Chloe's Guardian

by Cheri Gillard

  He mounted and decided the mule had to have been a clone, because it looked exactly like the one he’d gotten from Knox, but it was a different creature entirely, letting Horatius on its back as though it wanted him there.

  The ride was pitiful, but compared to rocketing down a ski slope in a rickety cart, plunging into a slimy pool of spoiled sludge, and being dragged nearly to death on his head, it was not too horrendous.

  By the time they entered the village, a cock had crowed several times and the anticipated sun had painted the sky a deep orange. The mule followed the boy like a trained dog. Dark markings down its snout and around one eye confirmed to Horatius it had to be Knox’s animal. He cursed at it for cooperating so easily now. Why couldn’t you do this in the first place? He would have been saved a lot of trouble and might have even found the girls by now.

  The boy led them to a small chapel on the edge of town. The stone walls were mostly intact. The straw and stick roof sagged on one side, in need of some good tending and upkeep. But it was Sanctuary, and Horatius was anxious to find out what was going on.

  He slid off the mule’s back in front of the door. He caught himself and held onto the mule’s neck until he steadied. He grabbed the doorway and with a shaky gait, staggered through the low, dark entrance.

  Six rows of wooden benches stretched from the entrance toward the front of the room. A narrow table up near the chancel was covered with a cloth and candles in plain, wooden holders. The room was austere and clean—a surprise after the dilapidated exterior.

  Horatius dropped onto the first bench and put his head into his hands. The dizziness and fatigue were overwhelming. He had never had to endure it like this, with no control over when he would transfigure and rid his existence of the drawbacks of human form.

  The boy spoke from beside him. Horatius didn't know he'd even come in, let alone settled next to him.

  “Are you praying yet?” he said in a reverent whisper.

  No. For all the rush to get there, he was so exhausted, his mind was empty. The thought of concentrating and listening in on the Celestial Chatter made him want to close his eyes and go to sleep. In fact, he thought just a few minutes rest couldn’t hurt.

  A small hand pushed on his arm. “Hey, wake up.”

  He must have dozed. The boy was still sitting next to him watching him, his short legs far from the ground and swinging opposite each other.

  “Are you not going to pray?”

  Horatius nodded, which took all his energy, and closed his eyes. He sat in darkness and silence, mustering the strength to focus. A faint thought assured him that if he just got transfigured, the cloud of exhaustion and oppression would be broken. It was enough to spur him on. He pulled together what little strength he had left and converged his scattered thoughts into one focal point.

  He listened.

  Nothing.

  He listened harder.

  Still nothing.

  The silence pulled him from the stupor. It made him think about what he was doing, to be more intentional. He tried again, this time not taking anything for granted.

  Nothing!

  Panic clutched at his chest. His blood rushed faster and his breathing quickened.

  He stopped just listening, foregoing the caution of tuning in before transferring into Communication Mode when he thought Satarel was near, and he sent his thoughts to the sentinel of the church.

  Nothing!

  He skipped the sentinel and went directly for the Guardians of the sector. He sent thoughts way out of the Chronos Band, hoping to find any of the Pure who might hear him.

  Now his heart was beating like he’d been running. He started to hyperventilate. The panic was going to choke him. He found strength to stand up and he threw prayers and pleas in a hundred directions, supplicating, screaming in his mind, for any answer.

  “What is wrong?” the boy asked.

  “Mebahel! Jabamiah!” Horatius cried aloud. He even bellowed for Laviah. He listened for a second and called out again, this time for Darryn. “Where are you? Why have you left me here alone in this darkness? What has happened? Do not forsake me!”

  He fell back onto the bench, spent, unable to stand. Unable to understand. “I cannot endure this.” His ultimate dread.

  He was alone, left in complete, palpable blackness, disconnected from light and life. What would he do? How could he survive? He would not. He knew he could not. Why? Why was he alone? Anguish tore his soulless spirit. He would not persevere alone, abandoned, cut off. He could not. He was doomed.

  CHAPTER 33

  An army was coming and Pan was abandoning them to die. Chloe had studied medieval battles in history class. Raping, pillaging, skewering, and beheading. She wasn’t about to hang around and risk experiencing that firsthand.

  “Kaitlyn, give me a boost. Then I’ll pull you up.” Chloe strained to climb the odd pole ladder. Her skirts kept getting in the way. Pan had swooped up the post with no effort and made it look simple.

  Kaitlyn tilted up her head and shaded her eyes with her hand. “Do you think that’s a good idea? Pan said to wait for him. He said he’d take us home.”

  Chloe almost was to the top. She reached down as far as she could, wiggling her fingers at Kaitlyn. “Come on! Give me your hand. We’ve got to catch him before he gets away. He can’t leave us here.”

  Kaitlyn started up and Chloe locked onto her wrist as soon as she was in reach. That skirt of hers was ridiculous. It didn't look like there was enough fabric between her feet for her to lift her leg to the next peg. But Chloe had to make Kaitlyn believe she could do it.

  “Come on. It’s easier than it looks. Come on! We have to catch Pan.”

  Kaitlyn whimpered.

  “Hurry, we don’t want him to get away.” Chloe scrambled up to the top and glanced over the wall. Three horses were galloping away.

  “They’re getting away. We have to go now. Come on!”

  “I can’t. I’ll fall. This skirt won’t let me.” She slipped trying to get her foot up.

  “Sure you can. Get up. Just do it!”

  Kaitlyn tugged on the fabric, pulling the ankle opening up higher on her leg.

  Pan, Gordon, and the other man were three small, dark spots shrinking toward a distant hill where she would soon lose sight of them. It was too late. She had to let them go, give them up.

  “Never mind, Kaitlyn. It’s too late.” She threw her leg over the pole and climbed back down. “Don’t worry. Come on.”

  Kaitlyn backed down behind her and when on the ground again, she wiped the tears off her cheeks, tucking her head down so her hand could reach her face.

  She said, “Did you hear what he said?”

  Chloe didn’t want to be angry at her, but she had really, really needed her to get over that wall.

  “About Denver?” Kaitlyn said.

  “What are you talking about?” Chloe still had an ear focused beyond the wall in case Pan changed his mind and returned for them.

  “He said he’d take us back to Denver. He must be like Horace.”

  Chloe stopped. “No, he did not. He never said Denver.”

  “He said he’d take us home. That means Denver. He knows.”

  “That’s just wishful thinking. He couldn’t have meant Denver because Denver doesn’t exist now. Just because he promised to ‘take us home’ doesn’t mean he knows about Denver. He’s only a medieval guy who just happens to look Arabian and huge and—” Can it be? Is that why he knows Horace? Is that why he said he can take us home?

  Kaitlyn nodded. “Of course he is. It makes total sense.”

  If he was like Horace, something wasn’t right. Why was his face scarred? Why was he working for Gordon?

  When they got around to the front entryway into the castle, everything was as they had left it. The gate had not been crashed down, no crazed warriors were sword fighting, no balls of flame were catapulting into the yard. No one was in sight.

  Maybe everyone is already dead.

 
Yelling came from inside the castle. Chloe didn’t know what else to do but go inside and face whatever was happening. What did it matter anymore with their one last chance to go home and save her family gone over the wall and probably never coming back?

  CHAPTER 34

  The boy tugged on his sleeve.

  “He said he is listening.”

  “What did you say?”

  “He said, ‘Horay-sheus, I am listening.’ He told me to tell you.”

  Horatius grabbed the tiny boy up into the air by the shoulders. “Who? Who said that? Where did you hear that?” He was crushing him, hurting him, but he couldn’t stop. He was too frantic. He shook him like a toy, like a tiny rag doll. “Tell me!”

  “The glowing figure up there,” he was finally able to rattle out.

  Horatius froze. He came to his senses. He pulled the boy to his chest and held him there. Then he set him down like a breakable ornament, slowly, tenderly. He brushed his hair back out of his face.

  “You see him?” Horatius asked with a voice that didn’t sound like his own.

  “Sure. Right there,” he said and pointed at the highest point of the ceiling. He straightened out his tunic with his other hand.

  “Tell me what you see.”

  “A white glowing giant. White like the sun on a cold day. He has wings, too.”

  A sound came out of Horatius’ throat. Why can I not see him, too? “Is he talking to you?”

  “Of course. Since we walked in. Just like the others out in the meadow.”

  “In the meadow?”

  “I said you could pray anywhere.”

  This makes utterly no sense! Why would this child hear and see the Celestials when he could not?

  “Tell me what he is saying?”

  The boy looked toward the ceiling. He nodded.

  “What? What do you hear?”

  “He said you are cursed.”

  Another moan escaped Horatius. He dipped his head into his hands.

  The boy folded his hands together in front of him and lifted his chin toward the ceiling.

  “What are you doing? What do you hear?” Horatius said through his hands.

  “I am praying. God and I talk all the time.”

  “And you can hear They…God speak to you?”

  “Of course. Can you not?”

  “And you can see an angel here, now?”

  “What is wrong with you? Right there. He is looking right at us, talking just like out where I found you.”

  “You saw Celest—angels out where you found me?”

  “Sure. I asked them what I should do with you.”

  “What did they say?”

  “I dinna want to believe them. But I suppose it must be truth. You are cursed.”

  Horatius got angry and used several impure words. “What does that mean? Ask him what that means.”

  “All right,” the boy said a little indignantly. He closed his eyes. “You dinna need to talk to me like that.” His lips moved silently behind his folded hands. After a while, he dropped his arms and frowned at Horatius. “ ’Tis bad. I dinna think you want to know.”

  Horatius reined in his frustration this time, trying not to provoke the lad. “No. I do. Want to know. I need you. To tell me. Exactly. What he said.”

  “Do you know someone named Sat— Sah…ah…terrell? Something like that. Not a name I heard afore. I dinna like it.”

  “Yes, aye. Satarel. What about him? Is he behind this? What did he do?”

  “He cursed you. I dinna understand. But the angel said when he touched your heart—how did he do that?—he put a curse on you. A bad curse.”

  The moment flashed into his memory when Satarel reached into his body out in the ocean and sifted through his fingers the closest thing Horatius had to a soul. Satarel defiled his essence in that touch. Satarel took from him the good he’d been accumulating and replaced it with some destructive force.

  “Ask him what the curse means. Is that why I can’t transfigure? Why I am so weak? Ask him what to do. How do I undo the curse? Ask him. Go on, ask him.”

  The boy scowled. “So many questions. Why dinna you ask him? He is right there.”

  “He cannot hear me.”

  “Of course he can.”

  “I cannot hear him.”

  “Anyone can talk to them.”

  “I am not just anyone. Please. Ask him. It is very important.”

  The boy directed his attention to the ceiling and moved his lips again. It took so long, Horatius could not wait. “What are you two saying?”

  The boy glanced sideways a moment but turned his attention back to his task.

  A deep breath helped Horatius calm himself enough to clamp his lips shut and let the boy communicate with the sentinel. The nerve endings in his gut were on fire. Relying on another to converse for him was enough to make him spontaneously combust. When at last the boy relaxed, Horatius had to use all his willpower to keep quiet and let the boy convey the message at his own speed.

  The boy did not speak right away. He fidgeted on the bench that was too far from the floor for him. He scratched his mop of hair and chewed on his lower lip.

  “ ’Tis worse than we thought,” he finally said. “There is only one way we can break the curse. And until we do it, you will worsen.”

  “Okay, now,” Horatius said, turning to look the boy straight in the eyes. “Tell me how and I will do it. What did he say?”

  The boy’s scowl deepened. Horatius prodded him on with several nods of his head, but kept his mouth shut.

  “Blood. It will take a blood sacrifice to break the curse.”

  Horatius could not believe his ears. Not only was he cut off but he would have to do the impossible. He had not dealt with a blood sacrifice for ages. How was he supposed to obtain one now? Where could he go? He could not even walk ten feet on his own.

  The boy put his small hand on Horatius’ cheek and pushed until he turned his gaze to meet the boy’s. “Dinna be so sad. We will find a way. I promise.”

  “Boy, go up by the altar there and see if there is any wine in that challis.”

  “I will not.”

  “Do as I say.”

  “If there is any, it is not there for our taking.”

  “Come now. I need a drink.”

  “A drink willna fix anything. Dinna worry. I will help you. They told me what to do. We are going to find a way. We will be a good pair. And you need me. You sure do get into a lot of trouble. I am Billy, by the way.”

  “Where do you live? Where are your parents?” Horatius asked. “I will give you your coin and you can go back to your family.” He opened his money pouch for one of the two coins from the Queen’s men. He would pay the boy and find some beer. He needed to get drunk. Very drunk.

  “I have no parents,” Billy said. “Been on my own. And I did not help you for coin.”

  “Why else would you help? Take the money and leave me alone.”

  “I helped because you needed it. What is wrong with you?”

  “I am cursed. That’s what’s wrong with me. Now go on.” He eyed the challis up front and could almost taste the wine it surely held.

  “I am not leaving you here like this.”

  “I don’t need you anymore. You’re just a child.”

  “I do a lot better than you!” The boy punched him in the arm.

  Horatius almost laughed, but stopped himself. “Sorry,” he said with his hands up in surrender. “I didn’t mean to offend you. Don’t attack me. I apologize.”

  The boy finally relaxed his shoulders and dropped his balled fists. “Just ‘cause you are a giant and I have not yet grown to my full height…” He jumped down from the bench, the action emphasizing his small stature, and ran to the door. “I have an idea about how to get your blood sacrifice,” he said from the doorway, his anger apparently gone as quickly as it had come.

  Billy called to the mule and it entered the small church. Billy led it to Horatius.

  Of course!
Horatius pulled out the dagger from his belt and wrapped his arm around the mule’s head and stretched its neck long.

  “What are you doing?” the boy screamed and jumped onto Horatius’ forearm, dangling with all four limbs locked around Horatius’ arm. “Have you gone completely daft?”

  Horatius stopped wrestling the mule. “I’m sacrificing the stupid beast to be rid of this accursed black hole I’m in. You are the one who suggested—”

  “You canna kill her! Are you crazy?”

  Horatius flicked his arm and got Billy to put his feet down, but the little thing didn’t even begin to release his bear hug around Horatius’ forearm.

  “Isn’t that why you brought me the beast?” Two more shakes and Billy lost his grip.

  But he got right back up and kicked Horatius in the leg. “A course not! That wouldna work.”

  Horatius thought a moment. “You’re right. The beast is hardly pure, the stubborn, idiotic—”

  “You are the one not pure, not with that kind of killing.” He kicked him again. Horatius stifled his flinch. The little bugger dealt a pretty forceful wallop. “You canna just grab the closest animal and cut its throat. Even I know that. There is somethin’ not right about that.”

  Who was this boy to tell Horatius how the world worked? He released the mule and replaced the knife in his belt. “Stop kicking me. See? I put the knife away.”

  Billy lowered his leg that was poised and ready to deliver another blow. “I brought her over so you could mount and we could go look for help,” he said as though he were explaining something to a toddler. “Altogether benumbing! For being so big you sure act stupid. Are you going to be nice now, or should we just go on our own way and leave you here?”

  Horatius wanted to grab him and turn him over his knee for a good spanking. Instead, he struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on the mule. He somehow swung his leg over it and mounted. “Okay. Where are we going?”

  “If you behave, I will take you to a place I know where we can find a blood sacrifice, pure and untainted.”