Ever My Merlin (Book 3, My Merlin Series) (16 page)

I took a slow breath.
It was a question. As in “yes, should I care?”

My nails dug into his T-shirt. I stood on the precipice. Our lips less than an inch away, all I had to do was lean forward one tiny fraction of space. The ends of the white mosquito net rustled in the breeze. My eyes fell on the bed. The ruby gemstone of the
Dragon’s Eye
glinted against a white bedspread.

Matt followed my gaze to it. His expression hardened. “He’s not here.”

I met his eyes and held it. “You didn’t answer—what do we do if you get your powers back?”

Matt blinked. “It doesn’t matter right now.”

A shaft of air, the same insidious breeze that called my attention to the amulet, chilled my heated skin. Defeat filled me. The answer lay there. I hadn’t wanted to see it, but I couldn’t deny it any longer. Was I just asking for too much?

I hugged myself. “It matters to me, Matt.”

His lips thinned in irritation. “It doesn’t mean that I don’t care.”

“Really?” I forced my gaze off the hard curve of his lips. My heart breaking a little, I asked, “When was the last time you actually smiled at me? A real smile?”

He let out a breath. “Ryan—”

“Think on it, Matt,” I said softly. “And then, tell me you still care.”

CHAPTER 7

IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF ALEXANDER, SON OF ZEUS

A
dam’s Peak. Fifty-two hundred steps. Three hours of climbing uphill to get to the top. It took us four. Not because we stopped to enjoy one of the numerous bakeries or tea shops that lined the trail to enjoy a meal together—no, because it takes two people actually talking to each other to know when the other one has wandered off.

Even though the bed was comfortable, I didn’t get any sleep. I always figured when my heart fixed on someone there would be a sense of completion—instead I only got complication. Just the thought of Vane hurt. With Matt, I kept seeing the accusation in his gaze.

The flat steps were packed, even in the middle of the night, and especially during Vesak Poya season. Tourists and pilgrims flocked together up the mountain staircase. In the middle of the jungle, electric lights illuminated our path and chanting blared from loud speakers, creating an otherworldly atmosphere that was also heavily laden with incense.

Matt did a lot of backtracking down the trail to keep me in view as I enjoyed the sights—pocket villages, a few friendly dogs, statues of Buddha and Ganesha, along with small flags hung on ropes over the trail. I spent most of what little cash I had on the young children selling cheap souvenirs. Soon I had a collection of buttons, small flags, and stickers decorating my backpack.

Matt’s impatient looks and even the insistent sprinkling of rain failed to make me hurry. It’s not as if I was purposefully trying to irritate him, but I didn’t feel the need to cater to his wants either. Approaching the top, the rain worsened and I gripped the railings to keep steady on the slippery, wet stone steps. Matt pulled out two plastic ponchos from his bag of tricks. I pulled one over my burnt-orange fleece. The green cargos I wore weren’t completely waterproof, so my best hope was for them to dry quickly. Matt’s outfit showed more preparedness. He wore a lined, burnt-orange jacket and green hiking pants. Although it wasn’t planned, our colors matched. At least we complemented each other on some small level.

A few steps up, the scenery changed from jungle to cloud forest as the mist reflected various diaphanous shapes in the air. Graffiti marked the rocks with names and countries of origin of the former fellow travelers who’d come before us. Just before we reached the top, shivering from the gusts of wind, Matt picked up a few lotus flowers from a street vendor. For a second, I thought he’d bought them for me. When he tucked them into his shoulder bag, I told myself there was no pang of disappointment.

Scores of people crowded the last steps in the misting rain. Nearly at the summit, a screeching blackbird flew over us as we poured into two narrow buildings. The buildings stood on either side of the steps, packing us in like sardines in a tin.

I could barely perceive the outline of the tiered rooftop on the Buddhist temple clinging to the mountain’s peak. The triangular roof was said to match the perfect triangle of the mountain’s shadow. I clung to Matt’s hand to keep from falling.

Passing the crowd of shivering bodies, we finally emerged onto the narrow steps of a flat, white stone terrace. A huddle of buildings spanned the two levels of the summit. On the lower level were guest quarters for overnight stays. On the second level, just above the stairs, stood a belfry. A pilgrim could ring a tin bell once for every time he or she ascended the mountain.

We took off our shoes in deference to the holy ground. Along the two levels penned in by concrete ledges, people lined up to gaze out at the misty vistas of Sri Lanka. In one corner, a gorgeous view showed a cascade of waterfalls flowing down in faint silver, accenting dense green vegetation somewhere far across the island.

Matt pulled me toward the center of the terrace. A huge rock face marked the highest point of the peak. Over the rock, a concrete walkway supported a shrine and a small temple. The tiny shrine enclosed the sacred footprint, or Sri Pada.

Matt handed me one of the lotus flowers he’d bought.

“For luck,” he said, and pointed to the top of the rock at the foot of the shrine. Touched by the sweet gesture, I placed it there. Many other lotus flowers decorated the rock. People crowded the railings, standing on top of small ledges, and taking up most of the free space in front of the temple. Fat raindrops wiggled down from the stormy sky. I looked into the sodden faces of the throng. I doubted we’d be seeing any sort of sunrise.  Seeing their dour expressions, I knew they’d come to the same realization about the sunrise.

Matt cursed under his breath and squeezed back across the narrow space between drenched bodies until he reached one corner of the terrace. He drew out an amulet from the magic bag and put it on around his neck, shouting, “
Kavas
.”

People closest to us watched curiously, but thanks to the diversity of cultures and people, no one commented. Dark rain clouds began to clear. People first muttered, then cheered. They moved toward the outward edges of the terrace. Meanwhile, Matt hurried us in the opposite direction, back toward the sacred footprint shrine. He stopped at the base of the stairs that led up to the shrine, sandwiched between several hundred people.

Matt leaned close to my ear.  “Be ready. As soon as the sun rises, the priests will start their prayer procession and the mountain will fall into shadow for twenty minutes.”

Two minutes later, the beginnings of the most beautiful sunrise ever conceived broke over the summit as the clouds dissipated. An invisible Apollo rode his chariot across the heavens, ushering in the blue sky. The yellow-and-red fingers of the dawn dropped down and fire illuminated the dark island. On one side of the island, majestic mountains, lush green flora, snaked with silvery threads of waterfalls, sprouted from the fertile ground. On the other side, blue and purple lines evidenced a distant ocean.

Beside us, the morning prayer procession started down the temple steps in a thumping of drums. In a parade of saffron orange-yellow robes, monks emerged from the temple and everyone beside us turned to look. Those inside the shrine came out to stand on the steps. They watched the musicians in white muslin. Some banged on drums, some blew on trumpets, and others chanted. Beside us, the pilgrims held up platters of food and rice.

Matt and I snuck up the steps and into the emptied walkway. Matt and I snuck up the steps and into the emptied walkway. Plastic curtains kept out rain, protecting the closet-sized five-foot wide shrine. The shrine itself had two open sides, but a wall of people’s backs closed off the walkway. Inside the cramped interior of the shrine, a golden half-door hung open above a platform. Curtains of white and yellow cloth draped the opening of the platform. Inside the cubby-like area lay the engraved footprint.

Matt drew out a vial from his bag and threw it above us. A bubble of blue magic surrounded us before it winked out. Without a word to me, he threw another vial at the rock. The rock blew apart, and with an ear-deafening bang, shrapnel flew at me.

“What are you doing?” I shouted, mindful of the people walling us in. They remained with their backs to us, their demeanors unperturbed.

“No one can hear outside the bubble,” Matt said calmly.

“I hate treasure hunting with you.” I eyed the people nervously, but no mob turned on us. Still, my nerves danced in panic. “Please tell me why you destroyed a sacred relic.”

Matt pushed aside the broken rock. Just beneath the footprint he blew up sat another one. “This is the real relic. The top is only a plaster replica.”

Outside, sunrise fully embraced the sky. People started to fall out of its trance.

I stared at the footprint. Smaller and rougher than the plaster one, it did look like it could belong to a thirty-five-foot-tall giant or a god. Buddha or Shiva’s foot as he stepped on Earth, or Adam’s footprint after his exile from the Garden of Eden. Buddha or Shiva’s foot as he stepped on Earth, or Adam’s footprint after his exile from the Garden of Eden. “I don’t see the Healing Cup.”

Matt frowned. “I thought there would be some kind of symbol or something.”

“You’re insane, Merlin,” I hissed. “I thought you knew what you were doing.”

“This is the spot. Adam’s Peak. All the different legends converge here. The Buddhist’s say the Triple Gem, their holy trinity, manifests when the shadow falls over the mountain during sunrise. Alexander the Great thought the same.”

“What are you talking about?” I said.

Matt ignored me and continued to mutter, “He came here. He had to be right. This place is marked by the legends of gods. If they hid a secret, it will be here. They wouldn’t leave a marker like this for no reason.”

“They who?” From the open sides of the shrine, a burst of sunlight streamed onto the rock. I stepped closer to the exposed footprint and the rock started to hum. Out of instinct, I put my hand over the footprint. A shot of electricity from the rock zapped my hand. I pulled my hand back and shook it. “Whoa, what was that?”

Matt’s face brightened. “A small portal.”

“Like the one at the Seven Gables?”

Matt nodded.

“That was not fun.” Watery death surrounded that portal. Matt drew out another vial from the bag. I grabbed his wrist. “You are not going to desecrate a sacred relic.”

Matt smiled. “It’s just your blood.”

I squawked. “How do you have my blood?”

“Blood donations. After you became the sword-bearer, the First Member recovered all the deposits you’ve ever made.”

“That’s just creepy.”

He raised a brow. “Vane tracked them all down.”

“Really creepy,” I repeated.

It reinforced my belief that I was just another commodity to the Wizard Council. Nearby us, people groaned. Grey rain clouds started to darken the horizon once more.

“Hurry,” I urged.

Matt drew out another lotus bloom and threw it down. He poured the blood onto the footprint, on the heel at the same spot where the sunlight touched. Immediately, the rock rumbled. A small vortex of wind swirled around the room. A single beam of gold light shone upwards. Inside the beam shimmered a square metal cross. It was about a foot long with symbols engraved down one stem, the stipes. A red gem sat at the center of the cross like an ancient eye.

“It’s a Greek cross,” Matt said.

“How do you know?”

“I’ve seen it before. The Lady wore this on a chain.” Matt reached out to take it.

I stopped him. “No, let me. It was my blood that opened it.”

Matt nodded. I grabbed the small statue. It solidified in my hand, and then the shrine started trembling. Lines cracked through the floor around the sacred footprint. It started expanding outwards. The whole rock fell through the crack.

“Oh, crap,” I said. “Why do these things always have booby traps?”

People turned to look at the commotion. Gasps of horror followed.

Matt grabbed my hand as he pushed into the crowd. “Because you’re not actually supposed to find a relic unless you can prove you’re worthy.”

“We used my blood to get to it in the first place. How am I not worthy?”

“You don’t have Excalibur,” Matt pointed out.

I thrust the cross into my pocket. No one stopped us as we squeezed into the crowd. Everyone else wanted to get off the walkway, too. Behind us, the shrine shuddered. There must have been over a thousand people on the terrace who all began to panic. Under the howl of rain from above, the buildings on the summit shuddered and the whole mountain trembled.

“Is it the Total Tremor again?” a panicked tourist shouted.

We made it down the steps of the shrine. People streamed off the top levels toward the exits. The belfry tore apart. The pilgrim bell fell to the ground with a loud clang. Hysterical shrieks became louder. Huge blocks of stone tumbled off the collapsing shrine and temple. They landed like grenades on the terrace.