Guardian (Book Two of the Spirits' War Trilogy)
Page 22
Ace blows a raspberry. “Guardian? Of what, the living room? She would’ve starved in the wild if it weren’t for—”
The goth Lycan’s words are cut short as his twin elbows him in the gut, making the lad drop his sandwich and a choice few words of his colourful vocabulary.
“Shut up, Beta’s Pet,” Damian tells him, the ghost of a snicker upon his face. “Oops, I forgot. Your namesake’s not Beta anymore.”
Ace returns the shove but it’s clear Damian has the advantage. He’s the muscular twin, though what Ace lacks in strength, he more than makes up in intellect. I’ve seen what he can do with computers and techy stuff. I’ll have to speak with Matthews an’ get the lad hooked up in the espionage sector of the Lìog. It’ll be a while afore he can bartend again, if we ever do get back to me pub.
“Alrighty.” I sigh deeply, wishing to put an end to this wee drama. “I’ll see to it Skye gets to her full potential,” I mutter, jabbing me own sandwich at each of the young Lycans in turn. “Then ye’ll run fer the hills at the mere thought of a duel.”
“A duel?” Ace sniffs. “We all know Skye wouldn’t stand a chance against any of us.”
I glance at the boy, winking. His smile disappears as he meets my eyes. “Damn it. I didn’t mean—”
“I’m not playin’, lad.”
“I was kidding!”
I grin widely. “In the words of the great she-dragon Elspeth Andarsen, MacLarty, ‘ye’ll get what’s coming to ye!’”
“What’s he talking about, Ace?” Damian inquires.
Jen, however, glances between me and Ace, pure amusement on her face. Perhaps Skye told her about Elspeth. Or perhaps she’d seen her wrath firsthand, which is equally likely. That woman doesn’t hold back; that’s fer sure.
Under me breath, I utter a few of me own choice words. Ace’s eyes grow wide as an enormous gust of wind homes in on his sorry arse. The nearby Lycans shuffle back to make room as the miniature tornado does me bidding.
“Aelshen!” Ace squeals as he tugs at the grass in a wild attempt to keep himself grounded.
The boy flies head o’er heels across the moor, finally halting when he runs smack-dab into a small hillock. A string o’ curses emanates from the lad as he rights himself, placing his hands on his hips and nearly stumbling over with dizziness. The entire throng of Lycans bursts out in laughter, throwing taunts at the teen. I grin, shaking me head.
“Well, Mac Tíre,” Damian begins, taking a few seconds to calm himself, “you’d better be thankful our father isn’t here. He’d skin you alive for that, mate!”
“That I know, lad.”
I laugh as Ace stumbles back to the horde of Lycans. When he finally sits back down – as far away from me as possible – I give him a few words of advice.
“Let me make it perfectly clear, Master MacLarty. Ye mess with one o’ the Spiritborne, ye mess with us all.”
Damian snorts. “I can’t wait to see what Nwyfre’s wrath looks like, then.”
I’m sure ye can’t, lad. Although ye’d best be avoidin’ the wrath of a pureblood dragon, let alone the First of the Beasts. Believe me, I’ve seen what Nwyfre can do, an’ it sure ain’t family entertainment.
“Well, if truth be told,” I begin, biting into one of them cucumber sandwiches and pausing to lick me lips, “yer going to be waitin’ a long time. We’re out here lookin’ fer someone who just doesn’t want to be found.”
36
BULLSEYE
Skye
I smile tenderly at the weapon in my hands. Litu, chieftain of the Naatya tribe, had carved it for me. Caressing the smooth cedar bough, I feel the carved form of the raven. Its wings stretch elegantly to each side and its beak smiles at me mischievously as I take a deep breath. My fingers slide across to the image of the wolf’s head, and I feel a pang of longing for my father and my friends.
Stupid Covenant and its fancy weaponry. How long will it be until I regain access to the elements? How long before I can Shift again?
I reach for an arrow and aim the bow at the ground, smoothly nocking the arrow the way Xunnu and Litu taught me. Raising the weapon, I draw the string to my cheek, closing my eyes as I focus on the distant target in my mind’s eye.
As I reopen them, however, I’m blinded as my hair whips across my face, growing more and more tangled with each gust. I roll my eyes, peeling it back. The wind is far too strong to allow any accuracy today.
“Allow me,” Conall whispers into my ear. I’d been so focused on the wind, I hadn’t noticed him come up behind me. He tucks my hair into my jacket, brushing his lips against my cheek. “Better?”
I nod, grinning, and lower the bow and arrow to the grass. He places his hands on either side of my face and kisses me. I wrap my arms around his neck and stroke his skin gently, ever wary of the scars that run across his body. Scars from his days as a Covenant prisoner.
We finally pull away and he reaches down to pick up his own weapon. A quiver of arrows rests at his feet, spilling out onto the field.
“You going to try?” I jut my chin towards the worn bow in his hands. Aelshen had secured it for him before the teams had departed.
“Yeah. My adoptive dad took us to the range once or twice. We used crossbows, but how different can these be?”
Conall shrugs off his dark jacket, tossing it to the side. He boasts a crimson T-shirt the colour of Flint’s scales. I gulp, picturing the four immense reptilian forms taking wing.
I’d waited so long to see the dragons in action, and now I’m grounded, unable to join them in their search for Nwyfre. How beautiful and terrible they looked, the sunlight glinting off their mosaic of scarlet scales and ebony horns. I can’t wait to try out dragon form when I get my powers back.
I peer at Conall with a half-smile. “Wanna make a bet? If I get a bullseye, you make me dinner and vise versa?”
He snorts, examining one of the arrows. “I don’t like the sound of that, Guardian. You got all that training and I haven’t shot one of these in five years. How ‘bout if I hit the target at all?”
“Fine.” I nock my arrow again and raise the bow. “Whoever hits the target three times makes the other dinner.”
“Now we’re talking.”
Adhair, I think to myself, calling upon the wind to cease in our immediate vicinity. If I’m going to get any better at this, the least I could do is practice without the cursed wind hampering my every attempt.
I intake a sharp breath, nearly loosing the arrow in shock.
I hear a faint chuckle as Aelshen laughs internally.
My face erupts into a wide grin. I relinquish my hold on the wind. It tugs at my messy locks even stronger than ever.
“Red?” Conall breaks in, narrowing his eyes. “You alright?”
I snort. “Yeah. I’ve got my powers back. Just speaking with Aelshen.”
“Sweet.”
The Lycan raises his bow and nocks an arrow. I gulp as I watch him pull back the string. Traces of scars entwine past his sleeves and the hem of his shirt as the
fabric stretches with the movement of his muscles. I hold my breath as he narrows his eyes at the target. The wind tugs at his curls and I bite my tongue, glad I’d let adhair do what it wished.
I jump, tearing my eyes from Conall just as he looses the arrow. It flies true, landing in the outer ring of the target. The young man whoops with glee, turning towards me. I give him the thumbs up.
Looks like I’m gonna be cooking tonight.
I chuckle at his words.
The spirit grunts, seeming a little distracted. Maybe he’s trying to hold two conversations at once. As if to confirm my suspicions, I’m bombarded with some emotions, namely those of amusement and joy.
He chuckles.
I sigh deeply.
My face falls.
Fire. I grin. Thank the First Guardian my powers are back. I loosen my hold on the bowstring, holding both the bow and arrow in my right hand as I raise my left to eye level, spreading my palm to the sky.
Teine, I command. A small flame materializes, floating a few millimetres above my fingers. I twirl my index finger and the fire cooperates, mimicking my every move. I lift my arrow, willing it to bond to the tip. Yes.
I pull back the string again, shutting my eyes and feeling the tension run through the weapon and into my own body.
Time to let the flames run rampant.
Aelshen begins to slip from my mind. I guess he’s got more important matters to attend to, such as leading a contingent of rowdy Lycans to locate a missing dragon somewhere within the Welsh countryside. His last words to me are words of caution.
I send the Father of Lycans my gratitude as I withdraw my mind from his, focusing on a target all the way across the field. I swallow, concentrating on every little movement as I loose the arrow. It moves lightning-fast, arcing in a beautiful display across the dawn sky.
I have done this before. I have done this countless times.
Bullseye.
The arrow hits the very centre of the target. As soon as it makes contact, the hay bale bursts into flames.
“Nice. Remind me not to mess with you,” Conall breathes, taking a step towards me and putting an arm around my shoulder.
“You like it?” I rest my head against his chest.
He grunts, “Yeah, but not as much as that.” I follow his gaze, groaning as I realize he’s already shot four arrows into his target.
“None of them hit the centre, though,” I point out.
He grins wickedly. “That wasn’t our bet.”
As he turns to head back inside, I glance at the bale. Fire licks hungrily at the dry straw like a caged beast that hasn’t eaten in weeks. My eyes lock upon the hay and a certain sadness overcomes me as I watch it disappear. Once the flames start to spread beyond the bale onto the calm of the healthy green field, I release the rain.
Uisge.
Water, bring back the balance. For without balance, there would be no life.
37
FORGIVENESS
Skye
“Thanks again, Red,” Conall mutters through a mouthful of soaked bread. He dips it into his bowl again and stuffs the rest in before he’s swallowed the first, tearing ravenously at the crust.
I wince, turning away. “No problem.” Were you born in a barn? I want to add, but considering he was born at the side of the road in a whiteout blizzard, I decide to keep my mouth shut.
I’m standing at the mouth of the old run-down barn on Quinn Rhys’ property. The dragoness is long gone now, heading one of the search parties as the Silver League continues its search for Nwyfre.
Richard Harvey clears his throat suddenly, making us both jump.
“I want to thank you too, Miss Matthews.”
“Skye,” I breathe, meeting his gaze. His pale grey-blue eyes search mine before darting towards his son’s.
“You know,” he begins, trying to find the right words. “I spent most of my life working with the Covenant. I was raised a Covenant soldier; my father and his father before him were taught the ways of the werewo—the Lycans.”
“Mr. Harvey,” I begin before I can stop myself, “it’s alright. It’s forgiven.”
“You can call me Rick. And you know what? I want to get this out in the open.” He swears, adding, “I wanted to keep my job separate from the rest of my life. Ariel—well, you knew her as Lauren—I brought this upon her. She was attacked because she was close to me. I blamed the Lycans for it all this time. I thought they tore her apart that night,” he says softly, choking on his words. “And the worst part is…she could have come back. She could’ve returned that night and begged me to change my views. And I wouldn’t have done it. I would’ve only seen the monster.”
Conall narrows his eyes but says nothing in response. He takes a step towards me, slipping his hand into mine and placing his bowl of unfinished soup on one of the hay bales. He stares defiantly at his father.
“That’s not true,” I tell Rick softly.
Conall’s dad takes in a sharp breath and sits upon a nearby bale. He pulls out a hunk of straw and scatters the strands. The wind picks them up, whisking them far across the field beyond.
“Ariel hid from me all this time because she knew what the Covenant – what I – would do to her if she were discovered. She knew who the real monsters were, and the moment I was able to see it for myself…”
She was already gone.
I tell him softly, “We all would’ve felt the same in your position. This war is much more complicated than any of us knows.”
“I had to watch a kid get shot in the back. Right after we were set free,” Conall mutters, earning him a woeful glance from his dad.
“I’d better gather some firewood for the stove,” Rick says simply.
I nod, meeting his eyes.
“Thank you for rescuing my son,” the human tells me weakly. “And Conall, I’m sorry about what happened to you in there. There’s nothing I can say.”
“I know,” the young man mumbles. “It’s in the past, now.” He opens his mouth again as if to add, like my mom, but appears to think better of it.
&n
bsp; “Alastair told me of his involvement in your lives. Right, I mean David. Jeez, if it weren’t for that familiar face, I’d go truly insane. I knew your uncle for seven years,” Rick discloses to me. “One of the most human individuals I’d ever known,” he says softly, letting out a whoosh of breath, “and he turns out to be a double agent working for the enemy.”
Rick begins to chuckle and I join in awkwardly.
“He truly believes in the cause,” I tell Conall’s dad solemnly. “But he prides himself on seeing things from all sides.”
“The world needs more people like him.”
Rick smiles, but his face rapidly darkens, and I know that the next words are not for me. The man grimaces as he reminisces about deeds completed long ago behind locked doors.
“I hope you’ll forgive me. Because I can’t look at you without remembering what I did.” Rick covers his face with a hand as he exits the barn. Conall stares forlornly after his dad.
The Lycan in cell thirteen. The one who’d spent five agonizing years subject to experimentation. Tears pool in my eyes as I struggle to push the thoughts away. Conall turns back towards me and suddenly I’m ensconced in his arms. He squeezes me gently.
“It’s alright, Red. I’ll forgive him someday.”
For the torture he endured behind Covenant walls. Of course Rick had been a part of it; he’d been raised believing it was the right thing to do. He’d worked alongside the others in the lab, experimenting on his own son. Guided by the cruel hand of the Covenant.
How many families have been torn apart, left to wither on opposite sides of this bloody war?
38
BETRAYAL
Skye
The fires were lit and the drums pounded with the rhythmic beat of the Summer Dance. Yeva’si gathered in the clearing, listening intently for the announcement that would take place – the chieftain’s son had come of age. Xunnu would take leadership of the Yáahl tonight. There was nothing yet; Sehwen must still have been preparing for his speech.