To Scale the Emerald Mountain (The Willowbane Saga #1)

12. CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER TWELVE

C oming downstairs thirty minutes later, I find dinner ready and freshly plated. Locane made some kind of noodle dish with a pale sauce and blackened chicken.

“Wow, that was fast. And it smells delicious.”

I take a seat and quickly take a bite, completely famished after too little food and too much exertion, both physically and mentally. “Where do you have all of these ingredients?”

“There’s a hidden icebox in the pantry. I had someone restock shortly before we got here.”

“How did you communicate that to someone?”

Locane gives me that sarcastic smile of his and says, “Magic.”

I roll my eyes. “I thought you said no one ever comes here?” I tamp the worry in my stomach, at this point believing he wouldn’t purposely put me, or himself, at risk.

“They don’t, not unless invited.” His answer is simple but reassuring and the tension building in my shoulders relaxes.

“Who do you invite here?”

Locane rubs his temples wearily. “You always have so many pointless questions.”

“They are not pointless questions, Locane.” He takes a bite, purposely chewing on one side with a grimace. “How are you eating with a broken tooth?” I ask him, not really concerned with how painful it might be.

“Hunger is currently outweighing the pain. I’ll have to yank it out after I’m finished, thanks to you.” Locane looks at me expectantly.

I laugh. “You are even more insane than I already thought you were if you are seriously expecting an apology. You deserved it.” He shrugs and continues eating. I take another few bites, chewing slowly while watching him.

“Why are you staring at me?” Locane asks.

“These gems, why do you want them? Do you think you can somehow use them to reinvigorate the land?” I ask curiously.

I’d wondered about this last night when he abruptly left me downstairs alone after unloading on me. The information was not enough—yet somehow too much at once. I watch him quizzically as he sets down his utensil, wipes his mouth, and clears his throat.

“Yes, something like that.”

“How will you use them? They can be wielded somehow?”

“Yes, they can be wielded, producing great power.”

“How are they wielded?” I ask.

“Very carefully.”

Frowning at his non answer, I shake my head again before continuing. “I read through the journal you left out for me last night.”

“And?” Impatience coats the word.

“And I thought it was very interesting. Especially the binding you chose to try to hide it. I, for one, would be interested to learn about misinterpreted Quinndohsi phrases and their actual meaning.” My lips are tilted with an amused smile as I grab our empty plates and walk towards the kitchen door.

Locane’s lip curls with distaste. “Of course, you would. ”

“Are you trying to rile me again?” Placing the plates in the sink, I turn to him, putting my hands on my hips. Locane gives me an impassive look and says nothing. “How do you know about the gems?”

I turn to the sink, starting the work of cleaning the dishes.

“My father.” Locane takes a cleaned plate from me and begins to dry it with a small towel from the bar under the sink. “He taught me everything I know. Mostly.”

At the thought of him somberly telling me all his family is gone, I decide not to push.

My mind drifts to that beautiful picture I became so fixated on. “There’s a lovely picture I found in there that I couldn’t tear my eyes from. The Great Plains of Dhystros . And that is now the Plains of Ire, yes?”

“Yes,” he says simply, drying the second plate and adding it on top of the other. He drapes the towel over his shoulder and turns to lean against the counter. Locane crosses his arms, and I glance up at his face. His dark eyes bore into mine with intensity.

I swallow and continue. “Did your father draw the picture? There was no artist’s signature.” Leaving the kitchen, I turn down the flicker lamps on my way out, and Locane follows.

“No, that was not done by my father. I believe it was done long ago by a Capturer. The gift includes photographic memory and the ability to transfer images from their mind with an inky substance through the hand.”

I gnaw my lip in thought. “I would have liked to see what the Plains of Dhystros were like.” Taking a seat on my favorite couch, I hug a soft, blue pillow to myself. To my dismay, Locane sits right next to me in favor of one of the other many seats scattered throughout the room .

“Yes, I would have, too.”

Locane extends his arm over the back of the couch, his fingertips dangerously close to my shoulder. He runs a pad over a hanging lock of long hair, soft as a feather. I freeze, unsure of how to react, but he saves me from needing to by quickly drawing his arm back and casually draping it over the back of the couch. I gulp down my nerves that came with the delicate contact.

“I believe Dhystros’ gem was left on our Continent.” Locane drops that information as casually as if he’s talking about the weather.

An emerald in a cave flashes through my mind, and I try to school my reaction before I give myself away.

“Dhystros is one of the gods?” I wrack my brain for information on the gods, but the only name I seem to know of is Ellhora—that of the Mother. “Do the other gods have names? Are all their names common knowledge?”

Locane sighs and rolls his eyes. “I should have known you’d have a thousand questions for one simple statement. The Fates must really be laughing at me having to deal with you.”

My face heats. “That was not a simple statement! That statement pretty much begs for questions to be asked. And maybe I wouldn’t have to bombard you with questions if you wouldn’t give me such simple or cryptic answers that lead to more questions,” I say in exasperation. “And here’s another question, the Fates? What is that?”

I’m heated to the point where I’m struggling to string together coherent sentences. This only fans my flames. The more I try to think and wrap my head around anything, the less anything makes sense.

My headache returns .

“Dhystros is one of the gods. Yes, they all have names. Despite most factual recorded histories being destroyed, the gods’ names did live on: Ellhora, the Mother of Life and Creation; Dhystros, the God of Creatures; Mattyas, the God of Duality; and Serraphina, the Goddess of Fertility and Health. We are all but children of the Fates, gods included.”

I think again of my vision I had about the emerald being created and wonder if this could be the gem he thinks may be on our Continent. Could we be so close to finding one already? I almost tell Locane about it, but stop just as I’m about to speak when unease grips my gut so tightly I’m overtaken by a wave of nausea.

“What? You were about to say something and now you look ill.” Locane sits up, studying me with rapt attention; that air of tainted familiarity soaks his aura.

“Does my Nana know about the gems?” That question seems like a good one to explain to him my suddenly becoming ill.

My eyes pierce Locane, really drinking in his appearance, as I wait for his answer. He still very much strikes as being unwell. In fact, his pallor is worse than it was this morning. I don’t know how I didn’t notice his sickly coloring when I studied him in the kitchen while cleaning up dinner.

My mind, awareness, and rational thinking only seem to work less than half the time. That reignites my crushing suspicions of him, especially remembering what he told me earlier about what he can do. What he has done.

“Yes,” he states simply.

“And does she know that I might be useful in finding them?”

A short pause and then, “Yes. She knows. ”

My heartbeat kicks up a notch, and I suck in a breath. “Did she ever tell me about all of this?” My heart thunders in my chest in anticipation of his answer.

“I don’t know. I just know that whether she told you or not, she was holding you back.” That disapproval he had when speaking of Nana before has returned to his tone along with a sneer.

Looking at Locane warily, I state, “You know her.” It isn’t a question.

Expecting him to tell me he’s never met her before, to try and sell me the same lie he told me when I asked him about our own history together, he surprises me with the truth.

“Yes. I do. Or more, I used to. I used to know your useless father, too.”

The admission is like a kick to the chest.

Strangely, I haven’t given much thought to who either of my parents could be, despite Locane insinuating that I may come from nobility. Despite my memory with Nana suggesting that my mother is gone.

My temples throb and a drop of blood escapes my nose. I wipe it away hurriedly with the back of my hand.

Sitting up straight, my pillow flops to the floor as I uncurl my legs from my relaxed position. I place my feet on the floor, palms gripping each knee tight. “How?”

Locane’s demeanor exudes apprehension. That air of guilt that he’s been letting slip through more and more briefly flashes in his dark eyes.

“Her and my mother were friends. I spent my youth between Quinndohs and Brhadir. I saw your Nana often during my time in Brhadir as a boy. I have not seen or spoken to her, or your father, in many years, Ellya. ”

My mouth drops in shock at the revelation. I jump to my feet, unable to sit still as my mind sluggishly drifts back towards the weight of previous conversations with Locane and all the things he might have said without saying them.

“Were you ever going to tell me if I hadn’t asked? That is a big thing to only just now be telling me. And especially after I told you all I knew about my training with her, with my staff? About her training in Bokhaii herself. And you, you… Fucking you!” My tone turns frantic as I recall that conversation, pointing a finger accusingly at him.

He knew. Locane knew the whole time.

“You already knew! Didn’t you? And made insinuations about who I might be, based on the cost to hire a foreign staff master. They weren’t insinuations. You knew!” My feet pace while I tear at my hair like a mad woman—feeling like a mad woman.

The scope of his lies and half-truths come into sharp focus, making a tight ache deep within my belly burn and flow through my body. Something I’m becoming all too familiar with around him.

“Tell me fully, what you have compelled me to do, and why.”

Locane moves forward on the couch to stand but thinks better of it, instead lifting his hands to rub both temples with his pointer and middle fingers. He seems even more ill than he did moments ago when I studied him, now a drastic difference to how he looked after dinner.

His rapidly declining appearance gives me a sudden, sharp stab of alarm.

I’m about to ask him if he’s okay when my senses come back to me. I shake the sudden wave of worry and complacency from my head and glare at him, no longer pacing. Facing him fully, my arms hanging loosely at my sides. “Are you going to say anything?”

Locane’s eyes are vacant, devoid of any emotion. “Yes. I knew. I know who your family is—who you are. There is a lot to tell, but your father isn’t even worth mentioning. He willingly shipped you off to be raised by his mother, who did everything she could to hold you back.”

My head pounds and more blood drips from my nose. My heart constricts, and I fight the roiling in my stomach, trying to stay focused. “Why am I here? You haven’t even told me what you want from me.”

Locane stands abruptly rounding the coffee table to stand in front of me.“You’re not ready to accept the truth, accept your greatness. You’re not ready to know what you can do. I’m starting to wonder if you ever will be.”

Hurt swells in my chest and pulsates through my veins, mixing with ever increasing burning rage radiating down to my toes. I pull my arm back ready to land a punch to his jaw. Before my fist can connect, Locane catches me by the wrist and swiftly spins me, my back flush with his front. He curls his other arm around me, pinning my other arm to my chest—trapping me against him.

“Let me go!” I yell.

“Never,” he grits through clenched teeth, his hot breath tickling the shell of my ear.

“Let. Me. Go,” I huff on ragged, angry breaths.

Locane’s grip tightens. He exhales slowly, blowing a small tendril of hair falling loose around my face. “Let’s not fight, Ellya. You get under my skin just as much as I do you.” My response is a kick to his knee. His weight barely shifts with the connection, and he holds me tighter still. “Don’t think the fire you put in me is any different from yours.”

He releases me so swiftly my feet falter, and I stumble forward on the unexpected weight. Steadying my balance, I see that he has already made it more than halfway down the hall.

“Where are you going?” My scream carries after him.

“I have to go pull a fucking tooth,” Locane yells back over his shoulder.

“But we are in the middle of a conversation!” I’m chasing after him, determined to not let his deflection tactics work this time. I catch up to him just as he’s lifting a foot to climb up the ornate staircase. Grabbing his wrist, I tug hard enough to convey that I’m not relenting.

Locane turns to me with irritation. “Ask a question. I’ll give you an honest answer.” He watches me expectantly, impatiently.

“Why me?”

“I met with an Oracle on the Mother Continent. They said the board is set and the players chosen. They then gave me a description of powers that matched yours, and here we are.”

“You’re helping me based on a description? Could it not be someone else, then?” I ask with hope swelling in my chest.

“That’s three questions, now.” Locane gives me a sour expression.

“Just answer them. I was imprisoned because of all of this, yes?”

He inhales sharply and looks down at me with conviction. “Yes.”

“What if you all have the wrong person? What if everyone is mistaken?” My hand on his wrist tightens, and his face morphs to pity, as if he can feel my hope radiating through to his skin.

“It is you, Ellya. No mistakes. You are the only one throughout history with the powers described. ”

Furrowing my brow at Locane, I’m unable to see what he means. Nana also has the gift of Sight. Before I can ask him to elaborate, he slides his wrist free from my hand that has gone suddenly lax and walks upstairs, leaving me alone in the semi dark quiet with nothing but more swirling thoughts.

Quickly composing myself, I go back to the living area to make my rounds cutting the lights and putting the room back in order. A gnawing sensation of overwhelming responsibility eats at my thoughts as I straighten the throw pillows and tuck the journal under my arm.

Turning the words of Locane’s latest breadcrumb of revelation over in my head, something clicks.

The board is being set . That’s what he said some Oracle told him.

I recall my vision from this morning of the two women in the tavern. The one going to great lengths to hide her identity said those exact same words. My breath hitches, and excitement grips me so thoroughly I become lightheaded and sit back on the couch.

Finally, something is connecting. It may be small, and I don’t know what it means yet, but something fits. Locane said the Oracle told him players have been chosen, and he is making it crystal clear that he believes I am one of those chosen players. Is he a chosen player? Or has he only inserted himself as he sees fit?

What about the two women from my vision—Ceivise and the other?

My excitement ebbs to fear and uncertainty as I wonder just how far this stretches. How many people will be involved, racing towards the same goal? Will any of these other people be coming for me, if my gift is believed to be of use in this search for the gems?

A new panic grips me when I think about the other bit of information that Locane barely touched on that was quite important. That the Plains of Ire used to be named after a god called Dhystros. That he believes Dhystros placed his gem here, in one of the Kingdoms of the Continent. The details of the vision of him creating and placing the gem bleed into me, slow enough to consider each detail.

“Make sure they are worthy,” Dhystros had told his creature. Does the vision coming to me make me worthy? Although I don’t know exactly where, I know that Locane is correct in assuming that the gem is somewhere in the Kingdoms. Most likely Brhadir or Salhaas, given the cave it was placed in.

What if Ceivise and that mystery woman also somehow know that, too? Is this the job Ceivise had been paid handsomely in advance for, just waiting for an exact location to go retrieve the prize?

Leaping to my feet, I drop the book heavily on the ground with a resounding thud when another detail of that vision in the tavern comes back to me. Ceivise called it a royal errand. Is one of the kings involved in this somehow? I was in a dungeon in the Emerald Mountains. Locane said those were Brhadirian guards who almost caught us. Was the King of Brhadir, perhaps, the one who had me imprisoned?

Racing frantically down the hall and up the stairs, I grip the wall to hold myself steady. I’m ready to tell Locane everything I’ve kept from him so far out of my crushing fear that those two women also know about the emerald’s location—that we may be too late to reach it before them.

My feet slam loud on each wooden step as I thunder up the stairs, the ornamental runner doing little to absorb the sound. Making it to the landing, my feet go skidding as I abruptly turn to the right, ready to go and break Locane’s door down if I must .

My trepidation and distrust of him returns to me with a cold rush so quickly that nausea takes over my dizzy mind.

Stopping in my tracks, I clamp my hand over my mouth as I gag. After an abrupt change in directions, I barely make it to the upstairs washroom. The door slams closed, I quickly run the faucet full blast, and I lean over the toilet to heave violently.

I’m so overrun with thoughts and emotions and questions and questions and more questions; everything is racing through my mind so rapidly I can’t keep up.

My hand covers my mouth to muffle a scream as stabbing pain hits my head.

Another panic attack—stronger than the one I had earlier—is cresting in a ferocious wave taking over my senses and body. It crashes. The overwhelming terror of simply existing takes me over thoroughly and as quickly as a lightning strike, igniting all my nerves and making them fray.

The thundering sensation steals my breath, and I retch again.

With my dinner coming up while I’m fighting to take ragged breaths, it’s like I’m being suffocated. That only fuels my panic. I start clawing at my throat, frantically trying to gulp down breaths and not choke on my own sick when I remember how much the position Locane guided me to helped.

Resisting the continued churning of my stomach, I crawl pitifully over to the wall, resting my back against it. My head droops between my knees, and I drag a heavy, reluctant breath in through my nose and out through my mouth. After several long minutes, my breathing evens out and becomes easier. I slowly tilt my head back, resting it on the wall behind me and wipe the spit, sweat, and vomit from my lip .

On top of my magic that I seem to need to get a hold on, I also need to learn to manage these panic attacks that I fear will keep coming on with new bouts of information.

Swallowing my sudden onslaught of emotions, I quickly clean myself up. I brush my teeth and pad quickly and quietly down the hall to my room.