“I’m sure food is a possibility.” The amusement in Conlan’s eyes changed to deep affection as he watched his grandfather, waiting for him to finish listing those who had come before him.
The old man finished with a little flourished bow and Eleanor smiled at him again, mostly because she had no idea what else to do, she could not have listed her own family beyond her grandparents, and as an Avatar she effectively had no lineage. Thankfully, Conlan started talking and Gregor nodded enthusiastically. He left the room and Eleanor looked questioningly at Conlan.
“He’s gone to get you something to eat.”
Eleanor smiled. “That’s good; did you tell him why we’re here?”
“I said we needed to ask him some questions.”
Gregor returned with a silver tray piled high with foods Eleanor had resigned herself to never seeing again. There was cheese – five different types in fact – and soft, white, fluffy bread, with real butter. There were also pickles and jams in dishes with little silver spoons, apples, hard boiled eggs and a jug of ice-cold milk, a fragile-looking glass covering its neck. In the corner of the tray, a small flowered plate balanced a mountain of sugar-coated cookies. Eleanor settled cross-legged in front of the fire. Gregor placed the tray in front of her, patting her on the head like a dog, then joined Conlan on the sofa. The conversation flowed one to the other as Eleanor ate. She was making a total pig of herself but was unable to stop – it was cheese, rich, creamy and unbelievable good. Gradually she became aware that the conversation had ceased. She lifted her head to find that both men were staring at her. She painfully swallowed her half-chewed mouthful, feeling a blush raise to her cheeks.
“My grandfather is worried that I keep you half-starved,” Conlan said.
Eleanor smiled slightly. “It’s cheese, Conlan!” Explanation enough to her mind.
Conlan raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re going to make yourself sick.”
“Did you get any answers?” she asked, hoping to save some shred of dignity by changing the subject.
“Nothing we didn’t already know. My grandfather has a few questions of his own, he wants to know what this ‘shield’ is like.”
“OK, but no grabbing at my energy… promise?”
“No grabbing,” Conlan agreed, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Eleanor closed her eyes and pushed an energy string out towards Conlan’s shield. He must have felt her, because she heard his sharp intake of breath, but he kept his promise. She pushed her string out over the full surface of the sphere which radiated around his energy. She searched its surface for flaws or cracks, looking for a weak point but found none. As she did so, she felt another subtle energy: Gregor. Moving her focus across, Eleanor reached out and met another shield. Gregor’s energy was surrounded just like Conlan’s. She pushed against Gregor’s shield; it felt weaker than Conlan’s, less substantial, but still easily able to resist her efforts to get through. She opened her eyes again, pulling her string back.
“Your grandfather has a shield too. It’s not as strong as yours, but it’s strong enough to resist me. There’s another difference as well. When I touched your shield you felt me, but your grandfather didn’t seem to notice.”
Conlan said something to Gregor; the older man shook his head. Conlan looked at her thoughtfully. “I’ve known of my energy from childhood, I’ve spent hours trying to use it, plus the effort I’ve put into trying to get the connection to work, so perhaps that’s why I’m more aware?”
Eleanor nodded. “That would make sense, but I have no idea why your shields would be different strengths.” Eleanor shrugged. “Not that it helps, I can’t get through either.”
“Maybe you need more energy?” Conlan suggested, the thoughtful look still on his face.
Eleanor started at Conlan in horror. “Are you asking me to pull energy from the Earth to get through? Do you have a death wish?”
“I’m willing to try it if you are,” he said, his expression serious.
“I’m not,” she said flatly, the thought, or perhaps the cheese, making her feel sick.
Conlan looked at her, the deep analysing expression back on his face. Eleanor felt irritation grind into her.
“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” she snapped.
“I was just wondering what you were thinking.”
“That’s what the look is about? You’re trying to figure out what’s going on in my head?” Eleanor snorted. “Good luck with that; I’ve no idea myself half the time. However, on this occasion, I was wondering if you had any idea of the damage I could cause. Are you insane?”
“Not a good idea then?”
“Now you’re just mocking me.”
Conlan smiled. Eleanor forced her hands into fists in an attempt to hold onto her anger.
“Stop smiling at me, this isn’t funny.”
“You once said I should smile more often,” he said softly.
“That was before I realised you used it as a weapon.”
Conlan’s smile vanished. “A weapon?”
“Yes, a weapon that strips me of my resistance, my rational thought. All you have to do is smile at me and you win; I don’t want to fight anymore.”
“Is that such a bad thing?”
“Yes! It’s a bad thing because one day I’m going to agree to something that gets one of us killed on the strength of that smile.”
Conlan stared at her; Eleanor refused to back down, her fists still clenched tightly. She had said far more than she had meant to. She had certainly not wanted Conlan to know the effect he had on her, but it had just slipped out.
Gregor had watched this exchange with a shrewd look on his face. As they continued to stare at each other, he spoke briefly. Whatever he said caused Conlan’s eyes to snap back to the old man, and he looked extremely uncomfortable as he responded.
“What did he say?” Eleanor asked.
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
Confused, Eleanor waited for him to elaborate, but before he could do so, Gregor started talking again. She still had no idea what he was saying, but Conlan had an expression on his face of a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar; it was actually rather sweet.
I need to learn this language.
She disliked not knowing what was going on. They continued talking, neither of them raising their voice, but it seemed to Eleanor that they were arguing.
“Conlan?” she said, trying to interrupt. They both ignored her. She tried again, this time a little louder. Conlan looked at her. He appeared frustrated, but his voice was surprisingly calm.
“Yes?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Eleanor stared at him, expecting some sort of explanation, but after a long moment of silence when none was forthcoming she felt her annoyance building. “It’s rude having a conversation in front of someone who has no idea what’s going on, and how much time do we have to be here? I know you need to catch up with your grandfather, but we need answers.”
“You’re right,” he agreed. “Answers first, asinine conversation later. Tell me about the shields.”
Eleanor’s curiosity flickered. She did not think asinine conversation was something Conlan did, grandfather or not, but he did not want to talk about it so she gave him the information he had asked for. “They feel like energy, but they are solid, impenetrable. I didn’t find any cracks or weaknesses. I can’t push through it, but you know when I’m near to you, so I’m assuming it’s connected to you in some way.”
“What do you think it’s for?”
Eleanor shrugged. “I’ve no idea. I need more information to make a guess at that – do other people have it? Or is this a family thing? I’m sure the shield has to go, it’s in the way, but I’ve no idea why I’m sure of this; my subconscious must know more than I do right now.”
Conlan relayed all this back to his grandfather, who nodded and responded with a lengthy monologue. Eleanor watched him talk, her mind trying to make sense of the syllables, knowing it to be hopeless but unable to stop the process. He finished abruptly, stood, smoothing down his elegant, immaculate trousers, and left the room again.
“Where’s he gone?” Eleanor asked.
“He has a book that might help us. Apparently he was told that this book contained all anyone would need to resurrect the power of the Five, so he’s gone to get it. He doesn’t know anything about the shields, but he says the book contains details about five ancient Talismans that the original Avatars created. He thinks finding these might be what we need.”
“Talisman?”
“An object that’s meant to have magical power; in its truest form a Talisman is created for protection, but what the Avatars created theirs for I have no idea. My grandfather claims to have told me about them, but I don’t remember.”
“It’s kind of a vital point, Conlan, how could you not remember?”
“I was eight years old the last time I heard those stories, I’m amazed I remember as much as I do.”
Gregor came back into the room holding a large black book; he said something to Conlan – the tone made it sound like an order – and then he walked over to Eleanor. Crouching in front of her, he handed over the book, saying something with an earnest look on his face as he did.
Conlan began translating. “He’s telling you that this book is very special and has been handed down from generation to generation of his family for hundreds of years. All the information we need has been hidden within its pages. This is the first time the book has been passed outside the family, but he’s giving it to you because he believes you’re far more likely to figure out its secrets than his stubborn fool of a grandson.”
Eleanor smiled. “He called you a stubborn fool?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Conlan did not answer.
Eleanor sighed. “Why did you bother telling me what he said if you’re not going to tell me why he said it?”
“Because my grandfather insisted I tell you,” Conlan admitted.
“He can’t speak English, he wouldn’t have known.”
“Yes, he would.”
She looked at Gregor; the shrewd look was back on his face. He had wanted her to know that he thought Conlan was being a stubborn fool, but why? He might not understand what was being said, but he was obviously smart enough to know when Conlan was lying. The old man smiled and Eleanor saw the shadow of Conlan’s smile in it. He reached a hand out, cupped her face and spoke again. Confused, Eleanor tried to remember the words, hoping to translate them for herself in the future, but they slipped through her fingers like sand. With no meaning attached to them her mind seemed unable to retain them. The old man finished talking and leaned forward to kiss her forehead, then he stood and returned to the sofa, a smug smile on his face.
“Translate, please,” Eleanor demanded.
Conlan shook his head. “No.”
Eleanor glared at him, but she recognised his expression. She was not going to get him to change his mind any time soon.
“OK, OK, keep your secrets,” she muttered at him, working hard to smooth the irritation she knew was showing on her face. She smiled at Gregor instead. “Tell your grandfather, thank you, I will take very good care of the book.”
The old man nodded and smiled as Conlan translated Eleanor’s words. The two men began talking again – another conversation Conlan showed no signs of translating. Eleanor curled herself around the book, lying in front of the fire. Feeling comfortable, warm and full, sleep claimed her.
“Eleanor, wake up, it’s time to go.”
Struggling to open her eyes, Eleanor blinked slowly. She could see the pale pre-dawn light through the study windows. Conlan was knelt next to her, a warm hand on her shoulder. Eleanor rose stiffly to her feet, still clutching the book to her chest. Conlan stood up with her; he looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he turned back to his grandfather and spoke to him. Gregor stood and patted Conlan on the back, muttering something that sounded like affectionate admonishment. Conlan offered an apologetic smile. Eleanor was expecting the same breath-squeezing experience as last time and was surprised when Gregor wrapped his arms carefully around her and held her gently. She did not understand the words he spoke, but she could feel the love they held, and letting go of the book with one hand, she hugged the old man back. When he let go there were tears in his eyes.
They left the house the same way they had entered, sticking to the shadows, using the tree to climb back over the wall and running down the alley like thieves. Once they were out on the avenue they slowed to a walk, but Eleanor was conscious of how suspicious they would look if someone saw them. Thankfully, the rich did not seem to be early risers and it was not until they moved into the dirtier part of the city, back towards the slums, that they encountered people.
The streets were not nearly as full as they had been the day before, so as they walked Eleanor half-closed her eyes, extended an energy string and let it trail to the side of her, like using a hand to skim the surface of a river from a slow-moving rowing boat. She felt for the energy of the people she walked past and was amazed to discover that every single person she encountered had an energy shield just like Conlan and Gregor’s. She concentrated harder; the shields were of different strengths, but they all seemed to be impervious. With her eyes half-closed and her concentration elsewhere, Eleanor failed to notice that Conlan had taken a slightly different route along the street, until she walked right into the Protectors walking towards her. She tried to step out of their way as her heart jumped to a thundering beat in her throat. The fatter of the two Protectors grabbed her arm and snarled something at her. He was waiting for an answer. Eleanor shook her head slightly, pointed to her mouth and shook her head again, unfortunately revealing the book as she did so. The fat Protector saw and snatched at it, but she pulled back, both arms wrapped protectively around its bulk. Anger flashed through the man’s eyes.
Now what do I do?
She could not speak the language, could not reason with them. She was stood in the middle of hostile territory clutching a book to her chest, which, if they found it, would end her life on the spot even if they missed the elemental brand on her wrist. She took another step back, wondering if she could run for it. The Protector grabbed her arm again. Conlan chose that moment to materialise at her side, but her relief at seeing him was short-lived. He grabbed her upper arms roughly with both hands and shook her, pulling her from the Protector’s grip as he did so, yelling at her in Dwarfish, fury in his eyes. He let her go and delivered a solid, backhanded blow to the face, knocking her flying. The bright flash of pain left her dazed and hurting at his feet. Conlan turned, with barely a glance at her, to have a calm and polite conversation with the Protectors. The Protector who had grabbed her laughed at whatever Conlan was saying and then produced a thin cane from a clip on his belt, which he flicked. It made a lethal swishing noise as it cut through the air. He gave it to Conlan, who took it, feeling its weight in his hand, his gaze moving to Eleanor’s.
Is he going to hit me with that?
The cruel, merciless look in his eyes and evil sneer made her tremble. It was not a look that belonged on his face. Eleanor felt dread grab her insides and twist. Fearing the inevitable she curled herself into a ball around the book, covering her head as best she could in anticipation of the blows. She was surprised when Conlan used the stick to slowly trace the line of her back, down and around the curve of her thigh. He said something again to the Protectors, who both sniggered, nodding to themselves. Conlan handed the stick back and watched as the two men stepped around them and continued on their way.