by Alex Temples
Gloria pointed to several spots on the page. “These are portal tombs. They’re just single stones, or what we call menhirs.” She moved her finger across the page, indicating the sites with shared characteristics.
“There are several types of megaliths found throughout the world, including portal tombs, like you see frequently in Northern Europe. You also find passage graves, gallery graves and arrangements of single stones, such as those at Stonehenge. I think we are focusing on the mortal classifications for these sites, but in all honesty, not even archeologists are completely sure what some of these sites were created for. Theories range from them being burial locations and ritual sacrifice sites to solar calendars marking the solstice.”
I frowned.
“So, what kind of site do you think we’re looking for?”
Gloria pursed her lips, examining the pages in front of her. “Did you see this little bit?” She asked.
The group leaned closer and I ducked forward to see what she was pointing at. Reading over a few lines of text that hadn’t sounded important, I nodded.
“Yes, why? Do you see something in this related to the artifacts?”
Gloria scrunched her brows together and considered this.
Ana sucked in a breath of air.
We both turned to look at her.
“Yes, I see what you see, Gloria.” Ana said, moving excitedl. She snatched up a page and shoving it under my nose. “Look here, Brin.”
Once again, I glanced over the words she pointed to. Finally, I saw it.
The two will never be parted for long. Together they shine.
The paragraph prior to that talked about the king and queen of the fae, so I’d dismissed it as another history lesson, but after reading it closely, I saw what Ana was seeing.
“It’s talking about the sword and spear.” I said, my voice shaking with excitement.
There was a collective murmuring within the group.
We all turned to Ana.
She nodded, her eyes bright. “Yes. I believe so.” She confirmed, shifting and pointing again to the page. “Right here it speaks of a place where kings and queens are buried. They are buried together, whenever possible, united in death, as they are in life. Stronger together than they could ever be apart.” She finished.
“Just like the artifacts. They aren’t talking about kings and queens at all.”
Ana smiled and nodded.
“Yes, you are correct. I believe they refer to the artifacts being buried together.”
“There was a reference to a location.” Gloria added excitedly.
I felt the group turn to me to gauge my reaction.
It was Esma who spoke up. She bent over the page, examining it with interest. “In Brittany. They’re in Brittany, France.”
“How do you know that’s the right reference?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I think she’s right.” Gloria interjected. “The text refers to a sacred burial site, so it can’t be just any collection of stones, it must be one with burials.”
“Not all of the sites here serve in that capacity?” I asked, frustrated.
Oren had crept slowly toward the table, inching over until he was studying the page in Esma’s hands.
He shook his head. “No. Stonehenge is not a burial site. Nor are several of these others. This one, however –“ He thumped a finger to the page. “This one doesn’t have any bodies to be found in the soil, but it’s definitely a confirmed burial site.” He said, noting a small sketch of rather unremarkable looking stones.
I frowned in confusion. “Doesn’t the lack of bodies in the earth point to this not being a confirmed burial site?”
Oren shook his head. “The site has very acidic soil, which dissolves the bones over time, leaving nothing more than the artifacts with which these people were buried. It’s because of those grave goods, we know it’s an ancient burial site.”
Several of the group nodded in agreement. I shrugged. “Well, alright then. Where in France are we going?”
“To the Carnac Stones.” Esma answered, moving to Oren’s side.
He smiled at her and nodded. “Yes. The Carnac Stones. This is the perfect time of year to visit too. There’s an observed phenomenon this time of year. If we get our timing right, we’ll be able to see it.”
I studied him with amusement. Oren was trying to worm his way into this trip. “And what exactly is this phenomenon?” I asked.
“Oh, it’s fascinating.” He replied. “The stones are lined in incredibly precise rows. Each fall, around the 23rd of this month, the shadows of all the stones line up, and the sun sets exactly along this line. The old ones thought this served as a Neolithic gateway to the afterlife.” Oren’s eyes had taken on that happy glow they always adopted when he was discussing history, but all I could focus on was his reference to a gateway.
My eyes shot to Nia. She had the same sharp look.
The 23rd of September was a few short days away. This was likely our only opportunity to get our hands on those artifacts.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The air was crisp and cool, bringing with it the spice of cinnamon. A swirl of leaves blew past us, twirling in the breeze before landing on the cobblestones.
I turned my eyes to the wide window of a bakery, and smiled faintly at the scene inside. A mother and child sat at a small café table. The little girl chattered happily. She tipped her cup to her mouth, and when she set it down she came away with a dollop of whipped cream on her nose. Her mother reached across the table and swiped it away with a laugh.
We were in Brittany, in Carnac-Ville, a small city in Northwestern France. The side of town we were on consisted of narrow cobbled streets, lined with wood frames buildings, and dotted with open air markets Vendors sold everything from fresh flowers to fish.
The bakery was situated near the center of main street and seemed to serve as a popular meeting place. I peered in the window again. A large oak table displayed flaky croissants, fat loaves of crusty bread and various assorted pastries.
“Mmm, it smells wonderful here.” Tristan said, sniffing appreciatively.
I turned to him with a smile, still bursting with the joy of seeing him whole and healthy. He wore a cozy blue sweater. His blonde hair had a wind-tossed look to it. Suddenly, he reminded me so much of my little brother, I turned around to see where Oren had run off to.
Oren and Esma had joined Nikolaus and Siddarth in front of a fruit stand, where they were pointing out various things to the vendor, who plopped the ripe fruit into a brown bag.
We were thirteen, which was a rather large group to travel with.
Orielle and Claire had volunteered to scope out the various lodging options the village offered. Tomorrow was the equinox. While we needed somewhere to stay tonight, I doubted anyone would get a wink of sleep.
For now, we were wandering the town in search of distraction.
“They seem to be getting on well, Brin. How about a cup of cider?” Tristan suggested, gesturing towards the paneled crimson door to the bakery.
I pursed my lips, glancing back towards the fruit stand briefly.
I shrugged. Why not.
A bell clanged as we entered the shop, and I was hit with a bevy of smells - rich chocolate, yeast and spices. I inhaled with a happy sigh.
There was a low din in the restaurant as families and friends conversed in French. I thought I detected some Spanish as well. A large bakery counter lined the back wall, showcasing cakes and cookies, truffles and various other delights.
Behind a small counter stood a large woman with kind eyes. She wore a pale blue shirtdress. The sleeves were rolled up above her elbows, revealing her muscular forearms, which were dotted with freckles. She looked to be in her early fifties, elegant but relaxed. Her chestnut hair piled on top of her head and topped with a pair of purple-rimmed glasses.
She smiled at the old woman in front of her, passing her back some change and a receipt before turning to the wiry young man behind
the counter and barking out order in French. The boy nodded furiously and began filling a small box with eclairs.
Tristan grunted with approval and headed towards the counter, so I followed.
“Bonjour, Madame.” Tristan said, smiling.
“Bonjour, Monsieur. Do I detect an English speaker?” She switched from French to English and I was surprised to hear that she was American.
Tristan laughed. “Oui, but only when I don’t have a choice.” He said with a wink.
I raised an eyebrow at the gesture that was uncharacteristic for Tristan, but very much something Aiden would have done.
She let out a deep belly laugh, her round cheeks merry. “Very good, Monsieur. What can I get for you and the lady?”
Tristan glanced back at me. “Apple cider, please.”
The woman nodded. Tristan glanced at the glass case and then back at me. “Is that all?”
The smell of chocolate was heavy in the air and I hesitated, glancing back at the case towards the chocolate croissants and biting my lip.
“They are fresh. I just made them this morning.” The baker said, seeing where my eyes had gone.
I groaned. “Alright, I can’t turn down a fresh chocolate croissant.”
“Make that two croissants and two apple ciders.” Tristan corrected.
The woman nodded with approval and rang up our order. We found an empty table outside on the sidewalk and I settled gratefully into an adorable café chair.
Tristan set my warm croissant down with a flourish as he joined me. Melty chocolate oozed out. I swiped my finger through it and popped it into my mouth. A burst of bittersweet chocolate delighted my tastebuds, and I sighed contentedly. “Mmm, great idea.”
Tristan chuckled and settled into his chair, passing me a mug of apple cider.
We sat in silence for a few moments, savoring the peace of the day. It was hard to believe, while sitting in a quiet café sipping cider, that the fate of the world rested in our hands.
Legs crossed, I leaned back in the black and white checkered café chair that was synonymous with the French café experience, inhaling the smell of cinnamon intermixed with the yeasty aroma of fresh baked bread. I listened to the sounds of the city - the laughter of children playing in the street, the intermittent jingling of the bell as customers came and went, the quiet whirring of bicycles passing on the sidewalk. I wanted to immerse myself in the moment, to sink into it and never emerge, to lose myself in this sense of normalcy.
I glanced across the table at Tristan, admiring his Gallic features and flowing golden hair. He relaxed into the chair, closing his eyes briefly as he inhaled the scent of apple cider. I imagined he was trying to lose himself as I was, or perhaps, he was simply appreciating the fact that he was alive.
What if he and I could just run away from it all? The two of us were not right for each other. In fact, we were probably the exact opposite of what the other needed, but we shared one thing in common. We had both been thrust into positions we had little business being in. Right now, we were humanity’s only hope at salvation.
I shuddered at the thought, tipping my cup back and letting the hot liquid scald my tongue, hoping the momentary pain would drive out the terrible thoughts creeping into my mind – the feeling of inadequacy, the fear of failure, the doubt that I had what it took to triumph in the battle ahead.
I wasn’t afraid of failure as a matter of pride. I was, however, afraid of failing and causing others harm. If it were just me would suffer, I wouldn’t’ have worried. My mind wandered to Oren, who I needed to protect. I thought of Siddarth and Nia, who had been so kind to me. Who, despite their superior education, their more advanced skill, their clear worthiness, were unable to fight this battle.
They needed me to succeed, so I would.
My inadequacy had already lost me my father. In that moment, sitting in the quiet square, listening to the sweet sounds of children and immersing myself in the comforts of mortal life, I resolved to be better than I was, to be stronger than I had been. I owed it to so many, least of all myself.
Sucking in a breath, I let it out slowly, drained the rest of my hot cider and turned to look over my shoulder, where I felt someone staring at me.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“Claire.” I said, smiling at the tall redhead.
She and Orielle trotted across the cobblestone walkway towards where Tristan and I sat enjoying the last of our croissants.
“Hi Brin.” Claire called back, moving eagerly towards us.
“It looks like you have good news.” Tristan said.
Claire broke into one of her signature dimpled smiles and brandished a folded packet of paper with triumph. Even Orielle smiled at the gesture.
“We have reservations at the inn around the corner.” She announced happily.
I smiled. “Great news. How many rooms were you able to get?”
“Five.”
I frowned. “Five?” I did the math in my head and frowned again.
Claire laughed. “There aren’t a lot of big hotels here, Brin. I booked their honeymoon suite, which has two queen beds. Along with that, we have one room with a double and a pullout couch, and three of their standard rooms, which have queen beds. With our reservations, the inn in now sold out.”
Tristan laughed. “Good work, Claire. It will do. No one will be sleeping much anyhow. Though, I vote that one of you get the honor of telling Neil he had to share a bed with another man.”
I snorted and rolled my eyes. “Not it.”
“Not it!” Orielle and Tristan yelled in unison.
Claire looked over the three of us, exasperated. She laughed. “Alright, I suppose I get to break the good news to everyone.” With that, she spun on her heel and headed towards the fresh food market.
“I’ve got to see this.” Tristan said, leaping to his feet and following her.
Orielle and I were left alone.
“Croissant?” I asked, lifting Tristan’s untouched chocolate croissant and offering it to Orielle.
She smiled slowly and plopped down into the chair across from me. “Don’t mind if I do.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
I had a splitting headache. We’d stayed up way too late last night, drinking French wine and slurping oysters at the small restaurant downstairs. I stretched across the bed, pulling the sheets off and slowly sitting.
I smiled to myself, recalling the evening. Our little group of misfits was really pulling together. We’d gotten to know one another much better last night. Wine loosened tongues, and the thought of what we had to face today forced us to enjoy the moment, knowing anything could happen. Life is short. Moments of joy finite.
We had certainly embraced the moment last night. I’d been delighted to discover the many and varied skills of my fellow keepers. Sayumi was incredibly smart, with a knack for numbers. Ana and Gloria had bonded quickly over their shared interest in mortal history. Esma and Oren seemed to have an interest in each other. They’d disappeared to refill our ice bucket for longer than was strictly necessary.
Nick was the clown in the group. He had a jovial approach to life that was positively delightful in the face of the burden we carried. Claire was like my sister, despite the few short weeks we’d known one another. I felt steadied with her at my side. It was a feeling I’d experienced only with Oren, Tomas, and my best friend Sam.
Claire was intuitive, she could feel what others were thinking, which made her an incredibly skilled diplomate. She reconnected the group when we fell silent, resolving conflicts in a deft and tactful manner, and making us all feel more at ease.
The fae contingent of our group was remarkably well behaved, acting for all intents and purposes quite mortal. Even Eirian, who I’d been worried about, had behaved himself. Siddarth, Tristan and Neil had chattered quietly among themselves most of the evening, and I’d been happy to leave them to their conversation.
I slid out of bed reluctantly, knowing we needed to get moving.
“Ugh.
Don’t tell me it’s morning.” Claire said with a groan. She pulled the covers over her head as I pulled open the thick, velvet drapes.
Sunlight poured into the room
“Yep. Time to head out.” I announced.
“No, Brin. Close them. We have time.” Orielle growled from the pullout sofa.
I still wasn’t quite used to Orielle calling me Brin. Ever since the cemetery she’d warmed up to me considerably. Though I wouldn’t call us friends yet.
“Nope. We need to get moving. The stones are due to align only a few hours from now.”
“Alright, alright, but close the drapes. My head feels like it’s about to explode.” Claire groaned.
“I told you not to drink the rest of that bottle.”
Claire narrowed her eyes at me. “I didn’t drink the rest of it. You did. I drank the first part of the bottle.”
My eyes crinkled as I grinned at her. “That’s right. I did, didn’t I?’
“Oh, the two of you.” Orielle grumbled, dragging herself off the sofa and stumbling to the bathroom. “No more wine, period. Neither of you have any sort of restraint.”
We dressed quickly. I pulled on a black turtleneck and jeans with my favorite boots, strapping my dagger to my hip and adding a light jacket to conceal it.
We met in the cobbled square, where we piled into several rented vehicles. The drive was quiet, everyone lost in their own thoughts. Before I knew it, the cars pulled to a halt.
Tristan opened the door. We all climbed out, glancing around curiously. We’d just passed an equestrian center. I figured the site would be way out in the country, away from everything, and was surprised to see signs in French directing us to the visitor’s center.
I arched an eyebrow at Tristan and he shrugged. “Capitalism is alive and well in France.”
I chuckled.
The lot of us traveled down the path, following the plentiful signage. After checking in, and asking questions, we discovered there were both guided tours and self tours. Apparently, the benefit of the guided tours was that you could cross the small fences that protected the stones from errant tourists, and read inscriptions the inscriptions on them.