Chapter 15: Legends
She closes her eyes then rolls her head slowly several times. Her body jiggles in her seat, bones crack, and her shoulders fall relaxed. Even the corners of her mouth turn down. With all her muscles tranquil, she cups her hands over the bronze necklace.
The chain lifts delicately, floating through the air until it finds a position parallel to Mona’s face. Center stage, the ballet begins between the chain and medallion. Together, they dance through the air. I’m so captivated by the beauty of its graceful motions that I hold my breath in long intervals, only inhaling and exhaling when I can’t stand the lack of oxygen any longer.
The edges of the chain glimmer, catching specks of winter sunlight from a nearby window. Glowing light radiates from within the object, but brightens as Mona’s fingers continue to massage the air around it.
I stare, completely hypnotized. Every few seconds, Mona’s eyebrows, forehead, and mouth wrinkle and crease as though she’s being told a story. I suppose she’s seeing the “life path,” as she calls it.
A door crashes open next to us.
I jump, reach across the table, and swipe the chain from the air. Mona’s shoulders thrust forward as if someone has attacked her from behind. Her eyes fly open, and she gasps for air. I realize I reacted too quickly, forgetting to consider the consequences, but she nods as she coughs, signaling that she’s okay.
I jerk my head to the door that now sits open next to our table. My heart knots in my chest. Did they see something?
Very unceremoniously, a wrinkled man rolls a large container of ice through the door. He’s oblivious to us. Mona and I exhale. Nervous energy makes me laugh.
Curious, the man looks over at us with the droopy eyes of a bloodhound. He smiles with a mouth vacant of teeth, then he waves, mumbles something in Italian, and continues on his errand.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that here.” Mona chides herself for her carelessness, but I don’t care.
“It was,” words escape me for a moment, “amazing.” I hand back the necklace. I’ve held it so tightly in my grasp that the medallion’s shape has imprinted itself on my palm.
“I thought you said you couldn’t do…whatever it is you do anymore?” I wave my hand around, trying to conjure the words.
“It’s only a partial ability now. But more importantly,” she holds up the necklace, “I want to give this to you.”
“Oh!” I take the necklace back and study the medallion. The square shape has a miniature sculpture of an obelisk with the sun’s rays behind it. A braided rope border wraps the edges. I look closer, reading the hand-etched inscription. “Tempus Rerum Imperator,” I say the words out loud. “It’s the same saying as the words engraved on the front of the school.”
“Really? I never noticed that. Here, let me see.” Mona extends her hand. I hand back the necklace.
She pulls out her reading glasses and flicks wispy curls away from her face as she slides the frames onto her ears. Her eyebrows pinch together, and then she mumbles the words out loud.
“Interesting,” she says, then hands it back. “I didn’t have a chance to search that far back into its life path before we were interrupted.” She packs away her glasses into her handbag.
“What did you see, exactly?”
“Not very much. I saw myself pulling it out of my safe this morning. It takes a little bit longer to get going, now that I rarely use my gifts.” She smiles, but her eyes flash with sadness. I don’t press the subject any further.
“Well, thanks,” I say. “It’s really cool. I love it.” I drop the chain over my head, letting it rest on my neck. It’s heavier than I expected.
I pick up the medallion from my shirt and look at it again, upside down. “What’s the deal with the obelisk? You said it’s a symbol of our people?”
Mona reorganizes her space, returning the plate, napkin, and utensils front and center, so she can begin to eat again. “We have many legends, the same as any other culture.” She swings her fork around. “But one of our most interesting date back to the time of the pharaohs in Egypt. It starts with a king named Unika. He was new to the throne. The former king, his older brother, Osaze, unexpectedly passed from illness.
“Unika watched his brother’s reign for years and became saddened by the decline of the kingdom under his rule. The grain fields especially disheartened him. They had grown barren. They were, at one point, the crown of their dynasty under the reign of his great-grandfather.
“In an effort to please the gods, and perhaps to regain some of their former glory, Unika ordered his architect to construct a massive pillar, an obelisk, right in the middle of his barren fields. He called the structure his petrified sunray and encased it with an inch of pure gold. Unika believed the structure would enchant the sun god, Amun-Ra, so much that he would be rewarded with fruitful harvests for his kingdom.
“But with all that, after much time, there was no gift from the gods and no grain to fill their baskets.
“Unika was not discouraged. He knew in his heart that Amun-Ra would honor him for his golden memorial.
“Every day he visited the monument, leaving offerings of lamb, incense, and gemstones, as did other people. Travelers from everywhere came to stand, awestruck, in its beauty.
“Finally, one day, Unika awoke from a late morning slumber and immediately ordered his guards to take him to the fields.
“When he arrived, he walked toward the obelisk and right into its shadow as the sun moved directly overhead, at its highest point in the sky.
“The guards looked on in disbelief. Unika shimmered into dust and disappeared right before their eyes.”
“He was a Wanderer,” I interrupt. Mona acknowledges the comment with a nod as she slices off a piece of pizza and tosses it in her mouth.
She finishes chewing and begins again. “As you can imagine, the guards were in a panic. They would be implicated in the disappearance of their King. They were very distressed, but not for long because in the very next instant Unika returned.
“The king did not explain his absence as the guards had hoped, and they did not press him. Instead, he ordered a meeting of his highest council by the Nile River’s edge.
“That evening, under a cloudless, star-lit sky, fiery torches encircled the king and the high officials. The officials were very concerned by the unorthodox nature of their meeting place and listened skeptically to Unika’s story.
“He proclaimed that while he slumbered that morning, he had a vision from Amun-Ra. The god requested that he return to the obelisk at the sun’s highest point in the sky and walk into its shadow.
“Unika explained that when he did, the earth bowed to him, and Amun-Ra, himself—greeted him. Together, they admired his fields, not barren, but filled with plentiful harvests.
“We believe he wandered to the time of his great-grandfather’s reign.” Mona interrupts the story with her opinion.
“Then what?” I ask.
“Well, Amun-Ra simply explained how he could make the vision of a bountiful crop a reality. Unika illustrated to his high council that if they could redirect the flow of the Nile to nourish the fields, the grain would grow again.
“This was, of course, a primitive irrigation system. The king’s will was so strong that the council could not ignore the truth in his unwavering eyes. And so, the council immediately implemented the plan. As promised, the crops became the crown of his reign.”
“Wow!” I take a sip of water.
“Yes, it’s quite a good story, isn’t it?”
“So, has anyone ever wandered back to see if it’s true?”
“Excellent question, but the answer is no. The stronger and more experienced you are as a Wanderer, the farther back in time you can travel. Assuming you have the correct relic to take you where you wish to go. So, no. No one to my knowledge is skilled enough or has attempted it. It could kill you if you fail.”
“That’s really—serious and sort of dangerous. You never said
this is going to be life-threatening, Mona.” I laugh a little, but when she doesn’t, I realize she isn’t joking.
“Well, it shouldn’t be dangerous as long as you stick to your studies in school. That’s why I asked you not to wander on your own. It really requires quite a bit of supervision in the beginning.”
“Uh—okay.” But I don’t feel any better.
“Yes, well, I’m quite surprised you wandered as far back as you claim. And with no supervision.” She shakes her head in amazement. “I suppose it came to be because you have such a strong connection to your mother.”
“I guess,” I mutter, but right now, I’m only concerned about making it out of high school—alive.
“You will be able to identify other Wanderers by the obelisk symbol. It’s how we recognize our kind. Some wear it as jewelry or even a tattoo.” She shifts her thoughts. “But please, don’t get a tattoo.”
“You’re starting to sound like Ray.”
“Good, I suppose my parental instincts are finally kicking in,” she says with a giggle.
•
I pull several tugs of mascara through my lashes, making them thick and black. Then I stroke my eyelids with silvery blue shadow. For my final makeup touch, I enhance two beauty marks under my right eye with a thin black eyeliner stick. Maddi always said that Marilyn Monroe would be jealous of them, if she had ever seen them for herself.
I’m not really sure what to expect at Gabe’s party, but since it’s supposed to be the “event of the year,” I have high expectations.
When I walk down the stairs to the second floor and into Mona’s room, she’s lounging across her bed, reading a book. Her evening cup of tea sits on her nightstand. Her room, unlike the rest of the house, has a focused style. Fresh white walls and furniture brighten the room; cabbage roses in full blooms of pink cover the bedspread. The feminine touches remind me of an English garden.
“Well, don’t you look simply beautiful.” She sits up and rests her novel on her knees. “I wish that I had your fashion sense,” she says, gesturing to herself with her free hand.
“I think I get it from you.” She does, in fact, wear the most gorgeous clothes, some so exotic they resemble the interior of her home.
I walk over, lean in, and give her a hug.
“Make sure you’re home at a decent hour and—” she points her finger for emphasis, “walk straight to and from school. No messing about the city—all right?”
“Wow, you’re a natural at parenting—bravo!” I clap my hands, moving them around in a circle.
She bows her head, rolling her hand through the air, accepting the round of applause. “Thanks, darling. Have fun.” She blows a kiss as I exit the room.
Locking the front door, I realize there’s something freeing about leaving the house on my own to attend a party. It’s my first, but Mona doesn’t know it, and I would never admit it to anyone else. Ray would never trust me the way she does. Not that I have ever lived anywhere long enough to attend a school function or even a regular party, for that matter. I walk a little taller, feeling a tad more adult than I had yesterday as I cross Mona’s front yard to the sidewalk.
Mona’s road is dark and quiet, but close enough to see the mayhem of the nearby, busier city streets. When I turn the corner to another dark street, the courtyard of the Academy sits a few blocks away. A deep cavern of buildings surround it. The obelisk is lit up, making the slender shape glow against the black sky.
Wind whips under my skirt. My tights are no protection against the frigid air, so I burrow deeper into my new velvet jacket, slightly remorseful for not wearing something more substantial. If I freeze to death, I just have to remember it’s for the sake of fashion.
I walk for a block, not paying much attention to my surroundings. I’ve seen them every other day before, using the exact same route to school, but this time it’s night, it’s dark, and I’m alone.
Gray swirls of frosty air whirl around my face, chilling my nose and lungs from the inside out. My entire body tenses, rigid from the cold. Sitting on a block of ice in a bathing suit would be warmer.
The thought sends my hands digging a little deeper into my pockets. The front of my jacket pulls taut; my knuckles bulge through the fabric. I scrunch my shoulders up to my ears and increase my stride.
Two more blocks to go.
Maybe it’s instinct. Or maybe I hear something. I’m not sure why, but I glance back over my shoulder. When I do, a shadow of a person appears half a block behind.
This instantly gives me a bad feeling.
My feet move faster. I peek back again, hoping I’ve built distance between my new unwanted buddy and myself. But now—there are three shadows. My heart rate accelerates.
Their forms, not completely solidified, sparkle as particles settle into the shapes of their bodies. They take long strides forward, molding and reforming with the shadows of the night, avoiding all street lamps.
I’m positive it’s the gang.
After I blink once more—there are four people.
I gasp.
The same short, dark-haired boy leads the group. Their nondescript clothes resemble the color of dirt and darkness, and their aura reeks of hate. It rolls off them in putrid-colored waves, scorching everything as they pass. If I were close enough, I know they would stink of rotting garbage.
In a panic, I scan the street. To one side stands a wall of interlocking four-story homes. On the other, a solid wall of plowed snow, five feet high, and a row of parked cars behind it, neither direction allowing a viable escape. There’s only one direction to run—straight to the Academy.
I sprint full force, but my legs have become blocks of ice, frozen and numb. A million pins and needles shock my muscles, protesting the task of running. With each step, I think they might break apart and crumble into shards of ice.
Pushing the pain out of my mind, I concentrate on picking my knees up higher and lengthening my strides. I will myself forward into the arctic wind. My breathing deepens, and my lips tighten and crack from the icy gusts surging in and out of my mouth. Beats of my heart throb with anxiety. My new necklace, which has jerked out of my jacket, clangs repeatedly against the metal buttons of my coat.
I slip. My feet slide awkwardly, but I catch myself before hitting the pavement. I don’t look back. There’s no time. Thumping footsteps fall heavy on the salted sidewalk behind me. They’re closer; I can hear them, smell them.
Regaining my balance, I reach deeper to run faster than before.
My face warms from breathing too rapidly, and my nose begins to run. My eyes water, but I keep moving as fast as I can, racing toward my next obstacle—crossing the busy intersection ahead.
I don’t have time to stand at the curb and look both ways before crossing. Running out into traffic and possibly being crushed by a speeding car seems my only option. I have to choose: death by car or death by the gang.
My head whips from left to right as I run to the curb. One foot slams down onto the asphalt. A truck flies past. The side mirror narrowly misses my face.
Crosswinds funnel down the street, blowing my hair into my eyes and blocking my vision. Horns blare, but I keep moving, hoping that there’s still enough time to dodge one more lane of traffic before I reach the median.
When I look up, a new person rushes forward from the darkness. The gang is corralling me like a farm animal into a trap.
I keep moving, regardless. One person will not stop me from reaching my destination. Determination surges through me. I will plow him over before giving up. They’ll never expect that.
My foot pounds onto the center median, and I launch myself into the next two lanes. That’s when I collide with the oncoming silhouette. The person flings their arms around me, right in front of an unstoppable speeding truck. The last thing I register is an Illinois license plate, inches from my face.