Guardian

by P B Hughes

  A moment later his mother whisked back inside the room, holding something behind her back. “Ah, a surprise for you. The cure just so happens to be tasty. Your favorite.” She revealed a plate piled high with mango slices.

  Jelani stared at down at the sun-colored slices with dizzy revulsion. He closed his eyes; even the smell made him sick.

  “Come, Jelani,” said his mother. “Mango will cure you. Come now and eat.”

  “Mother,” Jelani said, “might I just lie here awhile and rest? Perhaps later I will eat a mango and be cured.”

  “You wish to lie, Jelani?”

  “Yes, mother.”

  “Eat a mango,” she said with the sudden sternness that told him he had to comply.

  Jelani reached out and picked a mango slice from off the plate. He held it up to his mouth and curled his lip.

  “Do you have any money, my boy?” his mother asked.

  Jelani nodded, confused by such an odd question. “A bit I have been saving.”

  “Good. Now eat.”

  Jelani took a bite and swallowed. His stomach gurgled. He shot up from his bed to his open window where vomited out into the garden below.

  “And now your stomach is cured,” his mother said briskly. “Do wrong, my boy, and you can be sure your deeds will find you out.” Jelani’s mother started to walk out of the room and then turned around. “This afternoon we will take what money you have and give it to the farmer for his wares.”

  How did she know? He had not told a soul, and Bosede certainly hadn’t either. Jelani never did learn how she found out. But in the end he was thankful for her reprimand.

  My mother’s influence still informs my every deed, he thought. Without her guidance I might have left the narrow path for the broad. His heart ached for her. She was the wisest woman in his tribe, and the most beloved. One day I will return to you, my mother.

  “Ahoy, lad,” said Barnabas from his wheel. “We’re nearing the edge of goblin country. Best wake Nera and the others.”

  Jelani nodded and walked over to the pile of sleeping friends. He leaned over and touched Nera’s shoulder. The girl opened her hazel eyes and stared up at him.

  “Well, hello there,” she said with a lazy smile.

  Though her hair was always as messy as a bird’s nest, Nera’s smile was always a perfect thing. A flash of flawless teeth; the way her eyes scrunched with sincerity. She and his mother had a similar kindness. And a similar wit, he thought.

  “Your uncle says we are nearly in goblin land,” he said to her.

  Her smile vanished. “I was just beginning to wish we could stay afloat a few more days,” she said. “That was the best sleep I’ve had in ages. I forgot these things travel quickly for being over-inflated elephants.” She sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Martha, Gregory, Sir Weston, wake up. I hope you’re rested because we’ve got some walking to do.”

  The three of them stirred. Martha was the first to rise, followed by Sir Weston.

  “I suppose I’ll wash up,” said Martha. “It could be the last time I’m able to for weeks.”

  Sir Weston combed his sandy hair with his fingers and walked to a window. “How quickly we’ve traversed. We’re at the very edge of goblin country. Well done, Barnabas.”

  “Don’t applaud me,” said the man. “It’s the ship what got us this far. All I did was point her in the right direction.”

  Jelani noticed Gregory was still lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Slowly, Gregory peeled himself off the floor and stood, bracing himself with his staff. Jelani could see Gregory’s skin had faded to a blanched, almost amphibious grey. His eyes looked slightly sunken inside his head, and his body hunched as if he shouldered a heavy load. He could see the mist on Gregory’s brow and almost feel the chill in his bones. The boy had switched from a sweltering fever to a clammy, sickly way.

  “You look like the dead walking,” said Jelani. “How are you feeling, my friend?”

  “Fine,” Gregory grunted, casting a glance at his pack.

  Jelani could see Gregory’s ills, but apparently, Gregory could not. He stared at the boy, thinking back again to his mother.

  “There is such a thing as a disease of the spirit,” she had once said. “It is bred when a good man chooses to act wickedly. The disease might manifest itself through physical sickness. But more often, the infected hardly notices his decline. For his actions breed the sickness that seeps through the skin and into the bones, up the spine and into the brain. There, it rots him from the inside out.”

  “Did anyone fiddle with my pack while I was sleeping?” said Gregory.

  What a strange thing to ask, thought Jelani. “No one has touched your pack. It was beneath your head while you slept.”

  “So you thought about it,” snapped Gregory. “You noticed it was under my head, so you must have thought about touching it.”

  Jelani rose to his full height, anger filling him. “Watch your words, Candle King. You are amongst friends. There are no thieves here.”

  Gregory stared up at Jelani with a bitter frown, suspicion written across his face. Suddenly, he blinked, and the poison in his expression washed away. “Right,” he said. “Of course. I was only kidding. No one here would do that.”

  “Prepare for descent,” called out Barnabas. “All hands on deck—ready the anchor. Nera—hop to it! Geoffrey, where are you, Lazy Bones?”

  Geoffrey came sliding down from the rafters, bleary-eyed but ready. He flew across the Sky-Whale floor, back and forth, twisting knobs and pulling levers. Nera opened a hatch in the middle of the floor and climbed down a ladder, disappearing into the observatory below deck.

  “Slowing to sixteen knots,” said Barnabas.

  Geoffrey hurried to the back of the ship and stood by a long, thick lever.

  “Nera, how’s the water?” shouted Barnabas.

  Nera’s muffled voice rang out through a pipe near her Uncle’s head: “Nothing but sea and sand, Captain!”

  Jelani thought it a funny thing to say, especially since they were far from any ocean. But apparently that was signal for ‘all-clear.’

  “Cutting engines. Descending to one hundred feet. Lower anchor, lad!”

  Geoffrey gave a tug on the lever. It wouldn’t budge. He pulled again, but still there was no movement.

  “The chain needs grease,” cried Geoffrey. “It’s rusted.”

  “Put your back into it, boy!”

  Geoffrey placed his feet firmly against the floor and pulled using all of his weight, but to no avail.

  Jelani headed for Geoffrey, rolling up his sleeves as he walked. “Stand aside,” he said, gently placing a hand on the fellow’s arm. Geoffrey obliged.

  Jelani squared his shoulders and took hold of the lever. He gave it a pull and down it went with a grinding creak. There was a whir as the chain unraveled.

  “Brace yourselves,” said Geoffrey with wide eyes, “she’s going down hot!”

  The Sky-Whale’s nose lurched upward and the floor turned into a slide. Jelani tried to keep his footing, but the incline grew too great. He fell to the floor and slid toward the back of the gondola. Meanwhile, Geoffrey held tightly to a pipe while Martha, Gregory, and Sir Weston all rolled into Jelani’s chest. A low moan rippled through the Sky-Whale’s frame. Slowly, the nose fell, rocking all the while. Eventually, the balloon righted itself, but everyone remained frozen where they were, too afraid to make any sudden movements.

  The hatch in the middle of the gondola opened and out popped Nera’s head. “You know,” she said, “I think walking does sound appealing after all.”

  Jelani looked across the gondola to see Barnabas sitting on the floor, shaking his head. The man stood and wiped his brow with a handkerchief.

  “I apologize for the sudden stop,” Jelani felt compelled to say.

  “I don’t blame you,” said Barnabas. “I blame Geoff’s scrawny arms. I’m just glad we’re still in one piece after that. Though the ship still needs a goings-over.”


  “Don’t worry, Uncle,” said Nera. “When we land we’ll assist with any repairs before we go on our way.”

  “Oh, no; we won’t be touching down here,” Barnabas said. “We’ll lower the ladder. Likely as not we’ve been spotted. And I’ve had enough of goblins to last a lifetime.”

  Sir Weston picked himself off the floor and adjusted his belt. “You’ll be seeing quite a bit more should we fail in our mission. Your assistance has played a pivotal part in our success. You have my thanks.”

  Nera climbed out of the observatory. “And mine, Uncle. You’ve already done more than we could ever have hoped.”

  “Yes, well let’s hope it all was worth it,” said Geoffrey with a sour frown. “We may be the only Whale in the sky, but that makes us a target.”

  “Quit your belly-aching,” Barnabas replied. “It’s an opportunity of a lifetime and we’re not going to miss it! I tell you the truth—there may be danger, but you’ll need a bigger coin purse to hold all your gold by the end of it.”

  “The things we do for gold,” said Geoffrey.

  Gregory snatched his pack off the floor and shouldered it. “Right, then. Get me off this ship. The sooner we get out of here the sooner we can be done with this whole ordeal.”

  “Why Gregory,” Martha exclaimed. “I thought you’d be eager to join Barnabas on his quest for gold.”

  The lot of them laughed. All save Gregory, whose frown only deepened.

  “Maybe I will become a smuggler,” snapped Gregory. “Once this blasted war is over I can be whatever I want and go wherever I want. Nothing will tie me down. You’ll probably never see me again.”

  Martha stopped laughing. Jelani could see the hurt in her eyes. “I—I was only teasing, Greg,” she said.

  “Well, I wasn’t,” Gregory retorted. “Now, lower that ladder.”

  Geoffrey opened the door on the side of the gondola. The air poured in, cold and bitter. He began to unwind the crank, lowering the ladder to the ground below.

  Barnabas wrapped Nera in a hug. “I can’t believe I’m sending my youngest niece into the very maw of the goblins. What kind of uncle does that make me?”

  “You’re a fine uncle,” said Nera. “The best I’ve got. And if you want to know the truth, the goblins have far more to worry about than we do. If you catch my meaning.”

  Barnabas laughed. “That’s my girl.”

  Gregory was the first to climb down, ignoring the goodbyes.

  “Be safe, smuggler,” Jelani said to Barnabas, shaking his hand. “Thank you for getting us safely out of the city. Know that, as foolish as it was for you to give up our time-bomb to the resistance, I no longer hold the blunder against you.”

  Barnabas returned a nervous smile. “Glad of that, I am. What an adventure, eh? But something tells me the excitement’s only just beginning.”

  Jelani followed Gregory down the ladder.

  The tall yellow grass was damp beneath Jelani’s boots, soaked from the rains that had passed through the day before. For a moment, he was thankful. Water in the air meant they wouldn’t need to follow a river or stream. Martha could give them all the water they needed. He glanced over to Gregory, who stood with his arms crossed to keep out the chill.

  “An evil age is difficult,” Jelani said to him. “Especially when the responsibility of purging the evil rests on your shoulders. But do not let this war sour you spirit; you are not alone. There is strength in numbers. Together, we will be victorious.”

  Gregory snorted, fog billowing up from his nostrils. “The speech of fools. Those with the deepest pockets survive, Jelani.” He turned toward the black mountainous horizon, so much larger now than it had been a day before. “Yes,” he said over his shoulder as he stalked forward, “there is strength in numbers. Strength in the number of coins you have in the vault.”

  Jelani watched after him. Martha stepped off the ladder and stared up at Jelani, confusion written on her face as she watched Gregory distance himself.

  “I didn’t mean to be rude,” she said. “He usually teases well.”

  “It was not your words that upset him,” Jelani replied. “I think there is more going on with our friend than we can see. War changes men. Let us hope it does not change him too deeply.”

  Martha pulled her hood over her head. “I suppose I will just have to hope,” she said. Then, she ran after Gregory.

  Chapter 28

  The steady clang of an alarm bell filled city skies, warning of an escaped prisoner. Voices cried out from the main street, urgent and threatening. The guards were on the hunt.

  Jude crouched in an alley, a fugitive for a crime he did not commit. He had found refuge amidst a collection of empty barrels stacked behind a woodshop. Night was coming; only then would he emerge under the cover of darkness.

  His mind was a spiral of questions and distress. Should I escape from the city on foot? I can’t just leave Marcus locked in a dungeon. Maybe Queen Maria will help us. Why was there poison in that letter? It must have been Bubbs. Who else could have done it? All these thoughts mixed with intermittent worry over Daniel and Ari. Part of him was thankful for the distractions. Otherwise, he feared he’d go mad trying to sort out the revelation that Caden was his brother.

  Stiff pain radiated through his hands, snapping him back to reality. He was gripping his staff tightly, subconsciously ready to fight. If anyone passes by and sees this, he realized, they’ll instantly know what I am. He hid the staff behind the barrels and slouched down again.

  His stomach gurgled. Now that he had a chance to calm down, his baser needs moved to the forefront. He pulled a small piece of dried pork from his pocket, took a bite, and stuck it back inside his cloak. There wasn’t much food left, and though he could always steal, he decided he would rather not add thievery to the list of his alleged crimes.

  Jude nodded off. He wasn’t aware of how exhausted he was. It was as if he blinked, and then he was awake again to a darkened world.

  He was met by the bared teeth of a bristling brown dog. Around its neck was a taut chain held by the dog’s master—the owner of the shop, Jude assumed.

  “Stay where you are,” warned the man. “The authorities are on their way. I don’t want no trouble. But Snort here, he’s hungry. He’ll rip you to pieces should I give the word.”

  Jude hoped the dog was not quite as obedient as his owner suggested. He slipped his hand inside his cloak and pulled out his dried pork. The dog’s fangs vanished and its tail began to wag. Jude tossed the pork at the owner’s chest and the dog followed, knocking the man onto his backside.

  Jude leapt up from his hiding place just as a troop of guards rounded the corner.

  “There he is!” yelled their leader. “After him—the boy in the green cloak!”

  Jude sprinted away, zigzagging through the alley with the guards on his tail like a pack of bloodthirsty hounds. Fortunately, they were wearing heavy armor and could not keep up with Jude’s pace.

  Jude arrived at the main road, and skidded to a stop. His every muscle twitched with anxiety, telling him to keep moving, but he knew that running would only draw attention. Instead, he lowered his head and walked into the street, pretending he belonged.

  A jolt of panic shot through him. He had left his staff behind the shop.

  Jude whirled around to go back for it, but froze. A young couple were pointing at him from across the street, whispering to each other.

  With a curse, Jude ducked into a narrow, pitch-dark alleyway. He hurried down the narrow strip, glancing over his shoulder as he went. I’ll have to rid myself of my Miraclist cloak, he decided. But what man in his right mind would walk about town in nothing more than a shirt and leggings? It’s far too cold. I’d be spotted almost as easily.

  “Alms for the poor?” croaked a voice from the shadows.

  Jude turned with a start. He looked down to see an old beggar man shivering beneath a tattered blanket, hand outstretched. Suddenly, voices began to ring out from the way he had come. Jude looked d
own the alley; lantern light flickered around the corner.

  “Trade me your cloak?” Jude requested.

  The old man smiled, revealing a solitary rotten tooth. He sat up and shrugged out of his coat. Jude handed him his cloak and donned the rags.

  “Thank you, kind sir,” said the beggar.

  Jude pulled his hair out of its ponytail and tousled it. “No,” he said, “thank you.”

  With that, Jude changed direction, heading toward the shouts. He kept his head bowed as the guards came into view.

  “Alms for the poor?” he muttered when he felt their eyes on him.

  “Out of the way, vagrant,” barked a guard.

  Jude backed against the wall, cowering as best he could.

  “We’re looking for a man in a green cloak,” said another guard. “You seen him?”

  Jude pointed in the direction of the beggar and then slipped back the way he had come.

  The guards hurried down the alley and Jude increased his pace.

  “There he is!” Jude heard a guard shout.

  He felt sorry for the old man as he ducked into the street and flipped up his ratty hood. But he was certain they would let the poor fellow go once they realized they had the wrong man.

  Now, thought Jude, to retrieve my staff and rescue Marcus.

  He made his way through the lantern-lit streets, far less conspicuous than before. The townsfolk were abuzz—apparently a band of assassins had made an attempt on his Lordship’s life. One of them was in custody—locked up in the tower. But the other was abroad with murderous aspirations.

  Murderous, yes, Jude thought. But not toward these people. They’ve done no wrong. But if it’s true that Bubbs has set us up, then he’ll pay the price.

  He headed toward the shop where he’d left his staff, mulling over what Bubbs had told him. “Don’t open that letter,” the old chancellor had commanded, hammering the point until it was stuck in Jude’s mind. And now Jude understood why no one was to open it. It wouldn’t do to poison the messengers.