“Since when is it a guardian’s job to protect elementals?” asked Vivid. It was the first time he had spoken all day.
“It’s not,” Scorch answered, and it wasn’t. The Guild upheld Viridorian law, and the law did nothing to protect elementals, not even if the elemental in question was a child. Scorch knew better. He did. But he had also been raised on the instinct to protect, and that boy had needed his protection. “I—I wanted to,” he tried, his words sticking in his throat.
Vivid glared. “It doesn’t matter what you wanted. Hurry up or I’ll leave you behind.” He stormed down the road, where Kio and Julian were waiting, and Scorch, after sparing a final glance at the village, hurried after him.
****
All day, the image remained with him. All day, he watched the sack slide by. All day, he strained to breathe in and out as if it was no bother. But that night, when they stopped again for camp, Julian’s take on the day had his stomach turning worse than ever.
“That’s part of what makes them so dangerous,” he said, warming his hands by the fire. “They’re sneaky. You could live in a village with one for years and never know until it was too late.”
Scorch had caught rabbits for dinner with one of his Guild-learned traps and was rotating the skewer over the flames. Kio crouched beside him, replacing his shoulder bandage. Vivid wasn’t there; he had left to find fresh water for their canteens.
“Those poor people,” Julian continued. Kio’s remedies had already improved the swelling around his eye and, apparently, the less bruised he became, the more confidence he gained. “I guess it must have been an Earth, to bring that house down. At least they’ll be compensated by the Queen.”
Scorch struggled to swallow his dinner that night and, later, he fought to stay awake, not because he wasn’t tired, but because he feared the horror that sleep would bring. Ultimately, though, despite his stubborn resistance, he couldn’t keep from slipping. Darkness grasped him, wrapping around his sleeping brain and replaying the boy’s screams again and again.
When Scorch woke, it was the middle of the night. Kio and Julian were asleep and Vivid was yet to return from his quest for fresh water. Like the night before, Scorch stumbled from the camp and found a quiet piece of forest in which to panic silently. He did not get sick, but his body curled with tension and he dropped to his knees, his breathing strained and shallow. Sweat spotted the ground where it dripped from his face. He stayed that way for a while, until his skin didn’t feel so hot and his lungs didn’t feel so tight. He rubbed at his neck, his throat dry, wincing when his fingers brushed against the rope burns. So deep was he in the aftermath of his panic, he didn’t hear the nearing footsteps until they stopped beside him. A canteen dropped next to his head, and Scorch picked it up, taking an eager sip. The water was cool and comforting, and a single sip turned into several, thirsty gulps. When he looked up, sated, he saw nothing but a dark figure stalking back toward camp.
Once Scorch mustered the strength to return, he set the canteen back down beside Vivid, who was sitting away from the fire and staring idly into the distance. “Thank you,” Scorch whispered, but Vivid had no words for him that night, nor did he have words for him the following day. But on their third night of camp, after another long stretch of traveling, when Scorch bolted up from another nightmare, Vivid was sitting right beside him.
Scorch gasped and blinked the morbid images from his eyes. It was a shock, seeing him there, not only close, but staring directly at him, and when Vivid stood, so did Scorch, following him into the trees. He watched, fascinated as Vivid navigated through the underbrush with steps so light they hardly disturbed the leaves. Meanwhile, Scorch’s boots crunched loudly over every twig and leaf.
“Your nightmares are a problem,” Vivid declared when they finally stopped walking.
Embarrassment crept up his cheeks. “I’m fine,” he lied.
“I don’t care whether or not you’re fine, but when you have a bad dream, it keeps you up all night, and you don’t get enough rest. And if you don’t get enough rest, your reaction time becomes sloppy.”
Scorch snorted indignantly. “I’m not sloppy.”
Vivid’s foot shot out, linking behind Scorch’s knee and knocking him flat on his back before he could even register Vivid had moved. He leaned over Scorch, a pale face taunting him from above. “Sloppy,” he repeated. “And when you’re sloppy, you put the people traveling with you in danger. I won’t let you be a risk.”
Scorch swallowed. Suddenly, the man above him seemed even more threatening than usual. “Are you going to . . . kill me for being sloppy?”
The stare he received made his heart race. Vivid reached into a compartment of his tight leather trousers that Scorch had never noticed before—not that he spent much time examining Vivid’s trousers—and produced a small bag. He dropped it onto Scorch’s chest.
“Dream Moss,” he explained. “Chew on the stem before you sleep and it keeps your mind restful.”
“I know what it is,” said Scorch, sitting up and looking into the bag full of thick, ivory stems. Etheridge grew Dream Moss in her garden.
“Then you have no excuses,” Vivid grumbled. “Don’t keep me up again.”
With that, Vivid left. Scorch pulled a stem from the bag and popped it into his mouth. When he made his way back to camp, Vivid ignored him and Scorch ignored Vivid, irritation fuzzing his brain. Sloppy. Scorch was not sloppy. He was thinking over examples to prove his extreme non-sloppiness when he fell back to sleep.
****
The following day came easier for Scorch, and they made excellent time. The wounds in his thigh and shoulder ached considerably less after several days of Kio’s salves, and the good night’s sleep had granted his frantic mind a reprieve. He felt better than he had since leaving the Guild, and it was that foolish high of contentedness that made Scorch slow his steps. Kio and Julian passed him on the road and Scorch aligned his pace with Vivid’s, who committed promptly to ignoring him. But Scorch was not deterred.
“I slept well,” he provided brightly.
Vivid stared straight ahead, and Scorch used the opportunity to study him. His hair was straight and black and his eyelashes were long and thick. The day was overcast, making his white skin even whiter. He looked like he was carved from marble, straight-faced and sternly beautiful. And though he was much smaller than Scorch, shorter and less muscular, the way he moved spoke to the discreet prowess of his strength, and Scorch would bet that, beneath the yards of leather coverings, Vivid’s muscles were lean and taut. Every movement of his body promised violence, and Scorch couldn’t fathom how the men at the inn had thought to take advantage. Couldn’t anyone with eyes see he was dangerous? Scorch could see it. But it wasn’t all he could see.
“You could be a guardian,” he said.
Vivid didn’t respond, apart from a twitch of his eyebrow.
“You’re clearly a talented fighter,” Scorch continued. “And you’re still young. How old are you?”
Twitch.
“You’re also compassionate, and that’s an important quality to the Guild.”
Twitch.
“You’d like it there. It’s beautiful inside the walls, and the Master is—”
“Be quiet,” Vivid said, cutting him off. “I don’t care.”
Scorch laughed at his bluntness, earning another quality eyebrow twitch. “You care about some things,” he kept on. “I’ve never known anyone to take the Monk’s Path. All so you can train with the High Priestess’ Monks. Are you hoping to become one of them or do you just want to learn what they know?”
The sound of Vivid’s voice caught Scorch by surprise, as he hadn’t been expecting an answer. “They’re the best.”
“That’s the rumor, but who’s seen them in a fight? They’re secluded on a mountain in the middle of the Heartlands. I’d take training with the Guild any day.”
“The Guardians’ Guild is for cowards and fools,” Vivid hissed. “It’s a joke.”
And like that, Scorch’s pleasant mood faltered. “I grew up there,” he said. “They took me in when I had nowhere else to go. I won’t listen to your insults.”
“Then I guess you better shut up and leave me alone.”
Scorch stopped trying to engage Vivid in conversation, but he didn’t increase his pace to get ahead of him. He kept his stride even with Vivid’s and hoped the annoyance of his presence would be fair enough payback.
That evening, Scorch chewed on a Dream Moss stem while Kio freshened his bandages, and then he walked to find fresh water. The stream’s distorted reflection was the only clue he had of the other man’s arrival.
“How are you so quiet?” Scorch asked as Vivid knelt down to fill his canteen.
“I just seem quiet because you never stop talking.”
They remained crouched by the water for several minutes, but when the wind began to whip in threat of a coming storm, Scorch stood. Vivid remained low, staring at the water as it rippled around the lip of his canteen.
Scorch was turning to leave when Vivid said, quite unexpectedly, “You’re not a coward.” He was looking up at Scorch expectantly, the wind pulling and pushing at his hair.
After a long time—because it took a long time for Scorch to manage a response—he asked, “Just a fool, then?”
“Yes,” Vivid answered without pause.
Scorch felt he should be offended, but Vivid’s words rang with a cadence of regret that incited curiosity instead of anger. He considered the accusation, thumbing at a droplet of water running down the side of the canteen. “Maybe I am,” he conceded with a shrug.
Vivid’s eyes traveled over Scorch’s face, and he tried not to fidget, but it was a challenge. “There are worse things to be,” Vivid said, and then he stood from the stream and headed back for camp.
Scorch watched him go.
****
Their journey on the main road ended midday on the sixth day, when the road split. Scorch halted at the edge of the forged path and reached out his foot to touch the wild grasses growing where the Heartlands began. The week of traveling had numbed his mind, but now that his task was blatantly before him, it all felt too real. The Master believed in him, but Scorch knew himself, and he knew there was a good chance he wouldn’t be coming back.
“Kio, Julian,” he said to the companions at his side. “You should turn back.”
“No, thank you,” said Kio.
Julian looked at Scorch with dedicated eyes—both finally of equal size and seeing ability—and shook his head. “I want to meet the High Priestess. I’d like her blessing. Maybe I can train to be one of her monks, too.”
Scorch couldn’t resist cutting a glance at Vivid. Sure enough, one eyebrow was raised slightly, but he didn’t comment, and if his incredulity had been audible, he was too far back from the others to be heard. For Scorch’s part, he tried to keep the doubt from betraying his own expression as he faced Julian and Kio.
“I can’t keep you from something you want to do,” he began. “But I want you to understand how dangerous the path truly is. The Guild hardly ever sends guardians through the Heartlands. I don’t know if I’ll be able to protect you.”
“Do you know what lies ahead?” Vivid asked, walking up to Scorch. He looked out over the high grasses. “Did your Master tell you?”
Scorch’s temperature rose. “There is scant knowledge available of the Heartlands,” he answered. “No one really knows what lies between here and the mountain temple.”
“I do,” Vivid said.
Kio’s eyes narrowed. “How?”
Vivid just stared at her.
Scorch ran an anxious hand through his hair. “What do you know, Vivid?”
“The path is a test,” Vivid rumbled, “to separate the worthy from the useless.” He glanced at Scorch before looking back at the grasses. “Only those most deserving will reach the temple.”
“A test?” Kio asked.
Vivid paused before answering, as if weighing whether or not he wished to speak to her at all. Finally, he did, but it was more like he was speaking aloud than answering Kio. “Serenity, Focus, Fortitude. If you don’t possess these qualities, don’t expect to live through this.”
Scorch sighed. “Why can the tests never be great hair, a tight ass, and stamina for days?”
“Like that would help you,” Julian mumbled, and Kio laughed.
Vivid wasn’t amused. He turned heated eyes to Scorch, staring up at him through a lock of dark hair. “If you don’t take these tests seriously, you will die, and I will let you.”
Scorch nodded, but fear coursed through his body. He tried to ignore it. Being afraid would do him no good. “Last chance,” he told the others. “I have to go.”
“I want to go,” answered Kio.
Julian bit his lip, but after a moment said, “Me, too.”
Scorch took a deep breath and stepped from the main road, into the Heartlands. Vivid stood at his side, tense and sharp-eyed.
“Let’s not waste any more time, then,” Scorch said.
He repeated his mantra in his head to cool his nerves: Save the High Priestess, Save the High Priestess, Save the High Priestess. For the first time since leaving the Guild, he felt as though his guardianship had truly begun. Now he just had to stay alive long enough to complete it.
Serenity
7
The grasses grazed Scorch’s hip as they trudged through the marshy Heartlands. The sudden change of geography from firm, well-traveled road to soggy, un-trodden earth was disconcerting, but after walking for an hour, Scorch could see in the distance where the grasses calmed around a copse of trees. All were quiet as they traveled and Scorch wondered if the others were as nervous as he was, except Vivid, of course. Vivid had the air of someone whose nerves never trumped their resolve. He walked stoically, the only sign of his concern the unnaturally straight line of his shoulders. Scorch let his hand rest on the pommel of his sword, its smooth surface familiar and comforting.
When they reached the trees, Vivid held up a hand. Scorch stopped. He watched Vivid tilt his head to the side and close his eyes. A gust of wind ruffled his hair.
“The lake is through the trees,” he announced, and his voice was deep, careful, and quiet. “We build here.”
Scorch thought he heard wrong. “Build? Build what?”
“A raft,” Vivid replied. “Unless you want to swim.”
Scorch may not have known about specific tests, but he was well aware of the lake they needed to cross. He could remember studying the Viridor map as a child, and it was nearly as big as a sea. Definitely not swimmable.
“Shouldn’t we build at the shore?” he asked, waving at the thick cropping of ash-white trees. “This is cramped quarters for raft building.”
“We can make no noise on the shore,” was Vivid’s short answer before delving deeper into the white trees.
“The first test is serenity,” Kio said, and Scorch glanced at her. The burn on her face was nearly healed; only a shiny pink blur remained. The rest of her was bright and airy, and she was lovelier than ever, graceful lines and delicate hands, warm skin in a forest of white bark. He was suddenly very glad she’d come. Scorch couldn’t imagine being left in the Heartlands with only Vivid to keep him company. He was rather less thankful for Julian’s presence, however. Scorch didn’t dislike him, not excessively anyway, but he couldn’t understand him either. And when he looked at Julian, the sight of him left a sour feeling in his stomach.
A loud crack broke Scorch from his introspection and he turned wide eyes in the direction Vivid had headed.
“I think,” Kio said, “we’re meant to be cutting up lumber for a raft.”
The echo of something heavy falling made Scorch raise his eyebrows in disbelief. “Did he just cut down a tree?”
Kio smiled. “How tough is your sword?”
Tough enough, it turned out. They used his sword to chop at thin tree trunks, Scorch grimacing with every blow. His sword wasn’t ma
de for chopping down trees, but they were spindly things, and the bark was soft enough to sear through without breaking his blade, though it took a dozen swings at the neck of each tree to down it. Julian and Kio had blades, as well, picked up during their escape from the Circle, and one by one, they collected a modest mountain of logs for building.
The day was growing late and Scorch was sweating profusely by the time Vivid reappeared, dragging a litter of timber behind him. Scorch allowed himself a moment to be amazed by his strength, to admire the concentration knitting his brow, the bead of perspiration trailing over snowy skin, until Vivid glanced up and their eyes met. Scorch turned away and rubbed at the beard making his chin itch; he needed a shave.
They worked in tandem setting the logs together, and then Vivid presented a bundle of thick, malleable roots. He pressed a heap into Scorch’s arms and, while Kio and Julian held the logs in place, Scorch and Vivid wound the vine-like roots around the wood, weaving them together. Scorch tried his best to sneak discreet glances at Vivid’s fingers as they deftly manipulated the bindings—they had not covered raft assembly at the Guild—but Vivid caught him at it more than once. Scorch was squinting as they began to lose the light, struggling to see the knots in front of his eyes, but Vivid appeared to have no trouble. When Scorch fumbled with the final ties of the raft, Vivid wordlessly took the roots from his hands and finished it himself, then commenced to attach a crudely made rudder, which consisted of a thick branch tied to the back of the raft so they could steer.
As the sun disappeared beneath the ashen trees, their raft was completed. It was small, would be a tight squeeze for four passengers, but it would have to do, and Scorch smiled as he inspected their creation. Contrarily, Vivid’s face revealed nothing but displeasure. He sniffed at the air, the wind whipping his hair in one direction, and then another. He looked at Scorch.
“Give me your shirts,” he demanded.
The Sun Guardian Page 10
