Guardian

by P B Hughes

  Gregory confessed everything—how he stole the circlet from the ogre’s den, his obsession with it, the compulsion to run away, and how a shadowy beast had appeared to him. Apparently, the thing had been following them since they left the ogre’s cave. It was the same creature that had killed the shaman and aided them back at the hangar. A tremor ran through her body. To think, that monster might have watched her while she slept, lurking in the darkness.

  I ought to throw Gregory off this cliff, she brooded, her eyes sparking with electric fury. How could he take the circlet? How could he be so selfish?

  She quieted herself. Gregory had made a poor decision. But Vut’Al Choshek had done the rest. The dark spirit had slowly sucked the soul from Gregory, leaving him a creature more goblin-like than human.

  Can we trust Gregory, after all this?

  Jelani often said that a genuine change of heart came from a contrite spirit. And Gregory was contrite—eyes on the floor, apologizing over and over, snuffling as he told of how he had burned Martha. “I vow to you all—” he had promised them at the end of his confession “—to stop being so miserable; to never do something so horrible again. I hope you can forgive me. Though, I understand if you feel you can’t.”

  Jelani was the first to speak: “Perhaps now you will trust me when I tell you something is cursed. But worry not; you are forgiven.”

  “My good fellow,” said Sir Weston, a bit miffed at being left out of the action, “while what you did was indeed deplorable, you were under a malicious spell. The blame must be dispersed evenly. Now, the monster is destroyed. And the harm you’ve caused will have no—” Sir Weston paused to glance at Martha “—lasting repercussions.”

  Martha touched her scarred face lightly with her finger. “Gregory,” she said, “I—” she stopped and let out a sigh. “I’m just glad you’re back.”

  All eyes fell on Nera.

  She wanted time to think; she could not forgive so readily. Before she could speak, the goblins arrived to take them to the serenef. As they ascended through the tunnels, Nera had time to process what Gregory had said.

  But now, time was running out. Nera had to talk to him, or fly in silence and doubt into battle. That wouldn’t do. She had to keep up the morale of the group if they were going to defeat the Cythes. She turned from the edge of the cliff and, arms crossed, walked back into the cave.

  She refused to meet Gregory’s gaze. Instead, she studied Martha’s face. The poor girl had been on the verge of tears since they arrived back at their room. Her skin was mottled on her neck and left cheek. Fortunately, it was healed promptly enough that the damage wasn’t more drastic.

  “The scars will fade,” Nera said softly, placing a hand on Martha’s shoulder. “Don’t fret too much.”

  Martha wiped her eyes with her sleeve and nodded.

  Nera turned to Gregory. “People don’t change so easily,” she hissed. “You’ve not just been terrible to be around, you’ve been a monster. You say you’re sorry, and so what?—we’re all supposed to hold hands and just let it go? What if the thing isn’t destroyed? What if it comes back? What are we supposed to do?”

  Jelani interjected, “Nera—”

  “I’m not finished,” Nera continued, her voice rising. She paused, collected herself, and whispered, “I’ve got my eye on you, Gregory McPherson. One step out of line and you’ll have to deal with me. And I am not as merciful as Jelani and Martha.” She looked directly into his eyes. They were so full of sorrow and remorse that her wrath wavered, ever so slightly. She turned away from him, her fist clenched. “But that doesn’t change the fact that we need you. We’re flying into battle; we need all the strength we can muster. We can’t defeat the Cythes without your help. Just remember, if the Dark Lord can pollute you so easily, just imagine what he’ll do to the rest of humanity if he comes back. We can’t let that happen. Do you understand?”

  Gregory nodded. “I do.”

  A shadow fell over the entrance to the cave. “My lord,” said Org to Jelani. “Your serenef are ready.”

  The five of them followed Org onto the windblown ramp to the edge of the cliff where the serenef were saddled and bridled. They seemed larger up close, their red eyes flashing hatefully as the Miraclists and knight approached. Their riders were bedecked in black wolf skins and leather helmets, and they bowed their heads to Jelani in deference.

  “Give them their coats, Fygling,” Org barked to the tallest goblin—a skinny thing with a long nose and shriveled ears. “Do you want them to freeze from the wind?”

  Fygling nodded to a pile of wolf skins lying on the floor. “Got ‘em right here.”

  “Well?” snarled Org. “Give one to His Majesty, you lazy lout!” He smacked Fygling across his jaw and sent him reeling to the ground.

  Fygling’s golden eyes grew with hate, and his lips curled back revealing black gums and sawblade teeth. A growl rumbled in his throat, though he did not retaliate.

  Org spat on him. “Filthy tar-tongue.”

  Fygling scurried to the cloaks and lifted one to Jelani without meeting his gaze.

  Jelani took it. Forgetting himself, he said, “Thank you.”

  The goblin’s eyes shot up and locked onto Jelani. Nera glanced at Org to see how he took Jelani’s oddly kind behavior; fortunately, he didn’t seem to be paying attention.

  Nera took Jelani by the arm and whispered, “Remember who you are, Gorbikna the Terrible.”

  Jelani blinked a moment, confused. Then he realized his mistake, scowled, and nodded.

  Sir Weston hefted the skins off the ground and distributed them to the others.

  Nera expected the coats to feel comfortable, but the inside was coarse and ill-made. Likely, she thought, these goblins care little how comfortable things feel. Their skin was tougher than a human’s.

  The riders mounted the serenefs, sitting astride their broad saddles. They pulled scarfs up around their noses. Org turned and offered his warty hand to Nera. Shuddering, she received it and joined him on the great beast.

  “It’s a long drop,” Org announced as the rest of them climbed aboard their respective serenefs. “So hold on tight, lest your bodies splatter upon the rocks.” And then, laughing, he raised a horn to his lips and blew.

  In an instant, the bat-like creatures dropped off the edge of the ramp and into darkness. Nera closed her eyes and caught hold of Org’s waist, squeezing with all her might. The serenef unfurled their wings, caught the air, and climbed upward.

  Though her heart was in her throat, Nera summoned her courage. She relaxed and opened her eyes to the night sky.

  “The time has come,” Org shouted, raising his blade against the stars. “The blood of the traitor will be spilled, and the Bloodwolves will be avenged. Fly, darklings—fly! Fly to glory! Fly to Mount Raiagek!”

  Dread gripped Nera’s heart at the gravity of his words. They were heading into the battle of their lives. She shook away the feeling and gritted her teeth. They were Guardians. The only beings on earth who could stop Vut’Al Choshek. Fear had no place in her. And so, she clutched Org’s cloak and whispered: “To Mount Raiagek.”

  Chapter 38

  Dizzying joy coursed through Dustwing’s veins. She, a youngling harpy, had made a most wondrous discovery. She chuckled to herself at her good fortune, and cast one last look to the forest floor. Yes, there was a body lying limp on the ground, and yes, he smelled of approaching death. Up from the branch she flew with a cackle, beating her gray wings wildly. She burst through the golden treetops in an explosion of autumn leaves.

  The storm had finally passed—the thunderhead was now blinking on the northern horizon. How glad she was at the sight! She had waited far too long on the shelter of that branch, eying the lad through wailing rains, her stomach growling with hunger. But no, she did not feast on him; his body was something to share. She would tell the good news to her sisters and be greatly rewarded.

  Her sisters’ raids had been going swimmingly. Nearly all humans had been exte
rminated from the valley and forest. The territory again belonged to the harpies, the sovereigns of the sky. Dustwing swelled with pride at the thought. For so long, her kind had been in hiding—ever since the war with those filthy, flea-bitten Chimaroos long ago. But the great shadow now darkened the earth, and so they emerged from their hiding places in the north.

  Dustwing was but a fledgling, but she knew the stories well. Long had her sisters filled her mind with the evils of the Empire and their Chimarooin allies: how they butchered harpies, stole their lands, and spit in their faces. But now, everything had changed.

  She remembered the announcement that they were leaving their wretched home on the blackened cliffs. She remembered seeing green forests for the first time—how the color pleased her bulbous eyes.

  But being away from the forest for so long had come with a price. The lands had swelled with a human populace. Fortunately, the humans never saw them coming! Her sisters had slaughtered an entire village, tossing the people into the air and dropping them against the rocks. What a feast the younglings had that night! Dustwing drooled at the thought, smiling with a row of sharp teeth.

  Sadly, her sisters would not let her join in on the raids. She was too young, too valuable, they said. Young harpies were precious. She would help rebuild their lost society. It was true, their numbers had dwindled due to a lack of prey. But now, they had reclaimed their rightful place atop the high cliffs. Here, food was plentiful, and their numbers would surely grow.

  Dustwing caught sight of her home—a honeycomb of caves carved into the rising flame-colored rock. Soon, her sisters would hear her tale. She could already see their faces: they would be unable to contain their pleasure, they would certainly invite her to join their raids, and they would let her partake in the butchering. She would be considered a child no longer.

  Dustwing flew into the tunnel leading into her home, landing on a floor laden with straw, down, and bones. She ignored the other harpies’ squawked greetings. She needed to see her sister—she needed to see her queen.

  She turned down a wide passageway, and was met by a fierce tawny harpy.

  “Why the mirth, Dustwing?” the harpy growled.

  “News meant only for the Queen. Not for your gossiping tongue, Hexe.”

  Hexe’s black eyes went wide and she screeched terribly. But Dustwing would not be intimidated into giving up her good news. No, this secret was hers and hers alone. Bravely, she hobbled past her wicked sister.

  Hexe followed close behind.

  The stench in Dustwing’s nostrils grew as she went. Many a creature had been slaughtered in her sister’s lair, and the smell was sweet indeed. One day, Dustwing thought, she would be queen of the harpies. But for now, she would serve her queen sister faithfully.

  She stopped at the edge of the lair and waited with bated breath.

  “Come forward,” she heard her sister say in a gravelly voice.

  Dustwing crossed the threshold into the pale light of a wide, circular nest made entirely of bones. What great fun it was to feel the skulls crunch beneath her talons! The ceiling was high; the roof contained a solitary window for the queen to enter her marvelous roost. She spotted her enormous sister, back turned, giant black wings fanned. Her neck was hunched over her latest kill, and she was gurgling and snarling ferociously. Whatever it was, it must have been delicious.

  “What news do you bring me, young one?” said the queen between bites.

  “A happy word,” said Dustwing. “I have found a marvelous treasure for you, Your Majesty.”

  Her sister paused her eating. “Speak,” she said.

  Dustwing had anticipated this moment for so long she could not contain her excitement. “Your Majesty, I have discovered something wonderful: a boy in the woods!”

  “A boy?” the queen replied.

  “Not just any boy—a Sapphire Miraclist!”

  The giant black harpy turned, her yellow eyes glowing behind a tangle of long, black hair. Blood drizzled down her jaw, and her panting quickened. “Show me,” she breathed.

  THE END OF BOOK TWO

  Glossary

  Alpha of the Guardians: The supreme victor with the highest overall score of the Grand Investiture. He is the leader all Brightcastle Hall’s students and the leader of the Guardians.

  Amber Miraclist: Miraclist with the ability to move and manipulate earth and stone.

  Amethyst Miraclist: Miraclist with the ability to control wind. In rare cases, the more powerful have the power of flight.

  Brightcastle Hall: Orsidia’s esteemed Miraclist University.Students eligible for acceptance based on their performance at lower-level schools. New students are only accepted every four years during the time of the Grand Investiture.

  Chimaroo: A rodent-like species with a great love for gold and a special aptitude for machinery.

  Creator: Deity of Light responsible for the creation of the world.

  Cythe: An ancient race of reptilian-like people, long thought to be extinct. Worshippers of Vut’Al Choshek and wielders of the dark energy, the Nosfertu.

  Emerald Miraclist: Miraclist with the ability to control, grow, and shrink vegetation.

  Emperor Oran: Last Supreme Ruler of the Orsidian Empire, assassinated by Irachnian rebels along with his family. Considered by many to be the greatest leader the Empire had ever known.

  Fairy: Tiny, dragonfly-winged creatures of light that promise good fortune and prosperity to anyone they befriend.

  Goblin: Monstrous, green-skinned creatures living in the Iron Cliffs to the north and far to the south across the sea. Considered by many to be soulless and wicked to their core.

  Gold Miraclist: Miraclist with the ability to create and control electricity.

  Gorbikna: Goblinese name for Vut’Al Choshek. Said to be a man-eater of giant size.

  Grand Investiture: An ancient tradition occurring every four years that pits Brightcastle Hall’s incoming student Miraclists against one another in academic and athletic competition in order to discover which Miraclist is the most powerful in his or her class.

  Guardian: One of six Miraclists who, after competing in the Grand Investiture, is the supreme victor in his or her Miraclist Class trained as leaders and ambassadors to the nations.

  Irachnia: Southernmost Orsidian territory belonging to a once independent conglomeration of self-governing republics, now one of the poorest regions in the Empire in which rebellions are commonplace.

  Iron Cliffs: Northern goblin territory bordering Orsidia known for abundant mineral deposits. Largely a mountainous wasteland.

  Littleton Academy: School for orphaned young Miraclists where they learn to develop their powers. Located in the heart of Orsidia.

  Mana Crystals: Violet stone containing primal energy capable of recharging a Miraclist’s power.

  Miraclist: Person born with the Primal Energy flowing inside them, giving them the rare ability to control one of six elements: earth, electricity, fire, vegetation, water, and wind.

  Miraclist Staff: Staff fitted with a special orb that allows Miraclists to channel their specific Primal Energy into a force that controls one of the six elements.

  Monks of Delintu: Men and women who have devoted their lives to the service of the Creator. Usually skilled in the arts of healing and battle, but rarely use the latter.

  Nosfertu: Nightmarish energy released into the world by Vut’Al Choshek. Most commonly manifested as the conjuring of poisonous smoke or a bizarre ink-like material. In humans, this is often accompanied by a slow corruption of the mind and physical changes.

  Obsidian Plague: The dark armies of Specula Greavus named for the volcanic region to the north from where the originated. Worshippers of Vut’Al Choshek.

  Orsidia: The most powerful empire in the known world, stretching from coast to coast. Once ruled by Emperor Oran, it is now run by the monk-turned-politician, Senator Specula Greavus.

  Primal Energy: Invisible force flowing in each of the six elements. While each force is conside
red Primal, the energy flowing through each is a different type: Amber Energy flows in earth, Gold Energy flows in electricity, Ruby Energy flows in fire, Emerald Energy flows in vegetation, Sapphire Energy flows in water, and Amethyst Energy flows in water.

  Ruby Miraclist: Miraclist with the ability to create and control fire with their mind.

  Sapphire Miraclist: Miraclist with the ability to control water in all its forms. Many possess the ability to heal various ailments and wounds.

  Serenef: Giant bat-like creatures often ridden by goblins into battle.

  Sheleg: Humanoid creature born of unknown origins with moonish eyes, pale skin, long claws, and pointed teeth. Nocturnal and vicious in nature.

  Sky-Whale: Immensely large, cylindrical hot-air balloon driven by propellers and a rudimentary engine. Used for transporting large amounts of supplies and wares across Orsidia at quick speeds.

  The Six Elements: The core makeup of all nature: earth, electricity, fire, vegetation, water, and wind.

  Vut’Al Choshek: The Dark Lord of old, possessing a strange shadow power capable of rivaling the Miraclists. Worshipped by many as a deity.

  About The Author

  P. B. Hughes is the author of the Tales of Orsidia series, which started with Miraclist. He studied creative writing at Southern Methodist University. After ghost writing several novels, he decided to take up the pen and strike out on his own. Philip lives in Dallas, Texas.

  Connect with P. B. Hughes

  Website: miraclistbook.com

  Facebook: facebook.com/miraclistbook

  Twitter: @miraclistbook