Emerald Child (Kalika Magic Book 1)

  Emerald Child

  Karen Hughes

  Kalika Magic / Australia

  Copyright © Karen Hughes 2015

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email address below.

  admin@kalikamagic.com

  Kalika Magic

  Australia

  www.kalikamagic.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Ordering Information: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address above.

  Hughes / Karen — First Edition

  ISBN 978-0-9941579-4-2

  For Andrew

  Chapter 1

  The Old Chest

  A barefoot boy stood by a smoky fire. Above him, the lights of the village twinkled in the trees. Polished steps wound around the tree trunks to the houses hidden in the leaves. Bridges of rope swayed from tree to tree.

  At the boy’s feet sat an old woman. Her skin was dark, her hair pure white. When she stirred the fire, the smell of magic filled the air.

  ‘Will it be tonight?’ the boy whispered.

  The old woman nodded. ‘The moon is full,’ she said. ‘The spirits are dancing.’ She crushed a sage leaf between her palms and threw it on the flames. ‘Sit with me, Kai,’ she said.

  The smoke writhed and hissed. It twisted around the boy, forming pictures – an old chest buried in the sand; five bark huts in a circle of purple flowers; a staircase winding down and down.

  Kai leaned forward. He reached out his hand and watched the smoke curl around his fingers.

  ‘I can’t see …’ he began. Then he stopped.

  ‘Look, Grandma!’ he said. ‘It’s her, isn’t it?’

  The old woman’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘You must be careful,’ said Grandma Helki, packing black bread and hard white cheese into a satchel. ‘She must not know.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t she know?’ asked Kai. ‘It’s not fair she doesn’t know.’

  ‘The silver veil is not easy to cross. It will be more dangerous if she knows.’

  ‘But I know.’

  ‘You are different, Kai.’

  The boy felt the chill breath of the ancients; he watched the prayer flags twist and turn.

  ‘Ki-somma,’ the old woman whispered. She pressed the satchel into his hands.

  The boy flinched at her words. ‘I can’t do it,’ he said.

  The old woman was silent. She poked the fire, watching the sparks scatter in the sky.

  ‘It is time, Kai,’ she said, ‘whether you are ready or not.’

  *

  Beyond the forest, over cruel reefs and forgotten seas, there lay an island. It was small and rocky and covered with crooked trees. From a distance, it looked the same as the waves that crashed against its shore. The sand was a muddy green, the rocks a deep glass blue. Even the trees were like strands of seaweed, waving in the water.

  At the edge of the sand, wedged between two large rocks, stood an ancient chest. It was heavy with barnacles and scuttling crabs, and there were flames carved into one side and a rusty lock at the front. On the lid was a circle of shining stones, embedded in the wood. When the days were warm and the moon was full, the stones would dance with colour and smoke would come creeping out from under the lid.

  A girl sat cross-legged beside the chest, peering into the smoke. It swirled around her, forming nebulous patterns in the air. She watched the patterns shift and change. Her eyes were red and her throat was dry, but she had to keep watching.

  Sometimes she could see figures in the smoke: shadows, dancing in the firelight. She thought they might be people, but she could never see their faces.

  This time it was different. This time she could see a boy. He was something real among the shadows.

  *

  ‘Indie! You come up here immediately.’ Aunt Sofia stood at the top of the cliff, her arms folded and her face pinched. She was a pointy person, all elbows and angles, and so thin that if the wind were any stronger Indie felt it would have carried her out to sea.

  Indie turned away from the chest. She picked up the book she had left lying in the sand. ‘I’m reading,’ she called. ‘I have to finish the page.’

  ‘You are not allowed down there,’ cried Aunt Sofia. ‘Your Aunty Mai will have a fit when she finds out.’

  Indie frowned. She closed the book. ‘I’m coming,’ she called. ‘You don’t have to tell her.’

  Wreaths of smoke twisted through her hair, as if unwilling to let her go. In the smoke she could see the boy. He had a brown face and serious eyes, and he was staring at her.

  ‘Who are you?’ she whispered. ‘Can you see me?’

  The boy nodded. He put his finger to his lips.

  ‘Ki-somma,’ he said.

  Indie climbed the winding path to the top of the cliff. She followed Aunt Sofia across the rocks, watching her aunt set one foot in front of the other in deliberate, angry steps.

  On the other side of the island, in the shade of the crooked trees, stood five huts. When they first came to the island, when Indie was very small, Aunt Sofia and the other women had built the huts with knobby poles and a draping of buffalo hide. They planted purple coneflowers and danced, calling on the spirits to protect the huts and keep them hidden. Over the years, they added extra rooms of stick and bark, and a kitchen with a fireplace and six stools carved from tree-stumps.

  ‘I won’t tell Aunty Mai,’ said Aunt Sofia, arranging the stools in a perfect circle. ‘It’ll be our little secret.’

  Indie shuddered. Just what she needed, secrets with Aunt Sofia. She looked at her aunt’s grasping fingers, the eager smile on her face.

  Old witch.

  Aunt Sofia spun to face her. Indie froze. Had she said it out loud? She hadn’t meant to. She watched her aunt’s face change, her eyes turning to blue steel behind the square black frames of her glasses.

  ‘Aunty Mai told you not to go down there.’ Aunt Sofia spat the words. ‘What were you doing?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Nothing? I thought you were reading.’ She snatched the book from Indie’s hand. ‘Where did you get this?’

  ‘Aunty Mai gave it to me. It’s poetry.’

  Aunt Sofia flicked the pages open and began to read.

  In ancient times, the Emperor of Moto forged the Sword of Veladin.

  He climbed the sleeping mountain,

  Crossed the rivers of ice,

  And explored the silent caves.

  By the light of the crescent moon, he carried the sword to Ballyndor.

  Her nose crinkled and she closed the book with a snap. ‘You’re supposed to be doing your mathematics,’ she said, ‘not filling your head with nonsense.’

  Indie looked at her feet. ‘But I hate maths.’

  ‘Mathematics is important,’ said her aunt, frowning.

  ‘So is poetry,’ said Indie.

  ‘Poetry is hardly going to change the world.’

  ‘It might.’ Indie held up an i
maginary sword and recited in a low, solemn voice.

  When pure of heart the princess comes,

  And stands before the darkened throne,

  And says to death, ‘I fear you not,

  Then shall the spirits all rise up.

  Aunt Sofia glared at her. ‘That’s enough, Indie.’

  Indie gave one last flourish. ‘The Sword of Veladin was the greatest sword ever made,’ she said. ‘I wish I had a sword like that.’

  Her aunt sniffed. ‘I doubt very much you’d know how to use it.’

  ‘I could learn.’

  ‘Ladies do not need swords.’

  Indie plonked herself on the closest stool and pushed her tangled hair behind her ears. She looked down at her dirty shirt, her torn fingernails, her sandy toes. Then she looked back at Aunt Sofia and grinned.

  ‘Do you really think I’m a lady?’ she said.

  Her aunt said nothing, but her mouth set in a hard line. ‘I’m going to help Aunty Mai with the saskaberries,’ she said. ‘You can finish your multiplication – yes, page seventeen, don’t think I’ve forgotten – and then we’ll begin your astronomy lesson.’

  She tucked the book under her arm and swept away under the trees; heels clicking on the stones, hair coiled tight against her neck.

  Indie watched her go. She wanted to talk to her about the chest and the smoke and the boy, but she knew it would be a bad idea. Aunt Sofia’s anger was like a lightning bolt: it burst from the sky without warning and sizzled you to pieces. No, better to wait and ask Aunty Mai instead.

  *

  Aunty Mai was picking blue saskaberries; Aunt Sofia stood beside her with her hands on her hips. Every now and then Aunt Sofia would scoop a caterpillar from the leaves and crush it between her fingers.

  Indie sat above them, concealed in the leaves of a tall black tree. Spying on her aunts was the only way she ever found out anything. Besides, it was fun.

  She leaned as far as she could through the branches, straining to hear their voices.

  ‘She must be sick, hiding away all day,’ said Aunty Mai. ‘Too much homework, that’s the problem.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ said Aunt Sofia. ‘She’s not sick, she’s lazy. Bone lazy. You’re too soft on her.’

  Aunty Mai frowned. ‘She needs more sun –’

  ‘More sun? Pah! More lessons, that’s what she needs.’

  ‘Poetry lessons?’ asked Aunty Mai, her eyes lighting up.

  ‘Definitely not,’ said Aunt Sofia. ‘You should never have given her that book. Now she says she wants a sword.’

  Aunty Mai sighed. ‘She needs something to distract her. She can’t keep playing near that old chest. It isn’t safe.’

  ‘How do you know it isn’t safe?’ said Aunt Sofia. ‘We haven’t heard a word in nearly ten years. We can’t wait here forever. You have to face it, Mai, Grandma Helki isn’t coming.’

  ‘Well, we can’t go back by ourselves.’ Aunty Mai’s voice was brittle. ‘It’s too dangerous.’

  Indie settled back against the broad trunk of the tree and closed her eyes. It was always the same. Aunt Sofia arguing that it was time to leave the island, and Aunty Mai refusing to go. ‘Not yet,’ Aunty Mai would say, her fingers working feverishly at whatever job she was doing. ‘We promised to keep Indie hidden until Grandma Helki came for us.’

  It didn’t matter how many times Indie asked her. Aunty Mai would never explain who Grandma Helki was, or why they had made such a promise.

  Indie’s mind drifted. She thought about the smoke, enveloping her, pulling her close. She tried to picture the boy’s face – the curly hair, the smudge of a smile. In her mind, the stones on the chest blazed with colour, calling to her.

  ‘I’m going to the huts to get Indie,’ Aunty Mai’s voice came floating through the branches. ‘It’s a beautiful day. She should be playing outside.’

  ‘Call her,’ said Aunt Sofia, glancing at the tree. ‘I’m sure she’ll hear you.’

  The smoke vanished, the colours faded. The chest at the edge of the sea sat still and silent, hiding its secrets.

  Indie swung her skinny brown ankles over the bough. Quickly and easily, she scaled the lower branches; then she shimmied down the trunk to the ground. She waited a few moments, and then ran around the saskaberry bushes, puffing, as if she’d run all the way from the huts.

  ‘And about time,’ said Aunt Sofia.

  ‘But you told me to finish my –’

  ‘Oh there you are, Indie dear.’ Aunty Mai let go of the twig she’d been holding and it sprang into the air. ‘I’m sure you’ve done enough study for one day. Perhaps you could help me out here instead.’

  Indie hopped from one foot to the other. There were scratches and scrapes all over her legs, right to the frayed edge of her shorts.

  ‘I'd rather do my multiplication,’ she said, smiling sweetly at Aunt Sofia. ‘I was just getting to the good bit.’

  ‘I find that hard to believe,’ said Aunt Sofia. ‘Still, more mathematics never hurt anyone. You may go back to your lessons.’

  ‘Oh for goodness sake, Sofia.’ Aunty Mai waved her hand as if to shoo her sister away. ‘Why don’t you go and weed the coneflowers.’

  She turned to Indie. ‘Look. Tiki wants to go for a walk. Take her to the stream and throw a few sticks. You can come back when its time for bed.’

  ‘But it’ll be dark down there.’

  ‘It won’t be dark for at least an hour.’

  ‘But the trees lean right over the water and it gets dark fast and … and Tiki doesn’t like it.’

  Aunty Mai’s hand tightened on her basket. ‘Doli and Chepi are picking sweet corn for dinner, and Lulu has gone to the beach to check our fishing lines. You can find them and make yourself useful, or you can run off and play. Your choice.’

  Aunty Mai’s back was stiff, her brown cheeks flushed; a determined frown settled over her pretty face. Indie sighed; there would be no more spying today. She ran off across the rocks with Tiki at her heels. The little dog raced around her legs a few times and then barrelled into the bushes, looking for rabbits.

  Aunty Mai and Aunt Sofia stood in silence, watching girl and dog disappear; then Aunty Mai smiled and turned back to the saskaberries.

  Aunt Sofia did not smile. Her lips were white and thin.

  *

  Indie ran through puddles slithering with tadpoles, she jumped from stone to mossy stone. She played with Tiki for a long time, thinking always about the chest and the smoke and the boy. But she was back before sunset, before the shadows came slipping through the trees.

  ‘You’d better be in bed before I count to ten,’ Aunt Sofia called from her stool beside the fire. ‘If I have to come in there …’

  Aunty Mai rolled her eyes. ‘Do you need anything?’ she asked Indie. ‘I could make you some tea.’

  ‘No thanks,’ said Indie, hastily burrowing under the blankets. The full moon shone through the doorway of the hut, making her hair shine like copper.

  ‘Your new pyjamas look lovely,’ Aunty Mai said, kissing her cheek. ‘They match your eyes.’

  ‘They’re too green,’ said Indie. ‘And look, she’s sewed little beads on the back that stick into me when I lie down.’

  ‘Your Aunt Sofia spent all week making those. She even tore up one of her old silk dresses,’ said Aunty Mai. ‘She wanted to leave the island to find some nice material, but I – ’

  ‘You told her it was too dangerous.’ Indie propped herself up on the pillows, her eyes suddenly serious. ‘Aunty Mai,’ she whispered. ‘There’s something strange happening to the old chest. There’s more smoke, and I could see a boy–’

  ‘You’re not to touch it!’ said Aunty Mai.

  ‘But –’

  ‘I’ve told you over and over.’

  ‘But I saw –’

  ‘Promise me you won’t even think about it! Some things are better left as they are.’

  *

  Indie couldn’t sleep. Aunty Mai was curled beside her, her little sn
ores bubbling under the blankets. The other huts were silent. The women had called goodnight and snuffed out their candles. Aunt Sofia was always last. Sometimes she stayed awake until dawn, poring over her science books. Sometimes she was so busy making sketches and writing notes that she would forget to sleep at all.

  But not tonight. Tonight Aunt Sofia’s hut was dark and still.

  Indie climbed out of bed and tiptoed down the hill. The moon cast a clear white light through the trees, showing her the path down to the sand.

  For a few moments she stood before the chest, watching the moonlight as it made a sparkling pool on the lid. Then she reached out and put her hands in the pool.

  A faint whisper came from the chest, ‘Ki-somma. Kokomi ki-somma.’

  Fighting the urge to snatch her hand away, she tapped the wood tentatively. Nothing happened. She tapped harder. There was a hollow thud and a groan, and then silence.

  Curiosity swamped her fear and she began to pound on the lid with her fists. Aunty Mai will kill me, she thought. But I don’t care. I don’t care! I have to know about the boy.

  The pool of light shimmered and swirled. The whisper grew louder, ‘Ki-somma. Kokomi ki-somma.’

  A ribbon of smoke wound its way through the keyhole.

  The lock shuddered and fell to the ground.

  Slowly the lid began to rise and in fascination, Indie leaned over the edge. She could see nothing. Black, empty nothing.

  No … wait.

  She leaned further, gasping as the world fell away beneath her eyes. Inside the chest was a tunnel, and a staircase leading down into the darkness.

  chapter 2

  The Secret Tunnel

  The first part of the staircase was little more than a ladder, twisting down and down. Indie climbed slowly, testing each step, finding the wood strong and smooth beneath her bare feet.

  Shadows swam around her as she climbed. She could hear whispers, muffled footsteps, the beating of a drum; but when she stopped there was only silence.