by Kade Cook
“Yes, she was thought to be merely human, so she was never enlightened to the knowledge of the Realm,” Cimmerian discloses.
Adrinn clasps his hands together in front of his face and presses them tightly against his lips as his mouth draws up widely at the sides. He begins to circle Cimmerian’s body like a shark that has just caught the scent of blood in the water.
“Well, my dear man, in order for me to rescue your beloved Symone, I will need energy—much more than I have now,” Adrinn admits. “And since Cera was so kind as to have my gifts bound, restricting my ability to obtain my own energy, I am in need of a donor.”
“So what does this have to do with the girl?”
“Considering that most Borrowers within the Realm are aware of the story of whom and what I am, it would be quite unlikely that one of them would be willing to have anything to do with me, let alone want to give me their essence. Most likely they would probably react with the same display that you did when we began this conversation.”
Cimmerian nods his head in concurrence with Adrinn’s reasoning, still unsure of his true intentions toward the girl.
“She is vulnerable and will be angry about her parent’s deception. Chances are, she will rebel as most children do. If I can somehow manage to befriend her and earn her allegiance then maybe I can also sway her to lend me some energy. The necessary measures I need in order to enter the inner depths of Erebus and retrieve your precious Symone.”
The edges of Cimmerian’s eyes wrinkle as he furrows his brow. He flattens his hands and presses them tightly together—lifting his fingers to rest snug against his lips. His untrusting nature probes him to inquire more deeply into Adrinn’s true motives. “All right, that I can comprehend but what are you truly after? What is in it for you, Adrinn? I have known you for years and in that last few, before you were bound, you proved yourself to be selfish and unkind. So far in your confession, I have only heard of you giving forth. What is it that you expect to gain in return?”
Laughing at Cimmerian’s last few words, he twists his brow, amused by his perception then sighs. “Always the pragmatist, Cimmerian? You never could just accept a show of kindness when you saw one.” He continues to laugh mockingly.
“Not when it comes from the likes of you,” Cimmerian sneers, grinding his teeth and squeezing his hands into fists as he snaps back sternly. “So I will ask you again, what is in it for you?”
“Very well then, if you must know, I would like to someday leave this retched entrapment and be free of this binding, but as we both know, because a Silver Mage has cast it…”
“Only a Silver can dissolve it. Yes, I am well aware of the way things work,” Cimmerian expels, understanding Adrinn’s true intentions. “You want someone to find a Silver Mage to break the spell.”
“Precisely!” he cheers mockingly and slides toward him, stopping mere inches from Cimmerian’s face. “You are more clever than you look.”
Cimmerian shoots him a poisonous glare and steps through his antagonistic irritant. He moves forward with both hands entangled neatly behind his back, scuffing his heels in the dirt with each step as he mulls over the proposed concept. Idling in thought for a moment, he stops abruptly to glare over his shoulder.
“Even if you could find a Silver Mage, which is a highly improbable feat I might add, how would you ever manage to coerce them into thinking that it might be a good idea to set you free?”
“Ah, baby steps, my good Mage, baby steps. First, we deal with the wild youngling and bringing your daughter back, then we find the Silver Mage.” Adrinn’s lips turn upward into a sinister looking curve—an attempt to assure his potential counterpart that his needs would be met forthright. “You would have me reveal the ending to the story before it has barely begun. Now I ask you old boy, where is the fun in that?”
Chapter Fourteen
Fable or Fact
GABRIAN GENTLY RUBS her eyes, trying to clear them of the haze that has clouded her sight. She watches as the light of day slowly breaks through the night’s darkness and creeps its way through her window. The shadowy figures in the room that haunted her sleep through the night begin to shift and take shape. Subtle shades of sepia sharpen their contours and reveal them to be nothing more than lifeless furniture in the comforting light of dawn.
Her eyes sweep the room, taking inventory. She swiftly sits up in bed, astutely aware that she is not in her Manhattan apartment. There is nothing recognizable in the room. Her memory replays fragments of flashbacks of all the strange anomalies that have invaded her world in the past couple of days. The last thing she remembers is being trapped in her apartment—surrounded by what she would consider psychopaths—then losing consciousness. She hears the thundering of her pulse in her ears as her heart beats wildly beneath her chest at her sudden realization; she has been kidnapped.
A familiar voice breaks through the chaotic whirlwind of her panic attack.
“Did you sleep well?” the soothing words waft across the room.
Gabrian’s eyes dart in the direction of the owner.
Leaning up against the side of the bedroom doorway, holding a steaming cup of coffee, Gabrian’s heart begins to melt and tears blur her vision as she gazes upon her captor—the most caring and supportive person she has ever known. With her dark, chocolate-coloured hair tied up in a messy bun, and sporting a rustic pair of track pants with her favourite Eighties cutoff sweatshirt covered in paint, stands her mother. She is a sight for sore eyes.
Searching the space encompassing her mother, Gabrian finds no colour, no light, and no aura. She unclenches her muscles and sighs in relief, immediately dismissing the entire traumatic experience as a late night binge-eating induced nightmare. Though confused as to how she came to be in her mother’s new home without recollection, she contemplates the idea that she must have already finished her last two weeks of work and is now on her promised vacation.
She haphazardly tries to remember any details of how she got there—did she drive, take a plane?—but she cannot seem to recall anything. Her mind is groggy. Her flesh feels heavy upon her bones and aches from the surge of wasted adrenaline. Gabrian convinces her internal detective that her brain is in reboot mode—asleep in a haze, and she will remember the specifics when she is fully awake. Lowering her head back down to rest upon her pillow, she closes her eyes, happy to be safe with people she loves and trusts.
With the fear of being kidnapped now dissolved, Gabrian can smell the tantalizing aroma of caffeine that beckons to her from amidst the cup her mother cradles within her hands, and she ponders the thought of getting up.
“I slept fine, but what a nightmare I had! What did we eat last night?” Gabrian inquires, massaging her temples.
For a fraction of a moment, Sarapheane’s loving face loses it serenity, but she recovers her smile quickly before Gabrian notices.
“Hey kiddo, when you are ready, get dressed and come down for some breakfast,” she suggests softly. “We will catch up then. Okay?”
“Sure, that sounds great, Mom.” The smell of bacon cooking in the kitchen has edged its way up the stairs, presenting itself within her room. Her stomach grumbles with approval to its intrusion. “Do you mind if I take a shower first? I feel gross this morning—like I got hit by a train or something.” She laughs, forcing herself to sit up again.
“Sure, Gabe.” Sarapheane reaches out and pulls at the handle of the ajar door beside her, peeking her head in. “Everything you need should be on the shelf.” She starts to leave then stops and looks back at Gabrian. “It is so good to see you, sweetie. Your dad and I are so pleased that you are here.” Her eyes glisten, carrying a hint of worry at the edges. The curve of her mouth is upturned, but her lips tremble as her level of happiness wavers.
Gabrian notices the quiver this time and it tugs at her heart. “You too, Mom. I miss you more than you know.”
AFTER A HOT shower, Gabrian climbs out of the tub and wraps herself in the fuzzy pink floral robe hanging on the b
ack of the bathroom door. Her mom must have put it there while she was showering. She ties her long dark hair up in a messy knot and heads toward the smell of bacon and coffee.
Pausing on her mission momentarily, she scuffles her feet on the shag throw rug in the hallway just outside her room and inhales the familiar scent of her long-forgotten childhood. She gazes wide-eyed and open-mouthed in childlike admiration of all the beautiful art her parents have filled their home with. Some of it she recognizes from their Manhattan apartment where she spent her adolescent years, but the new paintings that hang tightly to the wall are incredible and abstract—a lot of black and white with minimal colour. Her mother must have started painting again. Pleased with this notion, she smiles.
An unsettling thought crosses her mind—if she did indeed arrive before last night then why does none of this seem familiar? At least one of these paintings should spark a recollection. Shaking her head in confusion, she shrugs and blames it on her fatigued state, continuing her journey toward the kitchen.
She begins her descent down the wooden spiral staircase that is enclosed on each side and it blinds and constricts her line of sight. She doesn’t remember this ever bothering her as a child but in a semi-agitated state already, she becomes quickly uncomfortable with this unavoidable restriction and rushes forward with a quickened pace. Bounding and leaping down multiple steps at a time, Gabrian happily reaches the bottom. She looks behind at her temporary entrapment and inhales deeply in reaching its release. She steps forward from the grasp of confinement and halts—standing motionless in a moment of awe.
Opening up before her is a huge, beckoning room—the kitchen. Its splendid lure that she had spent many a day playing in as a young child is made of handcrafted wood and stone. Cuddled next to the wall on her left stands a little nook just for two. In front of her, the large kitchen counter hugs the entire room. Beyond its embrace the sunken living area that is as large as it is open, for its appearance seems entirely made of glass. The sun, still low in the east, easily enters through the windows and warms the entire house, filling it with a welcoming and invigorating glow.
She develops a new understanding of her parents’ decision to move back to the country. Their city home was nice and comfortable but its beauty was lost in comparison to the ambience that now envelopes her.
In the center of the vast room, stands a large wooden table nearly the size of a barn door, and it is topped with platters piled with toast, bacon, eggs, and more importantly, yields a spouted portable thermos most likely filled with coffee.
Gabrian hurries across the kitchen floor and slides eagerly into the wooden chair seated at the table across from her mom. She reaches for the thermos. Feeling the warmth of its holdings against her skin, she shivers with delight and tips the top of the container downward, pouring the dark liquid into the cup in front of her. She douses it with cream, a splash of the maple syrup that rests coyly beside the toast and raises it to her mouth—taking a sip. The savory warm liquid is heavenly, and her delight is freely displayed upon her face.
“Some things never change!” her mother teases as she watches Gabrian’s moment of rapture with her coffee.
Now aware that her mother is watching her every move, Gabrian gives her a cheeky smile and takes another sip. “Nectar of the Gods!” she purrs with triumph. “Where is Dad this morning?” Gabrian asks, reaching for some bacon and a slice of homemade toast.
“He had some things to take care of in town. He will be back soon to give you a hug.” Unhappy about lying to her daughter, she smiles and tries to figure out how she is going to say what she needs to say to Gabrian.
***
AFTER ORRORYN ARRIVED with Gabrian yesterday, Jarrison, Orroryn, Vaeda, and herself discussed briefly about whether or not it would be best if they just came right out and told Gabrian about the Realm and her part in it instead of pretending she was still a child protected by wards and cloaking spells. Since those no longer worked, obviously, keeping her in the dark about who she is could be devastating to her once she figures it out on her own—not to mention how dangerous it would be to everyone around her.
***
AFTER BREAKFAST, GABRIAN falls into step with helping her mother clean up the dishes and tidying up the table. Being close to her mom again and making idle chitchat reminds her of how much she truly misses her parents. After the chores are done, Sarapheane pours herself another coffee, deciding that it is time.
“Go grab yourself another coffee, Gabe, and come sit with me a while.” Sarapheane touches Gabrian on the cheek lightly with the back of her fingers and steps down into the sitting room, directly to the side of the wooden table in front of the large stone fireplace.
Gabrian senses something heavy in her mother’s voice. She grabs another coffee and goes to sit with her.
“Is everything alright?” she asks, although she is unsure if she really wants to know the answer.
“Gabrian, there are some things that your father and I have been meaning to speak to you about,” Sarapheane begins. “But there just never seemed to be a good time or a right time to bring them up. Watching you grow up has been such a wonder and a blessing that we did not want to interrupt any of the incredible things that you were accomplishing with any unnecessary weight.”
Confused as to where her mother is going with this, Gabrian’s comfort level wanes. She shifts in her chair, coddling her warm cup against her chest, and begins to twist knots in a stray strand of her hair. Is she trying to tell Gabrian that she and her father are getting a divorce? She is at a loss and has no idea what direction this conversation is going to take.
“Just tell me what you need to say, Mom. I am a big girl, and I can handle it. I have even gone to university and earned a diploma that says so,” she teases in an attempt to lighten the mood. Unbeknown to Gabrian, the mood was going to get a lot heavier.
Unsure of how she is going to convey the truth without frightening her or making her upset, Sarapheane realizes she just needs to begin. “Your father and I are so proud of you.”
“Yes, Mom, I know,” Gabrian replies, uneasily taking a sip of her coffee. “You have made that clear many times.”
“And you know that we love you.”
“Mother!” Gabrian growls, wrinkling her brow and giving her mom the stink-eye in hopes of encouraging her to just get on with it. She never has been one for wading through the mud at low tide in order to get to deeper waters. “Please, just tell me.”
If she is going to make Gabrian understand, she must start from the beginning and tell her everything. She takes a deep breath, a sip of her coffee, and looks out the window at the ocean that lies before her as the words find their way to her lips.
“In the beginning of mankind, as the clans evolved and divided, there came to be a group of souls that were much more exceptional than the rest—a gifted people. They lived in peace among the other clans for many years and at first these people were all known as the Aucyen Arguros or in the common tongue, the Ancient Silver ones.” Sarapheane watches as Gabrian’s brow lifts in disbelief as she listens.
“But as nature would have it, because of their special abilities to do inexplicable things, the other clans began to distrust them. Fear arose amongst those who did not hold such powers. Once rivalry and conflict began to arise within the clans, the others were stripped of their knowledge about the Silvers’ abilities. Their minds were swept clean by the Mages with compulsion that was learned by the Elders and thus forward kept in the dark about what they were and the gifts that they possessed since the humans were known to be a cruel race at times, especially about things they could not comprehend.”
Unable to take her mother seriously, Gabrian laughs reflexively at her mother’s attempts to enlighten her. Wanting to play along, Gabrian bites for information. “Mages...Like ‘witches and warlock’ stuff?”
“Yes.”
“So your big serious talk is just you wanting to tell me a scary bedtime story? Seriously?” She wonders if he
r mother has somehow fallen off her rocker after she retired and moved out to the ends of the Earth. “About witches? I think it is a bit early in the day for that mother.”
“Gabrian, please, just listen,” Sarapheane insists, placing her hand gently but firm against the top of her daughter’s knee—a straight line drawn across her mouth erases the humor from its edges. As crazy as she knows this must sound to her daughter, she has to know the truth.
Taking another sip of her coffee, Gabrian waves her free hand in surrender to her mother’s wishes. “Okay, fine, you win!” she says, unable to wipe the grin from her face, convinced that her mother has lost it. Gabrian based her entire life on logistic conclusions and hopes there will be one at the end of her mother’s story. Nothing so far has even come close to resembling anything logical.
“Over time, the Mages and the humans became more integrated, even coupling in marriage at times. Although the Elders frowned upon it, it was not entirely forbidden. If a human proved worthy, then they were permitted to become one of the people of the Realm. Once a member, they were compelled to secrecy and only then were the gifts of the ancient Silvers revealed to them. Only then were their eyes awakened and the silver-coloured auras of the Mages would be visible to them.”
As the secrets within her mother’s story begin to unravel, hitting a bit closer to home, Gabrian desists her mocking grin as the word ‘aura’ is mentioned. All the memories of her so-called nightmare come flooding back, it dawns on her that it may not have been a nightmare at all. Suddenly, she is stricken with anxiety and nausea. Eyes that were filled with mockery and jest are now attentive with their plea to be sincere. She gazes with new eyes upon her mother who has stopped talking, patiently waiting for her to mentally catch up. Gabrian clings tighter to her mug of coffee and secures it to her chest like a child hugging its favourite comfort toy in order to feel safe.