Guardian

by P B Hughes

  Nera sensed something in the sky. Something dangerous. Energy building. She looked to her father. He had turned back to lock the hangar door.

  “No,” said Nera, standing up.

  “No?” her sister replied. “Nera, sit down. Papa’s almost here and I want your hair to look pretty—”

  “You leave him alone.”

  “Leave who alone? Who are you talking to?”

  The energy was about to be released, and Nera knew it. It had locked onto her father and would most certainly kill him. The beautiful lights she had come to love watching were about to take her Papa’s life.

  “Leave him alone!” Nera shouted, running to the window and pounding her palms against the glass.

  “Mama!” said Gretchen, darting from the room. “Mama, come quickly!”

  It was the first instance that time slowed before her very eyes. The seconds stretched and she could see the raindrops slow to a crawl outside.

  “Nerrraaa?” said her mother behind her, slow, dragged out, and deep.

  There was a flicker of light—the bolt was falling, intent upon her father.

  “Stop it!” Nera screamed.

  The bolt changed its target. The window burst as the lightning forced its way inside, flinging Nera against the wall. Cords of writhing electricity filled her body. The world became sharp—the deep browns of the wood floor, brilliant reds and yellows of the floral painting on the wall, sharp greens of the grass outside—all of it astoundingly vibrant. Everything around her seemed to hum with energy. Nera felt no pain, only a surge of power like none she had ever known. She lifted herself off the floor and caught the terrified stares of her mother and sister. Nera raised her arm, a mix of awe and horror at the sight. Her skin was glowing—a radiant, transparent gold. Suddenly, she felt the power swell, and she knew she couldn’t hold it in much longer. Over the shards of glass she leapt to the gaping window. Her siblings were running toward the house, their inaudible shouts muted by the whir in her ears. She climbed through the window and fell out onto the grass. For a moment she saw the face of her oldest sister, her eyes agape with shock. But then her face changed: her eyeballs turned to slits and her mouth rose, revealing two snake-like fangs. A Cythe. Nera screamed and thrust her hand at the creature. Lightning erupted from her palm, draining the light from her skin. Before the bolt landed, her sister returned to normal.

  “No!” cried Nera, waking with a start. She jolted into the sitting position from the cellar floor. Before her stood a hulking shadowed figure, breathing deeply. There was a flash of lightning, and in an instant, the creature was gone. She sat there panting and shaking, covered in cold sweat. It was just a dream—memories of long ago mixed with some evil thoughts. She looked around the room. Everyone was asleep—including Jelani, who lay with his back to her. She swallowed and lay back down, holding back tears.

  There was a shuffle near the stove. Jelani rolled over, his eyes heavy with concern and drowsiness. At the sight of him she choked back a sob. She missed her family so desperately—her Papa, her Mama, even Gretchen. She didn’t want to leave them, but they had forced her to go. They took her away from her screaming father—pulled her out of his arms. He vowed to come visit her, to be there.

  Jelani picked up his pack and pulled out a rolled-up blanket. He stood and unraveled the roll. Carefully, he placed the blanket over her and then lay down nearby, staring at her with his big black eyes.

  Nera reached out her hand across the floor toward him. Jelani took it, just like he used to when they were small and she was afraid.

  “It was horrible,” she said. “I saw it, sitting right in front of me. I know it was only a dream but...but it felt so real.”

  “Dreams always seem real when you first wake,” Jelani replied. He took a deep breath and exhaled, rolling onto his back. He did not let go. “But with dawn’s light your fear evaporates like the dew. Often, you wonder why you were ever afraid.”

  Nera’s breathing steadied and she wiped her tears on Jelani’s blanket. “Thank you, Jelani,” she said. “For being there for me.”

  Jelani squeezed her hand and closed his eyes. “Always,” he said.

  Chapter 18

  A rectangle of pale light shone down from the window directly on Gregory’s face. Boom, boom, boom—the drums of Gregory’s dreams faded. For a moment, he thought himself back at school—that he was in his dormitory, probably late for class. But no, he thought, this wasn’t his bed. Too hard. Too uncomfortable. And this wasn’t his room. The ceiling was too high, the windows too narrow. Reality struck when he blinked; the tiny motion felt like a hammer blow against his brain. The cellar, he thought. He tried to sit up, but he felt his energy drain and was forced to lie back down. He looked around to the others. No one was awake. He opened his mouth to speak, but found his throat constricted so that he couldn’t formulate a word.

  My crown, he thought suddenly, feeling a small shot of adrenaline. He peeled himself up off the cellar floor, his muscles screaming in agony with every movement. Slowly, he crawled on his hands and knees over to his pack. The flap felt absurdly heavy as he pulled it up to reveal the contents. His body shouted at him to rest, but he told it to be silent. Deliberately he dug through his supplies, his mind consumed with one thought. Finally, he uncovered a cloth stuffed at the bottom of his pack. Quietly, he unfolded it and peered inside. The circlet was still there, cold and pale. He let out a sigh of relief. Again, he felt the strongest desire to put it on.

  No, not here, he told himself. Someone might see you. Very quickly, he shoved it to the bottom of his pack and then collapsed.

  “Martha,” he rasped, his throat burning with the word.

  She didn’t move.

  “Martha,” he said again, louder. His chest racked with a cough and he rolled onto his side.

  I’ve never felt so terrible in my entire life. He wanted to say it out loud, but he was sure it’d be too painful.

  Martha’s body rose and fell as she took in a deep breath. One eye opened and closed, and then the other eye followed. She blinked at Gregory a moment and then pushed herself up. “Gregory? What’s wrong?”

  Gregory opened his mouth, but only released another cough.

  Martha took her staff and water skin and hurried to his side. She knelt, placing a cool hand on his forehead. “You’re burning up,” she said, recoiling. “Don’t worry. I’ll have you well in no time. First—” she untied the water skin and held it to his mouth “—drink this.”

  Gregory tilted back his head, feeling a mild relief as the water slid down his throat.

  “What’s going on?” muttered Nera from across the room. She sat up, her hair a lopsided tangle of curls. “Is Gregory sick?”

  “He’s burning with fever,” said Martha, holding her staff over him.

  “Aren’t Ruby Miraclists always running a fever?”

  “Never this high,” said Martha. A fine, glowing mist poured out from the end of her staff over Gregory’s head and the rest of his body. “They run a constant low-grade fever. But that’s normal. If anyone else had a temperature this high it might kill them.”

  “Yikes,” said Nera. “Anything I can do to help?”

  Martha shook her head. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

  Nera yawned and rubbed her eyes. “What time is it? I feel like I slept for ages.”

  Slowly, the ache in Gregory’s muscles eased and his head began to clear.

  Jelani rolled over. “Where is Sir Weston?” he asked.

  Gregory looked to where Sir Weston slept last night. Sure enough, the spot was empty.

  There was a creaking noise up the stairs; light fell into the room for a moment and then went dark again. Someone was coming. Martha moved her staff from Gregory and aimed it at the base of the steps. Two hooded figures came into view.

  “Finally awake, are we?” The one in the lead flipped off his hood, revealing himself to be Sir Weston.

  The one after him was Barnabas. “You Miraclists sure know how to s
nooze,” Barnabas said.

  “You almost gave us a heart attack,” said Gregory, feeling well enough now to be annoyed. “Where have you been?”

  “My apologies,” replied Sir Weston. “I thought to tell you I was leaving, but you all were sleeping so soundly I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “Well, go ahead and wake us next time. Or leave a note.”

  “I did,” Sir Weston replied, pointing to a white sheet of paper on a crate.

  “How long were we out?” asked Nera.

  “It’s mid-afternoon,” said Barnabas. “Sir Weston wanted to get the lay of the city. Too dangerous. I warned him, but he insisted. If we got stopped by a guard to see our marks we both would have been done for.”

  “It was a risk I was willing to take. Besides, it’s a good thing I went. As it turns out all horses have been conscripted into the cavalry of the Obsidian Plague. We have one of two options: try to escape the city by night and move on to the next town, or try to steal the horses we need from the stables.”

  Gregory liked neither of those options. To steal something so large and so conspicuous would hardly go unnoticed. But the very idea of proceeding on foot exhausted him.

  “If we steal the horses, we’ll likely have to fight our way out,” said Gregory.

  Barnabas raised his hand. “And, if I might say, if you take the horses, raising the gate would be a difficult task. Someone would need to stay behind. Likely myself. Seeing as I’d be beheaded if I were caught—and chances are I would be caught—I’d like to explore our options.”

  “Not to mention,” said Nera, “the streets here are narrow. From what I remember, the people usually move along the rooftops to get where they’re going. That would risk being attacked from above. A death sentence.”

  “Then we use the talents of our dear Jelani to turn the buildings our enemy might lurk upon to dust,” said Sir Weston. “And he will tear a hole in the earth and bring the wall to its knees.”

  Jelani shook his head. “It is not so simple. I will not risk civilian casualties in this fight, nor will I risk the life of Barnabas. Also,” he confessed, “I am not sure how long I could maintain such an expulsion of energy. We must find another way.”

  Sir Weston frowned, but nodded. He hadn’t considered civilians.

  “I suppose that rules out using the bomb to blow a hole in the wall,” said Gregory sarcastically.

  Barnabas perked up at that. “Bomb?” he said. “What bomb?”

  “A trinket from the government given specifically to me,” Sir Weston said firmly, casting Gregory a frustrated look. “That’s all you need to know.”

  Barnabas studied Sir Weston a moment and then nodded his assent. “You’ll just have to leave the way you came,” he said. “It’s less risky. Though I am not on watch for another week. And even then, I’m not sure if Slint and Roark will be as well. We can’t count on the other guards to be quite so lazy.”

  “We don’t have another week,” said Gregory. “We’re already behind schedule as it is.”

  Barnabas placed a weary hand on his brow. “Geoffrey was right. I should never have let you in the city. I should have told you to go on your way.”

  Nera stood. “No time for regrets, Uncle. Besides, we may not have made it to the next town if there are enemies in these woods. It’s time we come up with another plan. We can’t get the horses; we can’t walk out. Then how else can we leave?”

  “I do not relish the idea of fleeing in the face of danger,” said Sir Weston, folding his arms. “It feels cowardly.”

  “We are not fleeing,” said Jelani. “We are completing our original mission. When it is complete, we can return to this city with a sizeable force to retake it. Until then, we risk too much by resorting to violence.”

  “We could scale the wall,” said Martha.

  “That’s a plan,” said Barnabas. “Might be difficult to get you back to the wall since we’re in the heart of town. But it’s possible.”

  Nera snapped her fingers. “I have an idea,” she said. She closed her eyes and held up her hand for silence and to delay questions.

  Gregory could tell her mind was at work and he bit his tongue. No matter what they did, there would be a high cost. He looked to his pack and thought of his crown. Freedom from all of this, should he take it and flee. He’d never have to worry about survival again.

  “Uncle,” said Nera, finally. “What’s the status of your Sky-Whale?”

  Barnabas gave her a curious look. “Well, she hasn’t been flown in months, so I’m sure she could use some work. Likely needs some grease. Definitely needs her helium replenished. Oh, and she needs a new spider gear from the supply warehouse; old one’s rusted through.”

  “What’s to stop us from flying out of here?”

  Barnabas’ eyes went wide. “A thousand things,” he said. “We’d have to get to the hangar—which, mind you, is heavily patrolled. Get the ship in flying shape. Get the hangar ceiling open. My ship could be destroyed in the process. You could be killed. I could be killed. I could be…I could be…”

  Nera raised her eyebrow. “Free of this city,” she said. “The rescuer of the Empire’s Guardians. Could be gold in that. And to think, you’d be the only operational Sky-Whale from this city. Sounds to me like you’d be king of the skies.”

  Barnabas’ mouth hung open, and then he snapped it shut. He stroked his chin, for a moment deep in thought. “I need to sit down,” he said. Martha slid a chair behind him and he fell into it. His chest rose and fell with a deep breath. “It’s risky…but then again, so is staying here.”

  “High risk,” said Nera with a smile, “high reward. The smuggler’s motto.”

  Barnabas mulled it over and nodded.

  “I do not wish to put civilians in the crossfire of our escape plan,” said Jelani.

  “It’s in the Industrial District,” said Barnabas, waving Jelani off. “Nowhere near any civilian homes. The only concern is—” he muttered something underneath his breath and scratched his head “—the ship may need maintenance. But they’d likely let me work on it a little if I said it was for upkeep. Especially since they believe I’m loyal to Greavus.” He grinned and gave them all a wink. “Wouldn’t want their property to deteriorate, now would they?” His grin vanished. “But the storm could cause problems for takeoff. The rain hasn’t let up. Granted, the winds have died down. It’s a steady drizzle, but still.”

  “If it’s lightning you’re worried about,” said Nera, “then don’t. I’ll keep things clear.”

  Barnabas jumped up and clapped his hands, rubbing them together. “I’ll bring my first mate, Geoffrey. We’ll make a fortune. And you all can kill some of the Plague while we’re at it. So long as the winds don’t pick up, I think we’ll be in business.”

  “That was a quick shift,” said Gregory. The promise of gold makes men do courageous things, he thought with a half-smile.

  “One thing,” said Nera, tapping the butt of her staff against the floor. She made sure Barnabas was listening before she continued. “Uncle…you’ll take us to the border of the Iron Cliffs.”

  The color drained from his face. “That’s goblin territory. This has gone from dangerous to downright crazy. The answer is no.”

  “I said to the border, not into the cliffs themselves. No farther. We’ll walk the rest of the way and then purchase horses at a border town on the trip back.”

  Barnabas began to pace the room, muttering inaudibly. He stopped. “You’re my kin, Nera. I couldn’t live with myself if harm came to you on account of my blunder. And your father, he’d gut me alive.”

  “So you’ll do it?”

  Barnabas heaved a sigh. “All right, I’ll do it.”

  Sir Weston clapped and Martha cheered.

  Barnabas held up his hand. “But before we can fly, we need to get the Sky-Whale in tip-top shape. As I said, shouldn’t be a problem but for one thing: I need to replace one of the spider gears.”

  “That’ll be easy,” said Ne
ra. “Spider gears are small.”

  “Small, yes. But small as it is, it poses a big problem.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “I don’t have a spider gear.”

  “What do you mean you don’t have a spider gear?” Gregory cried.

  “Just that. I don’t have one. All Sky-Whale parts are housed in supply warehouses in the Highland District at the front of town.”

  “Then we go the Highland District to obtain one,” said Jelani.

  “Not that simple,” Barnabas replied, frowning. “The guards are vicious. Could mean trouble if we simply waltz up and ask for a gear.”

  “But we have to try,” said Nera. “Our escape depends on it.”

  “Yes,” said Barnabas. “Yes, it seems we have to. But before we can do that, I’ll need to speak to Geoffrey. You all wait here. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

  Chapter 19

  Riverton was not as Nera remembered. When Sir Weston had announced they were headed for the riverside hub of trade, Nera envisioned bright skies. She remembered the merchants hawking their wares and the merry sailors loading and unloading hefty supply boats. She could almost feel the heat rising from the docks.

  Long ago, when they would land in the city, Nera and her siblings had one thought: get to Elder Bridge as quickly as possible and jump into the Lonis River. Well, all of her siblings except Gretchen and Mag. Gretchen would usually follow, dragging Mag by the hand, scolding the rest of them all the way through town. Then, Gretchen would watch with wide eyes as Nera and the rest of the children climbed up onto the bridge’s highest strut, and, with much fanfare, dove headfirst into the apple-green water. Afterward, Gretchen and Mag would join them on the pebbled beach for some buttery, steaming crayfish they bought from the vendors. Gretchen still scolded, but Nera could see in her eyes that she was awed by their bravery and jealous of their fun. How refreshing the water had been; how delicious the food was on those hot summer days. Then they would lie on the beach and listen to the buzzing air, filled with song and laughter—the sounds of hope.