The Quest (Psionic Pentalogy Book 4)

by Adrian Howell

  I didn’t know much of how things were in Scott’s room with Daniel and Walter, but the three seemed to get along. Unlike Terry, Scott was almost always calm and relaxed, but nevertheless a natural leader. I was glad that our eldest son was so dependable.

  Terry’s roommate, Rachael Adams, was a little on the quiet side compared to the other teenage girls, but she was kind to everyone and helped around the house a lot. She also kept her promise to be Alia’s outdoor escort. Rachael’s power as a psionic hider wasn’t nearly strong enough yet for her to give individual hiding protection, so she always walked with Alia to and from Patrick’s house, keeping Alia right beside her. Alia liked it better that way too since she hated going outside by herself.

  My sister spent much of her waking hours sticking close to me in the house, but nevertheless made friends with the older girls, and also frequently visited Patrick down the street. Whenever she returned from her visits, in addition to updates on baby Laila (who was in perfect health), Alia gave me snippets of information about the Guardians living in Walnut Lane. About half were psionic, and most had pretty normal lives. Patrick’s temporary guardians, neither of whom were psionic, worked as doctors at a large hospital.

  Several days into our stay, Merlin announced that Walnut Lane had made contact with Teddy’s aunt, who had escaped New Haven unharmed, and the following day, we bid Teddy goodbye. It was a brief, happy occasion that brought some hope to the rest of us, but after he left, I’m sure everyone wondered if any more would follow. Teddy hadn’t been told yet, but his parents and sister were presumed dead or converted.

  Still, Teddy had been the lucky one. July dragged on, and no one else got a ticket home. It looked like we really were going to be here for the long haul.

  Despite Mrs. Harding’s demand not to draw attention to ourselves, we weren’t actually restricted to the house. As long as we were careful not to move about in large packs, the non-psionics among us could come and go during the daytime. The only problem was that no one had any spending money, so movies and recreational pools were out of the question. There was a public park with a sports field that could be used freely, and other Walnut Lane families occasionally invited a few of the kids over for meals and entertainment, but with the summer heating up and few places to go, many of our kids spent the majority of their time at home.

  Even so, very few in our house spent their days moping around. Despite (or perhaps because of) the trauma they had suffered, nearly everyone did their best to keep their spirits high. We were all in this together, after all. Either our families and friends would be alive or they wouldn’t. Until we knew for certain, it was pointless to grieve. In the meantime, there was entertainment in the form of television, music, secondhand toys, games and books to keep everyone’s mind off of their worries. Especially the older girls made extra efforts to keep our home a happy place, and thanks to the cheerful mood they often set in the house, even Max slowly started coming out of his shell. I was grateful for everyone’s resilience, which gave me strength in turn. An uninformed visitor probably wouldn’t think that these were kids who had recently been torn from everything they knew.

  As the new “baby” of the house, Alia often got preferential treatment, especially from Heather and Candace who absolutely adored the littlest Guardian Knight. My sister seemed to enjoy the extra attention she was getting – up to a point. At least it kept her from her darker thoughts during the daylight hours. But Alia was used to a much quieter life, and I could tell that she sometimes tired of the girls’ lively company. Alia’s main problem wasn’t so much the fact that she was only ten years old but that she looked even younger, and her honorary title didn’t command the same respect that Terry and I enjoyed. No one in our house was ever mindful of Alia’s need for peace and quiet, so I could hardly blame her for wanting to spend a little more time over at Patrick’s. Terry’s idea of law and order was basically the absence of blood on the carpet, so between the boys’ roughhousing and the girls’ constant chatter, our oversized family often turned the place into a semi-madhouse.

  But our fun and games were only during the daytimes. Nights were a very different matter. There was something about the darkening of the sky that unlocked the gates of even the strongest hearts to doubt, fear and pain. Just about everyone had periodic nightmares, and Max was by no means the only one who cried in bed.

  I could usually tell when someone had a particularly bad night by how much breakfast they ate the next morning. Most of these kids were lifelong Guardians, and before their families moved to New Haven, they had been part of smaller psionic communities just like Walnut Lane. Without their families, however, they were fish out of water, and their strength waxed and waned with the sun and the moon.

  As much as I worried about them all, my primary concern was, as always, with Alia.

  Candace and Heather often teased my sister about her nighttime attachment to me, but even though Alia was now old enough to be properly embarrassed by it, she still refused their offer to take her into their room. And despite promising to keep to her own side of our queen-size bed, Alia still regularly clung to me at night, which sort of negated the advantage of having a comfortable mattress. Unlike back in New Haven, we didn’t have a dreamweaver here that could help pacify her nightmares, so even when I could get Alia to go to sleep on her own side, if she woke in the middle of the night (which she frequently did), I would invariably wake up the next morning with her arms wrapped around me in a way that guaranteed me a stiff neck and shoulders. My sister, knowing full well that she wasn’t fooling me in the least, would insist that she had simply rolled over in her sleep.

  “If you don’t stop being such a bedbug, Alia,” I said to her warningly, “I’m going to take a leaf out of Terry’s book and tickle you so much you won’t have the energy left to roll over in your sleep.”

  “That’s mean, Addy!” said Alia, looking at me in a hurt way.

  Of course I was only kidding. I understood Alia’s insecurity perfectly well because I felt it myself every night. Once, waking from a nightmare in which I found myself confronted with Cindy turned Angel, I had gone to the bathroom to splash some cold water onto my face and found Scott there doing the same. He actually admitted to me that he had been crying, and we talked for a while about what our futures might be like. We had nothing positive to say.

  Once the daylight returned, things were always better.

  Midway through July, Mrs. Harding informed us that when the next school year began, all the children would be sent to a nearby school where she knew the principal and could get kids in without proper paperwork. Max didn’t look like he was up to returning to a classroom yet, and Alia, who had never been to school, looked pretty apprehensive too. But that was still more than a month away.

  Meanwhile, Scott, Heather and Candace had found part-time day jobs at restaurants and cafes, promising enough income between them to keep everyone fed and probably even pay the utility bills. Fortunately, we weren’t being asked to pay rent on the house, and the Walnut Lane Guardians would still help us if we couldn’t make ends meet. My kitchen crew could no longer assist me for lunch preparations, so when I couldn’t get enough help from the others, I often settled for sandwiches which were both nutritious and easy to make.

  Steven was as sour and surly as ever, refusing to come out of his room except at mealtimes. Terry finally confronted him, telling Steven to start pulling his own weight or not get fed. After that, he occasionally helped me in the kitchen, silently working in his own corner on whatever task I (very politely) assigned. In all honesty, I would have preferred that he stayed in his room, but I was happy to see Steven making at least a small effort to fit in.

  I often felt that Felicity and Susan were comparatively fortunate in that they still had each other, much like Alia, Terry and I did. But Terry had been right when she described us as “one big family.” Daniel and Walter regarded Scott as a big brother, and James and I got along pretty well too. Gradually, almost everyone found
at least one or two people they could lean on for support when they needed it. There were plenty of loud quarrels over trivial matters, but that was to be expected of even a perfectly normal family, which we most definitely were not. For my part, I found it a refreshing change to be living in a house where I wasn’t the only male.

  Merlin was our designated house-hider, stopping by every day to repower his hiding bubble around our house. I eventually worked up the courage to ask him to check whether Lumina was hidden under a single giant hiding bubble. Merlin informed me the next day that, according to the Guardian spy network monitoring the Angel city, it wasn’t.

  “I’ll keep you posted, though,” promised Merlin. “If Cindy Gifford has been caught and converted, chances are, Lumina will be her station.”

  “Just don’t say anything in front of my sister,” I begged. “If Cindy really has turned Angel, I don’t want Alia finding out like that.” I had no idea how I would break it to Alia if Lumina did someday turn out to be under Cindy’s hiding bubble, but I would cross that bridge when I came to it.

  At the end of the first week of August, Terry asked Merlin to set up a meeting for us with Mrs. Harding, who hadn’t visited our house for several days now.

  Terry and I had been restlessly awaiting further news about the missing Council airplane, but now that it had been a full month since New Haven fell to the Angels, Terry was utterly done sitting around. Following their capture of Hew Haven, the Angels were gaining momentum, threatening to swallow up every last pocket of resistance that the Guardians and every other psionic faction had to offer. If things continued the way they were, in less than ten years, every psionic on the planet might be in the service of Randal Divine. For Terry, the best defense was always a fast and furious offense. Ever since learning the truth from Mr. Simms, there had been no question in Terry’s mind that we would somehow have to kill Randal Divine. His death alone might not end this war, but it would certainly bring it down a couple of notches.

  Killing the Angel king, however, was like trying to hunt a lion using only a slingshot while wearing a blindfold. The Guardians had spent many long years working toward assassinating the Angels’ master controllers, and it had only been through a series of lucky breaks that the Knights succeeded not only in killing Larissa Divine, but her heir apparent as well. But as the last remaining master controller on the planet today, King Divine would be far better protected than any world leader.

  Terry and I had discussed this problem at length several times that week.

  “You want to find Cindy, and I want to kill Randal,” Terry had said to me. “To get help with something like this, there’s really only one sure place we can go.”

  “The cute guy?” I asked innocently. That was how my late girlfriend had once described the never-aging 3000-year-old psionic recluse who lived in the mountains and traded information for favors.

  Terry nodded. “This war is history in the making, so the Historian is really our only bet. Even the Angels wouldn’t stand a chance if we could get the Historian to fight on our side.”

  Though technically still flesh and blood, the Historian had been alive so long and had consequently acquired so much psionic power that he was practically immortal. When Terry met the Historian last year, she had been seeking an answer to my lost eyesight. This time, however, our request wouldn’t be quite as innocuous.

  I looked at Terry uneasily. “But I thought the Historian had vowed never to alter the course of history with his powers. Maybe he’ll give us information, but he isn’t going to directly help us fight the Angels, is he?”

  “That remains to be seen,” said Terry. “I told you before that he has a soft spot for underdogs, and even the mighty Historian probably fears what could happen if the Angels really do end up taking over the planet. I’m guessing his neutrality is about to be tested.”

  I gave a non-committal nod, and Terry continued, “Besides, information alone would be a very good start. With the right information, we might even be able to kill Randal Divine without any direct help from the Historian.”

  Perhaps, but to get the Historian on our side would require an audience with him and plenty of gifts. The Seraphim would be closely watching every possible route to the Historian’s mountain home, and the notoriously fickle and eccentric Historian was unlikely to assist us in breaking through the Angels’ embargo on his vast knowledge and powers.

  “It won’t be easy getting to him,” I said warningly.

  “I know it won’t be easy, Half-head!” snapped Terry. “Since when was anything we did easy? Come on, trust me on this. You remember that I made a second trip to the Historian alone, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” I replied cautiously. “But things are different now.”

  The Angels would have tripled their guard on the Historian’s mountain since Terry had been there last. The balance of power had tilted too far.

  Terry said accusingly, “You promised you’d help me find and kill Randal Divine.”

  “I also said Cindy first,” I reminded her.

  “I’m going even without your help,” Terry said stubbornly, and then grinned as she added, “But if you come with me, who knows? The Historian might be able to tell you what happened to the Council’s plane.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You’re just trying to use me.”

  Terry laughed. “Well, sure I am, but so what? You don’t plan on spending the rest of your life in Walnut Lane, do you?”

  It was useless to argue with Terry once she had an idea in her head. Terry wanted Mrs. Harding to lend us the Walnut Lane Guardian Knights, without which our hope of reaching the Historian alive was virtually nonexistent. Merlin strongly doubted that Mrs. Harding would ever grant Terry’s request, but he agreed to arrange a meeting nevertheless.

  The following day, having received personal hiding protection from Merlin so that I could leave the house, I accompanied Terry to the home of the woman who led Walnut Lane. Old Mrs. Harding lived half a block down from us in a richly furnished two-story house with her daughter, son-in-law and three grandchildren.

  We arrived just in time for afternoon tea and cake.

  Terry patiently explained her idea and request to Mrs. Harding, who listened with a sympathetic smile as she sipped her tea.

  “Oh, Teresa dear,” Mrs. Harding said affectionately when Terry finished, “you have grown so much since you stayed with us last winter. But your recklessness has no limit, does it?”

  I could never get over how Mrs. Harding called my combat instructor “Teresa dear,” and I bit my lip to keep from laughing.

  “We have to try, Mrs. Harding,” argued Terry, whose facial muscles were hard at work concealing her annoyance. “It is our only hope.”

  “But we have tried, Teresa,” said Mrs. Harding. “Do you honestly believe that you are the first to seek an audience with the Historian since the fall of your city? There have been at least six attempts by the Guardians to reach the Historian already, and not one of them has returned. Most of them never even made it to the mountain.”

  “But we can’t just sit around and do nothing,” insisted Terry. “That’s not how you win a war.”

  “A war…” mused Mrs. Harding. “Yes, it is a war, alright. Especially these last few weeks, things have been quite crazy right here.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Terry.

  Mrs. Harding sighed. “Teresa dear, you are not even the first to ask me to give away my Knights. We have been contacted by the two so-called ‘true Guardians’ last month. Both have demanded that I give half of my Knights to them. If I obliged them both, we would have none left at all to protect Walnut Lane.”

  “Are you going to send any Knights?” I asked.

  Mrs. Harding chuckled. “Heavens no, dear. This isn’t the New Haven Council we’re talking about.”

  Mrs. Harding took an excruciatingly slow sip of tea, and then said, “The truth is that I have been speaking with the families here and the general consensus is that we should strike
our colors.”

  Horrified, I asked, “You mean join the Angels?”

  “Oh, no, nothing as dire as that,” said Mrs. Harding, smiling comfortingly. “Secession, dear Adrian. The Guardians are on the verge of collapse, and we feel that they may drag us down when they do.”

  Now I understood why Mrs. Harding had called New Haven “your city” earlier.

  Mrs. Harding continued, “Soon after Queen Granados was assassinated, this small community became independent and remained neutral for many years. It was only last year that we decided to rejoin the Guardians and established contact with the New Haven Council. Now, it appears that our trust may have been misplaced.”

  My first impression of Mrs. Harding had been that of a cookie-baking flower-arranging grandmother, but now I could see the destroyer in her blood. The telekinetic leader of the Walnut Lane Guardians was actually a tough pragmatist that reminded me a little of Mr. Baker.

  Terry’s frustration was beginning to show more clearly on her face. “Mrs. Harding, we may be in a state of turmoil, but the Guardians are all that stand between the Angels and a world ruled by psionics. You can’t turn your back now. You just can’t!”

  Mrs. Harding shook her head. “A Guardian councilwoman visited us at the start of this year, Teresa, shortly after you left us. This Mrs. Brown had come to assure us of the impregnability of your experimental Guardian city. She even suggested that we join her there. And yet New Haven fell to the Angels in just one night.” Mrs. Harding took another long sip of her tea before continuing gravely, “The hard truth we must all face now is that our fight with the Angels is a lost cause. The Angels have already won, and we must each do what we can to protect ourselves. I’m sorry, Teresa, but the war is over.”

  “It’s not over!” Terry said furiously. “I’ll start my own war if I have to!”