The Mirror of the Moon (Revenant Wyrd Book 2) (9 page)

The two of them tried to look away, but the horror of the vision froze them in place. They were helpless as they watched Joya and Amber cling to one another’s hands, not able to rest themselves from the flames that were inevitably killing them.

Skin cracked and hair withered as they watched, and soon the red-pink moisture of tissue could be seen through the blackened, peeling fissures in their face and arms. Lips cracked and blood oozed down their faces, but one thing remained: the clear blue of Joya’s eyes, and the feral amber of Amber’s.

Jovian and Angelica’s attention was drawn lower, to their linked hands which were still gloved, still somehow whole, despite the fact that their other hands were in ruin.

“Don’t leave me!” Joya cried out in anguish. The pain, they realized, was more than that of physical pain, but also emotional. The two of them looked back up to see the identical opposites of Amber and Joya, now both blackened, seemingly the same form, looking at each other. Silent tears evaporated on Joya’s ruined face, and slowly their hands lost their grip.

Angelica and Jovian felt their hearts breaking in more ways than the loss of their sisters; they could not explain the pain they felt for they had never before felt its likeness.

As the flames towered higher, Joya finally released Amber, their once untouched gloved hands now withering in the heat as the rest of them had. Amber was instantly engulfed in angry flames, lost to the unyielding fire.

With a sudden, pain-filled cry, Angelica and Jovian came back to themselves. The drug and the spirits no longer fogged their minds, yet they still could not think clearly. Somehow they could sense one another more strongly than ever before. Angelica and Jovian were not surprised that this was happening, as their bond had only been growing stronger since they had left the plantation. But still, Jovian was stunned when an answer came from his calming thoughts.

It’s only a vision, Jovian, it’s only a vision,
Jovian told himself, closing his eyes against tears that threatened to seep.

Grace, who had not partaken in the ceremony, stood at the edge of the firelight, watching the two of them like a vulture. The old lady’s arms were wrapped around herself, keeping the chill of air at bay, and she leaned against a tree as white as the wrappings the elves had given her. The long gray hair (normally bound on top of her head) now cascaded in loose spirals around her shoulders, landing at her waist.

Grace watched them as if she expected something to happen, expected their reactions to the ceremony to reveal a truth she had guessed at.

It’s only a vision, Jovian
, he repeated, not opening his eyes to see his old teacher watching them. Nonetheless he could sense her watching him, as if he could see her image through other eyes that were not his own. Why did she look at him that way? What did she want? Suddenly all the old malice he had felt for her, all the distrust, came back. Why had she not told them sooner? What did she want? It was obvious that Porillon was using Amber to get to the medallion, but what did Grace want from them? Was she looking for the same thing Porillon was: a way to the medallion?

She admitted to them all it was general consensus that Sylvie’s children could use the medallion, and she had also told Porillon that she had three in which could also use the medallion. If Porillon sought retribution for her fallen master then what did Grace want?

Dammit, Jovian, it was only a vision,
he yelled in his mind, and he felt Angelica stiffen on the log beside him.
Stop acting so damned strange; you’ve had visions before.

Yes, we’ve had visions before, and you died.
Angelica’s voice intruded on his thoughts. For a moment he was startled. How could Angelica hear what he was thinking? Then he remembered their unity in the ether, and he thought, at first panicked, that something was wrong. He didn’t feel wrong, and neither could he feel Angelica in the way he had before. He felt like just Jovian, only with a stronger link to Angelica.

As far as I can tell it’s just a stronger bond.
His sister’s answering thought came to him.
However, if it lasts, I’m sure we will learn more about it on the way.

How can you be so calm about this?
Jovian asked.
How can you rationalize this?

I’m not calm, not at all. I don’t like this, Jove, but you must not be able to feel that over your own anxiety. You must admit, however, that it will come in damned useful.
At that point he opened his eyes and looked into Angelica’s smiling face. Though grief clung to her eyes, she was not as worried.
We can’t change what we saw.

Nor should we tell anyone else, should we?
he asked uncertain.

I suspect if they were meant to know they would have been shown as well. No, they shouldn’t know about any of it, most of all our new bond.

If it lasts,
Jovian said
.

If it lasts,
she agreed
. Now stop looking at me before Grace suspects something.

Joya vowed she would never tell any of them what she had seen in the fire. Thinking about the shapes that had plagued her mind made her stomach churn, made her nauseous. She wrapped her arms around her stomach as another cramp stole through her body, and she hoped that her cycle was not coming along with the horrible feeling that accompanied the vision.

She had barely noticed the change in Angelica and Jovian, and even seeing them now, looking at each other as if they could read something deeper than any of them could see, Joya barely noticed the flash of amber that bled through their eyes. She might have thought this change odd; certainly Grace did with the rapturous way she watched them, but Joya’s mind was riveted on the horror she had seen in the fire.

Something she would never tell them. Something dire and about Amber. No, she would never tell any of them….

But it doesn’t have to be so,
a deep voice spoke into her mind.
All you have to do is take my hand, and I will show you the way to stop this from happening.

The words the voice of wisdom promised were wonderful, like a salvation she was not sure she could ever feel again. She almost accepted then, but something held Joya back from taking his offer.

Even still the pain in her stomach was answered, and rivaled, only by the shiver up her spine, causing tremors through the lemniscate at the base of her neck. Joya yearned for the wyrd of the voice of wisdom …

“W
ere you given the vision?” Lockelayter asked Maeven, who nodded solemnly, his gaze fixed on a spot far distant than the clearing.

“Yes,” he grunted.

It was Jovian’s turn to answer the question next. “Were you given the vision?” Lockelayter asked, coming to stand before him.

The vision;
the burning flesh; the horrendous screams; the hopeless look; the helpless feeling; Jovian fought down the sickness that bubbled up in his throat like acid. He nodded his head once, squeezing out a constricted, “Yes.”

“Were you given the vision?” Lockelayter asked Angelica as he had asked those before her.

Yes,” she answered.

Finally Lockelayter turned to Joya and asked her, “Were you given the vision?”

“Yes.”

Lockelayter returned to the far side of the fire and stared at them from across the flames. At once he looked like a vision from the Mikak’e, his multi-hued brown hair warmed by the golden glow of fire, his golden skin shimmering in the dancing light, the white wrap around his waist colored honey by the crackling flames, the silver belt at his waist, and silver bands at his wrist and upper arm shinning clean in the light, his violet eyes, large and veiled in shadows, in mystery.

Finally he spoke in his strong, silken voice that conjured peace within them, a subtle serenity. Listening to his words was like a hymn.

“The Mikak’e have accepted you and shown you the future. The truth is hard to grasp, and harder yet to accept, but accept it we must. We praise the Mikak’e for showing us the future, showing us the way, and helping us past our grievances. The Mikak’e have accepted you, and so shall we.” Lockelayter finished and raised his right hand slightly to signal the female elves behind him.

The elves came forward and laid offerings at their feet.

Behind the female elves Lockelayter came and embraced each of them in turn, planting firm kisses on their brows. He welcomed them formally with the title Star Sister and Star Brother accordingly. He then explain the gifts lain at their feet.

“To each of you are given clothes of elven weave and dwarven craft. Light weighted the clothes will not burden you with warmth during the hot days of summer, nor will they allow you to catch a chill during the bitter nights of winter.”

Jovian, Maeven and Angelica unfolded tunics and trousers of black materiel stitched intricately with the dwarven language around the hems. Black boots finished off their outfits as well as silver belts like the ones the elves now wore. To Joya was gifted dress and slippers in the same color and décor. The skirt and sleeves of her dress were full and slit up each side for easier movement and riding—though the waist and bodice of the dress were tight—and her silver belt was obviously more for show than any practical use.

“Lastly we give you each one gift that is suited to your character. To our Star Brothers Maeven and Jovian we gift bows and arrows of mahogany which will never break and will never be lost.” As the men hefted the long bows to look at them and get a feel for the weapons, Lockelayter turned his attention to Angelica. “To our Star Sister Angelica we gift a tome with the full story of First Elf and the Mikak’e. Star Sister Grace informs us that you have an affinity for religion, and so you have been gifted the tale of Dungan Steelbender from the dwarves as well. May you find much wisdom in our teachings.” He turned then to Joya, who peered at the wooden case before her in speculation. “To our Star Sister Joya we gift a case of those herbs rare to the realms but found aplenty atop our mountains; use them well as with the parchment with their qualities found within.”

He then turned his back to them and motioned for Grace to come into the octagon. Carefully the old lady stepped among the gathered bodies and went to each of them with tears in her eyes. It was evident that she was weeping not for their progress tonight in understanding what and who they were, or for her grand accomplishments as their tutor and guide. Rather, the old teacher wept silently for the mother they had lost, a mother that was so like a daughter to her.