A Guardian of Shadows (Revenant Wyrd Book 4)

by Travis Simmons

  The entire time they hoped to find their father, but they didn't. Dauin was most likely in the smoldering ruins of their once-proud home.

  “We can't go in there,” Joya said. “It isn't safe.”

  “We can use wyrd here,” Jovian nodded, inspecting the wreckage.

  They took up a point at three separate spots around the perimeter and let their wyrd flow from them in waves of pink, red, and purple. It took a while, but when they were done the ground had opened up beneath the plantation, and with a sound like thunder raging overhead, the stone building crumbled into the abyss of their wyrded sinkhole.

  Tears ran freely down Jovian's face, and when the six of them joined together again, they paid silent homage to their loved ones.

  Caldamron said a prayer for them, and Shelara sang a haunting song in a language they didn’t understand, but their souls knew. Each offering their own way of sending off the dead. Uthia broke a leaf from her hair and planted it in the ground before the front steps. It looked impossibly green against the gray brick backdrop of the plantation, barely visible above the crest of land where they had sunk the building.

  “Here will grow my first offspring. She will watch over your dead until she is removed from this place,” she told the Neferis.

  “As long as we hold these lands, she will always be welcomed. Thank you,” Joya told the dryad.

  They walked for the better part of the day without any real direction, just away from home. Away from the life they once knew. Away from everything they thought tied them to the realms. Never again would Candalyn lead them in prayer or holy rites. No more birthdays or feasts with their father. It was all gone.

  It seemed so unreal. Jovian still couldn't believe it was gone. He knew something bad was coming, but he would never have thought there would be no home to return to.

  “Keep them safe, Jovian,” he thought. And I'm failing. Amber is further from my grip now than she was when father charged me with that.

  He cast a look over his shoulder at the rising black smoke of the pyre. He shook his head and looked back to the path before him.

  He was largely unfeeling about it. That's what scared Jovian the most; he didn't feel anything. He didn't hurt, he didn't mourn. He was blank. And he knew he was in shock, some distant part of his mind knew that it would all sink in, because before he knew it they were miles from home, and he could barely remember taking a step.

  It didn't matter now where they went. Amber would most likely stay lost, and even if she didn't, where would they go?

  At the thought of having no home, fear seized Jovian's heart. Where would they live? Where would they go? Their money was back at home, and that was all gone. Their way of life was the plantation, and that was sacked. They had no place to go, no people to care for them and watch over them.

  I guess this is growing up, Jovian thought. He hated it. It was so fast, so rushed, so harsh and so violent. Like the rug of his life had been jerked out from underneath him, and he was there, windmilling his arms, trying to catch himself, but all around there was nothing to grab hold of, to save him from the pit of blackness waiting to swallow him up.

  For days they traveled like that. Caldamron, Ulga, and Shelara made camp for them at night, and picked up in the morning. They had learned the boy’s name was Astanel, and Jovian remembered him as the boy who had gone missing from Meedesville what seemed like so long ago. It wasn't until they reached the familiar fog bank of the Shadow Realm that they spoke.

  “Do you think that’s chimney fire?” Angelica asked, looking off toward Meedesville, where smoke was still stretching into the air.

  “Don't know,” Joya said, her voice hoarse from the days of not talking.

  Jovian tried to talk, couldn't, swallowed a few times, and then spoke. “There's only one way to find out.”

  Astanel swallowed hard, tears standing out in his eyes. “That's home,” he whispered. Angelica knew the feeling of seeing one’s home in ruin. She rubbed his shoulder, and gave a gentle squeeze.

  “I don't think I want to know,” Angelica said. “I think I just want to imagine the children all gathered around the table, mourning the death of the Goddess and the coming of winter.”

  Jovian nodded. He was distantly aware that this was around the time of year where the weeklong celebration of Morte started. The week would be spent mostly in silent contemplation, sending prayers and strength to the Goddess on her way to the Otherworld where she would barter with Chaos for the return of the sun and the living months to the Great Realms. “Where are we going?” Jovian wondered.

  “We told Grace we would meet them at the Guardian's Keep,” Joya said. “I think that's as good a place as any.”

  “We’re going in there?” Astanel asked, dashing away tears. There was fear in his voice.

  “Yes,” Joya told him, appraising him with a sad smile. “Don't worry; Caldamron and Shelara are from there.” At the mention of their names the dark elf waved, and the frement nodded. “I am the Guardian of Shadows.”

  None of it seemed to register with Astanel, but he nodded once.

  “Are we ready?” Joya asked. When Angelica and Jovian nodded, she stepped into the dark embrace of the Shadow Realm, and vanished from sight.

  Jovian didn't notice any of the torment he had last time they stepped into the Shadow Realm. It was like stepping from one plot of land to the next, with the difference that when he crested the barrier it felt like gossamer fabric on his skin.

  They stopped to let everyone catch up. When Astanel started gasping for air, Joya placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

  “Just breathe,” she told him. There was some transference of wyrd, and the border warding released its hold on Astanel.

  “Guardian,” Shelara said. “Did you not know you can travel through the shadows?”

  “How?” Joya asked.

  “I don't know how, but Guardians are able to transport themselves through their realm.”

  “I think it has to do with becoming one with the energy of your realm,” Caldamron said, and Shelara gave him a disapproving look.

  “Try it,” Angelica insisted.

  Joya closed her eyes, and her eyebrows creased. There was a blurry quality that came about her, but moments later it vanished. She tried again, each time the blurring getting more and more pronounced. Then with a sigh she stopped.

  “It's no use, it isn't working,” she blurted.

  “No, I think it was,” Jovian said.

  “Really?”

  “You did this strange blurring thing,” Angelica said, nodding.

  “Try it again,” Uthia told her. “This time try imagining that you are drinking the shadows in, and becoming one with them. Let them in, don't force yourself into them.”

  “How do you know that?” Shelara asked.

  “It's how dryads go to root,” she responded offhandedly.

  This time, when Joya closed her eyes and concentrated it only took a moment before she exploded like smoke blowing out in a stiff wind. With an almost audible pop, she returned behind them.

  “Perfect, now go where you need to be!” Shelara said.

  “Aren't you coming with?” Joya asked.

  “If the Guardian wants me to, I will,” Shelara said.

  “I would like you to accompany us,” she admitted. “You too, Caldamron.”

  “Then we will travel by hecklin. You might be able to take Jovian and Angelica, but not all of us,” Shelara said in her well-enunciated accent.

  “Uthia?” Angelica asked.

  “You go. I have something to attend to here, with the other dryads.” She studied Joya.

  Joya nodded. She linked hands with Angelica and Jovian, who in turn clasped hands with Astanel. Joya closed her eyes, and they were pulled with ear-popping pain into the vacuum of shadows. There was no indication at all that they were traveling. Jovian could feel his sister's hands in his own, and there was a deafening silence in his ears. And then it was done.

  When the shado
ws faded, they stumbled, and with a queasy stomach, Jovian sank to the ground.

  “Where are we?” Angelica asked, looking around the darkness of the landscape.

  “I don't know,” Joya looked bewildered. They were in what looked like a vast plane, but even then Jovian couldn't be certain, because the darkness consumed everything. The ground was covered with tall grass, and at least there wasn't any sign of woods. “I wanted to transport us to the border of the Realm of Earth, but I don't feel that's where we are.”

  “What do you mean?” Jovian asked, but even as he said it three figures emerged from the darkness before him, stepping into their line of vision like wythes materializing out of the shadows of death.

  “Grace?” Angelica said. “We thought you were dead.”

  Jovian smiled for the first time in days. It was a welcome sight to see Grace and Rosalee, even Dalah. But then he remembered the last time they had seen the three women, and how they had been possessed, and the horror of what was becoming of his life intruded on his reverie.

  “That’s still not Grace.” Joya tugged them away, and pushed Astanel behind her.

  Jovian could feel it now, too. The wyrd around Grace felt cold and unyielding, almost dead.

  Angelica backed up until the three of them formed a line before Grace, Dalah, and Rosalee. Astanel cowered behind them.

  “The wyr shouldn't exist,” Grace said, but it wasn't the voice of their old tutor. Angelica looked to Jovian. Neither of them could believe what they were hearing. The voice, as well as the message, was straight out of their dream of the well. The Norns.

  “They're possessed,” Jovian said, and pushing Joya and Angelica behind him, he pulled his shin-buto free of its sheath with a hiss.

  “You can't kill them!” Joya said.

  The older ladies milled about before them.

  “You shouldn't live,” Grace said again. “You were dead when you were born; only your mother's will saved you. You should have perished, but you lived.” She cocked her head to the side, her unfocused eyes staring through Jovian.

  “You threaten the well,” Rosalee said in the same voice Grace spoke with.

  “You threaten our lives,” Dalah said.

  “Who are they talking about?” Joya asked.

  “Angelica and I,” Jovian said.

  “How?” Joya asked.

  “No time to explain,” Angelica told her. “I think they are going to do something about our living when we shouldn't right now.”

  That was all the warning Joya had to throw up a shield before them as lightning arched from Grace's fingers at the three youths. The blue of the lightning met the pink membranous wyrd of Joya's shield. The shield shimmered and rippled with the force of the attack.

  “I don't know if I can hold it!” Joya told them, a look of intense concentration on her face.

  Jovian cast out his wyrd as Joya had taught him, channeling a large amount of the earthen energy through his body, adding his red wyrd to her pink shield. Angelica caught on and did the same, casting out a purple shield that meshed with her brother and sister's protections.

  Rosalee and Dalah added their attacks to Grace's, lightning arching from all three of them, smashing into the shield. Sparks flew, and the energy of the shields glowed.

  “They are getting ready to come down,” Joya said.

  “What can we do?” Angelica asked.

  “More wyrd!” Jovian said.

  “No, that won't help, they’re too strong!” Joya said.

  Children, listen to me, Aunt Pharoh spoke to them then from the medallion. Angelica, Jovian, you have to stop them somehow, Joya and I will keep you safe while you work. But hurry. Joya, do exactly as I say; there's no time for questions, just obey.

  They saw Joya nod.

  Now, Jovian and Angelica, drop your shields. Joya and I will take it from here.

  “What do we do?” Jovian yelled to Angelica over the cacophony of the wyrded battle.

  “We have to save them somehow. This is up to us.”

  Angelica and Jovian dropped their shields. Joya's shield shattered just then, but another force took its place. A large blue bubble sprang from Joya's hand, and they could feel their aunt's wyrd on the air, and knew that she was giving strength to them. The orb sprang up all around them, and when the lightning met it, it was reflected back at the Norns, forcing them to protect themselves from their own wyrd.

  Grace, Dalah, and Rosalee stopped their attack and tilted their heads, like they were investigating what was before them, considering the best way to attack. In the sudden silence, Jovian’s ears rang.

  The three older ladies split and started milling around the protective orb. Occasionally one of them would toss out a bolt, or a fireball, but when their wyrd was reflected back on them, they quickly stopped.

  “You won't find any weak spots,” Joya told the Norns. “This is Pharoh's wyrd.”

  “You can't hold it forever,” Dalah said, and the three old ladies sat down on the ground, waiting.

  “We aren't any threat to you,” Jovian said. “We don't want the Well of Wyrding, or the Evyndelle.”

  “That's not your choice,” Rosalee said.

  “You being alive is enough to end the well,” Dalah said.

  “I don't understand how,” Jovian said.

  “Your wyrd is like none on the realms, you are much more than wyrders,” Grace said.

  “Through the unnatural birth, you are able to influence fate,” Dalah said.

  “You are able to control another's wyrd,” Rosalee concluded.

  Jovian remembered taking Alhamar’s life. He remembered seeing the other man charge his sisters. But then time had slowed, almost stood completely still. Jovian had seen the tree, the Evyndelle, and had been taken down the trunk to the roots. His mind knew what he was looking for, and when he found Alhamar’s root, Jovian had simply ended it. He had watched it grow dark, the end shriveled as if burned. Above him, in that vision, the tree groaned a protest. He remembered looking up at the tree, but that simple movement had brought him crashing back to his body, where Jovian found himself standing over Joya and the now-dead Alhamar, his hand poised above his childhood friend, who had died inexplicably while Jovian had been away. He shook his head. I didn't do that, I just saw it happen!

  But then he remembered the incident in the Ravine of Aaridnay, when Angelica had stopped a wyrded storm brought on by a sorcerer they called the Tall Stranger. Hadn’t she stolen his wyrd so completely that he was no longer even marked as a sorcerer? Jovian looked at Angelica, and his horror was mirrored on her face. He knew her thoughts traveled the same paths his did.

  “But you did do it,” Grace said. “You ended his fate.”

  “How do you know?” Jovian asked, shooting a glance at her.

  “We could see his wyrd, and then a blank spot where the name of who killed him should have been. Angels aren't recognized by the tree,” Dalah said.

  “You need to die,” Grace said.

  “We don't!” Jovian held up his hands. “We will stop…”

  “Living?” Dalah asked. “As long as you live, you weaken the tree. In essence, you are the Well of Wyrding, and there can't be two of the same force alive in the world.”

  Jovian and Angelica shared a thought then: the dream made sense now. The wyrd absorbing into them, the well crumbling, the tree dying as if in a permanent autumn. The well was transferring its power to them, putting itself into their bodies.

  Jovian shook his head.

  “We will figure out a way,” he told them. “Angelica and I will figure out a way to stop it.”

  “There's only one way,” Grace said. “And we've figured it out.”

  “The Otherworld you have!” Angelica said. Jovian felt the anger swelling up inside of her then. Too many people were taking advantage of them, too many people dictating how they were to live. “If this is how you want to do it, so be it.”

  Angelica had enough of being pushed around, taken advantage of, and being
at the whims of other forces. The three people before her were no longer the ones she knew. Grace was just a husk of the woman she once was; who knew if there was anything left in her body of the tutor they remembered.

  Angelica connected with the local earth energy and established a channel. The power throbbed through her intensely, drowning out all fear and worries and filling her with the power she needed to be free of the pestilence before them.

  She lashed out with her mind, giving no warning to the Norns. She let the wyrd blast from her, taking their attackers by storm. Angelica saw with wyrd-filled vision the power of the Norns ripple out of the bodies. She saw the images of the gray women from her dream burst out of Grace, Dalah, and Rosalee as her wyrd washed through them, carrying away all energies that didn’t belong. The three older ladies collapsed, and the Norns tried to retaliate, but Jovian was ready for that. As had happened with Alhamar, he turned his attention to the tree, to the roots. Time slowed and he was suspended in the silvery wyrd of the well, gazing at the knotwork of roots before him.

  Jovian raised his arms, and with a mental pull, he started drawing the fates of the roots toward him, dragging them away from the tree. He could feel the roots start to shrivel, he could feel the people attached to the roots begin to weaken, as their lives were drawn from the tree, pulled from their bodies.

  He was the Pale Horse. He could feel death coming to all of those in the small knot of roots he affected. But before the life could slip from a single person, Jovian opened his eyes, and released his grip on the Evyndelle. The roots that had been reaching for him, withering with his might, slackened, hung naturally in the wyrd once more, and took on the look and feel of life again.

  The tree groaned in a thankful way, and Jovian felt in a strange manner that the tree was truly grateful that he hadn’t stolen those fates from it.

  He came back to himself, and time sped up. The Norns were confused, worried, and without another thought other than the tree and the fates Jovian was trying to rob from it. Once he was back, however, they turned their hatred and attention back to him.

  But before the Norns could get their bearings, another force recognized they didn't belong on the human plane. With nothing to tether them to the physical world, the Norns were dragged back to the Well of Wyrding, and whatever fate might await them there.