by Sacha Black
“Thank you,” I say once he’s finished. He nods and disappears to help another injured Keeper.
I turn to Trey, “Are you okay?”
He nods, “Are you?”
“Healed. But annoyed I missed the smoke marbles. We could’ve used them to trace the attackers.”
“How much do you love me?” he says, grinning.
I raise an eyebrow. “Really?” I ask, “time and place, Trey.”
“Just answer the question.”
“Fine. A lot.”
He raises his fist, uncurling his palm. Rolling between his index finger and thumb is a glass marble.
Seven
Never shall the weather falter. If it falters, so too, shall we - Balance Proverb
The Guild of Investigations always smells of explosions and fish. The fishy waft is because the Guild is so close to the Blood Ocean. But I’m never sure if the aroma of burnt materials and ash is as a result of the Guild’s experimental research or because Sorcerers, in general, have a thing for blowing stuff up. Someone’s obviously been trigger happy today because as Trey and I exit the Guild, the acrid stench is spreading into the street.
Once the wounded were attended to in the glade, Arden asked us to come straight here to drop the marble off to the investigations team for analysis and deconstruction. Whoever those rebels are, and whatever they’ve used to create the smoke marbles, the Sorcerers will find out.
Trey grasps my hand as we walk down the path. “I don’t want to go back to Stratera yet,” he says, veering right down another cobbled street that leads to the docks. “Come on.”
We meander toward the docks, a growing unease weaving its way around my insides. Before the rebel attack, Trey forbid me from talking about his mother. But maybe the attack changed that? What if we’d died, and I never told him what I was trying to do? Who would have told Kato his mother is alive? He deserves to know what happened as much as Trey does. A knot of guilt slopes around my insides. I have to hope the attack changed his mind because when Hermia finds her, and I know she will, I’ll have no choice but to tell him.
As we reach the docks, the afternoon sun crests the horizon, orange and yellow streaks pouring over the clouds. We sit on the dock front, Trey a foot away from the edge, ever careful not to get too close to the ocean. The Mermaids bite, and after they lost the war against the Sirens, they especially like to bite them. As an Elemental, I’m safe, so I kick off my shoes and let my feet skim the cool water. My toes wriggle in the surface of the ocean until something slimy brushes against my heel, and I yank my feet out. Maybe not as safe as I thought.
As the sun dies, the orange liquid changes, burning the blood red color that gives the ocean its name. I shudder, put my shoes back on, and slip my hand over the cobbles to Trey’s. He pulls me closer, sliding his arm around my shoulders and resting his forehead on mine.
The last rays of sun wrap us in a fading blanket of warmth. I close my eyes, relaxing into his arms. My guard drops allowing my Elemental powers to drift into the wind, feeling it, sensing it, and coaxing some of the evening air back into my system. I open my eyes and frown, pulling away from him. The air is tight, the breeze too fresh, cut with an angry-sharpness that doesn’t belong in the West. I stretch my senses out again, pushing and prodding the air until I find the anomaly. It’s slight, a tiny hiccup in the Balance, but it’s definitely there.
“What’s wrong?” Trey says.
“I’m not sure. An anomaly in the wind.” But as soon as I say it, it disappears. “Doesn’t matter, it’s already gone,” I shrug. “It can’t have been anything; it was tiny anyway.”
“Okay,” he says, winding his fingers through mine, “there’s something I want to ask you.”
“Oh?”
He lets go of my hand and checks around us as if making sure we’re alone. Just as I’m about to ask him what’s going on, he says, “There’s an ancient Siren ritual. A kind of coronation of sorts for Siren Fallons and their Balancers. Not everyone takes the ceremony. My mother didn’t. But it’s important to me.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because of what we will control.”
“Control? We already control two of the five Trutinor States as well as far more magic than most Keepers. What more could you want to control?”
“Pure power.”
“Power?” I say, raising an eyebrow.
“I need to show you. But the only way to see is to go through with the Siren ritual.”
I smile at him, bring his face down to mine, and push my mouth onto his, kissing him, slow, deep, and full of static electricity popping under my lips. He hitches back from the dock edge and pulls me closer. Careful not to fall into the water, I slide my legs over his until I’m sat on his lap. He grips his arms around my waist, his eyes glancing between me and the water.
“We’re not going to fall,” I grin, the glint of danger in my eye. Well, I’m like, ninety percent sure we won’t. But I sort of like how the ten percent is making my stomach clench.
“You know I’d do anything for you, right?” I say.
His shoulders relax, “Is that a yes?”
“It’s a yes.”
He lifts me up, smiling and laughing. This time, I yelp with terror as my feet dangle precariously over the water. He brings me down, laying me on the dock and sliding down next to me. He leans over me so he can stroke my hair and shower my face with kisses.
“We’ll do it tomorrow,” he says between caresses. “Before Stratera starts on Monday.”
“Okay,” I say, relaxing under his touch. I close my eyes, giggling where his lips tickle me.
Images flash across my mind: Me. Victor. Trey. A knife. Trutinor in ruins. And blood. So. Much. Blood. My eyes snap open, and I gasp for breath.
“Stop,” I say, hauling myself up. “Stop. I need a second.”
“What’s wrong?” he says, scanning my face.
“Another dream-flashback.”
“That’s it,” he says, “I’m taking you to see someone.” He pulls out his CogTracker before I can protest and starts tapping out a message.
“Come on,” he grabs my hand and pulls me up, “we’re going back to Stratera. I want you to meet someone.”
I pat the cobble dust off my clothes and pull my hands over my face and through my hair trying to wipe the images away. But as we head toward Titus and Luna City’s central station, I can’t seem to shift the shadow of my dreams.
The train from Luna City in the West to Stratera on the South border is a couple of hours long. Under Trey’s insistence, Titus used the private Steampunk line to get us back to the academy faster. Despite every ounce of me wanting to stay awake, as evening drew over the sky and the light faded, the train’s rhythmic rocking lulled me into a doze.
I wake as the train pulls into Stratera. Sitting bolt upright, sweat nestled in the crook of my neck, I see Trey perched on the edge of the armchair right next to mine, holding a damp cloth.
“I wasn’t sure what else to do,” he says, a slight hint of pink on his cheeks. Trey never blushes, he’s far too controlled.
“No, that’s… It’s really thoughtful. Thank you,” I say, sitting back.
“Was it bad?” he says.
I nod, not wanting to vocalize the nightmare I just went through because it was more gruesome than normal. I take the cloth and pat the sweat off my face trying to rid myself of the image of me standing by the Pink Lake drawing a knife over Trey’s olive skin. As the blade cut into the flesh of his throat, flecks of his blood splattered over my face; tiny hot dots of red that I couldn’t rub away. Blood flowed in steady spurts, covering his neck and clothes and swirling into the water until the pink liquid turned poison red.
I manage to push the dream away, but I can’t shake the sensation of his sticky blood on my face no matter how hard I rub the cloth over my cheeks.
We leave Nyx and Titus at the station. They both kiss me goodbye. Nyx squeezes far too tight as usual, and whispers, “I really am going to m
ake plans for that grand ball on your return.”
I keep my lips pressed shut, hoping it’s a joke but doubting it is, and Trey and I head for the station exit and out into Stratera.
The evening air is off. I close my eyes sending my essence out into the wind; the same prickle I felt in the West has tinged the air here too. Trey touches my back, jolting me alert.
“Everything alright?” he asks.
“Sort of.” Like before the strangeness has disappeared again. “I keep feeling anomalies in the air. It’s probably nothing, come on.” But as I dismiss it, my gut kicks back.
Trey leads me toward Stratera Coffee, a coffee shop in the center of the main academy street. It’s busy, probably because it’s central and no one knows where anything else is yet.
“We’re meeting her in here,” he says, “grab a seat if you can, and I’ll get the coffee.”
He dances around some fellow students and heads for the enormous queue. I take a seat on a simple wooden chair in the corner and stare out the window at the dark night sky wondering what’s causing the anomalies.
“Eden?” a Siren woman says, interrupting my thoughts.
I look up; she’s wearing navy hot pants and a plain white t-shirt. Her brown hair is short and cropped like a pixie. I’ve no idea who she is, although the longer I stare at her, the more familiar she looks. She smiles and holds out a tanned hand, “Felicia Fensley.”
I shake it, and she leans down and pulls me forward to air kiss both my cheeks.
“You probably don’t remember me,” she says, displaying a set of perfectly straight teeth. “I work for Trey. We met briefly in his bar over the summer, while I was working with Sheridan.”
“Right, yes,” I say. That was the night I burned Titus’ hands not long after my parents died. I was struggling to control the additional power I’d inherited, and he was trying to help me. “That’s right; you were helping a Sorcerer with anxiety.”
“That was Sheridan,” she smiles, her blue eyes sparkling. “We… I mean she…” she stutters.
“Felicia, hey,” Trey says, returning and placing three coffees down on the wooden table. He turns to face Felicia; she puts her hand out flat, and Trey does the same. They touch palms: a Siren greeting. The air around their hands wobbles as they conduct a kind of instantaneous power exchange, each of them controlling the other’s emotions for an instant. I think it’s weird and intense and unnecessary. I’ve told Trey it’s the equivalent of dogs sniffing each other’s butts, but he just grumbled something about Elementals being as emotionally barren as the desert we come from. Which frankly, given Trey’s complete lack of confronting anything emotional, is a smidge ironic.
“I got us coffee,” Trey says once their greeting is finished, “how’s Sheridan doing?”
“Good actually. Since that night you saw us in the bar,” she nods to me, “her recovery’s been exponential. She’s able to leave the house by herself now, although she tends to stick to the same few places. But we’ve taken a trip back to her hometown, and she’s gone to open up the bar for me this evening.”
“That’s great news,” I say, smiling, “so you two are working in the bar now?”
“They are,” Trey says, “just while I’m at Stratera. What with Fallon duties, and study, I can’t really run it anymore.” I slip my hand under the table and reach for his. Our lives will never be our own; we’re pulled in too many directions. Which makes a knot of guilt loop around my stomach as I think about how much slack Nyx is picking up for me. I’m going to have to say yes to that weekend she mentioned.
“Thanks for coming,” Trey says, “I wanted to ask if Sheridan was working again?”
“Working? As in dream keeping?” Felicia leans back in her wooden chair, her penciled eyebrows rising as she sips her coffee. “Not really, but it depends who’s asking.”
“I am,” Trey says.
“Then yes, she is.”
“Good. We need your help,” he says, and nudges me.
“I’m having a sort of reoccurring dream. The content is different each time, but the outcome is the same.”
“I’ll speak to Sheridan. We set up a dream room in our apartment, so she can keep working.”
It takes me a minute to realize what she said. ‘Our apartment.’ Are they together? I glance at Trey, and he nods as if answering my question.
Felicia glances around before lowering her voice and leaning in to whisper, “Yours isn’t the only Binding that didn’t work.”
I give Trey a knowing look. ‘Potential’ Balancers are announced at Keepers School a few years before we’re Bound. Every so often, during a Binding Ceremony, a pair of Potentials will be Bound to other people. As if the Balance spontaneously changed its mind. It used to be a rare occurrence, but I’m hearing more and more rumors of Bindings being faulty. There was an Elemental girl in my year group, Rita, that went through it. She ended up being Bound to Trat Riplock, Victor’s best friend, but I haven’t seen her all summer.
Felicia chews her fingernail, before taking a huge gulp of coffee, “Petra, my Balancer, died in a Balance keeping mission not long after we were Bound. Sheridan’s ran off when she became housebound a couple of years ago. She’s not seen her since, but their Binding doesn’t seem to be affected.”
“Do you know where she went?” Trey says.
“No. But there are rumors…” her voice drops so low I have to turn my ear to hear her, “…of a rebel group with broken Bindings.”
Trey looks at me, the same thought going through both our minds. “I wonder if it was the same rebel group that attacked us,” he says.
I nod, “Some of the attackers had weird half-Binding scars like half their Binding was missing. Do you know anything else? Does Sheridan?” I ask.
“I don’t,” she says, but she doesn’t look at me when she says it, instead swilling the last dregs of her coffee around the cup, “but Sheridan should be able to help with the dreams.”
The coffee shop door tings as a group of our classmates walk in. Felicia puts her empty cup down, and Trey stands to walks her out. “I’ll be back in a minute, bar business,” he says. “I’ll sort a date with them for the dream stuff too,” and they disappear out of the coffee shop.
Digging in my pocket, I pull out my CogTracker. There’s mail from Hermia. My heart misses a beat. I glance around me to make sure Trey isn’t about to reappear and when I’m satisfied, open it.
Trey might have forbidden me from bringing up Lani, but that doesn’t mean I’ve dropped it. His mother is alive. I don’t care how angry he is; I’d kill to spend just one more hour with my mother. Besides, I want to know what she knows about the prophecy. There has to be more to it; I refuse to accept my parents died for a few lines scrawled on some ancient cog.
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: Lost & Found??
To: [email protected]
Still no news on Lani. But more progress on Victor. There are hotspots. Or, more correctly, dark, Imbalanced spots popping up over Trutinor.
* * *
I look out at the sky, wondering if they’re the same things I’ve been sensing in the air.
* * *
I’m convinced they’re connected to Victor so I’m mapping them in the hope it shows a pattern of movement I can use to pinpoint his location.
* * *
H x
“Ready?” Trey says, making me jump out of my skin and slam my CogTracker shut.
“Everything alright?” he says, taking my hand and pulling me out of my chair to kiss me.
“Yes, fine,” I lie, guilt already nestling into my chest.
“Good. We need an early night tonight. The Siren Ceremony is going to be intense tomorrow; I want us to enjoy it.”
I fold my lips shut to prevent myself spilling my secret and smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes, so I pick up my CogTracker and take his hand, leading him out of Stratera Coffee.
I will tell him. Just not today.
Eight
‘Custodes Cordis – Keepers of the Heart of Trutinor.’
The Lost Scriptures
‘The Heart Of Trutinor – The one true source of all Keeper power. The beating heart of Trutinor, the Balance, and existence.’
The Lost Scriptures
“Morning, head girl,” Trey says, leaning on the frame of our dormitory door. The sun beams from the window, pouring light over his glistening skin. He’s holding a drawstring bag over his shoulder and is wearing shorts instead of trousers.
“Been to the gym, have we?” I say as he saunters across the room, his veins throbbing in his pumped arms.
He slides onto the bed, “It’s going to be a long day; I wanted to get some exercise in first.”
“Should I be nervous about this ceremony?”
“No,” he puts his bag down and picks up my beeping CogTracker, handing it to me. He touches his forehead to mine and places a reassuring kiss on my lips. “It’s going to be fine. Check your tracker; we’ve been asked to help with the induction session on Monday.”
“Oh?” I say, taking my tracker, “I hadn’t seen, I’ve not long been awake.”
“More dreams?”
I nod and try to shake away the images of blood and his broken body. Victor was in my dream again last night; he pushed Trey off one of the tallest buildings in the East. When I peered over the parapet, the ground zoomed in. Trey’s head was split open, a halo of blood pooling around his skull, and his limbs were all deformed.
I flip open my tracker and locate the message. Our first head boy and girl duty is to meet in the foyer half an hour before the induction and help direct students.