Blakeshire Read online

  He pulled me farther down the street; just as the street divided, he led me down a vast alleyway where flowers were placed in golden pots. They almost looked like they were marking a memorial.

  For no reason at all, I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. I was lightheaded, and that was not making the random flashes and echoes of voices I thought I was hearing any clearer.

  “Are you okay?” he asked as he ducked his head so he was eye level with me.

  “A lot of energy here,” I said under my breath as I sorted out the emotions of this place; they were a mix of bliss and grief.

  I glanced to the building beside us, which was four stories high. Waves and odd angles created the outer layer. The male image that was sculpted on the side was insane. His head was at the top, and his body reached all the way to the street level. At the top, the image looked like a bold leader, but as more of the stone was uncovered you could see other images connecting to this one; women, children. There were staffs in their hands, instruments at their sides, canvases here and there, even scenes of nature.

  I swear I could hear this carving. It wasn’t like the sinister whispers I had always fought with; it was more like echoes…of life.

  “This is one of the oldest and also one of my favorites,” Drake said as he gazed up at the stone. “When it was first eroded, it looked as if the man would stand high above, be a great, distant leader, but with each rain season his image began to connect to others.” He glanced at me. “His lover, his children, his friends, their talents and their paths merged into his. In the end, the sculpture showed that this great leader was nothing without the souls that stood with him, not beneath him. Though he did not carry the gift of a creative spirit, he carried the foresight to see that energy in others. He was a motivator, and because of his life, gifts in others were brought forth.”

  “It speaks deeply,” I murmured, staring at all the details that were absent at first glance and smiling when I heard the victories of their voices in my mind.

  “It teaches with what it speaks. It states that what is first seen is not the entire story—it shows how no life is solitary. This mural was created for one of the founding fathers of this town, the first conception and birth on this land.”

  He took my hand. “Forgive me,” he said just before he held my hand against the stone.

  As soon as my flesh met that cold stone, a jolt of energy shocked my very being. They were no longer echoes, but fast moving movies in my mind. It was like reading a thousand novels in a matter of seconds; every emotion was mine, every loss, every win, every love—I felt it all.

  With utter care, he pulled my hand from the stone. “You do see them.”

  “Was that a test?” I said with a gasp, feeling even more lightheaded. It was almost like when my hand was against the stone, I had the power of all those lost lives within me, and now I was standing alone.

  “A test that I was given by these people.”

  “You see them, too?”

  His stare grew grave. “All too well.”

  He moved his gaze to the opposite wall as he nodded for me to follow him.

  It was nearly solid. It looked like any other brick wall, but at the very top you could see an image of a man, but you could only see to the point of his chin. “This was his son,” Drake said so quietly that I barely heard him.

  “Well, isn’t he over here, too?” I asked, pointing to one of the children on the eccentric wall.

  “In some way. But that was his father’s story. His father gave him everything he needed to create inner peace, but the son refused to grasp it. He sought modern revolutions. He wanted to traverse the forest and bring sick souls here so they would be healed…he wanted to traverse the universe and find more places such as this, create more places such as this.”

  “Seems valiant enough.”

  “True, but before you can help others you have to discover your path.” He glanced down at me. “Great leaders are never perfect souls. They are imperfect souls who found balance with that resolution. This son was too outwardly focused, and because he was, he left his family traveled into the forest, and was never seen again. No matter how much it rains, the structure remains untouched.”

  “Can I hear him?” I asked in a ghost of a whisper.

  “One could only hope.”

  He made no effort to pull my hand to the stone; he wanted it to be my choice.

  For no reason, my hand trembled as I reached for the wall. The emotion of fear may not have been surfacing in my mind, but it was as if my soul could still comprehend that emotion and wanted to heed a warning.

  Inches before my hand reached that stone, what looked like sand, a mix of black and golden sand, reached for me and pulled me closer.

  My mind went haywire, hearing whispers of lovers, laughter of lovers, seeing stolen moments and lost dreams. There was a beginning here, a powerful one, but the end was unwritten, undiscovered, stopped before its time.

  I could swear I could see the string itself, a dark world emerging, a mistaken identity. I could not see past that point, but I felt the heavy weight of loss. I felt the regret, the hope to return to the bliss of this foundation, swarm through me. It all felt so real, so familiar to me. I felt the urge to cry, even though I had no personal emotion to call that action forth.

  “Lost lovers,” I whispered to myself.

  I saw Drake tense from the corner of my eye. Disbelief absorbed him, then faded into what could only be hope.

  “Lovers can never truly be lost,” he said as he reached for my hand. That energy that mocked black sand laced around our hands for a brief instant before it vanished, and nothing more than a silent wall stood before me.

  “It’s a massive wall,” I murmured as I looked at the length of it.

  “Sculptures this large are said to belong to old souls, ones that have or will live over the course of several eternities,” he said carefully as his eyes danced across my curious expression.

  “All souls do, though.”

  “That they do, but most complete one course of life and move on to another that is dramatically different, or so the people here believe they do; others, they are like an epic novel. Their adversity is one that must be conquered over chapters of lifetimes. They are destined to change the universe, to cause a shift in thinking.”

  “Such a waste,” I said, almost to myself.

  “In the minds of this town, this son will return, rise, and bring forth the change he was destined to create.”

  “After all this time?”

  He nodded once. “After all this time. They believe his heart was in the right place, but time and circumstance were misplaced.”

  “It’s crazy how new this looks. I mean, if you told me it was built last month I would believe you, but I can feel a regal energy coming from it at the same time.”

  “Some of it is new.” He nodded to the other end of the wall. “An extension was built almost twenty years ago.”

  “That close? How old is this town?”

  “The records I told you about are thousands of years old. The seers, on their deathbeds, are given a vision. Every hundred years, sometimes sooner, one of them sees something that has to do with this wall. They extend it but never reveal what is beneath the brick.”

  “Now I really want to knock it down.”

  “Patience,” he said as a silent laugh echoed from his broad chest. “Whoever this son is, he will find his soul.”

  Something about his tone changed the entire mood of the moment. I glanced up at him to see him gazing into the strong profile of the young man.

  “No one can take your soul,” I whispered to him.

  “Not for the lack of trying,” he quipped dryly, putting his arm around me and leading me back onto the street. As we walked further, I noticed how everyone seemed to nod and smile at us. I assumed it was just a friendly dimension, but then I heard a few of them say, “Mr. Blakeshire.”

  “You spend a lot of time here.”

&
nbsp; He held in a grin. “Kind of my hideout. My real.”

  Guilt slammed into my soul. “I hurt you when I told you the palace wasn’t real—that the life you led was fake, didn’t I?”

  His hand tightened around mine. “Not at all. It’s the truth. It’s never been my real. A few months ago when I figured out that I had two other brothers, an entire family that I didn’t know about, I realized that even though I was furious with my parents for hiding so much from me that they never really hid anything.” He hesitated. “If I had listened to my soul like the father on that mural, I wouldn’t have cared. Instead, I was like the son. I took what was in front of me and acted it out.”

  “On stage.”

  “Always,” he sighed. “Donalt sent me into the strings every day. I was supposed to be searching every nook of Infante, but instead, most days I came here. This was my real.”

  “It’s a beautiful real.”

  “It’s how I want my kingdom to think and feel. They are made of stone right now; under that stone is a purpose that I dream to lead them to. They live in terror. I want them to live with obsession. To find what makes them whole and absorb it, because I know when they do they will find something even greater.”

  “One day,” I promised.

  Right then, a little boy ran up to Drake and pulled on his coat. When Drake looked down, the boy signed something to him. Drake offered a simple nod and a subtle grin. The boy beamed with excitement as he ran off.

  “What was that about?”

  “They want to perform for you.”

  “What?”

  “The school is on midday break. They saw me with you, and they want to show us what they have been practicing.”

  “You really do spend a lot of time here.”

  He grinned as he leaned against the light post and pulled me in front of him.

  An artist was just before us. He grinned at us as he continued to create whatever was on his canvas.

  All at once, loud music began to play. It was insane because it had a solid beat to it, but there was a symphony laced with it. I could even hear guitars.

  Everyone on the sidewalk halted what they were doing, and people in the buildings either came out or opened their windows to stare out. A few seconds later, children ran out to the street—there were at least a hundred of them. They moved in perfect rhythm with each other. That was cool, but what was wicked was that they were signing as they moved with the music; it was like they were all singing silently together. When the beat became slower, so did the movement of their words; when it sped up, so did their little arms.

  The energy swarming around us was insane; you could feel this vibration in the air, this innocent addiction to life.

  Drake moved us with the beat, making us look like a better audience than what I was doing. My eyes were wide and my mouth was half-open. I was trying desperately to take it all in without overwhelming my senses.

  It all ended far too soon. The kids swarmed around us, hugging Drake and signing things to him that he answered in the same fashion. He pulled handfuls of candy out his coat pockets and passed it out to them; they took each piece like it was gift from the heavens. Then just like that, they all disbursed.

  “Wait right here,” he said to me as he stepped inside the doorway next to us. I was too awestruck to follow him. I really thought I was dreaming for a moment. Today I had seen Drake cook, sign, muse, and entertain children—and none of those actions played into the hardcore, self-loathing prince that I thought I was on a date with. This boy had way too many layers.

  The artist before where I was standing stood and handed me a sheet of ivory paper that had been rolled tightly into place.

  “I can’t—” Before I could tell him I had no money to give him for this, he held his hand up.

  “A gift for Blakeshire’s light.”

  A disbelieving grin spread across my face as I took what was surely a drawing of us. Before I could offer a thanks or look at the image, Drake was back.

  “Ready?”

  “For?”

  He grinned as he urged me to walk down the sidewalk with him. I slid the paper into my coat pocket, and as we walked I did my best to smile at everyone who said hello to us.

  A few blocks later we turned, and there on the side street was the oddest-looking car I had ever seen. The wheels were huge with thick tread; the body was sleek like a sports car. The dark red with white stripes could have been giving it that sports car image, but still this was crazy.

  He opened the door for me. As I slid in, I noticed how basic, yet modern it was. There wasn’t any kind of computer, clock, or radio, but the seats were leather and that deep aroma of new car filled the air.

  He slid in the driver’s seat and glanced at me. “I love that look on your face.”

  “Who are you?” I said with a crazy grin.

  “Someone who is trying really hard to show you what real is to me.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “Ah, don’t say that. I haven’t even shown you what we came here to see,” he joked as he turned the car on and took control of the gearshift. My heart raced as I realized that I was excited and nervous all at once.

  Anticipation coiled in my core.

  Chapter Ten

  ~Drake~

  The wall spoke to her. I couldn’t even wrap my head around that. I was told by the leader of this world, right after I was shown that mural, that it only spoke to the souls that it belonged to. He assured me at some point I’d found a home in this valley. That I had an unfinished beginning. And Madison had just confirmed that she did, too. That made me anxious and excited to show her what was hidden here. To show her where my best dreams were manifested.

  She was relaxed and calm at my side. Instead of looking at everything around her as if it were a plague or something she had to repair, her expression was filled with wonder.

  “So are you going to tell me about the sign language, or are you going to let me unravel that mystery on my own?” she asked once we turned down a less traveled path.

  I glanced at her before moving my head from side to side in fake dismay. Preston told me she was watching us this morning, that she knew I was signing to him, but she didn’t mention it and I didn’t care to bring it up then or now. So I played it off. “It’s not a secret; it plays into their culture. In a way, it’s like a vow of silence. Children are taught to speak silently so they can hear their inner voice. As they grow up, as the seasons of rain begin to shape their sculptures, they begin to speak. The adults never tell them when or offer permission. They just seem to know when their voice is needed.”

  “Interesting,” she said under her breath, clearly let down that I left it at that. “So, did you bring Preston here?”

  Oh, she was good. Made it seem like that was a wayward question, and not something that had been bothering her for hours.

  “Not yet. You’re the first,” I said with a wink. She was going to have to come out and ask me. She was obsessive and curious enough to do just that. I just wanted her to get used to asking me anything at any time.

  “He signs,” she finally said.

  My eyes met hers; contentment was surely apparent in my gaze. She was becoming at ease with me. “He said you were watching.”

  “Watching is a better word than spying.”

  “You said it, not me,” I said as I pointed at her and tried to hold in a grin.

  She blushed shyly. “I was just caught off guard. I’m still not used to having my senses on lockdown. Usually, I can tell you everyone that is within a half-mile or so from me. I woke up from a nightmare in a silent house and thought I was alone.” She glanced out the window to try and hide her embarrassment. “I was just mesmerized with the care you were taking with him. With you cooking.”

  She was the one that mesmerized me with the care she took with Preston. He tended to have a rapport with everyone whose path he crossed, but with Madison it was a silent one, like he knew he didn’t need to ‘get to know her;’ he
acted as if he had always known her. To say that equally terrified and excited me made no sense, but it was true.

  “You were mesmerized by me arguing with a six-year-old?” I quipped.

  “Sign language is too beautiful to be conveyed as anger.”

  “Remember that if you ever see him mad.”

  “Preston?”

  I nodded as my smile faded and I shifted gears, as the road became more of a hill. This was going to be harder than I thought to explain. “He was born deaf and mute.”

  “Seriously?” she said in a tone that was rich with grief. You’d have almost thought she was taking the blame for that. Odd.

  A solemn nod was my answer at first. “They tried every spell they knew, called forth every medical doctor that existed to heal him—all to no avail.”

  “I think any parent would do the same.”

  “Not my parents. They were content with his condition. Donalt was the one that searched for a cure. Donalt was the one that executed every doctor that failed him.”

  “Who was the lucky one that healed him?”

  “No one…things became really dense a few months ago, more dense than ever before. Donalt was on edge. He kept telling me that my time was coming, with the Blue Moon I would rule. He turned me against my father by revealing his hidden family, then pushed me to search for Willow.” I hesitated. “When I came back with a few of her friends, Preston came into my chambers late one night and crawled into my bed. I sat up and grabbed his favorite book so I could help him fall back asleep, but he blocked me from opening it and looked up at me…in the most innocent whisper, he told me that I marked the wrong soul. He reached for my chest, and once his tiny hand was on my heart, which was pounding like crazy, he spoke again…and told me that she did not have the power of fire.”

  “He didn’t speak until you found Willow?” she breathed as she adjusted herself in her seat.

  “Not a word. And I know he couldn’t hear either. They tested him fiercely. Not one sound would cause him to stir, no matter how loud it was.”

  “What did he mean by the fire?” she asked, completely mystified by this.