Descendant (Secrets of the Makai) (37 page)

Ocean spray mixed with rain pelted his face, stinging his eyes. Lightning lit the fierce surf below, a warning for how high he was. He remembered the narrow ledge and waited for the next flash. Above, roots reached out at odd angles, but he could see no path. He stretched farther, cursing the falcon. There had to be a reason to come this way.

Tristan scanned the black sky, unable to find any answers.

He guessed where the ledge might start, a few feet above the tunnel, and tugged on the roots like ropes, testing for strength and stability. On the next flash, he pulled. His feet slipped and fear clawed in his throat, but the roots held.

With two high steps, he sat on the ledge, sucking in the wind. "Didn't I tell you I don't do heights?" Tristan yelled.

He inched himself into a standing position. The cloak would kill him before anything else; clinging to his legs and arms, choking him, and getting caught up on twiggy dead branches and uneven cracks. He tried to get rid of it with the numb fingers of one hand, unwilling to risk letting go of roots with the other. The decorative clasp simply wouldn't budge.

He gripped rocks when roots weren't available and took blind sidesteps along the ledge. When his footing gave way, he slid, twisting frantically to catch the nearest root. The cloak snagged on something and jerked him to a halt. He'd probably end up hanging himself, rather than smashed to a pulp on the rocks below. His feet thrashed, searching for a stable foothold.

Something snapped, dropping him sideways in a shower of loose rocks and mud. The cloak tightened around his neck. The box ripped from the silk pocket and fell toward the surf in what appeared to be slow motion. A final crash near the bottom sent a sparkle in one direction and fragments of wood in the other.

Tristan watched with horror and reached with his mind to save what he could. Nothing on Earth would make him give up now. A single rock and portions of the box flew into his outstretched hand. He held the pieces tight, momentarily forgetting his predicament in the excitement.
It worked!
He'd never tried retrieving something he hadn't set into motion himself, and it usually took time to study the properties in advance.

He opened his hand to see if he had the correct pieces, feeling a soothing warmth seep into his flesh. A transparent green prism the size of an oblong Ping-Pong ball flickered in time with the lightning. Gwenna's emerald, the one Sabbatini had killed her for. Tristan frowned at the rough edges, surprised the stone wasn't cut into some fancy gem-shape, fit for royalty. What was he supposed to do with it?

The stillness evaporated and he found himself hanging against the cliff by one hand. The freezing rain beat against him in thick waves. Not daring to risk losing the stone again, he searched for a safer place to carry it, finally jamming it into this mouth. He stuffed the box fragments back into the torn pocket and used the root like a rope to climb up to the ledge. Several hard yanks ripped the cloak free from the thorny bush that had probably saved his life.

He thought of Dorian and thanked the shrub for its rugged strength. The fact that anything could grow on a cliff in these conditions was an amazement in itself. A series of gratifying thoughts lifted his spirit and distracted him from all the dangers. He didn't dare transport himself. What if his body fell before he could get it to safety?

At the top of the cliff, flashes of lightning lit three guards standing at the castle's entrance, though none of them faced the cliffs. Another stood near the greenhouse. Tristan hefted himself onto level ground and raced for the forest, hoping to catch up with Dorian.

This time, he protected himself in advance of someone spotting him, already thinking about how to shield his mind and body while on the move. Had the falcon given any indication of bringing help? He wished he'd thought to notice if the coral was still around its neck.

Tristan skidded to a stop, coming through the trees into a clearing. A gathering of horses rallied near the center, with seven or eight men standing. Sabbatini stood among them with his arms crossed.

"It's him!" someone shouted from the group, pointing at Tristan before he could duck behind a tree. "The one I put in the dungeon!"

"Kill him," ordered Sabbatini. "I'm after the girl. Stay away from the greenhouse if you fancy your lives, but be on the lookout. The damned thing could be anywhere by now."

A four-wheeler engine revved as its headlights turned toward Tristan. A tree exploded at his right. He ran in the opposite direction, spitting the uncut emerald into the palm of his hand to keep from inhaling it. He leapt logs and rocks, and raced upstream in a shallow river, hoping to throw them off his trail. The cloak had to go. He yanked back the hood and fought with the clasp.

The men on horseback caught up fast. The beams of headlights seemed to be looking for alternate paths, but headed in his same general direction. A few horses crossed the river behind him, others trotted up and down the banks, either waiting for him to double back, or looking for places to cross. A yell went out when someone spotted him.

Tristan's heart pounded, pushing him faster. He hopped a stone fence and landed on firmer ground, increasing his speed. Before he could stop, momentum carried him over a deep crevice. His bad knee gave out on impact. He rolled to his back, pulling the cloak from his neck with one hand, the other still clutching the emerald.

A black object sailed over the edge above him. Tristan rolled out of the way just as a man landed in his spot. The man's head struck the ground with a thudding crunch and his eyes locked on Tristan's. Dark blood oozed from his mouth. Tristan backed away with his stomach convulsing. At the top of the cliff, a horse with no rider whinnied, refusing to jump, and galloped away.

Tristan pushed himself to his feet and ignored the pain in his knee. He staggered into a grove of trees, wondering why the men on horses were looking for a way down. Couldn't they just fire at his back?

Past the thick grove, he limped in a straight line through yet another clearing, aiming for the trees on the far side. Sabbatini's men entered from both directions. They dismounted and had him surrounded before he could make it halfway across.

Tristan kept the majority of his weight on one leg, shocked his life would end so soon after discovering something so positive about himself. He dropped to his good knee and hoped Oliver had enough time to find Dorian before anyone else did. Thank goodness he'd kissed her when he had the chance, though he still wasn't sure if she liked him or not. Would she miss him?

What were Sabbatini's men waiting for?

He refocused on the shield protecting himself and slipped the emerald into his pocket to have both hands available. If they tried to take him physically, he'd be done for in a heartbeat. Mentally, though, he felt oddly calm and clearheaded. He was ready. He could see the strength of the sphere around him and decided it didn't matter if Sabbatini's men could see it too.

Flashes of light reflected off the surrounding trees like fireworks on the Fourth of July. It could have been lightning or explosions from wands or weapons. The rain and cold evaporated. Voices seemed foreign, like a different language connected with the light. Then, even that became too muffled to comprehend.

Energy accumulated around him, absorbing into him. Direct strikes brushed his skin as certain attacks tested the shield, which seemed to shift in color and grow stronger with each hit. Fear should've been threatening his judgment, or make him freak with panic, but the entire attack seemed fascinating. He wanted to observe and experience everything.

The attacks changed and the molecular essence of energy in the shield altered with the combinations. The shield reacted on its own; collecting and organizing strengths, layering them into a thickness of protection that made absolute, perfect sense.

How much can it absorb?
He remembered the same sort of phrase being the kiss of death in Oliver's lesson. Flashes of light in the distance turned into burning trees. He watched silhouettes of other men fighting, beyond his personal attackers.
Oliver's men? The Makai?

Inspiration washed over him—what did he have to lose? No reason he couldn't put forth some effort to save himself.
If I could just…redirect—

The shield became a brilliant blinding light, consuming the space between himself and Sabbatini's men. They couldn't shield their eyes fast enough.

Pure brightness spiraled upward and out, saturating everything. The core orb continued its skyward path, leaving streaks of green sparks in its wake. The clouds flickered an emerald-green for a few moments before everything dissipated to rainy darkness. Only the eerie flames on distant trees remained.

Tristan got to his feet and blinked at the sky in a confused daze. Rain battered the heat in his face. He hadn't expected to walk away, yet here he was, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Had he fulfilled his promise to Gwenna? He limped toward the trees that weren't on fire, too fatigued and exhausted to move any faster. The wind rushed at his back. He wished he had the coral and noticed the headlights of four-wheelers racing through the forest.

He hobbled faster until he came to a rock wall, forced to turn around and face the wind. He'd never outrun a fire. Nor could he outrun four-wheelers. People were still fighting in the valley below, though he couldn't remember walking up any sort of hill.

The fire had spread. He couldn't guess whether Dorian would stay to protect the trees, or run to save herself. "Little trees and everything that grows, be safe and strong. Survive this night. Gain strength from the wind and health from the rain. Keep each other well. Keep Dorian safe because...." Tristan's mind went blank. He searched the sky for the falcon, flooded with fear and sorrow. Was she safe? None of the fighters looked like Oliver, or anyone else he might recognize. The Makai wouldn't know he wasn't one of Sabbatini's men. The roar of four-wheelers drew closer.

He had to reconstruct that intricate shield, but couldn't turn away from the battle, drawn toward the six people silhouetted by flame. Were they actually using swords?

Headlights shined on his face and he couldn't blink, or get himself to move. People were shouting.

42

-
F
RIGHT IN THE
L
IGHT -

"TRISTAN."

Tristan ignored the voice and the weight of a hand on his shoulder, still mesmerized by the six in the firelight. He felt the coral in his hand. Something like fingers pressed over his eyes, plunging him into a shower of rainy darkness.

He blinked. The fire was out. Icy rain drenching him to the bone. His knee throbbed with pain and lights shined in his eyes. "Where'd they go?"

"Who?"

"I don't know, just…lots of people. The fire." Tristan looked to see who he was talking to. The faces he saw didn't make any logical sense. "What are you doing here?" He had to turn away from the glaring headlights.

"We came to get you out of this mad fiasco," Victor said cheerfully, his teeth gleaming in the light.

"The Makai are already sweeping the area," Landon added. "We certainly don't want to be caught in any crossfire."

Tristan focused his eyes again to be sure they were his schoolmates. They'd been in Gwenna's house after she was murdered. "How did you know?" Maybe they were angels. Maybe that's why he couldn't look at them without being blinded. Maybe he hadn't walked away from Sabbatini's men at all, but had simply gotten lost, failing to follow the light arching into the clouds when he should have.

"Cut those lights, would you?" Landon said.

Lights from both directions went out, leaving them all in darkness. A purring engine shut down, then another. His stomach knotted with dread. "You're not with Sabbatini, are you?"

"No. There's no time to explain."

"But the four-wheelers…." Tristan could barely keep his eyes open.

"They are no longer a problem," said Victor.

"Dorian's still here, we got separated." Tristan took a step to start searching, but they stopped him. "There was a fire."

"She's already home with Gram. Where do you want to go?"

"We can take you anywhere," Landon added.

Tristan briefly wondered what might have happened to his mother. "I'd like to be with Gram and Dorian, but…I don't know exactly where."

"We know where they are."

He couldn't bring himself to ask if he was dead or not. "Will you be around for a while?"

"We'll see what the boss says," Victor said with a wink.

Tristan nodded. The boss might just be God. Hadn't Gram suspected guardian angels? "A lot has happened since I saw you before." They probably already knew everything if they were angels. Maybe the rain put out the fire. Or, maybe Landon and Victor had just saved him from the fires of Hell.

Victor's teeth glistened in a wide grin.

"I'll take him," Landon said.

Tristan's stomach churned as Victor steadied him. Dorian's lake reflected everything, glassy calm in the bright blue sky. Gram's cabin stood behind them. Still shading his eyes, Tristan glanced up at Landon, then shut his mouth, afraid of making a fool of himself for knowing so little.

"We'll send Dorian to the cliff house when you're settled, I'm sure she could do something for your knee."