His head buckles back against the chair. Ryder glances out the side of his eye at me. I always thought the crescent gem was just a word in a story. Psy’s head straightens, and the film on his eye vanishes. He staggers onto his feet, evidently weaker than he was before, as if letting the spirits talk through him has drained him.
He sits back down in the armchair.
“Did ye get what ye needed?” He asks, clearly disoriented. I look over at Ryder, whose worry mirrors mine.
“You could say that,” Ryder says as he scratches the back of his neck.
“What do you know about the crescent gem?” I ask quickly, hoping Psy knows more about this topic.
“Aye, the crescent gem, the stone that holds the power of a God.” Psy remarks, standing up and taking a swig out of the half-empty bottle on the table. He kisses his teeth as the harsh liquid slugs its way down his throat.
“So it’s real then.” A newfound hope asserts my words.
Five days. That’s all we have.
“It’s a fucking death trap, is what it is.” Psy remarks, and I try to hide my apprehension.
“What do you mean?” I ask, tugging on the sleeves of my robe.
“He means anyone who goes looking for the bloody thing dies,” Ryder adds in, frustration harshening his words. And my faith is wavering.
Five fucking days.
“Not anyone.” Psy interrupts in a slow register. “Tainted souls, maybe, but those pure of heart are said to be able to yield the power.” He walks in closer to me, his hand coming dangerously close to the fabric of my hood. “Somethin’ tells me this riddle came te you.” He pulls his hand away, but his eye does not retreat from my gaze. I don’t say anything, just nod my head slightly. “Then maybe ye are the one to yield its power.” His words soft as a whisper.
“No. Not fucking happening.” Ryder barks. “Hundreds have searched for it and never made it back.” He paces around the small room, and the floor groans under his weight.
“We have to at least try.” I plead. “Five days,Ryder. That’s all we have.”
A tear threatens to fall from my eyes.
Five days until the man I love becomes a weapon against me again. “And have you forgotten that the sun is dimming?” I add. The spirits said that this is the only way to restore the chaos.
“But if you touch it, you may die.” He begs, shaking his head, his jaw tightens, and his eyes narrow.
“And if I do nothing, I will die by your hand.” My words catch in my throat as he looks at me with regret. “Or worse, you will take yourself from me again.”
I’m crying now, slow tears roll down my face. “Either way I lose you.”
Ryder stiffens, facing the harsh realisation. “I’m not just going to sit around and let that happen. I’m finding that gem with or without you.” I say, drying the tears from my cheeks.
Ryder strides closer towards me, and for a minute, I think he is going to try to stop me. But he doesn’t; he stands slightly behind me and rests his hand on my lower back.
The corners of his mouth rise into a small smile at me before he directs to Psy.
“Okay. Where do we start looking?” His demeanour is still tense, but a glint of optimism hides behind the caramel in his eyes. I understand why he is tense. If everyone who has ever gone looking for the crescent gem has vanished without a trace, then we may suffer the same fate. But our fate without it is much, much worse.
I gulp back the thought of Ryder’s hands breathing the life out of me.
Five days.
“Ye are not the only one that has come to me searchin for the gem before,” Psy says his arm half eaten by the box he is rummaging through. “A wee boy came to me many year ago, desperate to find the thing.” He stares intensely at the contents in the cardboard before pulling something out. “I’ll show ye the same thing I showed him.” He switches a roll of paper from his fleshy hand to the bionic one and unrolls it on the table.
“What is it?” I say, examining the off-white pages. “A map?” My head instinctively tilts to the side, trying to make sense of the page.
“It looks like a toddler drew it.” Ryder scoffs before sighing. He’s not wrong. I don’t really know what I’m looking at. The page is sprawled with different images, each carelessly scribbled and overlayed like the artist had drawn over the messy outlines at least ten times
“Tanks a lot.” Psy directs to Ryder, looking offended. “I did these, ye fucker.” He glares at Ryder, who is standing unapologetically over the page.
