The Frozen Moon: Book Two of The Living Curse series + BONUS Full Version of Book Three! (13 page)

“Isn’t this why we all became
Markbearers?” her voice sounded foreign to her own ears, for the first time, she recognized the even pitch it held against the melody sounding through the air.  Couldn’t the others hear it?  “Weren’t we all looking for something more, something to fight for, something beyond normal?  We all had the chance to fit into the human world, assimilate and become utterly average, but we didn’t.  How many times in history did people come so close to changing the world and stopped short; we’ll never know because they made their choice.  I’ve made mine; I’m not going to be one more that missed their chance to change things.”  Her words had held more fervor and passion that she had known was inside of her.  She supposed that emotions could even be hidden from oneself sometimes.  “If we don’t go, we’re all dead-or worse-anyway.”

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t go, but what’s going to happen if we don’t leave right now?”  Mira’s question was meant to be rhetorical, but
Nameh would not leave it unanswered, not when so much was riding on the shoulders of their next move.

“What’s going to happen is that the Guild is going to catch up with us.  They have eyes and ears everywhere, physical and magical; I would be surprised if they didn’t already know we were here.  If we don’t go now, they could reach the Relic first, and if that happens…”  She trailed off, not wishing to consider the possibility, and judging by the faces of the others’, they knew all too well what the Guild could do.  It had been the night before last that two of their comrades had fallen to the efforts of the Guild.  She wondered if this was more death than Cal had ever known. 

Nameh could only hear the soft sounds of animals scampering through the dried leaves scattered throughout the graveyard like some sort of morbid confetti.  She looked up at the sky through the breaks in the golden and fire colored leaves, and wished she was lucky enough to be a bird, to be able to fly far above the ignorant struggles of man.  Her focus was brought back to her friends when the silence was finally broken. 

“Then let’s do it.”  Seth’s words were simple and concise, and again he continued when attention fell on him.  “There really isn’t much we can prepare for; we have no idea what we’re going to be up against, if anything.  I think we’re misplacing our struggle as well, I think we’ll have a bigger problem holding onto the amulet than getting it.  The Great Warlock didn’t create
Alantra in order to keep Markbearers from getting the Relic, quite the opposite actually.”  He was right, of course, he meant for Markbearers to be able to get to it if they so needed; Alantra was only for the inhibition of others.  Certain subtleties such as this often made Nameh wonder if the Warlock had known how his followers would divide against each other. 

“Alright, I don’t think there is much of a decision to make, then.”  Cal still retained the light in his eyes that she so admired, though it seemed to have dimmed little.  He was handling Gwen and Eve’s deaths better than she had thought he would.  Clearly, it was not an easy event to deal with, but he was staying strong.

“Listen,” Nameh began, there was one more matter she had to get off her chest, and this may be her last opportunity, “this isn’t your fight.  I know that you and Seth said you would come with us, but you can still go to Detroit.  We don’t know how this is going to happen, or even that we’ll live to see how it does, and no one will blame you if you follow the rules of the Vine.”

“Hey, no one told us not to go after the Relic, remember?”  Seth’s facetious voice broke the weighted conversation.  He smiled, and the concern she had felt was brushed away.  “So let’s get our axes ready and shove off!”  He couldn’t possibly have known what his simple joke had done for her.  As long as they had humor, none of it had to be real yet.  They could go on pretending that there was someone behind them, someone who would back them up when they needed it, or even someone to mourn their deaths if they didn’t return.

“We’re coming; this is our fight now, as much as it is yours.”  If only Cal could know how utterly untrue that was, how personal this battle had become so long ago.  Nameh had enough talking, she wanted to leave, and she wanted to leave now.  She pulled the black coat she wore closer around her body and fastened the buttons down the front.  All the others did the same, catching her message that it was time to leave.  They all wore dark colors, Nameh and Cal in black, Mira, Max, and Wyd in deep grays, Talar in brown, and Seth in a deep navy that contrasted brightly with his slightly lighter eyes.

Wyd
stepped forward expectantly, ready to perform another transportation spell.  Much to his surprise, Max put an arm out in front of him.

“Why don’t you let
Nameh do it?”  He flashed his ice blue eyes at her with his characteristic playful smirk.  She returned his look count for count, though surprised.  She hadn’t told any of the others that she was a Listener because she had no wish to convey the story of the Moon faerie war.  “She
is
a Listener, after all.”  Now he had done it, if there had been any question remaining, it was wiped clean, leaving only the truth.  There was no reason to go on pretending, and the fact of the matter was that it truly wasn’t as consequential as she’d worked it up to be.

“You’re a Listener?”
Talar questioned, though he did not often speak, he was apparently interested.  In fact, they all seemed to be taking an interest.

“Yeah, but I’ve never done a transportation spell, I probably could, but it wouldn’t be as clean as
Wyd’s.”  She flawlessly deflected from the issue of her keeping this from the others with a question.  “Seth, do you know what you are?”  She knew his answer by the expression he gave.

“No, I haven’t figured it out yet.  It’s not like I haven’t been in situations where I should have found out, but I still don’t know.”  He didn’t seem too dismayed at this, more curious, though she couldn’t imagine that it was something he was pleased with.

“I don’t know yet either,” Mira interjected for Seth’s sake.

“But you’ve only just been marked.” 
he pointed out.

“That seems like ages ago, but it was only a few weeks.”  It was true, so much had happened in that short period of time, that it felt as though years had passed instead of weeks.  It made her wonder how long this Relic hunt could go on, if it was just beyond the Angel’s ring, or if there would be more to come. 
Nameh knew that she couldn’t live like this forever, a war was brewing.  She remembered something her father had always said when she was back home, “A true fight is never won.” he would say.  Part of her hoped that this wasn’t true, that maybe the seven of them could have a sort of normalcy when the Relic was turned over to the Vine.  But as she had said to the others only moments ago, this was why she had become a Guardian, become a Markbearer, to have something worth fighting for.  If the struggle continued, she would fight until the end, whatever that was.

The discussions ended, they silently formed a tight circle in anticipation of
Wyd’s spell, which he was preparing.  She took one final look at the autumn scene around her, and breathed in her favorite scent.  The smell brought her back to Central Park a year earlier when she and Mira had run through the scattered leaves in pure and unscathed joy.  She couldn’t remember feeling that peaceful since, when things had been so simple, and everything they learned was still a game.  Now, things were turning real and changing faster than she could cope with.  She stared at the lone evergreen tree before her and admired its steadfastness with a thin sense of pity.  Though all the foliage around it was transforming and yielding to change, it stood firm.  In the end, she thought, the evergreen would live when all was barren, thrive when all life was gone, and stand tall at the others’ shortcomings.  But did the trees ever grow lonely?  Did they ever tire of being the only left alive; was it truly worth it to be the only remaining if there was none to share it with?  Perhaps we are simply crafted for change, life simply created for death, she thought.  Perhaps being the strong evergreen wasn’t worth the loneliness.  Perhaps most of the trees changed their colors so willingly because it was natural and necessary for new growth.  She quickly doused this feeling, crushed it beneath all that she held inside as she always did.  Wyd’s muttering shook the senseless thoughts from her as the autumn colors swirled about her, maybe for the last time, she thought.

This time, Max was able to land on his feet as they spun into the hall.  His ankles cracked beneath the force as his knees yielded expertly.  He began drinking in the beauty of the sights immediately; his dreams had become realized in a single moment.  Even before becoming a part of the Vine, he had heard stories of the legend of
Alantra for years.  He had been told it was the most perfect place a mortal may ever lay eyes on, and he could see now that these statements had not been exaggerations.  Though the hall must have been thousands of years old, perhaps more, it showed not a single sign of wear or aging.  The white of the walls was the purest he had ever seen, something too clean and perfect to be made by man.  The gold lines tracing along the white glittered as though a light came from within them, not just reflecting off of the surface.  It appeared as though the long room was lit with bright sunlight, though there were no windows or light sources in sight.  The rich blues were more vivid in person than they had been through the ring’s image, deep and fathomless.  One could get lost in wonder wandering the lengths of this hall, he thought, with its seemingly endless stretch.

The group walked for what felt like miles before they reached the great hall’s end.  Each step was compelled by the prospect of new glories lying just ahead, and each step was rewarded with such.  Tapestries and portraits lined nearly all parts of the walls now, depicting great battles and triumphs of times long forgotten.  The fabled
Mancer war of old stretched across a massive section of wall in an awe-inspiring display.  The necromancers of the west and the aeromancers of the east had warred for long months, the westerners atop the backs of fierce dragons, and the easterners atop the swells of great tsunamis, with hurricanes at their backs.  He could think of few struggles more worthy of a place in Alantra than the dragon riders and the weather callers.  He heard Cal draw a quick breath just ahead of him, and fixed his eyes forward, letting them rest on what he had seen.

             
A white pedestal lay before them, veined with the same gold as the walls, but it was not the pedestal that had mesmerized the group.  Resting on the white platform was a breathtaking sight.  It gave one the impression of some slumbering dragon, possessing infinite power tucked away in the folds of unconsciousness.  The Amulet was as beautiful as any story he had ever heard about it.  Illustrations in ancient texts were the closest anyone was known to have come to actually seeing it.  The sketches and oil paintings dismally failed to capture what even a photograph could not, he thought.  Nameh urged him forward, as he probably knew the most about Markbearer history.  The stories, fables, and legends of times long-passed fascinated him. 

On the wall behind the pedestal, he now noticed, there hung a looming golden emblem.  In the center of it, there was the
Shask, a universal symbol of brotherhood among Markbearers.  Surrounding it, there were five other symbols; their meanings were a mystery to him.  However, there was one in particular that stood out to him, as if he had seen it before.  He began to develop the feeling that if he stared long enough at the image, he would know what secrets it held.

From the corner of his eye, he could see
Nameh approaching another of the surrounding symbols; perhaps she had the same notion about that one.  Soon, Cal and Talar had joined them as well, Talar was focused on the same symbol as he was, while Cal had chosen a third symbol.  This left only Seth, Mira, and Wyd standing behind, observing the entire crest.  They did not appear to be spoken to by any of the symbols.  Like a speeding train, the thought floored into him all at once, flooding his mind. 

“Talents,” he said simply, delighting in his deduction.  Puzzles were one of his greatest joys, and little made him happier than solving a difficult one.  “This one here,” he began, running his hands along the curving lines before him, “means ‘Sense’, that’s why
Talar and I were drawn to it.  That one there,” he said, indicating Nameh’s, “would be ‘Listen’, and that one where Cal is would be ‘Heal’.”  This, of course, left two remaining symbols, he thought.  Those would stand for ‘See’ and ‘Whisper’, but which was which would remain unsolved until a person of either talent saw them.

“These must be ancient,” mused
Talar quietly, “they aren’t included even in the original texts of the Great Warlock.”  The group stood in awe at the aged metal, and Max’s mind traced the story of each line and curve and angle.  Who had created them, and why?  What power did they hold?  These questions would have to be answered later, he realized, the Guild was closing in.  He was becoming painfully more and more aware of their waning distance and growing power.  Each moment that passed brought more pain to his Shask, and each time he thought it could not get worse, it did.

He approached the Relic with a sense of unworthiness hanging taut about him.  His hands seemed to act of their own accord, against his will, but with the tenderness of one caring for the wounds of an injured comrade.  His fingers scooped under the emerald set in shimmering gold, ornate lines sweeping this way and that.  Each shining tendril seemed to whisper of temptation and lust and power beyond simple comprehension.  It was at this moment that he felt a kinship toward Adam and Eve; he began to experience what it was like to have knowledge laying before you, untouched.  Only one other had possessed it, and now the prospect sat before them.