by Jan Harman
“Are you speaking of rogues?” Grim-faced, Shade stared across my backyard at the peaks blanketed by slate-gray clouds descending into the valley, promising more snow to restrict our world. “Answering my questions is in the advisor handbook.”
“So it is,” he replied and then fell silent.
“I’ve never considered how awful the conflict must be for you,” I said empathetically.
“The subject is distasteful, but for more than the reason you perceived. During high school, when my talent seemed to make giant leaps practically on a weekly basis, I had moments of arrogance that led to some pretty ugly scenes. One summer, Danny’s last one with us, he and Shad tag teamed me to keep my head straight and my body physically exhausted. More than once Shad covered my ass by taking the blame for a rule that I’d broken. Folks expected that behavior out of him. Not me, I was going to be the first male diamond of my generation. They had me slotted to be an elder someday. Were it not for Shad’s mental touch in the back of my mind, I might’ve dabbled past the point where I could’ve been saved,” he admitted.
It was hard to imagine self-confident Shade as an out of control teen, as a potential dominant. I watched the light in his eyes dim. For the briefest moment his body vibrated. My hand inched closer. Just before we touched, I curled my fingers into a loose fist. Even if I offered to share sorrow, he’d turn me down for my own good.
“We can change the subject. I’ll ask my aunt about rogues,” I offered.
“You might as well hear it from someone who understands. Where I was just a teenage boy with raging hormones and the temptation of power to lead me to question our oneness, on occasion there have been those individuals who foolishly believed themselves strong enough to stand alone, unaligned, or rogue if you will. Reports of their collapse are presented in great detail when a youth’s ability awakens. It is quite sobering. In retrospect, I was too cocky for my own good. Rules constrained me at every turn. Intoxicated by the emotional rush, the lure of going rogue had an old-west, lone gunman sort of appeal.”
“Our version of the police, the Enforcers Bureau, is charged with containment should someone yield to their inner demons. Multiple attempts are made to reintegrate the rogue into the collective. Regrettably, failure results in the silencing of the rogue’s mind and by extension those qualities uniquely Whisperer. If necessary the individual will be put down.”
“As in killed?” I gasped.
“The secret must be kept and the humans protected. Survival requires sacrifices,” he replied in an inflexible voice.
“Of what, compassion?” I wet my lips. “Just how close did you get to that line? Shade?” I said touching his sleeve.
“Close enough to scare myself straight although in hindsight not as close as I feared. Regrettably, my crazed period kept Shad from stretching out his range. On the plus side, I probably saved my parents from more sleepless nights. Shad’s stunts have a legendary status amongst the younger crowd.”
“I bet,” I said distractedly. I swallowed hard, thinking about my mother. She’d been away for years. Had her half-blood status saved her? Had she found a way to cope with the isolation or had every day been a battle? What was it Trent had said? “As warden you keep the calm.” My father had done this for his wife, kept her sane. Why hadn’t he quit his job and come home for her? Just who were these people I called Mom and Dad? My life had been built on a series of secrets and omissions. I wanted to yell, but the ones I wanted to confront were gone, leaving my poor aunt to take the brunt of my frustration.
Perhaps sensing that I needed a minute, Shade waited out my silence. Keen eyes raked my face. Everything was still so fresh. If he asked, I doubted I could articulate a coherent response. I wasn’t even close to getting a handle on my emotions. I suspected that he knew this. That would explain his watchfulness. No doubt he was regretting coming out here. I know I was. My head was swimming, but I had the sinking feeling that he had more to say.
Before he gave me more to process I asked, “What I can’t understand is if the warden is so important to the clans’ mental state, why would someone be so eager to risk it all?”
“They no longer believe in the unity of the clans. They covet power they’ve no right to claim. When I catch whoever is behind this, I’ll have your answer.”
“I hope you mean you and several other qualified individuals?”
“Naturally.”
Yeah, right. Realizing that I’d tied a knot in my drawstring, I dropped my hands to my sides. They swung there with my fingernails scrapping across my palms. “This chat has been both alarming and disturbing. Although why bother to explain all of this when I don’t take on my duties until I’ve finished college. Aren’t you afraid I won’t return?”
“Obligation required an explanation. I judged you strong enough for the truth. While Claire holds the position of temporary warden with the authority to act in your stead, you are and always will be the Warden. The ability to call across clan boundaries and into the hearts of clan folks is your birthright. There is ever only one granted that full unequivocal right. Your aunt will not receive that blessing.”
“I don’t follow. My aunt is a Pepperdine by birth. Shouldn’t she be able to do this call that you’re talking about?”
“A call, yes, but not the binding call of the heart. As the daughter of the last warden that is your birthright.”
“She is the daughter of a warden.”
“True. This will enable her to a certain degree, based on her level of talent and skill, to encompass her people and guide them in a united purpose. The blessing follows through the bloodline of the last warden. Our people treasure your aunt’s devotion, but our hearts know intimately Ethan’s love for his daughter.”
“That sounds sort of iffy to me.” The pity in his caring eyes barreled over the nice logical argument I’d been constructing. Destiny was quickly becoming a hated word in my vocabulary.
“Another could step forward, but I wouldn’t want to test the extent of the blessing that might or might not be bestowed upon them. In these troubled times the valley cannot afford to be without a strong warden.” He cocked his head, studying my reaction. “Look at you; you’re pale and tense like you’ve been given a death sentence. I said too much and frightened you. I’m sorry.”
He looked it to with his downcast eyes and slumped shoulders turned partially towards the back door. “Don’t be. There’s an upside. I won’t have to look for a job when I graduate.” When he didn’t smile I pushed ahead. “What is the blessing?”
“The heart and soul of the Whisperers.”
“Loads of help, thanks.”
The corners of his lips curled up although with his bruises it looked tortured. “I cannot describe for you that which I cannot experience. Until puberty our family’s loving support fills the hollow places of our mind and heart. As we grow into our abilities, our awareness for and of the community expands. For us it’s another sense, one that perceives the underlying emotional thread of our people. It’s what Grandmother Willow calls soul music. For our human warden, I imagine the blessing is much like what you experienced during our joining session just on a much grander, soul enriching scale. One warden wrote of the essence of his people coalescing to form another consciousness that shared in his life journey. I don’t know if that helps clarify or makes you more uncomfortable?”
“I can’t get a handle on what’s inside my head. I don’t want to be filled with the emotional output of strangers.”
“We won’t feel like strangers,” he said with a touch of exasperation. “I’m doing a poor job of explaining the gift. I wish your father was here.”
“No offense, but the warden’s job sounds invasive and way too powerful for one person.”
“I believe more joinings will help you relate to the peace we feel when connected. Then you’ll understand why I cannot conceive of the idea of severing this connection and going rogue. The emptiness, the sheer weight of all that quiet must surely be the worst
form of torture.”
I shuddered and said under my breath, “I’d take the quiet.”
Air rapped against my body. “Our joining was that terrible? Explain,” he demanded.
The word exploded in my mind, driving unrelated thoughts to the side until the answer spilled out of my mouth unedited. “Even for us mere humans quiet can be sinister and frightening. Unlike you, I want its weight to pull me under. Quiet is when the voice snakes out.”
Chunks of ice banded together, forming a dense ice field surrounding a massive iceberg centered over each eye. Hot vibrating hands gripped my upper arms, lifting me up onto my toes. “You’d prefer the company of your tormentor, a voice that feeds on your fears and makes you question your sanity? You prefer that over a joining?”
With me, he’d left unsaid. The chill in his voice made my stomach clench. “That’s not—”
“You spoke the truth.” He snatched his hands back and took a step, putting distance between us. “Clearly your aggressor’s torment has proved detrimental to your mental health. I’ll ask my grandmother to reconsider expunging the voice.”
“And risk losing any chance of remembering what he wanted from my dad, no way.”
He blinked and then slapped his forehead. “I’m an idiot. Of course you want that. Sorry, I’m still edgy.” Fingers vibed gently as they cupped my chin. “Your father wouldn’t want you to continue suffering. He’d expect his people to shield you from this horror. It’s our privilege to ease his daughter’s sorrows.”
My gaze fell. He’d meant every word. It was hard to be angry that he’d voiced me when I’d just felt his loving, generous spirit brush my thoughts. “I do want to try another joining with you, if you promise not to bolt for the door,” I answered, smiling up at him through my lashes.
“I had good reasons for my actions. Let’s go inside. You need to rest.”
“Have you looked in the mirror?” I answered; concerned that Mr. Noble was hiding the extent of his injuries.
“My bruises will be gone days before yours have completed turning all those lovely putrid shades,” he said with an irritating touch of superiority.
“I could order you to go home and go straight to bed. It would be in my best interest. Considering all the guilt and worry just looking at you brings up. I do believe I’m feeling rather anxious. Definitely not good for my recovery,” I said, putting the back of my hand against my forehead and pretending to swoon.
For the first time since I’d come downstairs he smiled broadly. “Sure twist things around. I’m going to have to watch out for you.”
The ember buried in my core pulsed, flooding me with warmth and contentment. Taut muscles lost their cohesive structure. I swayed. Amazed and rather embarrassed, I stared out across the yard, contemplating his one hundred watt smile and wondering how blinding it would be when it actually meant something significant.
“Why is it just when I’ve made up my mind that I’ve had enough of this place, you manage to talk me out of it? I must be spineless,” I said.
“On the contrary, my warden, you charged up that slope to save Rylan and Meadow. Talking you into staying isn’t hard when your heart knows you’ve come home.” His warm voice trilled across my cool cheeks. “Trust your heart, Livi. Please.”
He tucked me gently against his body, vibrating ever so slightly to steal away the cold. I should scold him for vibrating against doctor’s orders. Instead, I waited, watching intently as ice melted and ripples of tension slowed and lapped rhythmically against wispy white bands. Crystal-blue seas beckoned for me to wade into their skin-tingling depths. For a brief moment, I stood on their banks and knew I was home.
I gave it fifteen more seconds. Cuddling against his warm, very solid chest most definitely was going to give me future heartache. To him, I was his warden first, friend second, and third an off-limits, high school girl with major baggage. Reluctantly, I raised my head to suggest that we head inside. Before I could register the cold air that had replaced the warm chest, the storm door swung open.
“Olivia, Trent’s on the phone,” my aunt called out.
“Sure common sense can’t convince her to go inside. But a phone call from the football star, and she’s quick to dump the guy who took a battering. Don’t mind me. I’ll hobble inside,” Shade said, his playful tone sounding somewhat forced.
“Right. Just a minute ago you were the guy whose bruises were going to be gone long before mine,” I said over my shoulder. Actually, I was the one hobbling. I stuck my tongue out at him when he beat me to the door.
“That’s mature,” he said, holding the door open.
Shade’s teasing had put me in a better mood, so I was much cheerier on the phone than I’d originally intended. Not that I was over the incident at the Cassidy’s ranch or seeing that girl clinging to Trent’s arm. But then, who was I to judge, considering the confusing state of my relationship with Shade. Poor Trent sounded so dispirited that I agreed to a short visit.
We said goodbye then I stretched out on my bed. My body mutinied; I was asleep with the phone still in my hand. Sometime after two, I rolled out of bed feeling very groggy. I grabbed clean clothes and headed for the shower. By the time I plopped onto the sofa, I had fifteen minutes to spare.
“Where did everyone go?” I asked my aunt, who upon learning of Trent’s imminent arrival was stock piling cookies onto a second holiday plate.
“The guys left when you disappeared into your room,” she said, her tone disapproving.
“I fell asleep.”
“I had errands to run.”
“Sorry.”
She frowned. “Don’t be sorry that you fell asleep. You needed that.”
Yup, she was mad. I took my time putting an earring in while trying to think of a way to make things right. “That’s not the only reason I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to accuse you of not caring. Lately I can’t stay afloat if you know what I mean?”
“I suppose I do. But it hurts all the same.” She sniffed. “Now don’t you cry, too. You’ll have to fix your makeup and there’s no time for that. I just want you to open yourself to the possibility that it’s okay to be happy here. Don’t let events that happened before you were born influence your perceptions. I realize the wounds from your parents’ murder are still fresh, and I’ve probably bungled the whole adjustment to the valley. But you have to apply some effort here, too. Folks are naturally sympathetic, but they’ve families to worry about. They need to see their futures are secure. Tradition will carry the valley only so far.”
She contemplated the contents of the cookie tin and then turned it over, dumping the last half dozen spritz cookies onto the stack. “Encourage Trent to eat his fill.”
“Two plates worth? Even for him that might be too much. When did you find time to make so many varieties?” I asked, counting at least eleven different types of cookies.
She smiled sheepishly. “Actually, I haven’t made any. These have been left at our door the last few days. They look yummy don’t they? Fattening, too. We’ve got another seven tins up in the cabinet. I’m going to have to schedule time at the gym after the holidays.”
“Me, too,” I mumbled then swallowed the bite of the chewy, chocolate thumbprint cookie with its sweet strawberry jam center. “Don’t people think we can bake?”
“Tradition. In times past the warden and his family entertained constantly throughout the season. We’d have theme parties for the children, sponsor sleigh rides, and even host formal dinners in appreciation for the efforts of the elders and council members. This year, the cookies just started arriving again. I think it’s folks way of letting us know that we’re in their hearts. No, don’t cry. Oh dear.”
My aunt cast around the room. Her gaze alighted on a box sitting on the coffee table. The lines around her eyes crinkled when she said cheerily, “Shade left you something. He said you were to open it when you woke up.”
“Do you know what’s in it?” I asked as I tore off the wrapping paper.
&
nbsp; “No idea. He said it was something you could take with you when you go away to college next year. But he wanted you to have it now. He said something else about you having missed out for too long and this should start you out until you were ready for more.”
Curious, I flipped open the flaps on the side marked ‘This side up’ in a bold red marker. Beneath a layer of tissue paper I unearthed a two-foot, prelit Christmas tree complete with a box of miniature ornaments. After everything that happened yesterday, I’d forgotten that today was Christmas Eve. I clutched the ornament box to my stomach and sucked on my lower lip.
“Is there something I’m missing?” Aunt Claire asked, watching my expression.
“We stopped doing a lot of things after Danny died,” I answered, my voice the barest whisper.
“When I read between the lines in your dad’s letters, I could tell he was struggling. I should’ve visited more. Now I’m sorry I didn’t.”
“Dad loved his work, so burying himself in it wasn’t exactly a hardship. Mom filled her days with charity work when I went off to boarding school. Holidays became educational destinations. It wasn’t until we transferred back to D.C. that we stopped running. A smattering of decorations went up for show, but no tree.”
“Where should we put it?” she asked, trying hard to cover the hint of tears in her voice.
“Next to the fireplace.”
The ornaments took only a couple of minutes to hang. We were done by the time Trent was pulling in the drive.
“It looks a bit lost,” Aunt Claire said as we stood back to examine our handiwork. “Maybe we should put it on the dining room table.
“But I like the idea of a tree in the living room.”
“So do I,” she said, hugging me. “I had to convince Dr. Long to let you come home last night. So take it easy today. Now go answer the door while I make myself scarce.”
