The Sun Guardian

by T. S. Cleveland

  Scorch took deep breaths. When her blade sliced across his chest, a spark escaped from his fingertips.

  “Yes,” she crooned in delight, cutting more clean lines across each pectoral. Blood seeped from the wounds and rolled down his stomach, soaking his furs.

  “Just to save us both some time,” Scorch said, grateful for the steadiness of his voice, “I’ve had a lifetime of practice with this. Nothing exciting is going to happen for either of us unless my life is threatened, and right now, all you’re doing is giving me paper cuts.”

  She sliced a deeper line over his bellybutton before pulling away, tapping the blood-tipped knife against her chin. “That could be a problem.” Her eyes were crazy. Had Scorch thought they were crazy when he first saw her? Gods, he was a poor judge of character. “Tell me,” she said. “If I have no intention of killing you any time soon, how could I possibly incite your body into changing?”

  He glared at her.

  “What about your companion in need of blankets?”

  Scorch’s fingertips sparked again. “Don’t touch Vivid.”

  “Vivid?” the High Priestess asked. “Fascinating.” She leaned in, bringing her face close to his. “What if I told you my monks were with Vivid right now, beating him to within an inch of his life?”

  Scorch bucked against the restraints of his chair, sweat streaming down his face. The High Priestess laughed and left him alone on his pedestal. She returned to the wheel sticking from the wall and turned it. His chair began to lower and the water pooled around his ankles, his shins, his waist. It reached the cuts on his stomach and he winced in pain.

  “Do you not like the thought of me bringing your friend in here with us? I could torture him while you watch. Would that make you angry?”

  Her words made him burn. His skin felt red-hot. He wished he could control it, that he could look at her and make her insides boil. “Vivid has nothing to do with me,” he seethed, the water around him beginning to steam. “He came here to train with your monks and nothing more. Don’t touch him.”

  She turned the wheel and his chair was submerged even further beneath the water, up to his shoulders. “Your face is so red. Let’s cool you off.” She gave the wheel a final crank and Scorch’s head disappeared beneath the pool.

  Water again? Was he being drowned again?!

  He thrashed his head, his body struggling despite knowing he couldn’t escape the bindings of the chair. As his lungs began to scream, his skin sizzled, but like the time he’d been in the lake monster’s clutches, he could affect no change to free himself. The High Priestess was right; his powers were useless beneath the water, no matter how threatened his life became, and it felt pretty threatened at present. Scorch strained his eyes and could barely make out the High Priestess’ figure above the water, leaning beside the wheel with her hands clasped before her like an excited child.

  Just when his vision began to swarm black, she turned the wheel and his chair rose from the pool. His body dripped water everywhere, splattering all around the pedestal. He shook the soaked hair from his eyes and gasped greedily for air.

  “That’s better,” she sang. “I think I will keep you alive for a long time. I’ve yearned for another elemental to run my tests on. You could be the key,” she said, coming toward him again, “to exterminating your kind for good.”

  Scorch coughed, glaring at her with red eyes. “Why do you hate elementals?”

  “You say it like you aren’t one of them. Your kind is unnatural in this world. The Gods have spoken to me and told me so. I have made it my life’s work to rid Viridor of your blasphemous stain.”

  Scorch groaned. She was absolutely insane and that never boded well. “I’m starting to realize why someone sent an assassin after you.”

  She brandished her knife again and stuck the tip over Scorch’s throat. “Assassins are no threat to me, you filthy creature. Your entire mission was a joke. A waste.”

  “Mine wasn’t,” a voice rumbled.

  Scorch’s breath hitched. Out of the shadows, Vivid stepped, and he wasn’t the groggy-eyed, shivering man from the cell. His presence filled the room. The air felt charged and dangerous.

  “Vivid,” the High Priestess greeted. She turned slowly to face him. “Here to save your friend?”

  “No.” Vivid’s eyes were a torrent of menace. Scorch stared at him breathlessly.

  The space between Vivid and the High Priestess was heavy with silence for several seconds. Scorch could see the expression on Vivid’s face. It was too calm.

  The High Priestess’ back went rigid and she threw her knife, which Vivid dodged easily. She tried to run past him, but he caught her. His hands moved like lightning and a sickening crunch echoed through the chamber as he snapped her neck.

  Scorch gaped, speechless, as Vivid let her dead body drop to the floor.

  A thousand questions beat at Scorch’s brain, but the only one he asked, the only one that mattered, was, “You’re the assassin!?”

  Vivid’s face was blank and pale as his eyes flashed between the body on the floor and Scorch strapped to the chair. “Yes,” he said, unsheathing his twin daggers.

  Scorch sighed dejectedly and let his head hang. “Of course you are.” He felt a hysterical bubble of laughter rise up and pour from his mouth. “Of course you’re the assassin I was meant to stop.” He laughed so hard it hurt his chest and tears fell down his cheeks. “Did you know Kio is a Priestess’ Monk? Did you know this whole thing has been a game to get me here and tie me to this torture chair? And now you’re going to kill me, like I knew you would, and I’m going to die in this stupid dress.”

  Vivid stared at him. “Kio is a Priestess’ Monk?” he asked, his black brows stitching together furiously.

  “Like you didn’t know.”

  “I didn’t know,” Vivid growled. “I knew I didn’t like her, but I didn’t know why.”

  Scorch huffed, pulling against his restraints and eyeing the shiny blades in Vivid’s hands. “So. How are you going to do it?”

  “Shut you up? I have no idea.”

  “You’re an assassin. Aren’t you going to kill me?”

  Vivid looked, as usual, unimpressed. “I had a job to do,” he said. “Same as you. Killing you wasn’t a part of it.”

  Muffled yells could be heard beyond the chamber and Vivid took a step toward the exit. A moment of choice passed, as Vivid stood with his daggers unsheathed, and Scorch could see them at the top of the Circle wall: Vivid’s legs straddling the wire, Scorch telling him he had to go back for the others, and Vivid leaving him behind without question. He had probably expected Scorch to die, to never see him again, but now, there they were, and Vivid stood on another fence. If he had made it out of the cell and past the monks to the secret chamber undetected, Scorch wagered he could make his way back out unscathed. All he had to do was leave Scorch strapped to the chair.

  Vivid moved toward him.

  A loud bang sounded in the adjacent room and Vivid spun on his heels, standing between Scorch and the portrait door. It swung open, revealing Kio in a rectangle of light, a throng of monks standing with her. It only took her a moment to find the satin, silvery crumple on the floor at Vivid’s feet.

  “No! What have you done?” she cried, and for a second she sounded like a real person, broken and disbelieving. But then her composure snapped back into place and she said to a monk at her side, “Sound the bells. We’re under attack.”

  The monk fled. Scorch could hear the hurried pace of their feet on the marble, and moments later bells began to ring a deafening alarm. Scorch wished his hands were free, if only so he could cover his ears.

  Kio assessed Vivid coldly. “Assassin,” she whispered. “I should have figured it out sooner.”

  Vivid’s fingers tightened around his daggers. “Likewise.”

  Scorch watched helplessly, waiting for Vivid to vault from the scene, to magically disappear himself and leave Scorch behind to face the vengeance of the monks.

 
That’s not what happened.

  The Priestess’ Monks were rumored to be the best fighters in Viridor. Scorch had heard it his whole life. They had to be tough, didn’t they? To pass the tests of the Heartlands? To travel the Monk’s Path and live to serve the High Priestess in her temple atop the mountain? They had to be the best. And as the fight unfolded before his eyes, Scorch couldn’t deny the monks were supremely skilled. But they weren’t the best. They weren’t as good as Vivid. He was a storm of swirling knives and black leather, lashing out in acrobatic kicks and jabs, elbows flying and knees crushing, with a face grim and purposeful. Kio, however, was an element of her own as she pitted her skills against Vivid’s. The assassin verses the Priestess’ Monk.

  Scorch understood at last how Kio survived all her fights in the Circle. All the times he’d seen her clumsy with a sword had been a lie, like everything else about her. She moved fluidly with her blade against Vivid’s daggers, putting Scorch’s esteemed swordwork to shame. If only the Guild could see him now, tied up, his guardianship failed, history’s best melee competition happening right in front of him, while he watched on, uselessly strapped to a chair. He longed to be free of his bindings so he could grab a blade and help fight their way to freedom.

  Vivid excelled on his own for a while, which was an incredible feat when surrounded by a dozen monks with their hearts filled with fury for their Holy One’s murder. Vivid held back their advances, blocked every killing blow, and met their quick attacks with even quicker defenses. It was hypnotizing to watch, but Scorch could tell the second Vivid’s strength began to dwindle.

  It happened fast. Kio’s high kick connected with Vivid’s bad shoulder, and he was thrown off balance and into the arms of the surrounding monks. Scorch felt the panic surge in his bones. Kio positioned her sword while Vivid struggled to break free of the monks holding him down. In seconds, her blade would run him through. Scorch’s skin burned so hot that the metal bands around his wrists began to melt and his fingertips sparked weak bolts of fire that landed uselessly in the pool surrounding him. He felt the beginnings of his flesh hardening, but he would be too late. He yelled, watching helplessly as Kio’s sword plunged toward Vivid’s heart.

  Suddenly, Kio, her sword, and the monks surrounding Vivid flew backward. Their bodies crashed into the walls and ceiling, then came falling back to the ground with bone-breaking thuds. A fierce wind ruffled Scorch’s hair.

  The monks groaned on the ground, but Kio was already getting to her feet again, her blade held out before her, blood running freely from a gash on her forehead. “You,” she whispered, and then Kio’s hands flew to her throat.

  Scorch didn’t know what was happening. “Vivid?” he asked.

  Vivid said nothing, but his stare was murderous. Kio’s eyes were huge and terrified and her face began to turn purple.

  “Vivid!” Scorch yelled, and when Vivid turned his head, a gale of wind encircled him, making his raven hair stream out around his face. His amethyst eyes were a tempest. An actual tempest.

  Kio fell to her knees, her eyelids spasming, her nails gouging gruesome marks down her neck. She was suffocating. And Vivid was making it happen.

  “Vivid, stop!” Scorch cried.

  At once, the whirlwind surrounding Vivid ceased and Kio fell forward, coughing and gasping for air. Vivid twirled his blades a moment before sheathing them, and just when Scorch thought he could never be surprised by anything ever again, Vivid ran toward him and dropped to one knee. He pulled a lock pick out of nowhere—seriously, Scorch couldn’t see any pockets on that skintight leather—and began fiddling with the bindings at his wrists and ankles. It only took a handful of bated breaths before he was free.

  Vivid pulled him out of the chair by the furs and they stood uncomfortably for a moment, the sound of seriously injured monks groaning all around them. The alarm bells were still ringing in earnest.

  “I can’t believe it,” Scorch whispered.

  Vivid’s nostrils flared in irritation. “That won’t be the last of the monks, and I can’t fight them all by myself. I need you to not be useless. Can you do that?”

  “Yes!”

  Vivid’s eyebrow twitched in a way that made Scorch think he didn’t believe him. “Come on.” He grabbed Scorch’s hand and they ran from the secret chamber, leaping over the array of robed bodies. Scorch stole a final glimpse of Kio lying on the floor, breath strained, but alive. He could afford her no more sympathy, because more monks were blocking their path as they passed through the High Priestess’ archway. Scorch readied himself to attack, but Vivid lifted his hand and the monks were blown backward, cracking their heads against the marble.

  Scorch stared at Vivid as they continued to run. “Gods,” he whispered in amazement.

  Vivid only paused long enough to tear the robes from one of the fallen monks’ backs and throw it over his leathers, then he led them out into the long hallway, where the sound of ringing bells was even louder and more monks were spilling in from the outside, charging up the golden steps.

  “I can help you fight them,” Scorch insisted as Vivid pulled him through the nearest doorway.

  “Save your energy,” Vivid said, maneuvering them through a dark room filled with pews and a statue of the High Priestess.

  “She’s a bit conceited, isn’t she?” Scorch asked as he brushed up against her marble-carved hips.

  “Was,” Vivid corrected before shoving Scorch toward a slit of a window. “Climb.”

  Scorch heaved himself up onto the sill, and when his feet kicked, trying to gain purchase, he felt a swell of air lift him up and nudge him the rest of the way out the window. He fell in a thorny bush outside, prickly on any occasion, but made even pricklier on account of Scorch’s bare legs and arms. Vivid tumbled through the window after him, landing gracefully beside the bush.

  Scorch only had time for a harrumph before Vivid was grasping his hand and hauling him up. They dashed toward the trees—the temple was surrounded by snow-capped, star-leaved trees—but Scorch could hear they were being followed. The cries of angry monks pierced the thin mountain air. Vivid’s grip was a vice as he cut a path. It was almost as if he knew exactly where he was going, as if he had been there before. When they hit the edge of the tree line, they ran out of mountaintop.

  Vivid released Scorch’s hand only to grab his face. Scorch tried to reel back, surprised by the intimate contact, but Vivid’s hold was foolproof. In his peripheral, Scorch could make out the bobbing light of traveling torches. It wouldn’t be long before the monks caught up to them. He gulped, his eyes darting to their feet. They were skirted beside a precipice, the sheer drop of the mountain only steps away.

  “Scorch,” Vivid commanded, digging his fingers into Scorch’s hair and tugging his head down for a more intimidating angle. Scorch had to slouch for their faces to be even, but he was still damn intimidated. Vivid was a fearsome creature to behold at the edge of a cliff. Wind lifted the fallen snow from the ground and it whipped around them.

  “You’re an elemental,” Scorch breathed, mesmerized anew by the man squeezing his face.

  “Yes,” Vivid said, “but only one of us can fly.” Scorch tried to shake his head, but Vivid’s hold was unbreakable. Vivid glared at him, their noses almost touching. He was too much to take at such close proximity. Scorch feared he might catch Vivid on fire if he didn’t let go of him. “You’re hot,” Vivid said, giving Scorch’s hair another yank. “I can feel your power. You have to use it now and fly us down the mountain. It’s the only way we can escape.”

  “I can’t!” Scorch said. “You know I can’t! I told you I can’t control it.”

  “You can control it, you’re just afraid to,” Vivid growled. “I thought you weren’t a coward.”

  “I’m not!”

  “Prove it.”

  “I can’t. I don’t know how!”

  Vivid’s stare was more electric than any lightning in any storm, and his words were absolute. “I thought you wanted to pay me back for sa
ving your life. This is how you can pay me back.”

  The noise from the trees was growing louder. The lights from the torches were growing brighter. Vivid was growing more impatient.

  “Scorch,” he growled. “We don’t have time for this.” He pushed Scorch away and leapt off the edge of the mountain.

  The change was immediate. One second, Scorch was gaping at the empty space Vivid had just occupied, and the next, he was scaled and winged and diving off the mountain after him. He plummeted headfirst until he sailed past Vivid’s falling body, and then he cut to a ninety-degree angle and thrust forward. He felt Vivid’s hands grappling onto one of the spikes of his spine and his legs hooking over his back. An upsurge of wind caught beneath Scorch’s wings as he extended them fully, and they rode the current of air away from the mountainside.

  Scorch’s heart was beating impossibly fast and his chest was full of fire. He let it burn inside of him and fuel his flight. Beneath them, the desert appeared, but from their height, Scorch couldn’t make out the cannibals prowling the sands for a meal. He beat his wings and urged them faster, and when he began to feel drained halfway across the desert, Vivid’s hand smoothed across his scales and fresh air filled his lungs, making the heat inside him burn brighter. Vivid was using his air to spur Scorch’s fire.

  Eventually, the desert disappeared, but Scorch pushed onward. The lake glistened, black and perilous, but Scorch kept flying. He’d never flown so far, or felt so empowered, and whenever he waned, Vivid rubbed at his scales and the wind took up his slack. His massive wings kept them in the air and Vivid’s currents boosted them further and further, until the sun became a pinkish inkling, and the sky began to fill with vibrant shades of red. The sunrise was on fire as the lake turned into a copse of ash-white trees, and only then did Scorch begin to spiral slowly to the ground.

  It was a rough landing.