Page 27 of To Scale the Emerald Mountain
“I don’t know, Locane. I don’t know anything about any of this,” I tell him, my irritation at his dancing around answers increasing.
Locane senses my frustration and sighs with his own. He gets up and moves over to me, kneeling on the ground at my side and grabs my hand.
It is wholly unnerving.
“What questions would you ask about the gems?” He stares at me with expectation, on bated breath.
I think for a moment, and my reply comes to me naturally. The questions seem obvious. “Which god created which gem? Where are they now? And there are three gods, but five gems. Did Ellhora create one? If so, why? And who created the fifth?”
“Yes!” Locane yells, slamming the flat part of his fist down on the arm of the couch, making me jump. I attempt to swallow my nerves as I take in the overall unhinged energy he is starting to exude.
“I suppose you don’t know any of these answers?” My voice is barely a whisper. The picture of how I fit is unfolding rapidly before me as my vision of the emerald washes over me again.
“No, I do not,” he answers.
I peer up at Locane as he watches realization wash over me like being doused with a frigid bucket of water.
Averting my eyes, I stare into the depths of the empty hearth of the fireplace. “But you think I can help you get those answers.”
A cold tear slides down my cheek.
A gentle touch on my face turns me to Locane, still kneeling at my side. He wipes the tear with his thumb, the gesture almost tender. He looks me deep in the eye with an odd expression of adoration and utter confidence.
“I know you can.”
CHAPTER NINE
Try as I might, Locane refused to tell me anymore after I pieced together why he has been adamant on not parting ways; why I suspect he helped me escape.
I’m so conflicted. I’m certain now that I was in that cell because of my gift of Sight. I’m happy and grateful to not be there anymore; but I’m forlorn about the fact that Locane is helping me for those abilities himself.
I tried to ask him more questions about what he expects of me, what he means to do with the gems, but he ran off upstairs to bed quickly. As he rushed away, he shouted to me about rest.
How on the fucking Mother could I rest now—with this new weight of expectation put on me? And still with so many questions? Do I even want to help him?
Locane is so familiar to me, and that familiarity is telling me to trust him. But there’s another small and quiet part of myself that is unsettled by him. My mind is so thoroughly overwhelmed, and for how badly I wanted answers, I miss being in the dark.
Spending several long minutes sitting in the quiet dimly lit room after Locane retires upstairs, I stare into nothing and try to wrap my head around what he is going to expect of me. I only have one memory of trying to control my gift. I’m certain now that what ISaw was very important. A vision of one of the gems of the gods being created and hidden.
The emerald.
Did Nana know about these gems of the gods? And if so, was she aware that my gifts might aid in finding them? She has Seeing abilities herself. The answers I received are now just bringing up more questions, and I can only hope that Locane will be as forthcoming tomorrow as he was tonight.
I sigh and look at the book he placed in front of me before starting our conversation. My brows knit when I take in the title of the red leather-bound book with black text.
Commonly Misinterpreted Quinndohsi Phrases
What?
Why would he think I need to brush up on Quinndohsi slang? Surely he doesn’t plan for us to go to Quinndohs, or at least not anytime soon. We just got here, and I desperately need time to rest, catch my breath, and try to get centered. I thought having any answers would help me be more grounded, but in the last hour I’m even more adrift, even more lost. I pick the book up and open it towards the center.
The pages are filled with handwritten text and small illustrations. I read a few random snippets and quickly figure out this is not a book on Quinndohsi slang at all. It’s a more detailed handwritten journal accounting for everything Locane just told me. The book also contains maps, graphs, and pictures of landscapes, plants, and animal life.
Laughing to myself, I flip through the book. Locane didn’t choose the best book binding to try to hide the handwritten journal, assuming it was him who did it. Perhaps an uninteresting, unassuming book to anyone deeply familiar with Quinndohs, butmy interest—as someone who is not—was certainly momentarily piqued.
What kind of distinctive phrases do they have to fill a whole book with commonly misinterpreted ones? Shaking away the useless questions, I flip to the front of the journal and start to read.
I read all through the rest of the night and only pull myself from the book when I notice dusty gray sky through the windows, signaling that dawn is near. My neck and back are stiff from the hours of sitting curled up while I drank in the contents of the small book. Everything I read was far more detailed than anything Locane had told me and made it sound far more interesting. I found the portion on the Plains of Ire to be particularly fascinating.
