The Buried Symbol (The Ruins of Issalia Book 1) (14 page)

“
Ugh. We still have a long way to go,
”
Tipper said.
“
I hope my feet don
’
t fall off. They
’
re killing me already.
”

“
Mine too.
”
Brock rolled the map and stuffed it in his pack.
“
We need to cross the desert at night when it
’
s cool. Why don
’
t you relax and get a little sleep before it gets dark. I
’
ll wake you when it
’
s time to go.
”

“
You don
’
t have to ask me twice. I
’
ll take any sleep I can get right now.
”
Tipper slid down, put his head on his pack, and covered his face with his cloak.

Brock chuckled when Tipper began to snore.

CHAPTER 19

They hiked across the quiet desert with only the stars above to guide them. In the darkness, they were barely able to see the road. The wind eventually picked up, forcing the boys to don their cloaks for protection. When the sky began to lighten, their vision gradually extended beyond the immediate surroundings. Shielding his eyes from the gusting wind, Brock surveyed the view.

Miles and miles of open flat ground lay to the north and to the east. Beyond Barrier Canyon, desert seemed to stretch south forever.

Gusts of wind stirred the sand, blowing it into the air and obscuring his vision. The wind was gaining intensity with every minute, loose sand pelting them more and more frequently.

They continued walking as the day dawned. When the sun edged over the mountain peaks to the east, they still hadn
’
t found anything but dry, flat ground. It wouldn
’
t be long before the dry desert air grew hot from the sunlight.

Luckily, the wind was blowing from the northwest, hitting their backs and pushing them along as they walked. Their cloaks blocked most of the sand blown by the wind, but it stung any exposed skin it hit. The roadway became a series of small dunes, slowing them as they dragged their feet through the loose sand. The wind was getting worse. If it grew to a full-blown sandstorm, it would become dangerous.

Stumbling, Brock fell into the sand. He pushed himself up as Tipper helped him to his feet. Brock wiped sand from his face and spit some out of his mouth.

Tipper pulled Brock, but he resisted.
“
What is it? Why are you stopping?
”

Brock yelled back.
“
Hold on a second. I need to look at something.
”

Keeping his back to the wind, he began walking backwards. As he expected, the first steps were downward before having to step up again. He looked to the south, recognizing the shallow ditch running toward the canyon.

Brock yelled again.
“
Let
’
s go this way. We might be able to get out of the wind.
”

Holding his cloak up to shield his face, Brock followed the wash. He kept his head down, scanning the ground before his feet as walked.

The depth of the wash steadily increased. If it ran deep enough, they could use it to escape the wind.

Brock came to a sudden stop at the edge of a drop. As his eyes adjusted to the depth of the canyon floor, Tipper crashed into his back. Brock began swinging his arms wildly as he struggled to regain his balance. The momentum was too much, and he tumbled over the edge.

Fear gripped his throat and he suddenly found himself weightless as he fell. He hit the ground hard, blasting the wind from his lungs. He panicked as he struggled to breathe. Eventually, his lungs regained function and he sucked in a rush of air. Breathing heavily, he realized he was still alive. He sat up and looked around, finding that he had fallen onto a shelf overlooking the canyon.

Tipper stood above him, trying to block the blowing sand from his face.

Brock moved aside and waved for Tipper to jump down. Tipper sat at the edge of the drop and pushed off. He landed on his feet, but his momentum kicked him toward the canyon opening. Brock reached out and caught Tipper
’
s cloak, yanking him back from the edge.

Tipper landed on his rear, choking from the pressure the cloak had applied to his throat. Brock sat next to him, exhausted. Above them, the wind howled and sand occasionally fell onto their heads, but it was better than being in the open and getting hit directly.

Brock opened his water skin and took a drink, thankful that Meg had given them each a second skin. He had emptied the first one about an hour earlier.

Tipper was the first to speak.
“
That wind is scary. I wouldn
’
t want to be out there if it blows any harder.
”

Brock nodded.
“
That
’
s what I was afraid of. It appears we
’
re safe here for now. That is, if it doesn
’
t rain.
”

Tipper looked at him, his brow furrowed.
“
Why do you say that? Wouldn
’
t rain be a good thing? We
’
d have more water, and this sand would stop blowing around.
”

Brock shook his head.
“
That was a wash we followed here. This shelf only exists because it
’
s been worn away by water. When it rains, this basically becomes a waterfall.
”
He pointed toward the canyon.

Tipper gazed at the canyon opening, swallowing hard.
“
Let
’
s hope it doesn
’
t rain then.
”

Brock looked out at the canyon. Despite it being mid-morning, the sunlight was dim, obscured by the blowing sand. He wiped his weary eyes, realizing he had been awake since the prior morning.

Without a word, he laid his head on his pack, covered his face with his cloak, and was sleeping in seconds.

CHAPTER 20

“
Brock! Come down here!
”

He scrambled to the stairs and ran down from the loft. Reaching up, he twisted the knob to the apartment behind the tannery and darted inside.

He was greeted by the scent of sweet apples. Ellie gave him a smile as she put the lid on a large canister and placed it on a shelf. Brock
’
s mom was facing the fire. Hearing the door open, she spun around and flashed him a warm smile. She was young and pretty with long brown hair and intense green eyes.

“
G
’
morning, dear. I have a surprise for you. But you only get it if I get a hug first.
”

He burst into a run, flying into her arms. She gave him a big hug and kissed him on top of the head. Her hugs felt good, so full of love.

She released her arms and looked down at him.
“
We made your favorite for breakfast.
”

She gestured toward a steaming bowl on the table.

Brock
’
s eyes lit up.
“
Apple cobbler?
”

“
Yep. I know how you love it.
”

He climbed up onto the bench, sitting on his knees so he could reach the table.

His mom handed him a fork as she sat across the table from him.
“
You need to wait a minute for it to cool though, dear. It
’
s still hot.
”

Brock nodded.
“
Yes, ma. Mm mm. It smells so good.
”

His mom stared at him, a serious look on her face.
“
I need to tell you something important, Brock. Something you need to remember always.
”

Again, he nodded. His expression was serious, matching hers. Whatever his mom had to tell him, it must be super important.

She reached across the table and took his hand.
“
Brock, your life belongs to only you. I know that the Ministry says we must live the life they
’
ve defined for us, but I don
’
t believe that. I believe we make our own fate, and it
’
s not something predetermined. Just because you have no rune doesn
’
t mean you aren
’
t special or that you cannot find happiness in this world. Look at me. Look at all I have. I
’
ve no rune, but I have a great life with a loving husband and a wonderful son.
”

Ellie spoke up,
“
Be careful, Emily. That kind of thinking is heresy. If the Ministry heard that kind of talk, you
’
d be arrested or worse.
”

Emily looked toward her sister.
“
They may call it heresy, but it
’
s the truth.
”
She looked down at him again.
“
I believe that Issal loves us and rewards us for being good people, not for obeying the rules the Ministry has created. Be a good person, Brock, but be your own person. Be who and what you want to be, but always remain compassionate and willing to help others. Understand?
”

Brock nodded solemnly.

She added,
“
But you cannot repeat these words to anyone. You could get into big trouble.
”

Brock nodded again.
“
Okay, mom. I won
’
t tell anybody. I swear.
”

She smiled again.
“
That
’
s good, dear.
”
She stood, pointing toward the bowl.
“
You can go ahead and eat your cobbler now.
”

Brock scooped a big bite into his mouth. It was still hot, but tasted delicious.

The door from the tannery burst open, startling him.

His father stood in the doorway. His hand pushed his long, thick hair back as he surveyed the room.

“
What
’
s this?
”
He demanded.
“
Are you having a party without me?
”

Milan closed the door and crossed the room, sweeping Emily into his arms as he bent to give her a long kiss. When the kiss ended, they stared into each other
’
s eyes. Emily was smiling up at him, his arms still around her. He let her go and scooped Brock up, spinning him around.

“
Who let this ragamuffin in?
”
Milan asked before setting him back down on the bench.

“
I let myself in. I live here.
”
Brock giggled as he looked up at his father.

“
You do? Are you the one who
’
s been creeping around my loft?
”
His father teased.

Giggling, Brock said,
“
Yep. That
’
s me, pa.
”

“
Okay, but you need to earn your keep around here,
”
Milan said, looking serious.
“
And that means you have to pay in hugs every day.
”

Brock giggled again and stood on the bench to give his father a hug. He then knelt to eat his cobbler.

“
It looks like apple cobbler. You must have done something special for that,
”
Milan said.

“
Yep. Ma said I was special. Me just being me is special enough for cobbler I guess,
”
Brock replied as he scooped a spoonful into his mouth.

Smiling, Milan put his arm around Emily again.
“
Yes, you are son.
”

Brock smiled up at his parents. The love in the room felt so good.

The room began to waver, the image before him transforming.

.   .   .

He sat at the same bench, staring at his mother as she stumbled and fell to floor. Ellie ran to her side to help her.

“
What are you doing out of bed, Emily?
”
Ellie helped her sister to her feet.
“
You need to rest. We need you to get well.
”