A Matter of Fate Read online

  A beautiful red leaf distracted me. I went to go get it.

  “All Magical Elves have surnames that are plants.”

  “Plants,” I’d repeated as I carefully placed my new find in a basket. He’d mentioned Goblins, Dwarves, and Gnomes, too, but I totally ignored him until he came to Humans. “Your kind all have similar names, too. Colors. Your last name is Lilywhite. What’s the color there?”

  “White?”

  He’d been relieved. “Exactly!”

  “My friend Greenlee has a color name!” I’d exclaimed. “Is she a Magical, too?”

  “No. That’s her first name. Human Magicals always have a variation of a color in their last name. That’s not to say that everyone with a color name is a Magical, though.”

  I can’t believe I didn’t catch it last night. I smack my forehead. “They’re Magicals.”

  “Yeah,” she says, smiling a little. “After he forcibly ejected me from his mind when I surged, I made a call to one of my dad’s old friends here in Annar, asked if they’d ever heard of any Whitecombs before, possibly a set of twins? And he had. Said they’re well known and that their father is on the Council.”

  You’d think that after all the surprises I’ve gone through in the last few days, another one wouldn’t affect me. But this does. “Magicals,” I repeat quietly. “But, they’re twins.”

  Cora lays a hand on my arm. “My friend said that, though they’re rare, there can still be Magical twins. I guess Jonah and Kellan are currently the only pair running around.”

  HELLO! I feel so incredibly stupid. It all makes so much sense now. Of course Jonah is a Magical. I dreamed about him most of my life! How could he have ever been anything but a Magical?

  The better question is, why had we never discussed this? And, had he ever suspected I was one, too?

  Forty minutes later, on our way to Karnach, my father is saying, “I expect you to be on your best behavior today when you meet the Seer.”

  I ignore the slight and instead focus on everything going on around us as. “Are these all Magicals?” I ask, motioning toward the throngs of people on the streets. A Goblin walks by, chatting on her cell phone, the first one I’ve ever seen up close. She’s tall and slender, with a pallid green complexion that reminds me of the Witch of the West, except she’s very beautiful, with short, wavy black hair. It surprises me because I’d always assumed Goblins to be short, fat, and ugly, like the stories tell us they are.

  “The majority of Annar is populated by Magicals of all the species,” my father says, sounding a bit bored. “But there is a small non population who works here who’ve primarily been recruited. Of course, they’re required to abide to a confidentiality contract to prevent them from ever revealing the secrets of Annar to their respective worlds.”

  He holds me back at a street corner as a group of Gnomes go bicycling by, all wearing tiny cycling spandex outfits. I am inappropriately amused by this.

  He pushes me forward once the bikes have cleared. “It’s a blood oath. You’ll be doing it later this afternoon. All Magicals perform the oath on their first visit to Annar.”

  “I have so many questions about this place,” I admit, warming to the idea that he might be in a sharing mood for once.

  “You have about ten minutes to ask away before we arrive at Karnach.”

  I’m a little girl in a toy store, not knowing which object to pick. I have to think about it for a moment. “Why are there no Muses on the Council?” This is something I’d learned from Lizzie, a fact that bugs her to no end.

  “They once were. For much of history, Muses took their jobs seriously, and the art world flourished in ways civilizations had never seen before. As an example, for our plane, look at the glorious Renaissance, or the Baroque period of music. Such advancements; the Council was so proud.” He pauses to clear his throat. “But art is a fickle place, filled with capricious people. It’s no wonder that the Muses followed suit.”

  A Faerie snarls at me to watch where I’m going as I almost run into him.

  “Think about many of today’s artists, Chloe,” my dad continues. “So many are incredibly vain. Shallow. That’s not to say they all are. There are many talented artists out there, enriching lives and cultures. But for every barrel of beautiful apples, there must always be a number of spoiled ones. It’s just how these things go.”

  “What does this have to do with the lack of Muses on the Council?”

  He says, “Over the last hundred years or so, artists have progressively become more and more self-important. Some of this is very well warranted. But many artists find themselves with egos filled with superiority and entitlement when it’s not truly warranted.”

  “And this is being blamed on the Muses?”

  “Yes, and rightly so. They’ve become bloated with feelings of self-importance. It seems as if all the years being around artists have altered who they are. Now, don’t get me wrong. We still have a good number of Muses doing their jobs properly. But there are many making a mockery of the arts. Roughly a hundred years ago, the Council had enough.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Several Muses were stripped of their crafts for not carrying out their duties properly.”

  I stop walking. “Magicals can lose their powers?”

  “Yes, although it’s not done often, and only after a unanimous Council decision.” He urges me forward.

  Even though I instinctually know the answer, I still ask, “Who has the power to do such a thing?”

  “Who else? Creators.”

  My stomach sinks. Of course.

  And yet, my father smiles, oblivious to my turmoil. Motioning to the beautiful building in front of us, he says reverently, “There it is. Karnach. Come now, it’s time for you to finally cross its threshold. After all, soon you will call this place home.”

  Karnach reminds me somewhat of the Pantheon in Rome. Intricately carved statues and gargoyles surround the marble building, as do curved stained-glass windows. Under a good number of these windows are ledges filled with flowers.

  It’s beyond lovely.

  My father abandons me at a map of the building off to one side of the front doors, an etched copper sheet hammered onto a large wooden stand, so he can chat with a colleague. The first floor houses the main Assembly Room, as well as business offices, a couple of museum-type rooms, and a library. Floors two through eight are reserved solely for Council office use. Scanning the directory next to the map, I note that there are two Creators’ offices on the fourth floor. One of the offices already shows my name.

  I wander alone into the museum rooms, which are filled with art from all of the planes. Some pieces look familiar, others so foreign in nature that they don’t make sense to me. But all are equally captivating.

  It’s something, though, to be finally standing in front of so much Magical history. I’m wandering around the library when someone asks, “May I help you?”

  I turn to find an extremely pale Goblin, his hair wiry gray. “Just looking,” I say, smiling.

  “You are the Creator, correct?”

  I blush. How’d he know? I stick out my hand. “That’s me. Chloe Lilywhite.”

  “Fraank Moutainhold,” he says. “I’m the current head Librarian.”

  He can tell I’ve never heard of his craft, because he adds with a small chuckle, “It’s like a cross between Intellectuals and Storytellers. We deal in books, inspire authors and such. But my job here at Karnach is to tend to the books, make sure Council members have what they need for research.”

  I look around. “Are there Magical histories here?”

  He gives me a rueful smile. “No, child. Only the Storytellers have that privilege.”

  My father finally makes his way over to where we’re standing. The Librarian says to him, “What a delight, finally meeting your daughter, Noel. So many people are eager to have the new Creator take her rightful place in the Council.”

  “Yes, well,” my father murmurs, studying me thoughtfully. “We have hopes for her
yet.”

  He doesn’t notice the look of confusion on the Librarian’s face. I simply batten down the squalls of disappointment forming in my chest.

  In my father’s office, I’m forced to sit silently, either reading or staring into the distance as he works at his desk. I have my doubts he even remembers I’m in the room.

  Some things never change.

  I let approximately a half-hour go by until I clear my throat to remind him of my presence. His startled jerk tells me I was probably right in my assessment.

  I fumble for something to say. Anything, really, has to be better than this awful silence. “When does the Council meet next?”

  “This afternoon,” he murmurs, eyes drifting back to his text.

  “What are you guys talking about?”

  He frowns, as if this is none of my business. It’s frustrating, considering someday soon I’ll be on the Council, too. “There are no pressing matters for this particular agenda. It’s expected to be short, as there is a party tonight that all Council are expected to attend.”

  “A party for what?”

  He pushes at his glasses. “I don’t remember off-hand. Maybe it’s Elvin in nature. They like to throw parties.”

  “What kind of parties?”

  “Really, Chloe.” He plunks his book down. “I don’t know. Why is this so important? I have work to do, you know. I can’t entertain you all day.”

  My fingernails dig into my palms. “I’m sorry . . . I just thought, this being my first time to Annar, and to Karnach, that I—”

  “Yes, well, you will have more than enough time later this summer to acquaint yourself with Annar, daughter. But for now, I need to finalize some plans that need to be sent off to a team of Intellectuals on the Human plane before the end of the week. Show a little restraint, will you?”

  If he’d slapped my face, it couldn’t have hurt worse.

  A half-hour later, a Gnome enters after knocking briefly yet not waiting for my father to answer. She’s young, quite cute, with a small, pert nose and wide brown eyes and wearing clothes which could have come straight off a Paris runway. “Noel? You wanted to be reminded of your daughter’s appointment with Astrid?”

  “Thank you, Hilda. How was your . . . your . . . .” My father flounders for a moment, idly fiddling with his glasses.

  She smoothes one of her long, white-blonde braids. “My meeting was fine, thank you. No new developments on any front you need to be bothered with.”

  “Excellent,” he mutters, already back to his book.

  “Would you like me to show you to the Seer?” Hilda asks me.

  Grateful to finally escape my father’s office, I follow her out. Once the office door is shut behind us, Hilda says, “The Seer’s name is Astrid Lotus. Have you met her before?”

  “I haven’t really met anyone,” I admit as we head to the stairs.

  She briefly looks surprised. “Really? I would have thought that you, being the incumbent Creator, would know most of the Council already.”

  I snort at the absurdity of her assumptions. “Don’t you know my father at all?”

  “You father is a very great Intellectual,” she says defensively.

  Perhaps so, I sigh to myself. But he’s also a really lousy dad. But Hilda doesn’t need to know this. She doesn’t need to know anything about how much my parents ignore me or find me lacking. “This Astrid,” I ask instead. “What’s she like?”

  “She’s lead Seer, the best we have. She tends to work mostly with Council families, the upper echelons of Magical society.”

  “Have you seen her before?”

  “No,” she says. “As I’m in the lowest Council tier, I’m not in her sphere of influence.”

  I nearly trip on a stair. “What does that mean?”

  Hilda squints at me, confused. “I’m not sure what you’re asking . . . .”

  “Are there, I don’t know, social caste systems here? In Annar?”

  She looks at me like I’m crazy.

  “I know very little about Magical society except for the people living near me on the Human plane,” I say, keeping two steps below so I don’t tower over her. “I’m curious about what things will be like here for me, that’s all.”

  She squares her shoulders. “Things will be fine for you here. As Creator, you will be first tier. Annar and the worlds will be oysters at your feet.”

  I want to scream, because even this girl isn’t willing to really talk to me about the things I don’t know. “Look—”

  “Your father would be upset if I we discussed things that aren’t my business,” she says curtly. “And, being an Intellectual, I work for him. Please understand I don’t want to cause trouble where trouble isn’t needed.”

  Trouble? Talking to me will cause trouble?

  It hurts, but I dig my heels in. “Will you at least tell me what tier this Astrid is in?”

  “Astrid is second tier.” She pauses, then says, “Tiers one through three are considered upper class here in Annar. It’s not about money, though—not like back on our planes. Here, it’s all about power and how strong you are. Alliances are beneficial. Certain families—old, respected family lines—help, too, especially for those non-Council Magicals.”

  “Do you know if Cora Carregreen got to see Astrid today?”

  She stops in front of a door on the fourth floor. “I believe she saw somebody else. One of the lower-ranking Seers agreed to meet with her as a favor to your father.”

  I say, probably more sarcastically than needed, “Let me guess. Cora is middle class here.”

  “She isn’t Council bound,” Hilda says almost clinically. “But she is technically related to you.” And then, nodding her head once, she leaves.

  Chapter 13

  Much to my surprise, Astrid Lotus is an Elf: beautiful, willowy, and pale. Her light-blonde hair is braided to the side and knotted under, her eyes a washed-out violet. She has a large number of chunky necklaces with various semi-precious stones around her neck, and both arms are stacked heavy with bangles.

  “You do not want to be here,” is the first thing she says to me.

  The little voice urges me to be honest with her. “I guess that’s true.”

  “Why?”

  I tell her, “Because this was my mother’s idea.”

  “I see. You and your mother do not have a close relationship.”

  One of my eyebrows quirks up. “Is that your guess, or your professional evaluation?”

  “Both.” Her bracelets clink together as she shifts her arms. “I see that quite clearly in you. But, I can also hear it in your voice.”

  I snort. “She thinks I need guidance.”

  “Do you?”

  I look down at my hands, folded in my lap. What I need is a mom who gives a damn. “Are you like a shrink? Do I tell you how I’m feeling? Stuff like that?”

  “If you like,” she says. Her voice is incredibly soothing. “It helps to know, sort of like puzzle pieces that help me create a whole picture. What I normally do is read your paths, see what’s going on in your life. Have a peek at things that you’re meant to do. Then we’ll discuss these things, alongside your emotions, so you may make informed decisions on your future.”

  “Are you telling me I have choices?”

  “There are always some choices available to us, Chloe. Not as many as we may like, but they are there all the same. But much of your destiny, as you well know, is already mapped out. I’m merely a conduit for knowledge about that route.”

  She holds out her hands, and after a brief pause, I reach out mine, too. And then we sit in silence for a really long time, maybe five, ten minutes, my hands in hers, her eyes closed, while she sees whatever it is she sees.

  When her eyes open, she lets go of me. For the briefest of moments, confusion flickers across her face. Sadness.

  “Is . . . everything okay?” I ask.

  But the serene face she’d shown me when I’d first come in is back. “Of course. Now, I see yo
u are quite conflicted about being a Creator. You’re hesitant about that path.”

  I let my eyes drop again. “It’s a lot of pressure,” I admit.

  “It is,” she agrees. “You have one of the most challenging crafts of all. I would be worried, really, if you were completely at ease with everything.”

  I look up, surprised.

  “A lot will be asked of you in the coming years. Someday you may be required to do awful, destructive things. A person unbothered by such actions is someone I don’t think I’d like entrusting civilizations with.”

  Something in me squeezes painfully. It’s almost alien to have somebody to talk to about this stuff who isn’t so judgmental. “I’ve always been told to just suck it up,” I say quietly. “Like there’s something wrong with me because I’m conflicted.”

  Astrid is silent, her lips pursed tightly.

  “I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I don’t mean to—”

  She holds up a hand. “No. Don’t apologize. And don’t ‘suck it up,’ either. The Council doesn’t need a Creator who bottles everything up and suffers in silence over the course of her craft. What the Council needs, and deserves, is someone who understands the implications of her actions. Who has the mettle to think things out and not act like a mindless drone. You are first tier, Chloe. Magicals of your caliber should never suck it up.”

  I’m stunned. This is a total one-eighty from what my mother claims.

  “These worries, your doubts—they’re there for a reason,” she continues. “They, along with your conscience, will help guide you through your work. There will be many battles you face on the Council. There are always those out there who have agendas, who work in coalitions that may or may not have the planes’ best interests in their hearts. As a Creator, and first tier, you will need to make sure that you’re there for the billions of people we oversee, and not just Magical society. So please know that there is nothing wrong with you for feeling how you do about being a Creator. Embrace those worries. Cultivate those doubts. Let them guide you, allow you to be a moral compass when others might want to head in other directions.”