Successor Read online

  “Pretty.” Leila replaces the lid and hands it back to me. “All in all, I’d say we’re screwed.”

  I sit in the chair on the other side of the table. “I don’t think they mean us any real harm. Not now, at least. If anything, they’re looking for answers.” Like I am now. A test sip of the water; it tastes fine. “We’ll keep our eyes open. If anything goes south, we bail. Okay?”

  She quirks a brow. “Let’s hope Mr. Trigger-Happy doesn’t decide to use us for target practice.”

  Chapter Four

  I wake to darkness. Someone must have extinguished the candles on the table while Lei and I slept. Through the opening at the top of the hollow, the sky has changed from a star-studded canvas to the dusky purple-blue of the approaching dawn. Falling back to sleep is out of the question when birds start greeting the morning with their bright chirps, tweets, and trills. The growing light illuminates the dirt path outside the entrance, bending into the hollow enough for me to see my surroundings.

  Light seeps through the flowers and leaves above my bed. The frame creaks as I roll to my knees and push the garlands aside, finding a large gap to the outside. A brilliant sunrise climbs over the treetops, filled with rich reds, vibrant oranges, soft pinks, and striking lines of bright yellow. The scent of the garlands wraps around me like a comforting blanket, and I take a deep breath to let it fill me from my toes to my fingertips.

  “Lei.” I climb out of bed and cross to her side of the hollow. “You should see this sunrise.”

  When I touch her arm, her skin is chilled and clammy. Her hair is damp with sweat, sticking to her neck and face, her breathing shallow and labored.

  The peacefulness of a moment ago evaporates, my insides twisting in alarm. “Lei, what’s wrong?”

  A faint groan is the only reply, and I dash out of the hollow to find the guard. A woman holding a staff at the side of the entrance jumps at my sudden appearance.

  “My friend is sick. She needs help.”

  Her focus shifts down the path. She lets out a loud whistle that causes several people to stick their heads out of the trees. A few signs are given, and a couple of people run off toward the center. In under a minute, two are heading toward us. One is a woman with a basket who looks to be near forty, maybe a little more.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Kirahl, the healer.”

  When she reaches us, she goes inside without a word, and I follow her in. She sits at Leila’s side, touching her face with the backs of her fingers. The guard comes in and relights the candles.

  “How long has she been like this?”

  “I don’t know. She was fine when we went to sleep.”

  She pulls Lei’s sweat-plastered hair away from her face and begins checking her over. She asks me a few questions, then sends the other person with her to fetch supplies.

  A voice sounds behind me, making me jump.

  “The elders wish to speak with you.”

  The bowman. When did he get here?

  “About what?”

  “They have questions.”

  I shake my head. “Leila’s sick. I can’t leave her.”

  His gaze flicks to her for the briefest moment. “Are you a healer?”

  “No, but—”

  “Then you are not needed here.” The hardness of his eyes and set of his mouth tell me he won’t take no for an answer.

  Kirahl interrupts my protest. “Go with Ren. I will send for you if necessary.”

  A helpless sound of defeat escapes my throat, and I stiffen when the bowman, Ren, touches my elbow. Warm and gentle, his touch makes my skin tingle, like an electrical current flows between us. A fluttering wave rolls from my stomach to my chest, and I clench my torso against it.

  “They know you have questions as well. They are willing to provide answers.”

  I pull my arm away. “Fine, but I don’t want to be gone long.”

  He raises an arm toward the entrance. Grabbing my bag from under my bed, I cast an anxious glance at Leila before leaving the hollow with Ren behind me. I head toward the village center, and he falls in step beside me.

  We move down the path at a steady pace, though with Ren’s long legs, I have to speed-walk to keep up. The thick branches connecting the trees on both sides stretch overhead, dripping vines and flowers, the path littered with leaves and petals. A few people sit in the crooks of the branches, talking to each other and eating their breakfasts. They quiet as Ren and I walk below, their curious gazes on me. I keep my focus on the path.

  A flutter fills my chest at the realization this is my first time alone with Ren. Given how tense the air is, I’m guessing he’d rather be walking next to anyone but me. It makes me anxious to fill the silence. Plus he’s still half-naked, so…there’s that, too.

  “Kirahl said your name is Ren,” I hedge before glancing at him. “Is it short for something?”

  He eyes me with a slight crease between his brows, his scar stretching a little.

  “Your name,” I clarify. “Is Ren short for something longer?”

  The frown vanishes. His gaze returns to the path. “No.”

  I follow suit and look forward, pressing my lips together. Nope, not awkward at all. Back to the task at hand. “Do you know what the elders are planning to ask?”

  “No.”

  I sniff, nervous agitation giving me jittery twitches. “I thought the interrogation was over.”

  “They do not believe you are a threat.”

  “Then what’s with the guard outside our tree?”

  “Protection.”

  I frown. “Whose?”

  He continues walking in silence, not sparing a glance my way. I clench my jaw to keep from groaning. Put on a damn shirt already.

  We enter the village center to a view of sunrise, and my steps slow as I imagine a phoenix setting the sky ablaze with its death. I can almost hear the melody I would create to accompany it, and I wish I had a piano in front of me to bring the notes to life before they fade away, lost forever. The tune comes to me and I start to hum; sad and desolate, the beginning portrays the inevitable destruction of a dying world. The heartbreak of loss and despair becomes almost unbearable until, like a phoenix rising, hope reignites from the embers of an extinguished flame, and the dead world is reborn.

  We cross the center, passing the large pit with the embers from last night’s fire still glowing red and orange in the ashes. In the morning light, the encompassing ring of banyans is breathtaking, their branches crisscrossing and intertwining in such random endlessness, I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

  Across the ring is a rectangular courtyard. The trees surround it on three sides as a path cuts through the back wall, leading to more living hollows by my guess. The canopy opens in the middle of the yard to allow sunlight to pour down on what look to be garden patches. Opposite the courtyard are several animal pens, whose occupants are munching away in the early hour. Small groups of people mill around the center, watching as Ren leads me toward the elders.

  We come to the wall of trees housing the council area, and I step through the entrance, expecting to find a space similar to where Leila and I are staying. As I emerge on the other side, I stop and gape at what’s hidden behind the wall.

  An explosion of color and scent fills my senses as I stand in the most beautiful garden I’ve ever seen. Blue, purple, pink, and white flowers resembling wisteria hang from the branches of the banyans, stretching over the space from one side to the other. The rays of the rising sun creep across the sea of flowers, grasses, and bushes before me, and I’ve never wanted a camera more in my life than I do at this moment.

  A path weaves through the garden toward the back corner where the elders sit around a table. They turn their attention toward us as we approach, their gazes on me. Maemon motions for me to sit as Ren steps off to the side. I get the impression he’s acting as less an escort and more a prison guard. He watches the group as a whole, but the intensity of his focus is on me. I straight
en in my chair.

  “How are you today?” Maemon is the first to speak.

  “I’m worried about my friend. She’s sick.”

  “How unfortunate. I trust she is being attended to?” A glance to Ren.

  “Kirahl is with her now.”

  My shoulders lift as my frustration tries to surface. “I don’t know what would make her so sick. We ate the same things, went the same places.”

  Maemon’s brows twitch. “It is most likely because she is not native to these lands. It is known as the traveler’s sickness.”

  “But that doesn’t make sense. I’m not native, and I feel fine.” My gaze shifts to Ren without meaning to, his intensity pulling at me like a magnet. It takes more effort than I like to turn my focus back to Maemon. Her expression reminds me of an adult contemplating an explanation to a child. Tension expands upward into my chest, tightening my throat.

  “Tell me about your parents.” Her interest sounds genuine enough.

  “My dad’s name is Gary. He works in an office.” I doubt they have any idea what that is.

  “And your mother?”

  Anticipation lights a little ball of heat in my stomach. “She died when I was born.”

  “Do you miss her?”

  The question strikes me as a little odd. I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that before. Instead of saying what everyone must expect, I tell the truth. “It’s hard to miss someone I’ve never met.” Rather than giving me a disapproving look, she nods and waits for me to continue. So I do. “I think I miss the idea of her…of having a mother. My dad’s told me about her—her hobbies, favorite foods, things she used to say.” I shrug. “But it’s not the same thing as knowing who she was or what she was really like.”

  Maemon’s mouth pulls into a tiny smile, and she nods. “We never truly know someone until we experience them for ourselves.”

  With a small smile of gratitude for her understanding, I dig into my bag for my wallet. “I have a picture of her. I found it a long time ago.” Fishing out the faded photo, I offer it to Maemon. “I think it was taken a few months before I was born.”

  Developed in black and white, the photo gives no hint as to the true colors of her hair, eyes, and skin. I’ve been told my dark hair, green-hazel eyes, oval-shaped face, and small nose are all courtesy of her. One glance at the image and there’s no denying I’m her daughter. My lack of height, however, is courtesy of my father.

  Maemon examines the picture, a sad smile transforming her features. “As she once was.”

  Eagerness fills me, my suspicion confirmed. “You knew her.”

  The sadness leaves her eyes as the leader in her takes over once again. She regards me with an assessing look. “Let this be clear—certain information is privy to the members of this clan. Once we are certain of your loyalties, we will consider sharing that information. Until then, Laraek lore remains among its people.”

  Every muscle in my forehead pulls toward my hair. “Of course.” Does she expect me to blab everything to people back home?

  Maemon hands the picture to the other elders. “Come.” She stands and holds out a hand for me to do the same. “First, a test.”

  “What kind of test?” Unease is clear in my voice.

  She waits without a word, offering a smile instead, which does nothing to calm my nerves. My hands anchor to the strap across my chest, and I make myself stand. Maemon turns and leads me to a hidden partition behind the table. A few turns have me wondering if we’ve entered some kind of labyrinth. Maybe my test will be escaping it.

  The thought vanishes when we enter a space about the size of the hollow where Lei and I are staying. It houses a massive tree within the rest, a veritable forest on guard around it.

  It’s different from the others I’ve seen. The bark is smooth, with an almost iridescent quality to it—like snake scales or crow feathers—the surface flecked with dark specks like freckles. A fluid tangle of thick, flowering vines wraps around and through every open space—that is, where water isn’t streaming through to fall into a small pool at the trunk’s base. As mesmerizing as the shimmers are to watch, I stop moving when my brain registers what I’m seeing.

  A chair—formed by the tree.

  Not a throne or anything. Rudimentary by comparison, yet remarkable. Anyone else would claim it had been carved from a deformity in the trunk, or another section had been added and the seams disguised. But they would be wrong. The natural growth is unmistakable.

  “Please.” Maemon lifts her hand toward the chair. “Sit.”

  My grip on the strap tightens. “What’s this for?”

  “Your test.”

  “Sitting on a tree is a test?”

  “Please,” she repeats, raising her other hand to touch my elbow. “I assure you it will be painless.”

  Her earnestness gives me some ease, though I’m still not certain I should trust these people. Be that as it may, I have no choice but to comply. So I take a breath and step forward.

  “You will need to place your feet in the water,” says the male elder.

  Crouching down to untie my sneakers, I peer at the elders over my shoulder. “No piranhas or anything hiding in there, right?”

  They frown, exchanging confused looks.

  Removing my shoes, I shove my socks inside and roll up my pant legs. “Not like it would matter.”

  Soft, earthy debris cushions my steps before I dip my foot into the small pool. The cool water rises a few inches above my ankle, the bottom neither slippery nor filled with muck. I wait for a few moments to see if any critters come slithering out at the invasion of their home, but the water remains clear.

  With my other foot in the water, I lower myself onto the odd tree-chair, half expecting to fall through a trap door. As with the water, nothing happens.

  “Rest your back against the tree.” Maemon steps before me. “Place your arms on the rests, your hands at ease.”

  The rests she’s talking about are made of dozens of wooden tangles, as if the aerial roots purposely grew at a wavering angle before fusing together. There’s a slight bend to my elbows as I place my arms on them, their surfaces smooth and comfortable. I keep my hands loose.

  “Now be very still and remain calm.”

  My stomach twists. “Calm?”

  A small tickle, like the crawl of a spider, touches the back of my arm. I jerk away, searching for the source.

  “Be still,” Maemon insists.

  Wary, every muscle tense, I sit back and hold my breath.

  In moments the tickle returns, my insides screaming for me to bolt. The spider-like crawl turns into a smooth glide across my skin, and I steel myself to risk a glance down. My breath leaves me, and all I can do is stare.

  In place of the bugs I’d imagined is a thin plant tendril, moving with a mind of its own, wrapping around my upper arm. Another follows in its wake, choosing to curl along the crease of my elbow while a third makes its way over my forearm. More tendrils start crawling across my other arm, their tiny hairs grasping the minute creases of my skin to pull themselves along. Soon, more than a dozen are tethered to each arm.

  My calm wavers when one touches the back of my neck. Panic must show on my face. Maemon lifts her hand, as if to steady me, and I manage not to jump when several more make their way up my neck and thread through my hair. Goose bumps break out all over me as the tendrils slither behind my ears, along my scalp, and emerge from the hairline to settle on my forehead. The last few creep across my temples, and I close my eyes in the hopes they won’t make it that far. They station themselves at the far edges of my lashes, and I stay as still as possible, waiting for whatever might happen next.

  A minute passes. And another. Still nothing.

  My blood pulses in the ends of my fingertips. I wait for the slightest twitch in the tendrils, the shuffle of feet, or a low, impatient murmur from the elders. And still, there’s nothing.

  And then…

  The birds stop singing. Not a chirp, tweet,
or whistle touches the air. The more I strain to hear feathers ruffling or the beat of wings in flight, the quieter the world becomes. Soon, nothing but the roar of blood fills my ears.

  From the edges of my closed eyes, wisps of color melt into the darkness, pulsing to match the beat of my heart. Dim at first, they become brighter and thicker as they swirl toward the center in a dance, like the stars of the galaxy. The pinpoint center burns white as the colors flow into it. The swirls continue to thicken, blending at their edges, blotting out the darkness until it’s all color and light. They twist upon themselves and each other, twirling around the center. Everything spins, slow at first, then faster and faster. The center grows and brightens; there’s nothing I can do to shut it out.

  Then I’m launched forward, falling into the light with nothing to hold on to.

  Chapter Five

  A tree of constellations, held in the silent darkness of space. It’s all I can see, and I’m not afraid.

  Light and life, death and rebirth—it holds them all. It’s immense and beautiful; untouchable, yet completely immersive. It has no equal, as such a thing would be unthinkable.

  And still, it looks like a tree. But it’s not.

  Dimensions. Every single one, encased in the leaves of this breathtaking tree so few have ever seen. They’re so clear, as if I’ve been seeing life through murky waters until now. I never would have imagined there would be so many.

  How I know this, I have no idea. It’s a truth I feel, like a rush of heat from my stomach to my chest. A shade has been drawn back in my mind, and with it the emergence of a knowingness. A part deep within me has been awakened, its presence having always been felt but never understood. I’ve tried all my life to capture its essence in the music I’ve created, but it has always eluded me.