Fearless Magic

Page 2

"I have something for you," Angelica confessed, coming out of deep thought. She left the room for a moment and returned with a stack of papers.
I moved my backpack off the bed and onto the floor, and we sat down together on the single bed that was the only piece of furniture in the room. Her hands were shaking as she shuffled the papers about, looking for the one she wanted to start with.
"This is just," she started, holding the papers up for me to inspect, "some legal documents for you to sign, and an ID, passport and a few credit cards. Amory gave these to me a few weeks ago and asked me to pass them along should anything.... should anything happen to him." A tear fell silently from the corner of her eye onto her wrinkled, ashen cheek.
"Thank you," I muttered, trying not to let her grief affect me. I had to be strong. I took the papers from her and looked at the ID and passport, both listing my age as twenty-one. I turned seventeen yesterday, but barely remembered that it was my birthday. Avalon's, and mine if he was still alive. Trying to stay focused, I cleared my throat, "And what is the rest of this?"
"Bank papers mostly. Amory named you and your brother as the sole heirs to his estate. There is quite a bit in there, it should be plenty to travel with." She pulled a piece of paper from the bottom of the stack.
I sat back on the bed, stunned while staring at the balance to one of Amory's bank accounts. I rifled through the rest of the papers finding numerous accounts to banks all over the world, holding obscene amounts of money and stockholder slips to hundreds of different stocks on all of the big markets.
"What is all of this?" I asked, turning my attention to the different plastic cards that had my name imprinted on the bottom.
"Amory was a very wealthy man," Angelica said softly, as if having to call up courage just to say his name, or speak of his memory. "Most of us are wealthy, I should say, but Amory.... well, he had the advantage of longevity and a knack for investing well. You will not need to worry about money again, my dear. This one," she held up a black key card absent of writing or symbols, "will get you into the Swiss vault. That's where the paintings and artifacts are held. The rest, I think, are just different credit or debit cards. If you use a credit card, the balance is automatically paid at the end of the month, so there is no worrying about that."
I wanted to ask her what would happen if I exceeded the balance of the account, but couldn't even wrap my head around the amount of money at my disposal. I couldn't comprehend spending the total amount in ten lifetimes, let alone in the next few months.
I pulled out my wallet and slipped the cards into the empty slots that only ever housed the one credit card Aunt Syl gave me when I got my driver's license, then tucked my passport inside, as well. After replacing the wallet in my backpack and zipping it closed, there was nothing left to pack. I was ready to go.
"I can hold on to those for you, dear," Angelica took the loose papers back from me and straightened them. "Eden, if you should ever need a place to go, or an ear to listen, I will always be here for you. Always." She turned to me, reaching out for one of my hands with gnarled fingers that were cold to the touch. Her eyes flickered for a moment and I saw the sparkling violet that had once been the light in her eyes, but then it was gone and they settled back into the deep purple of mourning.
"Thank you," I replied with the deepest sincerity, and then braced myself for the conversation I had to have before I could go. "Angelica...." I faltered for a moment, "Angelica, I am truly sorry for.... for everything that happened. I wish that I could.... I hate that.... You were right...." I couldn't even finish a thought, let alone a sentence and then suddenly I was a broken child in front of the ancient woman that had seen a full cup of suffering in her lifetime.
I let the grief consume me, filling my lungs and then my soul with the breaths only breathed in moments of deep lamentations. I leaned over, resting my head in her lap. She ran her fingers through my hair, comforting me absently, while her own tears stained the back of my head.
"Eden, I don't blame you," she insisted firmly, but still I could not sit up and look at her. "No one blames you. And you shouldn't blame yourself either. What happened was a tragedy of the worst kind, but it was not your fault. That man," her voice broke from barely concealed rage, "that king, has done this before and he will do it again. He has no regard for the sanctity of life or for his people. What you need to do now is not cry over circumstances that cannot be changed, but succeed. Go on, child, and win this war. The future of your people is left in your hands and you alone hold the keys to a kingdom without the scars of this life. You can save us. You can vindicate your grandfather's death and restore the magic. But no more tears, no more wallowing in self pity. Move forward; find the strength to carry on."
I sat up and looked at her. The tears stopped flowing and my cheeks started to dry. She was right. I must remember the importance of this mission.
"You're going to want to keep this covered though," she touched the glowing tattoo of the snake curled around and eating its own tail. It was the symbol of the Resistance, of the rebellion that was reduced to this old woman and me.
"I did it wrong, didn't I?" I moved my fingers through my long, black, tangled curls, pulling them over my shoulder and into a side ponytail, covering the blue ink.
"Well, yes." she smiled, the hint of humor playing in her dark eyes. "I still don't understand how you were able to mark yourself. You must have been quite determined," she mused, referring to the painful process of administering the mark. Resistance inductees were always strapped down and unable to move so the process could be completed without them lashing out due to the severe pain the process caused. I was not like the other inductees; I did it to myself, all by myself.
"I was," I agreed. "I still am."
"Good." She kept her smile, but her eyes turned hard again. "Remember, if you need anything, I am only a phone call away."
"Thank you Angelica, thank you for everything," I whispered, genuinely.
"Be careful." She ignored my gratitude and walked me to the front door of Amory's house.
I nodded in response and walked through her door, across the porch and out into the warm sunlight of a cold February day. There was still snow on the ground at the beginning of February, but the days were getting warmer. Soon, Omaha would be embracing spring, a season I wouldn't experience. I was off to South America, off to find a lost colony of Shape-shifters, off to search out my parents, and off to avenge the injustices not only my family suffered, but my people.
I was going to fulfill a promise I made and burn this kingdom to the ground.
Chapter Two
The old van rumbled to a stop in front of a faded, red sign declaring the entrance to the Inca Trail, the path that would lead to the ancient ruins of Machu Picchu. The trek would take four days of hiking, possibly longer, since it was wet season and already the sky had opened up, emptying its stores of water onto the earth.
The trail was technically closed for maintenance during the month of February, but I would be taking it anyway. I hoped that the entire citadel would be emptier than usual, thanks to the consistent and torrential down-pours that plagued the southern hemisphere in the winter months.
I took my bag from the short Peruvian man that gave me a ride from Lima to here. An old friend of Angelica's, he had driven the thirty hours with me in a much-appreciated silence. I handed him a stack of nuevo sol, the local currency, and turned my back on him.
Walking forward, I could feel the faint call of magic in the distance. They were out there. Somewhere. I had no idea where, or how to find them, but I could feel the quiet calling of magic and the prickling of electricity igniting in my blood.
The path was well worn, and difficult to walk. The ancient stones were slippery in the relentless rain and the air thin with the altitude. But I was moved by the beauty of the Andes.
I had never seen a place so vividly and distinctly green. The deep tones of the trees blanketed the distant mountain sides in dark, flowing monochromatic colors that stood drastically against the stone of the towering mountains. And the lighter, softer greens of the mountain grass stood out starkly in the landscape as if the two greens were not the same color at all. God's brush strokes painted these mountains and valleys with the blessedness of variety, and I could feel my soul swell in awe of the creation surrounding me.
The sky had never felt so vast from this vantage point, even under the thick canopy that housed the trail I walked. The rivers and streams tumbled down the mountain side in blue ribbons of moving water, weaving in and out of the thick forests. The raw beauty of such an organic environment reminded me that I was only a small piece to the elegant and divine puzzle that was this life. As small as I was in the middle of this magnanimous mountainside, so was my life in the scope of eternity. Yet, somehow, I found that comforting.
I walked for hours, deep into the wilderness that paved the way to a once sacred escape for kings of old. Not long ago, I would have been terrified to take this journey alone. But now, there was no fear, and no anxiety, just purpose.
I was beyond childish fears of the dark or being alone. I had reached beyond the naive immaturity that keeps one afraid of the unknown. When my grandfather died, something broke inside of me. When they took my brother, the innocent part of my soul was murdered. When I watched my friends, my loved ones, even innocent people I didn't know, be loaded into armored cars as prisoners, all of my fears stood before me. And when my heart was ripped in two by the cruelty of betrayal, I gave up on emotions and feelings all together.
Alone on the trail, I tried to stay focused on revenge, on those loved ones I would vindicate, but my thoughts wondered unforgivably. I thought of him, that name I would not let myself speak aloud or even think. I thought of the man that had made me so blissfully happy and then betrayed those that I loved in the name of a selfish conquest.
The tears fell from my eyes, hot with the stabbing pain of the memory of his betrayal. He took everything from me, everything, and then left me a shattered, and broken ghost of myself.
I stopped to catch my breath at the top of a slippery, steep, stone stairway and grasped at the necklace I kept tucked underneath my rain jacket. The large, emerald stone of the engagement ring dug into my chest, a painful reminder of its existence, but one that I had come to treasure. As long as that ring stabbed at the place where my heart used to beat with desire for its giver, I would always be reminded of what he had done.
Now, alone on this trail, this journey to redemption, I would find others that were wronged by him and his bloodline. I would rebuild the army of the rebellion and we would fight against him and what he stood for. And we would not stop until there was nothing left of the Kendrick bloodline, until every last one of them was dead and buried, and until this people felt their blood thicken with vindication and their magic pulse with true immortality.
----
I was soaked to the bone when the ancient city for Incan kings appeared in the distance. The rain did not let up for even a moment, but even through the fog and haze of the downfall, the ruins, nestled against the steep cliffs, stood as a beacon for my weary legs. I hiked the trail for days, fighting against the mud, the slippery stone and the overwhelming fatigue.