The Guardian (The Gifted Book 1)

by C. L. McCourt

  Caille raised a brow. "Are you going to get him one?"

  Ander nodded. "Probably, but don't say anything."

  Randell and Daen finished the warm-up and Caille applauded just as Mary stepped out onto the porch and applauded as well. "I was watching from the window. You're very good."

  Randell bowed. "But there's more. Watch." He took a defensive stance and prepared for blocking drills.

  Slowly and gently, Daen delivered various attacks as Randell practiced his blocks. Gradually, Daen picked up speed, but not force, challenging Randell to think faster on his feet. Then, in a language Mary and Caille had never heard, Daen asked Randell where they were standing and Randell replied in the same language.

  Caille glanced at Ander. "What was that?"

  "It's Aduraun. I think Daen asked something about the yard." Ander shrugged. "They do language drills, challenging each other. As you can hear, Daen is doing quite well with his English, as is Randell with Aduraun."

  Mary stepped closer. "Of course he is. Randell is an exceptionally bright boy."

  Ander nodded as they continued to watch Randell show off his new skills.

  Caille focused on Daen, studying him.

  Ander noticed. "What do you see?"

  "Honesty. Integrity. Kindness. Pain."

  Ander nodded. "He misses his home."

  They stood silently for a moment, before Ander added, "When Daen first arrived, I had no intention of allowing him to stay, but from what I can see, and from what Randell sees, I think we can trust him. And he's good for Randell."

  Caille nodded.

  ~~~

  Later, while Randell was enjoying the tales of his grandparents' European adventures, Caille changed the subject and asked Randell how serious he was about learning to sword fight.

  "Very! I asked for my own sword for Christmas."

  Daen's brows scrunched together. "You what? What is ... Christmas?"

  Randell explained the holiday to Daen.

  "Ah. So ... there are sword makers in this world?"

  Ander shook his head. "I don't know. I suspect the swords we can buy are ornamental, not for fighting."

  Daen asked, "Would you consider having one made, under my ... how to say it ... eye?"

  Ander raised a brow. "You mean you would supervise the sword-making process?"

  Daen looked puzzled. "Supervise?"

  Ander added, "Manage. Oversee."

  "Then yes. I would supervise."

  "Yes! Please, Dad. Please." Randell sat at the edge of his seat, glancing between Ander and Pam, his eyes wide, pleading for his parents' approval.

  Pam and Ander had already had a similar discussion and had agreed to ask Daen for his input. Now, with this offer, it seemed reasonable to grant Randell's wish. They exchanged a look of silent agreement.

  Pam said, "We will support you getting a real sword made, but ... it has to be done right. I doubt we'll find someone locally, so you will need to do some research at the library, see where there are sword makers, and work with Daen to find out if their methods are appropriate."

  Randell threw his hands in the air as he jumped up and shouted, "Yes! Thank you!"

  Caille added, "You'll need some type of protective gear. We will pay for that. Just let me know what you need."

  Randell looked to Daen for confirmation and Daen nodded. "Thanks, Grandpa and Grandma."

  All this talk about sword fighting made Mary realize that the man sitting in front of them really was different. "So ... let me get this straight," she said. "In the world you come from ... sword fighting is a normal way of life?" She couldn't believe she was asking such an absurd question, acting as if the other world was real. But she was trying.

  Daen nodded. "For some."

  Mary continued, "And why are you here, exactly?"

  Ander realized they hadn't filled his mother in on why he had asked about Raisal.

  Before Ander could explain, Daen said, "I have been sent here to help a woman. Unfortunately, I don't know who that is or what kind of help is needed. I assumed, since I was sent to Raisal's home, that she was the one I was to help. But since she's been gone for over thirty years, I'm not sure who I am to help."

  Mary asked, "Does that mean you'll be returning to your world, then?"

  Daen shook his head. "No. I admit I’ve tried, but the shadows won't let me through."

  Mary looked confused. "Shadows?"

  Daen nodded. "Yes. When your moon shines brightly, I can see my world inside the shadows it makes."

  Mary looked at Caille, Ander, and Randell. "Do you also see this world in the shadows?"

  Randell shook his head. "I can't."

  Both Caille and Ander, however, nodded.

  Mary just shook her head, not wanting to believe the secrets that had been kept from her.

  Caille, after reading her expression, explained, "I didn't tell you because I can't prove it. I can't walk into Luxatra any more than Daen can. So why would I bring it up and have you think I'd fallen off my rocker?"

  Mary took a deep breath and nodded. The idea of another world was going to take some getting used to.

  8

  College

  Daen stood in the tall grasses, the same place he’d stood over two years prior, thinking about the day he had arrived in this world and why he was here. He stood in the field, hoping that somehow he would be shown a sign or be sent a message guiding him in his purpose, but like every other day, nothing happened. He felt disappointment press on his shoulders. After all this time, he was no closer to fulfilling his duty, to helping her, whoever she was, than he had been on the day he arrived.

  Feelings of frustration and anger pulsed through him. Who was this person, this woman he was to help? He still wasn't convinced it wasn't Raisal, but given she'd been missing for more than thirty years, the probability was quite low. So who was it? How was he to find her? Was she even here in this world? These were the questions that had plagued him each day since his arrival in this world.

  The support of the Young family had saved his life. The moon shadows teased him, giving him a glimpse into his world but never welcoming him home. Since the night he had stood and watched the birds on the water, he'd tried to enter various moon shadows, hoping to pass back through to his world, but it was as if his world wasn't there.

  Daen stood and watched the sun slowly set on yet another day without any progress. He turned to face the home he'd been offered that first day. It must have been the Libraim's way of providing him the support he would need. Why else would it send him here if Raisal wasn't his goal?

  Of course, he was assuming the Libraim sent him. He couldn’t imagine any other way to explain how he’d arrived in this world. He missed his connection to the Libraim, to the energy of Luxatra.

  As he stood looking at his temporary home, the words from Raisal's journal ran through his thoughts. He thought about the life she made in this home, the family she left behind. Where was she?

  The screen door slammed and Daen snapped back to his current reality. Randell crossed the yard towards him, sword in hand and a grin on his face. "Are you ready to practice?" Randell looked more like a man than a boy who'd just had his sixteenth birthday. His face had a boyish look but his physique was more in line with an eighteen-year-old athlete.

  "Your practice begins with speaking in Aduraun." Daen tried to sound stern, just as his mentor had been with him, but he was quite fond of the boy and struggled not to smile at his endless excitement.

  Randell switched to Aduraun. "Yes, Sir. Sorry. Would you like me to get your sword?"

  "Yes. Please."

  Randell turned and ran into the house, quickly returning with one of the swords Daen had carried with him when he arrived. The sword Randell would be using this day had been commissioned a few months ago and delivered the night before.

  Before Randell used it, Daen wanted to test the sword's balance. "Please place my sword on the ground and hand me yours."

  Randell complied, curio
us as to why Daen wanted the sword.

  Daen removed the sword from its scabbard and inspected it. He took it through the dance and then into faster, more violent moves. When he was done, he held it out on two fingers. The sword was steady, balanced. The weight and the length each exceeded what Randell would normally need at this time, but he would grow into it, much like Daen had grown into his first sword. He sheathed it and handed it back to Randell. "It is a fine sword."

  Daen had known it would be. Ander had taken him and Randell to the blacksmith who would make the sword under Daen's supervision. They'd spent a few days with the blacksmith, going over the techniques that would produce a strong but light sword. After that, the blacksmith had mailed pictures at regular intervals as the sword was produced. Daen had been pleased with what he saw.

  Daen continued, "We will test its strength once your armor arrives. Until then, we will warm up and drill."

  Caille had found a place that made thick leather protective gear that Randell could wear while he learned. It was due to arrive any day, making it difficult for Randell to focus on anything else.

  Pam stepped out onto the porch and yelled, "Please be careful!"

  Daen bowed slightly and Randell yelled back, "We will!"

  After their warm-up, they began by reviewing the previous lessons. This was their routine. After each review, Daen added a new move or a new combination of existing moves. To test Randell's concentration, Daen continued the practice of asking him questions in English and requiring Randell to answer in Aduraun, providing them both with the practice they needed. Then he would make it harder and ask Randell questions in Aduraun.

  Randell and Daen practiced for about an hour before Pam called them in for dinner.

  ~~~

  Daen wiped off his sword and sheathed it before starting towards the house. He took one step and was met with a surge of power that pulsed through his body. The shock of the sensation sent him to his knees.

  "Daen! Are you all right?" Randell knelt next to him, his hand lightly touching his shoulder, unsure whether he should help his mentor.

  Daen staggered to his feet, ignoring Randell, his eyes scanning his surroundings, looking for the source of the sensation that had just rippled through his body. "Did you feel that?"

  "Feel what? What just happened?" Randell studied Daen's movements, the expression on his face, and the color of his aura, the glow of light that emanated from his body. The intensity of Daen's colors—that's what Daen called them—changed based on his emotions. Apparently not everyone's colors did this. Right now, the green glow glittered with specks of light blue, something Randell had never seen before. Within a moment, the blue was gone and Daen stood quiet, deep in thought.

  "I haven't felt that in ... since I first arrived. I shouldn't have been able to feel it. It's not my gift. I felt it before only because I passed into this world."

  Randell was concerned. "What? What did you feel?"

  "The presence of the Libraim; it was here and now it's gone."

  In the two years Daen had spent with the Youngs, Randell had learned a lot about Daen's world. For instance, he had learned that the Libraim was the core of the Luxatran's existence, that it sustained life and maintained balance in their world. And he had learned that Daen was a guardian of the Libraim, responsible for recording and protecting the histories of his world and the Libraim itself.

  Pam yelled through the screen door, "Are you going to join us?"

  "Just a minute, Mom," Randell turned to Daen. "Are you okay? Do you want to stay out here?"

  Daen shook his head. "No, it's passed."

  They had started walking towards the house when Randell asked, "Do you think it's a sign? That this woman you're supposed to help—that maybe she’s nearby?"

  "I hope so."

  ~~~

  Three more years had passed since Daen had felt any sign of home. His attempts to slip through the shadows continued to fail, forcing him to acclimate to living in this world. He was making good progress. He'd learned to drive after helping Randell and his father rebuild the engine in Ander's old truck, giving Randell something to drive.

  He cooked, cleaned, did laundry ... but oh how he missed his past life. At least he had the Youngs' hospitality, Randell's friendship and their practice sessions, and a home nestled close to nature. Yet, with time comes change.

  Randell strolled into the kitchen one day, waving the day's mail in his hand. "It came; the letter from the scholarship board." He'd been waiting to hear from the university he very much wanted to attend.

  Pam put the last plate into the cupboard from the dishwasher. "What does it say?"

  "I don't know." Randell stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the envelope. "I'm afraid to open it."

  Daen laughed. "You're not afraid of being smacked with a sword but you're afraid of a letter." Randell's nervousness about the contents of the letter seemed contradictory to the young man he'd grown to be. Over the years, Randell had calmed and become focused and very strong.

  Randell looked up from the envelope. "It's not just any letter."

  Daen countered, "You have three other letters already, all offering you admission and at least a partial scholarship."

  "But this is the school I want to attend and it's too expensive without a scholarship." Randell sighed, ripped open the envelope, and read. "Yes! I got it. Full tuition ... but no housing." Oh well, he thought, he had his savings and he could work part-time.

  Daen congratulated Randell on getting in. "Do you need a roommate?"

  Randell's eyes opened wide in surprise. "Yeah! Do you mean it? That would be great."

  Daen nodded. "Count me in. I'll take odd jobs, the kind that don't require paperwork. That should help with living expenses."

  Randell shook Daen's hand. "Thanks, man."

  And so it began. Daen followed Randell to undergraduate and graduate school before returning home, where Randell worked toward getting his PhD at the university near his parents' home. Over the years, Randell studied and took odd jobs such as substitute teaching, editorial work, and freelance writing assignments until landing the job of his dreams as a tenure-track English and literature professor just miles from home.

  9

  Sensations

  Daen was shaken from his dreams. Eyes wide, he stared into the darkness of his room, seeking that which had awakened him. It had felt like he'd been hit head-on by an invisible force, as if someone or something had pounced on him while he slept, knocking the breath from his lungs.

  He turned on the lamp next to his bed and studied the sparsely furnished room. Over the years, Daen had resisted making this world his home. He lived each day as if it was the day he would return to his real home, collecting only those things he needed to survive in this world.

  He listened intently for a sign that what he felt wasn't just a dream. For a couple weeks now, he'd been awakened by the same sensation, and each time the force was stronger. As he listened, he could hear the sound of fingers on keys through the thin walls that separated his room from Randell's in their cheap garden apartment near campus.

  Randell sat at the desk in his bedroom, returning emails and grading papers, when he heard a light knock on his door. "Come in."

  Daen entered and sat in the comfy reading chair that was pressed into the corner of Randell's room and draped with worn-but-still-clean clothes. "You're up late."

  "So are you. I thought you went to bed. Don't you have to work early tomorrow?"

  Daen had picked up quite a few skills over the years, working as a day laborer, making enough to help out with the rent and other living expenses. Being a day laborer, he could skip a day or two and not have to make excuses to a boss. It also meant he could fly under the radar when it came to proving to the government that he wasn't illegal ... even though he was.

  "I might skip tomorrow. I haven't been sleeping well over the past couple weeks." Daen ran his hand down his face and sighed. "But tonight ..."

  Randel
l spun around in his desk chair to see Daen leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "Why haven't you said anything? What's going on?"

  "I've been waking in the middle of the night. It's like ... I'm being attacked or crushed. I can't explain it."

  Randell leaned back in his chair. He hadn't seen his old friend this stressed in a long time, not since he'd first arrived in this world. "Is it like the sensation you felt that time in the yard..." Randell paused, thinking about the last time, "... wow, was it really over twenty years ago?"

  Daen thought back to that day, when he had been brought to his knees two years after arriving in this world. "No. That day it felt familiar. This ... I can't recall feeling anything like it. If I were home, I would say someone was using a gift on me."

  "So you've heard of a gift like this?"

  "No. But in my world, it would be something the guardians would investigate. But I wouldn't be doing it alone."

  Randell leaned forward. "That's right, you need a ... what did you call it before ... a tracker?" They'd had this conversation in the past, when Daen still thought Raisal was the woman he was supposed to help.

  "Yeah, that's right. That's why this is so strange for me. I get short, abrupt hits of ... power ... and then it's gone. I shouldn't feel someone else's gift, but then, I'm not really sensing it ... I guess. It's active; it's being applied to me ... sort of. Oh, I don't know. All I know is I'm exhausted and I can't tell where it's coming from."

  "You say this happens only at night?"

  Daen nodded.

  Randell thought about what was happening to his friend. "You're feeling a power hit that I can't feel. It's happening only at night. Maybe this is a sign. I think you're sensing a gift, but maybe you can feel it only in your subconscious, like when you're asleep?"

  Daen considered Randell's theory. If this was about the woman, and he could sense her only in his sleep, why did it just start after all these years? Why did it hit quickly and then fade? Then it came to him. "It's not me sensing a gift; it's her pushing it out. It's her subconscious. She's not in control, and she needs my help. That's it. I'm supposed to help someone—right? This must be it!"