Читать книгу Guardian of Honor - Robin D. Owens - Страница 13

Come, Alexa! Sinafin cried. She jumped up and down on Alexa, waking her.

Alexa cracked open an eye to see a blue squirrel, then shut it again. “No.” She snuggled deeper into the soft mattress. As soon as she’d escaped the clutches of the Marshalls, she’d showered and hopped into bed, though the sun still shone.

After her humiliating sickness, they’d whipped up another potion that settled her stomach and fed her. Then Alexa had been stuck in a room and measured and given “little” clothes by giggling women. Following that, she’d been shown into a map room to watch some oddity on an animated landscape. Finally, she’d been plunked down and taught some Lladranan by a person who tried to keep a straight face at her pronunciation. Alexa began to wonder if the days here were the same length as on Earth.

Alexa, Alexa, you must come. Sinafin scrabbled at the covers that Alexa pulled over her head.

“No, I’m tired. I’ve had a very full day and I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying in bed, and if I’m lucky, the Snap will come and take me away.”

Blue squirrel paws pushed the covers away, and Alexa found herself looking into bright black eyes. Sinafin clasped her paws together. PLEASE, Alexa.

“Your colors are off. There aren’t any blue squirrels.” Alexa rolled over.

She thought she dozed.

The baby cried. She shoved away fluffy comforters and half slid, half fell to the floor. Her bare feet missed the rug and jarred against cold stone. She swore.

Come, come, come! Sinafin, a golden ball, dipped and swooped, then vanished through the closed door.

Hopping from foot to foot, Alexa dragged on knit slippers that were warm and cushioned her feet from the stone floor. She muttered curses. In English. She hadn’t learned enough Lladranan to know any good local swears.

What was it now? A person couldn’t even barricade herself into her room for a little shut-eye.

NOW, Alexa! Sinafin—a neon purple bat—screeched in her ear and zoomed through the door again. Over her nightgown, Alexa whipped on a quilted robe that trailed on the ground, and rushed across the threshold—

And was jerked short when her robe stuck in the door. No infant was near. She heard a wail—would they leave the baby on one of the narrow landings? Surely not.

Follow me! cried Sinafin.

Gritting her teeth and taking precious time to open the door and grab the robe, Alexa knew she really needed those swearwords. She ran through the Tower room, down and down and down endless stairs following a flashing neon purple bat into the Cloisters. It was dark and raining again. Not twenty-four hours after her arrival in Lladrana and she was charging to the rescue again. Didn’t a savior ever get a little downtime?

Apparently not. Sinafin led her to the huge oak door of the circular Temple. Were they trying to teach the baby to swim again the hard way? Alexa hated being manipulated by the Marshalls. But was this their work? The door opened easily under her hand and she rushed into the dim room.

Sure enough, Sinafin hovered by the end of that nasty pool as a large golden glow, flickering and fluttering wildly, as if trying to keep something out of the liquid.

Alexa’s heart pounded and she peeled off her robe. Sucking in a big breath and whimpering inwardly, she dove into the pool.

Pain dimmed her mind like a lowering curtain. She fought against it, gritting her teeth to keep from opening her mouth in a scream and swallowing the stuff. The liquid slid against her, like it was measuring every inch of her before seeking each tiny wound to torture—She came up against someone hard.

It wasn’t a baby this time. It was a big guy. Well, normal for them, but big to her. Apparently he’d made it into the pool, but not out of it. Alexa could understand that; the liquid gnawed at her bruises and sent biting pain along scratches. She vowed to never, ever pick at her cuticles again.

Thrusting her head above the liquid she gasped and thrashed to hold the limp, heavy limbs of the man. She sensed Sinafin trying to help, taking part of the man’s weight.

Her nightgown tangled her legs, she floundered, slipped and sank, found her feet and tried again. Grunting and swearing she managed to roll the man out of the pool, but sank again before crawling out.

He lives! Sinafin caroled in relief.

Just as Alexa surfaced and opened her mouth to ask something instead of heaving a breath, Sinafin turned into a purple bat with golden wings and streaked from the chamber—through a closed glass window this time. As she did so she made the sound of a wailing baby.

Alexa allowed herself to collapse on the floor. She’d been had! By her own…what? Mentor? Sidekick? Friend?

After a few minutes the marble floor, though warm, felt really hard. Alexa rocked to her hands and knees, then stood and wobbled. Until she saw him. Then she was struck still and dumb with pure admiration.

Wow! Only the dim crystals in the rafters and the glowing gemstone crystals in a rainbow on the altar lit the room, but it was enough. He lay on his back, the outline of his muscles flickering wet and golden-hued. Alexa swallowed hard.

She took a step forward. Broad shoulders tapered to narrow hips, muscular thighs—she bet he had a killer butt—nice calves, long elegant feet. Oh yeah.

Naturally she looked at his sex. She was a red-blooded American woman, wasn’t she? And she had to make sure that the people of Lladrana were like people at home. She peered a little closer and gulped. Yes, his parts were like those of the men at home. No, it didn’t look like he was hurt there at all—but otherwise…

Just seeing the scars on him appalled her—new red welts, some slices that looked like they had come from the same sort of monster who’d attacked her. His body was a map of colorful bruises, scratches and circular raised bumps that made her think of leeches. She shuddered. He had a big, nasty puncture close to his, um, jewels that made her wince and shift from foot to foot.

She was warm and safe here, as was he, but how was she going to get help?

She eyed the gong and bit her lip. It was near the altar with those jewel-crystals and other magical stuff. She really didn’t want to touch it.

“Sinafin?” she whispered.

No answer.

Alexa studied the studly guy again, this time making it to his face. She frowned. He looked a little like someone she’d seen before, but she couldn’t place the resemblance. Nice jaw, good straight nose. Eyes heavy-lidded and tilted up at the corners. Soft, mobile lips.

Soft, mobile lips? She was losing it. Time to get her act together and see if she could help the man, but at least his wide, lightly haired chest rose and fell steadily.

Then she noticed something else. Unlike every other adult in Lladrana, he didn’t have black hair or black hair with silver or gold streaks at one or both temples. No, the flickering light gleamed on his striped black-and-white hair. She stared. The baby had black-and-white hair like that too. Did they ritually drown those? She knew in her bones it must mean something.

His lids opened and she stared into deep brown eyes that slowly focused. He opened his mouth and started coughing. He stirred, moaned, then subsided again into unconsciousness. But his breath turned steady and deep.

The door pushed open and cold air swept around her, plastering her nightgown to her body. She whirled. A skinny teenager holding a tray and a pitcher stared openmouthed at her. She narrowed her eyes. He had that electric-blue outline that several of the Marshalls had had that morning. She glanced back at the man lying by the pool—yes, there was a slight electric-blue tint coating him.

She looked at her own hands. They radiated blue. Then she saw her own body, fully revealed by the thin, wet nightgown. She looked very white. She made a sound like “Eek”—a girly sound, she thought in disgust—hurried and snatched her robe.

“Voulvous? Vu?” The boy’s voice rose in a question.

Alexa forced her lips into a grin, flopped a hand in what she’d intended to be a wave, and wobbled past the boy to the door. She’d done what Sinafin had wanted. Alexa didn’t plan to hang around for questions she couldn’t answer.

The man groaned behind her. She quickened her pace. The teenager frowned, then set the tray down and ran to the man.

Alexa slipped out the door and into the cloister walk. Silver rain fell tinkling around her, then sputtered into droplets and subsided into a soft patter.

Once back in her room, after showering—another pain, since some of the jerir penetrated her scratches instead of sliding from her body—Alexa was restless. She went to the windows to look out, and saw blackness over the fields. Her tower was one of the four large round Towers of the Castle Keep, but no one lived there except herself.

She dressed in leggings, a shirt and a long tunic, then she paced.

Though the weather had cleared and brilliant stars shone in the night sky, there was only the faintest luminescence where she knew the Town should be. No use going to the Town, since she wasn’t even familiar with the Castle. The thought of walking alone down the hill to the Town daunted her. She shivered as the memory of the night hike she’d taken in Colorado flickered in her mind’s eye. She’d been crazy, spellbound, grief-stricken—maybe all three.

She noticed the swaying white branches of the beautiful large tree in the garden below. Concentrating hard, she heard the soft murmuring of the tree’s Song, which spoke of contentment and spring and growing and destiny. The strains came too quietly to grasp and the melody was such that she wanted to listen to the whole of it. Or maybe she just had cabin fever and wanted out. She drew her heavy, warm purple cloak around her, then slipped from her room and down the stairs.

Everything was quiet.

Hesitating, she cocked her head to get the tree’s direction. With slow steps she followed the tune and found herself before a small door that would let her out of the Keep and near the garden. She opened it, and air laden with humidity and the rich secrets of night-growing plants wafted to her. As she inhaled, more notes joined the rich orchestral symphony. She exited, and a few strides later faced the tall hedge maze. Perfectly groomed, it stood a good fifteen feet high, dense and dark and green-black.

Still the tree Sang, and it Sang to her. She could almost hear it Sing her name. She pulled her cloak close and the cowl low and threaded her way through the maze by sound instead of sight. Low bird chirps accompanied the soft tread of her own footsteps.

A few minutes later she exited the maze at a right angle from where she had entered. There was a small lawn, then an old, low wall of stone with a little door that looked to be just her size. She smiled and walked to it, put her hand on the cold handle, pressed the latch and pulled, expecting an awful creak. The door swung silently and easily open.

The moon had risen while she’d been in the maze and now painted the garden in silver light. A profusion of bushes with stark branches of various shades of gray and black were all tangled together as though the garden wasn’t well tended. Most of the Lladranans would have to stoop through the door.

But the white tree lifting graceful branches into the sky was the only life taller than the wall.

A bench circled the tree, and she picked her way through dead leaves along an overgrown path toward it. For a moment she hesitated, then slid her hands up and down the trunk, feeling the bark, smooth in some spots, rough in others. Tree-song enveloped her and she sat on the bench, leaning against the trunk.

She didn’t know how long she rested there, her busy mind quiet, experiencing the tree’s melody, imbued with serenity. It lilted of sap rising through it slowly, slowly, of the anticipation of each bud pushing through bark and unfurling tiny leaves, of the reaching of its branches and how it danced with the wind and the sky and the Song.

There you are! Sinafin said, the hint of a scold in her voice.

She was still the purple bat. In the recesses of her mind, Alexa knew she should be upset with the shape-changer, and there were questions she wanted answers to, but being in the tree’s presence had made all her questions seem less urgent, as if she were measuring time more slowly now. So she just stared at the purple bat and admired its wings.

Sinafin hung upside down from a near branch and gazed at Alexa. Even this wasn’t too disconcerting. She was operating on tree-time, with tree-serenity-philosophy still pulsing around her.

The shapeshifter whiffled, eyes bright. You like the brithenwood tree, very good.

Why? Another question that should be more important than it seemed. Only one concern rose to her mind.

“I’m here to make new fenceposts to defend Lladrana?” She’d culled that from Sinafin’s mind-movie of the night before and the talk amongst the Marshalls in the Temple after she’d been taken to bed like a kid. But within the peace of the garden the spark of irritation failed to flame.

Yes.

“Tell me of the fenceposts.”

They are the primary defense of Lladrana, made by Guardian Marshalls during the last true invasion of horrors, about eight hundred years ago. Before my time. Since then we’ve had only little groups sneaking over. And the frinks. They are new in the past two years.

“I’m supposed to discover how the fenceposts are made and remake them?” Alexa wanted to be clear on this point.

The bat stretched its wings, so transparent that some stars shone through the tissue-skin. Yes.

“How?”

The Song will guide you.

Alexa hadn’t heard voices yet. “How?”

Sinafin was silent, her sprightly tune having faded. The background music hardly murmured. The tree was silent. Nothing answered Alexa.

The next morning the Marshalls had no sooner taken their seats around the Council table than the door flew open with a jar of harpstrings and Reynardus, Lord Knight of the Marshalls, strode in.

They all stood, Thealia slightly slower than the others. Though Reynardus marched to his chair at the head of the table and took it with a haughty look, pallor showed under his skin. He’d dipped in the jerir. Had probably swum back and forth the length of the pool, Thealia thought sourly. She narrowed her eyes. His expression hinted at controlled emotion.

“Events have not progressed well in the hours I have been gone. Hopefully now that I am back and can direct them, they will proceed better. I want to know what has occurred. I see we are all here except the dead Defau and Albertus’s ailing wife,” he said, still standing, knowing they all must sit after he did.

Thealia inclined her head. “I am sure you have been updated on all events.”

“We lost Defau and nearly lost Veya. The Choosing Ceremony failed. If we spend hours on training the Exotique, give her jewels and land as is required, she might still disappear like this—” he snapped gloved fingers, but the sound was still loud.

Thealia’s temper simmered.

Reynardus continued. “Furthermore, I hear you opened the jerir pool not only to the Marshalls and select landowners and Chevaliers, but to all Chevaliers—no, let me amend—” He peeled the gloves from his hands and flung them on the table. “You invited anyone to immerse themselves in our precious jerir. The jerir that cost us great effort to move from a natural pool to the Temple pool. With the right care it could have been saved and used for a year—”

“I thought we had agreed to drain the jerir,” Thealia said. “But you were the one in charge of that. Did you have plans that the rest of us didn’t know of?”

A touch of red lined his cheekbones. “That is moot now. I cannot believe you will let any scum off the city street use the jerir. I heard a stable boy dipped last night, a stable boy!”

Thealia looked at Mace.

His face hardened. “Your son’s new squire,” he said.

Reynardus’s brows rose. “Luthan has a new squire?”

“Bastien,” said Mace.

Someone turned a laugh into a cough.

Reynardus’s nostrils flared. “I should have known he’d have such poor judgment as to take a nobody stable boy for a squire, but for the rest of you to issue a proclamation to all the Towns for use of our jerir—”

“We are the guardians of the land,” Thealia said. “Lladrana needs all the staunch men and women available to fight the evil confronting us. One of the ways to recruit the people we need is to offer them use of the jerir.”

“As I said yesterday, I will be honored to train anyone who dips in the jerir,” Mace said. “Both your sons availed themselves of the jerir, as did some of the most important guild-people of the Town. Every hour more Chevaliers arrive to take advantage of our offer. We are building an army.”

“An army of shopkeepers!” Reynardus sneered.

Protests ran the length of the table.

“With our magical boundary fields failing, more land than ever is being invaded by the greater monsters. And even the Townspeople are affected by the frinks falling in the rain, burrowing into the soil and turning the weak-brained into inhuman mockers,” Thealia said, pursuing the point when the others didn’t. “We need strong defenders. Lord Knight Swordmarshall Reynardus, do you have any report of your Song Quest you wish recorded in the Marshalls’ Lorebook of Song Quests?”

Reynardus paled. He sat abruptly. “No.” The moments it took for everyone to sit were enough for him to regain composure. He swept a piercing gaze around the table and verbally attacked. “I want a moment-by-moment recitation of what happened here at the Castle in my absence. I want a list of the names and ranks of those who have bathed in the jerir. I want an update on our borders. Most of all, I want to know what you have done to train our new Exotique ‘savior’ to control her Powers and to fight.”

At that moment the doorharp sounded.

Reynardus scowled. Everyone looked at the door. Rapping came.

Thealia glanced at Reynardus. “It must be important.”

He shrugged. “Come,” he called.

The door opened only enough to let a Castle serving woman, Umilla, slide in. She was a bowed, thin woman dressed in bright green that emphasized her drab coloring. Her hair was streaked white and black—a sign of the greatest of Power or the most fragmented.

Several Marshalls gasped at her presumption.

Umilla twisted her hands in the dress that hung from her frame. When she spoke her voice was dry and whispery. “There’s a feycoocu in the Castle,” she said.

Everyone stared at her. When the silence stretched, she turned and shuffled away.

“Stop, girl,” Reynardus shouted. “Say that again, and speak up. I didn’t hear you.”

Umilla only turned her head. “There’s a feycoocu in the Castle.” Her words were only a little louder, but the spells in the Chamber amplified them and repeated them: There’s a feycoocu in the castle. There’s a feycoocu in the castle.

Reynard stood. He leaned forward, both hands on the table, his Power focused on Umilla. “A magical shapeshifter? Are you sure, girl?”

“Blessings. It’s been more than a century since we’ve been so graced. A good sign that our Summoning was right. A feycoocu can only help our cause,” Partis said.

Snorting, Reynardus said, “You always take the optimistic road, Partis.” He turned back to Umilla. “Serving girl, come here.”