Guardian of the Vale

by Shoemaker,Tamara

  The remaining two Air-Masters dropped below the storm, swerving around the outside.

  “Can you take them, Alayne?” Daymon asked, his face tranquil in spite of the trail of disaster they were leaving behind.

  Alayne shook her head. “I—I can't.”

  “Then don't worry about it.” His voice was calm, as if he were discussing the latest class exam they'd taken at Clayborne. He tightened his arms around Alayne and dropped like a hawk tilting into a full kill-dive. Alayne looked down; a huge lake took up the majority of a city park. They crashed into it, somersaulting through the water, down, down, spiraling into the darkness.

  Panic hit Alayne. She'd breathed water before, but it didn't always work—it had only been when her life was in danger and her instincts took over. When she'd tried to think her way through it, she'd flooded her lungs with water and nearly drowned. Should she try it now? If she did, and it didn't work, she'd die. And what about Daymon? He'd never breathed water before.

  He had leveled out and was swimming hard through the black water, leaving her on her own. She bent the water elements, and the water pushed them forward at record speeds.

  Daymon stopped and pointed.

  Alayne narrowed her eyes, the blurriness of the water making it difficult to see. The city drains. Of course. He was taking her into the sewer system again.

  She pulled the water elements, bending them hard, and they rocketed toward the drain. The rusted grate hung ajar, and Daymon quickly shoved it to the side. They swam inside the pipe. Alayne's lungs burned; she knew Daymon's must as well. How far would they have to go?

  Not far. Daymon almost immediately stood and gripped the handles of a circular portal above him. With a creak, the lid gave way, and Daymon grabbed Alayne and hoisted her through the hole. He pushed himself through immediately after.

  Both of them collapsed on the cool, moist floor of the service tunnel, coughing and choking, drawing breath through starved lungs.

  After a few moments, Daymon struggled to sit up. He hefted the cover over the hole and locked it back in place.

  Exhausted, he flopped onto the floor.

  Alayne pushed herself up and looked around. “Where are we?” Service lights flickered on the concrete walls. The tunnel yawned into blackness farther down.

  “This tunnel will take us to Last Order Headquarters. But it's a trek. We're nowhere close to it.”

  Alayne turned to Daymon, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Where did you go while I was talking to Leader Blankenship?”

  Daymon sat up, his shirt and jeans still streaming water onto the floor. “I was doing my part.”

  “Which was?” Alayne prompted.

  Daymon sighed. “The High Court media systems run on an eight-second time delay. I had to make sure that the delay was turned off so that when you made your announcement, the whole world heard the words when they left your lips. Otherwise, the news would have been censored, and all our work would have been for nothing.” A shiver ran over his frame, and Alayne suddenly felt the cold, damp air as well.

  She found the water elements that chilled his body and flung them aside, watching his shirt turn a shade lighter in the dryness. She did her own clothes, shivering in the cool air of the tunnel. She pulled a haze of warmth toward them and notched it in place, relaxing in the heat.

  Daymon's fingers grasped her chin. “Where's your camera?”

  Alayne's fingers flew to her face. “It's gone. It must have come off when we hit the water.” Her attention jumped to his ear. “Yours is gone, too. What's your uncle going to say?”

  Daymon shook his head. “Probably nothing. Hazards of the mission, and we had them the whole time we were in the atrium, which is what they wanted.” He pushed himself to his feet and took her hand, pulling her up to stand. “We should get back, though. They'll be worried.”

  In spite of his words, he didn't move away from her, entirely intruding on her personal bubble, but he didn't seem to want to leave it yet. He glanced down, the tip of his index finger lightly touching the back of her hand. “Layne, did—did you mean what you said to Marysa, about—how you were over Jayme?”

  Alayne found that she was having difficulty drawing in a decent breath, and she couldn't blame it on her lungs' oxygen deprivation beneath the water anymore. She searched for an answer as she stared, mesmerized, into his navy eyes, but he didn't seem to expect her to speak. His fingers traveled up her arm and slipped to her cheek. He smoothed a short strand of hair behind her ear. “It's growing on me,” he murmured.

  Alayne gulped a desperate swallow of air into her starved lungs. “My hair? I thought it was supposed to grow on me.”

  A smile tipped the corners of his mouth, and he moved closer. With each step he took, Alayne stepped backward until she bumped into something hard. The concrete wall felt rough against her shoulders and arms, covered only with the sheer black material.

  Daymon spread both hands on the wall on either side of Alayne. His eyes glinted through his half-closed lids in the flickering light, his breath came quickly through slightly-parted lips.

  Alayne forgot how to breathe. His mouth hypnotized her as he slowly lowered it closer to hers. His woodsy scent overwhelmed her senses, and her eyelids fluttered shut. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek; it smelled of mint and cinnamon. He was nearly there, and she ached for his touch.

  With a huge effort of her will, Alayne turned her head to the side. “W—wait, Daymon.”

  “Skies, Layne, why do you always do that?” Exasperation ripped through his voice.

  Alayne opened her eyes, disappointed to find that he had backed three feet away. His arms were at his sides, his fists clenched in frustration. His gaze spit sparks.

  Alayne licked her lips. “Do what?”

  “Do what?! Alayne, every time this happens, you find something to hide behind. You can't use Jayme as an excuse anymore; you admitted it yourself to Marysa. What do you have now? Come on, tell me. I'd love to hear it.” The sarcasm dripped from his words.

  Alayne reached for her braid, forgetting it wasn't there. Her fingers fidgeted restlessly in front of her. She shrugged, her tongue burning with confused words. “I—I don't—I can't—Daymon, please.”

  “Please, what? What, Layne?” He clasped his fingers behind his neck and turned his back.

  Alayne took a step forward, tentatively touched the spot where his shirt stretched over muscle-padded shoulder blades. He whirled, reaching out to grip her upper arms. “Tell me what you're not saying,” he demanded. His brilliant gaze burned into hers.

  Alayne was surprised that her cheeks were wet. Hesitantly, she placed her hands on his sides. Raw emotion flamed in his eyes.

  “The truth is...” She hesitated. Did she even know the truth herself? “The truth is, Daymon, I'm s—scared.”

  “Of what?”

  “Think about it. The Vale is inside me. It's a curse. I hate it. My life has turned upside down since I've figured out what's going on. I just destroyed the entire High Court because I can't control it. And now, one of the Vale's Guardians may or may not be falling in love with me. You told me yourself that the Guardians have had a history of being attracted to the Vale's possessor, and—”

  “Alayne—”

  “It's not a risk I can take, Daymon.” Alayne shook her head. “For a long time, I've dreamed of my future soul mate. The one I want to spend the rest of my life with. Even if—this—happens, you love the Vale. I would never have your love for me.” She tapped her forefinger to her chest.

  “I don't—”

  “You may not think you do, but the Vale affects all of us, Daymon. Even me. It shapes my emotions; everything I think or feel is framed by the Vale. Don't you see? I'm the reciprocal end of that attraction, Daymon. You think you want me, but the Vale pulls me just as hard toward you. And I don't want that.” She paused, her eyes searching his. “You—you've made me love you, but it's because of the Vale. When I love someone, I want it to be without ref
erence to the Vale, and when he loves me, I want the same thing.”

  “But you'll never be without the Vale. If you get rid of it, you'll die.” His voice cracked. He pulled her against him, burying his face in her hair. His chest heaved beneath her ear.

  A moment later, he pulled her head back, cupping both sides of her face. His eyes were an inch from her own, his gaze was riveted on her mouth. Alayne's emotions warred within her; her whole body wanted his kiss, but she knew she couldn't have it. Ever. He was the Guardian of the Vale.

  That's all he could ever be.

  “Please, Alayne.” His whisper fanned across her lips. “What I feel is not from the Vale. I've been a Guardian for most of my life; I know what the Vale's pull feels like. This goes far deeper than that.”

  Alayne closed her eyes and shook her head. “I—I can't, Daymon. I'm sorry.” She took a step back and felt his hands drop.

  She opened her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks. She was shocked to see his cheeks covered in moisture as well. Bitterness curled his lip and flowed through his words. “So someday you're going to find some loser, and you're going to convince yourself that you love him.” He threw the final shaft. “And I get the joy of watching it all.”

  He turned and walked up the tunnel into the darkness.

  Alayne swallowed her sobs and followed behind.

  The trip back to headquarters was a silent and uncomfortable one. Daymon slowed eventually to allow Alayne to catch up with him, but he refused to speak to her. Alayne, too miserable to talk, concentrated on keeping her tears to herself.

  When they had walked for what seemed like miles, Alayne finally opened her mouth. “How much farther do we need to go?” she asked in a small voice.

  Daymon ignored her. He took a left turn at an intersection and approached a door in the wall on the left. Sliding a key from his pocket, he inserted it into the lock and opened it, entering ahead of Alayne. Alayne caught the door and let herself in, jogging to catch up with Daymon.

  Before Daymon could open the entrance to headquarters, Alayne ducked around him and blocked the doorway, gripping the frame desperately.

  Daymon stepped back, his jaw locked, refusing to meet her eyes.

  Alayne refused to back down. “Is this how it's going to be, Daymon? You'll be giving me the silent treatment from now on?”

  Daymon deliberately reached forward and wrapped his big hands around Alayne's waist. Her feet left the floor as he carefully set her to one side. With a business-like knock, he allowed the camera to scan his face. The door clicked, and Daymon opened it. He again left her to catch the door herself.

  Alayne was crushed. Until perhaps this moment, she hadn't realized how important Daymon had become to her, or what an integral part he played in her life.

  As she stared at his retreating back, irritation laced her thoughts. Why did he have to mess it up? As long as he had kept quiet about his feelings, they had gotten along fine.

  She sighed and followed him to the chute, but he stopped suddenly in front of her, and she ran into his back. He turned, and Alayne braced herself for his anger, but his words were surprisingly gentle.

  “No, it won't always be this way, Alayne. Wounds heal; I'll heal. We'll move on—someday.” He began to reach for her, but stopped and pulled his hand back. “It's gonna take some time, but I'll always be here for you. No matter what. I—I just need a little time to myself. So if you don't mind, I'll go up first.” He hit a button beside the chute. The doors sprang open. As he stepped inside, he turned, his gaze penetrating as he searched her face. “You're wrong about one thing, Alayne.”

  “What's that?”

  “You do love me, without reference to the Vale. You just don't know it yet.” He pressed the button inside the chute and let the doors close in front of his face.

  As he flew upward and out of sight. Alayne folded clenched fists over her stomach, which had tilted sickeningly at his last comment.

  The chute doors slid open for the conference room, and Alayne stepped out. A smattering of applause rippled through the room, and Manders approached quickly, a proud smile smoothing the lines in his weathered face.

  “You did it, my girl.” He pulled her into a hug and then stepped back, his hands on her shoulders. He glanced behind her. “Where's Daymon?”

  Alayne couldn't quite meet his eyes. “He—he's resting. The mission took a lot out of him.”

  Manders's gray eyes flickered. “He wasn't hurt, was he?”

  “No, no, nothing like that. He—just wanted to rest. I'm sure he'll be down soon.”

  Manders's eyebrow raised, and Alayne blushed under his intuitive gaze. She changed the subject. “Did we get everything you needed?”

  “It was perfect, Alayne. Yes, you did.” He led the way back to the head of the table. Remains of supper littered the long wood slab. Several of the Last Order nodded sleepily in their chairs.

  Manders dismissed the group and sat down while the people crowded to the chute. He motioned to the chair next to him. “Sit down, Alayne.”

  Alayne sat, afraid he would needle her with questions about Daymon, but Manders left the subject alone.

  “We achieved what we set out to do, Alayne. We've mobilized the Last Order into action. All over the Continent, since your confrontation in the High Court aired on national news, we've had Last Order personnel ushering Natural Humans into safe-houses. They've come out of the woodwork; they had been hiding in forests, under the ground, in caves, in deserted shacks, wherever.” He laughed heartily. “You should have seen the newscasters as soon as your confrontation came across the media outlets.”

  The comment drew Alayne's thoughts away from Daymon. “Why, what'd they say?”

  “I don't know that they actually said anything. Chadwick Jones just stammered and stuttered and shuffled paper, and Kathy Frontenleid sat and looked at the camera with her mouth open. After a couple of minutes, the station manager stepped in front of the cameras waving her arms like a great condor, and the whole thing went blank. They might have started airing again by now, and I'm sure they'll try to say that what happened never took place,” he snorted, “like covering up the collapse of the High Court atrium is going to be an easy thing. How did you manage it, Alayne?”

  “I—didn't,” Alayne said. “It was sort of accidental.”

  Manders's gaze turned speculative as he waited for her to go on. When she didn't, he didn't pursue it. “At any rate, Alayne, the damage has been done. The Last Order has opened their doors to the refugees now, many of them angry and ready to fight back.”

  Alayne sank into her chair, her face relaxing into a smile. “So we'll be able to go get my parents soon?”

  Manders grew serious. “We'll keep trying, but Alayne, since you're Tarry's primary target, your parents are under much heavier guard than the typical Natural. I—we gained access to a list of the NRC prisoners you saw in the Capital, although the list is now a couple of weeks old. Your parents' names are on it.”

  “What are you saying?” Alayne sat up. “Can we—attack the NRC or something?”

  Manders shook his head. “Too many possible hostage killings. Besides, I'm pretty sure they're not there anymore anyway.”

  “What?”

  “Tarry left the High Court immediately after you and Daymon rocketed out of there. There was a flood of people tearing from the collapsing building, but our spies picked out Tarry right away. They told us she's heading back to Clayborne to regroup and begin military strategy. There were two new members aboard her shuttle who had not been aboard it when she arrived. Our spies were able to get the name of one of them. It was Bryan.”

  “No. Not Dad.” Alayne stood up and began to pace, her hands clenched into fists at her side. “No, no, no! I was this close, Prof—Manderly.”

  Manders stood and held out his hand. Alayne hesitantly took it, and Manders covered it with his other hand. “It's not too late, Alayne. We'll find them and free them. Don't give up now.”

  “I'm not gi
ving up!” Alayne shouted, startling both herself and Manders. She bit her lip. “I'm sorry, sir. I'm not giving up,” she repeated more quietly. “But surely something can be done. We've talked about the Vale and how I would die if I removed it from me. I've sometimes thought that might be the best thing to do—”

  “Alayne—

  “But then I realized if I... give my life up, it doesn't only affect me. It affects the Guardians, too. You would die. D—Daymon would die. Others would die who have taken the oath.” Tears filled Alayne's eyes, blurring Manders's gray eyes that watched her so carefully.

  “Alayne.” Manders's voice was rusty with emotion as it emerged from his throat. “Alayne, you must realize the depth and the breadth of the war we're fighting. When we fight for something we believe in, when we truly consider the cause for which we struggle, we all—we all—go into that fight knowing that there's a possibility we may not emerge on the other side. The Guardians all know that and live by it. Deep down, I think you know it and live by it, too. A soldier doesn't enter the lists to win only one battle. He enters to win the entire war, and sometimes that means one life or many before the victory banners wave.”

  “But...” Alayne's voice shook as she fought her emotions, “I don't want others to die in this war. If I sacrificed myself—”

  “Then the Vale would have a new possessor and a new person vying for the power it wields. Alayne, we will fight this war, and if there is any justice in this world, we will win it, too. The High Court has declared war against the Last Order, and the Last Order represents and pledges to protect Natural Humans. We will meet the Alliance in that war. But we know Clayborne like the backs of our hands, and if we can manage to get the battle set in that area, we'll already have a huge advantage.”

  “But Tarry knows it well, too.”

  “Not as well as I do.” Manders gently brushed a tear from Alayne's cheek with his thumb. “The old place and I go way back.”