A Guardian of Shadows (Revenant Wyrd Book 4)

by Travis Simmons

  “Not at all, just act more like…” Angelica trailed off with a blush.

  “What? Act more like you envision they should?” If the dryad had any eyebrows, Jovian was sure she would have raised one at that point.

  “That’s what I was going to say,” Angelica said sheepishly.

  “Just because the elves in your homeland live off the land doesn’t mean the ooslebed should. Wasn’t it the differences of First Daughter from the rest of the elves that set her on her path to find her own home? And the frement, what should they do? Scratch at posts all day because they look like pets?”

  “No, I guess you’re right,” Angelica mumbled.

  “Stereotypes,” Uthia shrugged. “I will never understand them.”

  But Joya was moving again, and though there wasn’t anywhere she could go but straight, they all followed so they didn’t lose sight of her.

  They only glanced now and then at tapestries as they passed. The other races depicted on them were ones they had seen on their first day inside the Shadow Realm and the Haunted Forest: pixies, the larger fairies, and dryads. Here and there were more images of machinery that baffled Jovian’s mind. He couldn’t imagine that they were run by wyrd, but at the same time, he couldn’t think of anything else that could run them.

  Before long the sounds of nighttime reached their ears, and Jovian looked up to see the hallway coming to an end at the opening of a cave. They stopped, looking out on the wasted land beyond. A light rain was now falling from a thunderous sky, pattering on the charred grass. Even now smoke rose here and there from the land. The hallway continued out of the cave, but instead of the gray granite they’d gotten used to, this was a black stone road that lead straight up to the tallest tower they had ever seen.

  There were lights on inside the tower, shining through the black air like a beacon, calling them on, welcoming them to the twisting, convoluted structure that reached nearly as high as the clouds above. It was a wicked-looking thing, and just looking at it made Jovian shiver.

  “What is that building?” Joya asked.

  “The Spire of Night, the home of the Realm Guardian.” There was a note of awe in Uthia’s voice.

  “Grace, snap out of it.” The voice was familiar to her in its dreamy cadence. It reminded her of times past, good times, friends, laughter. It was a stark difference to the chaos she felt coursing through her body right now, the pain through her midsection where she had been pierced by … what had stabbed her?

  “Don’t think about that now; you aren’t your body.”

  The voice seemed to pull at her, tugging her away from her current inspection of her physical form, searching out the wound she had been dealt, the same wound that had chased her consciousness away and allowed another being to slip in.

  “Let go, come with me,” the voice encouraged. It was so familiar, but through the pain, Grace couldn’t make out who it belonged to.

  “Take my hand, come with me and you won’t feel the pain.”

  “But I don’t have any hands I can work with,” Grace told the voice.

  She felt something tug at her again, more insistent this time.

  “Just let go,” it said.

  “I’m not holding on to anything,” she told the other woman.

  “Grace, you old bitch, let go of your body and come with me.”

  “Rose?” Grace asked, and just like that she was pulled out of her body and into a place of absolute grayness. Before her stood her willowy friend, curly red hair shot through with streaks of silver.

  “Even half-dead you are still as stubborn as an ox! The Goddess will kick you right out of the Everafter, you know this, right?” Rose scolded her.

  “Where are we?” Grace asked.

  “I really couldn’t tell you. Inside our minds maybe?”

  “You’re inside my head?” Grace asked her.

  “That would explain how drab and oppressive the color is,” Rosalee pondered.

  Grace scowled at her.

  “Hold tight, I have to get Dalah,” Rose told her and vanished like a wisp of green smoke.

  “Great, a party in my head,” Grace said.

  Moments later Rosalee appeared in a puff of green smoke, and directly after her Dalah in a puff of violet smoke.

  “That was quick,” Grace commented.

  “Dalah isn’t as stubborn as you are,” Rosalee told her.

  “Yes, I’m pretty open to things like this,” Dalah remarked.

  “As I recall a lot of people found you rather open,” Grace said.

  “You’re just jealous that you didn’t get as much —”

  “Ladies,” Rosalee held her hands up. “Can we focus please? Am I the only one troubled by the fact that our bodies have been overtaken by a force we cannot combat?”

  Grace huffed and Dalah played timidly with her blonde hair.

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “What are we going to do?” Dalah asked.

  “I’m open to suggestions,” Rosalee crossed her arms.

  “Well, we need our bodies back,” Grace said.

  “Can we get them back? Are we dead?” Dalah wondered. She brushed at the folds of the violet dress, smoothing it over her plump frame.

  “I don’t think we’re dead, or we wouldn’t still be in our bodies,” Rosalee responded.

  “That doesn’t mean that our bodies are alive — maybe once the Norns leave, our wounds will be too extreme,” Dalah said.

  “Well, not your wounds, because you’re a sorceress, but ours surely might,” Rosalee said.

  “I think we’re healed,” Grace said. “Before I was so rudely yanked out of my body, I was scanning it, looking for the wound that had weakened me enough for the Norn to slip in, and I couldn’t find it.”

  “Well that’s something at least,” Rose said.

  “Regardless, we need to get them out of our bodies. The Norns aren’t meant to be on this plane of existence. What are they even planning?” Grace asked.

  “They want the wyr,” Dalah said. “I’ve been able to gather that much from their thoughts.”

  “How long have both of you been conscious?” Grace asked.

  “Not really sure,” Dalah said.

  “I never lost consciousness,” Rosalee said.

  “Huh,” Grace huffed.

  “So, this wyr,” Rosalee prompted.

  “Apparently it’s to take over the Well of Wyrding, render it useless or something,” Dalah rolled her hand as if she were reciting something she found silly.

  “They are supposed to be the ones that take the place of the well and the Evyndelle,” Grace explained. “They are to become the repository of wyrd, and the dealers of fate. We aligned ourselves with them,” Grace reminded them.

  “Still trying to figure out why we did that,” Rose grumbled.

  “Look, we know the wyr have something to do with Amber and Sylvie — they were like them, so the Norns couldn’t know their fates because they resided in an energy that wasn’t human. They took our bodies, so they must think we are close to them,” Grace started brainstorming.

  “And then they used our bodies to attack Angelica, Jovian, and Joya,” Rose told them.

  “What?” Grace asked.

  “It’s true; I saw their memories,” Dalah nodded.

  “So the wyr are Angelica and Jovian?” Grace said. She had suspected it since talking with the Norns in the Well of Wyrding.

  “I believe so,” Dalah said. “Or at least the Norns believe it.”

  “How did they do?” Grace asked. “Did Angelica and Jovian live?”

  Dalah nodded and Grace closed her eyes, breathing a sigh of relief.

  “Thank the Goddess.” She made the five-pointed star of the Goddess over her body in blessing.

  “This isn’t getting us any closer to retaking our bodies,” Rosalee said.

  “Alright, what are they planning right now, do we know?” Grace asked.

  “They’re trying to meet up with Angelica and Jovian again
,” Dalah said. “They’re hunting them, but something happened that took Angelica and Jovian away from them.”

  “What was that?” Grace asked.

  “I don’t know,” Dalah said.

  “The Norns attacked Angelica and Jovian, and Porillon showed up at the same time. We fought Porillon — you stabbed her in the head with your dhast, so it might not work any longer — and then the Shadows Grove swooped in and took Angelica, Jovian, and Joya away.”

  “So the Norns lost them?” Grace asked. Her head was spinning with the overload of information.

  “Yes, now they only have our memories of where they’re going,” Rosalee said.

  “Well, they’re going home, then after that we are supposed to meet back at the Guardian’s Keep with my sisters,” Grace said.

  “We aren’t traveling toward the Holy Realm,” Dalah said.

  “Dear Goddess, I don’t think my sisters will be any match for the Norns. All it will take is one strike from the Norns, and they won’t expect anything chaotic when they see us. They’ll think the Norns are us!” Grace was near hysterical.

  “We’ll figure something out. What do you suggest?” Rose asked her.

  “We find Porillon, let her kill the Norns off,” Dalah said.

  “That won’t work. First, we have no idea where she is, and second, she would probably kill us off in the process, or directly after.” Rosalee was right.

  “And I don’t think Sara and Annbell are a match for them. I mean, Porillon is the most powerful sorceress alive, and if she wasn’t able to kill them…” Grace rubbed her chin in thought, her eyes on her feet.

  “What other options are there?” Rosalee asked.

  “I hate to say it, but there’s only one thing the Norns fear, and that is Angelica and Jovian,” Dalah said.

  “I won’t take the Norns to them.” Grace shook her head.

  “But if the Norns fear them, then the two of them can hurt them. If they are the wyr, then it is their power that can destroy the Norns.”

  Grace hated the thought. She didn’t want to put Sylvie’s children in danger, but she needed her body back. The others were right — Angelica and Jovian were probably the only ones that could destroy the Norns.

  “So what do we do?” Rosalee asked Grace.

  “We don’t have any choice. The Norns can’t stay in the Great Realms. We have to take them to the Neferis Plantation, to Angelica and Jovian, and hope this time they can kill the Norns once and for all.”

  “Have you been feeling any better?” Annbell asked her twin, easing down in the chair opposite the one Sara sat in. The sitting room was a private room the Realm Guardians shared, with entrances only they could use. It was a blend of their favorite colors: drapes in shades of green and red framed a large window that looked out onto the snow-covered passes of the Barrier Mountains. It would have been cold, if Sara hadn’t conjured a roaring fire in the fireplace directly opposite the window.

  It was a small room, large enough for the fire, a sitting table, and a couple of chairs. The carpet reflected the theme of the room, twisting patterns of green and red in a festive way.

  “No,” Sara told Annbell. “I’m not sure what is happening to me. When I went to the Mirror of the Moon, I was fine, working wyrd as always. Today it took almost all of my strength to conjure the fire here. I almost had to do it like any other person.”

  “Hmm,” Annbell said, toying with the handle of the delicate mug in front of her. The pungent scent of coffee came to her nose. She preferred drinking it black, while Sara liked it nearly as sweet as syrup. “Maybe you should lay off working your wyrd for a while until we can figure out what’s going on.”

  “And what is going on?” Sara asked. “I haven’t been able to get any feeling from the realm, only an image of Wyrders’ Bane, but the realm is adamant the illness has nothing to do with the chaos dwarves.”

  Annbell splayed her hands wide, indicating that she didn’t know. “Maeven goes on his spirit quest tomorrow. With any luck he will find something.”

  “How on earth will he find something when the Realm Guardians can’t?” Sara asked testily.

  “I don’t know, Sara,” Annbell said in a clipped tone.

  “Sorry, my patience runs thin. I want nothing more than to sleep, and I feel cold and achy all over.”

  “Maybe you have a virus?” Annbell offered.

  “That affects my wyrd?” Sara asked.

  “I hope that Maeven will be able to think better, find something we can’t. He may not be a Realm Guardian, but he is a druid, and we are tied closely to the land.” Annbell took a drink of her coffee. “Maybe we are too close to the situation to know what is going on.”

  “I hope,” Sara said, and then sighed. She watched the snow drifting lazily through the air and was endlessly amazed at how uncaring the order of the world was. The snow had one purpose, and it didn’t care what happened in the lives of the two huddled beyond the window pane.

  “What are we looking at for races to ally ourselves with?” Annbell asked. She painfully avoided the word war. She hoped, as did Sara, that it wouldn’t come to that. But the truth was that the chaos dwarves were massing around Wyrders’ Bane, and they had no love for the Guardians.

  “So far I know that the giants back us, the alicorns and dryads will follow the gnomes, and I’m pretty sure they back us, though they’re still waiting to see what might transpire. They’re supposed to be talking with the chaos dwarves and the trolls that have joined with the dwarves. The ga’los and brownies want to help, but I’m not sure how much assistance they can offer.”

  “Don’t underestimate them because they are small crafters and cleaners; the races of the realm have a power we will never understand,” Annbell said.

  Sara gazed into her coffee, and Annbell wasn’t sure she’d heard her.

  “Those are better odds than I had expected,” Annbell said. “Maybe the dwarves will back off, knowing that so many of the realm stand in opposition.”

  “Have you contacted the garrisons yet?” Sara asked.

  “The military is preparing, and the branches are headed this way.”

  “We will want to make sure the barracks are cleaned out to support them,” Sara said.

  “I’m already on that; they should be perfectly ready to accept them when the garrisons arrive.” Annbell thought it was about to get a lot more cramped around the keep. While the barracks weren’t exactly in the keep, they were scattered at the base of the mountains just outside of the courtyard. Soon the sky would fill with more than snow as the barracks came to life. Annbell tried to picture the smoke from the fires, and couldn’t. The barracks hadn’t been used for almost a hundred years, when the military was moved to separate garrisons after a time of peace.

  “Let’s hope Maeven finds something. If he doesn’t, we might be down one Realm Guardian,” Sara said. She tried to make it sound like a joke, but Annbell feared it wasn’t.

  Joya couldn’t explain what was coming over her. Despite acting like none of it fazed her, she couldn’t quell the fear she felt. Angelica and Jovian had so many questions, and she didn’t have any answers for them. She couldn’t explain what she had been feeling since before she entered the realm, when she stood outside the fogbank and felt like the realm was calling her, welcoming her. Furthermore, the change in her stigmata startled her, and she just wanted to cry. Was she sick? Was this something to do with her heritage? Was it something to do with the Well of Wyrding? Had she drawn too much wyrd when it was toxic?

  She shook her head and felt the rest of her team watching her. They had been studying her like she was about to sprout a second head since they entered the Haunted Graveyard. The strange looks she was getting from her family were the most aggravating part of it all.

  More than anything she longed for Amber. She was close to Angelica and Jovian, but not as close to them as she was to Amber. Amber would know just what to say to ease Joya’s worried mind and make her laugh. But who knew where Amber was
right now? Is she even still alive? But Joya couldn’t think like that.

  Then there was another feeling inside of her body, a presence that assured her that she would never be alone again — for as long as she lived, this presence would be there. It wasn’t a fearful presence, not like the corrupting Voice of Wisdom had been, or a commanding presence as the Voice of Wyrd had been. Instead, it was like a companion, a best friend, something to support her, to comfort her when she needed it.

  The problem was that she trusted too much; she had trusted the grigori that called himself the Voice of Wisdom, and it had nearly killed her. She couldn’t bring herself to let go, to give in to this other presence, no matter how benign it seemed. After all, the Voice of Wisdom had made her feel good things as well, only to serve its purpose.

  And then there had been the tomb of the Guardians. How could she tell her brother and sister that she had felt the personality of the fallen Guardian coursing through her, conversing with her, opening up its knowledge of the Realm of Shadow to her, and dumping the vast stores of information into her head as if it were shaking the words out of a book and into her brain?

  There were things she just knew, and she didn’t know where the information was coming from or who was putting it there. She did know that the information she gleaned from the deceased Guardian wasn’t the same as the presence she felt underlying it all.

  She looked down at the gray stigmata on her hands — was it just her imagination, or were they darkening?

  Her gaze drifted from her palms to the black cobbled road cutting its way like a ribbon from the cave entrance to the Spire of Night, sitting alone and menacing in the center of the smoldering field.

  Why does it smoke? she wondered, and suddenly the information was in her head: the ground had always smoked. The ground was heavy with peat moss. The Frement Uprising had been fought with a lot of firepower, which had ignited the land.

  Joya wanted to shut the voice out, get rid of the knowledge, but the truth was it was endlessly comforting to know all the answers to all of her questions without the need to ask. The presence of the fallen Guardian, Beatrice Forester, made the mysterious Shadow Realm less frightening.