Chapter 33 #3
“The Elders did not want her to take an active role, but could not stop her. Vivica selected Verdandi, Sten, and me to join her on the exploration. We traveled with that brooch until we located others. The story both the MacKlennas and Frasers were told is the one we found, with modifications.”
“Like writing yourself into the story.”
“We did what was necessary.”
“What about the Guardians? Why’d you need them?”
“We put them in place to protect the brooches and accidental travelers with instructions to give the brooches to family members if anyone ever threatened to steal them.”
“Are there any we don’t know about?”
“You only have sixteen of the twenty-five brooches.”
Several lines of questioning were becoming very jumbled in Clay’s mind. He wanted to ask one question, but another spilled out before he could. “What happened to Violet’s chalcedony brooch?”
“It was lost.”
That was a word with several possibilities. “Lost, stolen, or unable to be recovered?”
“We do not know. After we found our first brooch—the garnet—Vivica locked up her mother’s brooch in our time. It had special meaning, and she did not want to risk losing it. When she went to get it years later, it was not there.”
Clay leaned forward. “Who had access to it?”
“Only Vivica.”
“Did she remove it and forget she took it?” Clay asked, testing the idea.
“She said she did not, and the mystery of the chalcedony brooch ended there.”
Clay exhaled slowly. “So, it could still show up in our time.”
“It is possible,” Erik allowed, “but unlikely. The other Elders believed Vivica had destroyed it.”
“There was a portrait of her great-great-grandmother wearing the brooch. How did her relative from the seventeenth or eighteenth century get it?”
“Vivica loaned it to her for the portrait.”
“Violet’s driver, Chester, described it as grayish blue.”
“That is true.”
“If Violet found her mother’s brooch and time-traveled, is that why—except for Bastien and me—all the accidental travelers that we know of have been women?” Clay asked.
“That is possible.”
Clay looked up from his sketch of the brooch. “How did Violet have a mother, grandparents, and a home in nineteenth-century Scotland? Did she assume someone’s identity?”
“A young woman died in an accident, and Vivica assumed her identity. She had a few adjustments to resemble her.”
Clay turned back a page to find a question he had put on hold in favor of a more important one. “I’m curious about the magic. Did it come from the silver in the moon rock?”
“Yes.”
“Where did the moon rock come from originally, assuming the story of the Roman slave taking it to England was correct?”
“From a meteorite that’s twenty million years older than Earth. It originated in the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter and landed on Earth thousands of years ago.”
“You left a rock on David’s desk that was analyzed. The brooches came from that rock, not the moon rock found in the cave that was supposedly brought by the Roman slave. David’s rock had never traveled through space.”
“That was part of the plan, so you would believe you had the source to create more brooches. But you would fail.”
“Are you saying you don’t know where the silver came from?”
No reaction, no comment. Nothing.
“Obviously, you don’t want us to know the truth. But why? Because we could make our own? Or we could make them more powerful? Too powerful to manage.”
No reaction, no comment. Nothing.
“Damnit, Erik. I know there are things in this world that are unknown, and you can trace spells, rituals, incantations, tricks, and manipulation of energy back to ancient Egypt. Is that why you and Violet went there? Was Violet Queen Hatshepsut? Did she sail on a ship to America?”
No reaction, no comment. Nothing.
“Looks like we’ll never know.” Clay drew a fat question mark. “If you could find the source, would you destroy it?”
“No.”
“I’m glad to hear that. My life felt full before I found Archibald’s brooch.
But since then, it has overflowed with more wonder than I could ever have thought or imagined.
” Clay gazed at Marcelle, feeling instantly connected to her in ways he couldn’t explain.
“I know a bunch of people who feel the same way.” He glanced at Bastien and Kaitlyn and knew they felt as connected as the other couples in the family.
The brooches had brought them all together.
Clay continued to sketch while mentally reviewing the after-action reports detailing each adventure. Then he remembered a question the entire clan would want answered.
“Where did the red cloak come from, and does it have healing properties? You said it was from the future, acting as a protective mantle that allows you to travel through time. That’s not all there is to the story. What’s the rest?”
“I received a severe battle injury, and a stranger wrapped me in the cloak. I searched for the source of its healing power and discovered that the artisan who made it had woven silver threads from the moon rock into the fabric.”
“Is that a lie to protect your civilization?”
No reaction, no comment. Nothing.
“Why does JC have to wear it all the time?”
“Possession keeps it from being misplaced or stolen.”
“Locking it up in the safe with the brooches seems safer than JC wearing it. An assailant could attack him and steal it.”
“That is for the future Keeper to decide. In a short time, he has become dependent upon it and draws strength from its power.”
“If one of us gets injured, will the cloak heal us?”
“Would you put a first aid bandage on a gunshot wound?”
“No, but would the cloak protect the injured until they could receive medical treatment?”
“Yes.”
“Why’d you give it up?”
“The future Keeper needed it to survive. Once you give it away, you cannot take it back. The power attaches to the new owner. You cannot reclaim it.”
Frantic energy seized Clay. His hand moved with an urgency he barely controlled, translating the cloak from his mind’s eye to paper.
He captured JC on a desolate beach, bathed in a preternatural moonlight that ignited the silver threads of the fabric as it swirled around his feet—a scene no set designer could ever hope to replicate.
“How do you know you can’t reclaim the cloak?” Kaitlyn asked. “Did the stranger who wrapped you in it divulge that to you?”
“You can no longer draw strength from the cloak. You feel the break immediately.”
“Did you feel the break when you gave the cloak to JC?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe that was a coincidence,” Clay offered. “And had nothing to do with the cloak.”
“Barclay,” Erik said, shooting Clay an irritated glance. “There are no coincidences.”
Clay ignored Erik’s irritation. “That’s what Elliott says.”
“He is correct.”
Clay didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up. Each question and each sketch drained an ounce of his dwindling energy. He needed a break.
“Maybe Remy has questions. Can you call him?” Kaitlyn asked, focusing her concerned eyes on Clay.
Damn, she was perceptive.
“I’m sure he has several.” Clay gave Erik a hard look. The warrior had maintained his stoic demeanor through most of the interview, and Clay didn’t want to shatter that fragile calm and cause Erik to leave. “If I take a break to call Remy, you won’t disappear, will you?”
“I am here to answer all your questions. But it must be here and now.”
Clay carried his journal over to the desk and called Skye’s house. No one answered. “They probably went to dinner after the show.” He replaced the receiver and paced, savagely tapping his drawing pencil on the journal’s leather cover. “Are you coming back to Mallory Plantation or MacKlenna Farm?”
“No,” Erik said. “Leaving was painful. I do not want anyone to suffer more trauma.”
“Taking a hard pass is a good idea,” Clay said sarcastically.
“Barclay, I detect sarcasm in your voice. Sarcasm is a weapon of the weak,” Erik said.
“Actually, the Oscar Wilde quote is, ‘Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit but the highest form of intelligence.’”
Erik showed no emotion or reaction to Clay’s correction. “Vivica encouraged your passion for reading before you could walk. It appears Archibald continued to develop that.”
Clay returned to the sofa, thinking of his next question. “You said earlier that you fathered extraordinary children. Do you have others we’re unaware of?”
“There are others, but I do not guarantee you will meet them.”
“Why not?”
“They were born in different centuries and different countries.”
“Don’t you want them to be part of the MacKlenna Clan?”
“What I want is immaterial. Each child has a purpose and must fulfill his or her destiny.”
“If you’re not around, how does anyone know what that is?” Clay drew Erik’s face multiple times, each representing an unknown child. “Never meeting their siblings won’t go over well with David, Tavis, Mark, Ensley, and Paul. They’ll want to find them.”
“And they might.”
“Have you planned soulmates for them?”
“We did not plan soulmates for anyone.”
“Why are you choosing to tell us the truth now?” The knot in Clay’s stomach that had been there since the interview started was growing exponentially.
“You left the entire clan brokenhearted, and none of what you said was true. That was hateful, Erik. People trusted you. They loved you. And you destroyed all that. Why?”
No reaction, no comment. Nothing.
“I want to know why. Elliott will want to know why. I believe you respected him. He deserves to know.”
Normally, people sigh, or clear their throats, or adjust their body language when confronted. Erik did none of that. “We were wrong to tell so many lies, but we had to remain true to our mission.”
“Why?” Clay persisted. “And don’t tell me it was to protect your society. You could have done that by being honest with us, with Elliott. You entrusted him with protecting the brooches. Didn’t you think he could carry out your plan to save the future?”
“Would you entrust Stone Age men and women to ensure the safety of the brooches?”
“Of course not,” Clay said.