A Curse of Blood and Power: A Chronicle of Fanhalen Page 8

Emmerentia had acknowledged the items in the bag and, although she’d kept a straight face, they’d hurried back. She’d refused to divulge the reason. Now, jerking her chin towards the bag and addressing her brother, Emmerentia said, ‘Open it.’

  Fàaran frowned. His hand grasped the zip and moved it along, its metallic screeching the only sound. Emmerentia watched with crossed arms and Mahena restrained herself from biting her nails. He turned the bag upside down and spilled the contents on the dining table.

  Mahena could almost hear the seconds dripping from the ceiling like poison.

  Fàaran cocked his head to the side, questioning his sister with a stare. ‘What am I looking at?’

  Emmerentia grabbed a small green see-through bag, fishing the items out before handing them to him. Fàaran frowned at the small, intricate earrings she dropped onto his palm.

  ‘The engraving on the inside,’ Emmerentia indicated.

  ‘There’s never been an engraving on them,’ Mahena said, confused. She had been surprised and relieved to see the earring in her bag earlier. They were a present from her mother, an heirloom passed from mother to daughter that had been in the family for generations. At least, that’s what she’d been told. She always feared losing them and therefore wore them on extremely rare occasions. She had never noticed an engraving though. Why were they here?

  Fàaran placed one of the earrings on the table and brought the second one closer to his eyes. ‘I don’t recognise the symbol,’ he said.

  Emmerentia stared him down for a long moment, as though she was communicating information through their weird twin bond she did not want Mahena to hear. Finally, she said, ‘Gold twigs, emeralds. Don’t tell me I listened more than you during our history lessons.’

  Home, home, home.

  Mahena’s eyes went from one to the other, her heart racing. Slowly, Fàaran looked up at Mahena, a bigger question in his eyes than the one he asked her. ‘How did this come into your possession?’

  Silence. The voice hissed in warning.

  Mahena shrugged and schooled her features into confident calmness, although her heart kept pounding in her chest. ‘It was a present for my 18th birthday.’

  Silence. It snarled again.

  ‘They are pretty, but what’s so special about them? I’ve never noticed an engraving.’

  ‘They can’t be authentic, can they?’ Emmerentia ignored her.

  Mahena pulled out a chair and grabbed the second earring on the table. As her hand made contact, a string pulled at her heart, a warm tickle against her rib cage. As she focused on the object, the world around her disappeared.

  A young woman sat quietly on a richly ornamented chair, her back to Mahena. Her long, golden hair was intricately braided and being pinned into place by servants. She was facing ahead into the distance, toward the sun piercing through the bay window on the western side. Her slightly pointed ears peeked through her hair. A piece of distant music floated through the space: pipes, flutes, whistles, ceremonial yet light-hearted and joyful.

  Her shoulders were slumped back, relaxed, yet there seemed to be a slight tension in her neck as she rolled it.

  As the servants finished incorporating small white flowers into her hair, the door groaned open and a warm, steady voice filled the room, ‘Are you ready, Your Highness?’

  The woman who had spoken walked through the room, stepping between the servants to avoid disturbing their work, halting in front of the young woman. She was slender, a sort of wisdom about her. The woman smiled, her wrinkles deepening, and lifted a small carved box. She looked at the princess with kindness and pride. ‘It is always frightening.’

  The princess slowly nodded.

  The woman opened the box, carefully taking out a pair of small earrings—so similar to hers. She moved to place them on the princess’ ears. ‘Do you hear the cheering? They are here for you. They believe in you.’ She then slid a similar necklace around her neck. ‘Wildheart, you gave them their lands back.’

  The princess snorted, ‘Delia, I am fighting not to turn and fly off.’

  The old woman laughed wholeheartedly. ‘You only have to wait until the end of your coronation, my darling.’

  The princess smiled, murmuring, ‘I have a surprise for them.’

  A slamming noise brought her back. Mahena dropped the earring on the table and blinked, emotions racing through her.

  Emmerentia snapped her fingers. ‘Did you hear a word we said?’

  Mahena stared at the jewels before her, confused by the echoes of that...dream? Vision? What the heck was that meant to be?

  Home, home, home.

  She swore her thundering heart was a drumming ensemble in the room.

  Mahena spoke, her voice a raspy whisper, ‘I think it is imbued with magic.’

  The twins stared her down. It was Fàaran who spoke, ‘What makes you say that?’

  Mahena looked up to Emmerentia, the twin’s seething anger returning. ‘I told you about my dreams. I…I think the earrings showed me a memory?’ Mahena swallowed hard, debating how much she should reveal to be convincing. She needed their trust. ‘It is a replica of a royal jewel, isn’t it? I mean, did you not see the scene too?’ Mahena added the last question casually. Somehow, deep in her guts, she knew they had not.

  The siblings paused for a moment; their eyes bored into each other in silent discussion. She felt like coughing, just to break them out of their twin talk. She respected their privacy, although when they did so with her around, it was just awkward.

  Mahena rubbed her temples. So many questions running through her mind, causing such a roaring in her head. It was tiring and draining. She wanted to shut it down, to switch the button off, to stop the restless buzzing. Without thinking, she reached for the earring again and a warmth spread across her fingers once more, tickling her skin. It seemed shy, searching for her scent, the core of her soul, venturing deeper the longer she held onto it. A timid smile spread across her lips. I know you, it seemed to say.

  Fàaran nodded to his sister before he stood and left the cottage.

  Mahena remained quiet, giving Emmerentia the opportunity to reveal what she was thinking without resorting to begging. But the twin simply stood up and walked towards her bedroom.

  ‘Are you just going to ignore me now?’ Mahena followed her in.

  Emmerentia threw a satchel in her face. ‘Pack.’

  Okay...but what? She owned nothing. She almost batted her eyelashes sarcastically, but something had shifted in the air, something tangible that made her skin tingle. Mahena bit her tongue and grabbed her journal and the spare clothing Emmerentia had lent to her. She thought of taking her backpack, which could fit more than the satchel, but then figured it might draw unwanted attention. It was clearly not of this world.

  The twin shoved some papers, including a map, and other things inside her bag so fast Mahena could not distinguish them.

  When no explanation was forthcoming, she finally dared to ask, ‘Where are we going?’

  Emmerentia walked past her. ‘To get answers about you.’

  Mahena’s heart skipped a beat. What did she mean?

  The twin paused, then looked over her shoulder and added, ‘I loathe magic beyond words.’

  Well, the Child-Witch encounter would have to wait, then. Had that only been this morning? Something told Mahena there was more in store for her this day.

  11

  Fàaran glanced at his sister as they broke out of the canopy and headed north.

  We can turn back. You don’t have to confront it now.

  A pointless tentative that she ignored. He wasn’t thrilled in the slightest about this decision, but he unfortunately could not chain her to a chair until she saw reason.

  Mahena had been with them for weeks now and although she had done nothing at first to raise suspicion, he had never let his walls down
. There was something off about her, a feeling he had tried to dismiss as simple distrust of strangers, but time had not seen the premonition diminish.

  Emmerentia was worried—he could see it, he could sense it.

  And he didn’t like it.

  Now, she was flying her horse forward to face her demons.

  Fàaran clenched the leads tighter. He had always felt that deep beneath the shields she’d built, and despite her denial, they had chosen to settle this close to Sheya’s house because a desperate, infinite part of her hoped to reconcile one day. But that day was not today.

  Sheya would not welcome them with open arms, if she let them in at all. He knew that, Emmerentia knew that, Mahena probably even felt that. He glanced over his shoulder at her, catching her eyes whirling around the landscape unfolding around them. They were already further from the cottage than she had ever been.

  Eventually, they entered a clearing after weaving in between trees and high bushes most of the day, the sun piercing through the clouds. A house blurred in the distance, the contours sharpening as they neared.

  Emmerentia whistled—a sign to slow down. Fàaran pulled the reins in, forcing Fàrak to a walk as the two women reached his side. He glanced at both of them in turn. Their expressions were strained and he wondered if he stopped breathing for a second, whether he would hear their wild heartbeats racing against their chests as they neared the house.

  They stopped a decent distance from the cottage as a small figure stepped out to meet them. He glanced furtively at his sister as she reined in her mare, concern and tenderness mixed with apprehension crossing her face as the form took focus.

  Emmerentia sighed, a barely perceptible ‘oh, gods’ leaving her lips at the sight of her drawn, pale and malnourished former best friend.

  Even he swallowed hard at the change in the young woman.

  ‘Well, well, well, if it isn’t Valdegard filth with a new hair colour.’ Sheya spat, crossing her arms. ‘I believe my last words to you were clear.’

  Mahena ducked her chin to hide her wide-eyed stare.

  Emmerentia tied her mare’s reins to a tree branch. She took a steadying breath as she turned back around to face Sheya, and hesitantly stepped forward. ‘I would not be here if there was an alternative.’

  Fàaran’s hand tightened around the hilt of his sword belt. Sheya’s answering glare was nothing short of lethal. She jerked her chin towards Mahena, who visibly didn’t know where to look. ‘So, you’ve found another life to destroy.’

  That voice—that icy, emotionless voice rang through him like an alarm bell.

  Mahena furtively glanced at him, eyes pleading. He pretended not to notice and kept his eyes trained on the Valorà, hiding a flinch at the rage in her gaze.

  Sheya angled her head, catching his monitoring eyes, and something in him when tauter, then she slid her own to where his hand rested on his sword. ‘Is that how you greet the people you grew up with?’ She clicked her tongue. ‘You two are really cut from the same cloth.’

  Before he could retort, she faced Emmerentia. ‘What do you want?’

  There was anger and pain in that voice, laced under the icy facade. As much as he felt his twin’s fractured suffering, he realised Sheya echoed it.

  Emmerentia took a step forward, then another one. Sheya stiffened at the approach, her nostrils flaring with disgust. For a second, he thought they would launch into a brawl. But his twin said something, and the Valorà replied, their conversation too low to hear. After a couple of minutes, she peered toward Mahena. A few minutes later, she sighed in resignation and waved them inside.

  B

  Sheya gestured to Mahena to sit down without a glance, avoiding eye contact with any of them as she rummaged through shelves and cupboards, grabbing various pots and candles. Mahena pulled a chair from the small table in the middle of the room. The silence was so smothering that the sound of the chair dragging against the floorboards made her shoulder blades pull together in an invisible shiver.

  Emmerentia was leaning against the wall opposite her brother. The look of sadness and worry on her face made Mahena want to hug her. She made an effort to ignore it and fixed her attention on Sheya.

  She was slender, Mahena realised as she studied her discreetly, but in a worn-out way. Her jaw was too prominent, her eyes too dark—a beautiful dark blue, but extinguished, the light completely gone. From the only piece of explanation Emmerentia had bothered offering her, Mahena knew Sheya was a Valorà, some sort of nature wielder, blessed at birth with an earth bond allowing them to use the power of nature, wielding it to reveal people’s secrets, to heal and read the ones who came to her.

  Sheya deposited her items on the table and proceeded to light two sticks of dried herbs, then waved them around. As she placed them gingerly on the edge of the table, she glared towards Emmerentia. For a second, the room filled with a heavy blanket of sadness, the wind rattling the windows causing a mournful melody. Finally, Sheya sat down facing Mahena.

  Mahena crossed her legs to hide the nervous twitching and swallowed hard as their eyes met. The Valorà’s gaze bore into hers, scanning, trying to peel off layer after layer. It suddenly softened, as though the young woman forgot her feud and focused on the person who required a sort of help only she could provide.

  A few seconds later, Sheya spoke gently, ‘Breathe in deeply. The sage helps relax your subconscious. Breathe out and let it speak.’

  The little voice in her head scraped the bottom of its cage. Don’t, don’t, don’t.

  Mahena inhaled soundly and as the fumes reached her lungs and travelled inside her body, her heartbeat rose, a racing, loud hammer. There was no weighing her options now, no running to her horse and fleeing as she kept her eyes locked with Sheya’s. She wanted, needed, answers. So Mahena relaxed her shoulders, breathed out, and focused on the whirlwind of her brain.

  After a moment, the words started coming. ‘There are…empty spaces in my mind, as though some information is missing.’ She didn’t want to reveal details Emmerentia hadn’t shared with the woman. ‘For a month now, it has been growing in intensity and is starting to play tricks on me.’ Mahena brushed her hair back to keep her hands away from the objects on the table. As minutes passed and the effects of the concoction filtered into her heart, more words tumbled out. ‘I dream of things, see things when I touch objects. My imagination always was extremely fertile, but in these instances it is different. Every time I try to think about it, to process it, I hit a wall. Like there is nothing.’

  ‘She touched an object and said it showed her a memory,’ Emmerentia added.

  Sheya straightened. Her eyes lit up for a passing second, as if she knew what the twin was talking about. She got up and retrieved a dark pink powder that she spread on the table underneath Mahena’s nose, waving the burning sage above it. ‘Breathe it in. Deeply.’

  She repeated the process in front of herself as she sat back down.

  Mahena squinted but did as she was told, ignoring the pounding in her chest. The pale smoke rose to meet her, smelling of berries laced with another musky essence she couldn’t name. It slid up her nose, parted at her eyebrows, and...

  Sheya waved the sage in front of her. ‘It might feel uncomfortable.’

  Mahena clamped her jaw. Uncomfortable? It felt like small snakes were darting around her brain, searching for something—not painful, yet...

  The Valorà cocked her head to the side, that same sparkle popping through. ‘Has it occurred to you that this might not be the first time you’ve stepped into this world? What you describe sounds to me like a memory spell.’

  Sheya paused for a second, her eyes going from the herbs on the table to Mahena to Emmerentia to Fàaran behind herself, as though she was weighing whether to take this process further. After a few minutes of awkward silence, she cleared her throat, then extended her hands. ‘I can try and help you unlock
it.’ She glanced toward Emmerentia. ‘We will discuss this later.’ A cold, distant voice.

  Mahena didn’t know whether to smile or thank her or punch herself to stop the infiltration. So she kept quiet.

  Fàaran grunted in the distance. The Valorà ignored him.

  ‘It will be extremely painful,’ Sheya warned. ‘You will try to fight it, but I need you to understand that you are in no danger. Do not let go of my hands.’

  Mahena’s heart was in her throat, but she nodded in agreement.

  Sheya’s lips parted, whispering low in a language Mahena didn’t understand. She twitched, a tingling sensation spreading along her arms. She expected chanting, or an incantation, but only utter silence, heavy and uncomfortable, settled in the room.

  Her body loosened, leaving her with dangling limbs that only the Valorà’s hands kept from falling. Her head swam, bobbing down. She shrugged her shoulders and rolled them back in an attempt to keep her focus. More little snakes filtered in, feeling for her veins, leaving trails of paralytic fog in their wake. She fought the urge to jump out of the chair.

  Mahena expected the little voice to groan and bellow and rage, yet it remained quiet.

  Sheya put Mahena’s hands on the table. She grabbed the small jar next to her and spread the content around them. Placing her hands on top of Mahena’s once more, her lips moved again. The flames from the candles grew at once.

  Mahena breathed out, bracing herself.

  Then a writhing pain wrapped her skull like a fist crushing a twig.

  Mahena screamed, and screamed, and screamed, the sound going on and on.

  She squeezed Sheya’s hands harder, anchoring herself to reality.

  The pain is not real, the pain is not real, she repeated to herself.

  It sure fucking felt real.

  In the torture of the moment, a face came to meet her. The shining, the sun woman she remembered from a lifetime ago stared right into her terrified eyes. She smiled, that warmth radiating from her. It spread to Mahena, enveloping her in a blanket of sunlight. Find your memories. Then she vanished as another strike of pain knocked the air out of her.