Descendant (Secrets of the Makai) (25 page)

"My fault." Oliver raised his bulky hand, looking oddly ashamed. "Got a little out of hand, I guess."

"And quit whining!" Dorian stuffed the towel into her bag. "You're the one who wanted training." She started toward the forest, tying her silky hair into a knot. "I have better things to do."

Oliver turned to Tristan. "You can quit if you want, but you can't really go back."

Tristan scowled, wiping mud from his face with the back of his hand. Dorian was right—he did volunteer for this.

"If it means anything," Oliver added, "you did really well. Much better than expected."

Tristan searched the trees for the falcon, needing a guide to the lake, then wondered if he'd earned some answers. "Was it Gram's thing setting me on fire?"

"You weren't on fire, but she is working with your endurance. I'll be joining her tomorrow, possibly this evening. Lots of things are about endurance and strength. For example, a person could have enough mental strength to block pinecones, but that amount of strength would not withstand a falling tree." Oliver selected a pinecone from the ground and tested a thorny tip with his finger. "It is not a good idea to change the tolerance of a shield according to what you think is going to happen. It should simply be at its strongest. The stronger your mind, the more you can handle."

"So, I couldn't do both shields at the same time, and whatever Gram's doing got me?"

"Believe it or not, it's a really good sign. It proves you can redistribute your existing energy to suit a purpose."

How could he stay angry when it was so obvious that he knew so little?

"Don't worry," said Oliver. "It won't always take so much effort. The longer you work at it, the less concentration it takes. Like shielding your mind, you've probably forgotten all about it by now."

"I guess."

"That's a good thing. It should happen naturally, existing because you exist, without your conscious effort. The more force Gram applies against you, whether you're aware of it or not, the more strength your mind will develop to resist." Oliver stood. "Ready to give it another go?"

"Sure." Tristan suspected he'd never fully understand.

"Ready?"

He nodded and thought of his brick enclosure as a pinecone pelted him in the chest.

Oliver let an armful of pinecones fall to the ground. "We'll continue another time. If you'd like to practice on your own, try throwing something, then redirect the object before it lands. You'll have a better feel for the rate of speed if you're the one initiating the motion. Play catch if you want, like a boomerang. Once you get that down, instead of catching whatever you've thrown, block whatever's coming back by shielding. Start with something light to play it safe. After that, I'll throw things for you. It's a lot harder to gain control of an object existing at an unknown velocity." Oliver lumbered to the edge of the clearing. "I'll lead you to the lake."

Tristan followed, silent and grateful. Next time, he wouldn't let himself quit. As for Dorian, he wasn't about to let her pretty face slip into his thoughts again.

29

-
H
ARD TO
R
ESIST -

TRISTAN RESTED HIS CHIN on a knee at the end of the dock-rock. The landscape reflecting on the glassy lake magnified the unspoken lonesomeness. He could ask Gram to visit, using the map as an excuse, but knew he wasn't up to the task. He selected a few rocks from his stash and threw them into the water, half-heartedly trying to stop them before they destroyed the reflections.

Discouraged by the lack of progress, he alternated failure with the satisfaction of rolling small pebbles; a reminder that moving things had not been some crazy illusion. He hurled another stone toward the center of the lake and a shiny head bobbed up, breaking the reflection first. His rock altered course, splashing a solid ten feet from where it should have landed.

Tristan rose to his feet, straining to see through the distortion and glare. The ripples stilled. "Where did it go?" He studied the water, waiting for clues, beginning to doubt if the person looked like Dorian.

"If you weren't so tunnel-visioned, you'd see
it
right under your nose." Dorian laid her head down, using her arm like a pillow on a boulder. Her body floated just under the surface. "Thanks for not hitting me at least."

"I did that?" He assumed she'd been the one to redirect his rock. With a sudden rush of confidence, he hurled another stone over the water, his enthusiasm fading when it made a hollow plunk.

"Would you stop?" She sounded furious, but seemed intent on lying still.

"I'm just…Oliver told me…." Tristan didn't bother finishing. Oliver didn't specifically tell him to throw rocks in the lake, but he never said not to.

"Don't you realize I'm working down there?" Her long fingers gripped the curves of the rock as she pulled herself from the water. "You just come along and start pitching rocks, not caring at all about the damage." The color drained from her face and she laid beside him.

He swallowed the pride that kept him from having feelings toward her. "Are you okay?"

"Just need a minute," she whispered, so faintly he could scarcely hear her. "Stop throwing rocks." She shut her eyes.

Leather clung to her sleek figure, maybe a swimsuit and not a dress. Tristan eyed the pearl-handled knife strapped to her muscular leg. Sparkles of sunlight shimmered on her tanned skin. Too bad her personality could cause a train wreck.

He averted his eyes and watched the reflections redefine themselves.

"Beautiful, don't you think?" she said, rising to a sitting position without any effort at all.

She wrapped her arms around her legs and gazed over the lake. He wasn't sure if she referred to herself or the surroundings and played it safe. "Yes. Beautiful."

"It's Atlantis."

"What is?"

"The lake."

"Atlantis isn't a lake."

"It is to me," she snapped.

He'd have to hold his tongue if he wanted company. "You work underwater?"

"I have several underwater gardens. They're really quite magnificent."

"You're the caretaker?" He thought he remembered Gram saying so and smiled to himself, glad they weren't arguing for a change.

"Yeah. The entire island is in my care. I'm sorry I've been mad." She slipped a long lock of wet hair behind her ear and fiddled with her fingers. "If you're not doing anything right now, I'll take you to Arcadia. It's the most impressive." She stood and waited with a pleasant smile on her face.

"Are you going to walk?" He certainly wasn't going to chase her again. Or would he?

"I'll walk."

Tristan stood, unsettled by her niceness. Would they be friends? If he asked her out, where would they go? If he knew how to cook, he could make her dinner by the lake, but what if she didn't like fish? Maybe they had a restaurant in the village. He'd have to get a job to pay for it, but maybe he could do some work-in-trade for Gram or Oliver.

"Hello!"

Tristan blinked, unsure what he missed. Whatever it was, her level of friendliness seemed to be slipping.

"I usually prefer not to walk," she continued. "It damages the ground. You know…walking on it." She pointed to the trail leading to the cliff house. "See what I mean?"

Tristan glanced at the clearly defined, normal-looking trail. She started walking along the shoreline toward the village. "It wasn't like that before you got here."

"The trail barely existed when I got here." He couldn't believe he was this desperate to talk to somebody and trotted to catch up. "What do you do as caretaker?"

"I take care of all the plants on the island."

Tristan glanced through the perfectly healthy forest. "They don't look like they need taking care of."

"That's because I'm the caretaker."

He skidded to a stop when she turned to face him. He couldn't tell if she planned to slap or kiss him and took a step back.

She leaned forward until her mouth hovered near his ear, enticing a shiver down his neck with the heat of her breath on his skin. And surprisingly, she didn't smell like lake water, but vanilla and buttered biscuits. "You think this stuff is indigenous?" she whispered. "Most of these plants don't even belong in this hemisphere. It's my job to convince them they can survive and be successful here." She spun and walked away.

Tristan let out his breath. "Indig-a-what?"

"Be quiet! They
can
hear, you know."

"What?" Tristan scratched his head, completely lost. He'd have to start paying better attention to her words. "Who can hear?"

"I don't know why everyone's so impressed with you. I personally think you're rather dense and shallow."

"Dense? No one has ever called me dense. Shallow maybe, but not dense."

"Then tell me, what do you think these plants are here for?" She quickened her pace, clearly trying to leave him behind.

"I don't know, your amusement?" Tristan bit his lip, wondering why he felt so inclined to fight with her.

"Let me get this straight," she said, whirling to face him. "You think the single purpose of all these plants on the island is to keep me amused?"

"Well…people really. People have gardens to look at…hobbies to keep them occupied…?" He scanned the forest, wondering why he couldn't shut up already. "I assume Gram's tea is probably made from the plants, right? Fruits and vegetables...." Gram probably put her in charge of a healthy forest to keep Dorian occupied and out of the way.

"I give up. I'm not taking you to Arcadia." She spoke to the sky. "See how pointless this admiration is? Don't tell me I didn't try."

What admiration? Before he could scoff, she sprung halfway into the nearest tree. He watched her climb higher, leaping to the branches of another tree. Flying squirrels came to mind.

"Wait!" He followed, searching for the easiest path along the way. "I do want to see Arcadia!"

Tristan gasped for breath and vowed to start exercising, or give up on being friends. Finally, he spotted her in a tree near the top of a hill. "What, run out of trees?" he asked, when he got close enough.

A spring gurgled into a decent creek, feeding a waterfall off a nearby ledge. She climbed higher in the tree and walked rather gracefully along a limb extending over the cliff.

"Are you crazy?" Tristan stretched his neck to see what was over the edge—a small pool of water. More like a puddle. "That has to be at least fifty—" She dove head first before he could finish.

He dropped to his hands and knees to be safe, panic leaping to his eyes. She sailed beyond reach of the tree, doing twists and flips. She'd miss the water for sure, jumping out so far.

He never did hear a splash.

Tristan leaned farther over the edge, slightly relieved to see the white ring of entry. He gulped, waiting for signs of life. How could she invoke such opposite emotions from him?

"Are you coming down, or what?" she called, blending in with a rock he could barely see, wringing water from her hair.

"You're freakin' insane!" he yelled, appalled and amazed by her casualness and lack of injury.

"You keep saying that."

Tristan crawled backwards and paced.

"Go around if you're too afraid to jump," she called. "Don't step on anything but rocks."

Go around if you're too afraid to jump
, Tristan mimicked. "She's the craziest, rudest, most inconsiderate showoff I have ever met in my entire life." He leapt foolishly from rock to rock. "She must be a little hurt. No one could have done that. It's a freakin' puddle for God's sake." He continued grumbling to himself, all the way to the water's edge. The rock she'd been sitting on was almost dry.

Her head popped up on the far side of the swimming hole. "Took you long enough."

He had nothing to say aloud and sat, ignoring her completely, taking in what had to be Arcadia. The plants seemed too exotic and tropical to exist in Alaska. Dorian slipped under the water, reappearing by a nearby rock. "Quick swim?"

"I don't think so." He ignored her smirk. "But you, you should be in the Olympics."

"What for?" She turned away, taking an unusual amount of interest in a clump of weeds. "I'd miss out on all my amusement."

She probably didn't know what the Olympics were. He let it drop.

"You're hurting her you know," she said, taking a more serious tone.

"Who?"

"Gram."

"No, I'm not." Was she telling the truth or insulting him? "I haven't seen her for at least a week."

"Like that matters." She rolled her eyes. "She's old. Too old to be working with you of all people. Her body is suffering because of your lessons."

Tristan shut his mouth, worry tightening in his chest. "Why would she offer to help me then?"

"She can't resist a challenge. She's stubborn. Thinks she's still fifty. Who knows?"

"I'm a challenge?"

"I know! Puzzles me, too. I can't imagine what they see in you."