02 Eternity - Guardian

by Laury Falter

  Bridgette’s face changed then as her memory rewound to the moments before. It became clear to her that she had been disrespected and her entire being seemed to darken.

  I left her standing at my desk and met Eran at the door but not before peeking over my shoulder at her. She had her eyes on us, narrowed and brewing, and this time she didn’t try to hide behind an artificial smile.

  Now, she was a scorned woman.

  Eran didn’t ask about the discussion on the way to my next class. It seemed he already knew what had transpired without me needing to tell him. Personally, I was happy to ignore it too. Bridgette wasn’t my preferred topic. Instead, I started the conversation on a more pleasant note and mentioned that my sculpting class had received their clay and today we would begin carving a chunk of it.

  My anticipation and his enthusiasm for me lasted until we reached my classroom door. There, he gazed at me briefly and then started down the hall towards his class.

  Neither one of us knew that my excitement would be short-lived.

  Once inside, I chose my sculpting tools from a bin and took a seat on a tall stool in front of an even taller miniature desk. The clay was passed out by Ms. Johnson who explained the assignment as she circled the room.

  “Art is self-expression. We must embrace that creativity, not deny it. Therefore, I’m giving you carte blanche authority over this clay. Create what you wish. Take a moment to envision what this block of clay will become. It has a purpose…It wants to be something. Listen to it. Allow it to tell you. Visualize it and then begin.”

  Following her instructions, I closed my eyes and the vision came to me. From that moment on, I could not recall a single thought or movement until she was standing over me. For an indeterminable amount of time nothing disrupted me. No voices, no scuffing of the stools against the concrete floor, no shuffling of notepads, absolutely nothing penetrated my awareness.

  Then Ms. Johnson cleared her throat, shaking me from my trance.

  “What are you doing, Ms. Tanner?” she demanded.

  I blinked several times, trying to regain my consciousness.

  “Do I need to ask it again?” she said, in a self-aggrandizing way.

  “I-I don’t know what you mean,” I replied.

  “That is what I mean.” She pointed past my shoulder to the chunk of clay I’d been working on, although it was no longer a chunk.

  What had started out as a large, gray brick was now an immaculately detailed rendering of what looked to be a Fallen One. It was perched on the board where the clay had sat, its feet positioned at the edge where its overgrown fingernails hung. Its mouth was open as if it were screaming exposing long and jagged teeth. Its wings were out, extending past the foot long board, and so defined that I’d carved its feathers in detail.

  I recognized it instantly as my winged attacker during my time in London.

  Taking a sweeping look at the others students’ clay, I found that none of them had come close to what I’d done. Most were lopsided chairs, nondescript head busts, or warped logs meant to be something more.

  All in all, what I’d accomplished, in a seemingly very short time, was remarkable. Ms. Johnson, however, did not feel the same way.

  “Its hideous…Get it out of my class,” she ordered before turning to the rest of the students. “I said make this clay your own…I did not say to take your under-indulged, juvenile, dungeons and dragons fantasy out on this innocent clay.”

  I should have been fuming at the way Ms. Johnson scolded me for, by all reasons that I could determine, an exemplary job. Yet, as I picked up the sculpture and left the class that was the last thing on my mind. I was immersed in trying to understand how I could have created this detailed and proportional replica of my enemy without any previous sculpting experience and without any recollection of actually doing so.

  I was so deep in contemplation that it wasn’t until I was halfway down the hall did I notice I wasn’t alone.

  The hair on the back of my neck tickled and gradually lifted to pull aggressively at the back of my neck.

  Turning, I found Marco approaching me in the empty hallway, wearing his polo and khakis security uniform.

  “Ms. Tanner,” he said, mockingly. “Do you have a reason to be out of class?”

  Focus, I told myself. Focus on something other than your reaction, control it or risk being unprepared if he tries anything.

  Suddenly, like a curtain being drawn open, I noticed the world around me. I heard a teacher’s voice through the walls as clearly as if I were standing in the very same room. She was lecturing on the Civil War. I smelled the mint bubblegum left on the door of a locker down the hall. I heard the static of the electronic signs mounted along the walls. Lastly, I noticed that the hair on the back of my neck was settling down enough to respond.

  “Don’t patronize me, Marco,” I snapped. “Eran told me about you.”

  “He did?” said Marco, stepping closer. Too close. “So you know of our history together?”

  “We have no history.”

  “Then he didn’t tell you everything.”

  “I’m not going to play this game with you, Marco.”

  He moaned seductively. “I’ve missed the way you speak my name.”

  Instinctually, my lip curled up, repulsed.

  “I can see that you haven’t…” he pouted.

  “No,” Eran’s voice, declarative and unyielding, came up behind me. “She hasn’t.”

  I turned to find him marching up the hallway, drawing in my breath at the sight of him.

  “You’re testing my patience, Marco,” Eran said irritably, stopping beside me and a small step ahead, blocking Marco from me.

  Holding his ground, Marco refused to take a step back.

  “What do you want with Magdalene?”

  Marco shrugged. “Just catching up with an old flame…”

  Unaffected at the jibe, Eran stepped forward, closing the gap between him and Marco. Their chests were nearly touching now. “Consider yourself caught up,” said Eran, blatantly hinting for Marco to leave.

  Marco appeared unflustered. “It doesn’t seem like you’ve acknowledged it so I’m going to explain it to you…I’m the authority here. You’re the student,” said Marco, his tone foreboding.

  Eran responded through tight lips, his anger heating up. “You have no authority.”

  “On the contrary…” said Marco sneering, “I could assign you to detention. That would leave dear Maggie exposed…vulnerable.”

  Eran chuckled contemptuously then. “You don’t seriously think I would ever leave her alone?” His shoulders shook with quiet, ridiculing laughter. “You don’t think I’ve left my army in the afterlife? Marco, they are all here…prepared to intervene if it becomes necessary…Eager for it, in fact.”

  Only then did Marco step back, fear floating across his face. Yet, he was still compelled to counter. “That may be the case but more of us are arriving each day. Attendance here has never been higher. Soon you will be outnumbered.”

  Eran smirked, radiating confidence. “I look forward to that.”

  Marco scoffed. “You have no idea what you’re up against, what is headed your way. Revenge will be so rewarding…” He continued backing down the hallway until he was a safe distance and he could flee unharmed. “They’ll be here sooner than you think.”

  After Marco disappeared around a corner, Eran turned to me, drawing in a deep breath. “I felt your radar go off,” he explained.

  “I figured,” I said, now smiling. ““How did you get out of class?”

  “Excused myself for the bathroom. And you?”

  “Oh…me?” I scoffed, now slightly perturbed by Ms. Johnson. “I made my first sculpture…which I’m fairly proud of despite what it depicts.” I lifted it to show Eran, noticing I’d squeezed the moist clay arm where I held it into an odd shape during my moment of panic.

  Eran’s face suddenly contorted, erasing any sign of encouragement and replacing it with concern.
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  “It’s a Fallen One…” I explained, not understanding how he failed to distinguish it. “I mean, except for the teeth and fingernails.”

  “Those aren’t fingernails,” Eran said, tensely. “Those are claws.”

  “Sure, if you want to put a fine point on it…”

  “No, Magdalene, they truly are claws.”

  I studied him. “What are you not telling me?”

  “You’ve sculpted an Elsic, Magdalene.”

  “I’m sorry…A what?”

  “An Elsic,” said Eran, glancing around to ensure we were still alone before continuing his explanation. “Over the time Fallen Ones spend incarcerated, many of whom have been imprisoned for centuries, they change…they morph. Living underground, off each other, and only in the presence of pure evil they become darker, if you can imagine that. Their evil transforms them…They can no longer pass as humans, by appearance or by behavior. They’re far too…” he paused to search for the best description, “sinister. It isn’t simply their bodies or motives that transforms…It is their soul. They become so malevolent that those who die at the hands of an Elsic are sent to eternal death.”

  “Eternal death?” I asked. “I thought only Fallen Ones had that ability and that their ability only applied to me. You’re saying these creatures…these Elsics have this ability too?”

  “Yes, but with the Elsics, their ability applies to everyone, mortal or otherwise. As Fallen Ones, this power only applies to messengers…to you specifically. Yet, as they transform, their power develops, it increases to include all living things.” He paused and then asked curiously, “How…How were you ever able to create their likeness when you haven’t seen one?”

  “I have seen one…in my past life…in London.”

  “You’ve been visiting your past lives?” he asked, suddenly alarmed.

  “Segments of them, the more important times in those lives. That’s how…That’s how I saw the Elsic. I watched you kill one on a London street.”

  His gaze dropped as he nodded reflectively. “Yes, that one escaped from the prison. I remember it well.” He drew in a breath and brought his eyes back to me. While mine were wide, his were pensive.

  “Eran, is there a problem with me reviewing my past lives?”

  Eran’s face contorted into a multitude of emotions from trepidation to sorrow to compliance. I got the distinct feeling his mind was running through the memories of those lives. “If you wish to watch your past lives it is your choice but prepare yourself, Magdalene. Your journeys have been…challenging to say the least. Not all of your experiences are pleasant.”

  I snickered at his understatement. “Yes, I’ve already figured that out.” I paused for a second, considering whether to ask my next question until I realized that what I’d learned of myself during my past lives was too important to dismiss.

  “There is one thing that I can’t seem to figure out though,” I said. “Every time I’ve died…so far at least…I-I never came back. I never fell back to earth after I took my last breath. It doesn’t make any sense…leaving you here…on earth…alone.”

  “Fair question,” he stated plainly, though he didn’t appear overly eager to answer it. His lips turned down briefly as he glanced down the hall without really looking at anything in particular. “It was decided long ago that should a messenger die at the hands of their own guardian they would be unable to return to earth immediately. This is a precautionary measure as it was assumed that should a guardian take the life of the one they are guarding it is because the messenger is at risk of dying at the hands of a Fallen One. It is a last resort, of course, but should it happen as it has with us…” his voice trailed off and he cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the memories of these instances, and then continued. “Should it happen, should a guardian take the life of those being guarded, it is deemed that to return to earth immediately would be unsafe and thus you are barred from ever doing so.”

  “Who decided this?” I asked, stunned at the shortsightedness.

  “You,” he replied and then wavered. “Well, I brought it up and it took some convincing to get you to agree.”

  My mouth fell open. “I can’t,” I muttered. “I can’t believe I would ever agree to that…that restriction.”

  “It is for your own good.”

  “Is that what you told me when you were convincing me?” I asked, irritated.

  “Yes,” he replied without regret. “It really is for your own good, Magdalene.”

  “Regardless…” I said, appalled at myself. Mentally shaking off this unwelcomed news, I needed to clarify these parameters. “So…if I die at the hands of a Fallen One I suffer eternal death. If I die by the hands of my guardian…you…then I suffer timeless bliss.”

  “Correct.”

  “And every life up until this one, I have died by your hands…by your actions?”

  He nodded slowly, uneasy. “All but the first one when you died of age. Have you…have you been through your life in America? In Pennsylvania?”

  “Not yet. I’ve been working my way up the list. I still have my life in Paris and then in Gettysburg.” I watched him closely. “Why? What happens in Pennsylvania?”

  He opened his mouth to answer and then closed it. After a moment of thought, he spoke cautiously. “I think you’ll need to watch it for yourself.” He said nothing more, the concern etched in to his expression telling me that he preferred not to recall it.

  I was certain that if he had the choice he would prevent me from seeing it and whatever tragedy he refused to recount for me. Always, his primary instinct was to protect me. My instinct was to learn and I’d already decided that I would finish reviewing the list entirely, including a visit to Pennsylvania where I would learn about the tragedy too horrible for Eran to describe.

  CHAPTER TWELVE: TRAINING GROUND

  For the remainder of the day, as Eran walked with me between classes and sat with me at lunch, he didn’t bring up the subject of me visiting my past lives again. Still, I had a lingering feeling that he was anxious about it. Instead our discussions were limited to class assignments and our hesitancy at tasting Felix’s salmon meatloaf pie at dinner.

  Our drive home was even slower, as if Eran was reluctant to get me any closer to my room where I’d eventually fall asleep and return to reviewing my past lives.

  After Felix’s unappetizing but nutritious dinner, Eran and I stood at the back porch as was typical when he was preparing to leave for his nightly mission.

  “Where are you going this time?” I asked as he removed his shirt to make way for the emergence of his wings.

  His muscles rippled seductively in the shadows, causing my breath to catch in my throat. No matter how often I watched this scene unfold before me, I never tired of it.

  “I try to keep the details of my missions to myself,” Eran said, handing his shirt to me. “I don’t want to worry you.”

  “I worry anyways.”

  “Yes, Campion has mentioned it,” he said, his wings expanding now behind him. They shuttered, as if to shake the stiffness from them, and settled down against his back.

  “The little spy…” I grumbled.

  Eran laughed lightly and then pulled me close, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. “He’s only keeping me informed.”

  “I know…” I said my voice muffled with my head tucked in the crux of his shoulder. I tightened my hold, enjoying the feel of his solid body against mine. “Wherever you go tonight, just be safe.”

  He pulled away to kiss me, quick but deep. Then his wings pumped and he was drawn backwards still facing me.

  “I will be safe, my dear Magdalene,” he said, expertly hovering a foot above the ground with his gorgeous, trademark smirk.

  “Showoff,” I muttered with a smile.

  Hearing it, he winked. “Always.”

  He spun around then and lifted up into the darkness.

  I watched until he could no longer be seen and then went inside to tell Campion
it was time for my next training.

  The truth was my session at Ms. Beedinwigg’s home might prove to be just as dangerous, considering the training she made me endure last time. Secretly, I didn’t mind. As much as it was tiring, it was also exciting to test myself against her contraptions.

  I’d now seen how the Fallen Ones fight. There were no inhibitions, no boundaries, and only the dedication to kill. With their skills, developed over centuries at battle, they were formidable enemies. I needed all the training I could get.

  We arrived on time and again were escorted by Alfred to the training area below ground.

  “Maggie…Campion,” she greeted and then launched right into another lesson.

  She instructed me to sprint through the same contraption as last time and was as pleased as I was when I reached the other side with less bumps and scratches. My timing also improved, surprising me when the stopwatch confirmed it.

  Leading me to the next contraption a few feet from the last one, she timed me, recording it on a clipboard, as I sprinted through this one as well. While the last test required me to stay on my feet, this one forced me to stay off them. I rolled, jumped, and slid along thin beams or risked being crushed by the levers. She seemed pleased with the results.

  The remaining time was spent practicing on the balance board and avoiding her punches and kicks.

  All in all, it was just as exhausting as the first session and I couldn’t wait to climb into bed. It always seemed that while my body stayed on earth throughout the night it recovered from the day, healing injuries or illness, repairing muscles and any aches – something I couldn’t appreciate more.

  I awoke in the Hall of Records, as usual. Although unlike most other nights, I was not alone.

  Sitting up, I stretched, though it was unnecessary here, and looked around.

  I jolted after finding Gershom standing on the opposite side of the bench, facing the scrolls. It looked as if he was inspecting them.

  “Nice to see that you’re up,” he commented casually without bothering to turn around.