Girl of Myth and Legend (9 page)

Urgh.

‘Your privacy is very important to us,’ one Throne says, ‘and, of course, your protection. I’m sure O’Sah explained why we’re concealing your existence from the people of Duwyn for now.’

‘Um, no,’ I say, though Sersu had said only the Council knew about me.

The Throne gives O’Sah a dark look, and O’Sah’s cheeks redden. He’s an uppity kind of guy, but I wish I’d lied and said he had told me. I may not be his greatest fan but I don’t want to get him into trouble or anything.

‘We understand that being a Pulsar must be shocking news to you,’ says another Throne, ‘and we want to take that into consideration. Being a Pulsar means acting as, well, we’ll say a
role model
to the citizens of Duwyn, particularly those of the Imperium. You’d be expected to meet and greet, parade around, and since you
were
brought up in the human realm it would all be rather overwhelming for you, I imagine. That’s why, for now, we’re going to take it step by step, and as far as Duwyn knows, there is no Pulsar.’

‘Once your powers manifest and you’re trained,’ says Harriad, ‘the whole
world
will know your name.’

‘OK.’ Probably the worst response I could’ve come up with, but what else am I supposed to say?

The group of Thrones take me through the cluster of trees, and a bird swoops past me in a blur of red and gold and orange. More follow, so fast I can’t see them in detail. I look at Dad with a wide smile.

As we walk, the sounds of the forest coming more alive, I feel the Thrones’ eyes on me. At first I think it’s because they’re watching out for me, being protective, but when I look at them, I see wonder in their eyes, wonder because I am a Pulsar,
the
Pulsar, an age that ended two hundred years ago. They’ve never known a time with a Pulsar, but they’ve heard stories about their heroics, of their chivalry, of their power, of their legend, and I am the story come to life, like I have stepped out of a fairy tale and into reality. The thought of their expectations, of their perception of me, causes heat to rise on my cheeks, and I can’t look any of them in the eye again. I think I’m starting to understand what a Pulsar means to people.

The cold breeze pushes against me, and I wrap my arms around my body. I start to feel nervous. So far, with the exception of turning into a glow stick and seeing a vision of chaos and then stepping into another world, I’ve been slowly integrated into the Chosen world. OK, so maybe not slowly, but Dad, Harriad and O’Sah have made sure that I’m not too disconcerted by this sudden change in my usually mundane life.

Now, though, now I’m so close to this new life that it feels like it might be too immense. I’ve ignored the truth of being a Chosen in favour of all the benefits of being one, but as I move further into the mountain, I begin to think:
Can I do this? Can I be a Chosen? A Pulsar? Do I belong here?

There is nothing ahead of me but a clouded path with no real or certain destination.

Then, like a curtain lifting, my vision is filled with yellow and green and gold, and it’s no longer darkness that is ahead of me, but something of beauty, an ancient and surreal beauty.

Standing on opposite sides of the mountain are two statues, one female and one male, both swathed in stone robes.

‘I didn’t know your jaw could drop so wide,’ laughs Dad.

‘It’s… it’s…’ I stutter.

‘Magnificent?’

‘Bloody huge!’

‘Well, there’s that, too.’

‘So you see it, too. Good. I’m not losing my mind.’

‘No, you’re not. I told you about stargods, didn’t I?’

‘Nope.’

‘Oh. Well, stargods are like… like the Greek gods. Yes, like them. It’s not the same as in the human realm, though, where many people don’t even believe in a god. In Duwyn, most people do.’

I nod, continuing to gawp.

‘And as for these two,’ says Dad. ‘Meet the twins Kiu and Kau, stargods of defence. See how they both hold shields but no swords? That’s because they’re also more informally known as stargods of peace. They’re defenders of all temples and places of worship.’

Besides ‘wow’, ‘OK’ is my only other offer at a comprehensible response.

Below the statues, in the distance, are several temples rooted to flat land. Snow encompasses the soft, rolling hills, and drifts lazily through the cold air, past the temples and abundant greenery, and seems to be something more to me in this moment than just snow, part of magic itself descending on us.

The furthest temple draws my attention; like a prized jewel set in a land of white, it is perched on a hill above all the others, glinting like gold under a stream of sunlight. Its holiness awakens awe in me, and such
unbelonging
enfolds me. O’Sah tells me that’s where I will be staying, and I bite my lip. It’s like when you walk into a restaurant or a shop and everything is fancy and everyone there is fancy, and you’re wearing shorts with a secret stain on the back. You’re so out of place, and you know it and they know it, so you want to get out as quickly as you can, but it’s too late and no one says anything, and you have to stay until you’ve eaten the food or browsed the items as if you could afford them. When I look at the temple and then at the Thrones wearing beautiful robes, and then look at myself wearing a duffle coat and trainers, I feel exactly like that—that I do not belong. Everyone here probably knows it, and everyone here is probably disappointed that the first Pulsar in forever is some ordinary kid with nothing exceptional about her.

We have to cross a descending bridge to get to the temples, and though heights have never been a cause for a freak out, as I look down down down to the chasm below us, I try to hurry across. I practically leap off the bridge before Harriad stops me.

‘We’re about to enter sacred ground, so if you don’t mind, my Lady, you’ll need to cleanse yourself before entering the stargods’ domain.’

‘Um, sure, but what exactly does cleansing myself involve?’ I ask. There’s no way I’m getting naked and standing under an ice-cold waterfall. I’ve seen movies where they do that, and in reality those pretty actresses with the luscious bodies are probably not so much with the zen purity and oneness with the universe, but more concentrating on trying not to freeze to death.

‘You just need to wash your hands in one of these basins,’ says Harriad. He gestures over to a basin sitting under a beautifully carved arch.

‘Oh, all right,’ I say.

‘It’s an old tradition, and unfortunately we still have to follow it, even in these times.’

‘You don’t believe in this religion?’ I ask.

‘Oh no, I do, my Lady; I certainly do. I just don’t believe the stargods care much for temples and shrines and tradition.’

Once we’ve cleansed ourselves, we begin to walk under an archway that has an ancient Chinese look to it, and that feeling of not belonging returns again. I’m walking on sacred ground, and even if I don’t believe in stargods, I feel like I shouldn’t be walking here. But then, hadn’t I wanted this? Isn’t this exciting? Why am I so determined to make myself feel like I don’t belong? I do belong. I am Chosen. I am a Pulsar. I belong.

Chosen dressed like Sersu walk by us—soldiers. They don’t give us much attention, though some look interested. They’re probably not used to seeing so many escorts for just one Chosen, and I wonder if they’ll guess that I’m a Pulsar.

‘Don’t look so worried, Leonie,’ Dad says.

‘I’m not!’ I snap.

Stone lanterns are grounded at each side of us, the flames whipping and blazing in sparks of orange and red. I notice something else, too: strange and small constructions with candles flickering in front of them and talismans hanging from their tops.

‘What are those?’ I ask. ‘They’re outside every temple.’

‘Those are shrines,’ says Harriad, ‘miniature ones. They’re not used now, only by Magen. They’re kept here mostly to retain the original design of this place.’

‘Magen?’ I say.

‘They’re passing us now.’

A group of men and women walk by us, dressed in black with hoods pulled up. The women are covered in beautiful jewels and shining talismans, whereas the men are plain and downcast. I shiver at the sight of them.

‘Who are they?’ I ask. I feel like I should be asking
what
are they?

‘They’re like monks,’ Dad says to me in a quiet voice. ‘They dedicate their lives to the stargods and advise others on difficulties in their lives.’

I take another glance at them as they pass us. There’s something holy about them, but also sinister. With how their heads hang low and how dark their clothes are, I see lifelessness rather than life. No way would I get therapy sessions with them.

There’s a half-destroyed statue beside one of the temples, and I’m told that the damage happened centuries ago when a Pulsar child, brought here just like me, had a lapse in control with his magic.

‘Magen refuse to take it down; gods know why,’ mutters O’Sah.

‘I like it,’ I comment. It makes this place seem realer, like it’s not so perfect, like I can belong here, fragmented, just like the statue.

The wind stirs as we continue walking up the pathway, beating snow against me. I keep glancing around, intent on seeing every detail.

‘You OK?’ Dad asks me. He’s behind me.

‘Yeah, just, y’know, taking it all in.’

‘It’ll take some getting used to,’ he admits.

Two soldiers pass by me. There’s nothing unusual about them that would draw my attention, besides the way they glance at me. It’s not a look of mild interest—it’s one of intent. They know who I am. But why should that bother me? If they did somehow find out about me, it doesn’t mean anything, and they’re soon behind us anyway. I dismiss my concern, turning my head forwards, and find a piece of earth hurtling towards me. I don’t have time to comprehend the attack, and luckily I don’t have to. A shadow-like wall forms in front of me, and the earth strikes the shield, crumbling into rubble.

Shouting erupts, and the Thrones form a circle around me, pushing my dad out of the way. The two soldiers-turned-attackers who had passed by confront us, bolts of colourful electricity issuing from the hands of one. The other dodges the Thrones’ attacks with ease and manages to get close enough to wrap his hand around a Throne’s neck. The colour drains from his face so quickly, it’s like his life force is dissipating. Another Throne, who stands beside him, liquefies—his whole frickin’ body just turns to water—and he evaporates into the floor. He bursts from the ground where the attacker stands, and the water wraps around the attacker and forces him down, pinning him to the ground.

The other attacker attempts to help his comrade by discharging electricity at the liquefied Throne, but the Throne divides into two so the attack misses. He pulls himself together and water shoots towards the attacker, slamming into him hard and fast, and knocking him down.

There are four other attackers in front of me. The one in the middle clenches his hand and a mass of earth rips from the ground and drifts into the air. He then thrusts his fist outward, and the hard clump of earth smashes through the shadow-like shield in front of me, and it disappears.

O’Sah is at my side now, and I don’t know what he does or how he does it, but with a look, the attacker clenches in pain and falls to the floor, writhing. Then the attacker next to him does the same. O’Sah then moves his gaze to another attacker—

My body feels light, weightless like a feather. I feel as if my feet are lifting from the ground, the wind picking me up.

Then I realise that
is
what’s happening.

O’Sah and the four remaining Thrones are slowly rising into the air. They look irritated more than confused, afraid and bewildered, all of which is what I’m feeling. I try to grab onto something, but there’s nothing to hold onto. I even reach for O’Sah—we are drifting apart and I can’t get to him. I look to the remaining two attackers and see that one is using his hands in a strange way, as if he’s conjuring something, and I guess that he’s manipulating gravity.
Manipulating gravity
—it only hits me how strange that is. What kind of world have I brought myself into—a world I’m probably not going to last very long in by the look of things.

‘Now would be a good time, Yyun,’ O’Sah says.

I manoeuvre my body so I can see where Yyun is. She’s a small Throne, the one who said I was bold. I don’t notice at first, only when it’s significant enough to tell, but she’s
growing
. Her limbs stretch out and become thicker, and though she’s no giant, she becomes bigger than anyone I’ve ever seen in my life. I hear the attacker grunting as he struggles to hold us. As soon as Yyun’s feet touch the ground, we all fall, gravity reasserting itself. Yyun breaks into a run towards the attacker, who is trying hard to regain control of gravity again. She crashes into him, thumping him down hard.

The final attacker looks at us with her teeth clenched. She is outnumbered.

Not that it matters.

She’s gone in an instant, just gone, like she was never here—until she’s not gone and is behind me, that is. I feel her presence like a shadow pressing up against me, cold and spine-tingling. Her arm wraps around my neck, tightening around me so that I can’t breathe. I hear a whisper in my ear: ‘We know of you now, Crato’s doll, and we won’t stop until your strings are cut.’

My heart pounds in my ears, the world seems to spin, and I don’t know what to do. I hear Dad call me and see his hazy figure. I should have known from the moment he told me about this world that I didn’t belong. I am not strong. I am not capable. I am just a doll to be crushed.

The arm around me loosens until I’m free of it, and I fall to my knees, wheezing for air. Gentle hands caress my shoulders, and Dad is here, asking me if I’m all right. I glance around. The Thrones have caught the attacker, pressing her body to the floor. She doesn’t squirm or fight their hold. She stares at me—grinning.

Sersu kneels beside me. ‘Are you hurt, my Lady?’

I shake my head, pulling my gaze from the attacker.

‘Good. Now, I need you to stand. Can you do that?’

I nod.

‘You don’t have to worry, it’s all over,’ Dad says, though he sounds shaken.