Return of the Matka-Zem (The Sorain Chronicles) (3 page)

BOOK: Return of the Matka-Zem (The Sorain Chronicles)
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"
I wouldn't miss that for the world." Inga gently pushed her away from the stove with a soft pat on the shoulder. "Now, go wash. Dinner will be ready soon. I will have one of the stablemen take care of the Keeper. Afterwards, we can start solving this riddle of yours." As Jane started to leave the kitchen, Inga asked, "Did the Keeper leave you anything?"

She grit her teeth and lied to her friend, keeping her voice flat.
"Nothing, except this wild goose chase," she said, without looking back. She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, though the hollowness deepened inside her stomach.

"
Pity. We could have used more clues." The cook's voice held an icy edgy so subtle Jane thought she must have imagined it.

Jane left the kitchen without a response and hurried to the library to calm her troubled mind. Why did she have the feeling her only friend was really no friend at all? Never once had Inga betrayed her trust, yelled at her like the Keeper always did, or ignored her like the others. They were friends . . . but she could not shake the feeling of dread.

***

Inga watched the kitchen door close behind the young woman and lost her warm smile. She was positive the woman was her mark, yet she still had no proof. Jane did not act like the missing princess, who
'd been known for her snobbish behavior. Yet the girl fit the description with her large green eyes and flaming red hair. On a few occasions, Inga thought she had felt the flow of power from the girl but only late at night and very faintly at that. The young princess had immense power and what Inga felt was not even near that strength. There was the possibility the girl was a decoy, like the one she had eliminated before she arrived, but she seriously doubted this. Upon her arrival six months ago, Inga recognized the old woman as Naji, the Xeral Mlinzi, and knew she was on the right track. To her dismay, the woman never let the girl out of her sight except for the time to study cooking—and even then, she was within earshot. Therefore, Inga bided her time, pretending to be a chef.

Having lived in the Mlinzi guild for twelve years before leaving their society, she had to disguise herself. Inga had refused to take the trials, not wanting to risk death to become a Guardian of Sora. She had therefore left in disgrace. That had been over twenty years ago and the Xeral Mlinzi did not recognize her now. She
'd had no idea that Inga now sold her skills as a Jeger, a Hunter. Yet the aged woman seemed to have her suspicions that a spy lurked within her lair. In recent months, the old woman's scrutiny had increased to the point of placing a guard at the girl's door at night,

"
The old fool didn't know a Jeger penetrated her fortress." Inga snickered at how a Hunter outfoxed a Mlinzi as she glanced around the kitchen.

"
I can interrogate the girl at my leisure." Inga continued to speak aloud with a touch of excitement in her voice. Six months of being idle had grated on her nerves and she wanted to end the assignment as quickly as possible. "But first I'll turn over some stones." Now that the old woman was dead, she could make her next move. She removed the dirty apron and threw it across the room, not caring where it fell, and strode to the back door. It would have been icing on the cake had the Mlinzi possessed the Lavi Santi too. The device that bound the Matka-Zem to Sora went missing years before the princess's birth and the dissidents couldn't rule the planet with it. Inga wanted to return with both. If she had to, she could always keep the girl at the compound with her cohorts while she continued her search for the device. Nevertheless, the thought of spending more time in this isolated place made her skin crawl. Inga paused at the door to glance at the boiling stew on the stove before she let the door slam behind her. "Let the damn place burn."

***

When Jane entered the huge library, she exhaled deeply to let the stress of the past few days seep out of her body. The Keeper had collapsed outside Jane's bedroom door, and, in spite of her hatred for the woman, she stayed by her side until her death. She withdrew the rusty key from her pocket and plopped into her favorite, over-stuffed armchair to study the small object. It was only a tiny, brass key with two small holes in its bow. As far as she could see, there was nothing special about the key and she had no idea where its matching lock lay.

"
Most likely under the grey man," Jane snorted with disgust. "Now where in this wretched place could he be?" she asked the books on the walls as if they could answer. She swung one long, slender leg over the arm of the chair and slowly glanced around the room. This was her sanctuary, the only room where she could relax and get away from prying eyes. The Keeper stopped following her inside the room years ago, and the others rarely came to the house, much less looked for a good book to read. She knew every corner of the chamber and had read every book twice, some three or four times. They gave her a view of the world outside her prison. Now that her guard had passed away, she was free to leave and experience life. It did not matter where she went, just so long as she left.

I will miss this room
, she realized. She wondered what books to take for memory's sake. As she lovingly gazed around the library, her eyes fell upon a tip of a tiny picture frame, almost hidden in an obscure corner of the room. At the site of the dull, brown wood, she bolted upright in the chair and came to her feet. The painting was new. She'd never seen it before. Her heart raced as she warily stepped towards the painting as if it would jump off the wall and attack her.

"
How did you get here?" Jane questioned the web-covered painting in front of her. It appeared as if someone had recently removed the picture from the attic and hurriedly hung it on the wall, not taking the time to clean the silvery cobwebs from around the frame. She had not entered the room since the Keeper's collapse two days ago and had no clue how the painting had gotten into the corner. She quickly found a feather duster and removed the tangled mass of webs that obscured the tiny painting. As the webbing fell from the wood frame, a portrait of a grey-haired man came into view.

"
A grey man," she whispered. Her heart pounded hard in her chest. With a shaky hand, she ran her fingers over the canvas, finding it hard to believe she had solved the riddle so fast. The Keeper knew her well enough to know she would easily find the picture. Someone who did not spend time in the room would have overlooked the painting as just another picture on the wall.

"
What you seek lies under the grey man." She glanced behind the picture and found only bare wall. "Under the grey man," Jane repeated with sarcasm, rolling her eyes at her own stupidity. She glanced at her feet and saw a discolored tile, out of place from the rest. Peering closer, she realized it was a different kind of tile altogether. Feeling a bit paranoid that eyes might be upon her, she quickly looked around the room before kneeling to the floor. With shaky fingers, she touched the tile and found it to be loose. She scanned the library again, then hooked her short nails under the tile and lifted it from its resting place. Hidden in a shallow hole was a dirty, sky-blue handkerchief. As if frozen to the spot, she stared at the worn cloth. Fear of the unknown made her breath shallow. This was a decisive moment. Somehow, she knew that once she peered inside the cloth, her world would change, for good or evil.

Her hand shook visibly as she reached for the cloth and withdrew it from its hiding place. Feeling a small, round object wrapped inside, Jane timidly unfolded the handkerchief to reveal a black glass marble, no bigger than a cherry. She glanced into the hole one last time, hoping to find a note of explanation. There was none.

"Is this some kind of sick joke?" Jane got to her feet and glared angrily at the marble. Hatred for the Keeper flowed into her veins. The old woman had always spoken in riddles, never giving a direct answer to anything, but this just added fuel to the fire. Jane fought the desire to throw the piece of glass across the room, however the mystery of the object unruffled her anger. Not really expecting anything to happen, she nonchalantly poked the sphere with a fingertip.

As soon as her skin brushed its smooth surface, the marble flashed brightly, temporarily blinding her. A tiny squeak of surprise escaped from her lips as a bolt of energy raced from the sphere into her body. Paralyzed by the force that scorched through her, she could only stare at the tiny black ball. Deep within the sphere, the blackness began to swirl and a soft glow pulsed into life. With each pulse, the ball brightened until it burned her eyes. Her heart pounded in fear when the round object rose from her palm to float in front of her face. Before she could react, the marble slammed into her forehead, violently hurling her backwards until she crashed against a bookcase. With books sprawled around her, she slid to the floor as visions began to flash before her eyes.

All her senses came into play, as old suppressed memories came flooding back. Flashes of places and unknown people seared into her mind. A male's deep laughter, a loving brush of soft lips against her forehead, a curved blade slicing through a strange creature's breast, glowing yellow eyes and other visions rushed into her brain. The visions penetrated her mind so fast she could not distinguish one from the other. She grasped her head, and with a moan of agony, curled into a fetal position.

"
Come home, daughter," echoed a deep voice in her mind. Out of the rush of memories, a single male's voice pierced the pain. A silhouette of a man emerged from the jumble of images. Jane focused her attention on the stranger and finally the vision became clear. He was a handsome man of middle years. Tall and lean, dressed in golden robes like those of a Greek aristocrat. His fair face looked ageless with a straight nose, and full lips surrounded by shoulder-length hair so pale yellow it was almost white. His pointy chin and high cheekbones only enhanced large, ice-blue eyes that were soft and kind. In his right hand, he held a golden disk wrapped in a new, sky blue handkerchief.

"
This will show you the way home." The vision stretched out his hand towards her. "Come home, daughter," the man whispered one last time before the vision faded into the cluster of memories.

The visions finally ceased and slipped deep into her mind. Slowly the pain abated and she found herself sprawled on the floor. Several books lay scattered around her, yet she ignored them as she struggled to her feet. Sluggishly, she made her way to the small washroom near the back of the library and splashed cold water on her face to clear her mind.

What in the hell just happened?
Jane stared at her reflection in the glass trying to assess the wound on her forehead, but to her astonishment she bore no marks from the marble—not even a red spot. All she saw was her pale face, framed with fire-red hair and large, green eyes.

Still dazed from her experience, she slowly returned to where she had collapsed. Shakily, she knelt to the floor in search of the round object, but found only a clear white marble between two books. As soon as her fingers brushed its surface, the little sphere crumbled into dust. Off to her left, she spotted the dirty, blue handkerchief half buried underneath the pile of books. She pulled it from the heap and fingered the thin material. The image of the older man came flooding back.

I have a Father
. She was shocked with the knowledge she had a family,
But, where are you? Where is home?
With the vision of her father holding the blue handkerchief clearly in her mind, she peered closer at the square of fabric to find the next clue. The cloth was a simple blue fabric that showed no special stitching nor symbols except a white laced border. Remembering the golden disk she'd seen in the image of her father, she searched the hole again, but only found dirt. With a sigh of disappointment, she ran her fingers over the dirty lace and felt raised knots throughout its design. Taking a closer look at the dots, she could make out the shape of a "P."

"
Not another puzzle!" Jane whined in frustration. "Why can't you just tell me.?" she asked, directing her comments to the handkerchief, "instead of playing connect the dots?" Clearing off a nearby table, she flattened the handkerchief on its surface and grabbed the nearest felt pen. Running her fingers over the lace again to find the beginning of the knots, she started to color the top of each elevated nub. She ripped a blank page from the closest book and pushed it on top of the fabric. Although some of the marks did not transfer, she was able to make out the words "Puerta de Hayu Marka."

What
's the meaning of this?
she wondered. She made her way to the encyclopedias to see if she could find anything on the unfamiliar words. After some searching, she found what she was looking for and read the first paragraph aloud:

The Puerta de Hayu Marka is a huge door-like structure in the Hayu Marca mountain region of Southern Peru near Lake Titicaca, revered by local Indians as the
"City of the Gods." It is part of an area known as a Valley of the Spirits, or Stone Forest. The door or the "Puerta de Hayu Marca" (Gate of the Gods) has been carved out of a natural rock face and measures exactly twenty-three feet in height and width, with a smaller alcove in the center at the base which measures in at just under six feet in height.

"
Could this place be some kind of wormhole of some sort?" Leaning back in the wing-backed chair, she stared at the book. "Where would it take me . . . home?" Fingering the laced hanky, her stomach twisted into a hard knot. The realization that Earth was not her home was disturbing and unexpected. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves. After a few minutes of contemplation, she rose to her feet. Now that she had a destination where she could learn her identity, she quickly shredded the message, then tore the page from the encyclopedia and shoved it deep into her back pocket along with the hanky. With a little searching, she found a string strong enough to hold the key around her neck. She tied the key to the string and tucked it between her breasts.

BOOK: Return of the Matka-Zem (The Sorain Chronicles)
6.08Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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