Excerpt
Chapter 1 - Grandmother Carelle
Tarah concentrated on the green plant as she lay on her belly. The plant trembled slightly and then stood still. Tarah’s eyes, frozen in place, didn’t move from the leaves' poison tips. The plant trembled again, and this time there were some results. The tips of the leaves began to glisten with moisture, and Tarah sighed with relief. Oil. This was a promising sign that the plant was beginning to heal
"Excellent!" a voice said behind her.
Tarah turned over on her side to see Maven Ganten walking toward her sanctum part of the forest. His long green robe brushed the lush lawn, and Tarah could briefly see his bare feet.
"Maven," she said, and stood up promptly. "Father."
Maven Ganten smiled, pulling down the hood of his shimmering robe. His green hair stood up straight and short, like small pine needles; the color matched his green eyes that glistened with age and power. Tiny wrinkles accented his brilliant smile and strong chin. He always smiled when Tarah called him father, though they were far from being related. He looked down at the ill plant and nodded his approval.
"You’ve worked hard on this, little one."
"Yes," Tarah beamed. "It will live. Some thought it was useless, but I didn’t give up and now it will live."
"Yes, it will live," Ganten agreed, "but a lot of energy has been placed upon it."
Tarah’s pride dwindled. She knew that Maven Ganten didn’t like Irids to waste their skills on frivolous things, especially when there were more important matters to deal with.
"Father, I--"
He raised his hand as if to brush away the issue. "You must go now and visit the Essonite Concern."
"What’s wrong?" Tarah’s heart quickened. "Is Grandmother alright?" Maven Ganten’s face filled with sympathy, and Tarah didn’t need to hear the words. "My studies?" she asked, waving at the other plants.
"Can wait for now," he said, and looked up at the glass dome. The sun was shining brilliantly this day, allowing the display of the many-colored plants seem brighter. To Tarah, the dome, the Reseda Concern, made every green, living thing under its shelter a thing of true, pure beauty. Though she had lived in Reseda most of her life, waking up among the plants and trees was still an exalting experience. She was truly a Reseda-born Irid, and she knew it. But Tarah couldn’t bask in the dome’s beauty today. Not today.
"Go now," Maven Ganten’s voice was soft. He raised his hand and fingered his pendant, the symbol of his power, which hung heavily around his neck.
Tarah took a stallion to Essonite Concern, following the cobbled streets, passing a few Irids on her way. At one time, Irids filled these streets with their colors--red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet—-but that was long ago, before the Null War. Now the streets seemed too wide, and the Seven Concerns, which housed the Irids, too large. So much space, everywhere. Yet, today they lived in peace and harmony, where as before, there was much feuding between the Concerns, which separated the Irids and their power. The Null War changed all that.
Tarah waved to a few Irids as she rode, their light cloaks flowing around them, hiding their matching one-piece outfits. They were a few years younger than Tarah, she surmised, considering the shade of their skill color. Tarah looked down at her own green cloak, which was plain, like theirs, but which had shown the shade of green for twenty-three years. But then her heart quickened--by the next moon, she would obtain a cloak that shimmered like the one Maven Ganten wore. Instead of displaying her age, this cloak would display her degree of skill as the years continued to pass, making it evident to everyone, including herself, that she were highly skilled. She looked forward to that day.
The galloping stallion reached the black wall that surrounded Irid in a perfect circle. Its smooth surface reflected nothing, though it glistened as if it were polished. Power was held within its walls; Tarah could feel it, giving her the urge to touch it as she rode on. Though it was not forbidden to touch the wall, it was considered very unseemly to do so. She focused on her destination.
It took only fifteen minutes more to reach the Essonite Concern. Its splendid, bright golden gates welcomed visitors. A short tune from a harp played as the gates swung inward. A tune was never played twice, and the gates only opened freely for an Irid--a skill placed upon it centuries ago.
A few Essonites stood near the gates, almost as if they were guards; however, their child-like features wouldn’t intimidate a fly, especially as they skipped and tumbled about. Surprisingly, no matter how much trouble the Essonites got themselves into, their yellow capes stayed bright and clean, as did their jumpsuits.
The gates slowly closed behind Tarah, and she remembered the day she stood before the imposing structure as a final test before she became an Irid. The great gates had opened, letting everyone know that she had come into the skill. That was eight years ago, the same age that these Essonites appeared to be.
Tarah rode on to the building in which her grandmother was housed, brushing away bubbles that the Essonites blew in her direction. She could hear their giggling and running feet, but she never could get a good look at the perpetrators. They played all day and all night, never seeming to run out of energy; their gaiety, fun, and warmth smothered the air, making one feel a sense of good fortune, but Tarah didn’t want to feel their skill today. Sometimes one has to feel the negative vibes of life just to keep living, she reminded herself.
She placed a shield about her, which only encouraged the Essonites to send more waves of their happiness her way. Tarah could feel the warm presence right on the edge of her soul, but she did not give in. Eventually, the Essonites would tire and try to find someone else to play with.
The stallion halted and a cute little boy took hold of its reigns. He was the same age as Tarah, though he looked half her age because he was an Essonite. His hair was already yellow, showing the strong skill he possessed, and he wore the shimmering cape of Maven. All Essonites came into their skills much earlier and achieved Maven status much quicker than any other Irid. It only took them a few years, while the rest took sometimes decades--yet the Essonites were not as powerful.
The boy gave Tarah a sweet, engaging smile and pointed toward the large entrance. "Here again, I see," he said.
"Here again," Tarah patted her hebdomad brother’s head, a greeting she had always shared with him, as she walked by. Bichet whistled and a girl with golden curls came and retrieved the horse. He caught up with Tarah in the hallway behind the doors.
"She’s been ranting and raving more today than she’s ever been," he said, looking up at her. "I am concerned."
Tarah stopped at his last words and looked at him. When an Essonite showed signs of anything less than positive, it wasn’t good.
"That bad?" Tarah asked, though she already knew the answer.
"I fear the worse," Bichet shifted his eyes away. "She’s been here for decades upon decades, and we haven’t been able to reach her, not at all. Tarah, I don’t know if—-"
Tarah began walking again. She didn’t want to hear any more, and surprisingly, he didn’t try to force the issue.
She could hear the shouting before she even reached the room. The sound wasn’t one she had ever heard before. She stepped up her pace and burst through the doors.
Grandma Carelle was on her knees, scribbling on paper on the floor and shouting at the top of her lungs. Her violet hair was in thick braids which stuck out from her head in all directions. Ink was smudged on her face and had blackened her hands, yet Carelle seemed unaware of all this as she wrote and wrote and wrote.
All four walls were plastered with paper filled with writings and formulas. There was so much of it that they were overlaying each other and some were peeling from the wall.
Tarah rushed to her grandmother’s side. "Grandmother?"
Carelle suddenly stopped screaming and looked up. "You’re here! You’re here! I’m so glad you’re here! I’ve found it! I’ve found it!" Then suddenly she looked at Bichet and her face wrinkled into a frown.
"It’s okay, Grandma," Tarah encouraged, "That‘s Bichet, remember? My hebdomad brother."
"I know who he is!" Carelle shouted.
Bichet backed away toward the door. "I'll be right outside."
"You do that," Carelle spat.
"Grandmother!" Tarah exclaimed. She didn’t care how insane her grandmother had become; she wouldn’t tolerate rudeness, not at all.
"Hmph," Carelle said as she tried to stand up, but she fell over instead, her violet cloak exposing her thin, wrinkled legs spotted with black ink.
"Let me help you," Tarah bent down.
"I can do it!" Grandma shouted again, and rocked herself back up to her knees. When she tried to stand again, she fell a second time.
"Grandma, let me help," Tarah tried to take her arm, but her elder only snatched it away.
"I said I can do it!"
Tarah stood helplessly as Carelle attempted to stand yet again, but this time she moved slower and balanced herself until she was on her feet. Smoothing down her robe, she reluctantly went to her bed, the only other furnishing in the room besides the nightstand, with a basin seated on top. She didn’t want to go to the bed because that’s where the Essonites and her granddaughter always wanted her to be. She didn’t want to lie down; she wanted to be up and about, writing her formulas. Even now, she barely sat on the edge of the bed. Carelle patted a space next to her for Tarah.
Sighing, Tarah sat down. At least she was calmer now.
Tarah looked at the soup that sat cold on the table next to the bed. "Grandmother, you didn’t eat yet today."
"Hmm," she answered.
"You should eat. It’s your favorite. They make it just like you’ve told them," and then Tarah repeated the words her grandmother had so often said to her, "It contains all the elements your body requires."
"Where is Syna, your hebdomad sister?" Grandmother Carelle said, changing the subject.
"She’s not here, Grandma," Tarah answered blandly. She hadn’t brought Syna here in years, yet her grandmother still asked about her.
"Hmmm," Carelle nodded, "Problems, still?"
Tarah looked away. "We don’t have any problems."
She chuckled. "I know when sisters’ bonds are in trouble," and then, without laughing, "I know now, indeed. Sisters should trust each other, Tarah, they should trust each other. True sisters should trust each other."
How her grandmother knew about her feelings toward Syna, Tarah didn’t know, and she didn’t want to talk about this now. She were thankful when Carelle finally fell silent, staring at the walls covered with inked paper. Tarah remained quiet as well, hoping the Essonites’s skill would start to work on her grandmother. For years her grandmother had been fighting the healing that the Essonites provided. She were a Maven, after all, and sometimes Tarah forgot how powerful she was.
Carelle made a yelping sound and hopped up again. She would not let the Essonites’s skill affect her today.
"You see here," she said, going to a spot on the wall, "this is where I began to find the answer."
Tarah closed her eyes. Here it comes. She hated going over this same conversation with her grandmother, time and time again. Tarah would ask her, "What answer?" and Carelle would reply, "The answer to save us all. The answer of the Zircons." And then Tarah would say, "The Zircons are dead, Grandmother, don’t you remember? They were killed before the Null War." "Yes, killed," her grandmother would answer, "but they will be born again." "Grandmother," Tarah would say, "The Mavens have already searched; they sent out searchers even after the Null Wars and found none. They gave up searching decades ago. Grandmother, please, please give this up. It’s over; we have a new system now." And grandmother would say, "The contests they have in that dumb amphitheater they built?" She would laugh. "Only three out of twenty children ever come out of those events displaying minute signs of the skill, and still there’s no guarantee that they would advance enough to receive a pendant. Our numbers are still declining! There is no hope for us except for the Zircon, and I will find the answer. You can count on that!"
Answers were what Hyacinths lived for; it’s what they did, search for knowledge, and Grandmother Carelle was a Maven Hyacinth. Yet Carelle was going to extreme measures to achieve these answers that she sought. There was nothing to stop her grandmother from continuing day and night from scribbling down her formulas and muttering to herself until she drove herself to fits and tantrums.
Tarah opened her eyes and looked at the same spot on the wall that always began this ho-hum conversation. Carelle continued to point with that silly grin on her face as if waiting for Tarah to ask her routine question.
Tarah gave in. "What answer is that, Grandma?"
"The answer to save us all," she said excitedly. "The answer of the Zircons."
But this time, before Tarah could remind her that all of the Zircons were dead, Grandma Carelle walked over to the other side of the room where she had been kneeling.
"And this," she whispered as if she wanted no one to hear but herself, yet her voice was still as clear as if she were yelling, "this is where the answer is."
Tarah froze. The answer? She turned and looked at her grandmother. She was afraid to ask, afraid that the conversation would turn back to the hundreds of conversations before.
"The--the answer?"
"Yes!" Carelle almost jumped. "Yes, my precious one, the answer! I found it!"
"I--I don’t understand, Grandma," Tarah looked where Carelle stood and saw nothing but more hastily scribbled formulas. "Are you saying you know where one is?"
"Of course I don’t know that!" Grandma frowned.
Tarah’s heart and being sank. It was only a small hope that Grandma’s health was improving. Bichet had said that her grandmother was getting worse, and perhaps this was some sign of her ending days; believing that she had found an answer could be a sign of her coming to the end of insanity, and of her life.
"Don’t get discouraged, my dear," Carelle said in a comforting tone, almost like she had when Tarah was a child. "I may not have that answer, but I do have the answer on how to find one." Carelle went back down to her knees and grabbed the sheet of paper and began to place it on the wall. "I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before, but it came to me so clearly in the past few days." After pasting the sheet to the wall, she came back to sit next to Tarah. She leaned in close. "It was when I began thinking of your mother, that it came."
"My mother?"
"Yes!" Grandmother Carelle’s eyes shone with excitement. "Her battles against the Tusche, the skill that she used--the answer was there all along." She jumped up, walked away and then hurried quickly to Tarah’s side. "Now, you mustn’t tell anyone, Tarah, not a soul. But you have to help me, you have to help everyone, and I only have you to trust with this."
Carelle took off her pendent and handed it to Tarah. "You must get what belongs to me in the Hyacinth Concern, and show no one its contents."
Tarah stared at the powerful pendent. The violet pendant was the center of her grandmother’s skill, an object of concentrated power. Only an Irid who had arrived at the height of his or her power had one, and this one was as ancient as her Grandmother, at least one hundred years old. And she was giving it to her.
Tears began to form in Tarah’s eyes. The giving of her pendant, the talk of Tarah’s deceased mother—-these were all the signs of goodbyes. In her own way, Grandmother Carelle was telling her goodbye.
Slowly, Tarah took the pendant in her hands. "I’ll take good care of it, Grandmother."
"I know you will," Carelle lifted her granddaughter’s chin. "I can trust you, just like your mother." And with that, she kissed her forehead.
It was rare that Carelle discussed Tarah’s mother, or her father, for that matter. Grandmother had given birth to her mother very late in life, somewhere in her mid-sixties, and her grandfather was a Commoner. Carelle wanted to maintain the peace between Commoners and Irids, especially after the Null War, when the Commoners had joined against the Irid. Bearing Tarah’s mother was an act of her commitment, though many said that it was the beginning of her insanity. Nonetheless, Carelle had treasured Tarah’s mother and loved the Commoner who was her husband; yet Tarah never knew her parents, or her grandfather. Her parents were both killed a few months after she were born, battling rogue Tusches, those with a different kind of skill, a black skill, who wanted to destroy the treaty between the Irids and the Tusche; and her grandfather had died much earlier than that. She had only her grandmother.
Tarah broke away, hiding her face and tears. She couldn’t allow her grandmother to see her unhappiness.
"I’ll be back," she said, and walked swiftly out of the door.
"Go quickly," her grandmother said after her.
Bichet was there to greet her when she came out.
"I’m sorry," he said.
Tarah tried a smile. "It’s okay." She didn’t look at Bichet as she stared at the pendant. "I--I can’t do this," Tarah said, and thrust the pendant into Bichet’s hands. "Can you ask Assin to get my grandmother’s things for me?"
Bichet stood speechless.
"Please, brother," Tarah begged. "I just can’t handle this right now. Just ask him to get them for me, and when I’m ready, I’ll look at the contents."
Bichet nodded.
"Thank you," Tarah barely spoke the words and ran down the hall.
Table of Contents
BOOK I: UnVeil
Chapter 1 Grandmother Carelle
Chapter 2 Assin Calls council
Chapter 3 Cho'Zin Tournament
Chapter 4 Fire
Chapter 5 Tusche Denv
Chapter 6 Outside to Buxfe
Chapter 7 Lalande Mountains
Chapter 8 Answers
Chapter 9 Hebdomad
Chapter 10 Battle
Chapter 11 Truth
Chapter 12 Sight
BOOK II: Balance
Chapter 1 Agreements
Chapter 2 Govina
Chapter 3 Black Desires
Chapter 4 Nevanim
Chapter 5 Love
Chapter 6 Confidence
Chapter 7 Zircon
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