A Warden's Purpose (Wardens of Issalia Book 1)

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  “When we returned to Cinti Mor and began to rebuild it, a new minister appeared, along with King Ulric. They informed the people that the Ministry was no longer, the Empire had been disbanded, and the Choosing ceremony was permanently abolished.”

  “Abolished?” Quinn repeated. “What’s that mean?”

  Evers smiled. “It means that they can never do it again. It also means that you children have the right to choose your own path in life, to follow your dreams, and to pursue a future that makes you happy.”

  “But what about these Unchosen? It seems like they would be…like pieces from another puzzle, pieces that don’t fit into the old Empire ways.”

  His father nodded. “You see to the heart of the matter, Son. Empire law left them with nowhere to go in life. I may not have had much choice in my path, but at least I had a path.”

  “Is that why Torney can be so mean?”

  “I don’t know, Quinn. There are still many who treat Unchosen unfairly, but it becomes less so with each passing year.” He shook his head. “If everyone you met was mean to you, you might become that way yourself. That or you might become shy and withdrawn.”

  Everson looked at Quinn, her eyes meeting his as she bit her lip. He suddenly felt guilty for what happened to Torney and suspected that she felt the same. Turning away from Quinn while avoiding looking at his father, he spotted a contraption leaning against the forge. It was as tall as Quinn, pie-shaped, and had two handles poking up from it.

  “Is that the bellows?” Everson asked, pointing toward it.

  “Sure is. I need to heat this blade again. Would you like to pump the bellows for me to make the fire hotter?”

  Everson grinned. “Yes, Pa.”

  Donning his gloves, his father lifted the sword and carried it to the forge. The man propped a stool beside the fireplace and patted the seat. Everson sat on it and leaned his canes against the workbench to free his hands. His father grabbed the bellows and placed the end with the metal tube on the hearth before setting the handles on Everson’s lap.

  “I need you to pump hard. The faster you pump, the hotter the fire will grow.” He raised the sword. “Mind you, it must be quite hot. The hotter the fire, the softer the metal.”

  Everson gripped the wooden handles, thick and solid. He lifted them and found the bellows heavier than anticipated, even with the other end resting on the hearth. When he squeezed it together, air wheezed from the far end and the coals grew brighter. He pulled the handles apart and heard the bellows taking a deep breath. Another hard squeeze caused the air to expel, and the coals glowed even brighter. The heat from the forge made Everson’s eyes water, and he leaned away from it. His father plunged the blade into the coals and gave him a grin.

  “You’re doing it, Ev,” Quinn said with an edge of excitement in her voice.

  He turned to find her standing beside him with a proud smile – a reflection of what he felt inside. This is what it’s like to feel useful. The feeling was sweeter than honey and tasted better than his mother’s apple cobbler. He desperately wanted more.

  3

  A Taste to Savor

  The glare of white light forced Everson to keep his head turned away. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, his armpits damp with sweat. Being held captive in a dark cell was unnerving at best. Terror threatened to overwhelm him but he fought it, stuffing it away for Quinn. With a deep breath, he forced himself to continue his tale.

  “As spring continued,” Everson told his captors, “I increasingly spent time with the other children, eager for their acceptance and finding that the interaction filled a void. When bored of playing games, we would find other means to entertain ourselves. There were times when our hijinks drew trouble, but none so bad as to draw ire from my parents. The moments that brought us closest to the edge were always led by Quinn, for dancing that line seemed to bring her pleasure.”

  Everson smiled inwardly as he thought of those simple days, filled with wonder and a sense of adventure that he had missed before the braces and canes.

  “A month into this broadened existence, came Libra Te. For the first time, cause for celebrating independence was something I understood.”

  With every shop, inn, and cart closed for the day, the people of Cinti Mor had gathered with other thoughts in mind. Clustered within the city square, citizens of all ages waited in anticipation. Smiles and laughter were prevalent. It was a day to celebrate life and independence from Empire rule. For Everson, it held even more meaning.

  In past years, Libra Te was among the few days where he ventured beyond the shelter of his home. Hoisted upon his father’s shoulders, he always had a wonderful view – able to see over even the tallest of men. However, the day had always lacked something he had desired…until now.

  Everson glanced back and saw his father’s thick hair and beard above the crowd, his arm about Polly’s shoulder. The man gave a nod and a smile, which Everson returned.

  Shuffling forward, he followed Quinn through the crowd, keeping up as best he could. When the fountain came into view, he found Quinn standing on the fountain wall, beside the other children. As Everson drew near, he slowed and bit his lip. He wouldn’t be able to see the platform that had been erected at the north end of the square – not unless he could join the others on the fountain wall.

  Quinn turned toward him and jumped down. “Come on, you guys. Help me get Everson up on the wall.”

  Panic surfaced, coming in ragged breaths as Everson stared at the water. “I can’t swim, Quinn.”

  She chuckled. “Don’t worry. The water is only waist deep.”

  Colton and Dillon jumped down and sidled to opposite sides of Everson, each standing a head taller than him.

  “Good.” Quinn said. “When I count to three, you two lift him up. I’ll put his feet on the wall while you hold him.” She pointed a finger at each of them, her eyes turning a steely gray. “Don’t you dare let go before I say so, or you’ll wish you had listened.”

  Colton glanced at Dillon, their eyes wary.

  Circling behind Everson, Quinn gave her commands. “Get ready. One, two, three. Lift!”

  With a grunt from each boy, they hoisted Everson up. Quinn grabbed his ankles and placed his feet on the fountain wall. The boys pushed him up, almost overextending and sending him into the water before they could hold him steady. Everson positioned one cane atop the wall and turned toward the other. Once it was placed securely, he gave a nod and the two boys let go. After a slight wobble, he held steady.

  While the boys returned to their vacated spots on the wall, Quinn climbed up beside Everson and smiled, eliciting the same reaction from him.

  A girl’s voice rang out from his other side. “You’re doing great, Everson.”

  He turned to find a bright smile framed by auburn curls. Large green eyes – appearing like precious gems in the afternoon sunlight – stared back at him. Any sense of confidence gained by his success of standing upon the wall faded in a blink. He wobbled, stumbled, and only stayed upright because the two girls reacted, each gripping an arm. Damaged pride aside, Everson was glad for it. Somehow, he choked out a response.

  “Thank you, Rena…Quinn.”

  “There he is!” Torney exclaimed.

  Everson turned toward where the boy pointed and saw a tall man – no more than thirty summers of age – being escorted through the crowd. With dirty blond hair that curled at his neckline and a trimmed beard to match, Everson would have been able to identify the man even without the crown upon his head or the regal cloak about his shoulders.

  “King Ulric,” Everson whispered.

  Two guards dressed in plated leather armor, marked with blue and gold stripes, led the man up the stairs to the temporary platform. The guards spread out, each positioned at a front corner of the platform as the king strode to the heart of the dais with hands raised. The crowd quieted and he lowered them.

  “Greetings, citizens of Cinti Mor. Another year has passed – a year of prosperity and growth.
I’m not much for words, never have been. Therefore, I will keep this brief.”

  Glancing about, Everson estimated a thousand people occupied the square – a mere fraction of the city’s population before it had been destroyed. He recalled his father telling him that the first Libra Te in Cinti Mor had a crowd of less than two hundred. His gaze returned to King Ulric, the man’s fur-trimmed golden cloak and blue tunic appearing bright in the afternoon sun.

  “We gather today to celebrate life and freedom. Despite the dark army that ravaged our city and others eight years past, we have rebuilt and will continue on…living our lives. No longer under the thumb of the Empire, oppression has been replaced by independence, commerce, and a realization that people matter…every one of you.

  “As in years past, the crown has provided a feast for all to share.” He gestured to his left, toward the grills and swirling smoke above them. “To this side, you will find grilled fish, freshly caught just yesterday.” He gestured to his right, toward butchers with smocks covered in grease, knives held ready, and tables before them with cuts of meat. “Here, we have roasted pigs – three of them. In addition, each local baker has donated two dozen loaves of bread. Farmers have added fresh vegetables. And, of course, we have three barrels of the finest Hurnish Ale, tapped and ready for consumption.”

  The crowd cheered at the mention of ale. Ulric waited for them to quiet and then waved his arm. “After the meal, the children are welcome to join in races and other games near the temple. For the adults, we will have musicians playing on the stage. I expect you to dance. If ever there is a day for dancing, this is it.”

  He grinned at the crowd. “What are you waiting for? Let’s eat!” He pumped his fist in the air, and a cheer rose up, the thunder of it shaking Everson to his bones.

  Everson sat at the table with the bright glowlamp beside him. His tongue wagged across his lips repeatedly as he concentrated on his drawing, tracing the image he saw in his head. Quinn sat across from him, playing with her metal statues. Apparently, her female warriors were battling The Horde, who had once again invaded the land. In this case, The Horde had taken on the shape of a ripe melon, which rolled about the table as she attacked it.

  The front door opened, and both children turned to find their father entering the room. His face appeared weary, which was common when the weather grew hot. It was the heart of summer, when even Cinti Mor experienced hot sunny days, sticky with humidity.

  “Hello, little rascals,” he said.

  “Hello, Father,” Quinn replied.

  A thud sounded and Everson turned to discover the melon on the floor with one side smashed in.

  “Oops,” Quinn said as she stared down at it.

  Evers sighed. “We needed to eat it anyway. I have to wash up and change.” He passed the table, and crossed to the open doorway below the stairs. “Please try to have this cleaned up before your mother gets home.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  While Quinn picked up the melon and went in search of a rag, Everson returned to his sketch. He finished it minutes later as his father emerged from the bedroom.

  “What is that, Son?”

  Butterflies tickled Everson’s stomach as he slid the paper closer to the glowlamp so it would be easier to see. His father leaned over the drawing, examining it.

  “Is that…a bellows?”

  “Yes, Pa. I had an idea. It’s been in my head for a while now. You know how you have to use both hands to pump the bellows?”

  His father nodded. “Yes…”

  “Well, with my idea, you don’t have to do that.” He tapped the paper. “The bellows is mounted on this thing and there is a lever connected to a cam that is connected to a foot pump…you know…like the one on your grinder.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “So, I would pump my foot and the bellows would open and close?”

  Everson grinned. “Yep. It will be way easier than using your arms, and it will keep your hands free for other stuff.”

  His father chuckled and patted Everson on the head. “That’s a wonderful idea, Ev.” He picked the paper up, staring at it. “Can I keep this?”

  “Yep. I made it for you.”

  “Thank you, Son. I’ll stop by the mill tomorrow and get some wood for the frame. It should only take me a few hours to build this. Stop by the smithy in the afternoon and you can see how it works.”

  “Rena, you may take six baby steps,” Everson bellowed.

  “Captain, may I?” Her voice rang out from behind him.

  “Yes, you may.”

  He heard her count off six steps, the image of her position clear in his mind as he faced the fountain. In his mind’s eye, he pictured Rena now in the lead – a step ahead of Quinn, two ahead of Frieda, Lark, and Norry, and three ahead of Torney, Colton, Dillon, and Travis. I need to let somebody beside Rena win this time, he thought. If not, they’ll never let me be captain.

  “Colton, you may take three regular steps.”

  “Captain, may I?”

  “Yes, you may.”

  The boy counted off three steps. Everson’s mental image adjusted, placing the boy in the lead and just two strides from the fountain. Inspiration struck. He knew who should win this time.

  “Torney, you may take three giant steps.”

  “Captain, may I?”

  Everson heard the anticipation in his voice.

  “Yes, you may.”

  “One…two…three.” Torney slapped his hand down on the fountain wall. “I win. I’m captain!”

  Releasing his grip on the fountain wall, Everson grabbed his canes and turned about to find the other kids standing exactly where he expected.

  “I was so close, too,” Colton complained.

  “I need to go,” Rena announced. “I’m to be back home for lunch.”

  Norry nodded. “Me too.”

  “Yeah. We should go.”

  “But I just became captain,” Torney complained. “And today is my last day before I go to school.”

  “We can meet here later and play again,” Quinn suggested.

  “Yep.”

  “I can come back later.”

  “Me, too.”

  “See, Torney.” The tall boy flinched as Quinn patted him on the shoulder. “You can be captain for the first game after lunch.”

  Torney’s eyes appeared doubtful as he shrugged. “Now that you mention it, I am hungry. I guess I will see you guys after lunch, then.”

  The kids scattered, each heading a different direction, leaving Everson alone with Quinn. She turned toward him.

  “We should run to the inn and eat.”

  “Can we stop by the smithy first? I want to see how the…how father’s work is coming.”

  Quinn smiled. “You want to see if he built your invention, don’t you?”

  A guilty grin crossed his face. “Um…I guess.”

  She laughed. “Fine. Let’s go. It’s only a few blocks out of the way, anyhow.”

  The two children crossed the square and melted into the foot traffic. Men and women with carts lined the sides of the square, while people crowded around the carts to inspect and purchase the wares for sale. To avoid the crowd, Quinn circled around and slipped through the gap between a cart and the wall. Everson followed, finding the narrow space difficult to navigate with his canes. A woman with scraggly hair appeared to block his path.

  “Hello, boy. I see that you’ve got sump’in wrong with your legs. What happened to ya?”

  Everson did not reply. His tongue wouldn’t allow it. She bent down, lowering her face until it was even with his. Panic gripped him as he stared at her bloodshot eyes and the toothless gaps in her terrifying grin. The rancid smell of her breath made him hold his.

  “What’s a matter, boy? You mute or dumb or sump’in?”

  His eyes darted about, seeking a way to escape but the woman had him cornered. He tried to back up, but his cane got stuck in the spokes of a wheel. It felt as if his lungs might burst.

  “Leave
him be!”

  The woman stood upright and turned to find Quinn standing behind her.

  “And who might you be?”

  “I’m his sister.”

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s super smart. Way smarter than a hag like you.”

  The woman’s ruddy face became a darker shade. “Maybe I should teach ya’ how to speak to your elders.”

  Raw defiance flared on Quinn’s face. “You touch me, and you’ll regret it.” She glared at the woman, who glared back in return. “Come on, Ev. Let’s go to the smithy. It smells better there.”

  Seeing the opening, Everson hurriedly slipped past Quinn as she stared daggers at the woman. A moment later, she caught up to him. He turned toward her and she smiled. His anxiety slid away, replaced by her confidence and strength.

  “Thanks.”

  “She’s a nasty woman. Don’t listen to her. She doesn’t know anything.”

  A grateful smile crossed his face. “Thanks, again.”

  Without a word, she hurried forward, turned the corner and made her way to the smithy door. By the time he reached it, she had it slid open enough for him to enter.

  Evers turned toward the door and smiled when his children entered. He put down the kettle in his hands and shed his gloves.

  “I was hoping you would stop by soon. I finished it about an hour ago and ate a quick meal so I would be here when you showed up.”

  Everson didn’t respond. He shuffled toward the contraption that held his attention. It was as if his imagination had solidified into something tangible. He stopped before it and leaned a cane beside a workbench as he reached out and gripped the frame his father had built. Oddly, he found the cool wood against his palm surprising. A part of him had wondered if it was real or some sort of dream. Something he had invented in his mind was now a thing – a thing that was useful.