Book of the Shaman

by llnbooks

Destiny took someone close to Mikayla. One month later, it's time for her to challenge destiny. Not a deathfic, I promise, but cleverly disguised as one. Pairings: Brakayla.

Admittedly, this story did not turn out as I'd hoped and it's way darker than I usually like to go. It's the product of a sour mood (sorry, but one of the episodes irked me a bit and I probably shouldn't be allowed near my keyboard when I'm irked). I's not the most original story premise and I'm not familiar with what kind of stories are out there for this fandom, so if I've stepped on anyone's toes, it's unintentional. It's pretty much entirely Mikayla's p.o.v. (yes, the guys are in the story, too). Sorry, I don't mean to shortchange the boys, 'cause I'm quite fond of them, but I don't want this to turn into another of my 100+ page novellas.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Disney's. I only own the original characters and the typos. Also, nothing herein is based on anything or anyone in real life nor do I believe in magic stones or sentient volcanos. (It's not every fandom where I have to make disclaimers like that).

Genre: I don't want to call it tragedy because that might scare people off. I know I normally avoid anything labeled 'tragedy'. So, let's call it angst/supernatural.

Pairings: Very Brakayla. That's the only way I roll.

Rated T for some mild language, violence, and adult themes. Also, it will be pretty much AU/OOC. I would have incorporated more of the show's goofiness if the story had a lighter premise. Plus, you probably guessed from the synopsis that there's a major character death. But I don't play that way, so don't freak out and get scared away. This is not, I repeat NOT, a deathfic. It's just cleverly disguised as one.

Once again, the names thwart me. If you look on the closed-captioning, names are spelled one way. If you check around the websites, they're spelled another. Last names you haven't heard before were pulled from the imdb and may not be cannon. So, bear with me, folks, I'm trying. I'm also taking liberty with some of the characters' histories, hence the AU.

I do this for the joy of storytelling and for my dear nieces. So, I hope someone out there enjoys it, but flames, as always, will be ignored.

Pair Of Kings

"Book of the Shaman"

By llnbooks

1

Mikayla ran.

It had been a month since she'd last set foot on this path, and she had been running that day as well. The shadows that followed her along the winding road now were no less terrifying than the flesh and blood demons that she had pursued on that horrible day…the worst day so far of her young life.

She thought she almost felt the warmth of fingers intertwined with hers now, as they had been on that terrible day. But, that sensation was fleeting and gone in an instant, leaving nothing but the feel of the stone that Mikayla clung to as though her life depended upon it.

She ran, but the ghosts in her memory were tight on her heels.

Mikayla half expected her father and the palace guards to appear on the trail ahead, to bar her path and forbid her from carrying out her plan. She prayed they wouldn't; She had no wish to fight him—time was too precious and if she had to face him again, Mikayla was not sure she could go through with her plan. Mason would tell her that she wasn't being rational, and she'd heard that enough times in the past few weeks.

Her father had been unwavering in his efforts to give her comfort and consolation, trying to reassure her every day for the past year that this whole mess was not her fault. He'd had the entire royal family-even the generally callous Lanny-at her door to tell her it was not her fault. Every word of their forgiveness was another rip in her already torn and bleeding soul.

The people of Kinkou had celebrated her as a hero-the one who had saved the life of every person on the tiny island with her brave actions. She's refused their accolades with one simple truth: The only reason Mikayla had survived to save Kinkou was because Brady had saved Mikayla. She did not feel worthy of gratitude for saving thousands of lives when her heart railed at her soul every day since-selfishly perhaps-that the price for their lives and hers had been too high.

Mikayla's instincts had warned her of danger from the moment that messengers had arrived from the neighboring island of Tayamo, requesting an audience with the twin kings of Kinkou. She had not been the only one who was suspicious. It was the on-going hostilities with Tayamo, their secret alliance with the Tarantula people, and their repeated efforts to invade and conquer Kinkou that had prompted the parents of kings Brady and Boomer to send the boys to live in safety and anonymity with their relatives in Chicago when they were only infants. Their parents had wanted the vulnerable heirs to the throne far away from such danger, fearing it would destroy them before they had the chance to become the leaders they were destined to be.

It shamed her now to recall the times that she had wished the kings had stayed in Chicago…usually right after the boys had managed (unintentionally, granted) to make mistakes like waking up evil warlocks and mummies or unleashing angry pirate ghosts or getting Mikayla turned into a mermaid against her will. On such occasions, the harsh wish had been made only for the sake of Kinkou.

This was the first time she had made that wish only for the sake of the kings themselves.

Kinkou's elders were eager to finally end the hostilities with Tayamo. They'd persuaded Brady and Boomer to allow Queen Paiama to visit Kinkou for peace talks. It was the lingering distrust of the Tayamans, born of two decades of war, that had colored Mikayla and Mason's advice to the kings when the delegation arrived from the enemy island. For every word of diplomacy that the elders had for the twin kings, Mikayla and Mason had spoken of doubt and given admonishments of caution.

Mikayla had despised the young queen almost at first sight. The woman's smile—more a self-confident sneer-sent a chill of frost into the heart of the palace guard. The way she had flirted with Brady had rankled Mikayla despite knowing she had no claim on the king after the numerous times she'd rebuffed his painfully awful passes at her. As if sensing jealousy from the commoner girl, Paiama had made a point of putting Mikayla in her place at every opportunity, from insisting the head guard serve as her personal valet to gleefully and repeated calling the girl by the wrong name. When Paiama had proposed solidifying the peace between Kinkou and Tayamo by marrying King Brady, Mikayla had actually begun plotting ways to feed the queen her own teeth while making it look like an accident.

In the end, Brady and Boomer had listened to their two most trusted advisors instead of the elders.

The result had been disaster.

Queen Paiama had seemed gracious enough when peace had been accepted while the royal marriage was declined. She'd even agreed to stay for the celebratory banquet her last day on the island and had her personal chef assist with the preparation of the meal. Mikayla had skipped the banquet in order to carry Paiama's bags to her waiting boats (all the better to get her off Kinkou as quickly as possible).

It was on that beach that Mikayla had spied the armies of the Tayamans, joined by their allies, the Tarantula people, massing for a march on the royal palace.

She'd raced to get to the castle ahead of the invaders, but the Tayamans had reached the palace first. Worse, Paiama and her bodyguards had ensured that the palace gate was open and had dispatched the guards.

Mikayla had done what she was trained to do in such a dire situation: She left the fighting to Kinkou's army and went directly for the kings. Nothing was more important than getting Brady and Boomer out of the palace, away from the fighting that had erupted, and away from the danger. She would have sacrificed her own life to save the kings if necessary. That was her duty.

She fought her way to the throne room only to find it abandoned. Next, she had searched the kings' bedroom in the high tower and again found no sign of them. She had nearly collided with Mahama on her way out of the room. The guard had told her how Paiama had sabotaged the palace's defenses and that Mason had already taken King Boomer from the kings' quarters to the escape tunnels that led down to the river. Unfortunately, Brady had been in the banquet hall with Queen Paiama, deep within the castle, when the attack began…none of the guards had yet been able to reach him.

Just fighting her way past Paiama's elite bodyguards had been brutal. Several times, Mikayla came within a blade's breadth of death before she finally forced her way into the barricaded banquet hall. Paiama had been waiting, greeting the girl with that stomach-turning smirk and a snide: "Oh look, the little island tart's come to the rescue. Hello, Matilda."

"Mikayla."

"Whatever."

The sneer was for Mikayla, but the words were directed at the queen's prisoner. When Mikayla had swept into the hall, Brady was bound to a chair at the head of the long banquet table. Paiama had been about to force the king to drink some sort of smoking, bubbling concoction (poison or Tayaman cooking…as far as Mikayla's taste buds were concerned, there was no difference) from a silver goblet painted with bizarre symbols.

Mikayla raised her machete in challenge to Paiama and her bodyguards and snarled with vehemence that even surprised herself: "Get away from him, witch!"

Paiama was more amused than intimidated, but, at least, she set the goblet on the table and momentarily forgot about Brady. She drew her own blade—an intricate dagger famous for the star-shaped wounds it made in her victims' flesh. Mikayla had heard stories from the people of conquered islands about the queen's deadly accuracy with the weapon as well as her nearly superhuman speed.

The legends did not do Paiama justice.

In a single leap, the queen bounded onto the banquet table. In a few steps, quick as the play of lightning, Paiama had bounded the long length of the table with her blade held high. Mikayla barely had two seconds to realize the older girl was attacking before Paiama was on her. There was a flash of steel and only pure reflex saved Mikayla as she somehow blocked the blow from Paiama's weapon. The impact of her blade against the flimsier machete reverberated through Mikayla's body. She lost her balance and barely stayed on her feet, staggering back as Paiama advanced once more.

In that moment, Mikayla had the awful realization that she could not defeat the Tayaman. Worse, the queen knew it, too. She circled the Kinkouan girl like a lion toying with its prey. "You should have just let me have him, Meredith. As the Queen of Kinkou, I could have claimed power over the island without the need of conquering it. It would have been easier on everyone."

"I don't believe you care about peace, Paiama," Mikayla shot back.

"I suppose that's why you're the brains of this outfit…not saying much, I know." This time, Paiama spared a glare at the bound and gagged Brady. "Your father drove my people into exile on that desolate island, Tayamo. He killed my father in battle. Your little tart has been right all along: I'm not interested in forgiveness. I've waited seventeen years for revenge on your wretched family and this armpit of a kingdom. I would have been content to spare your people, but you've made it impossible for the people of Kinkou to peacefully submit to my rule now. I'll have to resort to more…distasteful…measures."

Mikayla tried to attack while Paiama was mid-rant. Paiama blocked her strike as effortlessly as if she were swatting away a fly. She slammed the hilt of her blade into Mikayla's jaw. Mikayla barely stayed conscious as stars dotted her vision. All hopes that she could escape with Brady were fading fast; She only prayed now that she could keep Paiama occupied until the rest of the palace guards could come save the king.

Paiama snapped at her four bodyguards, who were riveted to the one-sided fight between the women: "Do something useful, you idiots. Goblet. King. Drinky, drinky. Now!"

Two of her men nearly tripped over each other in their haste to snatch up the silver goblet and its smoking brew. "Careful, idiots. Don't spill it on yourselves!"

Brady turned his face away as they shoved the cup under his nose. The moment the lumbering guards took the gag out of his mouth, he said, "No thanks, guys. You know what they say about drinking slimy, smoking ooze on a full stomach…" He squeezed his lips tightly together as they shoved the cup at his mouth.

"Oh, fine, just pour it on him, then!" Paiama barked at her men.

"No!" Mikayla scrambled toward Brady, until Paiama grabbed her by her hair and tossed her to her knees.

"Dump the rest of the elixir into the river. It feeds every well and watering hole on Kinkou," the queen added. She gave Mikayla another vicious yank, turning the girl so that she could no longer see what was happening to Brady. Paiama leaned down close enough that Mikayla could smell her fetid breath as she purred, barely louder than a whisper, "I like you, girl, sincerely I do. You're head-strong. Confident. Determined. But, I don't understand you, Michelle. I see the way that dolt fawns over you…but you don't love him. Would you really give up your life so readily for him?"

If Mikayla could have turned her head, she would have spat in the queen's face. As it was, all she could do was squirm in Paiama's grip as the queen raised her star-shaped blade for the killing blow…

The blow never came. Instead, a voice growled from behind Paiama, making the queen pause: "Her name's Mikayla, bitch. That's right, I said bitch."

Paiama didn't startle nor did she turn to face Brady or wonder how he'd escaped his bonds and his captors. When the boy spoke, her intuition warned her of his attack and the queen instantly feinted aside. She narrowly dodged when Brady swung a heavy silver pitcher at her head. She rolled away from him, her eyes sweeping over the room. She spied the broken pieces of rope that had bound Brady to his chair, the empty silver goblet, and two guinea pigs stained with slimy elixir standing where her bodyguards had been a few seconds earlier.

"How…?" she stammered.

Brady shrugged. "Well, you get kidnapped by freaks or accidentally tie yourself up enough times and you learn how to slip out of ropes."

Paiama turned her blade towards him. Momentarily forgotten amidst the diversion Brady had created, Mikayla swung her legs and kicked the queen's legs from under her. Paiama hit the ground with thud and a cry of pain and rage.

"Brady! Get that container!" Mikayla gestured to the remaining two Tayaman guards, who were snatching up the barrels of the remainder of Paiama's witch's brew.

Brady grabbed a serving cart and charged the guards, succeeding in pinning one against the wall. The breath knocked from him, the guard let go of the barrel as he reached spasmodically to clutch at his chest. Brady snatched up the discarded container. The second guard slipped out the door, escaping with the second barrel.

Paiama broke Mikayla's grip with a kick to the girl's stomach, knocking the wind out of her. The queen dove out the window before Mikayla could recover.

When Mikayla turned back to Brady, he was grinning at her with that maddening smirk of his. "Aww, Mikayla, were you jealous of Paiama putting the moves on me? Just couldn't bear to live without me?"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please, she just tried to turn you into a hamster so she could steal your throne. Not exactly true romance."

He shrugged. "Love is weird."

"Be careful-don't let that potion splash your skin." Mikayla gestured to the flimsy barrel in his hands. "We have to stop Paiama's goon before he dumps the rest of her poison into the river..." She frowned. "…if we can figure out how to get past the rest of the Tayaman soldiers. They're all over the castle."

"What about Boomer?" Brady asked.

"He's safe. My dad's getting him out of the palace until the fighting's over."

Brady was glad to hear that, but it didn't solve the problem of how he and Mikayla were going to escape with their lives, much less stop the queen's henchman. They didn't even have a weapon except for Mikayla's considerable skill with the machete…

"Wait a minute…" He set the barrel on the table and ran back to his chair. Brady fumbled beneath the seats reserved for himself and Boomer and came up with two large super-soaker rifles.

Somehow, Mikayla was not the least bit surprised. Still, she had to ask: "Why do you and Boomer have super soakers in the Royal Dining Hall?"

"Well, if you can think of a more fun way to drink juice, I'd be interested to hear it," he defended. Brady patted the water guns, quite proud of his and Boomer's dead-on accuracy shooting any sort of beverage into each other's mouths from opposite ends of the lengthy banquet table.

"Forget I asked."

Insane as it seemed, Brady's idea had worked...and for once his boasting proved true: He was a dead shot with the water rifle. Mikayla was a bit awkward with the weapon, preferring her blade. Once the Tayamans figured out that Mikayla was fully capable of tossing them like rag dolls and that King Brady could fire streams of Paiama's elixir and turn them into various furry critters from fifty feet away, the invaders quickly grew demoralized and began to scatter.

They had found Mahama during the skirmish. Mikayla handed her elixir-loaded super soaker to the guard, instructing him on how to use it and ordering him to find her father and King Boomer and help them secure the castle. She had ordered Brady to go with Mahama.

Brady had refused. "No way."

"Brady, I have to stop Paiama. I can move faster alone." Mikayla had snatched the water rifle from the boy's hands.

He had snatched it right back from her. "Mikayla, you may be an expert on every kind of weapon on Kinkou, but when it comes to the Deluxe Atomic Soaker Six Thousand…well, no offense, but you really suck with it."

Mikayla grabbed the weapon again. "I can handle a stupid water gun," she argued.

As it turned out, she could not. Her extensive weapons training had not included children's toys. Just trying to pump up the weapon to prove her ability, she almost squirted water into her own face twice before Brady reclaimed the rifle from her, still smiling that damn grin at her.

Blushing, she ordered: "Stay behind me."

Forever after, Mikayla would regret not making him stay in the safety of the palace.

Paiama and her guard had a considerable head start, but the weight of the barrel slowed them. Mikayla and Brady closed in on them quickly. Spying her pursuers, the queen changed her course and veered into the cover of the jungle while her minion lugged the container of elixir on a beeline for the river. Brady had fired a shot at the retreating Paiama, but the stream of potion missed the girl by a few inches.

Mikayla bit back a curse, not trusting the queen out of her sight and already sensing a trap. There was nothing she could do; she could not risk letting the guard get to the water supply with the potion. She and Brady stayed on his tail.

The jungle thinned as they drew nearer to the river. On the flatter land, Mikayla had risked sprinting a few hundred feet ahead of the slower Brady, who was already out-of-breath (unaccustomed to and uninterested in so much running). Mikayla drew a smaller knife from her belt and took aim at the wooden barrel tucked beneath the retreating guard's arm. She let the blade fly. It buried itself into the barrel, splintering the weakened boards. The Tayaman pitched the container away as soon as the knife pierced it…but he was too slow to avoid being splashed as the elixir spilled. Drops fell onto the man's bare arm.

In the blink of an eye, he transformed from man to gerbil. The container fell to the ground and shattered open, spilling the remaining potion harmlessly onto the sand.

Mikayla stopped running, nearly sagging with relief. For a precious few seconds, she'd live to regret, she relaxed her guard and-for just a single second-forgot the invader queen lurking in the nearby jungle.

Mikayla stopped running as the trail wound out of the jungle and gave way to the riverbank, the same shore where the Tayaman guard had fallen six months earlier. She froze, cold gripping her heart.

This was it. This was the place where it had happened.

Mikayla started to turn away from the neutralized gerbil-guard and his poison. It was on her lips to say 'We'd better find that witch, Paiama' as she turned toward Brady, but she only got as far as "We'd better…" before it happened.

Brady was suddenly right there, grabbing her around the waist with one arm and roughly shoving her aside. She heard him shout her name in warning, fear biting in to his voice, but she couldn't see past him to discern the threat. Brady crushed himself against her, shielding her. She saw him raise the super soaker with his other arm and fire at the unseen danger.

Then Brady let out a soft grunt that sounded like surprise and he was falling, dragging Mikayla to the ground even as he still tried to shield her body with his own. It wasn't until they hit the ground together that he let out a cry of pain that terrified Mikayla down to her soul.

Finally, she saw what Brady had been shooting at-Paiama stood on the riverbank, elixir dripping from her face. She had time to glare at them in fury before turning into a fat boar. Fixated on stopping the guard from poisoning the river, Mikayla had not seen the queen creep up behind them, but somehow Brady had.

"How did-?" Mikayla started to ask the boy lying on the ground beside her. The words died on her lips when she saw the sparkle of a golden, star-shaped knife grotesquely buried in the small of Brady's back and the crimson stain spreading across his shirt. It matched the tiny red bead at the corner of his mouth, which was twisted into a grimace of pain.

"Ohmygod…Brady…no…"

She knew, in a flash of horror and despair, that there was nothing she could do. Absurdly, she tried anyway. Her hands moved automatically, of their own volition, as they ripped the sleeves from his overshirt and used them to try to staunch the flow of blood from the wound. The cursedly logical part of Mikayla's mind swiftly calculated the distance to the palace, to help, versus the severity of his injury, and came back with the truth that it was beyond hope. Another part of her mind rejected what she knew to be true and clung to the idea that she could still somehow save him like a drowning woman clinging to a lifeline.

"Brady, nonono, don't do this to me….why did you do that?" The words spilled from her as Mikayla drew him close to her, practically into her lap, supporting his shoulders with one hand while reaching around him with the other to press the makeshift bandage against the blade and the wound. She glanced around, praying to see someone coming.

This was not happening. This could not happen. This was not supposed to happen. Brady was one of the twin Kings of Legend. He and Boomer were supposed to usher in the Golden Age of Kinkou. That's what the prophecies had said. He was supposed to be safe in the castle, wasting Kinkou's money on giant robots and golden toilet paper, avoiding responsibility like the plague, and driving her crazy making embarrassingly bad passes at her. She was supposed to keep him safe. In no prophecy was he meant to be bleeding to death in Mikayla's arms on a riverbank…

Mikayla felt the first of many tears roll down her cheeks and splash on to his face. She didn't want to look down at him. She didn't want to see the pain in his eyes. She didn't want to see him die. The arm around his shoulders gathered him more tightly, as though, if she held on hard enough and refused to accept the inevitable, that would somehow save him.

She heard a soft grunt that sounded like: "—Kayla."

Mikayla made herself look at Brady. She was surprised to find her tearful gaze met with a weak but familiar goofy smile. Brown eyes, clouded with agony, still gazed back at her with that maddening, puppy-dog adoration. How many times had she responded to that adoring stare with a roll of her eyes and an insult? It shamed her to recall. It was that same smile he had for the rare instances when Mikayla favored him with even the tiniest hint of affection.

She could have screamed at him, irrationally, how could he be dying-because of her-in her arms and look ridiculously happy just because he was in her arms?

Mikayla leaned down until her forehead rested against his, shocked at the coldness of his skin. She closed her eyes to the adoring gaze she felt she didn't deserve. "Brady, please.."

She stayed that was for an eternity, long after those brown eyes fluttered and closed, long after his last breath escaped as a soft sigh. She did not move or respond even when the first shouts of a search party finally interrupted her silent vigil.

Mikayla stared at the riverbank. This was the place. This was where it happened. This was where Brady had died.

2

She had to move. She didn't have time to linger there. She didn't want to linger there. Standing on that spot brought back the memory (as if she could ever forget) of every tiny detail of that day, from the feel of his body in her arms to the metallic smell of his blood and the color of it when it stained her skin. Watching him die, powerless to stop it, had been the worst thing Mikayla had ever had to do.

Returning to the palace afterward, facing King Boomer and her father and recounting the details to them, was a close second.

Mikayla didn't realize she had cried herself to sleep until she was awakened by the first splash of sunlight on her face. Her memory was sluggish to explain the feeling of dread that accompanied consciousness, until she saw the plaid fabric clutched tightly in her fist and the events of the previous day returned in a horrible rush.

Shock had left her in a robotic daze when she returned to the palace, kept the tears at bay, but her tentative control was chipped away bit-by-bit beginning with working her way through the throng of mourners who already waited when she arrived. She'd fled to the isolation of her room; their grief was only exacerbating her own quiet anguish. But there was no escape within the walls of the castle. As she retreated to her room, she passed the scattered clutter of Brady's clothes, half-eaten snacks, books he'd refused to study, and various projects that he and Boomer had created for their own amusement…reminders of the teenage boy-king who would never return to reclaim them. She'd picked up one of Brady's discarded plaid shirts without realizing it.

Even in her bedroom, she was not safe from the memories, for snippets returned unbidden: Mikayla lying in bed, sick from the poison of the Wakka bug, hurling insults and streams of snot at Brady while he tended to her every demand. The boys sneaking into her room to plant a love letter from Brady. Repeatedly having to climb out her window to rescue both kings the day they built a giant catapult and tried to propel themselves to the top of the palace's high tower.

Wrapped up in her own misery, Mikayla had ignored the gentle knocking on her door and her father calling her name. She had cried until the tears spent themselves, and then she had cried some more.

When the knocking resumed with the break of dawn, Mikayla squeezed her eyes shut and willed herself not to cry again. When her father continued knocking, she yelled at him harshly to go away.

Mason had come in anyway.

"I want to be alone," she snapped, not bothering to roll over on the bed to look at him.

"No, you don't," he answered.

The floor boards squeaked as he walked over. Was he here to give her an overdue reprimand for failing in her duty to protect Brady, or was he intent on giving her comfort she neither wanted nor deserved? Either way, her father obviously wasn't going anywhere until she listened to whatever he'd come to say. She felt the mattress sag as he sat on the edge of the bed.

Resigned, Mikayla rolled onto her side, glaring at him.

Mason's face looked drawn and haggard, and he had dark circles under his eyes. He probably hadn't slept. He would have been up all night helping prepare for the funeral that Mikayla would have to attend. No doubt he'd taken it upon himself to take the first shift guarding the coffin, too. He already wore the ceremonial black slash of mourning, but he had not yet shaved his head, as custom dictated all the men and women of Kinkou would do to show grief for their king. It only reminded her that soon she would have to put on her own black sash and join him at the funeral. She wasn't sure she could survive it.

"Believe it or not, baby girl, I know what you're feeling right now," Mason tried to console her.

Mikayla felt nothing at that moment…not the rending pain and despair, not the crushing grief she was sure Mason and King Boomer were feeling. All she had within her was guilt so overwhelming that it made her body numb with the desire to feeling nothing more ever again. She wondered if it was how he felt when her mother died.

"It's my fault," she said softly.

Mason shook his head, laying a hand on her shoulder. It took all her will not to jerk away from the comforting touch. She didn't feel deserving of forgiveness. "I know you feel that way. I felt the same way when Brady and Boomer's parents died. It was war. There was nothing I could do. It took me a long time to accept that. Sometimes, no matter what you do, you can't-"

Now, Mikayla rolled off the bed and stepped away. That kind, understanding tone was only making her feel worse. "No, Daddy, that's just it-I could have saved Brady. I could have forced him to stay with Mahama when I went after Paiama. I could have not let her slip out of my sight in that jungle…I could have left the service of the palace the minute he started having feelings for me." That notion had troubled her all night, and it tumbled from her lips before she knew she was going to say it. "Paiama wasn't aiming for Brady. She was trying to kill me because I'm the one who wrecked her plans. That wasn't supposed to happen. The prophecy said that the twin kings were going to bring the Golden Age of Kinkou. Brady wasn't supposed to die."

"War…"

"Brady didn't step in front of that knife because we were having a war, Daddy. He wasn't defending Kinkou. He stepped in front of that knife because he was protecting me!"

Mason tried calming his daughter as she grew more hysterical with each word. "You're a good guard, Mikayla. You would have protected him. You would have taken that blade for him." As much as he might grieve for the king, Mason still could not help but be grateful it had not come to that, grateful for what Brady had done for his daughter.

"Yes! I would have!" Mikayla agreed. "Because that's my duty. It's my job to defend the kings to the death. Brady didn't die because it was his duty. He's dead because of his stupid crush on me."

"You never did anything to encourage Brady…"

Now, she choked out a bitter laugh. "You're right. I didn't. I insulted him. I threatened him a few times. I injured him a few times. I dated his brother. But, no, I didn't return his affection. Brady fought pirates for me. He rode a geyser blast up the side of a two-hundred foot cliff for me. He fought the Mamma Wakka for me. He fought you for me. And I. Did. Nothing."

It wasn't Mason, but the last voice Mikayla wanted to hear, that interrupted her tirade: "That's not true, girl."

Both of the Mikulas were startled. Boomer stood in the bedroom doorway, having overheard Mikayla's bought of self-loathing. His face was drawn and haunted, and his sleepless eyes mirrored hers. He was already dressed in his formal black garments and sash.

She had apologized to his one hundred times already, knowing the words were inadequate, but Mikayla instinctively repeated: "King Boomer, I'm s-"

His hand was already reaching into the pocket of his formal tunic. He pulled out an iphone that she recognized as Brady's. Boomer crossed the room, tapping icons on the phone's screen. When he found what he was looking for, he offered the phone to Mikayla.

She hesitated, almost afraid to touch it. Somehow, it seemed disrespectful to Brady to be rifling through his private possessions. She hadn't considered that Boomer had probably spent the whole night in the room he'd shared with his brother doing things like looking at photos on Brady's cellphone in search of comfort.

When Mikayla balked, Boomer shoved the phone into her hands. She saw that he had called up a picture of her and Brady dancing together at the kings' high school prom back. Ohmygod.

"How did he get this?" She knew full well that Brady and Boomer had left their cell phones behind when they'd hopped that balloon to Chicago…all the better so that Mason and Mikayla couldn't call them to order them home.

"You Tube. Don't think you can wear a dress like that in a gymnasium full of teenaged boys and not have someone post your picture on the Net." Boomer almost smiled. Almost. Mikayla didn't know how he could manage a joke right then, much less how he could have kindness towards her in his voice as he added: "Brady always wanted to go to the prom with the hottest girl in Chicago. As far as he was concerned, he did. And like you said, being arm candy at his prom was not your job. You did that for him, Mikayla."

She stared at the picture for a long time, clutching it so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She was going to lose it again. Mikayla could feel it coming. "Could you two just-give me a few minutes? Please?" she asked quietly.

They weren't happy about it, but her father and the king left her alone, closing the door behind them.

Mikayla wondered how she had ended up standing in front of the coffin.

Her feet had carried her out of the bedroom and sneaked her unnoticed past the guards, mourners, and palace staff who had gathered for the funeral. When she reached the door of the palace church, she had dismissed Mahama from his post at the door. She'd done all this in a detached, zombie-like way, answering a silent call she could not resist. She hadn't meant to come, nor had she intended to carry that iphone and the dirty flannel shirt with her. No wonder Mahama had given her such an odd look.

The temple was dark and deserted, and she was grateful for that mercy. The sight of the ornate coffin placed on the dais at the far end of the main hall served to remind her…this was real and she was going to have to deal with it.

Slowly, Mikayla moved across the room and, with still more reluctance, reached out to finger the polished surface of the coffin. It was stupid to be here, she scolded herself. What good would it do? It wasn't like he could hear her or know that she was there. Whatever she had to say, she'd missed her chance.

Still, she could not help herself. She sat down on the steps of the dais, her back half-turned to the coffin. "I wish you hadn't done that…" Mikayla blurted. Then, she shook her head at herself. Scolding Brady? Now? Really? She took a deep breath and tried again. "Sorry. I just wish…I wish you were here. I wish you could hear this. I just wanted to tell you-Paiama was a bitch and a liar, you know. I hope you didn't believe what she said back in the banquet hall. Who am I kidding? You didn't believe me every time I said I didn't love you. Why would you believe her?"

The confession made her feel better, if only in the tiniest way. "Do you remember that time you tried to make me friends with Candace? Don't think I didn't know that you picked her because she was a 'smoking hottie', by the way. You were wrong. I never felt like I was missing out not having a best friend in my life. I guess that's because, in a weird and disturbing way, I always had you and Boomer. I don't know what I'm going to do without you. Stupid, isn't it?"

Mikayla picked nervously at a spot of dirt on the marble steps. "Listen, I don't want you to think I'm a complete loser for this, but I'm leaving the palace. Boomer's going to be safe with my Dad, I promise. And I know wherever you are, you'll still watch out for him, too. But I can't do this. Not anymore." She shook her head, disgusted with herself. "Guess I'm not the stone cold shetchi I like people to think I am."

She pushed herself to her feet, turning back to face the coffin. Very gingerly, she laid her palm on the lid. "I do love you, you know." Mikayla smiled despite herself. "Yeah, you know. Thank you…for saving my life."

A deafening rumble answered…and the ground lurched with a sudden, violent tremor that made her fall. She barely caught herself by clinging to the coffin. The two nearby pulpits-one holding the Book of Kinkou and the other the Book of the Shaman—toppled, the books falling to the stone floor.

As the ground quaked, Mikayla carefully stumbled to the window, staring in the direction of Mount Spew. The volcano was unleashing a thin white cloud of ash. Every islander believed the mountain was linked to the royal family. The shaman would say this eruption was the mountain's mourning for King Brady…and its summons to commence with the funeral. The shaman would be coming soon.

When the tremors abated, she hurried to right the pulpits and put the sacred books back in their proper place. Her gaze lingered on the Book of Kinkou. "You never did finish reading this, did you?" she asked Brady, shaking her head.

Next, she fetched the Book of the Shaman, the book that recorded every rite, ritual, myth, legend, and magic spell collected in Kinkou's history, including the funeral traditions.

Mikayla knew the royal burial rites: Brady would be taken to the Royal Tomb at the base of Mount Spew. The tomb was said to be enchanted so that even the hottest lava from the volcano could not melt its stone walls. There had to be some truth to that legend, for every member of the royal family had been placed in the tomb and, once inside, lava rose from a natural tube beneath the mausoleum to cremate them. The islanders believed, in this way, all royals returned to the fires of Mount Spew, where their souls would merge with the volcano to watch over Kinkou forever.

She used to believe it, too. Now, she wasn't sure. Her faith in legend wasn't giving her any consolation at that moment. She didn't care about traditions or superstitions. She didn't want Brady to be a disembodied spirit in a volcano with his ancestors. She wanted him here with his family, his people, with her. Nothing in the Book of the Shaman was going to tell her how to make that happen…

The volcano rumbled in the distance, and Mikayla waited out another tremor.

"It's doing that because of Brady, you know."

The voice was a tiny squeak, several octaves too high, like a creature in a Disney cartoon. She would have dismissed it as her imagination if there hadn't been something familiar about it…it wasn't a voice she wanted to hear at the moment. "Lanny, I'm not in the mood for you right…" Mikayla turned to see no sign of the kings' cousin. "…where are you?"

"Down here."

Mikayla glanced at the floor and blinked. If she hadn't spent the previous day using magic potion to turn invading Tayamans into forest creatures, she wouldn't believe her eyes. Lanny's voice was coming from a weasel.

"Paiama?" she guessed.

"I caught her testing her potion on one of her bodyguards before she went to meet Brady. She decided to test it on me instead, since I'm also heir to the throne of Kinkou. After she took the throne from Brady and Boomer and turned them into chipmunks, she was going to feed me to her pet python." Lanny's weasel face managed a look of disgust. "I'm both turned on by her ruthless power grab and completely humiliated by my present condition."

"I'm just in the right frame of mind to step on you just to watch those beady eyes shoot out of their sockets, Lanny. What do you want?"

"What do you think I want? I want the spell reversed. But, for now, I'm going to help you save Brady."

Mikayla didn't believe that for one second. "And this is the moment where I say 'yeah, right' and walk away…" She turned her back on him and started to replace the Book of the Shaman on its pedestal.

"Wait!" Lanny squeaked. "I'm serious!"

Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"For one thing, you moping around the castle is really bringing me down. For another, that witch bumped off my cousin to steal his throne. That's my dream, damn it! I'm not letting Paiama take that from me….errr, I mean, look out the window." He gestured with his tiny front paw.

Mikayla did, taking another long look at the cloud rising from Mount Spew.

"That volcano started erupting the second that the shaman rang the funeral gong. Do you think that's a coincidence? You said it yourself…Brady wasn't supposed to die."

She picked up the hamster and glared into its tiny eyes. "You were eavesdropping on me and my Dad, you little rodent..?"

"Since I'm the only one offering to help instead of calling you a crazy, hysterical shetchi-which you are, by the way-you might want to listen to me."

Mikayla decided he was right. She set him down gently.

"That mountain and the kings are connected. If it's not Brady's time to die, Mount Spew's going to keep erupting until this whole island shakes apart and sinks or gets buried in lava." Lanny scrambled across the floor and climbed up the pedestal. He put his paw on the book. "This is the Book of the Shaman…the entire book. If you're going to find a way to save Brady, you'll find it in here."

Mikayla followed Lanny's reasoning. The royal family always had a copy of the Book of the Shaman…but it was common, if unspoken, knowledge that their version had been—edited-by the line of shaman. There were certain rites, some spells, that were so dangerous and taboo that their secrets could not be entrusted to even the monarchs. Those spells were guarded, written only in copies of the texts belonging to the shamen themselves.

She inspected this copy of the Book. As Lanny said, it was not Brady and Boomer's edited version. Mason probably hadn't been able to find the boys' copy…the twins kept hiding every book Mason and Mikayla gave them as part of their on-going crusade to avoid anything faintly resembling schoolwork or studying. This is the shaman's copy.

There were more rumors about the shaman's copy. It was said that the prophecies about the kings and queens of Kinkou-past, present, and future-were recorded in this version. The incantations and spells of the Dark Side were in here (mainly as warnings never to use them, which Mikayla considered ridiculous, for she had learned that corrupt souls rarely passed up the chance to use dark magic for their own gain).

If there was an artifact or spell on all Kinkou that could change what had happened to Brady, it would be written in these pages. Mikayla felt something stir in her heart…just the dimmest flicker of hope. Quickly, she began flipping through the forbidden pages.

No, if Lanny knew all this, then the Shaman must know as well. He wouldn't let Kinkou be destroyed just to keep this book a secret. He would tell King Boomer and Mason what to do.

So, why wasn't he telling Mason what to do? Mikayla stared out the window down to the plaza.

"If you're right, the Shaman will-"

Lanny was adamant. "The Shaman won't. Try to cram this into that empty space between your ears: The Shaman has vowed to protect the secrets of that book from everyone…even the kings themselves. As soon as Brady's in that tomb, you won't see that book again and it will be too late."

Mikayla thumbed through the book one more time. Her instincts warned her that taking advice from Lanny was a bad idea, indeed…but at the same time, they told her that the boy was right. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to take a quick peek at the pages before the Shaman returned…

She could translate some of it. Other parts of the book were written in a language she was not familiar with. She picked up the weasel, holding Lanny so he could see the pages. "What's this language?"

"The lost dialect of the ancient kings," he answered. "No one's spoken it in a thousand years."

She cursed to herself. "If it's a dead language, how am I supposed to translate it? You got a Rosetta Stone hidden in those furry cheeks?" Without the Shaman's help, it would take her weeks…maybe months…to translate, if she could completely decipher it at all.

"Kiss my cheeks, girl. Your 'rosetta stone' is on the inside of the kings' crowns…you know, those symbols etched on the inside band of the crowns…the ones that our pair of Einsteins this is the elf language from Lord of the Rings."

Mikayla closed the book, drumming her fingers on the cover. "So, your plan is that I steal the forbidden Book of the Shaman and one of the kings' crowns so that I can use a rite from the Dark Side of the island to bring Brady back from the dead. Did I leave anything out?"

Lanny snickered. "Man, it was looney when I said it, but hearing it from you…it's so…"

"Bat crap crazy?" she supplied. "What's your angle in this, Lanny? What's in it for you? I know you're not doing this for Kinkou or Brady."

"You wound me…"

Mikayla glared.

"Fine. Paiama's spell came from that book. I want you to find the spell that will turn me back into a human being..."

"'Back'?"

"Yeah, yeah, you're hilarious. I obviously can't do it myself. Besides, that pig woman is still running around that jungle. I'm either going to marry her or eat her for my next Christmas dinner. As soon as I'm human again, Daddy's going hunting." His rodent eyes gleamed in anticipation.

Mikayla shook her head. "Even cute and fluffy, you're still demented."

"You just said 'I love you' to a coffin, so let's watch the name calling."

"What you seek is not in that book."

Engrossed in the vellum pages of the book and the argument with Lanny, she had not seen the Shaman enter the small temple until he was suddenly right behind her. Lanny let out a squeal of fright and ran for a hole in the wall.

Instinctively, Mikayla spun out of the Shaman's reach, taking the book with her. Her first instinct was to deny her actions, but the knowing glint in the elderly man's eyes wrung the truth from the girl.

"I know the prophecies. Brady's one of the twin kings of legend. He wasn't supposed to die. Not now. Not like that," Mikayla said.

The Shaman's lips curled into a scowl. "You are not thinking clearly, young one."

He made a snatch at the book, and, again, Mikayla easily stepped out of his reach. There was something in his eyes that gave her pause. He looked…afraid. She was the Head Guard for the royal palace…at least, until that day…and she'd learned to read guilt and duplicity in people's eyes. Why would he be afraid of Mikayla looking at a book written in a dead language she couldn't hope to readily translate? Maybe that little weasel Lanny was on to something. The Shaman didn't have the look of someone afraid of an errant child stumbling upon a dangerous incantation. He had the look of fear of someone who'd been caught in a lie.

"There is something in this book, isn't there? A way to bring Brady back?" she demanded.

The Shaman again reached for the book. There was a millisecond in which all possible consequences of her next move played out in her mind. She should return the book. Her father would convince the Shaman to forgive her indiscretion as an act of hysteria born of grief if she handed it back now. Whatever the elder wanted to keep hidden would be buried with Brady, along with that flicker of hope of saving him.

If she defied the Shaman, if she attempted to keep the book, if she ran, there would be no place on Kinkou where they wouldn't hunt for her. She was risking life in the dungeons just daring to touch it. She would be a fugitive. Even if she was right and by some miracle found a way to bring Brady back from the dead, Mikayla would be imprisoned…or worse. Not even Brady or Boomer would have the authority to save her. There was no pardon for the practice of dark magic.

Mikayla weighed all this. Then, she drew the ceremonial machete strapped to her waist and brandished it at the elder.

The Shaman's frown deepened. He folded his hands in front of him, making no further move towards the book. He knew enough of the former head guard to know she was capable of making good on the warning blazing in her eyes. "You cannot change his destiny," he told her.

She circled past him to the door, her weapon raised in one hand, the book and the rumpled plaid shirt clutched in the other hand.

"Watch me," Mikayla answered.

She ran. However, the instant she emerged from the temple, the Shaman yelled for the guards. Mahama and the palace guards arrived at once. Mikayla won precious seconds because of the confusion when they came in search of an intruder or threat and found only the head guard.

The Shaman stepped from the church. He pointed to Mikayla. "Stop her! She's stolen the book!" he ordered the guards.

Still baffled, they hesitated. Meanwhile, King Boomer and Mason arrived, faces twisted in fury that anyone dared make trouble on that day of all days. They, too, reeled in surprise to find that Mikayla was the cause of the commotion. She climbed onto the seawall, scanning the beach below, mentally calculating the best escape route from the sand below to the nearby jungle.

Mason glanced from his daughter to the book tucked beneath her arm. It wasn't difficult for him to connect the dots...or to guess her intentions. He waved for the guards to stay back, afraid if they closed in, his daughter would bolt. "Mikayla! What are you doing? You-"

"-aren't thinking clearly. I know." She offered him a regretful stare. This was going to hurt him, humiliate him, and she doubted she'd ever be able to make up this betrayal to him. Mikayla only hoped he'd understand. He was the only person on Kinkou who could know what she was going through at that moment. "No, Daddy, this wasn't fate or destiny or any of that bullshit. Brady saved my life. I don't know how, but I'm going to save his."

There were murmurs of shock or outright scoffs from the crowd gathering. There were angry stares and sympathetic gazes in equal measures.

Only Boomer met Mikayal's eyes. In his gaze, for an instant, she saw that same faint spark of hope, the same need as her to believe there was still a chance.

Maybe it was cruel to give Brady's brother any notion of miracles, cruel to stir up false hope where there may, indeed, be no hope. Maybe they were right, and she had gone temporarily insane.

Then, Boomer nodded to her, just a faint jut of his chin.

She nodded back.

"Mikayla, stop th-" Mason stepped toward her, the guards falling in behind him.

Boomer, quite deliberately, stuck out his leg, catching Mason's feet. The lumbering man fell, and the guards close on his heels toppled like dominos after him.

"Go," was all Boomer said to Mikayla.

By the time Mason and the guards recovered, Mikayla had vaulted from the seawall and disappeared into the jungle.

3

Mikayla had not returned to the palace since the day of Brady's funeral.

Her father had searched for her. Mikayla sent him messages each day, trying to reassure him that she was fine, but she would not trust herself to see him. He would demand she stop acting like a lunatic and return the Book of the Shaman. He would insist she give up on this plan-insane though she knew it was-and resign herself to her miserable life of guilt and grief there in the palace, where she'd be reminded everyday of what they had lost. What she had lost.

No, until she found the answer she sought, Mikayla settled into the life of a fugitive.

She had done as most islanders did when they wanted to disappear (not an easy feat on an island as small as Kinkou): She had shorn her hair for the traditional period of mourning for Brady…all the better to disguise herself from the guards who hunted her. She ditched her usual tank tops and skirts for the filthy plaid shirt and cargo jeans. Finally, she had loaded a backpack with the bare essentials that she needed to survive.

Then, she had retreated to the den of lost souls known as the Kirikama. It had never been called a village, and, as soon as she arrived there, Mikayla discovered why. It was little more than a tent city sprawled across a cove that bordered the Dark Side of Kinkou…so close, in fact, that self-respecting citizens of the island feared to set foot there. There was nothing village-like about it. A village implied neighbors who looked after each other, even befriended each other. The people in the Kirikama kept to themselves and expected privacy in return.

No questions were asked at all…and no one so much as raised an eyebrow when Mikayla arrived in the village only a minute or two ahead of the palace guards who were chasing after her and the Book of the Shaman. The Kirikamans had peeked out of their tents, seeking the source of the approaching ruckus. They made no move to assist either the fleeing girl or her pursuers.

Then a gray-haired woman had whistled to Mikayla and urgently waved the girl into her tent. There, she'd hidden Mikayla under a pile of filthy blankets and arranged her three children so that they helped further hide her.

"What business do you have, chasing a little scrap of a thing like her?" She heard the woman scold poor Mahama.

"By orders from the royal palace. If you're hiding the girl…"

The woman barked, "You think I care about royal business? Besides, where do you think I hide her? There's barely room in here for the four of us."

Mahama must have looked, for there was a pause. "There's a reward for her return."

"There's a reward for half the folks in Kirikama. You think I would put myself or my children in danger to collect any of them? No. If all of you men let a child slip out of your hands, you don't deserve to catch her!" With a disdainful sniff, the woman zipped the flap of her tent shut on Mahama.

Mikayla almost pitied poor Mahama.

Mikayla-calling herself 'Mika Parker'- had pitched her tent among the homeless, the lost, and her fellow fugitives of Kinkou. The few criminals she recognized from her time as head guard at the palace, men and women who would have gladly killed 'Mikayla Mikula' on the spot-spared 'Mika Parker' not a single glance. That was lucky; she would have a challenge evading the guards without having to watch her back for criminals with a grudge against her.

She spent her days and nights wrapped up in translating the sections of the Book of the Shaman that she could read. She ate and slept only when she remembered to do so or when Talia, the kindly woman who had rescued her from the guards, took pity and brought the reclusive Mikayla food.

Unwilling to become a burden on a woman who already had three children of her own sharing her tent and no visible means of supporting them, Mikayla had added a morning ritual of fishing. She left part of her catch on Talia's doorstep (well, on the blanket outside the flap to her tent anyway). Later that evening, Mikayla would hear the crunch of footsteps in the sand as Talia approached and hid the forbidden book before the older woman spied it. Sometimes, Mikayla would hear multiple pairs of footsteps when Talia brought along her children—a baby girl, a five-year-old girl, and a teenage boy almost the same age as Mikayla.

If Mikayla had been crying the night before, Talia would bring a concoction she called 'apple wine' the next day when she came to dine with the girl. It was an odd term for the beverage; as nearly as Mikayla could tell, it contained neither apples nor alcohol. Whatever it was, it warmed the chill in Mikayla's bones, even if it did nothing for the cold that had settled into her soul.

They would sit and eat in companionable silence or the woman would tell Mikayla stories about her children or share gossip from the neighboring villages. The older woman had questions. Mikayla saw them in her eyes and in the pitying look she gave the girl when she visited to share dinner. It was an unspoken and unbreakable rule of life in Kirikama: Never ask anyone where they came from or how they ended up in the tent city. Talia obeyed that rule, but she was still curious.

No, Mikalya did not mind Talia's quiet company.

It was her teenage son, Dylan, and the nights that he tagged along that Mikayla became agitated.

Time ceased to have meaning. Every day, Mikayla studied. Every day, the guards searched for her. Every day, Mount Spew rumbled in the distance. On a good night, when she finally succumbed to exhaustion, Mikayla would manage to fall asleep without crying.

Mikayla walked to the nearest actual village every other day to dispatch a note to her father. Three times, palace guards had tried to trace the letters back to her location. Once they had made it as far as Kirikama, seeking Mikayla but overlooking the filthy and bedraggled 'Mika' entirely. She knew how to avoid the guards and trackers. Her father had taught her well. Besides, her fellow fugitives in Kirikama were not inclined to be of any help to the palace guards and had no qualms about helping cover Mika's tracks.

By the third week, she had barely managed to piece together half of the book. Some of the dialect could be inferred from the pictures and from its similarities to some of the other dialects of the island. However, the oldest sections of the book, the sections that pertained to the rites and prophecies of Kinkou, were too complex. After another week, Mikayla reluctantly admitted to herself that Lanny was right: She needed one of the kings' crowns if she was to have any chance at translating the elaborate language.

Mason would never agree to that. She knew better than to ask. There was only one person on Kinkou who would agree to let her—ahem—'borrow' one of the royal crowns: The one person who wanted Brady back as much as she did.

The problem was that there was not a chance in hell of her getting a message to Boomer, much less getting to him in person to borrow the crown…

"Hey, Parker."

Dylan's voice made Mikayla jump. She had heard the footsteps and, since there was no sound of accompanying footsteps, she had assumed it was Talia coming to dinner. To her chagrin, the boy plopped down beside the fire a bit too close for Mikayla's liking. "Seriously, is that the only shirt you have? Not that you are aren't rocking the flannel farmer look…"

"Where's Talia?" Mikayla asked in lieu of a welcome.

"Mom's sick," he answered. "She told me to bring you this." Dylan offered her a foil-wrapped piece of fish and a small bottle of the not-apple not-wine.

"She shouldn't worry about cooking for me, especially when she's sick." Mikayla indiscreetly scooted away from the boy. She carefully averted her eyes, knowing he was staring at her. "What's wrong with her?"

"Just a little cold."

Mikayla knew there was no such thing as a 'little' malady in Kirikama. Medicine was harder to come by than food in the tent city. "I'll get her medicine," she promised.

He laughed in disbelief. "Where are you going to get medicine?"

"I have friends," she said succinctly.

Dylan's grin disappeared. "Friends?" He fidgeted. "Like a boyfriend?"

Mikayla hid her cringe, her agitation increasing tenfold. The question was not at all cleverly disguised as a harmless query. "Yes."

That deflated him a bit. She hoped he got the message.

He didn't. "So, where is he then?"

Mikayla's face darkened. "He's dead," she said bluntly, picking at the food he'd brought. She wasn't hungry anymore.

Dylan let out a little gasp of shock. "Oh." He fumbled for something to say to that, but the best he could come up with was: "That sucks."

"Yeah. That sucks." He didn't seem to be picking up the subtle 'go away' vibe she was sending out, so Mikayla tried to telepathically will him to leave.

Instead, he tried scooting towards her again. "What's that book you're always reading? It's one monster book…"

Subtlety wasn't getting rid of him, so Mikayla tried outright rudeness: "None of your business."

"I was just being polite!"

Something in Mikayla snapped. "Don't. Don't be polite. Don't stare at me with those puppy-dog eyes. I can't handle it, okay? I don't want help. I don't want friends. And I don't want to be hit on. I want to be left alone!"

"Hey, whatever, girl! That's fine." Dylan stood up, glaring at her. "Sit here with your musty books and feel sorry for yourself if that's what you want. And don't bother with the medicine or the charity fishes, Parker, we don't want your help either!" He stomped down the beach.

She hadn't lied, but still, Mikayla felt bad for hurting him. She let him stomp away knowing it was the right thing to do. She'd send a letter to Mason and he'd make sure Talia got medicine…

Wait a minute…

"Dylan!" she called.

The boy made a rude gesture over his shoulder at her, but didn't look back or stop walking.

With an exasperated growl, Mikayla chased after him. She grabbed him by the shoulder, and when he jerked away, she pinned his arm behind his back until he finally stopped.

"Ow, are you…"

"Yeah, yeah, crazy. I know." When he didn't try to run, Mikayla let him go. She tore a blank corner of one page from the book and scribbled a message onto it. "I can get you the medicine, but I need a favor from you in return. Take this note to the royal palace and don't give it to anyone except King Boomer. He'll make sure you get whatever you need, I promise."

"Why would the king even open the door for me?"

"Tell him you've got funnel cakes. It works."

Dylan stared, trying to decide if he believed her. Finally, he took the note and, with a nod, set off on the long walk to the palace.

Mikayla watched the boy go. Sending him was a gamble. She had to gather up her belongings and get out of Kirikama before he returned. She would have to find another place to hide. Mason would recognize the vellum paper and know who sent the message. Dylan would tell them where she was. Her father and the guards would follow Dylan back to Kirikama.

She was counting on it.

There was no way to knock on a tent flap, but, as it turned out, Mikayla needn't bother. Talia saw her shadow pass across the canvas. Her kindly face-nose red and eyes bright from a fever-peered quizzically at the girl. "Whatever are you doing, creeping about?" she asked.

"Dylan said you were sick," Mikayla answered. She held out a fistful of roots she'd collected from the nearby jungle. "This won't cure it, but it will help until Dylan gets back."

The older woman emerged from the tent, wrapped in a threadbare blanket and settled by her campfire. Mikayla fetched some more driftwood and built up the fire. She poured water into a kettle, droped the roots into the kettle, and set it over the flames. "And where is it my boy has gone?" Talia asked around a coughing fit.

"I have—friends—who can get some medicine for you."

"I see." Talia waited, sensing more was coming.

"I also wanted to tell you thank you for everything you did for me," Mikayla added.

Talia arched an eyebrow. "Are you going somewhere?"

Mikayla nodded.

The older woman nodded in approval. "Good. It's time you go back home, child. He would not like you sitting in your tent all day and all night being sad." Talia sniffed at the boiling roots in the pot and made a face at the odor.

"'He', who?"

"You know who I mean, Mika Parker…" Talia answered. "Brady. You know him? The king of Kinkou…Brady Parker." She smiled at the younger woman's shocked expression. "Yes, I know who you really are, Mikayla Mikula. Why do you think I not turn you over to the guards the day you hid in my tent? Everyone know you-the hero who saved Kinkou from Queen Paiama of Tayamo." The woman spat in the sand to show her contempt for the queen witch.

Mikayla shook her head. "Everyone knows wrong. Brady was the one who stopped Paiama."

"Yes, I know the story, child," Talia said sympathetically.

"Why didn't you tell the royal guards about me when they came here?"

The older woman jutted her chin out defiantly. "How you mourn and where is your business, not theirs. They say you steal something of value…but all you have is that book. I see your nose stuck in it all the time. Did you find what you look for?"

"I could only translate little pieces of it. Most of the book is written in an ancient language I can't read." Mikayla nervously poked at the fire with a stick. "Everyone's telling me I'm in shock, but…do you believe destiny can be changed, Talia?"

She gave a snort. "My children and I live in a tent on a beach. If that destiny, then destiny can kiss my ass, child."

Mikayla seconded that sentiment. She poured the root tea into the cleanest cup she could find and passed it to Talia.

The woman nearly gagged on the foul tasting brew, but did not spit it out. After a few more swallows, her upset stomach began to calm and her coughing calmed a bit. She rested for a moment before asking. "You think it not King Brady's destiny to die? You still believe the prophecy of the Golden Age?"

"Let's just say I like that destiny a lot better than this one."

"You go to the village every other day to send your letters. You walk through the jungle to get there, but you don't look at it, do you? Look at it now. Tell me what you see."

The request confused Mikayla, but she humored the woman. She stood up so that she could see the nearby trees and plants, giving them careful scrutiny this time. It took several minutes, but she gradually began to see that something was, indeed, odd about the jungle. A few more minutes and Mikayla knew what was wrong. "No fruit…no berries…"

"The volcano begin to erupt the day of the king's funeral. The ash block the sunlight. It fall on the jungle. It fall into the water. That just this side of the island. I hear stories that the Dark Side of the island being burned by the lava flows," Talia explained. "Do you not notice it take you longer each day to catch fish? Or that the fish get smaller each time? The island not feeding us anymore."

Mikayla blanched in shock. "The mountain and the kings are connected," she repeated.

"The mountain trying to tell us something. Maybe it tell us a king died who was not meant to be dead…just like you say, child. So, I say that I hope you do change destiny. For the sake of Kinkou."

"I hope so, too, Talia," Mikayla said, "but not for Kinkou."

Mikayla reached the palace in time to watch, hidden behind the seawall, as Dylan delivered her note. As she had hoped, Mason had taken one look at the vellum and deduced who had sent the boy. Her father gathered the guards. Dylan flatly refused to lead them to 'Mika' until they produced the medicine he'd been promised. Boomer had been drawn to the plaza by the commotion. Mason gave him the note. The two of them exchanged words quickly, while Mahama fetched the palace physician.

Just as she'd hoped, a short time later, Mason, Dylan, and the guards left the palace, heading in the direction of Kirikama. It would take them all night to get there, Mikayla knew. That didn't matter. What mattered was that Boomer had not joined the search party.

Sneaking past the remaining guards had been easy.

Standing on the balcony of the bedroom that the twin kings' had shared in the castle's high tower was the part that was killing Mikayla inside.

The room was dark. Only the spill of light from the full moon illuminated the room. Mikayla stood on the balcony for the longest time, trying to muster the strength to walk into the room. It had been a month, but Mikayla felt like it was yesterday that she had last stood in this room. She tried to brace herself, told herself this was necessary, and tried not to think about where she was.

But the defenses she carefully built up crumbled the moment she stepped into the room.

From the looks of the room, the last month had been as deep a hell for King Boomer as it had been for her. She noticed the differences immediately. The pool table was gone. The couch was gone. The t.v. and the X-Box were gone. The skateboards, the surfboards, and all other playthings that had once been scattered around the room were missing. The floor was not littered with food wrappers and dirty clothes and broken pieces of the vases that the boys had seemed to break on a weekly basis.

In their place, the room had been tastefully and carefully decorated with important pieces of art and a few of the non-dangerous Kinkouan artifacts. It was exactly how the room had been set up before the twin kings had returned to the island and-well, replaced everything tasteful and dignified with everything that a teenage boy with unlimited funds and no parental supervision would ever want in his own private living space. The impersonal decor gave the room the look of a museum more than a living space. There was a desk, piled high with scrolls and books and paperwork, and an uncomfortable looking desk chair. The desk faced the wall where the portrait of Brady and Boomer's parents was hung. Beside that portrait, there was now another painting of the twin kings. Except for the family portraits, the room was now sterile and joyless. She wondered if Boomer even lived in here anymore. If she were him, she didn't think she could.

One other thing was the same: The two twin beds remained, both neatly made. Brady's crown still hung on a hook by his bed, and his guitar was carefully laid on top of the blue bed spread. Both the crown and the guitar were being meticulously preserved. At the sight of them, Mikayla drew a shuddering breath to fight back a fresh stab of grief. She could not lose control. Not now. She swallowed around the painful lump in her throat and determinedly marched over to the bed.

Her fingers just brushed the crown on the wall when she heard Boomer's quiet voice: "You can't have that."

He was leaning in the doorway. She was not surprised that he had been watching. She was surprised at his appearance, though. He'd lost at least ten pounds and his eyes were ringed with dark circles from sleepless nights. His normally short hair had been shaved for the mourning period. Boomer was staring at Mikayla, and she supposed she probably looked more like a train-wreck than the king did.

This was confirmed by his next words. "You been using your machete to cut that hair, girl? That's just a nasty look on you."

She swallowed hard, her voice gravelly when she answered: "You're one to talk, cue ball. I can see my reflection on that dome of yours-ugh, you're right. Not a good look for me." Her tone was light, and it felt surprisingly nice to joke, feeble though it was. She didn't think she had even attempted a joke in the last month.

Very tentatively, as if worried she might bolt like a frightened animal, Boomer crossed the room and caught Mikayla in a gentle hug. For a millisecond, she let herself take some comfort from the embrace of friend, but it reminded her again of Brady and threatened her tentative control over her emotions. She broke the hug quickly and retreated several steps.

"You know, you didn't have to drop off the face of the Earth," Boomer told her. "We've been worried sick about you…"

Mikalya folded her arms, feeling bad for causing them more pain when they were already coping with their grief over Brady. Just from the looks of King Boomer, from the wreck of the bedroom, she could tell their grief had been worse than she'd ever imagined. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I really am…I just…"

"Don't be sorry, Mikayla. I don't think I could have got through the last month without you and Mason."

She snorted. "I didn't do anything. I ran and hid…"

"You love Brady."

"Yeah."

"And not because it's your 'job'."

"No."

Boomer moved to stand in front of his family's pictures, staring at the faces of the loved ones he'd lost sadly. "You know, that first night after the funeral, I had all my bags packed. I was going back to Chicago."

She was shocked. "What?"

"It's true. I know it's lousy to say, but-I just hated the Tayamans and I hated this island. It took my family from me. Besides…" He stared at the floor, not really sure how to put it into words. "Brady's always been there. Every time we got creamed in a dodge ball game, every time we got stuffed into our lockers, every time we accidentally woke up volcanos or mummies and you gave us that glare-yeah, like that one you're giving me right now-at least we were getting clobbered and screwing up together. I didn't want to be king without my brother. I didn't know if I could be king without him."

Mikayla's glare softened. "I think I know what you're saying. Why did you stay?"

"For one thing, I have a castle. If I gave it back, Brady would haunt me like those ghosts from Poltergeist. I'm serious…he told me that the night when Lanny accidentally mistook phiphi berries for blueberries and put them in Brady's smoothie? You remember that? Brady was convinced he'd been poisoned. He spent the whole night praying to the porcelain goddess and curling up in the corner whimpering."

Yes, she did, and she also remembered gently suggesting their cousin not make the same mistake again while dangling Lanny by his ankles from the castle's tower. "Yeah…accidentally."

"Besides, the way you and Mason care about me and Brady…what you've been willing to do for that last month just to try to save Brady…it made me feel like I still have a real family here, like I haven't been going through this alone. You really don't know what that means to me."

She still looked doubtful, so he gave Mikayla a quick kiss on the forehead, cringing as he got a whiff of the girl. "You really do smell like the inside of a boot."

"Another two months without a bath, and I'll tie your record," she countered.

He made a show of fanning the air. "You're starting to draw flies, though. Tell you what, first thing in the morning, we'll get you a nice flea dip…"

She slugged his arm lightly. "I didn't come here to be insulted."

"I know. Lanny told me the two of you had a chat before you stole the book from Brady's funeral."

Mikayla winced. "I'm sorry about that. I needed the book. I couldn't let the Shaman take it. I know it seemed a little crazy."

"Let's just say it didn't seem not crazy," Boomer agreed.

"You've seen what's been happening with Mount Spew?"

He arched an eyebrow. "Oh, you mean the giant volcano that's been causing earthquakes and spitting out ash clouds that have been blocking the sun for a month? Yeah, I kinda noticed. The Head Elder and the Shaman said the volcano's pissed off because I yakked nachos on a sacred shrub or something. Mason thinks it's because you were right about Brady, but he's not allowed to go against them or they'll boot his butt out of here."

Mikayla was shocked. "Dad believes me now?"

"He always believes in you, Mikayla. If you didn't high-tail it into the Kirikama, you would know that. You got to have some faith in us."

She blushed. "I was afraid the Shaman would take the book."

"Well, you were right about that much. The Shaman has the Elders on his side. He cares more about keeping whatever secrets are in than book than saving my brother. If he catches you here with that book, he will definitely take it from you, and there's nothing me or Mason can do about it." There was anger bubbling beneath the king's words. Mikayla heard the tension in his tone. She shared it.

Boomer walked to the two beds and lifted his own crown off its hook. He offered it to Mikayla. "Anyway, Lanny said you would need one of our crowns. This one, you can borrow."

She accepted it gratefully.

"So, how is my crown going to help you with that book?" he wanted to know.

Mikayla turned the crown over, examining it carefully. As many times as she'd handled the kings' crowns, she had never given them much scrutiny. As she studied them now, she saw the symbols that Lanny had mentioned. "Part of the book is written in a dead dialect from centuries ago. The engravings on the inside bands of the crowns are the key to translating it."

"That's what those weird letters are? Brady and I thought it was that funky elf language from Lord of the Rings."

Mikayla might have laughed under any other circumstances. "The ancient kings needed to make sure the ancient languages could be recreated. What better place to hide a Rosetta Stone than someplace where they'd be sure it would never be lost?" She pulled the book from her backpack. Clearing a space on the cluttered desk for the book, she opened it to the oldest section and quickly set to work. It wouldn't do for her father or the Shaman to return and catch her here.

He nodded. "Rosetta Stone…like that computer cd that Brady bought to learn Latin."

She did a double-take at that. "Brady speaks Latin?"

"Well, kind of. He was in his 'Brady Potter' phase…he saw this dvd that convinced him Hogwarts was a real school. He was sure if he learned Latin he could transfer there, become a wizard, and marry Hermoine Granger." Boomer patted her shoulder. "Don't be jealous."

That time, the laugh escaped before Mikayla could help it and faded almost as quickly. "I miss Brady."

"Me, too, girl. Me, too."

"Can you read it, now?"

Boomer had tried to hide his anxiety as the hours crawled by. He tried leave Mikayla alone so she could concentrate by occupying himself with watching from the balcony for signs of Mason's return or the Shaman and distracting the remaining guards. But with the approach of dawn, his restlessness grew. Mason would surely have reached the Kirikama by now and found out that Mikayla had tricked him. He'd be on his way back to the palace as fast as those sasquatch legs could carry him.

She hadn't heard him. Mikayla was absorbed in her work, concentrating so intently that she barely moved a muscle except to flip the pages. Boomer hoped that was a good sign.

"Mikayla? It's getting light out," he tried again. He hesitated to ask the next question, lest the answer not be the one he'd hoped for all these weeks. "You find something in that witch doctor's book?"

She finally blinked…at least that was some acknowledgement of the question. "I've never seen some of the stories in this book. But, this might be something. Boomer, come see this." Mikayla waved him over to the desk. He came to look over her shoulder. The smeared symbols on the yellowed pages all looked like chicken scratch to him. If she could pull one word out of that mess, Boomer was impressed. The pictures were more obvious-some depicted Mount Spew, some were little stick figures of ancient Kinkouans, and one…

"Hey, I recognize that." Boomer pointed to one of the drawings. "That's the Royal Tomb. And that thing…that was inside the tomb when we…." He trailed off, bad memories returning in a rush.

Mikayla squeezed his fingers lightly. "That's the Totem of the Kings. You saw it in the tomb? Are you sure?"

"I'm not going to forget my brother's funeral, Mikayla. I'm sure. You didn't know that?"

Mikayla shook her head. "Only Shaman and royals are allowed inside the tomb."

"That's right…the shaman said the door to the tomb would only open for a member of the royal family," Boomer remembered. "He said that the tomb was booby-trapped to keep out grave robbers."

"Grave robbers and practitioners of dark magic." Mikayla pointed to a section of text that she had been deciphering. "This part of the book talks about ancient queen Satchi. She had twin sons, too. The older son grew to be a strong and powerful king. The second son-he was killed as an infant. Murdered by the tarantula people. The queen was so stricken by grief that, on the day of the funeral, before the infant was returned to the fires of Mount Spew, she begged the shaman to find a way to save the boy. The shaman took pity on her and used a forbidden spell from the dark side to create a stone called the Kahiki-Mandula. He instructed her to put the stone into the eye of the Totem and..."

Mikayla paused, frowning at the inscription. "To restore the dead, the Kahiki-Mandula requires two things: A piece of he who was lost and a soul willing to take his place among the spirits. Queen Satchi grieved this news for her son's body had already been committed to the fires of Mount Spew and there was nothing left of him for the stone, not even a single drop of his blood, to resurrect…"

The stone needed part of Brady. It needed Brady's DNA, and it needed a sacrifice. Her heart sank. Brady was gone…cremated by the lava of the volcano just like his ancestor.

Where was Mikayla going to get a Brady's DNA? And if she did, how was she going to get the stone into the Totem of the Kings when it was sealed inside a tomb that only Boomer and the Shaman could access? And if they could get to the totem, who was going to willingly die for Brady?

There were only three people on Kinkou who would make such a sacrifice. If she set foot inside, she might be killed by the booby traps before she reached the totem.

Boomer would do that for his brother in a heartbeat. Mikayla was sure of that. But, Brady would never forgive her if she let Boomer trade himself for his brother, and she would be damned if she'd be the reason Boomer died, too.

If her father believed in the stone, he would try. The booby traps would kill him just as they would kill her, but Mason would trade his life for Brady's just as surely as he would trade it for Mikayla's. She knew that, and she'd never allow that, either.

No, it would have to be her. It should have been her in the first place. This is how it was supposed to be.

Boomer couldn't find out, and neither could her father. They would stop her. As it was, they would never forgive her. Neither would Brady if this worked.

Mikayla frowned. She didn't have Brady's DNA, and without it there was no point in wondering who should volunteer for a suicidal ritual. Too bad Boomer and Brady were not identical twins…

The shirt. The shirt that Brady never washed.

She glanced at the dirty flannel shirt she had worn for the past few weeks. She tried to remember-she hadn't washed it. Kirikama had no laundry facilities except for the ocean. Mikayla had taken off the plaid overshirt and worn only her baggy t-shirt whenever she went into the water, needing the overshirt to stay dry for warmth. The shirt hadn't come into contact with water. Despite the fact that Mikayla's scent mingled with it, the shirt still smelled faintly of Brady. It still had a couple small bloodstains where Brady had scraped his arms during his and Boomer's misguided idea to invent jet-roller skating.

The shirt still has Brady's DNA. That means there's still a chance.

"Mikayla?" Boomer tapped her shoulder. "Head in the game, Mikayla."

She covered quickly: "I…uh…can't translate this part," she lied, "but the gist is that the stone could bring the dead prince back to life…but only if it was not his time to die."

Boomer could guess where this was headed. "But, it was his time?"

"Yes, but, the queen kept the Kahiki-Mandula stone in hopes that someday it would find the way to the one it was meant to save." Mikayla turned the page.

She and Boomer both gasped at the illustration. "That's the stone in the Shaman's necklace!" Boomer recognized it. "He was wearing that the day of Brady's funeral."

"Queen Satchi gave it to her trusted Shaman. The shaman have guarded it ever since."

The king slumped down on the foot of his bed. "That little rat…he was with me at the tomb. He had the stone. The totem was right there…and he didn't say a word." He slammed his fist against the mattress, since it wouldn't exactly be proper kingly behavior to go punch an old man in the nose.

"The Shaman are supposed to prevent the use of dark magic…even by kings. He was doing what he believed was right, Boomer."

"If we can get the stone away from him, do you still think we can save Brady? Does that book tell you what to do?" he asked.

The Kahiki-Mandula requires a soul willing to trade places among the spirits…

Mikayla schooled her expression carefully, not wanting to tip off Boomer that anything was amiss. "Yes."

Boomer stood, squaring his shoulders in determination. "What do you need me to do?"

She picked up the book and set it into his hands. "Return this to the Shaman."

He looked disappointed. "That's it?"

"No. We're going to need some help…"

4

It was midday before her father and the palace guards returned. The few villagers who passed by as she waited barely spared her a glance, and a few even stepped out of their way to give the scruffy-looking girl a wide berth. Mikayla hid behind a fountain in the palace's plaza, watching as the search party disbanded. She was glad to see Talia and her three children accompany the royal physician into the castle.

Only when the guards left Mason alone did she dare step out of her hiding place. "Daddy?"

He did a double-take before he recognized her. Then, he rushed to sweep her into a hug, afraid she might disappear again. "Mikayla! You had me worried, baby girl!"

"Dad, I'm sorry-" She apologized into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, too. I should have at least tried to listen to you…" Mason walked her to a bench beside the fountain, out of sight of the passing patrols. His practiced parental eye noted the dirty clothes, her slightly thinner frame, and the signs of sleepless nights, all of which could be taken care of now that Mikayla was home.

"No, you were right. I wasn't thinking. I should have listened to you." She stared at her hands, nervously picking dirt from under her nails that were chipped where they hadn't been bitten short. "I'm sorry I ran out on you and Boomer when you needed me."

Mason kept one arm wrapped around her shoulders, forgiveness conveyed in the touch. She leaned her head against his arm. "Don't be. I know why you did what you did. I wasn't lying when I said I know what you're feeling."

"How'd you survive it? Losing Mom?" she asked him.

He was quiet for a moment. His daughter was too young to remember that time and almost never asked him about it. "I had you," he answered simply. He couldn't see her face from this angle, but he heard Mikayla sniff and saw her wipe impatiently at her cheeks. He tried distracting her. "That was pretty clever hiding out in the Kirikama."

"So, you did know I was there."

Mason gave her a look of mock offense. "Who are you talking to? I tracked you down with that first note you sent. You're friends down there mean well, but they are just terrible liars. I've had Mahama down there watching you since then. He's told me everything. If you needed me, I would have been there in a heartbeat."

Mikayla blinked at him. "Why didn't you just come take the book?"

"Because, you had to deal with what happened to Brady your own way. If I'd forced you home before you were ready, you would never have forgiven me…and I wasn't about to lose you, too."

"My way? You mean going completely shetchi, waving a machete at my own guards, and stealing ancient texts from an old shaman at Brady's funeral?"

Mason squeezed her shoulders affectionately. "That's why I love you, baby girl-you always keep us on our toes. Where's the book?"

She pulled out of his hold. "King Boomer is returning it to the Shaman. Are you going to throw me in the dungeon now?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I'd better go with King Boomer and try to smooth things over with the Shaman." Mason stood up, but lingered there. "You're staying, aren't you?" he asked.

"I'm not sure if I can."

He wasn't going to push her. "You don't have to decide right now. But, we kept your room here. Stay for tonight…I want us to talk. I'll be back by dinnertime."

She smiled for his sake. "Sounds good."

When he turned away, she called after him, "Dad?"

"Yes?"

Mikayla stood up, walking over to him. "What did the Shaman say about Mount Spew and all the jungle trees that are dying?"

Mason frowned. He knew a trick question when he heard one and wondered what she was playing at. "He blamed Boomer and his nachos."

"And what do you think it means?" she pressed.

She saw the answer in his eyes, but her father covered quickly. "I'm not sure what you're asking me. Mikayla…are you sure you're okay?"

Mikayla relented. If she tried to push him to defy the Shaman and the Elders and help her, if she got him kicked out of the palace, there would be no one left whom she could truly trust to protect Boomer (and God-willing Brady if this worked).

"I will be." She stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "I love you, Dad."

"I love you, too."

Boomer found the shaman in his broken down home/van. He knocked on the side of the decrepit vehicle and heard the old man grumble in response. There was the sound of items being shoved aside and the van rocked as the shaman crawled over to push open the side door.

"I tell you already, I don't want Meerkat Scout cookies or a subscription to 'Homes On Wheels' and I'm too old for a driving test…" The old man startled to find the king standing outside his door. "Oh…my king…that ruby ring was already missing from the royal vault before I visited the castle…"

Boomer interrupted, "I'm not here about…what ruby ring?"

"I didn't say anything about a ruby ring…"

"Yeah…okay. Anyway, I'm here because I brought you something." Boomer held out the Book of the Shaman.

The elder's eyes widened when he saw the artifact. Reverently, he accepted the book from the boy. "So, the shetchi finally came to her senses?"

"That's my daughter you're talking about." Mason happened onto the scene in time to overhear the insult.

"Mason? What are you doing here?" Boomer asked nervously. He sidestepped towards the van, hoping to block the man's view of the small, furry creature that was climbing down from the back of Boomer's overshirt and skittering swiftly under the van.

"Mikayla told me you were returning the book." He glared at the Shaman. "I wanted to make sure it was accepted with forgiveness and politeness."

"I meant 'shetchi' in the 'feisty, spirited, full of surprises' way, not the 'demented she-demon' way," the Shaman quickly amended.

Mason nodded. "That's what I thought. Can I trust you'll return that book to the archives?"

"Of course. I just need to look up the potion to cure a toe-eating fungus, then I'll take it right back…" The Shaman searched for a place among his pile of possessions to safely stow the book.

"Look up the cure for having a slight case of being transforming into a weasel while you're reading, old man."

"Hey!"

The Shaman had the odd sensation of tiny claws climbing up his leg. Preoccupied with Boomer and Mason and the book, he had not seen the small weasel climb in the open driver's side window of the van. Lanny jumped from the driver's seat to the Shaman's neck. His sharp teeth sliced through the cord around the man's neck. Before the Shaman or Mason knew what was happening, Lanny had scrambled down the elder's back and jumped out of the van, the cord holding the Kahiki-Mandula stone clutched in his teeth.

"What the-?" Mason yelped as the weasel scampered across his foot in its haste to escape. "Lanny?"

"I'm a weasel for a month and nobody notices? Seriously?" the weasel-boy complained to the royal advisor as he ran past.

Boomer tried to hold back Mason, but all he could accomplish was managing to lean against the much taller and burlier man. "Lanny, run!"

"Yeah, yeah, just keep up your side of the deal, chrome dome," Lanny squeaked back.

"People have got to stop ragging on my hair," Boomer complained.

The Shaman gestured wildly at the retreating creature. "He has the Kahiki-Mandula! Stop him!"

Mason leveled a stare at Boomer that promised he'd deal with the king soon before he chased after Lanny.

Boomer turned back to the Shaman. "By the way, I'm going to need to borrow this…" He showed the shaman the page he'd torn from the book before he'd returned it. "…I promised Lanny the potion to change him back into…well, as close to human as he gets. I may hang on to it for a while before I give it to him; I kind of like him better as a rodent. Oh, and I wouldn't mind one of those Meerkat Scout cookies before I go."

The Shaman glared at the king, shaking his head and muttering to himself. "Sasquatch, shetchi, talking weasels, kings who dress as flying squirrels…the whole palace is full of lunatics."

Mikayla had waited at the palace plaza. Having the four legs and the animal speed, plus the ability to dash beneath the undergrowth while Mason had to stick to the trails, Lanny had easily outrun Mason and got to Mikayla first. By the time Mason reached the plaza, Lanny had already given the Kahiki-Mandula stone to her and retreated back to the safety of his temporary home in the palace walls.

Dylan was waiting down on the beach, in response to Mikayla's message. He had brought some of the shadier denizens from the tent city with him, as requested.

"Mom says thanks for the medicine," he said by way of greeting. He had her backpack ready and waiting, also as requested.

"Thanks for coming," she told him. She checked the pack. It was everything she'd asked for, down to the rope and grappling hook. Hopefully, it was everything that she would need once she got to the tomb. She couldn't afford to forget something.

He shrugged. "Guess I owe you a favor. So, what is it you want us to do?"

She gestured to the palace and the approaching guards. "Remember the day we met? Think you can stall them again?"

"Oh, I think we can give you a head start, all right." He waved for her to go as he and his cohorts moved to intercept her pursuers.

Dylan grinned, rather looking forward to his task.

Mikayla ran.

It had been a month since she'd last set foot on this path, and she had been running that day as well. The shadows that followed her along the winding road now were no less terrifying than the flesh and blood demons that she and Brady had pursued on that horrible day.

She thought she almost felt the warmth of his fingers intertwined with hers now, as they had been on that terrible day. But, that sensation was fleeting and gone in an instant, leaving nothing but the feel of the cold stone that Mikayla clung to as though her life depended upon it.

She half expected her father and the palace guards to appear on the trail ahead, to bar her path and forbid her from carrying out her plan. She prayed they wouldn't; she had no wish to fight him—time was too precious and if she had to face him again, Mikayla was not sure she could go through with her plan.

Mikayla faltered as she came to the dreadful spot on the riverbank, the place where Brady had died. She averted her eyes from the riverbank, closed her mind to everything except the thought of reaching the hill. She would be seeing Brady again before this day was over…one way or another.

She didn't bother running for the Royal Tomb. If she should happen to reach it before her father, the shaman, and the guards, she wouldn't be able to open the door without Boomer. Her goal was the tunnel that ran beneath the tomb. She only hoped she wouldn't find it full of lava. If it was…

It won't be, Mikayla prayed.

High above, Mount Spew rumbled and fireballs shot from the mouth of the volcano, arching through the sky. The ground gave a violent shake, nearly tossing her off her feet. Mikayla shouted back at the angry mountain, "Yeah, yeah, I'm working on it!"

She found the mouth of the tunnel. Steam poured from it, but it was mercifully free of molten rock at the moment. That didn't mean Mount Spew wouldn't decide to punish her for the death of Brady, the theft of the book, and the theft of the stone by filling the tube with a lava flow and incinerating her before she reached the tomb. She had come this far; there was no turning back now.

"If I'm right," she told the mountain, "then you want Brady back just as much as I do. So…don't vaporize me just yet. Deal?"

The tunnel stayed dark and lava-free. It was hot, but not unbearably so. In the distance, the rumblings of the volcano slowly quieted.

Mikayla nodded. "Okay, then. Here I go."

She pulled a flashlight from her backpack and made her way into the tunnel. The lava tube curved upwards, following the slope of the foothills where the tomb. Mikayla walked as far as she could, and then crawled as the tunnel narrowed and the incline became steeper. The deeper she moved into the mountain, the more the air stank of sulfur and the heat in the tunnel increased.

It was hard to estimate how far she had gone, but after about a half-hour, the tunnel suddenly leveled. The passage opened into a large cavern. Several meters down from where the tunnel opened, a pool of lava glowed. Mikayla skirted the perimeter of the cave, carefully avoiding the drop-off into the molten rock. She glanced to the roof of the cavern, searching until she spied the grate there.

That was it. The Royal Tomb. Mikayla may have never been inside the mausoleum, but she knew the tomb's main chamber had an opening that allowed the royal coffins to fall into that pool of lava of Mount Spew so the deceased could join the ancient royal spirits. She swallowed nervously at the idea.

She studied the cavern and then the grate. If there were booby-traps…and she was certain there were….Mikayla could not detect them. That only made her more nervous.

She didn't have time for hesitation or fear. Her father and the guards weren't far behind her. They would take the mountain path above and have Boomer open the tomb for them. Boomer would stall, but Mason wouldn't be delayed for long. Mikayla had to get there first.

Mikayla took a grappling hook, a rope, and a harness from her backpack next. The grate wasn't too far up, but high enough that she could only reach it with the hook. She swung the rope and tossed the hook towards the grate, missing completely. She was throwing from a tricky angle, and adrenaline, fear, and urgency distracted her and broke her concentration. She had to calm down, concentrate, clear her mind…

Very quietly, she started to hum, "Old MacDonald had a farm…"

Another swing, and again the hook bounced off the grate.

"…ee-i-ee-i-o…"

Another miss.

"…and on that farm he had a pig…"

The hook bounced off the grate and missed falling on Mikayla's head by inches.

"Right…anything but a pig…sorry…and on that farm he had a…had a…two-headed ice breathing dragon…with cheese fingers..."

The hook snagged the grate.

Mikayla grinned. "Thought you'd like that one…"

She gave the rope a tug. The hook held fast. Fastening the harness to the rope and strapping herself in, Mikayla climbed as quickly as she dared. She was not hampered in the slightest by the backpack and the weight of the Kahiki-Mandula stone.

When she reached the grate, she hung there, using the flashlight to illuminate the inside of the tomb above. She saw the Totem of the Kings standing against the far wall of the tomb and the space in the top of the totem where the stone should be placed. Next, she examined the area around the grate, looking for a button or hidden trigger that would open it. She spotted an oddly shaped stone that could only be camouflaging the gate's release.

Mikayla knew there was another purpose for the grate. There was a warning written in the Book of the Shaman where the burial rites were detailed. In order to deter grave robbers who might desecrate the royal tomb for the jewels inlaid into the Totem of the Kings or the gold that lined its walls, when the grate was opened, the lava pool below would rise and fill the tomb. Not being royal-born, they would not be able to open the door to the tomb. They would be trapped.

That was probably the other reason the Book of the Shaman warned that the Kahiki-Mandula stone could only be used by someone willing to sacrifice their life.

Last chance to change your mind.

Like that was going to happen.

"One…two…three!" Mikayla laced her fingers through the grate and, bracing herself, pressed the trigger.

She was almost dislodged when the grate lurched and began to grind open. Struggling to hang on, Mikayla swung herself up onto the solid stone floor of the dark tomb.

There was another violent quake as Mount Spew rumbled in reaction to the violation of the tomb. Mikayla made the mistake of looking down at the lava. The molten rock churned and rose toward the chamber faster than she had anticipated.

She pushed herself to her feet—no easy task as the floor shook beneath her feet-and ran for the totem. She tore the sleeve from the plaid shirt and wrapped it around the Kahiki-Mandula stone. Lava had already reached the opening in the floor by the time Mikayla reached the dais where the totem stood. Heart-pounding in her ears, Mikayla shut her mind to everything except recalling and reciting the incantation from the book and shoved the flannel-wrapped stone into its place in the totem.

Please work…

Nothing happened.

She had expected something-a ball of lightning, a sudden, bright, supernatural light, a reaction from the Totem of the Kings…some sign that it had worked, that she hadn't really just done something completely insane and pointless that was going to get her killed.

Nothing happened. The lava continued to rise, its white hot glow illuminating the room as it oozed slowly towards her. The ground continued to quake. The totem stared back at her with lifeless, impassive stone eyes.

Brady did not magically reappear.

Mikayla could have screamed for despair, but the fight was drained from her. She screwed up somehow. She translated the book wrong. Maybe the DNA on the shirt wasn't enough. She stared at the approaching lava, which was nearly to her toes.

Or maybe the totem wants its sacrifice first.

Clinging to that last thread of hope, she sat down on the dais and closed her eyes, waiting for the first pain of molten rock searing her skin…

Instead, she felt the gentle touch of fingers brushing against her cheek.

Mikayla's eyes snapped open.

The light in the room was as intense as the heat pouring from the deepening lava. She squinted into the glare and blindly extended her hand. Mikayla gasped at the feeling…and the sight…of warm fingers wrapping around her outstretched hand. Forgetting the totem, the lava, the rumbling mountain-forgetting to breathe-Mikayla followed those ghostly fingers to an arm and then to the spectral figure that had appeared before her.

"Brady?"

She thought he might have smiled at her. She thought she felt the brush of his lips against hers. Mikayla focused entirely on that touch as the lava finally stung her toes and the glow from the stone buried within the totem outshined the lava and filled up her senses until the world whited out into nothingness.

5

Mikayla awoke, sitting bolt upright in bed, her throat raw from the screams that tore from her soul. She was breathing in ragged pants, nearly hyperventilating, and her knuckles were white from her fingers gripping the blankets.

Breathing. Why was she still breathing? Her mind was still filled with images of white light and white-hot lava both enveloping her. She blinked, trying to clear her tear-blurred vision. There was a cave and a tomb…how did she end up in a bed?

She squinted into the moon-kissed darkness and realized she was not in her sleeping bag in her tent in the Kirikama. She was in her old bed in the palace.

The room was exactly as she'd left it-she had left it, hadn't she?-over a month ago. The scant items she'd taken with her when she'd run away were back in their proper places. The calendar on cell phone by her bed still read…

…August 30?

But, this should be October. It had been September…September 30 was the day that Brady died…

What the hell…?

"Mikayla!"

The bedroom door flew open, and her father burst into the room, clad in his gingham pajamas and wielding a particularly nasty-looking machete…and decidedly not bald. He flipped on the lights, his eyes scanning the room for signs of an intruder. He relaxed, only a fraction, when he spotted his daughter lying safe in her bed and no traces of an attacker. Safe, but he noted that her face was pale as the dead and her face was streaked with tears. "Mikayla? What happened, baby girl? Bad dream?"

Bad dream? Mikayla blinked. No, it couldn't have been a dream…she remembered every detail of every agonizing minute of the last horrible month. She still felt the heat of the steam from the lava tunnels. The chime of the funeral gong still sounded in her ears. She felt the warm wind off the ocean in the Kirikama. She still felt the memory of a kiss from ghostly lips…

"Daddy…? What-? Where-?"

"Who is doing all the yelling?" With that question, Boomer stumbled ungracefully into the room, still wiping sleep from his eyes and scratching a head that also was no longer clean-shaven. He wielded an umbrella defensively, searching like Mason for Mikayla's non-existent attacker.

Mikayla gaped at him. "Boomer…your hair…"

Boomer beamed, running his free hand along his head. "Yep, I roll out of bed looking this good. I don't blame you for being impressed," he boasted.

He looked over his shoulder. "Of course, not all of are so lucky…" Boomer taunted the rumpled, half-asleep figure who followed him into the room.

Mikayla gasped.

Boomer stared at the banana that Brady was brandishing like a club. "And what exactly were you planning on doing with that?"

Brady pouted. "Hello, have our years of carefully studying cartoons taught you nothing?" He peeled the banana, then quite deliberately dropped the peel onto the floor behind him. "The intruder makes a run for it, steps on the banana peel, and blam, down the stairs he goes. Instant knockout. Problem solved," he explained around a mouthful of the fruit.

"You are completely useless without your full twelve hours of sleep, bro," Boomer shook his head. "That's the dumbest idea I've…"

"Brady?"

The soft word abruptly halted the twins' debate. They turned to the ashen-faced girl on the bed.

Mikayla stared at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. He looked real, flesh and blood, not a specter or a figment of her imagination…but that couldn't be. She remembered. Brady was dead and this was not real. This was some kind of dream. She'd reach out and he'd disappear beneath her touch, propelling her back into her world of grief and misery. She would not torture herself by allowing even a spark of hope to alight in her heart. She would not believe this.

She was not back in her old room.

She was not getting out of her bed and walking across her old floor.

She was not reaching out.

She did not feel warm, living skin beneath her hand.

She did not smell the familiar scent of hair gel, cheese fingers, fruit smoothies, and that godawful cologne.

"Brady?"

Brady would have been weirded out by Mikayla's odd behavior even if he wasn't still half-asleep. She was circling him, staring at him, and poking him in the arm and shoulder like she wasn't convinced he was really there. He took a step back from the girl, unsettled. "Mikayla?"

Her eyes widened. Ohmygod…this is real.

Mikayla suddenly flung her arms around his neck, squeezing so tightly that Brady gave a muffled squawk to loosen up her grip so he could breathe. She felt solid, living arms tentatively catch her around her waist.

Unprepared for her impulsive pounce, Brady was thrown a bit off-balance and stumbled backwards a couple steps. His foot caught the discarded banana peel, sending both of them tumbling to the floor.

"I stand corrected. That worked pretty good, bro," Boomer apologized with amusement.

Mikayla woke the second time to the unfamiliar feeling of a warm body beside her on her bed, This time, her memory returned in a rush, and she lifted her head, breathing out before she was fully coherent, "Brady?"

"Still here."

His voice was right beside her. Surprised, she turned to find him stretched out on top of the bedspread. He was still watching her with utter befuddlement, and he was unable to climb off the bed because the sleeping girl had a death grip on the front of his t-shirt.

"Brady, what h-?"

"Yeah, sorry about that. Kinda fell down one or two flights of stairs after we hit that peel," he explained. "You kind of bumped your head on the landing. Mason tried to pry you loose, but you yelled something about pig-women and punched him in the kidney. Don't worry, I was a perfect gentleman." Brady raised an eyebrow meaningfully and nodded to her bedside. Mason sat, machete resting across his lap, watching the boy with a smile that promised unspeakable punishment if Brady even considered taking advantage of the situation.

"Believe it," Mason told his daughter.

Boomer, on the other hand, had his cellphone pointed right at the pair on the bed. "Say, 'You Tube'!" he said before snapping a photo.

He showed the picture to his brother. "Aww…that's going to be my Christmas card this year," Brady decided.

Mikayla immediately let go of the hapless, entangled Brady. She rubbed her eyes, trying to get her jumbled thoughts to make some kind of sense.

Now that his daughter had released Brady, Mason pointed the machete at the boy and commanded, "Off."

"Right." Brady scrambled off the bed and moved to stand a discrete distance from the glaring mansquatch. He offered Mikayla a lopsided grin. "So…bad dream?"

She sat back against the pillows. "It didn't feel like a dream. It was so real."

"Been there. Dreams about pig-women can get pretty strange," Boomer nodded.

"Dude, I've told you, you need to get over your weird Miss Piggy phobia," Brady shook his head.

"Paiama would give anyone phobias…"

Mikayla hadn't meant to say that aloud, but the quiet words drew her father's attention at once. He leaned forward on his chair, giving her his undivided attention. "Paiama? As in Paiama, the Queen of Tayamo?"

Boomer frowned. "What's a Paiama?"

Brady added, "What's a Tayamo?"

"And most importantly, is she hot?" Boomer added.

"Paiama is the daughter of King Puahani of Tayamo. He was killed when their island invaded Kinkou…by your father," Mason told the kings. "Paiama's been our sworn enemy ever since that day. Mikayla, if you had a dream about her, it might have been some kind of warning that she's up to something. What exactly do you remember from the dream?"

Mikayla's gaze darted from her father to Brady. Blushing again, she averted her gaze to her bed sheets. "It's all kind of jumbled now. I remember Kinkou was invaded by the Tayamans. They seized the castle. I couldn't find you or King Boomer," she told her father. "I tried to rescue King Brady…" Her gaze returned to the dark-haired boy.

The way she was looking at him made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. "…but?" he asked, uneasy.

"Paiama had some kind of poison she was going to put in our water supply. When we stopped her, she was furious. She tried to kill me, but…Brady saved my life," she said.

He grinned. "Okay, awesome…"

"You stepped in front of her knife for me. You died."

That wiped the smile off his face. "Okay, less awesome."

Mason was stoic. "Anything else?"

"It was pretty strange. Boomer was bald. Lanny was a weasel…an actual weasel. Fur and teeth and all."

The twin kings both started to comment, but Mason's glare silenced them, save for some snickering they couldn't contain.

"There were funeral bells. Mount Spew wouldn't stop erupting. I remember hiding in the Kirikama…why was I hiding?" Mikayla concentrated, trying to recall memories that were hurriedly trying to slip away. "There was a totem…and a stone…some kind of Dark Side magic that we thought would bring Brady back…well, Boomer and I thought it would. I had Brady's shirt, I used his DNA to make the stone bring him back. Kahiki-Mandula…that was it." She wasn't about to tell them the rest.

She jumped at the metallic clang when Mason dropped his machete. He snatched up the weapon, smiling sheepishly at the teenagers. "Sorry. Hand went numb holding this all night." He stood up quickly, moving to put a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "That's quite a dream, baby girl, but you can see we're all here, safe and sound…"

"And we're keeping our hair, thank you very much," Boomer sulked. "Not that I couldn't pull off the bald look."

"You couldn't," Brady disagreed.

"And, it's almost dawn. I have patrols to assign…" Mason leveled a warning stare at the boys. "And you two are busy getting your butts out of my daughter's bedroom."

"Right," the kings answered in unison, hurrying to obey lest they risk the paternal wrath of their royal advisor. Mason ushered them towards the door all the same.

Mikayla hesitated for a moment, then climbed out of the bed, calling, "Brady, wait."

Brady held up his hands as if to say, 'Not my idea', when Mason frowned menacingly at him. He carefully stepped past the larger man and back into the bedroom.

She met him halfway across the floor, pausing to roll her eyes at the hulking figure lingering in her doorway. "Daddy, give me a minute, okay? This is weird enough. I'm all right, really."

Unhappy about it, Mason stepped outside and closed the door. "I'll be close by," he warned the boy.

Mikayla lapsed into silence. The images-from a dream? She couldn't quite convinced herself of that-might be fading, but the feelings were still as vivid and wrenching as if she had really lived them. It may have been a dream, but there was still something she had to say to him. "Listen-I know this is ridiculous, because it didn't really happen, but, I still feel like I should…thank you. For saving my life."

He seemed pleased, if still a bit baffled, by that. "Hey, all in a day's work when you're completely awesome…"

"Brady, don't joke about it, okay?" Mikayla was serious.

"Okay," he agreed.

"So…thank you," she said.

"You're welcome."

Mikayla couldn't quite bring herself to leave it at that. Oh, what the hell… She grabbed a fistful of his t-shirt again and kissed him. It was short and sweet and, to her surprise, completely mind-blowing.

When she pulled away, he stood there, stunned, for several seconds before his brain kicked in so that he could at least repeat: "Okay…"

Mikayla finally managed a smile.

Brady pointed to the door. "I'm just going to…okay…" he turned to go, praying to make an exit before he did or said something to spoil the moment.

"Brady?"

He stopped.

Mikayla was still blushing bright red, and she spoke quickly, before she second-guessed herself or talked herself out of saying them. "Ask me out."

He stumbled, catching hold of the nightstand to keep himself from falling. "Ask….you…want to go out with me?" he asked, stunned.

"Yes, I'd love to."

Completely flustered, he tried to regain his composure, but only succeeded in knocking Boomer's forgotten cell phone off the nightstand. "You would…I mean…is this because of that dream?"

"Does it matter?"

"Not even a little bit," he admitted.

She smiled again.

Brady nodded. "Well, then, I'm just going to go before Mason drags me out…oops, Boomer's phone."

"Erase that photo or the date's off," Mikayla ordered.

"Gotcha." Brady moved to retrieve the device.

Mikayla's smile disappeared and the blood drained from her face.

When Brady bent to pick up the phone, his pajama t-shirt rode up just a bit, revealing the bare skin of his back…and a jagged, white, star-shaped scar precisely where Paiama's blade had struck him in the 'dream'.

As soon as the sun came up, Mason had left the castle in a hurry. He delayed only for the time it took to order Mahama to triple the guards and post watchmen to scan the seas for any signs of vessels approaching from the direction of the island of Tayamo. He checked in on the kings and Mikayla. Boomer was busy avoiding the royal tutors in favor of surfing. Brady and Mikayla were sitting together by the fountain in the plaza. Other than the fact that Lanny had somehow gotten fleas and was running around the castle shouting for calamine lotion and swearing revenge on whoever was convenient to blame, all was secure.

Mason just needed to know it would stay that way.

He went straight to the run-down van that was the Shaman's home.

The Shaman listened to the entire story, but his answer was a dismissal. "What you say is impossible. The spirits only give messages of warning to royalty, and your daughter is not a member of the monarchy."

"I only asked if it was possible. You've met our kings. Maybe the spirits were afraid they'd get their message wrong."

"You're funny, Sasquatch," the Shaman wrinkled his nose.

Mason wasn't in the mood for jokes. "There's one way to be sure. Show me the Kahiki-Mandula."

"If it will shut you up so I can get back to my bed," the elderly man grumbled. He reached for the pendant that always hung on the chain around his neck.

The chain and the stone were gone.

The Shaman shrugged it off. "It must have come off during the night. It's here someplace."

He tried, but after a half-hour of digging through the clutter in the van, the Shaman had to admit defeat. "This doesn't mean anything."

"It means that Mikayla wasn't dreaming…no one's ever used the Kahiki-Mandula. We don't know what it does. If Brady wasn't meant to die, then it makes sense that the stone would restore the timeline back to just a few days before the Tayamans arrived."

"Feh!" the Shaman crossed his arms and pointedly turned away.

"Why not-?"

"The Kahiki-Mandula would only work if it was placed in the Totem of the Kings, inside the royal tomb. You said your daughter used the stone. According to the book, if that were true, she would have had to trade her life. She would be dead now. Since she is alive, she could not have used the stone. Satisfied?" The Shaman nodded, convinced by his own argument. He climbed back onto his lumpy mattress, preparing to settle in.

So, that's what Mikayla was keeping from him. He'd known that she was leaving out pieces of her dream when she recounted it. Now, he understood why.

Mason mulled that question, and when he did, the answer was obvious. "The Kahiki-Mandula brought her back, too."

The elderly man made a noise of exasperation at the man who was bent on depriving him of his rest. "The stone could not resurrect them both. It requires a piece of the deceased and a soul willing to trade itself for the deceased. One sacrifice gets one reincarnation, not two."

"Mikayla said she used the DNA on Brady's shirt to make the Kahiki-Mandula work. But, if she was carrying the shirt, if she was carrying the stone, her DNA would have been on there, too. Yes, Mikayla traded her life for Brady…but Brady also traded his life for Mikayla. Two sacrifices, two resurrections. Does the book actually say only one person can be brought back?"

"The book says only a member of the monarchy can be brought back. So, I'll say it again: Mikayla is not a member of the royal family!" the Shaman repeated triumphantly.

Mason thought of his daughter and Brady. They had been sitting together in the plaza talking when he slipped out of the castle that morning. The boy had said something that made her laugh, then Mikayla had linked her arm through his. The king had looked startled by the affectionate gesture, but smiled back at her.

If it were any other boy getting that close to Mikayla, Mason would have marched down to that plaza, plucked off the offender's arm like a daisy petal, and hit him over the head with it (well, perhaps not really, but the temptation to do so would have been overwhelming).

But any other boy wouldn't keep pursuing Mikayla despite the endless insults, rejections, and death threats she tossed his way. No other boy had defeated Mason at the Hunt just for permission to ask Mikayla out. And no other boy had ever sacrificed his own life for Mason's daughter.

"Not yet," he corrected the Shaman.

The elder was scandalized. "Royalty and commoners are forbidden to marry!"

"That didn't stop Brady and Boomer's parents," Mason reminded him. "Listen to me: I made a promise to their parents that I'd protect those boys. So, I need to know…is it possible that what Mikayla saw really happened? Because, if it did, that means the Tayamans are coming. War may be coming."

The Shaman shrugged, not quite willing to admit he might be wrong. "The Kahiki-Mandula is gone now, lost to the volcano. If what she saw was really a prophecy, then the king will die...and you cannot change his destiny."

Mason stepped closer, scowling at the aged man.

"Watch me."

Fin