Descendant (Secrets of the Makai) (23 page)

She dropped at least twelve feet, landing with hardly a sound, and headed for the tree with the second arrow. Her long hair flowed back from her face like sheets of silk.

"Think you're so great, better than the rest of us." She repeated the same procedure and dropped to face him, holding the two arrows in her fist.

Tristan shut his mouth, unable to recall any of her words. "Did you catch that arrow, in midair? While flipping? From a tree?" No matter how he replayed the event, it didn't seem physically possible.

He watched her approach, taking another slight step back. She was astonishing. And scary. And highly unpredictable.

"Give me the rest," she demanded, stopping a few feet in front of him. She seized the remaining arrows from his hand in one swift motion, then plucked the one she'd thrown at him from the ground. "You're pathetic."

Tristan watched her disappear into the trees with all his arrows, his mouth gradually hanging open again. She had to be the most astounding thing he'd ever witnessed in his life.

26

-
P
LOTTING
R
EVENGE -

DORIAN IGNORED GRAM at the clothesline and stormed into the shop. She dumped her bag on the workspace, riffled through all the drawers and slammed them shut.

Gram glided in with the basket of clean silk pouches in one hand and soap making molds in the other. "In the dish drainer, love."

Dorian glared, even though she'd meant to clean the knife herself. She retrieved it from the drainer and set to work, avoiding eye contact with Gram.

"Your methodology makes no sense to me," Gram said, sitting in her rocker with a fresh cup of tea. "Granted, I can't deny you get better results than I ever did." She leaned back and shut her eyes.

Dorian paused. "Maybe you should go lay down while you can? I can handle things here."

"You usually aren't so harsh with the poor plants. Is that for Flynn?"

Dorian nodded, mashing fresh stock and bits of dried stems into a glass bowl, before adding a few drops from each of the vials.

"Is that honeyberry?"

"I thought it might help if Flynn was, you know, feeling old. Besides," Dorian shrugged, "she volunteered. I know what you'll say, but this came from Arcadia. She's very well-mannered and promises not to disturb anyone else involved in the mixture." Of course, she'd made that promise before
he
got here. Dorian narrowed her eyes and kept stirring. "Don't you think maybe Flynn's just depressed?" Dorian added. "He probably needs a vacation or something."

"That's not for us to decide. You shouldn't give a person something so addictive. It could be dangerous."

"Everything's addictive and it's not like I added enough to make him go crazy or anything."

"I know, sweetheart." Gram continued rocking at a peaceful pace, a distant smile playing with her wrinkles. "I guess I miss being the one who makes the decisions, and the work."

"You still can, you know." Dorian dreaded conversations about Gram's career coming to an end, with herself taking over the business.

"Oh, my beloved. You've exceeded my teachings in every possible way. You are the finest student I have ever had the pleasure of teaching." Gram's smile grew wider. "Even though there are plenty of times I'd rather throw you, along with those puppy dog eyes of yours, right out the window with the dishwater."

"Cut it out, Gram." Dorian tried not to laugh. "You'd hurt your back and then I'd have to medicate you. I don't think you've ever even
been
a patient, let alone a good one."

"Good. Now tell me why you're so upset."

Dorian scowled at Gram's way of getting to the heart of things, turning remorseful when she realized the plants on the workspace were complaining about their treatment. "It's," she hesitated. "It's that Sabbatini guy."

"You've already proven there's nothing wrong with the plants. I'm sure it's just something he did wrong: his knife, his technique. The list is practically endless. If he comes here again, we'll just tell him to bring a testing sample, or perhaps you could simply make whatever he's after. I'm sure your results would be better than his anyway. Just put the entire matter out of your head."

"Fine," Dorian shouted, slamming the knife on the counter. "It's not Sabbatini at all, it's that Tristan! He's shooting arrows at everything except the target! Two of the aspens took shots, and Wesley almost got hit! Thank heavens I stopped him in time, but I'm sure he would have gone on doing the same thing if I hadn't taken the arrows."

"Now, Dorian." Gram's smirk made Dorian's blood rage. "He'll be a little dangerous until he figures things out, but you did the same thing when you were learning. Besides, Wesley ought to have known better than to be behind the target while it was in use."

"Wesley was nearly killed! Tristan didn't even apologize."

"I'll bet you didn't give him a chance."

"You demanded I not interfere! And now you're sticking up for him?" Dorian covered the mixture in the bowl with a damp towel and wiped the knife clean. "Someone needs to make him leave." She put the knife away and headed for the door.

"Be nice, sweetheart," Gram called after her. "And don't let your work sit for too long."

Dorian stomped barefoot along one of Oliver's trails, which she seemed to use more often since most of the trees were still shying away from her. They'd get out of her way entirely if they could. Not Ardon though, the Solstice Tree. He would never turn on her, being the closest thing she had to a best friend. She gazed up into his branches, marveling at his wealth of knowledge. He could remember every detail from his ancestral background, from generation to generation.

She climbed to the highest limbs towering over all the trees in the area, and settled into the crook of his embrace. "Can you believe the silly Aspens were glad to help? Like they saved him from having to go find the darn arrows in the brush or something."

"He's only just begun," Ardon whispered.

"Tell me about it! How much damage will he cause before he learns anything?"

"He honors us by showing his heart, by allowing us to take part in his growing process."

Dorian crossed her arms and huffed. "You mean, if he asked you not to watch while he made a ninny of himself, you'd turn your vision from him?"

"Why not? We would do anything to help his journey continue in good health."

"You have a lot of faith in someone who doesn't give you the time of day."

"He might not recognize us now, but his spirit does."

"Ha!" She'd never met anyone so oblivious to his surroundings. Though if she thought about it, maybe she wasn't as angry with him as she was with the plants for adoring him, regardless of his respect in return. They didn't usually take such a personal interest in people.

"His spirit recognizes you as well. Couldn't you feel it?"

"What?" No way would she be talked into liking the guy. "He's never been here, we've never met."

"You are the guardian of his cave and he knows it."

"I am not! And it's not his cave. He doesn't even know about it!"

"He will."

An idea brought a smile to her lips. If Tristan was to stay on the island, maybe he should take cave shifts like everyone else. The cave would keep him cut off from the plants and then she could talk some sense into them.

27

-
C
ONQUERING THE
U
NKNOWN -

TRISTAN COMPLETED HIS MORNING chores without any issues of pain in his arm, and thought about going back to the target practice clearing, on the off-chance of making a better second impression if the girl showed up. But without arrows? He chickened out and went back to building card houses. He finished the fifth layer when Gram appeared in the doorway, startling him.

"Hi!" Tristan said, trying not to bump the table while making room for her to step in.

"For you." She held out a basket of food and motioned for him to sit after he put it on the counter. "What do you see when you look at a card?"

Tristan studied the last card he'd put on the tower. "A three of hearts?"

"What else?"

"Uh…it's red?" He watched her lower herself onto a stump from the corner of his eye.

"And?"

He stretched his neck closer and squinted at the card. "There are little dents in the paper?"

"Really?" She sounded surprised, making him wonder what he was missing. "Anything in those little dents?"

Tristan looked closer still. "I don't think so." He focused into the pattern of holes, looking for possible dirt or hand oil. Soot? He could imagine bacteria he might have transferred, from handling fish every day.

The cards toppled and the three of hearts stayed, hovering over the table with nothing beneath it.

"Hey!" Overjoyed, he faced Gram and felt like hugging her. "It worked!"

"Not 'it',
you
. Do yourself a favor and take credit for once."

The card had vanished when he turned back. So did his joy. "It was there, wasn't it?"

"Yes. Excellent work." She put a hand on his shoulder and nodded with a proud smile.

His happiness faltered a bit more. Had anyone ever actually been proud of him? What if he couldn't manage something so abstract again? What if he disappointed her? He swallowed the lump in his throat and shook his head, confused by the crazy, somewhat illogical emotions. He barely knew the woman.

"I believe you're ready to move on."

Tristan eyed her warily. "You're not hearing my thoughts?"

"I suppose I could if I wanted, but it's rather rude." Her simple words swept away the heavy expectations he'd inflicted on himself. "Your thoughts are your own," she added.

What a relief! "You mean, all I had to do was make a card stay?"

"You needed to be able to concentrate on more than one task at a time. The pain pressure is still being exerted upon you."

"Oh. I thought you stopped."

"No. It will continue for as long as I can manage." Gram picked up a card and studied the artwork. "Self-preservation. Defense is becoming more natural, requiring less of your deliberate attention." She rotated the card and finally flipped it over. "This is a lovely deck."

Tristan chose a random card, never really paying attention to the art before now. When he glanced at Gram, she threw her card into the air. He sucked in a breath to protest, but the card began spinning in one spot, three feet above the table.

He watched the card, completely amazed. No strings, no magnets. Real magic.

Gram's face lit with pleasure and she seemed twenty years younger. "Why didn't I ever think to use cards? They're quite clever and very manageable, with just enough resistance to make everything fun." The card settled into her hand like a butterfly. "We used leaves and orange peels. Did you ever study molecular physics in your school?"

"No." He denied all knowledge, knowing only brief definitions.

"You'll develop a feel for it over time. Molecular mechanics is a key factor for most extrasensory perceptions and activities. Everything contains its own energy. When you make the slightest calculated adjustment to the force of any element, the most wondrous events take place.

"Start with pushing something along. If you can't use the cards just yet, try something else. Something smaller might help psychologically. And before you know it," a card from the pile on the table raced to her hand, "this too will become second nature." The scattered pile of cards sprang to life, coming together in a perfectly organized stack. She placed her own at the top. "How I do love the cards!"

Gram stood and Tristan followed her outside, working up the nerve to ask about the girl he met in the clearing. She stopped abruptly to face him. "The forces I'm putting against you have been strengthening at regular intervals. Once I've reached a limitation, I plan to add two other individuals. Don't worry yourself, but do be prepared. Don't do anything experimental while in dangerous locations, like on this ledge, or by the water if you don't favor swimming." She smiled sweetly, winked, then walked away. "Just something to keep in mind."

"Thanks for the food!"

"You're welcome. One more thing."

"Yeah?"

"The page with images—the one Gwenna gave you. May I see it?"

"She said...." Tristan paused. What could he do with it? Maybe she could help him figure it out. "Sure, I'll get it."

Tristan found the page in his backpack and brought it outside. The paper had separated while drying, leaving tattered edges and peppery blossoms of mold bleeding yellow on the top and bottom. She held it to the sun and peeled the stiff layers apart, careful not to crack the creased seams. "There are images?"

Tristan eyed the flattened page nervously. "It needs to be folded a certain way, but the last time…well, I folded it wrong so I wouldn't be sucked in by accident."

"Please fold it correctly." She held out the page.

Tristan's stomach tightened, he almost took a step back. "Maybe you could make contact with it? Gwenna said it would be everything I needed, but I can't figure out what I'm looking for."