Guardian of the Vale

by Shoemaker,Tamara

  Jayme blinked at Manders and then slowly nodded. “I believe I could do it, sir. I know their situation; I've had personal experience with it, and at some point,” he straightened his shoulders, “I have to stop being afraid of the outside world and generate the courage to face my fears.”

  Marysa stood, too, dismay vibrating in her voice. “But sir, if Tarry gets hold of him, she'll Cast him again. He won't be able—”

  “No, Miss Blakely, I believe Mr. Cross may be correct.” Manders surveyed Jayme silently for a moment. “Very well, Mr. Cross. I approve.” He turned his glance across the room. “Anyone else?”

  “I'll go.”

  Audible gasps and angry glances speared the speaker. Bryce Marshall pushed aside his stringy hair and stood. Manders lifted an eyebrow.

  “Explain yourself, Mr. Marshall.”

  “What's there to explain? I've made it plain that I hate this worm hole, I want out, and I don't like the fact that every last person in this place hates my guts and thinks I'm a coward. I want to prove myself, and what better way to do it than to walk right into danger?”

  “This is not a joke or something to take lightly—”

  “I'm not taking it lightly—sir.” Bryce's voice cracked beneath his vehemence. “I really want to do this. Please. I want to prove myself.” He glanced uncomfortably around. “If only so people don't mind sitting with me at mealtimes,” he added with the shadow of a wry smile.

  Tension-riddled silence followed his words as Manders studied the boy. Alayne pulled in a breath, about to speak, but Manders beat her to it. “Very well, Mr. Marshall. I'll agree on the condition that you stay with Mr. Cross at all times, at all times, do you understand me?”

  “Yeah. Yes, sir,” Bryce hastily amended.

  “If Mr. Cross reports back to headquarters even five minutes of your absence, you will be locked back in this worm hole, as you put it, before you can blink twice.”

  Bryce held Manders's stern gaze, and finally nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Marysa jumped to her feet. “If Jayme goes, I go, too!”

  “We only needed two volunteers, Miss Blakely; any more people would increase the risk of the mission.”

  Marysa tilted her chin upward and gave a stubborn shake of her head. “I'm not backing down, sir. I'll sneak out and follow after them if you don't give permission.”

  Alayne had had enough. She stepped forward. “And if Marysa goes, I'm going as well.”

  “Absolutely not!” Alayne jumped at Manders's and Daymon's simultaneous shout. “That is out of the question, Miss Worth,” Manders sternly reprimanded. He turned his gaze back to Marysa. “However, Miss Blakely, I will allow you to accompany the others.” Relief flooded Marysa's face.

  “But—”

  “Miss Worth, that is my final word on the subject.” Manders's tone brooked no argument. Alayne swallowed her protests with an effort.

  As the rest of the meeting continued, Alayne backed against the wall, her angry, resentful gaze burning the rest of the group.

  Daymon's hand found hers and squeezed. He said nothing, but his comfortable presence wrapped Alayne like a blanket, and her irritation dissolved.

  Alayne sat on the bottom level of the Hive, the level that led into the sewage tunnels, tossing pebbles that had collected along the dark walls against the brick siding. Three torches lit the space, but the absolute quiet soothed Alayne's wrinkled emotions that had erupted again after Daymon had left her to talk to Manders.

  They planned more strategy, likely, that she wasn't privy to. She hated being kept out of stuff. Now her best friend and Jayme were heading off into possibly the most dangerous mission of their lives, and she wasn't even allowed to go or to help. Bryce Marshall—that spineless eel—was going, but she couldn't stir a step outside the Hive.

  The chute doors opened with a quiet thunk, and Alayne glanced up, expecting Daymon. She straightened in surprise when Marysa stepped out of the chute and approached, sliding to sit beside Alayne.

  Contrary to her nature, Marysa didn't speak. The silence was broken only by the feeble tinks of the pebbles against the brick when Alayne tossed them. Finally, Alayne cleared her throat.

  “When do you leave?”

  “Within the hour,” Marysa murmured. She picked up a pebble and tossed it, too.

  There was something healing and familiar about the smooth motion. They had often sat by the river at Clayborne and done the same thing.

  “Marysa—”

  “I know you're nervous and scared for us, Alayne, and truth told, I'm a little nervous, too—”

  “Then don't go. Manders only asked for two volunteers.”

  Marysa shook her head. “It's like Jayme said. If I hide behind my fears, Tarry wins. Someone has to stand up to her, more than one someone, and I want to do my part.”

  “Couldn't your part be here?”

  “No.” Marysa's tone was final. “I'm not letting Jayme go alone. He needs me.”

  Alayne snorted. “He's got Bryce with him.”

  Marysa rolled her eyes. “That's what worries me.”

  “It is odd that Manders would trust such an important mission to someone like Bryce.”

  “Well, Bryce did lay on the guilt trip pretty thick. And there's one thing I've noticed about Manders.”

  “What's that?” Alayne asked. She'd run out of pebbles and settled her hands into her lap.

  “He—gives people chances to prove themselves, probably more chances than they deserve.”

  Alayne nodded, her bitter thoughts returning. “He didn't give me a chance. He wouldn't even hear of it. I could help!” She shook her head and rifled her fingers into her hair. “I'm afraid for you guys, putting yourselves in such danger, and I hate that we have to split up. I have the Vale; I could use it without too much risk...” She trailed off as she realized her own lie. The Vale had been far from cooperative. The last time she'd used it for anything major, she'd ended up collapsing the entire High Court.

  Marysa shifted onto her knees so she was facing Alayne, her blue eyes intent. “Look, Alayne, you have to understand something. You are not the only one who can fight. Yes, you possess the Vale, but there are others who are willing and even want to help return the world to some semblance of order.” She shook her head, her expression serious. “You alone can't take the world on your shoulders, Alayne. You'll crumble beneath the pressure, Vale or no Vale.”

  Alayne stared at Marysa, the truth undergirding her friend's statement ringing in her ears. Manders's words threaded through her mind in a distant echo. When we fight for something we believe in, when we truly consider the cause for which we struggle, we all—we all—go into that fight knowing that there's a possibility we may not emerge on the other side.

  Alayne lowered her gaze, her shoulders slumping. “You're right,” she muttered.

  “What's that?” Marysa asked, cupping her ear. “It was hard to hear, but it sounded to me like you said I was right.” Her cheeky grin was in place, and Alayne laughed in return.

  “I said that you, Marysa Blakely, are correct, and that I, Alayne Worth, should just go shove it.”

  “That's what I thought you said.” Marysa giggled, but it quickly dissolved into a sigh. “I'm so glad we've made up, Alayne. I hated the distance; it never felt right.”

  “I know.” Alayne shifted so she wasn't leaning against the wall anymore. “When do you think you'll be back if—if all goes well?”

  Marysa shook her head. “Not sure. Manders is going to debrief us in—ten minutes,” she said as she glanced at her watch. “I'd better get going. Here, I have something for you.” She stood and dug into her pocket, pulling out a palm-sized reflective glass, rough edges lining it.

  Alayne recognized it as part of the shattered mirror that had served as her and Daymon's escape hatch from the Clayborne tunnels. Marysa handed it to her.

  “Manders gave Jayme and me each a piece for us to communicate with headquarters. I'm pretty sure Bryce didn't get one,” Marysa said wi
th a grin. “But I grabbed an extra piece, because I want to be able to keep you in the loop, too.”

  Alayne's eyebrows arched. “Does Manders know?”

  “Not ... officially.” Marysa's color rose as she peeked at the mirror. “But he may have averted his eyes as I snagged the extra piece. It wouldn't surprise me if he knew; he'd know I was bringing it to you, and in case you haven't noticed, he's made you a bit of a pet.”

  “He's my Guardian, Marysa. That's natural.”

  “No, when he's in full Guardian form, he's super strict with you, because the Vale has to be safe at all costs. But sometimes, I see him look a little wistful when he looks at you.”

  Alayne arched an eyebrow. “I think you've been underground too long.”

  Marysa shrugged. “Just saying. Anyway, I've got to go, Layne, but take good care of yourself and Daymon.” She pulled her into a tight hug. “We'll succeed at our mission, and everything will be fine, okay?”

  Alayne squeezed her hard. “Just come back, preferably alive. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  Last Orders lined the entrance corridor as Manders led Jayme, Marysa, and Bryce out of Tony's makeup and costume room. They hadn't changed appearances that much, although Marysa's hair was twisted into a braided bun—to keep it out of her face, Alayne assumed—and Jayme's curls had been cut close to his head. Bryce had apparently refused any sort of alteration. His peaked face and stringy hair looked exactly the same, right down to the sour expression that twisted his lips.

  At the exit door, Manders shook hands with all three of them. “Good journey, all of you,” he murmured, his gaze lingering on Bryce, his expression bland and unreadable. “We'll be in contact through the mirror.” He glanced sideways at Alayne before returning his attention to the three of them. “Please remember, the Casted must be freed at all costs. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.” Jayme's determined voice echoed down the hallway, and only then, Alayne understood that none of the three would be returning unless they succeeded in their mission. Marysa and Jayme wouldn't fail Manders, and neither one of them would allow Bryce to return until they'd completed what they'd set out to do.

  Alayne crossed her arms over her chest, repressing a shudder. Warm hands enveloped her upper arms, and Alayne closed her eyes, leaning back against Daymon as he rubbed her skin. “It'll be okay, Layne,” he murmured.

  “How do you know?”

  “I don't know. But I trust my uncle, and I trust Jayme and Marysa. Somehow, they'll find a way.”

  But as Alayne stared at Bryce where he stood a little apart from the rest, his wide dark eyes surveying the crowd, his lips pinched in their usual distaste, Daymon's words didn't comfort her at all.

  Chapter 17

  Alayne shifted on the wet tiles of the shower floor. The spray soaked her clothes, her skin, her hair. She turned her face into the water, the shock from the element the first bit of life she'd felt since Marysa, Jayme, and Bryce had left two hours before. Tears etched a story on her skin but were washed away by the shower.

  Her birthday was in two days. She would be nineteen. For eighteen years, she'd celebrated her birthday in Skyden with her parents. Memories of laughter, her mother's applesauce cake, blinds pulled closed while they hid inside their home assailed her.

  Once her parents had gone into hiding, Alayne had no welcoming home in Skyden. Her parents were in the hands of her worst enemy, and nothing offered protection from Alayne's fears.

  In two days, on her birthday, she would journey to Clayborne, not for classes, education, or reunion with fellow students, but for war, killing, and bloodshed. How many would die before Tarry surrendered or before the Last Order would be obliterated and Naturals destroyed? She shivered in the warm spray, wrapping her fists in her soaked shirt.

  Movement pulled her attention to the fogged shower curtain. Daymon's familiar form moved uneasily on the other side, his clothes distorted in the curtain folds.

  “Layne?” He grasped the curtain and pulled it aside. His blue eyes clouded with worry.

  Alayne couldn't blame him. She knew how she must look—fully clothed under a shower's spray. She opened her mouth to reassure him, to tell him he could finish preparing for their departure to Clayborne in forty-eight hours, but the words stuck in her throat. She turned her face into the spray, closing her eyes, the sting of tears increasing. At least with the shower spray, he wouldn't realize she was crying.

  She felt him before she saw him. He settled himself beside her, his long legs spread in front of him, one ankle crossed over the other. His arm snaked behind her, nudging her shoulder as he pulled her gently toward his chest. She didn't resist. Her ear picked up the steady thrum of his heartbeat. The water soaked his jeans and his worn blue t-shirt. He smelled familiar and comforting, like a friend.

  “Remember two years ago?” she murmured. “What if your two-years-ago self could see your current self? What would he say?”

  He chuckled. “My two-years-ago self would commit himself to an institution for the mentally unstable, 'cause this would never have happened then.” He trailed his fingers along her upper arm.

  “Why was that, Daymon? Why couldn't we see then how much we liked—I mean, the potential for friendship there?”

  “Prime reason: I was a jerk.”

  “I wasn't so nice, either.”

  “But you always had justification for it.” He sighed. “You were angry because of the things I did to you and your friends. I don't like who I was then.” His voice was thoughtful. “I've come to accept my lot, Layne. Before, I hated everything to do with the Vale. I tried my best to make my uncles and the rest of the Guardians angry. I hated you, I wanted nothing to do with you, but the more I wished I could stay away from you, the more my family asked of me.”

  Alayne straightened, watching the pain flicker across his face. She said nothing, simply waited.

  “I thought I could get out of it.” Daymon shrugged as his free hand played in the water spray. “You were surrounded by Guardians anyway. They weren't related to me—my family was the primary one responsible, but the others had taken the oath in the last twenty years or so. I thought I'd let them do the work, and I'd wallow in my bitterness.” He looked down at his soaked jeans. “You remember the pool at Clayborne? When Creed and his two friends tried to drown you?”

  Alayne nodded, flinching as she remembered how scared she'd been.

  Daymon shook his head. “I blame myself. Those three followed me around, copying everything I did, and my attitude toward you was what sparked their actions. The way you looked when you pulled Creed's twister apart blew me away. I realized then that you'd mastered more than one element, and I wasn't bitter after that. To be honest, you terrified me. I wanted to stay as far from you as possible. I didn't know if you'd burn me in my bed or something.”

  A corner of Alayne's mouth turned up. “I'd thought about it a time or two. I never would have, but I sounded fierce in my own stupid head.”

  Daymon touched her fingers before he returned his hand to his flat stomach. “It took that semester of space from you to make me realize I was an idiot, angry at you for something you had no control over. It wasn't a cure-all. I still had a hard time being around you sometimes, but you grew on me.” He threw her a lopsided smile as he tilted his head to better see her face.

  Alayne returned his smile. “So here we sit in the shower, soaking our clothes, and if somebody walked in, they'd commit us both to a mental institution.” She shaped the water elements to spritz a galloping horse in his direction. The watery animal curved across his jeans, exploding against the shower wall. “Thanks, Daymon. I feel loads better.”

  Daymon was silent for a moment and then said, “My uncle plans to separate us at Clayborne when we go.”

  “What?” Alayne felt as though her lungs had become a punching bag. No Daymon?

  Daymon's lips were a flat, thin line. “I'll talk to him, though. I'll change his mind when I tell him how the Vale responds to me.”r />
  “What do you mean?”

  “I think my uncle expects the action to get intense around you. Right now, he's planning to be your backup, and he told me to get lost when I told him I wouldn't leave you.”

  Alayne raised an eyebrow. “He said that. Get lost. Those exact words. Professor Manderly Manders, history professor at Clayborne Training Institute, said, 'Daymon, get lost.'”

  A shadow of a smile crossed Daymon's mouth. “It was the gist. He's calling a meeting this evening to iron out details of our Clayborne attack. We'll talk it out then, but don't worry. I'll be with you the whole time.”

  “Not if Manders puts his foot down.”

  “He won't,” Daymon muttered.

  They were quiet. The water had run cold. Alayne touched the element harp, warming the liquid again.

  “You know who else will be there?” Daymon asked.

  “Who?”

  “Do you remember Luke, Uncle Manderly's brother?”

  Alayne's mind jumped back to that awful day last year in the Clayborne locker rooms when Manders had told her he had to flee the Alliance's long reach. Luke had been there, too, introducing himself as her parents' primary Guardian. Once the Alliance had begun sorting Naturals into NRCs, her parents had gone into hiding. Luke had transferred responsibility for Alayne's parents to another Guardian and come to help Manderly escape the EA's swiftly-closing trap.

  “I couldn't forget him.”

  “He'll be there, too. You'll have three of us around you while we're fighting.”

  Relief spiraled through Alayne. Though the prospect of battle horrified her and she shuddered at what was ahead, Daymon would be there.

  She refused to admit why that insignificant fact made a world of difference.

  The chute doors slid open into a nearly-empty conference room. Manders sat at the end of the table, his forearms crossed on the hard wood, his graying head buried in his elbow.

  Alayne stopped. Daymon ran into her. Hesitating, she wondered whether she should give the man privacy, but he raised his head and motioned them in.