Page 40 of To Scale the Emerald Mountain

“Why me?”

“I met with an Oracle on the Mother Continent. They said the board is set and the players chosen. They then gave me a description of powers that matched yours, and here we are.”

“You’re helping me based on a description? Could it not be someone else, then?” I ask with hope swelling in my chest.

“That’s three questions, now.” Locane gives me a sour expression.

“Just answer them. I was imprisoned because of all of this, yes?”

He inhales sharply and looks down at me with conviction. “Yes.”

“What if you all have the wrong person? What if everyone is mistaken?” My hand on his wrist tightens, and his face morphs to pity, as if he can feel my hope radiating through to his skin.

“It is you, Ellya. No mistakes. You are the only one throughout history with the powers described.”

Furrowing my brow at Locane, I’m unable to see what he means. Nana also has the gift of Sight. Before I can ask him to elaborate, he slides his wrist free from my hand that has gone suddenly lax and walks upstairs, leaving me alone in the semi dark quiet with nothing but more swirling thoughts.

Quickly composing myself, I go back to the living area to make my rounds cutting the lights and putting the room back in order. A gnawing sensation of overwhelming responsibility eats at my thoughts as I straighten the throw pillows and tuck the journal under my arm.

Turning the words of Locane’s latest breadcrumb of revelation over in my head, something clicks.

The board is being set. That’s what he said some Oracle told him.

I recall my vision from this morning of the two women in the tavern. The one going to great lengths to hide her identity said those exact same words. My breath hitches, and excitement grips me so thoroughly I become lightheaded and sit back on the couch.

Finally, something is connecting. It may be small, and I don’t know what it means yet, but something fits. Locane said the Oracle told him players have been chosen, and he is making it crystal clear that he believes I am one of those chosen players. Is he a chosen player? Or has he only inserted himself as he sees fit?

What about the two women from my vision—Ceivise and the other?

My excitement ebbs to fear and uncertainty as I wonder just how far this stretches. How many people will be involved, racing towards the same goal? Will any of these other people be coming for me, if my gift is believed to be of use in this search for the gems?

A new panic grips me when I think about the other bit of information that Locane barely touched on that was quite important.That the Plains of Ire used to be named after a god called Dhystros. That he believes Dhystros placed his gem here, in one of the Kingdoms of the Continent. The details of the vision of him creating and placing the gem bleed into me, slow enough to consider each detail.

“Make sure they are worthy,”Dhystros had told his creature. Does the vision coming to me make me worthy? Although I don’t know exactly where, I know that Locane is correct in assuming that the gem is somewhere in the Kingdoms. Most likely Brhadir or Salhaas, given the cave it was placed in.

What if Ceivise and that mystery woman also somehow know that, too? Is this the job Ceivise had been paid handsomely in advance for, just waiting for an exact location to go retrieve the prize?

Leaping to my feet, I drop the book heavily on the ground with a resounding thud when another detail of that vision in the tavern comes back to me. Ceivise called it a royal errand. Is one of the kings involved in this somehow? I was in a dungeon in the Emerald Mountains. Locane said those were Brhadirian guards who almost caught us. Was the King of Brhadir, perhaps, the one who had me imprisoned?

Racing frantically down the hall and up the stairs, I grip the wall to hold myself steady. I’m ready to tell Locane everything I’ve kept from him so far out of my crushing fear that those two women also know about the emerald’s location—that we may be too late to reach it before them.

My feet slam loud on each wooden step as I thunder up the stairs, the ornamental runner doing little to absorb the sound. Making it to the landing, my feet go skidding as I abruptly turn to the right, ready to go and break Locane’s door down if I must.

My trepidation and distrust of him returns to me with a cold rush so quickly that nausea takes over my dizzy mind.

Stopping in my tracks, I clamp my hand over my mouth as I gag. After an abrupt change in directions, I barely make it to the upstairs washroom. The door slams closed, I quickly run the faucet full blast, and I lean over the toilet to heave violently.

I’m so overrun with thoughts and emotions and questions and questions and more questions; everything is racing through my mind so rapidly I can’t keep up.

My hand covers my mouth to muffle a scream as stabbing pain hits my head.

Another panic attack—stronger than the one I had earlier—is cresting in a ferocious wave taking over my senses and body. It crashes. The overwhelming terror of simply existing takes me over thoroughly and as quickly as a lightning strike, igniting all my nerves and making them fray.

The thundering sensation steals my breath, and I retch again.

With my dinner coming up while I’m fighting to take ragged breaths, it’s like I’m being suffocated. That only fuels my panic. I start clawing at my throat, frantically trying to gulp down breaths and not choke on my own sick when I remember how much the position Locane guided me to helped.

Resisting the continued churning of my stomach, I crawl pitifully over to the wall, resting my back against it. My head droops between my knees, and I drag a heavy, reluctant breath in through my nose and out through my mouth. After several long minutes, my breathing evens out and becomes easier. I slowly tilt my head back, resting it on the wall behind me and wipe the spit, sweat, and vomit from my lip.