Page 33 of To Scale the Emerald Mountain

“You are deranged,” I huff, spitting on the ground.

My feet stalk away from him back towards the house, even more confused and thoroughly drained.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Iwake hours later, the sky threatening the dusty pink of dusk. I slept all day. Thank the gods, I had a deep and dreamless sleep and am fully rested.

Turning to my nightstand, I find a tray with a glass of water, three slices of fresh bread, and a lidded jar of red jam, a small spreading knife laid across the top. I’m famished and immediately dig in. Devouring the first piece of bread, I start on another, slathering an extra thick layer of raspberry jam. I’m silently thanking Locane for the gesture of leaving me food when I notice something out of the corner of my eye.

My attention turns next to the bedroom door, and I halt mid chew.

Leaned against the wall next to the door is a long, wooden staff. I immediately put my snack down and run to it. Picking it up, I weigh it in one hand. Perfectly balanced. It’s simple, but skillfully crafted.

Perhaps this is Locane’s apology for pushing me this morning.

Understanding washes over me—understanding over why he’s treating me the way he is. But I do not agree with his methods. There must be a better way for him to pull out of me whatever he thinks is buried.

Buried…

Is he right in that Nana was trying to stifle my abilities? And if so, why?

So far, all my memories of Nana have been nothing but loving and happy. They feel more real to me than my current reality does. An overwhelming sense of safety and comfort is always present when I have dreams of her.

But Locane seems sure that she was holding me back—that I have power beyond what she wanted me to master. His disdain about it made it so real.

The idea hits me hard, giving me a sudden, squeezing heartache. I drop the staff, push my back against the wall where it was resting, and slide down to the floor.

Abrupt sorrow interlaced with increasing anger and frustration crashes over me; my resolve cracks at once. The tears I’ve so desperately held back on multiple occasions come pouring out of me in loud, racking sobs. I clutch my hand over my vacant heart, as if I could physically reach into my chest and massage the hurt out of the beating organ.

A sheen of cold sweat breaks out over my brow. I’m overwhelmed by my confusion and the weight of expectations Locane clearly has for me. On top of that, the question of who had me imprisoned and why still sits heavy. What did they have in mind for me? Expectations similar to Locane? Or maybe the exact opposite—perhaps I was imprisoned to attempt to keep me from reaching my full potential. What lengths would have been sought to keep that from happening?

Then there is the question of what my full potential could mean. What is it that I could accomplish? What is the end goal?

All my questions just lead to more questions, and I’m afraid of the answers. I’m terrified to stay here and learn what Locanehas planned. I’m equally frightened of the idea of leaving here and entering back into the unknown, completely alone. Fear piles on top of all the other negative things I’m already battling with.

The sudden onslaught of utter terror pushes me over the edge into hyperventilation. My chest is constricted; my lungs are flattened and unable to expand. I struggle to gulp down breaths as dots of bright white obscure my vision.

Locane silently creeps in. I only know he’s there when a firm hand lands on my shoulder. His other hand attempts to pry my crossed arms from my bent knees where I am trying to hold myself together.

“Open your knees and drop your head between them,” he coaxes me quietly. I let him guide me into the position as he says, “That’s right. Breathe in through your nose, deep. And out through your mouth.”

Locane strokes my hair tenderly as I do what he says, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear as he whispers quiet words of encouragement. The next few minutes are like an eternity as my rattling breaths become stable again, and my reality becomes less untethered.

That air of familiarity from Locane hits me again, but something about it is tainted. Different from the comforting warmth I’ve experienced in some of my memories. At first, I thought that the calming presence was coming from Nana. But with Locane’s familiarity being so similar, I’m beginning to think it’s him. He swears we don’t know each other, but I know that we do. Only it is clear that something has happened between us.

Just another truth I have to pry from him.

Finally, I glance at Locane. My mouth opens, intending to confront him about our past that I’m getting the impression he isn’t eager to face.

Before I can say anything, he cups my cheek and whispers to me, “You will feel much worse before you start to feel better.”

The words sound so veryhim, and I let out a sincere chuckle. “Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

“It’s the truth. So, yes.” Locane lets his hand drop from my cheek and sighs. His eyes land on the staff lying on the floor. “I thought you’d be pleased with the staff. What set you off?”

I’m flooded with heavy sorrow all over again, and my voice does nothing to hide my anguish. “The idea of Nana having less than good intentions. The staff made me think of her.”

Locane nods solemnly. “I know that you are going through a lot. But there is a purpose to it.”