by Laury Falter
“Hence the reason behind your first legion.”
“Precisely,” he said, impressed. “They figured if they were to be cast away to a place they didn’t want to be they would make the most of it, in their own dark, egregious ways. But back then, there were fewer of them. They hadn’t proliferated yet. So not many initially died and therefore, not many gave us the clue to their return. It didn’t help either when they didn’t all fall back to the site of their death. They fall to a site without reason, sometimes their birth site, sometimes the site of their first crime. We lose them until they turn up again. This leaves us without knowledge on where to find them on their return. The Kohlers must have known where their brother would return when he fell and when he didn’t they came looking for answers.”
All of it seemed so convoluted and yet he grasped it with the clarity of someone who had lived with the knowledge for lifetimes, moreover of someone who had collected the details himself.
“How long have you been in existence, Eran?” I asked, sensing his answer before he confessed it.
His gaze drifted upward to the corner of the tent, not in contemplation but in the way of a weary man. “A very long time, Magdalene, a very long time…”
“Have you been fighting them all along?” I asked, hoping he’d had some reprieve from it.
“I don’t fight them. I restrain them.”
“Eran,” I said, my tone opposing.
“Yes, Magdalene,” he replied, submitting. “It’s all I’ve done.”
My lips pinched in disapproval.
“Don’t pity me,” he said gruffly. “I’ve felt no longing for any other purpose, until I saw you.”
Until I saw you…Those words rattled me. Until I saw you…
What did that mean?
I was about to ask why when he inhaled sharply and stood.
“That’s right,” he said suddenly, his eyes widening as he began to pace back and forth. “There was never any doubt in my mind that you were different and therefore in need of protection. Whatever you did to their brother, whatever you are capable of is your strength. And your strength is their weakness. They feel this and this is why they sense you. You are a danger to them, and therefore they are a danger to you. That is the cause of your alarm when they are nearby, Magdalene. Your body is telling you that you are in danger.”
I saw Eran’s mind racing, coming to the conclusion I had already. Then he came to a standstill.
“But you already knew that, didn’t you?” he asked, pointedly.
Without bothering to wait for my answer, knowing the truth, he shook his head at me. “I’m sorry, Magdalene.”
“About what?”
He paused to stare at the tent flap where the Kohler twins had disappeared. “I’m sorry but I don’t think you can ever be left alone again.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: HORACE
WHAT ERAN FOREWARNED WAS CORRECT. THE Kohler twins did return for me a week later, and they weren’t alone.
That duration allowed me plenty of time to reflect on the other vital piece of information Eran had given. Being a recluse, it stuck to my memory like static. I could never be alone again, he had said, not on earth, not with the Kohlers bent on ending the life of the one who had destroyed their brother. Never alone again. That was the weight I carried with me, making me feel as if I were walking around in restraints.
Eran, on the other hand, was saddled with his own type of burden. With the Kohlers threat looming, he kept an incredible level of diligence toward all factors that appeared threatening. This meant he never slept, his meals were spent ignoring his food in favor of looking over his bowl or plate, and his bathing was done in the stream down the hill from the encampment.
He made me concede to not move from the bank, although it took several minutes of solid reasoning. So I sat on a large, flat rock observing the trees for movement on the other side. It made me the most envied girl in the city near our encampment. A few times I slipped and caught glimpses of his expansive chest muscles shimmering in the sun and the arched slope of his back as it sank into the water. He was magnificent. I could see the appeal.
Out of respect, he kept his back to the stream when I bathed, which demonstrated far more decorum than I originally thought he had.
On the day the Kohlers arrived, there was a subtle breeze stirring the trees and the sunlight was warm enough that the water looked inviting. I went in first and had just taken my place on the rock after dressing to wait for him. This time, however, he strode to me and crouched at my hip. His shirt was already off and the nearness of his well-built chest made it a challenge to stop myself from glancing at it. To my astonishment, he seemed not to notice my internal plight, not even the tremble that shook me when he tenderly took my chin and turned it toward him.
“You’re healing nicely,” he observed, concentrating on my forehead.
“Mm-hmm.” It was all I could muster.
His lips were no more than a few inches from me and drew my attention.
“I don’t think you’ll even scar.”
When I didn’t answer, I felt a shift in his presence and my eyes darted up to find him staring back with his striking blue-green eyes.
We froze in place.
Only our chests rose and fell, and they did it more rapidly the longer we stared at each other.
As his eyes lowered to my lips, his fingers tightened gently around my chin.
The flare of his nostrils and the intensity of his stare mesmerized me, made me want him closer. And it told me that he was struggling too and was in profound debate over what we were doing. No ward should be this close to their guardian, even if the ward didn’t recognize them as one. It was taboo, unheard of, an abject insult to the role the guardian had been given. Yet, here he was, looking at me, at my lips, tensing at the sight of them.
And he wasn’t alone in the struggle. For the first time, I forgot my urge to throw him off balance, my need to establish my independence. I was the one quickly losing my poise and forgetting who was dominant. The charm I fought so hard to deny, the very one that drew all others to him, took hold of me. And I gave into it out of my own free will.
I wished for him to move closer, to bring me closer, to feel his lips moving against mine. I felt the need in the deepest part of my stomach, in the tingle running down my arms, and up along my neck that so desperately wanted to lengthen toward him.
Knowing this made my heart pound faster, my hands begin to shake, a prickle begin to form at the back of my neck, and my focus narrowed until I saw only him. The world no longer existed around us. It was limited to him, and me, and his fingers gently holding my chin.
I was so entranced by him and my reaction to him that I didn’t recognize the signs the Kohlers were present, not until a voice boomed outward overhead.
“You didn’t tell me the mighty Eran would be involved.”
Eran’s gaze instantly shifted in the direction of the voice and I knew whatever thoughts he’d had seconds earlier were gone. His eyes hardened into dark marbles of resentment and he leapt into the air. Before he could even reach the crest of his leap, his appendages extended, shooting out so rapidly several feathers dislodged and coasted to the ground. Sensing Eran’s defiance, they hadn’t even touched the rocks when I jumped skyward and jerked my appendages free at nearly equal the speed.
The Kohlers hovered several feet away, sneering confidently. Between us and them was another Fallen One, a petite man whose grey wings were shorter than typical but moved at a blurred pace. His skin was pale, contrasting sharply with his inky black hair cut into a bowl shape and the protrusion of his cheekbones which left dark shadows beneath them. He looked sickly and yet the muscles rippling along his forearms portrayed otherwise.
“Horace,” Eran greeted amiably.
“The Great Eran.”
“So, this is the best you could find?” Eran shouted past Horace to the Kohlers.
“He’ll be more than enough,” assured Deschan.
Era
n chuckled dismissively. “It has been how long, Horace?”
“Two hundred years,” he said with a shrug. “More or less…”
“The last time I saw you,” Eran said and from his tone I knew he was grinning, “you had a wooden stake in your neck.”
“Yes,” Horace replied indifferently. “It still itches there at times.”
With equal disregard to the man’s plight, Eran asked, “Why are you here, Horace?”
“Are we done with the pleasantries, Guard?” Horace asked, and I realized he was using Eran’s previous title.
“I am no longer a guard – and yes we are.”
Horace tilted his head. “No longer a…Then what should we call you?”
He glanced at me and I knew instantly what he was thinking. I would be angered by his answer. Yet, with a brave uplift of his chin, he made his announcement.
“I am a Guardian.”
Horace rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his lips puckering. “Not much of a change to it.”
“No, it’s not, so you can expect the same treatment from me. Now why are you here?”
“Yes, let’s get to that,” Horace agreed. “The Kohlers are masters at spreading stories. It’s how they started this war.” Horace gestured to the hill over which the encampment was situated. “And the story they’ve told me is that the messenger is a danger and needs to be killed.” His complacency disappeared then as quickly as a hand wipes a table clean. In its place was chilling self-respect. “Killing is what I do, Eran.”
“So you’ve come to claim another messenger,” Eran remarked offhandedly, showing no sign of concern.
And that was when I recognized Horace’s name. It was the same name Kaila had referenced when she recounted the death of the first messenger, the first one to rattle our peaceful afterlife. And the deviant man across the water had done it. A strange surge of anger flooded me when looking at him.
Unflustered, Eran replied, “It’s bold of you to show yourself here considering you are surrounded by your greatest weakness.”
“I take it that’s wood?” I remarked, letting him know that it wasn’t a secret to me. He came for me, after all.
Horace tilted his lips sideways in a confident smile. “We won’t be here for long.”
In a fluid motion, he tilted forward, his legs flying backwards, as he aimed directly for Eran.
“No!” I screamed, but there was no reason for it.
He wasn’t actually aiming for Eran. I knew this as he deftly maneuvered in a circle and came back around for me.
Unlike me, Eran was ready for it. He swept to the side, grabbing for Horace’s arm, but Eran wasn’t wide enough and Horace jerked free. I remained aloft, resembling a little lamb being led to the slaughter. It was almost too easy for him to take me.
Slamming into me with the force of a falling tree, I found my wings suddenly in front of me, the strength of Horace’s speed sending them over the front of my shoulders. They were in the midst of batting around between Horace’s appendages when I finally realized what had happened.
My arms were pinned to my side. I had no control over my hands and couldn’t reach my rapier. My legs were slamming painfully against Horace’s. I was a prisoner in his arms.
And that was when I noticed it.
As the distance between us and the Kohlers increased, the alarm that was triggered by their proximity actually increased. I could barely catch my breath, the feeling was so concentrated. It left room for just one solitary thought…
I was vulnerable to more Fallen Ones than the Kohlers.
Breathe, I reminded myself, breathe.
It took several long breaths, during which I caught glimpses of Eran steadily gaining ground, before my next thought could edge its way in.
If I had the same reaction to Horace and he had the same reaction to me, then was it possible for me to end his life in the same way I had Cedric’s? Permanently?
I reached for my rapier, but it was pinned between Horace and me, and I knew I needed to find a way to get Horace into a disadvantage.
It came when he swung up, into a backward circle that brought us back and down to the Kohlers. They were waiting, weapons in hand, and I realized that part of the deal the Kohlers had made with Horace was that they could lay claim to the first strike against me. Fortunately, it placed me right next to Kaila.
I almost grinned. Almost. There was still some maneuvering to be done.
So concentrated was I on my position that I didn’t notice Eran’s, and he provided that final movement perfectly.
Just as we settled back in front of Kaila, I felt the rush of wind grab at my left side. It was Eran, flying past, taking Horace with him, me still in Horace’s grasp.
I had just enough time after the jerk that propelled us around the Kohlers to loosen Horace’s grip around my arms and seize Kaila’s weapon.
This was when the tables turned in our favor.
Being so close to him, Horace had no idea that I had swiped the axe that had been dangling from Kaila’s hand, wood being the key ingredient to that weapon.
As Eran dragged us farther from the Kohlers, and Horace’s only chance at safety, he caught my eye.
I darted mine at the trees, insisting on getting closer. But I had no intention of using them as our weapon. We already had one.
Eran diverted his path, rushing at the trunks that lined the grounds like soldiers ready for battle, coming close enough to skim them.
Holding out my hand, I felt Eran slow and I held tight to the axe’s handle. As our pace decreased, Horace’s struggling increased.
By the time my arm jolted backward and Kaila’s wooden axe made contact with a mossy tree trunk, Horace slipped from our grasp. Just as the axe slid around a tree’s trunk, leaving a sharp, shattered point in my hand, Horace plummeted to the ground.
Eran dropped just as swiftly.
Horace was still crawling to a stand and finding his bearings when Eran collided with him. Horace was sent sprawling across the forest floor, sending out a spray of dead leaves and clumps of moist dirt. As he and Eran struggled, I looked for an opening and when I found it, I sent the jagged wood handle into Horace, directly through his throat.
Horace’s writhing slowed. His arms sank to his sides. His jaw went limp. His eyes became hollow. His appendages drooped and slid back into his body.
Only then did Eran unwrap his arms from Horace’s chest, allowing the weight of the lifeless body to pull it to the ground.
Eran’s movement was so swift I lost track of it but found his hands against my cheeks a second later.
Anxious and breathless, he asked, “Are you hurt?”
I would have shaken my head but didn’t want to disturb his hands on my skin. “I’m fine.”
Eran evaluated me again before releasing me. When he did, instinct made me confirm that Horace was gone.
A pool of blood circled his head and neck, tinting the black dirt with streaks of red.
“What was his crime?” I asked.
“His victims were found staked.”
I looked once more at the wood stick, now soaked in red, protruding from Horace’s neck. “Then he got what he deserved.”
“Yes, he did,” Eran assured, tenderly touching my arm on his way to the cliff we happened to land near.
From the edge, he announced, “The Kohlers are gone.”
I stepped up beside him, searching the horizon as he was doing. “Smart of them, really.”
Eran chuckled. “Especially with you around. Where did you learn to think so fast on your feet?”
I gave him my most sincere smirk. “Training.”
Catching on to the fact I was referencing the very practices he had shunned as not being effective enough, he rolled his head back and released a bellowing laugh. When he was finished, he found me gazing out across the horizon, straight-faced.
“It’s done, Eran. The messengers are safe,” I said, taking one more look at Horace, who now existed only in a pool of his own bloo
d.
A wave of relief washed over me, the kind that allowed the body to breathe easier and to remove the tension from the neck and shoulders. For the first time since I’d arrived, I saw the beauty of the land below us, covered in rolling green hills, lush trees, and a winding river that seemed to be made of jewels. It was almost as perfect as the feeling of burden lifting from shoulders. But it was short-lived.
“We will see, Magdalene,” Eran replied cautiously. “Only time will tell.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: ARRIVAL
“IT’S SAFE TO LOOK AT ME,” Eran called out, humor clearly present in his suggestion.
After dropping Horace’s body in the same bog as Cedric’s, we returned to the river to wash Horace’s existence off us. Eran was now in the water, his curly brown hair dripping streams of water down his contoured chest, and causing me to fight myself over taking a peek.
“Magdalene,” he said firmly. “You can trust me.”
That I knew. It was me who I didn’t trust, not after what had happened the last time I sat on the rock overlooking the river.
Sure enough, as my gaze moved his way, my eyes took on a life of their own, dropping to the lower parts of his body. The sun cast shadows from above down his chest, carving out peaks and valleys where his lean muscles protruded, and his stomach was taut, forming a V that disappeared into the water.
He noticed and that arrogant smirk of satisfaction showed itself.
“Do you take everything casually?” I asked, somewhat perturbed.
“Until I’m not able to, yes.”
I groaned and he changed the subject.
“How many times have you felt the panic?”
“Why?” With my interest piqued, I was able to lock onto his face without the pull of what was below.
“Because we’ve just learned that it’s not limited to the Kohlers.” Noting my reaction, he added, “Yes, Magdalene, I saw it. He was affected by you and you by him. I saw it when he arrived and the goose bumps on his arms worsened the closer he got to you. And when…,” he paused to glare at the memory, “when you were locked in his arms, I saw you taking deep breaths. Which means it could extend to all of your enemies. And if so, it’ll be a remarkable way to detect and avoid them.”
