Chapter 2
Every night, she lay in bed, asking herself whether it was possible. Asking herself whether he was just conning her; whether he had some cheap trick to make her believe that she felt better. Enya wanted to be healthy more than anything in the world. Her mind was strong; her thoughts kept her awake long after her body failed her. She watched healthy people run, jump, laugh, and work 12-hour days with envy. But she had never known that life. Plagued with chronic pancreatitis that she had inherited from her father's side, she had always known pain, always known weakness. And the way things were going, she would soon know death. Her pancreatic tissue was slowly fading, and the disease affected all systems of the body. Normally caused by heavy drinking, hers was idiopathic, inherited, and deadly.
But the day after Cole touched her, she had a blood test taken at the hospital. The physician who had followed her since birth seemed genuinely confused at the results.
"I'm going to redo these tests next week, if you don't mind coming in," he said, squinting at the paper. "Because it says that you are gaining digestive enzymes. That's odd."
"Right," Enya said, knowing exactly why that was the case. "Odd. And there's no cause for it? Maybe I'm getting better?"
"Enya," he leveled with her, looking her straight in the eye. "You know it's not possible for you to get better. Having false hope isn't going to help."
"I know, I know," she said, abandoning all reason. She had spent a lot of time googling her disease and of course had spent a lot of time within the medical system. She knew there was no hope of curing herself with science the way it was.
This meant Cole was telling the truth. She hadn't just been hypnotized into feeling better; she really had healed a bit.
"I'll come in next week for a retest," she said to the doctor, but she was sure that unless he showed up again, her levels would go back to normal. She had a feeling Cole's magic was temporary until he cured her for real.
He had left her in the park with the scroll and the promise that he would be back soon to check on her progress. But she had no idea when soon would be.
All she knew right then was that she was suddenly motivated to work on it.
After a few more follow up words, she was allowed to leave. Enya didn't usually schedule class on days that she had appointments because she felt like they were too draining.
Today, however, there was a new spring in her step as she headed back to the small apartment she paid for with student loans. Her parents had been nervous about her moving out by herself, especially when her disease caused frequent medical attacks. But she had to have independence; she had to have a life. Her apartment was ten minutes from the school, but just two streets down from the hospital, of which she was a frequent visitor.
She had put the scroll under her bed, unsure of what to make of it at the time. But now home with a new-found curiosity, she slowly unrolled it.
It was authentic. She could tell as soon as she cracked it open. There was the familiar smell of antiques, of dust, and the musky past.
The ink was half faded but well preserved, scrawled across the page with a practiced hand.
She had never seen writing like this before. Ancient script was harder than modern script of a different language for many reasons. Some letters or words had long since died out, and there was no globalization. Today, it seemed like all major languages shared some similarities. But back then, things could have nothing in common due to the lack of communication between cultures.
She had no idea where to begin. None of the symbols looked familiar to her. Nothing jumped out.
Part of her agreement was that she would do it by herself. Enya was tempted to go into school to ask her professor, but she remembered the results of the blood test. He had been telling the truth. He could make her better.
And so, she hunched over the text, took out a blank notepad, and began working.
It was somewhere around midnight when the pain started. She tried to ignore it at first, hoping that it was just a spasm. She was so focused on the text and on trying to match the letters to one of her many translation textbooks that she had on hand. She was glad she never really got around to selling them.
The pain began to radiate up her abdomen, causing her to gasp and grit her teeth.
She was onto something. Some of the symbols possibly looked like Aramaic, a long dead language. There was certainly no one alive who spoke Aramaic anymore.
She sketched a few of the symbols as nausea rolled through her body.
E. She was positive that the odd looking one that appeared the most frequently was E. It had to be. It was one of the most basic rules of translation–E was the most common letter of the alphabet.
Enya was top of her class and she always had been. When things weren't so bad, she had dreamed of working for the UN as a translator. She would earn a good salary and help her parents get out of the medical debt that she put them in.
She supposed, in a way, that a cure was the highest paid salary of all.
She was just filling in E to the copy she had drawn of the scroll when the pain she had been feeling became too much to ignore.
A spasm hit and she felt her stomach turn over. She cried out in pain, leaning to the side of the bed. She knew that it was going to be bad, because she could see the edges of her vision go black.
"Ah!" she managed to move away from the scroll just in time before heaving into the nearby garbage can.
She hadn't eaten very much that day, but her stomach never failed to surprise her.
"Oh, God, oh God," she clutched her blanket as she broke out into a cold sweat.
But suddenly, she felt a hand on her arm, and everything came back into focus.
The heaving had made her eyes watery. As she glanced at what appeared to be Cole, she was sure that she saw a halo above his head.
"Gross," he said. "Do you humans have no dignity?"
Enya was simply grateful that she wasn't going to pass out in a pile of vomit. No wonder she didn't have a boyfriend.
Gingerly, she wiped her mouth.
"Because you've never been sick."
He smirked, letting go of her arm.
"No," he said. "We do not entertain such notions anymore."
She leaned back against the pillows, grateful she had at least hit the garbage can. And then, logic returned to her brain.
"How did you get in here?"
She should have been afraid. She should have feared for her life, her possessions. But as she watched his yellow-tinted eyes and his usual smirk, she knew she had nothing to fear. As long as she upheld her end of the bargain, that is.
He was handsome in the way that images normally stared back at her from 15th century historical paintings. He didn't look quite right in modern day as if he was holding himself to different standards.
"I can cure you, and yet you wonder if a half-locked door can stop me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Stupid questions get stupid answers, I guess," she leaned forward. "Sorry you had to see that. It was not the most attractive thing, by far."
"Because I care about how attractive you look," he replied. "Have you cracked the code yet?"
"I got one letter," she replied. "At least, I think I got one letter. I did tell you it would take a while."
"One letter has taken you a week?" he asked, in disbelief.
"Is there a deadline I don't know about?" she answered. "Besides me expiring?"
His face changed.
"The deadline is as soon as possible. Does that ring true in your ears?"
"There has to be a reason," she answered. "You wouldn't be so desperate to have it otherwise."
He rolled his eyes.
"Is it a strange concept to you?" he asked. "To want to do something because someone told you that you couldn't?"
"Not at all," she replied. "People tell me I can't do things all the time. If anything, it inspires me to do them even more."
"There we go then, we have a common understanding," he replied. "So, spend less time emptying your stomach and more time working on the scroll. May I remind you that your life hangs in the balance?"
"My life hung in the balance long before you came into the picture," she answered, defensively. She didn’t like being kept in the dark. "You should tell me why you want it. It might help me solve it faster if I know the reason behind it. Common sense is a huge part of language."
He gave her a look.
"Are you telling the truth?"
"Yes," she said. "I have no reason not to."
"Fine," he sighed. "I suppose that you'll be dead if you fail, so it doesn't make a difference. I'm a Prince, from a world far away. Or I was, until my father told me I was actually some bastard orphan. I thought I was of Royal Dragon blood, but it turns out I'm just some witch-dragon mutt. That throne is not mine for the taking, and that planet is lost to me. But this one, this one could be mine, if you activate that scroll."
She sat there in silence for a little longer than he was comfortable with. Cole flexed his hand, causing sparks to warm up beneath his palm. He was ready to act. He didn't really want to kill her. He wasn't the monster people made him out to be. He was mischievous and he was hurt. But he would do it if he had to–if she lost her mind.
He stood there staring at Enya, and her calm gaze slowly disarmed him.
"Aren't you afraid?" he asked, confused.
"No," she replied. "Every race has a reaping. Every creation story has an ending."
"Is that what you think I am?" he asked. "The end?"
"Or the beginning," she replied. "When you have come to terms with death, you learn what matters and what doesn't. I don't know if you are who you say you are, but I saw in my blood tests today what you can do. The rest doesn't matter."
"I am a god compared to humans," he said. "I am superior to you in every way."
She shrugged.
"And yet, you need me to help you with this. It's odd, isn't it?"
He hadn't expected that response. His shoulders relaxed and he even chuckled a bit.
"I suppose I do," he replied.
"Good." She flipped the scroll towards him. "Now, do you want to see which one I think is E?"
"Sure." He glanced at the scroll, but his mind was elsewhere. For a week, he had thought about nothing else but how he was going to take over this planet. But now, he was distracted by thoughts of how she could answer the way she just had. How she was the only person who didn't see him as a monster, as a criminal, as a bastard who had lost his throne.
Besides, it's not as if he had anywhere else to go. His world had rejected him; he was wanted for his crimes of destruction. His brothers had surely shunned him, or were too distracted to even notice he was gone. This place, with this girl, was all he had now.