The Guardian
The Gifted
Book 1
C. L. McCourt
Copyright 2013 Cynthia L McCourt
All rights reserved.
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~~~
For my husband.
~~~
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
If it were not for the words of encouragement and positive feedback I received from my family, friends, and colleagues,
I don’t think I would have gotten this far.
Thank you all from the bottom of my heart.
The Gifted
The Guardian
The Channel
The Dark Healer
The Keeper
Learn more at http://luxatra.com
Table of Contents
1 Treasure
2 Stranger
3 Duty
4 Lessons
5 Mission
6 Family
7 Swords
8 College
9 Sensations
10 Holidays
11 History
12 Origins
13 Remembering
14 Grennal
15 Origins
16 Interruptions
17 School
18 Skateboards
19 Mummies
20 Hunters
21 Unbelievable
22 Spring
23 Found
24 Familiar
25 Watching
26 Finals
27 Meeting
28 Guardian
29 Confirmation
30 Chase
31 Waiting
32 Key
33 Reunion
34 Gifts
35 Decision
36 Orders
37 Leaving
38 Coercion
39 Home
40 Training
41 Hunted
42 Swords
43 Confession
44 Lunch
45 Trouble
46 Night Watch
47 Friday
48 Invisible
49 Plan
50 Capture
51 Escape
Sneak Peek The Channel
1
Treasure
Thirteen-year-old Randell stood at the top of the attic ladder scanning the space around him. Old boxes and trunks dating back several generations were stacked on a plywood floor under the exposed roof rafters.
He wasn't supposed to be in the attic but it was a space he couldn't resist. It was a rich source of items waiting to feed his imagination and quench his boredom—or so he hoped.
It had been a while since he'd ventured into the attic with his father but he was bigger now, stronger, and able to sneak up the ladder on his own. His boredom had gotten the better of him that day and he'd decided the possibility of an adventure was worth the risk. His father was working and his mom was in the kitchen with the television on, so the odds were in his favor.
Light from the dust-covered attic windows cast silhouettes of the objects that filled the space. As he reached the top of the ladder, he pulled the string and the light from a single bare bulb shone bright, lighting the center of the attic and turning the silhouettes into boxes and trunks and other various items.
Randell moved quietly around the trunks and boxes, wiping dust from their surfaces, trying to ascertain their contents without opening them. He had only so much time and he couldn't waste it opening a box that didn't hold anything interesting.
Many of the boxes belonged to his parents and contained camping supplies and old clothes. His sled was stowed in the corner along with old toys his mother felt would be collectibles many years from now. It didn't take long for Randell to reach the wall furthest from the ladder and for disappointment to press against his chest. He turned and scanned the area, hoping he'd missed something, anything of interest.
He was about to start back, thinking he'd seen it all, when something behind a stack of boxes caught his eye. He quietly pushed the stack to the side, revealing a wooden trunk. He moved slowly and furtively. Even though his mother was in the kitchen the last time he checked, he didn't want to take any chances of being heard.
He pulled his sleeve down over his hand and wiped the dust from the top of the trunk. One swipe revealed two numbers. Another swipe revealed two more. A year, 1910. He gasped, "Yes!" None of what he'd already seen was this old.
Grinning ear-to-ear, he carefully lifted the lid to the trunk, secretly hoping to find a forgotten family treasure or something just as cool. The lid cast a shadow on the trunk's contents making it difficult to see what was inside. Randell gently pushed the stacked boxes a little closer to the ladder so that the light from the bulb up above could shine on his hidden treasure.
His eyes fell on what looked like a small woolen blanket. His excitement began to wane but he wasn't going to give up. He lifted the blanket from the trunk, ever so hopeful that it hid his treasure, but the next layer revealed was clothing and some old-fashioned women's shoes. Still, this was just the beginning. The trunk was deep and he had only just begun.
Not wanting to get in trouble for messing up the trunk's contents, he carefully set the items on the floor next to him, trying to remember where everything had come from. The next layer consisted of more clothes and a canvas bag that reminded him of the one Indiana Jones carried in each of his adventures. Finally, something he might find useful. He set the bag aside, away from the other items.
He returned to the trunk to see the next layer of items, but found there was nothing else. He'd reached the bottom. Perplexed, he sat back on his heels, looking at the outside and then the inside of the trunk. He used his arm to measure its depth, from both the inside and the outside. Something was wrong, and he knew what it was.
Barely able to contain his excitement, he felt around the inner edges of the bottom of the trunk and found a small bit of leather close to the front wall. He pulled on the leather and met resistance, but persistence has its rewards. He pulled harder and the bottom of the trunk lifted away. "Yes," Randell hissed as his heart started to pound in his chest. This was it, his hidden treasure.
He peered into the lower half of trunk, but the deep shadows at the edge of the attic blocked most of his view. He started to drag the trunk towards the light but it made a loud scraping noise on the floor. He stopped, held his breath, and listened for any sign that his mom had discovered his whereabouts, but nothing happened.
Randell released the breath he was holding. "That was close." Not wanting to risk getting caught looking for a flashlight, he decided to simply reach into the trunk and feel around. He dipped his hand slowly, tapping around with his fingertips.
At first he didn't feel anything, but then it happened. His fingers tapped onto something flat and smooth and square. Gripping gently, he retrieved what felt like a book. Holding it up to the light, he saw that it was a leather soft-cover book with a crest carved into the front. He examined the cover and binding, noting the book had no title. He opened the cover to find pages and pages of handwritten text he couldn't read. Upon closer inspection, he realized that it wasn't poor penmanship that prevented him from understanding what was on the page; rather, the pages were filled with letters he'd never seen before. This would de
finitely need further investigation.
Setting the book next to the canvas bag, he reached into the trunk to see if there was anything else in the secret compartment. Feeling braver, he pressed his hand to the bottom of the trunk and swept it from side to side and then back to front, the heel of his hand brushing against something hard and flat.
He patted his hand over the length of the object and his heart raced. "It can't be." He carefully gripped the object and lifted it from the trunk, his hands trembling, and brought it into the light. It was. He'd found his treasure: a dagger with a one-foot blade sheathed in a hard leather scabbard. The cross guard and pommel were silver and the grip was wrapped with leather strips. There was a crest engraved on the pommel and the scabbard, the same crest found on the book.
He whispered, "Cool." He could barely contain his enthusiasm. He wanted to run down the stairs yelling, "Look what I found," but he didn't. He couldn't. He wasn't supposed to be in the attic, let alone going through the family's boxes and trunks.
Randell gripped the hilt of the dagger with one hand and the scabbard with the other and pulled. The swish of the blade as it slid from its sheath sent chills down his spine. The blade looked clean but used. It had seen some action. He lightly brushed the edge of the blade with his thumb and quickly drew his hand back, revealing a small trickle of blood on his thumb. Yep, the blade was sharp.
He sucked the blood from his thumb and pressed it into his jeans to stop the bleeding. Not wanting to risk further injury, not now at least, he carefully sheathed the dagger. He quickly returned the false bottom to its closed position and placed the clothes and other items back in the top portion of the trunk before sliding the boxes back into place, hiding the trunk again.
On the floor behind him were the bag, the book, and the dagger. As he reached for his treasure, he heard his dad's car pull up out front. Stepping quickly, he reached for the string dangling from the light and pulled, hoping his dad hadn't seen the light from the window.
Not wanting to risk getting caught with his prizes before he had a chance to check them out, he sat on a trunk by the back window and leafed through the book. At the top of each page was a brief set of letters, each set repeating from one page to the next, with only the first letters changed. Dates maybe? Was this somebody’s diary?
He fanned to the back of the book and found writing that looked like English. The handwriting was small and the letters odd at times but he could make out many of the words. Across the top of each page was a date. Yep, a diary.
He set the book on the trunk beside him and placed the dagger on his lap. Using his sleeve, he started to wipe the dust from the scabbard, working his way up from the tip. As he rubbed the hilt, a flash of bright blue light replaced the beams of sunlight shining on the dagger, filling the room for a second and then disappearing just as fast. "What the ...?" he exclaimed under his breath.
Blinking the spots from his eyes, Randell wiped the dust from the windowpanes and peered out into the backyard, as the light seemed to have come from outside. He scanned the groomed grasses close to the house, looking outward toward the tall grasses that filled the large space leading to the woods that surrounded his home.
All was still. Just when he was about to give up, however, a patch of tall grass started to move. Eyes wide with wonder, Randell waited to see what would emerge. Logic told him it would be deer or some other form of wildlife, but his imagination was running wild and he couldn't pull his eyes away.
Thoughts of Aladdin's lamp drifted through his mind. He had just been rubbing the dagger. "Nah!" he thought. No way could he have caused something to happen simply by rubbing the hilt of a dagger. But then again ... he held his breath as he watched the moving grass transform into a man struggling to get to his feet.
Randell watched in wonder as this stranger, who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, slowly gained his footing. Seeing a stranger in his yard wasn't a common occurrence, but that wasn't what made this situation unusual. Randell blinked several times, trying to ensure the spots that still danced in front of his eyes weren't playing tricks on him.
He needed to be closer to see better. Without thinking, he grabbed the book and dagger, spun away from the window, and raced for the attic entrance. Bounding down the ladder, jumping half the distance to the hall floor, he sprinted for the stairs leading to the first floor. As he reached the bottom step, he grabbed the banister to use as leverage, swinging himself 180 degrees around towards the back of the house.
"Randell! What have we told you about running"—the back screen door slammed—"in the house?" Randell's father Ander shouted from behind his newspaper in the living room. "That boy ..." Ander folded the paper and placed it on the coffee table before walking calmly to kitchen window, curious as to what had gotten Randell's attention.
"Pam!?" He thought his wife had been in the kitchen just a minute ago. The television was still on.
"Down here, Ander. What do you need?"
Ander stood at the top of the stairs that led to the basement, looking down at her. "Nothing, just wanted to know where you were." He turned towards the kitchen door, the door through which his son had just run.
2
Stranger
Randell leapt from the back porch and ran towards the man, stopping before stepping into the tall grasses. There, standing a few feet in front of him was a man out of time ... or maybe it was just some drunk from a costume party sleeping off the night before in his yard. But Randell didn't want to believe that was the case.
The fact that the man's long light brown hair reached past his shoulders was unusual but it was the gold streaks reflecting the sun's light that caught Randell's attention. They couldn't be natural, he thought to himself. As his eyes traveled down, he saw the man's long dark cloak draped over one shoulder, concealing one sleeve of a white linen shirt that was worn under a hard leather vest that resembled body armor. His dark leather pants and boots didn't look like they had come from a store, and the bag that hung at his waist was like the one Randell had found in the trunk moments before.
The hair, the clothes, and the bag were interesting, but that wasn't what took Randell's breath away. It was the swords that hung from the man's hip and across his back that had caught his attention. He could not take his eyes off of them. The scene was like something out of a movie or one of the books he enjoyed reading.
Randell stood watching as the man slowly lowered his hands from his head and looked around, appearing dazed and confused. The more Randell focused on the man, the more he saw. He couldn't believe what was happening. It looked as if the man was starting to ... glow?
As Randell peered intently at the man, he could see a green light sparkling, as if the man were backlit with a special spotlight. Randell leaned to the side to find the source of the light, but there was nothing. The light was coming from the strange man. Randell watched and waited for him to complete his scan of the area and finally notice him. But what then? What would he do then? What would he say to this stranger?
Excitement and fear raced through his body. Randell glanced down at the dagger he carried and then at the weapons the man had strapped to his body. They were similar. Did he do this? He was rubbing the dagger and then ... "No way."
His voice, though only a breath on the wind, was loud enough.
The man spun around, his hand on the hilt of the sword at his hip, his jaw clenched tightly, his eyes alert, ready to defend.
Randell couldn't move. He knew he should run; that would be the sane thing to do. But the last hour had messed with his mind. First the trunk, then the book, the dagger, and the blue light, and now the strange man in his yard wearing swords.
He tried to formulate something clever to say but all that came out was, "Who are you?"
The stranger stared at Randell and then scanned the area behind him, taking in the house and the older man walking briskly towards them.
"Randell! Step away! Get over here. Now!" Ander called. Randell didn't move.
&n
bsp; As Ander placed a hand on his shoulder, Randell asked, "He's glowing. Does this mean I'm like you?"
Ander gently stepped in front of Randell. Glowing? Ander had been so worried about Randell that he hadn't paid much attention to the man, except to notice that he was a stranger on their property. Ander turned his focus to the stranger and gasped. "What ...? Who ...?"
Ander took in the sight that had his son mesmerized. The clothes, the weapons, the glow. Ander wasn't surprised to see the glow. He was used to seeing what was often referred to as a person's aura. He wasn't, however, prepared for its intensity.
Ander straightened his back, regaining his composure. "Who are you? What are you doing on my property? I will have to ask you to leave."
The man didn't respond except to look puzzled, as if he didn't understand. Ander watched the man scan his attire and his son's before whispering something in a language he didn't recognize. Amongst the words muttered by the stranger was the name “Gaulette.”
Ander stiffened slightly. How could that be? He hadn't heard the name spoken in a long time. "Who are you?" he asked once again.
The man looked confused again before pointing to the book in Randell's right hand. Until now Ander hadn't noticed what Randell was carrying, as he had not wanted to take his eyes off this potentially dangerous man standing in his yard. Quickly, Ander glanced down at Randell, who had raised the book to show the man.
"What do you have? Where did you get that?"
"I found it in the attic along with this," Randell said, raising the dagger in his other hand.
Ander gasped. "Where ...?" He reached for the dagger and the man tensed, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword.
"Dad, wait! Don't. Look. You're making him nervous," Randell said. He watched the stranger, his eyes wide with concern and excitement.
Ander's hand rested on top of Randell's hand, the one holding the dagger but he didn't take it. No one moved.
The Guardian (The Gifted Book 1) Page 1