Guardian of the Vale

by Shoemaker,Tamara

  Daymon leaned his head against the door, eyeing her. “But you think they'll come, even so?”

  “How many tigers do you think he'll be able to find on this Continent anyway?”

  “For that matter, if there's one, there could be hundreds more.”

  “True.” She reached for her braid, impatiently dropping her hand to her knee when she remembered it wasn't there. “Do you think that's why? Is that why I see so many animals out of their natural habitats?”

  “I think it's a pretty good bet. I think the Vale pulls them to you—from all over CommonEarth.” The corners of his mouth turned up. “You're like their mothership.”

  “The Vale is like their mothership. I just happen to be along for the ride.”

  “Layne,” Daymon leaned forward, his blue eyes searching hers. “You possess the Vale; the Vale doesn't possess you. Don't ever let it get switched around, okay? That's when the trouble starts.”

  Daymon's words wove through Alayne's mind for the rest of the flight. Daymon eventually dozed off next to her, his chin drooping against his chest. Alayne watched him affectionately, and an urge to brush back a strand of dark hair that flopped over his forehead seized her.

  She stiffened and shoved aside the compulsion, her thoughts darkening as she remembered the Vale and the sway it held over her own emotions and thoughts.

  She had possessed the Vale for eighteen years, most of that time without knowing it. Did knowledge of it affect how she treated it? Or how it treated her? She wondered how to maintain the upper hand; if the strength of the Vale was everything Manders and others claimed, what was to keep it from demolishing her and moving on to someone else now that she'd decided to find a way to destroy it?

  And yet Daymon had pulled back in the sewage tunnels when he'd been about to kill her, proving himself stronger than the Vale, at least in that moment. How long would he be able to keep up his resistance? She glanced nervously at his relaxed, dozing profile. Some night, in her sleep, her Guardian could turn on her...

  The shuttle banked sharply, shaking Alayne from her morose train of thought and rousing Daymon. Trees appeared through the windows, dark giants whipping about in lashing rain. Thunder cracked overhead as the shuttle leveled and settled in a clearing among huge spruces. Through the windows, Alayne could see several of the other shuttles, though the rain cut the view of the whole company.

  The pilot opened the hatch, and with grim faces the first few passengers hunched their shoulders against the rain-soaked wind, emerging onto drenched grass. Alayne and Daymon brought up the rear.

  Manders hurried by them. “No element bending unless you're in a life-or-death emergency,” he instructed. “We're too close now, and we run the risk of giving away our location.” He repeated himself as he moved along the lines.

  Alayne glanced at the low-hanging, black clouds. They hid the sun, so even though it was early afternoon, it felt like night. The rain slackened to a slow drizzle, but more dark clouds piled along the tops of the trees. She sighed and swung her pack off her shoulder. “I guess we'd better get started setting up shelter. We're going to want something over us when that hits,” she gestured to the menacing sky, “since we can't use the elements, and it's going to take a while until everyone gets settled.”

  It did take a while. The tents were up long before the second round of rain began, and then there was a restive, tense boredom that crept across the camp. Not many talked, but everyone paced, their eyes on the skies, the trees, even each other.

  As the rain continued to wash down, everyone took shelter in their tents. The dark flaps glistened in the steady stream of water that poured across their tops. Alayne sat at the mouth of her tent, watching the sky, bone-weary, but unable to sleep.

  The LO planned to launch the attack later that night, but everyone had been required to gain what rest they could. It would be many hours until they could rest again.

  Three others shared Alayne's tent; every shelter was made to house two, but because of the large numbers, four were assigned to each. This left little to no room between each sleeping bag. Alayne almost preferred to try to sleep outside in the rain.

  The other two in the tent were already asleep; their soft snores issued from open mouths. She glanced over at Daymon where he lay relaxed on his bedroll. It was dark enough that she couldn't see if his eyes were opened or closed, but a moment later, he sat up and moved closer to her, settling silently next to her at the mouth of the tent.

  “Only a few more hours, Daymon,” she whispered.

  His fingers found hers in the dark and gave them a gentle squeeze.

  “If our lives were normal, we'd be signed up for classes by this point, probably doing our first night's homework right now. Marysa and I would be in our room, copying each other's notes, making plans for the weekend—Third-Years. We would have been Third-Years this year.” Her words drifted off into silence. Daymon's thumb rhythmically stroked the back of her hand.

  If her life were normal, she and Daymon would never have known each other. Certainly not on the level they did now. A strange, funny ache throbbed in her chest. If Patience Houser had never put the Vale inside of her, Manders and his family would never have needed to move to Skyden, the City Centre she called home. Daymon would have grown up in his hometown. Perhaps, she would have met him at Clayborne, but without the havoc of the Vale, they could very well have never grown closer.

  But their lives didn't run the normal course, and a world of hurt did hound their footsteps. A lump swelled in Alayne's throat as she tried to imagine her life without Daymon.

  I love him.

  The thought slipped away from her subconscious, burrowing into the forefront of her mind, the first conscious admission she'd allowed herself to think. It nestled there, growing and deepening, until all at once, she realized that it had been there for a long while, sending out roots, and instead of discovering only the seedling of an idea, she found instead a full-grown emotion with depth and breadth that shaded every part of her soul. The more she'd refused to consider the emotion, the more deeply rooted it had grown.

  She flinched, shrinking away from the truth, and Daymon's grip tightened on her fingers. Without reference to the Vale, I love him. He'd been right all along. He'd seen her heart more clearly than she could see it herself.

  The newfound knowledge branded her mind, a glowing nugget of truth that seared the curtains of obscurity behind which she'd hidden it. The affection she'd held for Jayme shriveled in comparison with the blaze that flamed inside her now, like a forest fire that overwhelmed a solitary candle. With the truth came vivacity and new life. Excitement sparked, and she glanced over at him. His profile in the darkness gave no hint of his thoughts.

  And then, before any more fuel could be added to the spark of life, the swift, heavy blackness of what she must do smothered her thoughts.

  Destroy the Vale. She had to do it. She must do it. There would never be peace until it was demolished. If the Alliance failed to succeed, others in the future would also covet the Vale's power. And they might get it.

  The depression that seeped into her soul pressed heavier than before. The brief flame of love had blinded her, and she couldn't see her way forward. A tear escaped her eye, slipping silently downward, ignored, dripping onto her free hand where it rested on her knee.

  “The rain's stopped.” Daymon's whisper pulled her from her dark thoughts. Sure enough, the heavy black clouds had parted, and a sheen of moonlight glistened across the wet meadow. “Skies, Layne, would you look at that.” His voice held awe.

  Beyond the trees, perhaps six miles distant, the silhouette of a spire glowed silver. Clayborne.

  But that wasn't what riveted her attention. She sucked in her breath. It couldn't be. But it was. She blinked, her eyes wide as she strained to make out the panorama in the moonlight.

  Across the meadow, near the treeline, hundreds of animals slipped into the clearing, lining the perimeter of the tents, thickening their ranks, row by row by row
. The tigers settled in the front, nervous and cagey as they intruded on each other's personal space. Beyond them came wolves, bears, hyenas, more big cats. Leopards and mountain lions, panthers. Some near-human shapes crouched to the left, and Alayne recognized them after a moment—apes, gorillas, both large and small.

  More and more arrived, and now they reached to the treeline. Alayne wondered how many remained in the woods.

  A cry of terror sounded from one of the tents nearby, followed speedily by another, and then another. Soon the whole camp would be awake and panicked.

  Alayne quickly crawled through the tent flap and rose to her feet, sprinting into the moonlight toward the line of tigers.

  Chapter 21

  Alayne reached the animals at the same time as heads emerged from tents throughout the camp, their gazes fixed in horrified fascination at the moonlit scene.

  Manders weaved through the tents at a sprint. “Alayne!”

  “It's okay,” she called, spreading her arms, hoping to allay the panic, though her neck tightened as she heard the rumble in a tiger's throat. “Just give me a minute before—everybody explodes, okay?” She shot a look at Daymon, who had joined his uncle and stood between her and the rest of the company, arms stiff, panic knifing through his gaze. “Please?”

  Manders nodded once, but Alayne could feel his hands on the elements. They were too close to Clayborne; if they used their elements, they would give away their position, and the whole battle would be lost because of Alayne. They had asked for proof of her connection with the animals. Here was the chance, and she couldn't blow it.

  Alayne turned, carefully facing the horde of animals. The numbers still grew; she could see more movement through the trees.

  She searched her mind, unsure what she was going to ask. She looked the nearest tiger in the eyes. The great beast folded his legs beneath him and curled his enormous striped tail around his haunches. He blinked once.

  And Alayne knew. Though the words weren't spoken, and nothing resembling common speech passed between them, Alayne knew that the animal would listen, that all of them would listen, to Alayne's instructions.

  Because of the Vale.

  It was impossible for the feeling not to go to Alayne's head at least a little bit. Because she possessed the Vale, CommonEarth opened itself up to her. Not just the elements, but the animals, too. All were ready to obey her every command if she just spoke it.

  Was it so very necessary to destroy the Vale? She could be smart, use it well—not like the power-hungry Elemental Alliance; she could pull CommonEarth back together with it and rid the world of the division caused by the EA between the Naturals and the Elementals. If she wished it, Elementals and Naturals could live peaceably together because who would dare to disagree with her, the Quadriweave?

  She could have Daymon. Her knees weakened at the thought, warm pictures flooding her mind, until a thought settled in her mind and brought her whole mental process to a screeching halt.

  How is this any different from Shadow-Casting? Because of the Vale, these animals, all of them, would follow her into battle, into probable death, without a will or a say of their own. Like the many Casted she had already witnessed, they would abandon their own kind, their packs, their herds, for the sake of the Vale.

  The Vale at all costs. That was it, wasn't it? It wasn't about her—Alayne Worth, a peon of society by all accounts except for a small accident that granted her enormous capabilities.

  The delusion of grandeur faded quickly, and Alayne squared her shoulders. This was her yoke to bear; she'd better get on with it.

  She decided to speak out loud, to yell, actually, so the Last Order soldiers behind her could hear the instructions, though she knew the animals would be able to obey her even if she kept her thoughts to herself.

  “I didn't ask for this to happen.” Her shout rolled across the open air of the meadow. “I never wanted it to, but now it has and here we are. Later tonight, in only a few hours, we go to fight for the rights of all creatures, not just Elementals. Not even just Natural Humans. The rights of animals, too, who will get swallowed up under Tarry's true-blood ideals.” She motioned to the crowd of beasts across the field.

  “You don't have to fight. You are free to leave, and no one will blame you. Unlike the Elemental Alliance, I don't believe that it's okay to control a person outside of their will, so if you'd rather go home, there's no shame in that.” She half-turned so she could look over the tents. More than eight-hundred Natural Human and Elemental heads glistened in the moonlight as all eyes watched her. The animals faced her as well. Alayne suddenly felt very small.

  She cleared her throat. “But if you choose to fight for your rights, if you choose to stand up to the Alliance, if you choose to demand that enough is enough, your sons, your daughters, even your grandchildren will thank you, because they will be free to be as they were born to be. Of your blood, whether that be Natural, or animal, or Elemental.”

  She stopped, unsure of what to do now. She was astonished to see people nodding in agreement, murmurs of assent rippling across their numbers.

  Manders approached her slowly, a smile on his kind face. He must have read the shock in her gaze, because he asked, “Well, what did you think they'd do? Lynch you?”

  “I—I don't know. I didn't think they'd be that easy to convince, I guess.”

  “They're Last Order. They signed up for this.”

  “But the animals—”

  “Have convinced them that the Vale is as powerful as people have always assumed.” Manders motioned to the collected animals. “How else do you think this happened?”

  Alayne released a nervous laugh.

  “What're you going to do with all the animals?” Manders asked.

  “What am I going to do with them?”

  “Precisely.”

  Alayne glanced across their ranks. They still stared attentively at her, though they shifted restlessly. “I—I'm not sure. You're the tactician. What should I do with them?”

  “None of them are leaving. I assume that means that they wish to stay and fight. Is that correct, or am I way off?”

  “No, that's their general attitude, I think.” Alayne stretched her mind across the horde of beasts. Though she couldn't read their thoughts, she could touch their feelings with ease.

  Manders nodded thoughtfully. “Why don't you separate them, then, Alayne?” He pointed to the west. “Put the cats here with us, and we can send the wolves to the west of the spire with the Last Orders we have moving in from that side. We had planned to spread our forces so that the east and west flank would cover the north, but with so many animals, we could thicken the ranks there. Go ahead and put the simians there.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And let them know that within the next hour, Rachyl is supposed to arrive, bringing in another contingent of Last Orders here that will number in the thousands. After which, we'll move in to begin battle at my signal.”

  Alayne glanced at the moon, calculating the time. “Yes, sir.”

  She shifted her attention back to the animals and raised her voice in a shout. “Felines, remain here with us, but hidden in the woods as we prepare for attack. Simians, to the north. Wolves, to the west. No beast attacks anyone until you hear from me.”

  Immediately, the animals rose to their feet. The next few minutes were a blur of activity, as, completely noiselessly, the cats slunk from the clearing into the woods. Great packs of wolves trotted to the west, and apes and gorillas knuckled the ground between the trees to the north.

  In just a moment, none remained; there was not even a hint that the animals had been there. The soldiers gazed in awe at the empty, trampled grass. Alayne blinked, not completely sure that it hadn't been a dream.

  Manders laid a hand on Alayne's shoulder, squeezing gently. “I'm proud of you, Alayne.” His voice whispered through the silence. “You've come so far.”

  Alayne glanced up at him, surprised to see moisture glistening in his eyes. “Than
k you, sir.”

  After a moment, Manders cleared his throat and reached for her hands, squeezing them between his own. “I like to think—should your father not have been in the picture—” she could see his face flush even in the moonlight, “that you might have been my daughter, had Fate dictated otherwise.”

  Alayne raised her astonished gaze to his. “Did you—love—my mother?”

  Manders looked wistfully over her head and pulled her close, kissing her forehead gently. “That was a lifetime ago, and an entirely different tale.” He stepped back, his gray gaze tracing over her face. “You look a lot like her.” He smiled briefly before walking back to the tents.

  Alayne stared after him, sadness overtaking her other emotions. She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Did that really just happen, Daymon?”

  “Yes.” He stood in the moonlight, watching her, his expression unreadable.

  “What?”

  Daymon glanced down. “Nothing.”

  “Something's bothering you.”

  He didn't deny it. Alayne approached him slowly, suddenly hyper aware of her newly-discovered feelings for him. “What is it?”

  The muscle in his jaw jumped, and he shook his head. Then the question broke through the tightly sealed boundary of his lips. “How are you going to do it? And when?”

  Alayne paused, staring up into his blue-eyes-turned-navy in the moonlight. She tested the words before she spoke them. “The Vale?”

  “Yes. How and when?”

  “Soon.” The word hung between them, shaking with emotion.

  Pain flared in his eyes, brighter than a beacon, and he dragged an involuntary, ragged gasp into his lungs.

  Alayne felt his pain mirrored in her own body, to the ends of her fingers, her toes, the nerves of her scalp, and the back of her neck. She reached out to comfort him or for him to comfort her—she wasn't sure—but her fingers didn't stop at his arm. They traveled to his face, cupping his cheek; her thumb brushed the skin under his eye.