by Sharon Hinck
I staggered back up into a lurching jog. Brambles tore at me, and at times I felt as though I were swimming through the tall grasses and ferns. Since I couldn’t risk the open plains, I finally cut deeper into the woods where the undergrowth wasn’t as thick. Then I grew frightened of losing my way and edged back toward the fields.
Sheer exertion finally burned away some of my terror, although my heart raced into hyperdrive with each cracking twig or unidentified sound. Rain fell in a hazy wall across the fields. I lifted my face, mouth open, and caught a little moisture, which only made me thirstier. No time to rifle Ian’s pack looking for a canteen. Not yet.
Lyric seemed to draw further into the distance in the afternoon rain, and I longed to sink to the ground and give up. But I settled into a rhythm of running until my ribs ached, then trudging just long enough to catch my breath and get my bearings. By the time the rain eased, I was approaching the thick forests along the side of Lyric. Kieran had camped here when he was hiding from the Kahlareans. I’d followed him to his campsite then. I wondered if I could find the spot again.
My calves strained as I cut upward into the hills. I found the clearing where Kieran had first jumped me. A small stream still tumbled past exactly where I had remembered it, and I whispered a prayer of thanks as I drank all I could. Next I gathered a wall of bracken and wedged my body under an overhang, pulling the brush around me as a shield. This is where I’d slept the night when I’d hurt my ankle, with Kieran keeping watch in a tree nearby.
He had been a strange and frightening companion, but I wished he were here now. Or my dad. This would have gone so differently if Dad had made it through the portal with me. That thought started such a deep ache that I distracted myself by digging into the pack I’d stolen from Ian. A cloak was rolled into a tight sausage in the bottom. I wrapped it around myself and curled into a ball as night lowered onto the woods.
Now that I wasn’t running, wounding feelings of betrayal caught up to me.
Ian had a grudge against my dad. He had either set me up—or really believed that I was trying to give away their position to Cameron. It was unfair, but I could almost understand him. Of course it wasn’t easy to justify anyone who cheerfully volunteered to kill me.
Wade’s refusal to defend me stung much worse. I had a basic understanding of the vows of house protector. His return to the guardian camp was supposed to fix everything. But apparently his loyalty to the guardians came before protecting me.
Arland—hearing him casually suggest bartering me to Cameron—that wound gouged the deepest. He was the only guardian who knew about my Restorer signs. He’d seen them himself. He had even been with me when the One gathered me into visions in the mist. Still I was only a bargaining chip to him. My life had no value to any of them.
Black despair settled on me along with the darkened sky.
One more thought stirred, feeding the bitterness in my heart. I’d only come here to rescue Mom. But the One had called me to do more. And it was for their sakes. For people like Ian, and Wade, and Arland. I was supposed to be their Restorer. And I’d just overheard them calmly discussing whether to kill me themselves or let Cameron do it.
A small rock dug into my shoulder, and I shifted my weight.
Tomorrow, I’d make my way to the grove outside of Lyric and find the portal entrance. I was sick of having my prayers answered with vague impressions and visions—fed up following guidance that led me into more danger. I didn’t care about these people and their politics. What did it matter if Cameron was king, or the Kahlareans encroached on the clans? I had proven over and over that I was the wrong person for this job.
I was going home.
21
Jake
Hoods and masks obscured their faces, but I could still make out dark, bulbous eyes against the unnatural whiteness of their skin. Kahlarean assassins. Dad had told me about them, and I’d thought they sounded like characters from a bad sci-fi movie. Now five of them floated toward me in complete silence.
Terror twisted my throat. How had they found me? Where was the underbrush that had covered my hiding place? I pressed back against the rock face behind me.
In unison, like some demented drill team, they each lifted one arm toward me. Loose sleeves shifted to reveal white-knobbed knuckles. Their hands clutched twisted daggers. Venblades.
I willed myself to charge past them, but fear held me paralyzed as if their lethal blades had already scored my skin. “What do you want?” My voice was a strangled croak.
They moved closer, and I realized there was no ridge behind me. I stood in a mountain pass. The roar of a waterfall drowned out my panting breaths. I stumbled back a step, throwing my arms in front of me. My right hand moved heavily, and I realized it was clutching a sword. I stared at the weapon in confusion as—almost of its own volition—it sliced the air, holding the assassins at bay.
Strength raced from the rocky ground and into my spine. “You cannot have them!” I shouted. My voice had gained power along with my muscles. Somehow I knew that behind me were the forests of Rendor and I was meant to stand in this gap and hold back the destroyers of the clans.
The eyes of the lead Kahlarean squinted, and his head shook slightly. He made a strange hissing sound. Laughter. His hand lifted and snapped forward. The venblade spun through the air. My eyes tracked its movements as it whirled past my defenses and into my heart.
The pain was bruising instead of sharp.
I jerked into wakefulness, my hand moving toward the painful place on my chest. It was only a sharp stone that I had rolled onto in my sleep. I shuddered and curled into a tight ball, pulling Ian’s cloak over my head, too weary to wake fully and think about the disturbing dream.
Other than the nightmare, I slept hard through the night. There’s a lot to be said for not being tied to a tree. In the morning light I jolted awake, surprised to be safe and free. But once I fully remembered where I was, the weight of the choices I faced crashed down on me with new force. Should I stick with my decision to return home? Maybe I should reconsider. Then I pictured the grim faces of the outlawed guardians. Wade hadn’t defended me. Arland barely hid his unreasoning anger toward me for not being more than I was. Cold resentment spread through me like frost on a car’s windshield. I shook sleep from my head and left my nest. No more agonizing over decisions. I was going home.
In the clearing, I upended Ian’s pack and studied the assortment of gadgets. Dad had boasted that Rendor enjoyed technology more than any other clan and produced more transtechs than even Lyric. I recognized light cubes and a heat trivet. Most of the objects hadn’t yet been repaired, but there was a working scrambler.
I turned it in my hands, and my heart beat more quickly. I could slip into Lyric. I knew the location of at least one hidden door. I could find out what was happening about the Records and Cameron and Rendor. My skin tingled with that inner urging again. I had a flash of vision—the feel of a sword in my hand, the roar of a waterfall, masked faces advancing through a rocky pass.
I jammed everything back into the pack. Must be remnants of my nightmare. Rendor meant nothing to me. This world would do nothing but hurt me. I shouldered the pack. Mom and Dad might enjoy seeing the contents. I didn’t let myself dwell on the possibility that Mom hadn’t made it back yet.
The nudge hummed inside me again.
Use the scrambler; slip into Lyric. Tell people the truth. You can make a difference.
Slamming the door on those thoughts, I made my way down through the woods. Lyric glistened in the morning light. The tallest tower stood firm, visible above the walls.
You are here for a purpose.
I turned away from the city and ran across open land to the grove that sheltered the portal. Had it been only a few days ago that I knelt here and asked for direction? My conscience prickled. I rolled my shoulders and shrugged it off. I had followed the guidance I
’d received then and every day since. And everything had gone wrong.
Time to make my own decisions.
As I wound my way through the dense branches, the hunger to be home drowned out every other thought, including caution. The narrow gap in the trees came into view, and a huge grin spread across my face. I bounded forward.
An obstacle swung out of nowhere and slammed into my stomach.
I doubled over, fighting for air. Polished boots swam into my vision. My gaze traveled upward. Black trousers, a rust-colored tunic, a wide array of weapons, and the hard, expressionless face of a king’s guard blocked my view of the portal.
Another guard grabbed my arms from behind and wrenched the pack from my shoulder. The electrical tingle of the portal’s field crawled on my skin like a thousand daddy longlegs. Didn’t they feel it? It was so close.
I tugged against the man holding me, straining to draw a ragged breath.
“Who are you, and why are you here?” the guard in front of me asked.
He had no idea how complex that question was. I struggled to formulate an answer.
The guard tossed my pack to his companion, who pawed through it with interest. He looked at me again. “A transtech? What are you doing outside of Lyric?”
My head spun. Cameron had gathered transtechs from all the clans to work for him. The guard’s guess made sense and was less dangerous than the truth.
I concentrated on looking harmless—not much of stretch. I was unarmed, scrawny, and hunched over my bruised diaphragm. “I just wanted to go for a walk.”
“We should take him back to the king’s crew. Let them deal with him.” The voice behind me sounded bored. Standing around a deserted grove must not be elite guard duty.
“No.” The man in front of me frowned. His tunic was unwrinkled, his hair shorter than the norm, and there was something familiar about his stiff posture.
I finally made the connection. Substitute a grey suit for the uniform and add a notebook in hand, and he would easily fit in on an FBI television drama. He studied me now as if comparing my face to a “Most Wanted” poster.
“Remember what happened the last time the grove was left unguarded? No one knows where those guards were reassigned,” he said.
“But this isn’t the one the king is watching for.” The man behind me shoved me forward a step for emphasis.
Who were they watching for? My mom? She had to have made it back across by now. My dad? If he found a way to get the portal to let him pass, I hoped he arrived well armed. A low hum vibrated in my ears. Fine hairs rose on my arms. One step closer to the portal. To home. To an end to this horrible misadventure.
“You can let me go. I’ll go straight back to Lyric so you don’t have to leave your post,” I promised.
Two seconds. That’s all it would take me to leap forward and through the portal. Just let go and give me two seconds.
Mr. Toe-the-line wasn’t buying it. “Escort him back to Lyric. I’ll wait here for the next patrol.”
So close. Just a few feet from home. Safety, comfort, pizza. I wrenched hard against the guard’s grip but couldn’t budge him.
He pulled me away, toward Lyric. The buzzing vibration of the portal faded.
I couldn’t let this happen. Panic added strength to my struggles. When I couldn’t break free, I dropped into a dead weight, stopping our progress.
The guard kept one hand manacled on my arm but let go with his other.
I pried at his fingers with my free hand and pushed against the earth with my feet, desperate to gain a few inches back toward the portal. The wall of energy bent the air, although the guards seemed oblivious to it.
A grey metal shape swung into focus a foot from my face. A gun.
I froze.
“Good. I see you know what this is, tech-boy. Your crew hasn’t made enough yet, but the ones we have work very well.” He let go of me and kept me in place with a casual gesture of the weapon. Mr. Toe-the-line crossed his arms and watched, impassive.
Helpless rage raced through my veins. It was the same fear and frustration I had felt when Cameron held a gun on me and forced our family to let him through the portal. Would a Restorer heal from a gunshot? I wondered if I should risk it. Could I make it to the portal if he shot me? I stared up at the dull barrel in the guard’s steady hand. Even knowing I might heal, I couldn’t stomach the thought of a bullet plowing a hole between my eyes.
Gun Guy stared at my forehead as if he were picturing the same thing. “Up,” he said, sounding a little less bored.
I eased to my feet. He steered me out of the grove and back toward Lyric. With every step I took, I swallowed back shrieking frustration. I’d missed my chance. All I wanted was to get away from this insane place. Maybe I could still break free.
I glanced sideways at the guard, but he kept one hand clamped around my arm and his gun aimed at me. Shame sucked the last of the fight out of me. What kind of Restorer was I? I wasn’t brave or heroic. I didn’t want to risk being shot. I’d spent most of my days here feeling confused and scared.
And now that I knew how ill-equipped I was to help these people, I couldn’t even get away.
As we drew closer to the city, I squared my shoulders. At least this king’s guard didn’t shove me or tie me or gag me—or pull a sword on me and insult my parents. I might be a prisoner again, but my escort acted like an aloof professional with no personal animosity. The outlawed guardians were grubby, surly, and mean. I managed to take some comfort in being away from them as the king’s guard marched me around the city and toward the main entry. I didn’t try to talk to him because any conversation would quickly reveal I wasn’t one of the transtechs gathered in Lyric.
A few other king’s guards rode past on lehkan, patrolling the hills between Lyric and Corros Fields. What were Arland and his merry men doing on the other side of those fields? What would Cameron do if he knew they were that close? It was silly to worry after the way they had treated me, but my thoughts kept straying their direction. Wade, Arland, and the rest of the former guardians had been quick to turn on me, but I didn’t want them to fall under a barrage of bullets.
We strode through the crystal-lit tunnel and into the central square of Lyric. As much as I wanted to go home, a thrill caught in my lungs like a gasp of winter air. The worship tower stood sentinel over the middle of the city, its shining white walls the place where the One so often chose to meet His people. My mom had described being touched by Him under its clear-paneled roof, and Dad had told me how holy mist settled on the people who sang there on season-end Feast days.
Through one of the tower’s huge open archways, I saw stacks of lumber, piles of dead leaves, and other signs of neglect. My heart sank at the proof that the true Verses were being forgotten. The last time I had been here, even the marble floors gleamed with the kind of care given to the finest of cathedrals. How could things change so fast?
Uniformed guards patrolled the streets, and the few civilians we passed kept their gazes down, their faces pinched. My escort steered me toward the guardians’ training tower.
Anticipation surged through me. I had spent many happy days training as an apprentice guardian the last time I was here. The feel of a sword in my hand became more natural than a soccer ball against my knee. I had belonged, had a purpose, and excelled. Of course, my parents had warned me that much of what I felt had been influenced by Medea’s mind control. There were gaps in my memory and a vague sense of having no desire to see my parents once they had found me. And I could remember a powerful loyalty toward Cameron, which baffled me now. But in spite of the confusion in my memories, entering the training tower felt a little like coming home.
Until I saw the changes there as well.
A polished black desk blocked the first hall. A guard stood up as we approached. “What are you doing back from your patrol already?” His frown and the autho
rity in his stance gave me a clue to his higher rank.
“It’s all right, Case. The grove is still protected.” My escort nudged me forward. “The transtechs misplaced one of their apprentices. We caught him wandering around outside the city.”
Hard eyes raked and dismissed me. “The crews are upstairs. Go see where he belongs.”
Gun Guy waved me to the stairs along the tower wall. I should have been planning an escape, or a response for when the guard found out I wasn’t a transtech. But I was distracted. Trudging upward, I struggled to absorb all the differences in the building. The training halls we passed had been converted. No guardian apprentices were sparring today. The new king’s guards had taken over this tower, and from one balcony we passed, I saw them training—not with swords but with handguns and rifles and syncbeams. A shudder ran through me.
We arrived at a section of the second floor that had once been barracks. Noise, smoke, and the smell of burnt plastic poured from the doorway. Gun Guy yanked my arm and pulled me inside.
Dozens of people worked with frantic energy, pounding, twisting, and assembling things. I rubbed my eyes.
“Who’s missing an apprentice?” the guard shouted over the sounds of hissing, clanging, and loud arguments. Some of the noise died down as the men near the doorway noticed the interruption and turned to look at us.
Over the racket in the rest of the room, I heard a familiar voice.
“I told you they aren’t producing these fast enough. I need you to give them some energy. Make them understand how important this is.”
My eyes scanned the huge room and spotted the man who stood apart from all the activity. His back was to me, but I had no trouble recognizing him, or the woman beside him.
