Guardians of the Akasha (20 page)

Cassandra got up to get a pie dish out of the cupboard. “There is one more thing,” she said. “Daemon might be able to find the Book, and once opened, he can use the knowledge for his own gain. But he needs a High Priestess of the Guardians to open it.”

Keira gave a deep sigh. She traced the whorls in the wooden tabletop with her finger, leaving narrow paths in the flour Cassandra had spilled. It was impossible to pretend this didn’t affect her. She didn’t have to be deeply introspective to realise she couldn’t turn her back on this.

“You do have a choice, child,” Cassandra said softly. “I can return you to your home and you can carry on living your life.”

“What happens if I say no?”

“The Guardians will carry on fighting, to the last person standing, if need be. But Daemon will still come after you, since he is convinced you are the key to opening the Book.”

Keira gave a wry smile. “So it doesn’t really make a difference what I choose, does it?”

Cassandra answered, “The difference is that we all stand a much better chance with you, than without you. You also have a better chance of finding the Book before Daemon, because if he does, the balance of Akasha will be destroyed, and all of us along with it.”

Solemn silence enveloped the two women in the kitchen. They sat in a cocoon of suspended time, and it was as if the air itself was holding its breath.

Keira sat up. Strangely, the decision she just came to should have brought the weight of the Universe onto her shoulders, but she only felt immense relief.

“So, this initiation thing—where do I begin?”

Cassandra folded her hands on the table. Old eyes met young ones and a bond was formed at that moment that would transcend time and space.

Chapter 22

The screaming of a racing Ducati engine ripped through the still, predawn air. Hunched over the powerful machine’s handles, a figure in black threw his body from side to side as he manoeuvred through winding roads and around carts pulled by early-rising vendors.

Beautiful colonial buildings flashed unseen past the rider, his attention focused solely on the road ahead. He threw another quick glance over his shoulder. The silver Porsche was gaining.

Marco swung his body through another sharp curve, his eyes narrowed with fury. He barely heard the honking of horns or saw the alarmed drivers’ rude gestures as he flew past, struggling to keep the Ducati on the road.

He had arrived at the Salta Airport an hour before, grabbed a taxi and directed the driver through a series of loops and false turns to the warehouse-district. Once there, he got out a block away from his destination and slipped from building to building, careful not to be seen, until he reached the hidden motorcycle. He was so sure he hadn’t been followed. But he’d barely turned a corner when the Porsche loomed up in his rear-view mirrors and the life-or-death race began.

The Ducati sped around the road which hugged the central plaza. A few early-morning revellers stumbled along the side-walk and blinked with surprise as dust and pebbles spat in their direction. Curses followed Marco as he raced down the main boulevard. Purple, pink and white bougainvillea streaked past in a continuous blur.

In no time at all they were out of the city and climbing into the low hills surrounding Salta. Marco had to slow down as the road became more uneven and strewn with gravel. This gave the Porsche time to catch up and inch closer to his back wheel.

Suddenly, a huge four-by-four truck stormed in from a side road and slammed into the car’s side, sending it spinning out of control and off the road shoulder. It rolled down the hill, coming to rest against a boulder in a heap of twisted metal. Marco brought his motorcycle to a sliding stop and removed his black helmet. The truck stopped behind him. The sudden silence was deafening; there was no movement from the ruined Porsche.

“About time you showed up,” Marco said.

“A simple thank you would be appreciated!” Rafael walked over to stand next to his brother and they both looked down on the glint of silver at the bottom of the hill.

“They knew I was coming,” Marco said.

“Seems like it,” Rafael replied. “I’ve been waiting here for the past couple of hours; good thing I did. You might not have made it to the house.”

The only reply he received from Marco was a long stare.

“Marco,” Rafael hesitated. “In the cave you said that you suspected one of our own could be a traitor?”

Marco’s eyes were bleak as he looked at his younger brother. “I wish I was wrong, but I’m not. There are too many coincidences. Damn it!” he swore.

Rafael looked closely at his brother and noticed for the first time the dark circles under his eyes, the haggard, drawn look on his face.

“Come,” he said, determined to change the subject. “Let’s go home, brother.”

Marco nodded, put his helmet on and got back on his motorcycle. A few minutes later he followed Rafael through the heavy wrought-iron gates of the Santana family ranch.

The wide gravel road led up to a sprawling, Spanish-style ranch house. White-washed walls contrasted with brown terracotta roof tiles and bright-blue shutters. A broad, shaded patio ran along three sides of the house. The brothers stopped by the steps that led up to the front door and were met by three relieved figures.

Justin jumped up and down and shrieked excitedly when he saw Marco. “You’re here, you’re here! I knew you’d make it!”

Marco gave a weary grin. “Yes, I made it. Only just—but I’m here.”

Chloe hugged Rafael. “Everything all right?”

“Yes. We left Daemon a message at the bottom of the hill.” Rafael’s smile had no humour in it.

Simone drew nearer, perfectly composed as always. “It is good to see you again,” she said and looked around. “Keira is not with you?”

“No, but she is safe,” Marco replied.

“But…” Simone tried again and was interrupted by Chloe. “Let’s leave it until Marco can tell everyone what happened. Come, you need to rest, eat something,” she said to Marco and led them inside.

“How many made it here?” Marco asked Rafael, as they followed the women.

“Adam, Chetan, and Zina are inside, the rest are all either still with their Families, or on their way,” Rafael answered. “The network is still up. It took a hit three days ago when the Watchers tried to overload our system, but the defences held, so we’ve been in contact with everyone—or at least those who still want to be in contact.”

“Good. I need a shower, then we’ll talk,” Marco said. “And Rafael, thanks.”

The brothers nodded at each other, then Marco turned and walked to his room.

Thirty minutes later he had showered, dressed in fresh clothes and stood facing the small group waiting for him. They were only eight in total and had assembled in the hacienda’s cool living room, anxious to hear what had happened after they all went their separate ways.

He kept it brief, carefully watching everyone’s reactions as he filled them in. “The legends are true. The Wise One exists. She found us the day after we left the cave and brought us to her cabin.”

“Wow,” Chloe said, her eyes big. “Where is this cabin—why haven’t anyone found it before?”

“I don’t know,” Marco admitted. “I don’t even know how we got there. She must have it wrapped in a cloaking spell.” He didn’t want to get into too much detail about their journey. He still didn’t want to believe they had a traitor in their midst, but years of training and witnessing Daemon’s slippery antics forced him to err on the side of caution.

“The Wise One said Keira will come back, when she’s ready,” Marco continued.

Disappointed silence met his news. Adam stood up, towering over everyone else. His short-sleeved t-shirt clung to muscled arms, covered in tattoos. “So, when do we fight?” the big Australian asked.

“Obviously not right now, Adam,” Zina smiled at his impatience.

“But what about Keira?” Justin asked in a small voice, his young face filled with concern.

“She is safe where she is,” Marco replied, resting his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“What if she doesn’t come back?” Simone asked quietly, voicing the rest of the group’s silent concern.

“She will! She will come back, she will not leave us!” Justin cried out.

“Hush, Justin,” Zina whispered and threw a cautionary look at Simone, who merely shrugged her shoulders.

“Let’s not get distracted,” Marco said. “We have work to do. Adam, what is your family’s status?”

“We took care of a few of Daemon’s friends who were sniffing around,” the big man reported with a grin. “My sisters are on their way, they should be here in two days.”

“Good. We will need their special talents. Chetan?” Marco addressed the elegant man sitting on a brown leather chair.

“Two of the four Families of the Northern Territories have gathered in New York,” his deep voice rumbled. “They are waiting to hear where we will make our stand before they send reinforcements. The other two are openly aligned with Daemon.”

“Bastards!” Adam swore over the discontented mutters which met Chetan’s news.

“Chloe, Simone?” Marco interrupted.

Chloe stepped forward. “As you can imagine, the Families in Europe are under severe pressure with Daemon having set up his base in the castle,” she said. “They are the frontline and can’t spare anyone right now. I’m afraid it’s only going to be me and Simone.”

Marco nodded. “They are right. They are going to have to bear the brunt of Daemon’s disappointment over Keira’s escape.”

He turned and faced the Healer. “Zina?” he asked.

“I have been able to contact my own family, but no other. They will send who they can. The rest have gone underground. We’ve been trying to contact them via the network but they’re ignoring us, either to save their own asses or because they’ve joined Daemon. We can’t expect any help from them.”

“One more thing,” she continued, “The Rain Queen sent word: preparations are underway for a Dreaming.”

Marco gave a ragged, relieved sigh.

“What does that mean?” Justin asked.

“It means we have a chance—and that we must start our own preparations immediately.”

Chapter 23

Keira sat on the front porch of Cassandra’s cabin. One hand was wrapped around a steaming cup of mint tea, the other stroked a midnight-black cat asleep on the bench next to her. Two weeks had passed since she arrived here, or rather, she thought it had. The days had a flowing, dream-like quality that made it difficult to judge time in this place beyond the mist.

Her green eyes were clear and untroubled and her skin golden brown from being outside all the time. Her body was toned and fit from riding the big white horse bareback for hours every day as she tried to explore the forest, but always ended up back at the cabin, as if following an invisible loop without end.

In the evenings, Keira sat at the kitchen table and listened to Cassandra’s stories of the Akasha and its Guardians, learning about their past and her future, until it was time to go to bed. There she dreamt of spaces between spaces and of floating among molecules of air. Every morning, in that unguarded moment before being fully awake, Marco’s face shimmered in her mind’s eye before she ruthlessly pushed it away and locked it in that place she had also hidden memories of Victoria and her friends. She didn’t need the distraction.

Her training started the morning after Marco left. Cassandra called her outside to the meadow. There the older woman instructed Keira to pick a yellow buttercup, without using her hands.

There were days when Keira thought the flowers would turn blue from her frustrated swearing, and other days when her intense concentration caused headaches the size of boulders. There were times when she felt like throwing a full-blown, adult-sized temper tantrum; then Cassandra calmly told her, “Start over. You can’t always rely on anger to raise your power. You have to learn control. Do it again.”

So Keira started over and did it again, until the day that a flower’s stem wavered and slowly bent forward. It didn’t break, but Keira’s smile was a mile wide as she jumped up and down and hugged Cassandra in exhilaration.

A few days later, she deposited an armful of golden buttercups in Cassandra’s kitchen. “Good,” the old woman said. “Let’s see what you can do with lightning.”

And so her training continued, until Keira learned to focus her power and bend the Akasha to create force fields as small—or large—as she wished.

Today she was amusing herself by causing a little whirlwind to chase scattered leaves down the dirt path when Cassandra walked out onto the porch and sat next to her.

“Planning on going for a ride?” Cassandra asked with a glance at Keira’s black breeches and knee-high riding boots.

“Yes, it’s become an early-morning ritual,” Keira said with a smile. “I hadn’t realised how much I missed riding.”

The women sat in companionable silence for a while, until Keira asked, “So, when are you going to tell me?” She had gotten to know the older woman well enough to realise that something was on Cassandra’s mind.

“Mmm, already much too perceptive for your own good. I have taught you well,” Cassandra teased.

Keira took a sip of her tea. “I assume it’s got something to do with that hut over there,” and she nodded her head to the small, grass structure at the edge of the forest.

“What made you think that?” Cassandra asked, her eyes half veiled.

“Well, there is the fact that we’ve been everywhere but there, and you haven’t mentioned it even once since I’ve been here. I’ve also tried to go inside, but couldn’t find an opening.” Keira tried to keep her voice casual, but the truth was the little hut filled her with a dread she couldn’t explain.

Cassandra didn’t answer for a few moments. Then she replied, “There are Others who live in the land of man. They are not of the Guardians, they have their own destinies. But they will support the Guardians at crucial times, such as when a new High Priestess is initiated. It is at such a time that they meet and give her what they can. That meeting will take place here, tonight, at your initiation.”

Keira’s full attention was now on Cassandra. It was a testament to how much she had changed, that she wasn’t the least surprised at the news. “Doesn’t the Council have to approve this?” she asked.