Guardian

by P B Hughes

Chapter 11

  Nera struggled against her bonds—cords of rope wound about her so tightly her breaths came short and labored.

  There has to be a way out, she thought, squinting about the cave in desperation. Smoke rolled up from a churning fire pit in the middle of the room, stinging her eyes. An enormous hog, scorched black, roasted across the crater. She wasn’t sure which smelled worse: the putrid pig or the rotting carcasses left strewn about the floor without reason. Her vision blurred and she thought she might faint. Stay awake, Nera, she ordered herself. Stay awake and find a way out of this.

  Martha moaned next to her. Nera remembered that she and Sir Weston had both been knocked unconscious by the two-headed ogre’s smoke breath that spewed out of its mouths. Nera had seen Martha and Sir Weston inhale it; in an instant they were gone. She tried to hold her breath, but still, some of it got to her. Bleary-eyed and dizzy, fading in and out of lurid sleep, the brute dragged her with the others. She didn’t get a good look at it. Everything happened so quickly, and the thing held her upside down the whole way. The only thing she could remember clearly was its two thick legs and black, clawed toes.

  “Where,” said Martha, slowly coming to. “Where are we? Nera?”

  Nera thought about the best way to break it to her, and decided there was no use trying sugarcoat their situation. “We’ve been captured by an ogre. He dragged us to his den. And things—” she struggled against her bonds; they would not budge “—don’t look good.”

  “We’ve been what?” said Martha, her eyes opening fully.

  “Keep it down,” Nera said between gritted teeth. “He’s gone for now but he might come back soon.”

  “Oh, my head is swimming. Where are the others?”

  Nera nodded to Sir Weston who lay in the corner opposite them, slumped and sallow.

  “And Gregory? Jelani?”

  “I don’t know where those two cotton-brains went. But if they haven’t been eaten by the ogre already, then I’ll kill them for leaving us.”

  “What?” Martha stuttered, her skin turning a ghostly white. “What happened? I have no memory. The last thing I knew I was tending the fire and then this.”

  “We were ambushed. Mr. Ogre has some sort of weird power of his own. Knocked you guys out completely. Got me too, a little bit.”

  Martha’s lips thinned and she scowled with determination. “Gregory and Jelani will come for us.”

  “Let’s hope so,” said Nera, wishing Jelani was with them. She scolded herself for the thought. The fact that he and Gregory were free meant they still had hope. Her eyes fell on her staff next to the rest of their gear near the fire pit. “But we can’t count on them. For all we know, they’re in a bind of their own. If we can just get our staffs, then we can—”

  She froze. Laughter, profound and pounding, reverberated down the tunnel, the noise twisting and changing unnaturally as it traveled. Then the sound of dull thumping footsteps lumbered down the hall. The monster was coming.

  “The taste of man-flesh in the air,” said a voice, deep and scratchy.

  “Blood so rich none can compare,” replied another, deeper yet and smooth.

  “Snap their backs and break their legs.”

  “Crush their arms and bite their heads.”

  His belly appeared, followed by his two terrible heads, jowls drooping like bulldogs, noses broad and nostrils flared. Only a loincloth covered his smooth, pig-like skin.

  “Grind their bones into our stew,” said one head.

  The other head had a single eye, and continued the horrid rhyme, “And burn their homes when supper’s through.”

  The two heads looked down at Nera with cruel mirth. A smile formed on their sharp-toothed mouths, sending waves of nausea and terror billowing through her.

  “Trespassers,” said the horned head, taking a step toward Nera. His smile disappeared.

  “Thieves,” replied the head with the single eye. He took another step.

  “Liars.”

  “Peeves.”

  They moved right up to Nera and leaned over. All three eyes narrowed, studying her. The two heads sniffed in unison.

  “Pity we can’t eat her, Bobrock,” said the two-eyed, his rancid breath making Nera gag.

  Relief spread through her. They wouldn’t be eaten—not now. But why?

  “Pity indeed, Gholard,” the single-eyed head replied. He licked his lips, drool running down his chin. “Maybe just an arm or leg?”

  “No,” Gholard grumbled. “Master might not appreciate his gifts losing limbs.”

  A look of fury contorted Bobrock’s one-eyed face. “And what about us, eh? Are we supposed to starve on swine and cattle? It’s man-flesh I crave, and man-flesh I’ll have.”

  “Keep your filthy hand to yourself, Bob, or I’ll gouge out your eye. Master says he wants Miraclists, and Miraclists he’ll get.”

  Nera quickly established Gholard as the leader of the two heads. If she was going to get out of this mess, then he was the one to persuade.

  Bobrock let out a deep, throaty growl. “I counted three people but only two staffs. Means we get to eat one.”

  Gholard pursed his lips and mulled it over. “That adds up, it does. Yes, adds up nicely. But which one is not a Miraclist, eh?”

  They bent over Martha and sniffed her. Martha grimaced, pressing herself against the wall in vain.

  “I know,” Gholard said. “It’s the man—he’s no Miraclist. Look at his armor. He’s a knight.”

  Bobrock threw his head back and roared, stomping his foot to the ground. “I hate knights,” he bellowed. “I hate them with my head; I hate them with my bowels. Stabbers, slicers, plunder-snatchers! Let me swallow him whole!”

  The ogre lunged forward, shaking the cavern, and reached out a massive hand to take hold of the sleeping Sir Weston.

  “Wait!” cried Nera.

  The monster froze at the outburst. He turned around slowly. The ogre stood there a moment, both heads staring from Nera to Martha. “Which one of you grimy mice spoke, eh?” said Gholard.

  “I did,” Nera replied, summoning her courage. “You can’t eat him. He’s a Miraclist, just like us. Isn’t that right, Martha?”

  Martha nodded her agreement. “A Miraclist. Definitely.”

  “The liar doesn’t want him eaten,” Bobrock said to his brother. “Just trying to protect the filthy knight. Let’s eat him and be done with it.”

  “Gholard,” said Nera, “you seem like an intelligent, reasonable sort of ogre. Am I right?”

  Nera saw it—the smallest hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

  His brother’s lip curled.

  “Say what you have to say,” said Gholard. “But we see the man’s imperial crest, plain as day. He’s a knight.”

  Nera cursed in her mind. Sir Weston was the only knight in Orsidia who actually slept with his armor on. “Of course, he’s a knight,” said Nera, slowly. “Gholard, oh smartest of heads. You figured that out correctly.”

  “We figured it out,” said Bobrock.

  “But,” Nera continued, “Sir Weston is also a Miraclist. A new type of Miraclist. A hybrid, if you will.”

  The two heads exchanged sideways looks.

  “What kind of Miraclist?” asked Gholard.

  “He’s a—” said Nera “—he’s a new kind. Martha, explain it to them.”

  Martha’s eyes went wide and she gave Nera a startled look of protest. “Why, he’s a new kind of Miraclist. Just developed his powers, in fact. He’s the kind that can—” she blinked several times “—melt brains. Just by looking at you.”

  “False! Deceivers!” roared Bobrock. “Everyone knows there ain’t such a thing. Besides, where’s his staff?”

  “He doesn’t need one,” said Nera, rolling her eyes and focusing all her attention on Gholard. “But you probably already knew that, Gholard. Naturally, a dim-witted ogre head like your brother wouldn’t understand. He just doesn’t comprehend the science behind Miraclism because his brain isn�
�t as big as yours. His brain would be awfully easy to melt.”

  “You little worm,” said Bobrock. “I’ll rip your arms from their sockets and—”

  “Quiet, Thick-Head,” Gholard said to his brother. “Maybe she’s right. Who knows what abilities he might have since the Cythes released the Nosfertu.” He turned his attention to Nera. “But only smart folks like us would realize that, eh?”

  “Brilliant, Gholard,” Nera said, her mind swimming with this new information. “You figured it out again.” Still, she had to stay calm and ahead of them both. “It happened when the Cythes released the dark energy. Now Sir Weston can melt brains.”

  Nera felt on the verge of vomiting, but she forced a smile. The ropes were squeezing her raw, and her head pounded as if she were running at a dead sprint. She wondered if the ogre’s own power had anything to do with what happened in the arena—with the Cythes and their strange shadow abilities. Then she realized who their master must be: Specula Greavus.

  Gholard grunted, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “If you’re playing us false, girl, I’ll break both your legs. We’ll let your friend live…for now.”

  Bobrock’s eye grew wide. “So we ain’t going to eat him?”

  “You fat-skulled boar,” said Gholard. “I ought to rip off your head and be done with you. This is why I’m the brains. The Master will want to know I’ve discovered a new Miraclist. Might be something in it good for us. Maybe he’ll give us more—” he inhaled deeply “—abilities.” As he said this, a tiny waft of black smoke rose up from his nostril, flickered purple, and died away.

  Sir Weston stirred behind them, his eyes opening. “What—what’s all this?” he said, clearly still delirious.

  “Well, well,” said Gholard, “the new Miraclist is awake.”

  Sir Weston tried to jump up at the sight of the ogre, but his bonds only made him wriggle like a grub. “Untie me, fiends, and face the wrath of Sir Weston, Captain of the Imperial Guard!”

  “Sir Weston,” said Nera, trying to get his attention before he said too much.

  “You dare ambush us with underhanded tactics? Release me and fight me like a man! Where’s my sword?”

  “Release you? And let you melt our brains?” said Gholard with a chuckle, shaking his head. “Not on your life.”

  “Melt your brains?” said Sir Weston.

  “SIR WESTON,” cried Nera. “LISTEN TO ME.”

  “Melt your brains with what?”

  Gholard and Bobrock turned around and gave Nera a dangerous glare.

  “You mean you ain’t a Miraclist?” asked Gholard from over his shoulder.

  “Certainly not! I am Sir Weston, stalwart defender of all things good. Now, let me go and face justice!”

  “We’re going to eat you,” said Bobrock, his fat tongue sliding across his lips, “but first, we’re going to break this little girl’s legs.”

  “You can’t,” cried Martha, struggling. “She was only trying to protect him!”

  Nera couldn’t think of anything to say. She had lost the mental game and was stunned beyond speech.

  The ogre lumbered forward, Gholard with a furious frown and Bobrock a wild smile. Gholard reached down with a black-clawed hand and yanked Nera up from the ground by her ropes. Sir Weston and Martha shouted protests, but all Nera could hear was the throbbing in her head. Bobrock took her by the ankles and squeezed.

  Nera released a scream as her bones splintered.

  Suddenly, Bobrock’s grip relaxed. A strange, blank look washed over his face. His eye glowed violet for a moment, and he closed it, humming deeply in his throat.

  “What do you see?” asked Gholard.

  “Two more,” Bobrock said, his eye sliding open. “Males, just outside our den.”

  Gholard snorted and dropped Nera to the ground, knocking the wind out of her. They turned and headed toward the tunnel. “Don’t think we’ve forgotten you. We’ll be back with more of your friends.”

  Nera watched as they disappeared back down the cave, wheezing as she tried to regain her breath.

  “Nera,” said Martha, “Nera, are you all right? Oh, please be all right. We have to do something!”

  Dirty air rushed into Nera’s lungs when her breath returned, and she coughed and sputtered, her eyes filling with tears. She rolled over and propped herself against the back of the cave, shaking.

  “When I extricate myself from this prison of cords I shall avenge you, fair lady!” Sir Weston said, still flailing about.

  “My ankles,” Nera said, fighting through the pain. “I think they’re broken. Otherwise, I’m fine.” Her chest rose and fell more easily and her breathing was no longer quite so tortured.

  She looked down to see that her bonds had loosened ever so slightly. It must have happened when Gholard picked me up, she thought. She stuck her finger out between the ropes and looked over to the pile of their supplies where her staff lay. “Looks like we’re all going to be just fine.”

  Chapter 12

  The mouth of the cave gaped before Gregory and Jelani, a slow rumble emanating from inside like a ravenous belly. They stood, feet planted, hands locked to their staffs, watching the swells of smoke roll out and up from the blackness into the afternoon sky.

  They’re already dead, the black thought hissed in Gregory’s ear. He shook his head, trying to banish the words. Stop it Greg, you can’t think that way. They’re alive, and you’re going to save them.

  Gregory felt Jelani’s hand on his shoulder. Red paint smeared his fingers where he had wiped the eye off the tree trunk. At least Gregory hoped it was red paint. A seeing eye, Jelani had said, or at least that’s what he thought it was. Gregory didn’t know what that meant, but he knew better than to ask. Jelani never prattled on about anything unless he was sure what he was talking about. All the same he felt glad the emblem no longer watched their every move.

  “It is time,” Jelani said softly. “Let anger fuel you, my friend, not fear. We liberate or avenge. Both are noble acts.” He darted forward and scrambled up the rocky incline, climbing onto the ledge jutting out directly above the cave’s mouth. His jaw clenched as he stretched out his staff. A boulder lying near the cave entrance vibrated and ripped up from the ground.

  Gregory winced at the noise. He released a sigh when he saw that it did not bestir the ogre from its den.

  The boulder sailed through the air, hovering directly in front of Jelani. It was not as vicious as using the bomb—that’s what Gregory wanted to do. But the bomb was with Sir Weston and was meant for the goblins. It would be a swift death nonetheless. Nothing could withstand a boulder that size being dropped on its head.

  It was time for Gregory to initiate his part of the plan. He stuck the butt of his staff in the mud, cracked his knuckles, and pulled his staff out again.

  “Hey ogre,” he called out. “Come and get me, you fat tub of lard!”

  Nothing. He shot a glance to Jelani. The boy looked strained, but still held strong. Again, Jelani mouthed with a nod.

  “Come on out, Hippo Hips—come on, I dare you!”

  Still nothing. Gregory blew a fly off the end of his nose. He took a step forward, feeling emboldened.

  Let anger fuel you, he reflected, not fear.

  “I bet you’re proud you captured my friends. Well you forgot about someone.” He took another step forward and planted a thumb against his chest. “Me.” His eyes sparked red, and he felt a surge of righteous fury burn through him. “I’ll show you what happens to cow-faces like you when you harass the Guardians of the Empire!”

  A mighty roar exploded from the cave, knocking Gregory backward into the slimy creek behind him. Before he could react, the ogre leapt out from the smoke, its two heads contorted with rage. Down came its massive fists to the ground like sledge hammers, its whole body rippling as it split the earth in two with a fissure. The two heads roared again. This time black fog erupted from their mouths, flashing with violet light.

  Gregory rolled to his side and jabbed hi
s staff in the air—a wall of fire spun around him, crashing against the fog in an explosion that rattled his teeth. He had expected his flames to cut through the shroud, but there was force inside it—a bizarre electric energy.

  Jelani sent the boulder plummeting down onto the monster’s heads. It smashed, stunning the ogre for a moment, and stemming the tide of black fog from its mouths. Gregory gasped as the ogre cracked its necks and turned its gaze on Jelani.

  Jelani leapt down from his perch, tearing stones the size of cannonballs from the cliff-side with a wave of his staff.

  The ogre raised his arms in front of his heads and the sailing stones shattered against them into dust.

  “Our arms are iron,” said one head.

  The ogre leapt into the air at Jelani.

  “Our belly is steel,” said the one-eyed head.

  With deft speed, the immense creature snatched Jelani by the waist and landed to the ground with a boom.

  “Struggle, wriggle, writhe and reel.”

  “You’re nothing more than our next meal.”

  Gregory punched his fist over and over at the beast, fireballs blasting forth. They seared through the air, scorching the ogre’s back.

  The ogre flung Jelani into the tree and sidestepped the other fireballs before they landed.

  Jelani’s staff flew from his hand, and the boy went limp, his eyes rolling back in his head.

  The ogre pawed at the ground with black-nailed feet. Its heads let out horrible bellows and then it charged.

  Gregory spun his staff in a circle around his body. A snake of fire sparked by his toe, winding around his legs and up to his chest. The blaze shot forward at the beast.

  The two heads belched black smoke from its mouths, meeting the fire in another massive explosion. This time, Gregory was ready for it. He dug his heels into the earth and slid backward from the impact.

  The ogre flew through the smolder, teeth bared, muscles bulging. Gregory didn’t have time to fight back. He raised his staff and braced himself.

  A split-second before the monster reached him, a thunderbolt blistered the air, lighting the ogre’s body with electricity and hurling him against the wall of the creek-bed.