

  Maybe he is working with Beckindal? Jovian queried.

  It is possible, but then who is Beckindal working for?

  Isn’t that obvious?

  But what would they want Joya for?

  Maybe two sorcerers of the LaFaye bloodline are better than one? Or maybe they really don’t want Aunt Pharoh’s work being completed and to stop it they have taken both the sorcerers descended of her blood? It is the same possibilities we spoke of before, after all.

  I know, Angelica said, pinching the bridge of her nose to ease the headache.

  “I have not heard of such a thing happening before.” Grace dismissed it, but by the tone in her voice she was not letting the topic rest. “For now you need more rest. We will be in the common room if you need anything. Maeven, Jovian, come with me.”

  “If it is all the same I would like to stay here for a moment with Angelica,” Jovian told Grace, and she conceded with a nod. “Do you think it is possible that he no longer has access to his wyrd?” he asked once everyone cleared the room.

  “I don’t know,” she answered truthfully.

  Two major things weighed between them at that moment and they voiced their concerns almost instantly, their words running together.

  “What is wrong with me?”

  “Why do they want Joya?”

  Jovian smirked without humor and took Angelica’s hand in his own. “To say that something is wrong is to imply that something is not right with you, and I don’t think that is the case.”

  “But is this right?” She snorted. “He said I took his wyrd from him, and it is true; I could not feel a trace of wyrd left in him. What if when I stopped his wyrded storm I also cut him off from his wyrd?”

  “I could not feel it on him at the festival either. I remembered how it felt from meeting him in the ravine, but it was just a memory of his wyrd, not the thing itself that I was feeling,” Jovian confessed.

  “What am I that I can do that? Reversing a wyrding is one thing, nullifying it another, but taking away a wyrders ability to wyrd?” Angelica stopped, for there were no more words to describe what she felt. Jovian didn’t have an answer for her. “Has anything strange been happening to you?”

  “No, I think I might be the only normal one out of the four of us.” Jovian smiled.

  “There is most certainly nothing normal about you, Jovian,” Angelica teased.

  “What are you going to do?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you obviously have some kind of wyrd that works like that of sorcerers, other than taking away wyrd itself.”

  “I have been thinking the same thing. It doesn’t make any sense to me though. Why would I have the ability to do what they can and not have the markings? Then it brings about so many other questions. I am twenty-one now; will I go through training with the elementals like Joya and Amber, or is that something that only comes with the marking? Will I too become immortal?”

  “Maybe you are not a sorceress; maybe you are something different altogether,” Jovian offered, and his comment did not help Angelica one bit.

  “But what? I have been through the short list of wyrders and what I can do only matches up with sorcerers, yet not even they can cancel out what another creates.”

  “Maybe you are something that has not yet been categorized.”

  “That is what worries me, and I think it is the same thing that worries Grace. I can tell by the way she looks at me.”

  “Have you researched it yet?”

  “Yeah, philosophy tells me nothing about that particular gift.”

  “Most likely nothing will,” Jovian told her. “If it is something that has not happened before, than most likely it is not written anywhere.”

  “But how can we be sure that it has never happened before?” Angelica asked.

  “We can’t be sure that it has never happened before.”

  “Grace said that it was nothing that had ever happened before,” she said ironically.

  “Have you looked in Joya’s book yet?” Jovian asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I remember when she first got it that I had no problems reading certain passages, passages that she could not read as well. I never said anything because at the time I didn’t think there was anything strange about it. Now, however, we are getting more used to wyrd and I am finding that my being able to read that book was not at all normal.”

  “So you think that the book might give me answers?”

  “It couldn’t hurt, and who knows—you might learn something more from it, like how to use your wyrd? So this brings us to my next question: Why would they want Joya? It doesn’t fit that they would want her just to stop Pharoh’s teachings,” Jovian began pacing.

  “Doesn’t it?” Angelica asked. “She hated our aunt and mother, hates the thought of them and the work they did. Insanity like hers would extend to the offspring, right?”

  “What about Cianna? She hasn’t been taken yet.” Jovian reasoned.

  “That we know of. Maybe that is next?” Angelica ventured, propping herself on more pillows to better watch him fret.

  “That doesn’t feel right either.” He ran a hand through his already awry hair, crinkling his face in thought.

  “Okay, so let’s fall back on what we know about the situation and see if there are any solutions there,” Angelica was already beginning to think.

  “Which is nothing. We know nothing about what is going on, Angie.”

  “Not necessarily. Porillon needs Amber for the medallion. It won’t work without our blood; she has already alluded to that.”

  “But sh
e already has Amber. Why would she need Joya?”

  “I am not sure. It can’t be that she needs more power because Grace said there was only so much that Pharoh could do. Remember when we were talking about using a lot of the power to open the veil between the Otherworld and the world of the living, she said that only necromancers could do that, and as Pharoh was not a necromancer she had no control over that, so the medallion would not be able to do that. It sounds like whoever awakens the medallion has control over it.”

  “And whoever has control over the one who awakens the medallion?” Jovian asked.

  “Would then manipulate Pharoh’s wyrd,” Angelica said with a gasp.

  “But why Joya?” he asked again.

  “I don’t know, Jovian!” Angelica nearly yelled at him, becoming frustrated with all his questioning and none of his helping. “I think this line of thought bears some pondering though. It is the most plausible reasoning for wanting both of them. If there had been any desire to destroy the bloodline the Tall Stranger would have killed me when he had the chance; did any of you think about that? We have no reasoning for their wanting both Amber and Joya unless they are going to manipulate Amber with Joya.”

  “It wouldn’t work,” Jovian said. “Amber is smarter than that,” he protested, but his words lacked conviction.

  “What if it was you and I and we were in their situation?” Angelica asked skeptically and he only looked down at his feet as he ambled them around. “I would do anything to keep you safe.”

  “This sucks,” he flopped on the bed with a sigh.

  “It does, but who knows—it could be a diversion.”

  “I don’t know … it makes the most sense out of anything we have heard, given who we are and who our forebears are.”

  “Unless Porillon was counting on Grace telling us of our past, or our demanding to know after her suggestion of it in the Foothills of Nependier. Maybe they are trying to get us to look one way, you know, think they want to manipulate the medallion when really there is something else going on below the surface,” Angelica hazarded.

  “That sounds a little far-fetched, Angie.”

  “I am not so sure, not where Porillon is concerned at least. I don’t think we should rule out any possibility where she is concerned.”

  “I agree,” Jovian said.

  “Jove?”

  “Yes, Angie?”

  “I am scared,” and in those words were all the weakness she felt.

  Grace had not done this in some time, but when she had done it in the past the times had been numerous. She removed the jar from her pack and sat it on the small table in her room, staring at it for several moments. Rama had come in while they were all dining and lit the fire so Grace’s room was beginning to warm sufficiently, which was good; the fire and warmth were both key elements in this particular ritual.

  Still she stared at it. Taken too many times, the Flying Ointment could have serious consequences on the user; Rosalee was a testimony to that. Grace had stopped using it when signs of addiction blossomed in Rose.

  The jar looked innocent enough. Only Grace knew better. The green paste looked good enough to eat, but in its depths were toxins that, once entered into the bloodstream, would release the mind from its physical trappings, and allow the soul to soar free.

  With a sigh she stood and disrobed and uncoiled her hair, which was a chore in itself, and stared into the full-length mirror by the fire. The blaze cast golden light on pale, wrinkled skin.

  Reluctantly she uncorked the bottle and began smearing the pungent ointment over her skin. She would not be using this if it was not an absolute emergency she do so. An emergency was the precise reason she had wanted this, to see what was hidden, to walk the realm of light and find that which eluded her.

  With the ointment smothered on, Grace lay before the fire and let the cracking, fragrant blaze lull her into a near dreaming state. She knew that when the light tickling came to her body she must not move. Grace had not done this in a while, but when the toxic mixture of herbs began to work, its mingling with the blood always felt the same. Even if Grace had not Spirit Walked in a hundred years, she would never forget the feeling of lightheadedness as one body became two and the mind conceived of both forms forcing itself to be in two places at once. Then with a feeling like cold silk sliding over her face, Grace was lucid of more than just the physical trappings, the mortal coil.

  Grace was made of light, made of color. She felt her mind disengage from her body, felt her consciousness take form into its true identity. She floated above her naked body before the roaring fire, and looked down at herself on the black and white rug, her body now more wrinkled and aged than the last time she had done this.

  She allowed her Body of Light to float downward until her feet touched the floor. To those sensitive enough to this type of working she may appear as a spirit, a ghost, but to most she would appear as nothing more than empty air.

  She reached deep inside of herself and searched for the memory of the Tall Stranger and how he had felt when they first met him in the Ravine of Aaridnay. It didn’t take long for that oily feeling to come to her, and when it did it filled her with a shudder of pure disgust.

  During Spirit Walking it was very simple to travel. Most often all one had to do was project an urge into their mind such as “I want to go to the roof,” and they would instantly be on the roof. It was also feasible for one to say “find the Tall Stranger,” and by using the memory of the person’s feel—the feeling one got from that person—they would instantly be transported to that person’s presence. Going to a person you had never seen before or been in contact with was difficult at best, nigh impossible at worst.

  So it was that Grace used her memory of the Tall Stranger, coupled with the command, “Take me to him.” Her mind found nothing.

  She nearly staggered. No person had nothing about them.

  What was happening?

  Maybe she did it wrong?

  “Find the Tall Stranger,” Grace commanded again, watching her younger reflection in the mirror as the eyebrows creased together as it urgently tried to obey her command.

  Still nothing.

  Maybe it was because she was not using his name?

  No, that wasn’t it. She often referred to Rosalee in the Spirit Walk as “that crazy old coot,” and so forth, and she was always taken to her. The mind did not need a name to know where you really desired to go, so “Tall Stranger” should be all she needed.

  How could he not be? He wasn’t dead, and even if he was he would still leave behind him a residual wyrd. Everyone had wyrd, even if only wyrders could manipulate it. It was wyrd that allowed one to find another in the Spirit Walk. How could she not find him? Unless …

  The answering thought, the one that she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was true, nearly made her lose her grip on the Spirit Walk, despite the drugs that induced it.

  The words echoed in her mind, Angelica telling her: “He also told me that I would not have to worry about him attacking me with his wyrd because someone had stolen it from him.”

  “Great Mother Goddess,” Grace gasped. “That is not possible!”

  She could hardly believe it. For someone to be so completely devoid of wyrd that they seemingly did not exist was unbelievable; for someone to have taken all that wyrd from another person was unfathomable.

  It didn’t take long for Grace’s mind to jump to who the thief might be.

  “Angelica broke his spell that night,” Grace reasoned with her reflection. “That has never been done before, but what if she did more than that? What if the storm was not broken, but turned inward back at him, and burned out his wyrd?” She studied her face in the mirror. “Is that even possible?” she asked herself, and for a moment she honestly expected an answer.

  An answer she got, but instead of the answer about this mystery of the Tall Stranger and his wyrd, another answer found her.

  The real person you seek has more than enough wyrd for her to be found
on the Spirit Plane. Her reflection told her with a smile.

  “Joya!” Grace smiled back. “She I can find.” And no sooner had she said this but she did, her mind swirling through the inn searching for Joya’s wyrd that was so like that of her Aunt Pharoh’s.

  A blessing and a surprise struck her then. Joya was still within Fairview Heights, albeit two floors lower than Grace was, but still within the establishment, which meant Dalah also harbored the Tall Stranger.

  “But it is not her fault,” Grace said coming back to her room once finding the location of his room, the room where Joya was held captive. “She could not feel his wyrd so she didn’t know who he was.”

  Shouldn’t that have risen all kinds of warning though? If Dalah could not feel his wyrd, shouldn’t she have known something was off? Of course there were hundreds of explanations why she didn’t think anything strange about this, and the first and most obvious was money. Dalah was a business woman and so needed to be non-discriminative when it came to tenants.

  But if he had no wyrd, could he be affected by it? Grace didn’t know, but Goddess willing she was going to find out—tonight.

  The sensation of merging with the physical body after having been the Body of Light was one of trepidation and discouragement as Grace began to feel heavier and heavier, coming to settle once more in the physical body with all its limitations.

  Once coming back to the body, the drug wore off fast, though it was still necessary to wash it from the body to stop a relapse from happening. Grace gathered her white cotton bathing robe and hurried across the empty common room to the bathing room, not bothering to dress in her haste.

  She drew a bath just deep enough to wash in, and wasted no time scrubbing the last of the pungent ointment off her flesh. Once done with that she donned the robe, leaving her silver hair free to cascade down her back, and made her way back to her room.

  Grace selected a black dress from her closet and dressed quickly.