Iris's Guardian

by Lisa Daniels

  It didn't hurt. Or, it sort of did at first, until she got used to it, and he adjusted to her. The warm, floating feeling persisted, even as he thrust against her, his arms braced on either side, her body swaying with the motion. Another tiny crackle of pleasure went through her when he came as well. He did so with a quiet groan, eyes squeezed shut. Did he feel the same thing she did? Was it this floating, out-of-world sensation that made him lower himself to her side?

  I bet it would be dangerous to seek this out too often. I think there's only so much happiness a body can contain.

  She closed her eyes, resting and smiling for a moment, before opening them again. She examined Brann as she lay next to him. He'd carelessly looped her in his arms.

  This is what I'm missing, she thought. This. The closeness. Just like the kindness he showed her, that created cracks in the mask of who she thought she was. She needed this as well. To have a moment of fulfilment.

  The sex didn't matter, though it still coursed so sweetly in her veins.

  What mattered was the bond. The connection. Something unfamiliar to her, but something beautiful.

  Beauty in sadness. Someone said that to her once. She didn't find sadness beautiful, though. Sad was sad, it dragged you down, nothing great about that. Beauty came from connection, from the bonds people shared. From the trust they gave.

  I'll get you out of here. I'm sorry for being selfish. The words continued to echo in her mind.

  She slept again. No dreams plagued her. No nightmares.

  Chapter Seven

  When morning came, Brann was gone. Sensible enough. Tarken might not appreciate them both being together. When she stepped outside and went to eat in the canteen, she bumped into Karris there. Instantly, she held her breath, but Karris grimaced.

  “Hey! Elise. Can I talk to you?”

  Suspicious. Karris wanting to talk might result in a backhand murder. Practise caution. Elise nodded.

  Karris sat at the table and waited as Elise grabbed her cereal and sat opposite.

  “I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry for how I treated you. Really.”

  Wait, what? Karris, apologizing? What sorcery was this? Elise hesitated. Right. Her sorcery.

  “You don't have to apologize. I understand that you felt displaced. I might have felt the same if I was you.” She wouldn't have, but she laced her words with gentle lies to help Karris out of the guilt. Even though she thought the teenager should stew in it for as long as possible.

  “Don't pull that on me,” Karris said, a little of her old spite coming back, “I know you're lying. You're too nice, you know. It makes me really angry at you. Because you're nice, and I'm not. And I want people to like me, but people just like you by default.”

  Not by default. Because I have magic in my voice. I'm just as false as you are. Elise shrugged, picking at her cereal. “Do you want some advice from me, Karris? Will you take it and not be angry?”

  Karris paused, then nodded. “Okay.” Her yellow eyes squinted in suspicion. She expected to not like it. Likely it took her a great deal to control her emotions.

  Elise tried, anyway. “Treat people how you want to be treated yourself. Maybe you've heard that before, but it's true. If you're nice to someone, they're nice to you. If you hate someone, you can't help but show that hate and make them feel it, too. And they'll hate you back.” Elise waited for Karris to protest, to say something snappy. When she didn't, Elise continued. Not that she knew much... but she knew something, at least. Otherwise what was the point of her songs? “For me, it's small animals. Cats, dogs. Making sure they don’t suffer, because people can be very cruel to them. Just because they can. For you... it's humans. We are your animals. And the way you treat us is a reflection of your soul.”

  The words made sense to Elise; they felt right. Karris contemplated this a long time, her hands twitching on the table, regarding Elise.

  “I see. Yes. I suppose that makes sense.” Karris's eyes then dipped to the table. Guilty. “There was something black on me for a long time. It clouded my thoughts, Elise. It was... like living in a dream. No, a nightmare. One I couldn't wake up from. But now I'm awake. I feel... different.” She now began to chew the inside of her cheek and stroke her dark hair. “I hope you can forgive me.” The wyrm tentatively reached out a hand, trembling like a butterfly. Elise clasped it, not wanting to, but sensing Karris needed it.

  An understanding passed between them. Maybe Karris suspected something more about Elise. But if she did – her tongue for that moment seemed tied.

  They departed. Not... amiably, exactly, but better than before.

  It was something, at least. Elise's mind drifted, preoccupied with the things she encountered. Lord Tarken, giving her friendly pats on the back, giving her little smiles. Wyrms standing a little straighter in the corridor, not quite staring at her with the familiar loathing she expected from them. She didn't walk with silence, like a mouse, sticking to the corners in whiskery, twitching fear.

  And when it came to the basement, and the crowd gathered, and Elise sang her pieces, going for calm, sad, rousing – she got tumultuous applause. Most of the wyrms and drakes in the audiences knew her now by her voice, and loved her for it. Even if she happened to be a human. Some scowls lingered, some people still muttered, especially newcomers who had never heard her voice before. But mostly, the words worked. Mostly, she sang with heart to her audience, compelled them to her, drew them into her world for a moment.

  Tarken sat next to her, and beamed like sunlight through a cloud. Elise discreetly observed Brann preparing for his fight, dancing back and forth, clashing his elbow guards together.

  “Wonderful singing as always, Elise. Good, good. We'll have to get you a bigger stage. I think more would love to listen to you.”

  “I'd like that,” Elise said carefully. He seemed genuinely happy to see her. He really had changed. I sang privately to him and he's never been the same afterwards.

  Brann stepped into the cage after giving Elise one last glance, cracking his knuckles together, preparing to fight The Dagger – a wyrm with bloodshot yellow eyes, a face swollen and square-like, with muscles bulging with veins. He looked like a miniature mountain in comparison to Brann.

  Elise started to sweat. Surely, one good blow from that hunk of meat would injure Brann. Even Lord Tarken seemed worried, and he leaned forward in his seat.

  Elise knew enough of the fighting now to understand that although power wasn't everything, if someone possessed it, you needed to be exceedingly careful not to get stomped.

  Anxiety in her heart, she watched as the fight started. Brann prowled around his opponent, who took a moment to assess the situation, his piggy eyes mean. Then, with a bellowing roar, the opponent attacked. In a flurry of fists, The Dagger drove Brann backwards.

  “He's trying to provoke Brann to answer back in kind,” Tarken said to Elise, who nodded attentively. “He wants Brann to lose all sense of pattern, then he'll switch back to deadly precision. It's how he's won everything before.”

  Thankfully, Brann seemed to understand the wildness, and he ignored the outer strikes of the wyrm, instead focusing on precise thrusts towards The Dagger's chest. This changed the strategy. They danced, trading even blows. The Dagger was clearly stronger, and surprisingly fast for his bulk, though Brann showed an additional nimbleness. He jabbed maddeningly at The Dagger, his every blow provoking a cheer from his budding supporters.

  A deafening roar resounded when The Dagger landed one vicious blow, leaving a bloody gash across Brann's chest with the sharp edge of the guard, making the drake stagger backwards.

  No, Elise thought. Blood injuries didn't happen often, but the guards could kill if used by their edges.

  She didn't want to see Brann hurt. And definitely not dead. She began humming under her breath, composing a tune for him. She closed her eyes, shaking slightly. She hated this fighting, really. Hated it and the way it made her heart pound viciously, made her thirst along with the audience for bl
ood and victory. It made her blood pulse hard, and the beat of the audience screaming, booing and cheering was like the beat of a heart.

  Screaming forced her eyes open. She saw Brann dizzy, staggering backwards, and The Dagger lurching forward, bringing his full power to Brann's face. Brann seemed to barely stumble out the way, miss the leg sweep by a feather tip.

  “He's faking,” Tarken whispered. “He doesn't wear out that fast.”

  It didn't look like faking. Brann laboriously dodged out of The Dagger's way, sometimes receiving glancing blows. Then Elise saw the pattern, like the rhythm of music. Yes. Subtle. He lured The Dagger in, baiting a blow, then just twisted out of the way, all the while theatrically wincing. Feebly hitting with his left arm, seeming to favor his right.

  People started yelling for The Dagger to finish it. Brann looked frightening bloody from the chest. Red dripped onto the cage floor, turned purple by the lighting.

  The Dagger paused for one moment, preparing to strike.

  And then, Brann pounced. In that moment of hesitation, Brann lunged onto The Dagger with startling ferocity, using the hand The Dagger had assumed injured. Four – five blows – and The Dagger toppled over, stunned.

  Unconscious.

  The audience remained quiet at first, before their voices bubbled into rapturous cheers.

  Elise stood up with Tarken, clapping.

  “He's done it!” Tarken shrieked. “That boy's gone and done it! We're off to the city! You can come too, Elise! You can sing to thousands!” Tarken whooped loudly, his features having collapsed from stern to boyish, and the nearby wyrms cheered at his delight. “Go check on him, girl. Compose a song on his victory.” Tarken clapped her on the back, encouraging her down to tumble towards Brann.

  She met the injured, triumphant warrior as he went to the small market section to grab some water, eyes like coals.

  “I did it, Elise! I did it!” She saw his injured knuckles. She spotted bruises about his knees, and a limp in his ankle, though he tried to hide it. He didn't risk a hug in front of so many eyes, though she saw the instinct in his eyes. She gave him a handshake instead, making it brief, though the warmth lingered still.

  People dabbed at his chest and wrapped it in bandages. The wounds were more superficial, easily healed. After being patched up, he grinned at Elise.

  “I'll get you a drink!” He grabbed one from the stall, flicked a coin at the vendor, acting giddy as a child. “I only went and did it, Elise! Everything's going to change from now on. You'll see.”

  You'll still be fighting, Elise thought. Still hurting. Still risking death to clear those debts.

  He dragged her along again after the drink, even as the next fight in the cage started.

  “Come, come, Elise. I have a surprise for you. I kept my promise. I wasn't selfish. I did it after… you fell asleep.”

  What did he mean? She followed him, half-tugged, and looked to where he pointed. At first, she couldn't make out anything exceptional in the audience. Then, to her utter amazement, she saw Isera.

  Isera was here.

  Elise let out a strangled sound of delight when Isera waved at her, along with a healthy dose of fear.

  “What if someone spots her and recognizes her?”

  “They won't. And she wears Artiz's insignia to make it look like she belongs to him. Go! Go speak!” He patted her forward, trying to pretend it didn't hurt him when he did.

  Elise leaped into Isera's arms. The woman was just as she remembered, dark blonde and fiery-faced.

  “I missed you, little one,” Isera said, stroking Elise's hair. “You look... surprisingly healthy, too,” she added, stepping back to squint at her. “That's a first. I thought you'd be wafer-thin since I wasn't sneaking food out of the estate to you anymore.”

  Her companion, a gray-eyed, noble-faced drake, the one they called Artiz, sniffed her hair audibly.

  “Yes,” he said. “Delicious power.”

  “I knew it,” Isera said excitedly. “I knew there was something special about you! I saw it! I saw it!”

  Elise smiled, before placing a finger to her lips, warning Isera to be quiet, to not draw so much attention.

  “I didn't understand what you meant at the time.”

  “Yes, well. I couldn't really tell you that I knew magic. Just in case something went wrong and they went for you.”

  “I understand.” Elise touched Isera's hair. She had always admired the color. Everyone in the mines had black or brown hair. No one held a hint of yellow like this.

  “I took the liberty of inquiring with Zannis about her particular... niche,” Artiz hissed, enough for them to hear, but not for the other drakes and humans who lingered nearby. “She's someone responsible for fathoming people's magic at the school. Zannis thinks Elise sounds like a Soul Empath. Ability to influence emotions, and the soul that bleeds them. But there is one other peculiar ability that we wouldn't mind in our arsenal. Beyond the influencing.”

  “You can fix broken souls,” Isera said promptly, making Artiz groan.

  “Don't interrupt me. I would have said it much better. I was preparing for it.”

  “Oh, shush. We have someone who can just yank souls out of people and kill them instantly like that. Which is a bit of a harsh way to do it,” Isera said, grinning. “So we're not exactly short of offensive power. But you can heal the soul whilst it's still in someone. Apparently. And wyrms have, uh, broken souls. Isn't that right?”

  “It is.” Artiz appeared thoroughly annoyed at having his speech ruined. “All wyrms are crippled with their broken souls.”

  The black, Elise realized. The thing Karris said that clouded her thoughts, always lingered there in the back of her mind. The black. It was real. They... the wyrms had something wrong with them. Fundamentally so.

  Karris's words. It was like it just got lifted from me.

  Elise kept this thought in mind, even as she gushed enthusiastically with Isera about her new life. Isera lived in a place in the mountains, getting taught by crusty teachers and making new friends with frightening powers. How wonderful. Elise spoke of Karris, of Jorus, Tarken and Brann. Isera explained about one of her friends at the school, a super scary woman called Seon. The one who nobody knew what power she contained – right until she saved them from certain death by taking on twenty or so people at once – and surviving.

  Elise imagined this new world, loving the way it wrapped out of her head, becoming reality.

  They wandered around, talking.

  “The school is amazing, though it gets pretty cold up there. And you can come! You can vanish from this place now. You’ll no longer be in fear of each day being your last.” Isera held her friend's arm as she pushed forward with her impassioned speech. “You can take Ratty. He'll be so happy in his new home. You still have him, of course?”

  “Of course.”

  Artiz watched their conversation along with Brann, both of them wearing guarded expressions. Both of them waiting for Elise's response. After all, they were here for her.

  Yes, she thought. She'd be free. Out of the mansion, away from the suffering miners and high on a mountain, left free to practise her magic. She could walk the halls with Isera and her strange new friends. Smile as she'd never smiled before.

  Then she considered Karris's apology. Tarken's excitement upon having her sing. Jorus's pride. A whole crowd saddened by song or roused by frenetic energy.

  And she thought of Brann, there, always fighting, always alone, except when with her, sharing himself.

  The answer came to her in a flood of inspiration. And she knew for certain that it was the right answer. One that made the most difference. She kissed Isera on the forehead and hugged her.

  “I'm going to stay here.”

  Brann froze. Artiz gaped. “What?”

  “I'm staying,” Elise said. “I can change things here. I am changing things here. And Tarken said it – I can sing in the big city. Imagine how many people there could hear my voice? Imagine all the peo
ple who would be better for it?”

  “You... trust this overlord?”

  “He's changed,” Brann said softly. “Thanks to her influence. Even I can see that.”

  Isera shook her head, worried. “I hope you know what you're doing, Elise. It's too dangerous. You know what they're like.”

  “I do. And don't worry.” Elise gave her a smile. “I think I can do a lot more here. We'll each do our part in changing the world. Won't we?”

  Isera smiled back. “Perhaps you're right. I can see that stubborn glint in your eyes. You're really convinced this is the best choice, aren't you?”

  “Yes. I really am.”

  Her friend let out a sigh, then clasped Elise's hand. “Take care, old friend. And enjoy my former room.”

  They retreated from the crowd, obviously not wanting to stay longer than necessary. Sooner or later, someone might stare at them a little bit too long and start asking questions.

  Brann raised an eyebrow at Elise, bemused. “You know, I specifically arranged and fast-tracked things to get you to safety.”

  “Who said I needed it?” Elise prodded him in the shoulder, grinning. “I think I can make a difference here. A bigger one than being stuck on some mountain somewhere. Even Karris is coming around. She no longer wants to poison me. Maybe she'll even be my friend in time. And can you imagine that? Because I barely can.”

  The glow in Brann's eyes let Elise know how much happiness floated in him from her announcement of staying. He did a poor job of hiding it.

  Even though it hurt him, he would have let her go for her own safety and happiness.

  That convinced Elise to never leave him. To never let this chance go. How could she run away from someone who had shown her beauty in this world, from kindness? From being loved?

  They held hands for a brief moment. A quick squeeze, a gentle smile.

  A different future awaited her. One to purge the darkness from the wyrms’ souls with the music that burned in her throat, no longer tainted by lungdust. And one to bring a city to tears with song, and to tease the wyrms ever closer to banishing the darkness that corrupted their souls. Maybe in time she could even persuade Lord Tarken, if things continued as they were, to lessen the pressure on the slaves in the mines.