“I’m not asking for much, Isaiah. Just a few years... and then I will return.” He shook his head at her words.
“Sadly, young Guardian, I cannot grant them to you. You will not find the children. You should return and save yourself the disappointment of failure.”
“So you will not help me?”
“I cannot help you,” he corrected. “And neither will Piper,” he added, as though reading her thoughts.
It was nothing less than Quinn had expected, but the blow was still hard to bear. This was why she had come – to appeal to the one Guardian she had thought might help her - might be compassionate enough to understand. Isaiah never left the Cathedral and she had hoped that he would allow her to appeal to Piper, but she had been wrong. Raising her head haughtily, she pushed back her brown hair, her tanzanite eyes flashing with frustration and anger.
“Are the children in Summerfeld?”
“No.”
Her father had said the same.
“I will search the City myself, Isaiah. I don’t believe you.”
“By all means,” he ignored her blatant disrespect and stepped aside, sweeping out his arm and inviting her forward. “The City is your home as well as theirs. You will never be denied access, so long as you wear that mark,” he indicated the white S-Shaped tattoo on her wrist which was hidden beneath her wristwatch. “I assume your crystal is safe?” he continued pleasantly.
“Of course,” she conceded, bowing her head respectfully once again and regretting her earlier accusation.
The truth be told, she knew Isaiah wasn’t lying. He was noble and honourable, and he would not stoop so low as to lie to her face. The children weren’t in Summerfeld – of that she was certain, but she still needed to check. She had no other plan, and, if she was honest with herself, she wanted to visit the City. Most Guardians spent the majority of their time in Summerfeld. Quinn had not been back for two years and now that she was so close, she suddenly needed to reconnect with that life.
She walked through the atrium and her gaze slid over the council table to the left of the altar. Twelve seats for twelve Guardians; two of which had been empty for two years – hers, and Avery’s. Her seat was empty by choice, but Avery’s... Quinn shook her head, refusing to allow the sadness to consume her. As she slowly climbed the stairs to the high altar, her eyes swept over each column that she passed. On each of them words had been etched in the white marble, passages from the Sacred Book, a reminder to all Guardians of their purpose and the gravity of their task. No more supernatural blood could be spilled, no more death. The vampires hunted constantly, obsessively determined to carry out King Aleksei’s orders. They wanted every supernatural being eradicated and they would not stop. They would never give up the Quest, not in one thousand, five thousand or a hundred thousand years. The only hope that the Guardians had was to fulfil the prophecy. But the balance would never be restored, Quinn thought bitterly. The Guardians were chasing a literal fairytale.
Quinn approached the altar leaving Isaiah behind her. When she reached the top she turned on the spot, taking in the smaller stained-glass windows which bordered the vast apse. Each depicted one of the remaining supernatural beings, another reminder of what the Guardians stood for. Faery, dragon, werewolf, merman, gryphon, troll, giant, dwarf, firebird and unicorn. The ten surviving supernatural species. Technically, the vampires were the eleventh, but they were not to be protected. Behind her, directly opposite the glass portrait of Princess Enah, stood an enormous statue of King Eldon, the original Slayer, strong and powerful, his arm raised; a bloodied sword clutched in his hand. Following the line of the blade, Quinn’s eyes moved upward, to the very apex of the high-domed ceiling. It was so high that she had to squint to make out the detail etched at the top of the monumental pillars.
Dropping to a crouch beside the altar, she touched the empty circular hole carved out of the ancient stone. Above it, etched into the stone by Eldon’s own hand, was the symbol of a rose. The altar was not just the Gateway into Summerfeld, it was also the Rose Gate – the portal to the temple, into which King Eldon’s son, Wintyr, and his younger brother Xander had been sealed for a millennium, along with all the magic of the Fae. The temple had been created shortly after the City itself. Ashamed of the havoc he had wreaked, and guilt-ridden that he had taken the life of the vampire prince, Julian, Eldon had relinquished his throne to his eldest son, Wintyr. Wintyr and his younger brother, Xander, were sealed in a temple of sanctuary, hidden deep within the Cathedral of Cliffdale, for their protection – a place where no man, beast or being could get to them. Fearful that what Fae magic had done, Fae magic could undo, King Eldon had stripped the remaining Fae of their power, relying on the Guardians to protect them. The Fae magic was sealed within the Rose Temple along with his sons, to be released only when the temple was opened. For King Eldon, stripped of his magic and weakened by the loss of so many creatures, the pain of Enah’s death was unbearable and he died shortly after.
Quinn’s finger traced the rough grooves inside the circle, which depicted where each of the twelve crystals should go. In the centre, a perfect circle within the circle marked the place for the Hawkstone – the final piece of the puzzle and the key to opening the Temple.
“Only the Hawkstone can release the heir,” Quinn murmured, reciting a line from the Sacred Book.
“And the child will retrieve the stone,” Isaiah finished the passage. “You were always my favourite student, Quinn. Your knowledge of the book is second only to my own.”
“The Rose Gate will never open,” Quinn rounded on him angrily. “Wintyr and Xander are gone.” Isaiah simply smiled knowingly.
“I believe the portal will open when there is nothing left to defend the Ark but the magic of the Fae.”
“You expect Cliffdale will fall?”
“I think that everything that is happening now is a sign of a great danger coming.”
“You speak in riddles, Isaiah. How can a child possibly open that portal if the most powerful Guardians have yet to find the stone?”
“We are not meant to find it,” Isaiah stated simply, “and I don’t believe that the portal can be opened by force. It is not strength or power that is required.” A long silence followed this statement, broken only by the song of the birds outside filtering through the cavernous hall.
“Quinn, do not lose your faith. I believe you have an important role to play, one that you will only understand when the time is right. You are fighting against your destiny when you should be embracing it.”
“Like Avery did?” Quinn countered furiously.
“Avery was a loyal and disciplined Guardian and her death was a terrible tragedy, but your sister never possessed your talent or your spirit. You are a rare soul, unlike any other I have ever seen.”
Unable to bear the piercing perceptiveness in his gaze a second longer, Quinn averted her eyes and stared down at the altar, closing her eyes and uttering the words that would take her through the gateway and into the City of Summerfeld.
Chapter 14
Quinn opened her eyes and the scene around her had completely transformed. She stood in a large cobbled square, a simple stone water fountain before her. The Fountain of Youth, it was called by man, in his perpetual quest to find it; but no man ever would – King Eldon had created the fountain for the supernatural alone – so that those precious few who survived could live for eternity, safe in the protected City.
As Quinn watched, a horned stallion of shimmering white approached the fountain and dipped his head to drink. She stepped forward, placing a hand on his thick neck, and stroking his glossy coat. Taller than any ordinary horses, the unicorns stood over eighteen hands, and Quinn could just reach the top of the stallion’s back.
“Good to see you haven’t yet been ousted, Primera,” Quinn crooned, earning herself a baleful look. The unicorns, like wild horses, exist in a harem consisting of one adult male, several females, their foals and a number of immature horses of both sexes. Primera,
as the dominant male, would drive out both colts and fillies when they reached sexual maturity to prevent in-breeding as well as to establish his dominance. Although there were a few smaller herds in the Silver Oaks forest that had banded together after being ejected from the main herd, Primera had obviously not yet been defeated by a younger, challenging stallion. Primera had been the herd stallion as long as Quinn had been a Guardian, and she dreaded the day that he would be bested by another and cast out of the herd. The dominant mare, Zinnia had been Primera’s primary mate for at least fifty years, although Quinn still remembered her predecessor, Dessa. Dessa had fallen ill inexplicably, and, while she had recovered, she was no longer fertile and could not conceive any new foals. Primera had shunned her from the herd and Zinnia had taken Dessa’s place. Dessa remained in the forest and had taken up with a smaller herd.
Primera raised his regal head and nudged Quinn’s shoulder gently, emitting a low, musical whinny and bringing her back to the present. So much for man’s mythology, which stated that unicorns favoured virgins, Quinn thought wryly. She had loved and lost human partners a few times in her hundred years as a Guardian, and then she had found Tristan, and she had hoped that she would never have to feel the pain of that loss again. Tristan would live as long as she would – old age would never take him from her. But she had lost him after all, and it had been far, far worse than ever before.
With one last snort into her shoulder, the white stallion turned on his heels and, with a flick of his long tail, galloped out of the courtyard. The unicorns preferred the quiet solitude of the Silver Oaks forest on the very outskirts of Summerfeld. When he had created the City, King Eldon had ensured that each species would have a natural habitat, and the quiet, eerie stillness of the Silver Oaks forest suited the spiral-horned horses far better than the City Square. While they trusted the Guardians, they were only truly comfortable with the Fae, and they would not tolerate the touch of any other supernatural creature.
Quinn walked slowly from the courtyard into the City square, home of the Faeries themselves, and the werewolves when they were in human form. She did not meet anyone along the way, although most of the inhabitants would have sensed her arrival. She stopped beside one of the smaller houses about half a mile from the fountain, surveying the sweet garden for a moment before heading for the house and knocking softly on the front door.
“Quinn,” Kellan greeted her as the door opened, before he had even laid eyes on her. Kellan was a Faery, and, like all of his kind, he was fair-skinned and tall in stature. Faeries were radiant, almost angelic creatures. Kellan’s long, white blond hair hung in a thick curtain down his back, save for two braids on either side of his face.
“Kellan, it’s good to see you,” Quinn stepped forward and the two embraced comfortably. Like all the supernaturals, the Fae had an intrinsic love for the Guardians who kept them safe, however, unlike most of the other species; they were very demonstrative with their affection.
“Where is Freya?” Quinn asked, glancing around the small living space.
“I’m here,” his wife called, emerging from one of the bedrooms. Like Kellan, Freya was tall and fair, her pale, aquamarine eyes so startlingly like her husband’s that the two could easily be mistaken for brother and sister.
Quinn’s eyes widened as she caught sight of the bulge of the Faery’s abdomen, and Freya smiled, patting her stomach fondly and nodding in affirmation. Quinn enveloped her in a bear hug.
“How long?” She practically squeaked with excitement.
“Just a few more weeks.”
The Fae were, by and large, infertile, and most couples failed to conceive. Their gestation period differed from humans – Fae women were pregnant for eighteen months. Faery babies were rare and each child born was a precious gift. Again, Quinn felt that surge in her blood – her Guardian instinct to protect this child.
“I was just heading out to Dragon’s Peak,” Kellan changed the subject abruptly and Quinn finally tore her eyes from Freya’s belly. Kellan had retrieved his bow and quiver from near the door and slung them over his shoulders. “Perhaps you would like to accompany me, Quinn?”
“Of course,” she replied, as Kellan shoved a hessian sack into the quiver, along with his arrows. The Fae were phenomenal marksmen, particularly the men, although Quinn had once seen Freya hit a moving hare from over a hundred feet away. Their bows, however, were harmless against the thick hide of a dragon and Quinn raised her brow in question.
“We are low on meat supply,” Kellan explained. “I saw a family of wild boar in the woods yesterday. We might stumble across them on our way back.”
Dragon's Peak was the tallest of Summerfeld’s mountain ranges, and, as its name implied, it was there that the few remaining dragons had made their home. Of all Summerfeld’s species, the dragons were the most worrying. Infertility did not affect them, but this did not stop them from destroying each other. Unused to living in such close proximity, the dragons constantly fought over territory, the victors taking out whole clusters of eggs. Slowly, the dragon population had started to diminish. There had been over two hundred when King Eldon had created the City, but now only a quarter of that number remained.
Kellan led Quinn around the back of the house and through a small gate which led them out of the garden and into a huge cornflower field. Quinn couldn’t help but admire the beauty of the City’s setting. Summerfeld was undoubtedly the most exquisite place on Earth.
“Kellan!” a youthful voice called, and Quinn turned to find Velkan, Kellan’s protogee, striding toward them. Velkan wore his long hair exactly the same way Kellan did, the high points of his ears clearly visible, but his hair was a deep mahogany. Like Kellan, he had a bow and quiver slung across his shoulders, and he was wearing a hunting tunic.
“Velkan,” Kellan clapped a hand on the younger mans shoulder. “I will not be needing your help today after all. Quinn will be accompanying me.” Velkan did not argue, or show any emotion. Instead, he bowed respectfully.
“It is good to see you back, Quinn,” he murmured.
“I’m not back,” Quinn quickly corrected, “but it is good to see you, Velkan.”
“We’re low on supplies,” Velkan turned back to Kellan. “Perhaps I should go out hunting?”
“Good idea. I was going to try and track the boar on our way back...”
“I’ll do it,” Velkan offered, before he had even finished speaking. This was the nature of the Fae, their willingness to help others and each other.
“Thank you,” Kellan replied gratefully. “Safe hunting.”
As Velkan walked towards the woods, Kellan smiled across at Quinn, before facing the trees on the other side of the field and emitting a high-pitched whistle.
“So, why are you heading up to Dragon’s Peak?” Quinn asked while they waited.
“The last remaining female Chumana has a cluster of eggs, but her mate was killed by an Orochian male three days ago. It’s only a matter of time before he finds her nest.” Quinn felt the pang of loss. The Chumana, the most beautiful of all the dragon species, was smaller than the others, the colour of their scales ranging from red to orange to the brightest yellow across their bellies. The Chumana had been struggling for survival for the past two hundred years, as the bigger, more vicious dragons picked them off, but the loss of the last surviving male threatened the end of their species. Quinn understood now what the hessian sack was for. The eggs needed to be protected, to ensure that the Chumana survived. Quinn’s protective instinct overtook everything else and she tapped her foot impatiently.
“There they are,” Kellan murmured, and Quinn squinted into the distance. Sure enough two unicorns had emerged from the trees edging the field and were galloping towards them, their manes and tails flying. The unicorns were faster than ordinary horses, their longer legs able to cover more ground.
They stampeded directly towards Quinn and Kellan, and, just as it seemed that they would mow the two down, they skidded to a halt only a few feet away, dro
pping their handsome heads and waiting expectantly. Quinn reached down and the mare beside her snorted gently into her hand before stamping her hoof on the ground, crushing a few cornflowers in the process. Unicorn mares were easier to ride, being slightly smaller than their male counterparts and having a broader back.
“Etana and Sheehan,” Kellan gestured first at the unicorn closest to her and then at his own mare. Kellan knew the calling name of almost every unicorn in the herd – he had named most of them himself.
“Hello Etana,” Quinn stroked the silky white mane of the gorgeous mare and then, in one swift movement, she grabbed a fistful and hauled herself up onto the unicorn’s back, tucking her legs into the space just in front of Etana’s powerful back legs.
“You ready?” Kellan called briskly. In answer, Quinn squeezed her legs against Etana’s powerful flank and held on tight as the mare reared up and then surged forward, Quinn’s spontaneous peal of laughter carried on the wind behind them.
They continued on in silence, the steady drumbeat of the unicorn’s hooves on the ground marking their progress. To the northwest, Quinn could see Giant’s Castle – a mountainous area nowhere near as high as Dragon’s Peak. Giant’s Castle was home to both the giants and the dwarves, the two species able to live in harmony with one another.
Quinn looked east and she could just make out Lunar Grove in the distance. Habitat of the werewolves at the full moon, Lunar Grove was a woodland sanctuary in which they could roam freely in wolf form. The werewolves, true to their wolf nature, were pack animals led by an Alpha male. Only the Alpha pair would reproduce, which, in Summerfeld, meant that there were few challengers to the Alpha’s rule, however, every now and again, a young male would rise up against his sire and take over as pack leader.
“Is Rafe still the werewolf Alpha?” Quinn called across to Kellan, the thought occurring to her. It had been two years since she had last set foot in Summerfeld, and, though she highly doubted it, things might have changed. Rafe had been the Alpha for an unprecedented seventy-four years when Quinn had left the Guardians to take care of Jack and Ava. She liked Rafe... he was very sociable and gregarious by nature, but a fair and worthy leader.
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