Kilenya Series Books One, Two, and Three (58 page)

“Father, are you all right?”

“I’m fine—just fine.” He stooped to pick up the large bits of glass while Duana retrieved a broom and swept up the rest.

“You’ve been very preoccupied lately. Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do to help?”

“No, nothing. I—I just need to work things through in my mind.”

As far as Duana was concerned, Aloren was there to stay permanently.

Hadn’t he chosen long ago what to do in situations like this? Anyone else, and it would’ve been as easy as throwing a rock. He’d turned people over to the Lorkon—again and again. The villagers hadn’t even realized who the traitor was at first.

Why was the soul of one young girl causing him so much trouble now? Was it because his own daughter had grown so close to her? Was it Aloren’s purity of heart? Her guilt-free conscience? Surely she didn’t have other people’s blood on her hands.

He sighed, returning to the dishes at the counter, pushing thoughts of her away, thinking back over his years of treachery. He hated having all this on his mind again, especially since it had been such a long time since he’d last considered the deal he’d made.

His main instructions had been to spy on the villagers and report anyone who turned their backs on the Lorkon. A swift and public execution would then be dealt out. This went very well for some time, but then the unexpected happened—
everyone
turned against the Lorkon, and Keitus stopped caring so much.

It had been years since Keitus, the Lorkon king, had checked on Eachan himself. Usually he sent his messengers: beetles—pets of the Turners—or the Turners themselves with the occasional bit of instruction. Eachan had known when the human boy was about to arrive—Keitus himself had come with special instructions: assist the boy with anything he needed. Help him feel welcome. Offer him food. Don’t stop him, don’t act suspicious of anything.

The village nearly fell apart when Jacob escaped because the Lorkon were so upset. Several villagers disappeared. The Lorkon, knowing about the girl, sent their messengers on a daily basis to “work” with Aloren. That had lasted nearly a week, and by then, the Lorkon had Turners guarding Maivoryl.

Maybe Keitus no longer trusted Eachan.

This thought caused Eachan’s heart to speed—what would happen if that were the case? His hands started shaking and he nearly dropped another dish. He had to regain the Lorkon’s confidence. Had to let them know, somehow, that he was just as reliable. Couldn’t let his daughter become like the people of the village. Couldn’t.

His breaths came in gasps and he forced himself to calm down—his heart had caused him great amounts of pain before. He knew it would probably kill him sometime. But not today—he wouldn’t allow it.

Eachan turned from the sink, dried his hands, and smiled at his daughter. She looked so much like him, but her smile was her mother’s—he encouraged her to use it often.

She did so now and he felt the warmth spread through his limbs, the pain in his chest nearly forgotten.

Duana motioned to her companion. “Aloren wants to take a turn at putting the food on the porch.”

Eachan frowned. “Are you sure, Aloren?”

She nodded. “Yes—I’ve watched you two do it enough. And it’s not fair that I’m here, eating your food and not doing anything to help.”

“Oh, but you are helping!” Duana said.

Aloren shook her head. “But not with the hardest job.”

Such a good girl. Such a pity. Eachan nodded. “Yes, if it pleases you, go ahead. Duana would appreciate it, I’m sure.”

Duana and Aloren set to work, the elder showing Aloren how to organize the plates and dishes just so, making it easier to put them on the porch more quickly and safely.

It didn’t take them long to get everything in place, and when they had, Duana brought Aloren up to the door.

“There will be one or two people watching and waiting—and they’re not stupid. Don’t do anything to startle them, don’t show your back to them. Don’t smile at them, don’t acknowledge them. They’re normal people, but diseased.”

Aloren’s face saddened. “What an awful situation to be in.”

Duana sighed. “Yes. But be sure not to show them pity.”

Aloren waited in front of the door, ready to open it, and Eachan moved forward to watch through the window.

The young girl took a deep breath, then cracked the door. Eachan parted the curtain—there were only two humans visible, and they didn’t pay any attention to the girl. She stepped onto the porch, carrying the first batch of plates loaded with food, which she then set down.

One of the villagers turned to the town hall. “Food!” he yelled.

Doors and windows opened along the road, and people poured onto the street. Aloren backed into the building, filled her arms with more dishes, and started putting them next to the others.

A large crowd gathered in front of Aloren.

Something wasn’t right.

Eachan squinted, trying to figure out what was different. Then he saw it and gasped. Every eye in the group was on Aloren. He watched as they all stopped advancing to the food. The air grew silent—Aloren hadn’t noticed yet. What were the people doing? He’d never seen them not go berserk when food was placed before them.

The villagers trembled, and Eachan yelled to Aloren. He ran to the door—she was putting the last dish on the porch. He grabbed her around the waist right as the entire group went into a frenzy, worse than he’d ever seen before. The taller, stronger humans plowed over the weaker in an attempt to get to the porch first, and the weaker villagers were just as desperate.

But not for the food—for Aloren.

Eachan saw the hatred in their eyes. Saw the clenched fists, the desire for destruction. He swung Aloren into the building and slammed the door shut right as a townsperson raised his fist to attack.

Chapter 14. Hidden Information

Jacob jumped to his feet and faced the mudroom when he heard the garage door open. He’d only been able to read the first few words of the next entry.

Amberly raced in, a smile showing her newly missing teeth. “Jake!” She threw her arms around him, then made him look at the toy she’d been given at the restaurant. He barely noticed the green swirling around her.

“Shouldn’t you be reading the journal?” his mom asked as she came in and put her purse on the counter.

Jacob didn’t answer. He waited until his dad entered too. By that time, Matt had sat at the table, probably wanting to listen in on the conversation.

His mom checked the voicemail, then turned to Jacob, finally noticing the expression on his face. “Honey, what’s the matter?”

Jacob scowled at her. “Why didn’t you guys ever tell me?”

His parents looked at each other. “Tell you what, son?” his dad asked, the color for confusion—a soft, yellowy-orange—puffing in patterns around him.

“That I was adopted! That I’m not even your kid. That I’m not even from
Earth
! I have to learn it by reading some old journal?” Jacob’s emotions spread into his words, but he didn’t care. “And that I was attacked as a baby by the most vile creatures imaginable?” He turned away from them—not wanting to see the shock on their faces. “The only thing you ever told me was I had a difficult birth and almost died—I never even knew
why
.”

“Oh, honey.” Mom put her arms around Jacob. “You are our son, you really are.”

“But only because you
adopted
me. How real is that?”

“There must’ve been a misunderstanding,” Jacob’s dad said. “Where’s the journal?”

Jacob motioned to the book on the counter. His dad picked it up.

“Show us where you got the idea you were adopted,” Dad said, giving the book to Jacob.

Jacob flipped to the spot, then read it out loud, his voice shaking.

Danilo cannot live in this land—or even with us. I’m afraid we’ll have to take him somewhere else where he’ll lead a life free from the problems of this world.

He slammed the book shut and tossed it onto the counter. “Well? This is me, isn’t it? This book? It’s talking about me and my parents—Dmitri and Arien.”

Jacob’s dad sat on a bar stool and sighed. “Yes, it’s you.”

“Honey, you still don’t understand,” his mom said. She regarded him for a moment, then sighed. “You need to calm down before we talk anymore. I’ll make you a cup of hot chocolate. Lee, would you take Amberly to bed?”

Jacob’s dad scooped up Amberly, and tickling her, carried her upstairs. Jacob sat where his dad had been, putting his head in his hands. Hot chocolate was his favorite drink year-round. His mom really knew him. This thought, though, only saddened him. She knew him better than his birth mother did. And where
were
his real parents?

“So, you really were adopted, huh?” Matt asked, sitting on the other side of Jacob.

Jacob’s mom turned and glared at Matt, who put his hands in the air. “What? He’s the one who told me.”

“Don’t even, Matthew. You know better.”

“Yeah, and that bothers me,” Jacob said. “Matt knew and I didn’t? How fair is that?”

“Drink.” She put the cup in front of Jacob. “We’ll talk as soon as your father returns.”

He sipped the hot chocolate—it was filled with marshmallows, just the way he liked it.

Only a moment passed before Jacob’s dad entered the room, whistling a lullaby. He sat next to Jacob. “All right, son, we’ll talk—”

“Yeah—”

“As soon as you finish reading.” Dad pushed the journal to Jacob.

“Now? Are you serious?”

“Yes. Out loud. You’re almost to the end.”

Jacob opened to where he’d last been. It was Dmitri’s handwriting again.

A year and a half has now passed, and this will be my last entry. Arien and I are going into hiding—we found this to be absolutely necessary to protect the people from what the Lorkon intend to make of our baby. The Fat Lady warned us that as he ages, his body will naturally fight off the potion she created for him. The abilities he will have from what we’ve done to save him, and what the Lorkon did to him (not to mention his heritage), will gradually come forth. The things we put him through were almost inhumane—Kenji and Brojan had to put Kaede Sap directly into his bloodstream. That, combined with the Fat Lady’s potion, saved his life. Whatever the Lorkon put in him was too much for his little body, and he would’ve died if we hadn’t had the Fat Lady’s help in time.

Brojan and Aldo spent months scouring the countryside, searching for a link to an appropriate land—an entirely different world. They found one of the links, and it was decided this was where Danilo would be raised.

As a precaution, the Makalos built a village at the entrance to the world. They guard the way to America—the name of the land where we’ll live—which allows us time to raise our baby in a semi-normal situation. We have decided to keep the child, to go into hiding with him. We are overjoyed at the prospect of watching him grow, protecting him from the Lorkon, and loving him. Arien cries tears of joy every time she holds him.

Jacob looked up from reading. “But—”

His mom smiled at him—tears in her eyes. Dad cleared his throat, then motioned to the book. “Keep reading.”

We stayed in a hollowed-out tree for a year while learning the ways of this new world. The Makalos, ever handy with materials, fashioned us clothing similar to what is worn in America. Then we obtained books and, through the Makalos’ ability, watched seeing-shows called movies. We learned the manner of speech and behavior in America. We are surprised to find they converse in the same language we do, though they call it English, and some of the word usage is different. The connection between our worlds must be stronger than we’d previously thought.

After we felt comfortable—me, at least—we used gold from the kingdom, took it to a bank, and received a loan of money to purchase land and a house which are situated close to the link. I am working toward obtaining an education to handle finances—the system they use here is endlessly fascinating—and Arien was particularly overjoyed to find it is common for mothers to stay at home with their children. Though the household she runs here isn’t as large as her palace, at least she is in charge.

We plan to live here for seventeen years, at least—long enough for our baby to mature. The tree in the Makalo village will be used as a safe location for our precious things—The Key of Kilenya, for example.

Aldo helped us seal off the entrance to Taga. No one will be able to enter forcefully. He’ll return to the cabin where headquarters for the war was held. The only people who will know we are still alive are Aldo, the Makalos, and the Fat Lady. Our son will now be called Jacob—a very common name in our new country.

As a precaution to misuse of the Key of Kilenya, we have affixed special diamonds to it, two of which are dyed with a color only Jacob—it is still difficult to call him this—recognizes. In order to get the Key to function, he will need to slide the diamonds together. We’ve found that some of his abilities shine through, even though he’s just under two years old, and the potion should have stopped them all. He sees things normal people can’t. The characters of those around him, especially.

I hope there will come a time when the ravages and destructions in my land will be erased. I am plagued at night by the memories of the dead—races, children, and adults alike. My dreams will not leave me. We visit the Makalos as frequently as we can, and that has helped maintain our sanity, especially for Arien, who intensely dislikes living here.

I, along with her, hope to return to Eklaron someday. But with children here in this world, I don’t know how likely that will be.

I am ending this diary now and will leave it with the Makalos, where Jacob will read it when he has reached the age of eighteen. No longer Dmitri, I am now Lee Clark, and Arien is called Janna.

The words stopped flowing. Jacob had reached the end of the journal. He took a deep breath. His earlier anger melted away, replaced by surprise and some confusion. He looked up at his parents—his mom’s eyes were still full of tears. “You—you’re Arien?”