Shattered Secrets

by Krystal Wade

  “That,” Mr. Snellings said, “and they believe if our Guardians are killed, then the Maker will treat us as they have been treated for one-hundred years.”

  “Will he?”

  Mark laughed as though I asked a dumb question after the teacher announced the answer. He seemed colder, angrier, less like the pushy guy I always thought him to be and more like a serial killer. And his muscles were larger, as if he’d worked out every day for the last three days and doubled his size every night. Maybe he took the warrior’s training?

  “Watch it.” Derick leaned forward, ready to lunge across the table and take down Mark.

  “Or what? You’re going to introduce your fists to my face? Do you really think you can hurt me, Derick?”

  “I’d love to find out.”

  Derick jumped to his feet, but I grabbed his arm and pulled him back. I didn’t like this Mark at all, this cocky, willing-to-fight-for-no-reason side of him, and more fighting would get us nowhere.

  “Do me a favor, Mark?” I asked.

  His smug expression melted into something much more civilized, a coy smile spreading across his face, more like the guy I went to preschool with. “Anything.”

  “Stop being an ass.”

  This time Derick laughed.

  I crossed my arms and leaned my elbows on the table. “Mr. Snellings, why wouldn’t the Maker abandon us?”

  “Simple.” Mark and Derick were locked in some sort of staring contest, but somehow Mark found a way to interrupt and answer for his father, whose nostrils flared every time we strayed further from our original line of conversation. “The Maker loves us.”

  “He does. But the true answer is not quite as simple as Mark defines. The Maker loves life. And he created us to protect that life: the mountains, the streams, the people. He trusts Guardians to do that more than he trusts the rest of us because your kind has served him without question and without significant failures… until recently. However, if you were all killed, I have no doubt he would once again create your kind from his blood, or transform those of us left behind into you.”

  “And therein lies the problem.” Mr. Crawford spoke evenly, addressing us all, his hands clasped and resting in front of him. “I’m sure Mr. Snellings would prefer the latter scenario. Wouldn’t you? Your family has vied for an Elder’s seat almost as long as you’ve sworn to protect the Dorans. And look where that has them? They’re all dead except for her!”

  “You’re accusing me of murder because I believe we should all be afforded opportunity to lead, but what of you?” Mr. Snellings flung his chair aside and leaned across the table, pressing his fingers against the polished surface and draining them of color. “You were the last person Brendan saw before he died. In fact, you’ve traveled to Guardian locations all over the world just before those Guardians were killed. Is it just coincidence you’ve moved here and now Abigail is in danger? Or are your intentions as dark as you accuse mine to be?”

  “If you were half as good at protecting people as you are allowing your anger to get the best of you, maybe Brendan would still be alive. You never should have left his side.”

  Mr. Snellings’s eyes flashed with scorn, maybe even a little pain. “Brendan commanded me to stay with his daughter.”

  “Well, I think we’ve heard enough.” Derick’s mother came to stand behind me and placed her cool hands on my shoulders. “The two of you can quarrel like you have since your days in the academy, but do it on your own time. I think you’re showing a horrible lack of respect for Abigail and her parents, whom you were both fond of, and I think we can all agree on that.”

  Mr. Snellings took a deep breath and straightened, then fixed his gaze on me. “Forgive me. You did ask that we’d speak of your parents first, and what Adam and I need to discuss, we can do so privately. However, you are not safe. Remember that, no matter who you care for.”

  He shifted his gaze to Derick, who still smiled up at his mother. She hadn’t changed; she was still kind and worried about others, still comforting with the way she spoke. And if she hadn’t changed, I doubted anyone else had either. Nothing Mr. Snellings accused Mr. Crawford of sat well with me, no matter how the Crawfords chose to raise their son or who was near the other Guardians when they were murdered.

  I wanted so badly to talk to my parents and ask them what to do. They would know who I should trust and where I should put my faith, but they were gone. Yet they were the only reason I remained at this table. Mom and Dad stayed strong for me. I would do the same for them. “About my mom and dad? Was their death…”—I couldn’t say painful, that’s not something anyone should think about, but I had to know how it happened, what the officers did—“How were they killed?”

  “They died honorably, Abigail,” Mrs. Snellings said. “Take comfort in that.”

  Whatever the police did, my parents’ death was too awful to describe. Why else would anyone say something so vague? I closed my eyes and tried picturing their faces, but all I saw were Megan and Will on the beach again. Mr. Snellings said I wasn’t safe, but the opposite seemed to be true: everyone around me wasn’t safe.

  Derick grasped my trembling hand. “You mentioned they told you where to find the—”

  “In our traditional custom, we burn the remains of our fallen and spread them to sea,” Mrs. Crawford said. “We believe the Maker hovered over the gaseous waters which made up this planet, before they became oceans and lakes and streams, and created all life from the water. So we send our souls back the way we received them.”

  Blood surged through me, and I thought for sure my small lunch was about to make a reappearance. “So you’re telling me… you’re saying…?”

  “We had to.” Mr. Snellings paced between the black sliding glass door of the control room and our small group of stranded Kalóans. “We had to protect the humans, and it was the only way we could bring them to you.”

  “They’re here?”

  Mark ducked under the table and rustled around in a black duffel bag. He pulled out two wooden urns, one with a delicately carved rose on the lid, the other with a radiant sun half-obscured by the horizon. Mark set them in front of me, keeping his narrow gaze locked on me, then returned to his seat.

  I didn’t need anyone to tell me which box was which. Dad loved giving me roses, and Mom used to sit out on our front porch with a mug of hot tea and watch the sky until there was nothing left but the stars and moon. Any time she caught me in a lie, she’d say, “In the great words of Elvis Presley: truth is like the sun. You can shut it out for a time, but it ain’t going away.”

  Maybe everyone knew my father enjoyed bringing me flowers, but I’m not sure how Mark and his family knew my mom so well.

  I never heard her repeat that quote to anyone else.

  Ever.

  “Thank you.” I rubbed my fingertips along the carvings but didn’t know how to react in front of all these people. My mom was inside here. Not arms and legs and warmth and smiles, but ashes. They were ashes. Gone from this world. Gone, gone, gone.

  “Why don’t you spend some alone time with them?” Mr. Crawford said, “We’ll hold a small ceremony when you’re ready.”

  “I’m not sure I want to sit in the dark any longer. Besides, my dad wouldn’t be happy with me if he knew I was crying in my room over his ashes.” I took a long look at the urns, grabbed them, then made my way outside, biting my lip to keep it from trembling. I would be the woman my parents raised me to be. I would be strong, and I wouldn’t allow anyone to influence me again. Not again.

  The yacht glided across the water, and the breeze picked up my hair and sent it in all directions. I closed my eyes and breathed in the fresh air, finding a glimmer of peace in the sound of the waves and the seagulls trailing behind us, making it infinitesimally easier not to cry.

  “You are very brave, Abigail, but then, I’ve always known that.” Mr. Crawford placed his hands on my shoulders and stooped until he was eye-level with me, searching, asking without words, for an answer to
a question I knew he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask. “Are you ready to let them go?”

  I held his striking blue gaze, searching for my own answer, some sort of sign I shouldn’t trust him. But I couldn’t find one. He was Derick’s father, the man next door, a friend of the family—even if my father was jealous of his money and my affection for his son. So I knew he had to be the one to help me move forward, and even though I’d probably never be ready to let my parents go, I had to. They deserved respect, and if what Mrs. Crawford said was true, I wanted them to go home to the Maker, to be at rest. “Yes.”

  Everyone else came out and joined us, forming a small circle behind me, Will and Megan included. They stayed a couple steps away from the others, shifting their focus from Mark and his family to me and the Crawfords. Will caught me looking around and bent his head forward, then wrapped his arm around Megan’s shoulders. She smiled up at him.

  Finally. But what changed?

  “Some traditions call for the ashes to be tossed into the water, and the oldest, most ceremonial traditions call for ashes to be sprinkled while the song of our people is sung,” Mr. Crawford said. “The Dorans have always followed the old ways.”

  “But my parents weren’t Dorans.”

  He smiled. “But they loved a Doran. A lot.”

  “I’ll sing,” Mark’s mother said, stepping away from Mark and her husband.

  My chest constricted, but I would not break down. “Thank you.”

  Mr. Crawford cleared his throat. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  Opening both boxes with shaking hands, I nodded. Mrs. Snellings began singing of war and blood, of hurt and destruction. Her words about people murdering without reason were high-pitched and heartfelt, and pierced straight through to my heart. Each time she paused for breath, I scooped up a handful of ashes and scattered them into the churning trails of the boat, my eyes welling with unshed tears. When I had nothing left of my parents but remnants on my hands, I listened until she completed her song. It was a story about why Guardians were created and how they brought balance, how that balance was destroyed by the spirits, and also why peace would only ever be something to hope for.

  Everyone stepped forward and patted me on the back and whispered words I barely paid attention to, then returned inside until all that remained were Mr. Crawford and Derick standing on either side of me, staring out over the dark waters.

  I wasn’t sure whether I liked the fraction of space Derick gave me or not. I wasn’t sure about anything. If I listened to the ocean and pretended the rest of the world didn’t exist, I couldn’t describe my feelings. Was I alone? Was I crowded? Did my heart hurt? Did my soul feel battered? Maybe I felt all of these things. Now that I’d tossed my family’s ashes in the ocean, maybe I wanted to take control of the ship and seek out Boredas and Ruckus to exact revenge. Then again, maybe I’d read too many books and watched too many movies. One thing I was certain of: I wasn’t unhappy until I touched History of Kalós. Everything it told me to do only brought me pain, and I didn’t have room for much more of that.

  “Mr. Crawford?”

  “Yes?” he asked sheepishly.

  I sucked in a sharp breath and rushed my words out before I lost my resolve, “I’m going to open the planes.”

  “That’s risky, especially while Aedan wants you dead.”

  I thought back to the words Mrs. Snellings sang, about why the Maker created us. “What’s our purpose if the doors are closed?”

  “We heard the song, Dad.” Derick crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the railing. “I’m pretty sure you wanted us to hear it.”

  “And I know you want to go back. It was written all over your face when you took me to that fallen log in the forest.”

  Derick met my eyes and smiled, and for a moment I longed for the days we used to sit on that tree and just be kids. I longed for the parents who’d occasionally venture out to locate us when we stayed out there too late.

  “I didn’t say I disagree. But you should know not everyone will consent to your idea—and it is dangerous—so keep this between us for now.” Mr. Crawford headed inside but turned just before sliding the door closed. “We need to discuss what to do with your friends and our plan to get you to safety. I’ll come for you shortly.”

  Derick and I took a seat on the bench and stared up at the stars. He didn’t contradict what I’d just done, and I didn’t need much more approval than that. Maybe it was time to go home, allow Kalóans and Fávlosi in and out of the planes.

  Maybe it was time to do what the Maker intended for us to do.

  If we did, maybe I wouldn’t lose anyone else I loved.

  hat do you mean you want us to leave?”

  Will rounded on Derick, nostrils flared, but Derick didn’t back down. He stood in the entryway of Will and Megan’s room with his broad shoulders squared and chin held high, facing someone who didn’t know when to run for his life, delivering the news his parents forced him to deliver.

  “Neither of you would be alive if it weren’t for my help.”

  True, but they still had to go. “Will—”

  “Don’t.” He looked over Derick’s shoulder and glared at me. “I don’t want to hear how we’d be better off somewhere else. You’ve met my father. We’re just as safe with you as we are anywhere. Besides, you know almost as much about the world you’re living in as we know about it… and this is my boat.”

  How could we argue with someone so logical? Because we had to.

  The Crawfords and Snellings may not have been able to agree on much, but they found a way to break through their differences and come to the same conclusion about sending Will and Megan back to their families. That, and the fact running was our only option. According to Derick’s father, we all once existed on the same plane. The Maker and Taker constructed large sanctuaries all over the world for their followers to live in, offering us reprieve from war. The sacred grounds still served as safe havens, as Fávlosi spirits could not step foot on hallowed ground. Nor could we enter their sanctum. One such sanctuary sat only ten miles from my house in Virginia. And that’s exactly where this ship was heading—without Will and Megan.

  Derick closed the bedroom door and then flung himself down on the leather couch; I skirted around Will and joined him.

  “Look,” Derick said, “We get it. Both of us. But we don’t have much choice here. We just sat through two hours of lectures upstairs. These are the instructions from our parents.”

  I winced. Could anyone qualify as my parents? I was an orphan, twice over. My face burned, but I took a couple deep breaths and pushed the emotions aside. This conversation wasn’t about me.

  Will sat on the edge of the bed, next to Megan, and rested his palms on the silvery comforter. “There’s always a choice. You just don’t want to make this one. Why?”

  Derick and I exchanged a brief glance and before we could say anything else, Mark barged into the room with an air of anger that seemed fitting of him lately, all crossed arms and hard stares.

  “Seriously, guys. I know you hate me”—he pointed at Derick, his eyes on me, then crossed his arms—“but everyone else on this ship is old. Don’t leave me with the prunes, okay?”

  Without looking up, I waved in Mark’s direction. “I know you’ve met Mark, Megan, but do you know him, Will?”

  “I’ve seen him around the halls at school.”

  Mark nodded a hello and then sat on the other side of me, a little too close for comfort. The innocent, nice guy act Mark had always fronted fell away when the truth about my life came out. Now Mark gave me the creeps. He narrowed his eyes and glanced around the room as though searching for something, taking in the empty dresser, the bed, the side table covered with scotch glasses. He moved with such calculation, like he enjoyed making us squirm. I slid nearer to Derick; I would have climbed on his lap if I had to.

  Everyone stared at Mark, and thick, almost touchable, tension filled the room.

  “Oh, come on. Don’t let m
e break up your friendly conversation.” He leaned forward and smiled at Derick. “You were just about to tell him why you won’t let them stick around and get themselves killed.” Mark shifted his gaze and settled it on Will and Megan. “And really, guys, you should leave. They’ve seen you die. There’s hardly any escaping a Cognizant’s vision, no matter how hard they try to protect you, so I suggest you go enjoy yourselves while you still can. If you know what I mean.”

  Idiot. “You were eavesdropping?”

  “What does he mean?” Megan asked, her voice barely a whimper.

  “Don’t you think that’s a little harsh, Abby?” He laughed and sat back, propping one leg up on his other knee. “It’s not exactly like this ship is soundproof. Maybe I have super-awesome hearing. Or maybe I eavesdropped on your conversation with the geezers just before you came down here. And frankly, I’m glad we’re heading back to Virginia. This kind of heat in December is unnatural.”

  “What does he mean?” Her words were a little louder now, but I’d answer Megan in a minute.

  “Whatever, Mark. Who are you?”

  “I’m the same guy you’ve known since we were wearing diapers and enrolled at Minnieland, remember? Now I just get to show you the amazing side of me I’ve had to hide all these years because your dad wanted you to have a normal life.” He laughed again. “Why he thought that would do you any good is beyond me, but maybe that’s why Guardians are all extinct now.”

  I slapped him. Hard.

  “Ow,” he said, rubbing his cheek. “What was that for?”

  Megan jumped to her feet. “What. Does. He. Mean?”

  Mark looked at her standing above us with a face as red as the handprint on his own. “What I mean, Megan, is that Derick and Abby have the ability to see the future, and they’ve seen you die. If they’d told you that, you probably would have left them alone a long time ago. Though that means Will’s dad’s goons would have killed them on the beach yesterday.”

  Her eyes watered, but she didn’t move, didn’t spew hatred at him like I wanted to, didn’t allow tears to fall. She didn’t do anything.