Awakening (The Guardari Chronicles Book 1)

by Raven Bouray

  Kelithor did as she bid, and her vision dimmed further, but she fought against it, forcing herself to focus on him, and when his hood finally fell against his shoulders, she could only half focus on what he had revealed. Moments grew, and her vision started to clear. Bright green eyes like the deep woods were the first thing that caught her gaze, but when she began to focus on the whole portrait in front of her, she could not help but let out a gasp of horror. His face was utterly alien to her and reminded her of that dream she had not long ago. His skin was tanned but not overly so, and she spotted his angular features in almond shaped eyes, chin, and high cheekbones with a lean shape to his jaw, and that was not counting his ears, long and pointed out from the mop of black curls which adorned his head. But those things could be looked past in the short term. The one thing that could not was the scar that ran from the top of his left brow, curved around his eye, across the meat of his cheek and ended at his chin. That was a wound that had to have come with quite a bit of pain, and she was only aware of her slack jaw and wide eyes when his gaze suddenly dropped down to the ground. Emmaline never had been very good at hiding her emotions. Time and time again, her face would always give her away.

  His cheeks reddened in shame and embarrassment. That's what she now saw in a face that had been perhaps hopeful and he started to grasp at his hood to pull it up angrily when she stopped him.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve just never seen an elf before. Or a scar like that. I didn’t mean to stare.”

  He dropped his hand, but her answer did not seem to please him. His eyes burned with some emotion she had trouble naming, and she found him even more disarming now that she had a face to associate with a voice instead of a black void. But aside from his scar, she had this feeling that there was something else wrong with his appearance. As she studied him further, his unruly curls stood out to her. Those should not be there. The stray thought added to her continued confusion.

  He clenched his jaw. “Diabt.” He stood and turned from her, tense and angry.

  “What happened?”

  “What?” He half barked in her direction.

  “You do not look….the way you should,” she finished lamely while her eyes drifted away from him.

  “What do ye mean?”

  “Your face… It doesn’t--I don’t know. What happened to you?”

  “It is no’ pretty is it?” He chuckled darkly.

  “I don’t care about pretty.”

  “Tha’ is a shock.” He rounded back on her.

  “And that was rude.” Seeing his face was going to take a little while to get familiar with, but she saw guilt flash across it.

  “Sorry. This is no’ going how it should. Nothin’ is.” He kicked a small rock to the side, and they watched it clatter on the walls before dropping to rest on the dirt.

  “This isn’t ideal for me either. But that is no excuse for treating anyone badly.”

  “I was ta be a potter,” he murmured, and his tone was one of defeat, but he had turned from her so the she couldn’t see his face. “No’ this.”

  Emmaline, despite her own desires, thought it would be best to leave him alone. He was obviously struggling with his own demons, and she heard him speaking in his language while pacing back and forth away from her.

  Her own head spun with so much new visual information that it made her feel dizzy. He was actually a little handsome, if one was attracted to angular faces and scars, but she couldn’t help but stare at him still because his mouth was moving. Moving. In fact she was so focused on watching him that she was not watching anything else. When she moved her hand to scoot her sore backside a little bit, it landed squarely on a jagged and rather sharp rock.

  “Ahh.” She cried out and wrenched her hand to her chest. Blood was starting to well up from the cut, and she watched it drip onto the ground for moments before deciding that it might be a good idea to wash it.

  Cool water flowed from the waterskin as she opened it with her teeth over the cut and washed most of the blood away. It was only a small tear to tender skin but it throbbed fiercely. She luckily had a bit of cloth handy to wrap up her wounded palm and when that was done, she looked up to find her captor pale and wide eyed, staring at her hand, then down to the blood on the ground. “I’m fine. It was only a small cut. Nothing to worry about,” she reassured him gently. “I’m going to go to bed though, I think. I’ve had too much excitement for today.” Emmaline quickly brought out her blankets, being careful of her hand, and settled onto the ground. There was something strange in his eyes. A kind of terror that chilled her to the bone.

  It was a while before she fell asleep to the sounds of crickets chirping in the night.

  Chapter 31

  Emmaline awoke in the dark of night and found it strange that she had done so until she heard muttering and murmuring coming from the sleeping form of Kelithor. She leaned over and pushed herself up onto her side where she found his sleeping form, restless and thrashing. After taking a moment, she rubbed her eyes before pushing up off of her side and onto her feet then made her way slowly and sleepily over to his side. His brow was creased and sweat glistened on his forehead as his mouth formed still foreign words, but the tone behind them belied fear and pain, so she knelt down next to him. He clenched and unclenched fists, and his legs moved as if he were escaping from a terrible thing. She slowly reached out for him, debating on what she should touch to not scare him. Her mother would stroke her brow when she felt ill or had nightmares. But that was too familiar for them, so instead she moved for his shoulder to shake him gently awake and banish his nightmares away.

  The moment her hand touched rough cloak and firm shoulder to grasp it, his eyes flew open, dark green and shining with a strange malady. Faster than she could follow or react to, he moved and she landed hard on her back on the firm ground. With breath knocked from her chest, she tried to take a lungful and in the next moment found something cool and sharp pressed to her neck. His face, angled and alien to her, was contorted in a dark visage made only more horrible and frightening by the shadows cast by the damaging scar that arced over his left cheek. He looked much a monster as his mouth formed syllables from his own tongue. The string of words was unknown but by his tone and face he sported, they were not kind utterances and sounded much like a threat. That threat was punctuated by a firmer press of the metal at her throat. Pain sparked from the side of her neck in response to the sharp blade, and she knew that it had pierced flesh. Her breath was still stolen from her fall and she was afraid to speak, afraid to move for if he found it threatening this may yet be the permanent end to her living journey. She tried to think of what to say or do that would placate him, but as her eyes searched for answers, they only found ones that were glazed over and unfocused. He was still sleeping, sleepwalking, or attacking, as the case may be, and all he had to do was awaken, but time was running out as his words and hand pressed harder, so she took a breath and squeaked out a feeble, “Kel.” It was not her voice, instead high and reedy, and her heart raced and thumped in her breast. The increasingly sharp pain from her neck told her that damage had been done along with the feeling of warm liquid sliding down the side of her throat.

  Kelithor blinked in response, once, then twice and refocused on her. First confusion then horror flashed across his face, and he released the knife at her throat. She felt the pressure cease then heard the dull thud when it hit the ground next to her ear, partially in the nest that her hair made.

  His breath comes quickly and heavily, eyes still wide with confusion and horror, and it seemed as if he was unable to move. “Brithéal. Sorry. Oi...I did no’ mean ta...I..I.” His eyes scanned her face and she could not conceal the fear and pain but more than that his gaze landed on her neck, her wound which was still bleeding freely, and confusion gave way to more horror and guilt and even a spark of anger in the back of his now dark eyes. “Dúthan. Ёalg.”

  Emmaline tried to lift her hand to comfort him, as absurd as that idea was. She was the one bleeding
yet he looked as if someone had run him through. But that idea was short lived as he jerked away from her and rose to his feet like he had been yanked up by the hands of the gods. His fists were clenched and his entire body trembled while he backed away from her and only stopped when his back hit the wall. Tears fell in two small rivulets that sparkled in the oddly clear night. “It’s okay,” she croaked out. “I’m okay.” Wetness still trickled down her neck, and she felt silly lying down but wasn’t sure that she was able to sit up. Her heart was finally starting to slow down, so her next best course would be to try to get up and tend to her wound. Pushing her body from the ground, she placed her palms down and finished her ascent, feeling the knife roll out of her hair and thud onto the ground next to her. Her vision dimmed slightly and her head spun as she lifted a hand to touch the side of her neck. Wincing and pulling her hand away after feeling the wound, she looked down to find her fingertips glistening wetly with fresh red blood and then felt more lightheaded as her hands trembled. She made a choked noise and looked up at Kelithor. He was still trembling and watching her and while doing so, he reached into his cloak and pulled out a clean white cloth. His aim was off when he tossed it to her, but she leaned and caught it before it touched the dirt. Sharp pain greeted her when she pressed the bunched up cloth to her cut and continued to watch him, in part to make sure whatever had possessed him when he attacked her was fully gone and also to make sure he was okay. Whatever memory he had been dreaming of, it clung to him as a shadow while he worked through it.

  He was like those soldiers who fought too long and encountered too much blood. The ones that were sent away when they reacted too strongly to smells or sounds. Her father spoke of them at times with sadness and even a bit of pity, and now she felt foolish for having ignored signs that he was growing ill at ease. His look he had given when blood stained her hand, which still ached as it was pressed to her injured throat. But he had yet to even tell her anything about his life or his trials and so this was just another layer of him that she had to puzzle out.

  But one thing she did know is that she could not treat him any differently knowing his mental state now. He was too proud to suffer any pity or worry on her part and people did not often enjoy their imbalances or faults brought into the light of day. Those were tender secrets that one guarded with utmost secrecy. Still though, there was a yearning to aid him. The look in his eyes was like a wild and injured animal, ones that she brought from field or forest to her home and nourished back to health. Those animals lashed out as well when first found, but she won them over with kind hand and tender care and she would see him healed just the same if she could before they parted.

  Emmaline took her eyes from Kelithor and glanced over at the knife that lay still at her side, with blood still fresh upon the edge of it. Her blood. The sight of it caused a skip to her heartbeat, and with it, her belly twisted in discomfort. But regardless, she reached to pick it up off of the ground, hilt first while still pressing the cloth to her neck wound.

  She rose stiffly from her sitting position and moved to approach him slowly, close to the ground with eyes averted. “I suppose I will have to remember that you are a grumpy riser from now on.” Her tone was light and even while she approached.

  Two heavy strides and glaring eyes met her. “Tha’ is no’ amusin’.” He plucked the weapon from her hand deftly. “I could ‘ave killed ye. Do ye understand tha’? Then all o’ this would ‘ave been for nothing at all. I thought...I though’ that I would be well but I am no’. The blood.... No.”

  She stood, full and tall near him and looked him in the eyes, “But you didn’t.”

  “But I could ‘ave. So very easily. Flesh is so easy ta’ cut. Ye are no’ safe near me now. Tha’ is clear.”

  “You have not so far. You defended me in the tavern from those men, and from that I know I heard that man’s wrist snap. Then you kept me safe while the basilisk could have killed us. The only difference now is that you had a nightmare of the demons that stain your past. It was beyond your control.”

  “If only it were just.”

  Her words, or just perhaps the gentle cadence of her voice seemed to calm his tremors and draw that wildness from his eyes. “It is just.”

  “Hmmph.” He gave a mirthless smile. “Go back ta sleep. I will no’ harm ye anymore.”

  “What about you?”

  “I will no’ sleep.”

  “I can stay up with you.”

  “No. Sleep. Ye will need it.” He stood close to her now with both gaze and voice gentle and filled with guilt.

  She was tired and the wounds at her throat and palm ached but she also felt drained after such threat to life in the middle of the night. So she went back to her bedroll and removed the now bloody cloth from her neck. She pressed a part that was still clean onto her wound and withdrew it to find that no new spots stained the cloth but tied it around her neck as a scarf before she lay down to rest. The bandage around her palm was stained with dirt and yet a larger amount of fresh, bright blood than should be there.

  Despite the ache, she closed her eyes and after a while managed to fall asleep once more.

  With the morning did not come refreshment, however, and after she removed both cloth bandages and washed them in the freshwater of the spring and washed off the dried crusted blood from her neck, she did not feel better for it.

  Examination of the wound at her neck revealed an incision two knuckles long but shallow, and instead of covering it up, she let it out to air but rewrapped her hand since that would be exposed to more debris than the skin of her neck.

  The morning also brought with it disappointment. Kelithor had put his hood back up in order to hide his face and expressions from her. Not only that but he refused to even look in her direction, and if he did, it was only for a moment. This was several steps back from where they had been just the day before. And she knew that she had been cross with him but at least they were talking.

  “Kel. You know it’s not your fault--.”

  “No,” he interrupted her. “It is my fault. Ye don’ understand what I ‘ave done. Ye should and if ye did, ye would no’ care to even look at me. It was unforgivin’.”

  Emmaline stood up from the water and marched over to him, angry now. “You do not get to decide what I deem is unforgivable to me. You don’t think for me and you don’t get to decide if you deserve forgiveness or if I will give it to you. I do. You were asleep and it was not as if you attacked me for no reason. In fact you seem to avoid my injury at all costs except that which I inflict on myself. So I get to say that I forgive you for it.”

  He gave a low growl in response and turned away from her. “Come on.”

  Emmaline glared at his back and moved to mount Arya, who had conveniently placed herself next to her rider. They walked on through more gray and brown canyon.

  They had not been walking long when Emmaline heard a low growl and the scrape of claws on stone, and her world was turned on its head the next moment.

  A roar split the air and Arya whinnied and reared up in fear, unseatined her rider, and Emmaline hit the earth hard and rolled. Hooves echoed near her head and she flipped over. The creature which snarled and hissed before her was something that looked like wolf covered in scales, or half covered as the normally vulnerable parts were armored and the rest was as a normal wolf would be. It was larger than any canine she had seen, and just behind the beast was Kelithor with both swords drawn.

  And he seemed to be having, of all things, trouble.

  Despite the very real danger that this oddly shaped wolf posed, he seemed to be only barely parrying and moving defensively. She could not see his face to know his thoughts, but he still had to be affected by last night. He needed help.

  Especially so when the creature backed him up into the wall. Emmaline scrambled around and found a hefty stone then lobbed it with surprising accuracy at its target, hitting it squarely on unprotected flank, eliciting a yelp, and turning the creature from its original victim to
her. Emmaline, once looking fully at the creature's eyes, realized that this had to be the worst idea she had ever had. The scaled wolf snarled and leapt at her.

  Emmaline raised hands up in pitiful defense while she gave a scream and felt an abrupt surge of energy wash over her obscuring sound and sight. She waited for claw and tooth to start ripping at her flesh… Only it never came. Eyes that were closed in fear opened to see what was going on. Once she dropped her arms the sight that greeted her was one of confusion and a strange wonder. A cage of thick, brown vines had encased the scaled wolf, holding it fast and securely despite the animal’s disagreement and struggle. She merely stared at the construct, then at her hands, and back at the viney prison.

  Perhaps she had died after all, but a glance away from the trapped wolf at her companion found him also transfixed at the odd cage that had somehow come to life in front of them. After only a moment or two of staring, he seemed to shake himself off and raised blades before striding over to the trapped creature.

  “What are you doing?” She croaked out.