The Sun Guardian

by T. S. Cleveland

  It was loud and magical, and Scorch walked slowly to keep from slipping as he stared at the water. He was mid-bask when he felt a sharp point at the small of his back.

  “I could make a joke, but I’m a little too terrified,” Scorch breathed.

  One of Vivid’s daggers was pushed against his back, but the tip wasn’t digging in. It was only a graze. “It’s tradition,” Vivid said.

  “For me to be terrified?”

  “For any newcomer to the Hollow to be escorted by a dagger’s point,” Vivid explained. He was standing close and whispering his words against Scorch’s neck, because he couldn’t quite reach his ear. “When we enter, speak to no one. Don’t even think about touching your sword.”

  Vivid grabbed Scorch’s shoulder that was absent of a stab wound—very considerate of him—but the blade at his back was still disconcerting. Plus, there was the fact that Scorch was being led into a den of assassins, behind a waterfall. The whole situation was alarming. Nonetheless, he supposed he had experienced worse days, much worse, and despite himself, he trusted Vivid not to kill him, or at least trusted him to be honest about killing him. Vivid gave him another shove and kicked at a black stone lodged in the wall. The whole waterfall groaned as a passageway opened up before Scorch’s eyes.

  “Earth elementals,” Vivid whispered as explanation. He nudged the back of Scorch’s heels with his foot. “Remember what I said. Move.”

  Scorch kept his eyes trained on his new boots and stepped into the passageway. It was a cave tunnel, but it wasn’t long, and at the end of it, Vivid revealed a slip of cloth from somewhere in the mystery folds of his clothes. It was a blindfold. Scorch snorted and Vivid narrowed his eyes. A charged few seconds later, Scorch bent his head in acquiescence and Vivid tied the material around his eyes.

  It sounded like Vivid kicked against something, and then there was only silence. For about two minutes, they stood in the pitch-black darkness of the tunnel, waiting. Vivid’s fingers flexed against Scorch’s shoulder and the dagger remained a whisper against the small of his back. They were standing very close and Scorch could hear Vivid breathing. They were steady breaths, like Scorch’s used to be, back when he still had some semblance of control over his life.

  When the door opened, light bled through Scorch’s blindfold and he bent his head. The hand at his shoulder gripped him roughly.

  “Vivid. You were expected back two days ago,” came a woman’s voice, pleasingly tarnished, like she smoked too much pipe weed. “But now I see you had some extra weight to carry. Who’s the lug? I know, I know. Not for me to know before Axum. He’s in his rooms.” She spoke as if she knew Vivid didn’t want to speak, playing the conversation out for them both. “Find me later, would you? I’ve been forced to practice with Elias.”

  Vivid remained silent at Scorch’s back for a moment before commenting. “You need the practice. Your eyebrows are singed again.”

  The woman faked a laugh, and then she must have stepped to the side, because Vivid pushed Scorch forward.

  Scorch felt vulnerable walking blindfolded through the Assassin’s Hollow, but the hand leading him was firm and didn’t seem to be aiming to walk him into any fireplaces or holes in the ground. All around him, he could hear voices, some whispering about Vivid and his “lug” and some speaking normally about something else entirely. No one tried to stop them as they threaded through, room after room. At least, it felt like multiple rooms, or multiple cavern chambers. Were they still inside a cave? The air didn’t feel damp. It was quite comfortable, wherever they were, and it smelled nice, like cedar.

  When Vivid finally stopped, he removed his hand from Scorch’s shoulder to rap curtly against a door, and then returned his hand, squeezing gently. The gesture, if it was a gesture at all, made Scorch wish he could see Vivid’s face. The dagger at his back eased slightly, and the hand squeezed once more, and then the sound of a door opening made him straighten with renewed alertness. He could sense Vivid’s body doing the same.

  “Vivid,” said a voice, a tad high-pitched, but prosperous with authority. The man in charge. “Come in.”

  Scorch was instructed forward, and he felt the air change as he entered through a doorway. The light beneath the blindfold diminished. Vivid guided him to a chair, but unlike Kio, who had shoved him down into his seat, Vivid waited for Scorch to feel the chair at the backs of his knees, and then he pressed lightly against Scorch’s shoulder for him to sit, which he did, though he did it with a begrudging frown. He waited for chains or ropes to bind him, but none came. He heard Vivid sheath his dagger, and then felt his hand reappear at his shoulder.

  “You are two days off schedule,” said the man. He did not sound angry or worried. He was simply stating a fact.

  “There were circumstances which led me off course,” Vivid replied.

  “But not off job?”

  “I’m never led off job, Axum.”

  It was beyond strange to hear Vivid speaking to an authority, because for Scorch, it was impossible to imagine anyone being in charge of the small assassin. He wondered if Vivid even considered Axum to be in charge, or if he was just another annoyance in his life that must be managed with forced patience. It was impossible to tell by the tone of Vivid’s voice, which sounded as thunderously bored as ever.

  “You never go off job?” Axum asked. “Is that why you’ve brought me a gift?”

  Scorch flinched at the word gift. That was what Kio had called him when she handed him over to the High Priestess. Vivid’s hand tightened on his shoulder, his fingers digging into the muscle, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind. I’m not her, the fingers said. Scorch breathed deeply and resisted the urge to reach for his sword.

  “I completed the job,” Vivid said. “Successfully.”

  “Good,” replied Axum. Scorch heard footsteps traveling in a wide circle around his chair. “And was this man a circumstance of your lateness?”

  “Yes.”

  “Explain.”

  “He’s an elemental,” answered Vivid. “Unstudied. Unpracticed. He has no control over his power.”

  “His power being?” asked Axum. Scorch detected an iota of interest in his voice.

  “Fire.”

  “That would make him the first Fire since Elias,” Axum whispered. “Untrained, you said?”

  “Utterly.”

  Scorch shifted in his chair, the epitome of awkwardness.

  “How has he survived on his own all this time?”

  “He was raised in the Guardians’ Guild,” answered Vivid, and Scorch could sense the caution in his speech. A moment later, the slide of metal releasing from its scabbard rang throughout the room and he felt a cold blade press beneath his chin.

  “You brought a guardian to the Hollow?” growled Axum.

  “He is barely more than an apprentice,” Vivid noted with disinterest. If Scorch could see him, he would probably be idly checking beneath his nails for dirt. “Imagine his strength, to have survived so long undetected beneath the Guild’s roof. His willpower is impeccable, only he’s applied it to suppress instead of express. With the right guidance, he could be a powerful asset. Unless you would rather send him back to the guardians?”

  “I have a sword at your throat, boy, and you haven’t reached for your own,” Axum snapped, addressing Scorch at last. “Why?”

  Scorch cleared his throat. “That is an excellent question.”

  The blade disappeared from his throat. “That voice,” Axum whispered before hands ripped the blindfold from Scorch’s eyes.

  He blinked rapidly, adjusting to the firelight of the room. He couldn’t see Vivid, because he was still at his back, but he could see Axum standing right in front of him, his eyes so dark a brown they might have been black. He was tall and thin, with gaunt cheeks and thin eyebrows, and he wore his graying hair slicked back.

  “What’s your name?” Axum demanded in a manner so forceful that Vivid started squeezing Scorch’s shoulder again.

  “Scorch,” he
answered.

  Axum stared at him. “That’s not your real name.”

  “It’s real enough.”

  “Where are you from?”

  The question made him dizzy as he groped his mind for memories he no longer recalled. “I don’t know.”

  Axum’s face was wrought with disbelief. It was a face made for meanness. Severe and humorless. “Your parents. What were their names?”

  Scorch felt like he’d been hit in the chest. He looked over his shoulder at Vivid.

  “Do you remember?” Vivid asked quietly.

  He didn’t remember much about his parents, but he remembered their names. He nodded and turned back to Axum, swallowing the lump in his throat. Their names tasted like ashes on his tongue. “Nahla,” he said. “And Rosen.”

  “Gods, it can’t be true,” Axum whispered, taking a step back. “You look just like her. You sound just like him.”

  Scorch was silent with shock, but Vivid was not. He released his hold on Scorch’s shoulder and stepped up to Axum. “What is this?” he demanded.

  “Your complication is no ordinary elemental, Vivid,” Axum said. “This is the son of Nahla and Rosen Cole.”

  “H-how do you know who my parents were?” Scorch asked, dumbfounded.

  “Because they were assassins, once upon a time, before the High Priestess had them killed.” He strode past Vivid and bent over, putting his face in Scorch’s. “You were supposed to be dead. We thought you had burned with them.”

  Scorch’s lips were parted in astonishment. He couldn’t speak. The room whirled as Axum’s eyes bore into his.

  “You should not be alive,” Axum whispered.

  “Axum,” Vivid said, and the air crackled. When the older man did not seem to hear, Vivid repeated himself, this time with such strength that Axum straightened his back to glance at the assassin beside him. “This conversation can be continued at another time, when Scorch has rested. It’s been a strenuous journey.”

  “Yes,” Axum said, but his eyes said differently. His eyes said he wanted nothing more than to bludgeon Scorch with thousands of questions he doubtlessly had no answers to. But, at least for the time being, he was willing to suspend his desire. He waved his hand at Vivid. “Set him up with a bed and the like,” he directed.

  Vivid touched Scorch’s shoulder, and just as Scorch had known to sit before, he now knew to stand, though he did so on wavering feet. He must have looked as out of sorts as he felt, because Vivid kept a guiding hand on his elbow as they walked together toward the door.

  “Vivid,” called Axum, before they could depart his company. “Bring him back to me in the morning. We’re not done here.”

  Vivid nodded once before opening the door and nudging Scorch through.

  Scorch followed Vivid in a daze. Now that the blindfold was off, he could finally see the inside of the Hollow, but his head could hardly grasp its incredible architecture. It was a cave, with stone walls, ceilings, and floors, and tunnels leading from one chamber to the next, but it was vast, its edges smoothed, its corners well lit, with colorful tapestries adorning the walls, depicting the elements. It was a cave, but it didn’t feel like a cave. It didn’t feel like the Guild either.

  And Scorch didn’t feel like anything. Axum’s words numbed him. He’d not spoken the names of his parents aloud in fifteen years, had never known more about them than what a five-year-old child can know, and now, to learn they were assassins? It was too much. He couldn’t think about it.

  Vivid was leading him to an offset of rooms, neither of them speaking, when his grip tightened inexplicably around Scorch’s elbow. A young man was walking toward them with narrow, swaggering hips. He had white-blond hair and a friendly face, but the way Vivid gripped his elbow put Scorch on alert.

  “Viv,” the man greeted. Vivid tried to walk past him, but they were in a tunnel, and the blond moved to block their passage with a smile on his face. “Gone so long and no hello?”

  “Get out of my way,” Vivid growled.

  “Not until you introduce me to your friend,” the blond cooed, casting sparkling blue eyes on Scorch and letting his gaze sweep lazily across his body. “I’m Elias.” He extended his hand.

  Scorch didn’t know what to do, so he did what came naturally. He reached out his hand to shake Elias’. “Scorch,” he said, trying his best to sound amiable in spite of his current foggy-headedness. He concentrated on Elias’ blue eyes and fair skin. He was good-looking, no doubt about it, and Elias seemed well aware of the fact.

  They shook hands, and Elias didn’t let him go immediately. He kept Scorch’s hand firmly in his own and caressed his wrist with his thumb. His hands were hot, even against Scorch’s skin.

  “You’re a Fire,” Scorch breathed.

  “I am,” Elias replied with another brilliant smile. “I bet you and I have a lot in common, Scorch.” His eyes strayed casually to Vivid, who had stopped holding Scorch’s elbow and was now poised with readied hands. He looked to be on the verge of unsheathing his daggers. Scorch shot him an incredulous look.

  “Let go of him,” Vivid rumbled.

  Elias gave Scorch’s hand a final caress before he released his hold. “Good luck keeping this one to yourself, Viv.”

  “Scorch, move,” Vivid spat, pushing at his back. Scorch brushed shoulders with Elias and the blond winked at him. After all the winking Scorch had done in his life, he’d never been the recipient. He stared after the Fire until Vivid pushed him again, and then he had to turn away to keep from falling over his own feet.

  “What was that about?” Scorch asked, the encounter having knocked some of the shock from his head, albeit not entirely.

  Vivid refrained from answering and just kept walking until they’d cleared the tunnel. They entered a chamber, empty save for rows and rows of cots. There was no one in the room at the moment, and Scorch wondered if it was a room for guests, or possibly a medical wing, until Vivid plopped down on the cot in the farthest corner. He looked exhausted, an uncanny sight since Vivid never looked anything but unsatisfied and occasionally homicidal.

  Scorch lingered in the doorway until Vivid motioned him forward with a tip of his head. He hovered beside a cot, the one next to Vivid’s, and when he was met with no disdainful glares or vehement words that he shouldn’t pick that one, he sat down. It was a cot of efficiency, not comfort, but it felt glorious on his backside, which was raw after days of ceaseless riding. Scorch’s thoughts began trailing off to the state of Vivid’s backside before he realized that was a bad idea. He raked his fingers through his hair with a troubled sigh. It would be so nice to think of backsides instead of his life, but the information Axum had throttled him with was buzzing mercilessly between his ears. He rested his elbows on his knees and looked up to find Vivid watching him.

  “So,” Scorch said, “home sweet home?”

  “Not home,” Vivid corrected. “Just a place to live.” Scorch started at the familiar sentiment, but Vivid sailed on with his peculiar brand of detachment. “This is where you will sleep. I’ll show you the training rooms tomorrow. We bathe in the falls. There’s a food larder, but we don’t dine together.”

  “Cozy.”

  “Like I said, it’s just a place to live. Are you hungry?”

  “Ravenous.”

  “Come on,” Vivid said, lifting off the cot.

  They walked back through the tunnels, passing several curious assassins on their way to the larder, which was a room lined with shelves, stocked with foodstuffs. Vivid dug his hand in a barrel, resurfacing with two apples. He threw one to Scorch and took a bite out of his own. Juice dribbled down his chin until he wiped it away with the back of his hand. Scorch blushed and studied his boots. He was becoming quite familiar with the stitching around the toes.

  “There aren’t a lot of people here,” Scorch said, rolling the apple between his hands.

  “Most are out on assignments,” Vivid responded absently, filling two mugs with water from a pitcher.

  “Assassi
n assignments?” he asked with a snort. Vivid nodded solemnly, and Scorch took a sip of the water offered him. “What’s it like?”

  Vivid was chewing on another bite of apple, his lithe body leaning against a shelf. It wasn’t hard to imagine him killing for a living. Even the way he ate his apple looked menacing. When Vivid swallowed, he licked his lips. “You know what it’s like.”

  “I don’t.”

  “You’ve killed,” said Vivid with a heated stare.

  Scorch’s skin tingled as bloody memories played a loop in his head. “In self-defense, yes,” he admitted. It was mostly true. He threw his apple in the air and caught it. “Vivid, did you know who my parents were before you brought me here?”

  “No.” There was a long silence as they both stared at their apples, and then, quite unexpectedly, Vivid asked Scorch a question. “Do you feel different, now that you know what they were?”

  The question was so genuine, so surprising, that Scorch couldn’t answer at first, not until he recovered from the shock of Vivid actually asking about Scorch’s feelings. It was unprecedented and required time to suss out a proper response. Only Scorch had no proper response. He shrugged sadly. “I don’t know.”

  Vivid finished his water. “You should sleep. I’ll be waking you early.”

  Scorch clutched his uneaten apple to his chest, finished his mug of water, and followed Vivid from the larder. When they reached the room of cots, Scorch sat down and toed off his boots.

  “Eat,” Vivid ordered gruffly, “and then sleep.”

  “What are you going to do?” Scorch asked, since the other man was still lingering in the entryway.

  “That’s my business.”

  Vivid disappeared from view and Scorch collapsed onto the thin mattress. He ached all over, but the ache in his heart was the worst. He mulled over Axum’s words and thought of his parents. He knew they had been elementals, but assassins? What had they been doing, living out in the woods all those years? If Scorch’s mom and dad had frequented the Hollow, why did Scorch have no memories of it? If they were assassins, how had they let themselves be killed?