Synergy (See #3)
Jamie Magee
Chapter One
Fear. Fear of the end of existence consumes me, and I don’t know how I know, but I know it’s my fault. The ash is thick, so thick that I can’t see more than a few feet in front of me. The screams of the women and children shred into my soul. I’m running, but I can’t breathe; the air is toxic. I keep telling myself only a few more feet and I’ll be safe, I’ll beg for forgiveness and this will be over, we’ll all be saved -- but I stumble on the hollow rocks that are falling from the sky. A woman reaches to help me up. I can’t understand her, but I see the pleading in her eyes; it’s as if she knows I can stop this. I rise to my feet, grab her arm, and run again. Just as I reach the door I wanted to find, I feel a powerful hand on my shoulder stopping me. Darkness comes. Death comes. All is lost.
That’s when I wake coughing, drenched in sweat – on the verge of crying. I keep thinking that if I can reach the door in my dream that maybe I can solve this nightmare. I don’t know if it’s a warning, if this has happened, or if it’s just symbolic to what’s going on in my life. I know one thing, though: I feel Silas there. The darkest part of me tells me that he’s the death that’s calling, that behind that door is Draven, and that I’m never in time to save him. With that thought, the tears that I’m too stubborn to let fall begin to glass over my eyes, my heart races, and dread comes over every inch of my trembling body.
Two weeks ago, I turned eighteen. It was the day that followed the night that I fought Bianca in The Realm and helped Draven through his test. Silas had warned me that the light that I was -- or the light that was in me -- would become too bright to be resisted, that the fate that I’d dreaded would finally be here. The only thing that changed on my birthday was the birth of the nightmare that I have each and every time I dare to close my eyes; beyond that, it’s been quiet...almost too quiet.
Draven has spent every day, all day at the school. I guess you could call it an arts center by now. He and the others were writing, playing for hours on end. We’re rarely alone, and when we are, it’s tense. We ignore the elephant in the room. We ignore that though he’d passed his test and stayed in this world that now he was officially an Escort, that his instinct was telling him to pull light to him, to create darkness. He hadn’t given in to that call, but I swear at times I could see the thirst in his eyes.
I would try to hold him, talk to him about our past in this life. I still can’t remember most of it, but he can, and I knew if he thought of those happy moments that his emotions would be in balance and the anger would stay at bay. That thought process would work for a while, a few hours at least, but then he’d slip inside himself and the grief for what he thought would never happen again -- our happiness -- would take over. At that point, he always left my side as quickly as he could, making it clear that I was a temptation that he was fighting, that this unseeable war of light and darkness had placed a permanent divide between us.
Those weren’t the only times he blocked me out. He never wanted me near him when he was writing aggressive songs that pulled those dark emotions out of him. I didn’t want to make anything harder on him, but not writing with him, knowing he was writing with Winston and Grayson instead, always left me bitter.
I felt like I was his part-time girlfriend, allowed to see him calm, almost happy, but not at any other time.
I tried to keep myself busy with school, spending most of my time at the library prepping for finals, which was all I had left to do for the semester. Madison was always with me, but she wasn’t studying for school; she was studying something much more interesting, darker. She’d pulled books on every folklore or myth that had ever been written. She had notebooks full of symbols. She was trying to find something that could protect us, some kind of peaceful barrier we could use. I helped when I became bored with school.
I hoped within the pages of all the lore that perhaps I would learn of herbs or something that I could wear or do that would make Draven feel more at ease around me, but it’s hard to mask who you are - and no one should have to around the one they love.
Grayson had told me that Draven now saw things differently. Saw me differently. That when I was happy, my aura shifted, became brighter, and that shade was what was so inviting to Escorts. Knowing that, I found a way to hold those emotions in around all of them. That’s harder than it sounds because the only time I’m really happy is when Draven’s with me. When I know he’s safe.
I hadn’t seen Silas, but I could feel him when I left my home. From time to time, I’d see a butterfly dance by me and I would always think of him. I wanted to talk to him, but I knew that it would just be the same argument. He would promise me that he’d end Draven’s life the moment he had an excuse. I just didn’t want to hear that.
I hadn’t given up on leaving for Chara. I would even see my way there at least once a day, standing on the hill and watching the house that I knew belonged to Willow and Landen. I’d yet to find them at home, though; I assumed they were in that dark place called Esterious, but I couldn’t bring myself to see my way there, to see that dark prince. His image haunted me.
When Madison was in deep thought, her hands were always sketching, and that prince’s image would come to life with little effort. When she realized what she was doing, she’d rip it up. I’d look away and block the thoughts I had about him, the moment I’d seen him in that dark world. I was afraid that if she left for Chara with me that she’d see him. I didn’t think she was ready for that, but at the same time I didn’t think I could leave without her. I was torn on what would be the right thing to do when that moment finally came.