The Restorer's Journey

by Sharon Hinck

  “Lord, I can’t see a way. I’ll be coming to meet You tomorrow, and I think I failed at bringing truth to this place. But I know You.” My voice clogged with tears. The bare ceiling blurred as I looked straight up and smiled. “You have purposes better than anything I can guess at. Come in power. Come in love. Fulfill Your plans, whatever they are.”

  I dropped my forehead to my knees and closed my eyes. “And please give me strength for one more day.”

  23

  Jake

  “Let’s go for a picnic.” Medea’s voice wheedled. Then she leaned across Cameron’s desk and giggled.

  Cameron. The king. My father. He insisted I call him Father, but I still thought of him as Cameron. Sometimes late at night, strange images tangled in my mind and made my head throb. Most of the time, I ignored the questions and pictures. They only stirred painful confusion. It was easier not to fight. Cameron was my father now. When stray fragments of my past resurrected, I buried them.

  Medea was always quick to remind me of my importance to her. I was special. Her affirmation filled me with purpose. She was powerful, beautiful, and breathtakingly good. The People of the Verses would have fallen apart without her help. Cameron couldn’t have managed his struggles as the new king without her. The thought that she cared about me made my heart race each time she looked at me.

  Now she dipped her fingers into a mug on the desk and flicked water at Cameron. “Come on. It’s a beautiful day.”

  I glanced out the window. Rain sheeted down in a grey curtain.

  Cameron stared at her as if she were a broken toy that he had once adored but couldn’t glue back together. “I need you to go to the tower. A handful of songkeepers are meeting again. Every time they do this, it incites trouble.”

  “Songkeepers give me a headache,” Medea whined. Then she laughed, a high shrieking cackle. “Or I give them one. I forget.”

  Cameron pressed his fists against the onyx desktop and shot to his feet. “Pull yourself together or go back to Rhus. You’re no good to me like this.”

  They were fighting again. I wished they wouldn’t. It jarred the edges of the happy family picture wavering in my mind. I wanted to help them, but their conflicts escalated daily. I hunched my shoulders and concentrated on the electronic components on the table in front of me.

  Cameron had assigned transtechs to develop magnetic power sources for the MP3 players he’d brought from my old world. He assumed I’d be able to help, but so far I’d done nothing but short out and fry equipment. I pushed the hair back from my face and sighed.

  “Oooh,” Medea crooned. “You’ve upset the boy again.” She strolled around the large desk and danced her fingers over one of the swords mounted on a wall bracket. Her hand reached for a silver venblade.

  Cameron swatted her arm away. He scowled in my direction. “He’s been no good to me, either.”

  Shame twisted my stomach, and I stared at the floor. I had wanted to help him so much—to earn the honor he’d given me by taking me in as a son. “I told you where Tristan is hiding.”

  “Beyond my reach.” He pounded his fist on the desk in one sharp blow.

  I couldn’t face his scorn. “I told you where the guardians were camped.”

  “And they were gone when my men arrived. How could you not know where they were heading?”

  “They didn’t tell me. They didn’t trust me.” We’d been over this at least a dozen times. “I’m sorry.” My voice cracked.

  Cameron pushed Medea out of his way and came around from behind his desk. He raised a hand toward my head.

  I flinched.

  Instead of hitting me, he ruffled my hair. “I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to help. You have to understand the pressure I’m under. It’s my job to keep Lyric safe.”

  I nodded eagerly. I did understand. He was fending off the Kahlarean threat, building up an army, creating weapons—important tasks. And yet foolish people opposed him. The songkeepers stirred unrest everywhere with their call to stay true to the original Records. The outlawed guardians dodged from clan to clan, growing in strength. I met his dark eyes. “You know I’ll do anything I can to help.”

  A slow smile grew across his face. My heart warmed under his approval.

  “It’s about to get easier for us.” Cameron smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from his rust tunic. “One of my patrols sent word that the guardians are back in Braide Wood. I’ll be sending in my army to wipe them out once and for all.”

  Medea made a howling sound from behind the desk. “You promised them to me!” Fury sparked in her eyes, and anger leapt inside me, driven by my link with her.

  Cameron stalked over to her. “Now who’s upsetting the boy? Let’s discuss this somewhere else.” He reached toward her arm but then pulled his hand back.

  She tossed her head and stormed through the door into an inner room.

  “I need to explain some things to her, son.” Cameron stared after her. “You keep working.” His face was hard as he followed Medea through the door and closed it.

  I shivered. Without thinking, I stretched my hearing to listen. They still didn’t know I could do that. I kept forgetting to ask Medea about the special power I had and whether it could help them somehow. It was easier to just answer their questions and do whatever they asked.

  “I’m not going back to Rhus empty-handed.” Medea’s feet made soft scuffing sounds as she paced.

  “You’re welcome to take some of the songkeepers and get them out of my hair.”

  She made a sound like a snarling tiger. “They’re more trouble than they’re worth. I wanted the guardians.”

  “The guardians have become too much of a threat.” Cameron’s voice turned soothing. “There are too many of them. I can’t risk letting them live any longer.”

  There was a long silence. I wondered if he was stroking her hair. She didn’t usually like for anyone to touch her. “And I’m worried about you.” The words were muffled. “Let me take care of this problem, and then I’ll be sure you get back to Rhus.”

  “Coward!” she shrieked.

  I heard a gasp and a scuffle.

  Something snapped in my mind, and my spine jolted. Mental blinders vanished. Outside control had guided my thoughts in carefully constructed channels. Now memory exploded open in sparks that seared the insides of my skull. My gaze swept the room and I noticed a wall-bracket was empty. One of Cameron’s daggers was missing.

  Stretching my hearing again, I heard Cameron’s low moan. “No. Noooo.”

  I lurched to my feet, disoriented.

  Think, Jake. Think.

  They’d been controlling my mind for days, maybe weeks. This whole time, I’d forgotten who I was—why I was here. Nausea washed over me and I staggered to lean against Cameron’s desk. My insides felt coated in an oily evil. I gagged and then swallowed hard. Shame welled up, but I shoved it down. No time to deal with it now. I had to get away before they realized my mind had broken free. My heart raced as I glanced around the room.

  One of the swords hanging on the wall was a good size for me. I grabbed it and wedged it into my belt. I worked the lever and slid the outer door aside.

  Crash! The inner office door slammed open and Cameron staggered out. “Jake, run and get the healer. Medea . . . she’s . . .” He groaned and looked at his hands. They were covered with blood.

  Shock enabled me to keep a blank stare on my face. I nodded and shot out the door. The guards outside didn’t move. No one would hinder me. They may not be used to seeing me on my own—in the past weeks I had been with Cameron or Medea all the time—but everyone knew me as Cameron’s son.

  My face twisted as I ran through the central square. May as well take advantage of that hideous role now and leave the city while I could.

  What had happened in Cameron’s inner office? Was Medea dead? Did she attack Ca
meron in a fit of rage, or did he decide he’d had enough of her? Did he try to kill her and then regret it? If she lived, would she be able to regain control of my mind? Fear pulsed through me with every stride.

  I glanced through the arches of the worship tower. A few songkeepers huddled in the center of the cavernous space. I wished I had time to talk to them, but a more urgent need drove me. Whether Medea was dead or alive, I had to get as far from her and Cameron as possible. Next, I had to warn Arland and the other guardians that Cameron was about to send his army to attack them.

  Tossing a brisk salute to more of the king’s guards, I jogged through the wide tunnel and out of Lyric. Praying that the automated train-things were still running during these days of chaos, I sprinted toward the station.

  I leapt onto the first transport pointed in the direction of Braide Wood. The long ride in the deserted car gave me time to catalog my memories. My mind worked its way back to the days before Cameron and Medea found me.

  When I thought of my choice to go home—to reject the call to be a Restorer—my skin flushed hot. If only I could blame that on Medea’s mind control, but that resentful decision had been all mine. I hadn’t accomplished anything I’d come here to do. In fact, I’d made things worse.

  Medea and Cameron had never mentioned my mom, so I still had no idea if she were safely home. Humiliation burned my skin as I realized I’d forgotten about her the whole time I lived in Lyric. Cameron and Medea had been my family. A shudder coursed through me. How could I have let them use me that way?

  Yes, the guardians had gotten away from Corros Plains before Cameron’s men attacked, but they would know I had betrayed them. I needed to gather a force to hold back the Kahlareans. How would I win the guardians’ trust now? If they knew I’d been living as the king’s son, they would hate me. I’d never convince them to help me.

  At least the songkeepers were challenging the false Records. Lukyan had set that resistance into motion.

  The transport slowed to a stop at the trailhead to Braide Wood. The door rolled upward, and the engine powered down. As the hum died away, I stepped outside.

  The murky sky warned of the approaching night. These wild lands were dangerous after dark. Bears, mountain cats, poisonous rizzids, and lethal ground-crawlers owned the night. I drew my sword and took stock. I had no gear, no lights. The safe plan would be to stay with the transport until morning and then hike to Braide Wood.

  Stabbing my sword into the ground, I dropped to my knees, keeping one hand on the hilt. Verses from the true Records spun in my head. My throat felt thick, but I forced myself to speak. “‘Awesome in majesty is the One eternal. Perfect in His might and power, the only truth and only source.’” My voice broke. “Holy One of all worlds, I’m so sorry.”

  My head hung forward. “I thought it would be cool to be some sort of hero. I figured I’d be a great Restorer. Better than Kieran was. He didn’t even believe in You.” For the first time, I saw the pride that had snaked its way in since the Restorer signs appeared. “I didn’t know how confusing things would get. And then I quit listening.”

  Something rustled deep within the wall of trees. I shivered. “Show me the way to go.”

  No mist encircled me. No voice nudged me. In sudden horror, I wondered if the One had chosen a different Restorer. I opened my fist. With a swift pull, I cut open my palm on the edge of the sword still planted in the dirt. I lifted my hand, looking up at the deepening sky. “I’m Yours. If You still want me.”

  Even as I said the words, I heard their foolishness. He had never threatened to withdraw His love. I was the one with the unsteady heart, not Him.

  I tilted my face up further. “Whether I’m a Restorer or not, I want to follow You. Please give me the strength.”

  I closed my eyes and let His love touch me, even though part of me wanted to crawl away in shame. I didn’t deserve His understanding, His forgiveness. But that was kind of the point of grace.

  “My dreams of coming through for You . . . I thought I’d somehow deserve Your affection—that I’d be on even footing.” A laugh that was half sob burst from me. “I was so dumb. Use me. Don’t use me. I don’t care anymore. That’s up to You.”

  I lowered my arm and opened my eyes, afraid to look at my hand. I expected to see the deep gash unchanged. Warm tingles danced over my skin. I rubbed away the blood on my pant leg and stared. The wound was healed.

  Gratitude and relief swept through me. “Thank You.” My breathing grew so ragged I couldn’t speak anymore. I bowed my head in silence, admitting, receiving, and finally seeking. “Show me what to do.”

  Follow.

  Such a simple word. It was all He had ever asked of me. One simple thing. But instead, I’d bounded ahead, detoured aside, and even run directly away. “What about the guardians? How can I warn them without being killed? And what should I do about Cameron? And how can I find out what happened to my mom?” I could have spun in a gyroscope of questions all night.

  Follow. The voice was as soft as a breath.

  My worries quieted until there was nothing in my heart but a whispered answer. “Yes.”

  The night lowered over the forests. No moon or stars broke the expanse of darkness. I might have stayed kneeling on the ground for hours, but my legs grew stiff, and my shoulders shook from the damp cold. With a sigh that was half exhaustion and half peace, I leaned on the sword and hauled myself to my feet.

  A mournful howl sounded from a ridge in the woods far above me. The shell of the transport was a vague shadow behind me. The trail was invisible in the darkness. Which way?

  In the past my prayers had been, “Show me the path to take so that I can save the day and make You proud.” Or—although I wouldn’t have admitted it—“I don’t like this path; show me a different one. I’ve got a better idea.” But now I consciously set aside all my agendas—my desire for importance, my desire for ease. It was a new and awkward prayer for me. “I’m here. What should I do?”

  Wisps of fog played around my ankles and then drifted forward, away from the transport. It was odd that I could even make out the tendrils in the dark. Slowly, I realized that the cloud itself was glowing with a soft light.

  Follow.

  The call was clear. My thoughts jabbered in rapid rebellion. What if I followed the mist and it deserted me in the middle of the dangerous trail? What if I reached the caves above Braide Wood and the guardians were there? They’d imprison me or kill me.

  With a deep breath and quiet will, I steered those thoughts aside and stepped forward into the tiny part of the path I could see. The vapor cast a pale glow, only enough to move forward one step at a time.

  The hike was slow, and I carried my sword at the ready. Since I couldn’t see down the trail behind me in order to estimate how much ground I’d covered, I lost all sense of distance and time. Fear lapped at the edges of darkness, but I kept watching the patch of fog as it drew me forward and upward. A sheen of sweat coated my skin as I climbed. Whatever dangers were ahead, I was determined to follow—not to show the One how much greater I was than anyone else, but because it was the only place I wanted to be.

  The path leveled out for a time, but the darkness was impenetrable. No sign of Braide Wood. I had hoped for some glimpse of the homes’ light walls—illumination slipping under doors or past window shades. If the town rested in a clearing somewhere below, I couldn’t see it.

  The trail wound upward again. I strained my hearing, hoping to have some warning that the band of guardians was close. My eyes ached as they squinted beyond the wispy light and into the darkness. The rough texture of branches under my grasping fingers was reassuring. I was still part of the physical world.

  When my hands didn’t find trees for several paces, I realized that something had changed. The mist was fading. I tensed and took another cautious step forward.

  Suddenly, a heavy form exploded from behind
me and knocked me to the ground. My sword flew from my hand.

  “Who are you?” A fierce growl rumbled in my ear as his bulk pinned me flat.

  I knew that voice. “Ian? Thank the One I found you.” I spit some sand out of my mouth and tried to lift my head.

  Rough hands flipped me over, and a light flared and burned my eyes. Ian’s long hair and angry face loomed behind the light cube. A dagger glinted in his free hand. He crouched above me, a bundle of unrestrained fury.

  “Jake?” Shock warred with rage in his voice.

  “I have important news. Please take me to Arland.”

  “I’ll take your body to him—and he’ll thank me for it.”

  I had no time to absorb his words, no time to react.

  His dagger sliced down into my chest and jammed upward. I could swear I heard a pop as my lung collapsed. A second later I felt the pain. My body thrashed and struggled like a fish being gutted. I tried to say something but choked on blood. My brain screamed in protest. Then blackness crushed me like a boot grinding me into the ground.

  24

  Jake

  It hurt. More than puking my guts out after chemo when I was kid. More than the time Gary Rundle head-butted me after a bad call during a soccer game in seventh grade. Fighting my way back from the black nothingness was no picnic.

  I had no clue how long I’d been out or who might be around. I could play dead. It might buy me some time. Good theory, but I couldn’t stifle the gurgling cough that erupted as soon as I drew my first deep breath.

  “I was beginning to wonder if you’d come back.” That was Arland’s dry voice.

  My eyes flew open. His face was shadowed, but a heat trivet somewhere behind him splattered color on the cave walls.

  Pushing up onto one elbow, I looked around.

  We were alone.

  I sagged back to the ground, relieved but wary. “How long?”