The Wilds (Reign and Ruin 1) (4 page)

Thankfully, I
could feel myself finally coming back down to earth. And with it
the vague memories of swallowing a marble, being in my uncle's
apartment and something about a lost world.

Marty turned
around to help me up and led me to a pair of soft, but not too
cushy waiting chairs. Easing myself down into one, I glared at
Marty's amused face.

"What in the
hell happened?" I growled.

"Oh baby, that
is so cute. You look so pale! What a child you are, I always
forgot!" Marty laughed and shook his head. "Don't worry, the
effects are wearing off. Don't feel as sick as you did, do
you?"

I tested my
skin gingerly. It was tender and hot and tight. But the nausea was
trickling away and the lights in the office, which seemed so bright
before, were beginning to wear down to a tolerable glare. And I
could see the waiting chairs and the acrylic rug and . . . well,
ick.

"Did you drug
me just to drag me to a dentist's office?" I asked.

Marty cocked a
mischievous eyebrow. "Yes, I spirited you away from New York to
another dimension only to give you a filling." I heard his pause
and almost, almost mind you, a snigger. Again,
ick
. "No
Maggie, we're here to meet Cirrus. He'll lay down the rules and the
Walk will begin."

"Will he start
by explaining the ‘walk'?" I asked. The secretary was giving me a
rather odd look, but when I caught her staring she glanced quickly
back at her appointment pad.

"Yes, of
course. He's a dictator but he's not unfair." The secretary cleared
her throat and Marty leaned forward pointedly. "Yes, report me
Cindy. Go ahead. I see now how quickly your loyalties change."

Cindy gave a
haughty little squeak and kept her eyes on the appointment book.
Marty leaned over and whispered in my ear, "She acts so cold but
I've heard her purr."

A soft bell
toll rang from the ceiling and I heard the double office doors
inside the adjoining hallway click.

"Cirrus will
see you now," Cindy said pleasantly. Marty shot up from his chair
and gestured frantically for me to stand. He gripped my wrist and
pushed me in front of him.

"You need to
walk in front of me. It will show confidence and courage. And I get
to stare at your ass."

Yanking my hand
out of his grasp I took my chance to pinch his neck hard. "You have
gotten majorly dirty since arriving here. Can you pull it together?
I am still Steve's niece."

Marty rubbed
the spot on his neck and shot me an angry look. Giving my back a
push to move he fell in behind me as we started towards the
doors.

"I taught you
that," I heard him mutter.

The double
doors opened smoothly into a large, plush office swathed in maroon
curtains and nearly stifling under the heat of a roaring fire. The
man who was sitting in the armchair looked over steadily . . . and
nearly knocked me off my high-tops.

He was
beautiful. Can a man be beautiful and still be a man? Or does that
make him handsome? He was shorter than I had imagined, with square
spectacles that framed his eyes and strikingly platinum blond hair
cut just below his ears. His strong cheek bones were smooth and
shaven, and in the firelight the white hairs on the back of his
hands looked soft and bright. But he was sturdy and strong and his
eyes were piercingly green and looking straight at me. Through me,
even.

"It's nice to
see you, Maggie," Cirrus said genially. "I hope that you had a
pleasant and uneventful trip." He glanced doubtfully at Marty
standing straight and still behind me.

"It was a bit
rushed. I wasn't given much time to . . . transition," Marty
answered. Cirrus nodded and stood from his chair. "But of course, I
took the heir into my care the moment I knew."

Cirrus's lithe
body swept gracefully across the room to meet Marty at the door.
His suit was cut perfectly and the gold pocket watch attached to
his waistcoat gleamed. He was . . . strange. And perfect. And
apparently challenging me to a duel or some other such crazy.

"Thank you,
Martin. Please do wait outside until you're needed." Marty nodded,
glanced once at me over Cirrus's shoulder, and spun quickly around
and out the door. I listened to it click softly shut.

Cirrus turned
around, head bowed and palms together in what looked like
reverence.

"Thank you for
coming." He stretched out his arm for a handshake. As I took a step
forwards to meet him I noticed the dirt under his fingernails and
the stains of ink that cracked along the lifeline of his palm,
something I hadn't spotted at first in the dark light of the room.
The edges of his sleeve were creased and yellow. Cirrus saw my eyes
linger and pushed his hand quickly back into his trouser
pocket.

"It's an . . .
incredible honor to meet a living relative of the Painter. The next
in the blood line. You have your uncle's . . . composure." He
considered my ripped jeans and leather jacket. "But not exactly
what I was expecting."

"What were you
expecting?"

"Would you come
closer to the fire, please? I wish to see your face." He offered
his hand and I took it, hesitating only a little, and found his
hands surprisingly cold. He walked slowly to the armchair and
pulled me around in front of him. The fire crackled and I pushed my
heels deep into the plush thread of the rug.

I felt Cirrus's
eyes pouring over my face. So intent was his gaze that he could
have been searching for something small enough to hide in an
impossibly small crevice or invisible pore. Sinking slowly back
into his armchair, his face held a look of fascination that made my
stomach churn and my heart beat violently. I didn't dare look away
from his eyes but I don't think I could if I tried. It was utterly
terrifying.

"You're younger
than I imagined," Cirrus murmured. The area around his eyes
tightened and I started to feel a slight throb in my temples.
Cirrus's spectacles glinted in the firelight. I felt a flurry in
the back of my brain, like someone was shifting rapidly through the
drawers of my mind. A small moan escaped from my lips as the throb
became harder and harder . . .

"No," Cirrus
said, pulling back and dropping my hand. The throbbing suddenly
stopped and I was left with my head swimming. He smiled in
amazement and looked at me wonderingly. "It's true, then," Cirrus
whispered to himself. "It's as I suspected."

"What did you
suspect?" I asked, blinking away the white haze. Ignoring me again,
Cirrus turned his attention to the fire.

"Marty is a
smart man," Cirrus said. "I know he doesn't sound it – or look it
–but he works for me and I wouldn't have kept him on if I didn't
think he was capable. He knows his way around, if only that."

"Smart and
Marty are two words I never thought I would hear in the same
sentence," I murmured. "But then again, I never thought I would
swallow a marble and wake up here, all for the sake of a
'walk'."

Cirrus looked
suddenly at me and gestured to the footstool beside him. He seemed
to find it funny as I sat down.

"Look at you,
the next in line . . . sitting at my feet. It's a fitting place. I
love the way it feels. You understand that, don't you?

"You like
power," I said. Cirrus nodded.

"Of course.
Most people do."

"I really
couldn't give a shit about power."

Cirrus steepled
his fingers together and seemed to be fighting back a smile.

"That, my
darling, is one of the reasons this will be so easy."

"Well, you seem
to be finding getting to the point pretty damn hard" I said as my
patience whittled away. Cirrus chuckled and rubbed his jaw.

"Your spark
will come in handy out here in Palet." He paused, as if to
ascertain my understanding. I was obviously an idiot. "Palet, as I
am sure Mr. Kleizenberg explained, is the land created by your
uncle. We are still young, but not once in over one hundred years
did we think this would, or could, happen." He continued, relishing
his next words. "Never thought our god was . . . mortal."

"Hundred
years?" I scoffed. "My uncle might look older than he is but he's
actually younger than my mom." Cirrus watched me as I babbled on.
"And even though she's been 30 for over twenty years now, there is
no way my uncle has been around for more than forty."

Cirrus shrugged
and swept a palm over the warm air emanating from the fire.

"Time runs
differently here. It must. Your uncle has been inciting awe and
fear into the hearts of men since the dawn of time. But not now.
Now he's as cold and dreamless as yourself." A chill ran down my
spine and I shivered.

"What is that
supposed to mean?" I asked. Cirrus rose and walked over to a side
table. He placed his fingers lightly on a piece of paper laid out
on its surface.

"Yes, the 'why
me' part of this conversation. The heir to the throne and the
Painter's niece." Cirrus spat out those last few words as stood
from the footstool. "When this world was created, it came with a
history. A code. According to tradition you should rightfully
ascend to leadership. The books were written on the subject years
ago when men thought it sufficient to declare the rules on paper."
Cirrus sighed and turned around. "But there are those that
challenge, that hope for something different and more ordered.
Science, you could say, and reason instead of mystical
la-de-dahs."

"Wonderful. I
think that sounds great," I said, cutting him off. Cirrus raised
his eyebrows and a wry smile touched his lips.

"That is all
very well and good, Maggie but the people will never accept me as
their king that easily. It would be considered a takeover or a
coup. So I need to win fair and square, and there are traditions
for that, as well." Cirrus looked at me brightly, his eyes suddenly
lighting up with a new and less foreboding energy. "Drink?"

He brought out
a crystal decanter full of a soft, golden liquid. I might have been
in a different world with an incredibly handsome but power-hungry
gentleman or tripping frantically on Marty's magic marble, but
either way I needed some alcohol.

"Yes, please,"
I murmured. I accepted his outstretched glass gratefully. The
golden liquid was whiskey, a low and mellow type that was so light
it lingered more in the air than on the tongue. I looked up to see
Cirrus considering me thoughtfully.

"You are of
special interest to me, Maggie," he murmured. "Well, that's an
understatement of sorts. What you are is an impossible, walking
miracle."

Those words,
coupled with the strong drink, sent a slight temporary numbing
feeling along my arms and a heat rushing to my cheeks. He had
thrown his net out and now, twisted up with his green eyes, I felt
my body slowing expanding towards him. It didn't feel good, but it
didn't feel unnatural either. But it was definitely out of my
control. "You don't dream. I'm sure you've come to discover that
this is a very rare phenomenon." Cirrus laughed shortly. "It's
certainly a bizarre contrast we have, isn't it? You having no
dreams at all and I having so many it's a wonder I'm not clinically
insane."

My breaths were
shallow, uncomfortable and he wouldn't look away or let me go.

"I'm sorry," I
offered. Cirrus shrugged and a nervous grin flitted over his face.
"So, what does that make me?" I asked finally.

"To me?" He
paused and the net tightened. "To me, you're the cool breath of
wind I need to wake up." I felt my face burn and he looked away,
casting his net aside. I quickly shot back the rest of my drink.
That was sure a strange way to put things.

Cirrus
straightened his stance sharply and plucked up the piece of paper.
"Your contract," Cirrus declared, laying it down on the desk with
an air of finality, sweeping away my empty glass. "We will battle
it out for the position of King. Or Queen. Let loose in the Middle
Canvas, we work towards a common goal, using the tools given to us
and the talents we've inherited."

"Common
goal?"

Cirrus pulled a
necklace out of his pocket; a simple, thin gold hoop netted with
wire. "Accept the historic Reign Walk. Catch the opponent. Steal
the symbol. Win."

"You want me .
. . to fight you?"

"No, Maggie, I
believe our modern time and the basic foundations of civility
discourage warfare," he answered dryly and set the necklace
pointedly on the contract. "Think of it more as a game of
Hide-and-Seek."

I rubbed my
warm cheeks and eyed the necklace suspiciously.

"It can't be as
simple as that," I eventually countered. "If all you need to do is
find the necklace, I could just hide out. Drop it in the sea. You
could just take it right now."

"The rules of a
Reign Walk are written into our constitution," Cirrus said. He
traced his finger slowly around the thin chain as he explained.
"There is no killing each other. You must never remove your symbol.
And the Walk must end in a period of six days, after which the
symbols we wear burn into our bodies and eat our souls, deeming us
both unfit to rule."

"Eating our
souls . . . symbolically?" I squeaked.

"The world of
Palet is wide and ever-changing." He completely ignored the very
legitimate concern of
losing my human soul
and pulled from
out of his desk a large atlas. Flipping through a few pages, he
smoothed down the crease in the middle and spun the book so that it
was facing me. "We will both set down in the Middle Canvas," he
said as I reached the table. "I will be on one side and you will be
on the other. As we journey across the landscape, it is up to us to
gain support wherever we can. And somewhere along the way, your
symbol will be stolen." He smiled and patted my hand indulgently.
"Or vice-versa, of course."

The landscape
was green and dotted with various cities, roads and rivers. It
could have been any countryside in any world. The green fields
along the bottom and the side continued off the page, as if the
land was constantly growing and the Middle Canvas was only the
center of a much larger country. One thing was for sure: it was
fucking huge.