The Restorer

by Sharon Hinck

  Tristan knew the man and was staying calm. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?

  “The Council sent a messenger four days ago requiring her to report to Lyric.” The Council guard’s voice was cold and condescending. Wade had once explained to me that some guardians went on to work as the elite Council Guard, protecting and serving the Council directly. At the time, I’d thought of them as a type of Secret Service, but seeing these men put me more in mind of secret police. My throat tightened, and I found it hard to swallow.

  Tristan kept his tall frame relaxed and his voice casual. “Well, yes, but the healer felt there was still—”

  “I spoke to the healer, Tristan,” Case interrupted with a sneer.

  I shivered. The bushy-browed old man at the healer’s lodge had cheerfully lied for us. What had these Council guards done to him?

  Case stepped closer, his hand resting on his sword hilt. “The Council wants to talk to her now.” He gave a staccato nod of his head.

  Two men grabbed my arms from behind and pulled me away from Tristan.

  I looked at him in panic.

  He was still staying deliberately relaxed. “All right. If it’s that urgent, we’ll be happy to make the trip.” He shrugged. Then he picked up my pack and handed it to one of the guards who had a manacle grip on my arm.

  “Not you, Tristan. We’re only here for her.” Case watched Tristan closely. “You’ve been reassigned. The Council is sending another captain in to deal with the mess here. Dylan is missing, so they want you to search the River Borders near Cauldron Falls. They’ll expect your report in five days.” The two guards pulled me farther from Tristan.

  The tension in Tristan’s body grew. His fingers flexed.

  I glanced at Wade. He was also watching Tristan for a signal. Any second now Tristan would draw his sword, and I wanted to be ready to help fight.

  Instead, Tristan slowly lifted his hands—away from his weapons—and looked at Case. “Tell them I’ll be there.”

  Case glared back at him, as if disappointed that they wouldn’t cross swords.

  Tristan walked over to me, careful not to make any sudden moves. “Susan.” He looked in my eyes.

  Shock crept up from the damp forest floor and into my nerve endings. Tristan wasn’t going to fight. He was going to let them take me. The betrayal knocked the wind out of me.

  “Go with them. You’ll be all right.” His voice was firm and unapologetic.

  I nodded that I understood, but couldn’t speak. If I opened my mouth, I’d start begging him not to let them take me. So I stayed silent and held still while one of the men disarmed me and secured my sword to his own belt. Having my sword out of reach made me miserable. The pack of Council guards suddenly seemed larger and even more frightening.

  “Let’s go.” Case jerked his head and two of his guards pulled me with them toward the trail.

  I heard Tristan’s voice disappearing behind me. “Case, you have honor, but not everyone on the Council does. Keep her safe. Please.”

  I couldn’t hear if Case answered or not. I was pulled along the path that ascended to the ridgeline above the village. At the top, I looked down on the familiar log homes. Would I see them again? I hadn’t had a chance to ask Tristan to protect Nolan from his men. I didn’t get to thank Tara for all she had done for me. My heart sank as I wondered how the village would cope without Tristan’s leadership. The Council had to be crazy to send him to Cauldron Falls. What had Case said? Someone was missing . . . Dylan. I suddenly made the connection. Dylan was Linette’s fiancé. He had been patrolling on the River Borders.

  God, no, I prayed silently. Don’t let anything happen to him. Or to Tristan. Or to Aubrey and Dustin. Or to any of Braide Wood. Please, Father. Please help us all.

  We strode down the trail toward the transport, making the trip in what I was sure was record time. I tried to remember landmarks from my journey to Braide Wood a few weeks ago. Now that I was heading downhill and not fighting Rhusican poison, the hike didn’t seem as long. The Council guards weren’t harsh or cruel to me, but it might have been easier to cope if they were. I could have channeled all my fear into anger. Instead, they were aloof and all business.

  I tried to strike up a conversation with one of the young guards, but he rebuffed my efforts coldly.

  With no one to talk to, my mind spun in anxious circles. What would happen in Lyric? I knew that Cameron was corrupt, but how much power did he have? Was there anyone on the Council I could trust? The trees blurred as they moved past me, each one becoming a tally mark for a different problem:

  Tristan—if he obeyed his new orders and went to Cauldron Falls, would he find Dylan? Would he survive? And if he didn’t who would help me get away from the Council?

  Dylan—had Kahlarea begun an attack by Cauldron Falls? Who would be with Linette while she waited for word on her dearly loved guardian?

  Morsal Plains—how would Braide Wood eat next season? How would they answer Hazor’s demands? Would the other clans help defend Braide Wood?

  Kieran—he had been heading into Hazor. Did he find out about the attack? Had he been captured or killed? Or was he being pragmatic and working for the side that had all the power?

  Nolan—would the guardians at Braide Wood execute him for his part in the attack? Would he ever have a chance to grow up or believe his life had value?

  Mark and our children—how were they managing without me? What did they think when they returned from the park and found I had disappeared?

  A sound in the woods distracted me from my spinning hamster-wheel of worries. I strained to hear over our own footsteps. A soft rustling sounded behind us again. Something was following us, but the Council guard didn’t seem to hear anything.

  When we arrived at the Braide Wood station, a transport waited—door open, engine silent. Case pulled out a device and slid a few dials. The transport powered up. Interesting. Council guards must have a lot of pull if they could redirect transports or hold one just for us.

  Before the first guard stepped into the machine, a whistle floated up from the trail behind us. All the men turned and several drew swords.

  Wade appeared from around a clump of trees and bounded down the path. He flashed a good-natured grin. “Well, this is great timing! I need to go to Lyric on guardian business.” He headed toward the open transport door.

  Case stepped forward and held his sword out across the doorway, thumping the flat against Wade’s ample stomach. “This is taken. Wait for the next one, boy.”

  Wade hesitated for a moment, sizing up the contingent and all their weapons. “No problem. I’ll be on the one right behind you.” He winked in my direction.

  I gave him a grateful smile before one of the guards shoved me toward the door.

  The other men boarded and the transport door closed. The sound of steel sliding downward made me think of a door clanging shut on a jail cell. I’d never been arrested before. I never even had an overdue library book.

  I looked at the grim faces of the men on the bench across from me, and Case’s unrelenting demeanor. To him I was just a hazardous parcel to be delivered, and nothing was going to obstruct his execution of that duty. Outside the window, Wade’s familiar figure faded into the distance. I felt as if I were shrinking in size as well.

  God, give me courage.

  Chapter

  17

  The transport rolled quickly along the forest road and toward open land. We arrived at Ferntwine, where Tristan had recruited his friends on the journey to Braide Wood. Had that really been only a few weeks ago? So much had happened since, yet here I was, once again frightened and lost, once again in the company of strangers whose intentions I did not fully understand. I could picture Bekkah and Wade exchanging friendly banter on the platform, and could hear Linette’s musical laugh as Davis told a story. Even Kyle’s scowl would be familiar and welcom
e today, but when I peered out the window, the platform was deserted.

  The transport didn’t stop at Ferntwine, but turned toward Lyric. Dread grew in my heart with each mile. The trip seemed way too fast, and I began to feel cold. My cloak was stuffed inside my pack, which one of the guards held. I glanced at his grim face and was afraid to ask for it. Instead, I sat quietly and tried to make myself small.

  Staring at my feet, I did multiplication tables in my head, determined to fight my fear. I realized I was staring down at Bekkah’s boots. She had worn these on patrols as she guarded and defended her people. I could never fill her shoes, but I could honor her memory. She wouldn’t want me to cower. The thought strengthened me, and I sat straighter. Focused on keeping up my courage, I didn’t even notice when the transport stopped. The closest guard grabbed my arm and herded me out onto the road. As I tried to get my bearings, my hand moved by reflex to rest on my sword hilt. The reminder that it was gone made my heart sink, but I squared my shoulders and walked forward.

  The men surrounding me were tall, frustrating my attempts to see the Lyric station. It wasn’t until we stepped out of the tall grove of bitum trees that I had my first glimpse of the city.

  I stopped short, awed. “It’s amazing.”

  The rear guard stumbled into me and shoved me forward with annoyance. “Quiet! Keep moving.”

  Spread out in front of us, a smooth white wall seemed to glow in the grey daylight. The structure was several stories tall and stretched out in a scalloping pattern for the length of dozens of city blocks before curving to surround the city. Within the confines of the wall, numerous tall towers reached skyward. Those disappeared from sight as Case led us to a tunnel that formed the city’s entrance. We passed through an archway built with huge stone blocks that looked like rose quartz and amethyst. The pink and purple crystal reflected light and made the road under our feet ripple with colors. The curved ceiling of the tunnel was at least two stories above our heads, and as we stepped farther in, the sound of the world behind us grew muffled. Then I became aware of a dull roar growing before us, drawing us forward and reminding me of walking through an arena tunnel into a stadium for a football game. As we emerged into a crowded open square, the hum exploded into a variety of individual noises.

  Again, I stopped without meaning to—desperate to absorb what I was seeing. The lines of the buildings were gothic in their vertical stretch toward the sky, but the style couldn’t be more different. The shapes were clean and almost stark in their simplicity and lack of ornamentation. The stone structures were white, some with embedded transparent quartz. Most edges were rounded, with the tops of the towers scalloped like the surrounding wall.

  Exasperated, two guards grabbed my arms and hurried me through the crowds. I only caught stray impressions of grandeur, color, and the high energy of a modern city. In just moments, we stepped into a narrow alley between two tall buildings, and the noise of the crowds was muted.

  I figured the next few minutes would give me some clues about my status here. They might be taking me to a comfortable inn where I could stay in between meetings with council members. Or they might take me right to some bureaucratic building where I could give a report of my visitor status. I tried not to think beyond those two options, but when they led me through a back door that resembled a loading dock and into a dark hall, my nervousness grew. We proceeded down a flight of stairs into the bowels of the building, and my stomach twisted with dread. When they shoved me into a bare concrete room and slammed a steel door closed behind me, I decided I had collected enough clues. “Guess I’m persona non grata,” I muttered.

  There was no light, other than a hint of illumination that slithered under the door, but there was nothing to see, either. I could pace about three steps in each direction. A ceiling disappeared out of sight over my head. I was cold, but they had taken my pack, so I didn’t have my cloak. Panic crawled toward me like the fingers of light under the door.

  “Get a grip, Susan.” I felt the edges of the door, searched for a latch or handle, and even pushed my weight against it for good measure. Nothing. I strained to hear and realized I could still make out the heavy boots of the men going up a stairway. I kept focused on that sound and heard a door open. Voices murmured, and I closed my eyes, stretching my ability to hear farther than I ever had before.

  “. . . Records?” a resonant voice asked.

  The answering murmur was probably Case.

  “Good,” the first voice said. “I’m still waiting for the copy from Blue Knoll. Then I’ll have them all. Once I make a few changes, the Council will have no more silly objections.”

  I recognized the first voice now. Cameron. His booming campaign-speech tone made it possible for me to hear him from this distance. I grasped for each word, knowing it might be important. Case was asking something, but his words were unclear.

  “Oh, the Rhusicans can help me with that.” Cameron laughed. “It doesn’t take much to nudge aside a memory. You’ve got the woman?” He paused, listening to Case’s reply. “No, I don’t want anyone else on the Council to know she’s here right now. What did you find out?” More mumbled sounds.

  My head throbbed with the effort of listening. Then, like a thread snapping, I lost my focused hold on the voices. Silence wrapped around me again. I sank to the stone floor and buried my aching head in my arms.

  I didn’t have long to wait before boots echoed in the hallway. I jumped to my feet.

  The door slid open and Case jerked his head toward the hall. “This way.”

  What would he do if I refused to move? I decided I didn’t want to know. Better to save my resistance for when it counted. As we walked through the dark hall to a narrow stairway, I glanced around for potential escape routes. But with Case inches behind me, none presented themselves, so I trudged up the stairs and into a brightly lit corridor. Case shot an uneasy glance down the hallway and hurried me to the first door on the left. It occurred to me that the other doors might mark the offices of councilmembers—the ones Cameron didn’t want to know about me. I opened my mouth to shout for help, but Case was too quick. He clamped a hand over my mouth and shoved me inside.

  I stumbled to a stop in the middle of the room.

  Cameron sat behind a huge desk to my right. The top was polished black stone, and on it sat several gadgets I didn’t recognize, along with my emptied pack and all its contents. My sword, Kieran’s baldric, the cloak Tristan had found for me in Shamgar, Wade’s gauntlets, and a few stray items of clothing Tara had given me were spread out across the desk.

  My fingers tensed at the sight of my sword. The thought of Cameron pawing through my belongings filled me with disgust, and I lifted my outraged gaze to the man behind the desk.

  Cameron’s dark eyes gleamed, and his lip curled in amusement. His black hair was slicked back the way I remembered it from the transport. The tall collar of his tunic flared around his neck, like a cobra’s hood. Behind him, a window gave me an enticing glimpse of a Lyric courtyard. Dragging my eyes away, I looked around the room, trying to get my bearings. There were two doors on the wall opposite from where I had entered. A cubby of shelves between them held pitchers and mugs. Gaudy tapestries embellished the wall behind me. There were no other chairs in the room, and I realized that my feet hurt and I was thirsty.

  “You certainly took a long time to accept my offer of hospitality,” Cameron said. “Someone with less patience than I might have become . . . annoyed.”

  I shifted my weight, determined to hide my fear and take the offensive. “Cameron, there are more important things to worry about than dragging me here for a visit.”

  His eyes narrowed. “My title is chief councilmember of Lyric. But since you’re a foreigner I will forgive your lack of protocol.” He stood and walked over to the built-in shelves and poured something into a mug. He handed it to me and smirked. “Now, tell me about these important things that are goin
g on.”

  I lifted the mug to my mouth and inhaled the familiar fragrance of clove, but a subtle, bitter tone to the scent stirred a warning in me. I was learning to pay attention to all my heightened senses, so I handed the mug back to him.

  He shrugged and set it aside, then leaned against the edge of his desk, watching me.

  I wanted to urge him to let me talk to the Council, so I could plead for help for Braide Wood. But I felt entangled and confused by the few fragments of information I knew. Anything I said could become a trap for the people I cared about, so I held my tongue.

  “I’m pleased to see that you’ve recovered from the plague,” Cameron said in a bland voice.

  My face heated. Tristan had used that flimsy trick to keep me out of this very situation.

  Cameron had known right away it was lie, of course, but he’d avoided a direct confrontation with Tristan and allowed us a long line. Now he was reeling it in. “Some things are worth waiting for,” he said, as if reading my mind. “What did you think of Braide Wood?” He crossed his arms and settled back against the stone desktop.

  “It’s a wonderful village,” I said, pulling myself up taller. “And the clan hasn’t forgotten the Verses like some people have.”

  Another flash of amusement crossed Cameron’s face. “And you want to protect them. So we have that in common. It’s my place as a councilmember to protect our people.”

  My fear of Braide Wood being leveled by Hazor made me forget caution. “Then send an army to Morsal Plains!” The words burst out of me.

  “Is that what Tristan wants?”

  “It’s what’s right! It doesn’t matter who wants what. They need help.”

  Cameron raised one eyebrow. “And what is Tristan planning to do next?”

  “How should I know? He’s probably heading for Cauldron Falls where your stupid Council sent him—when his clan needs him instead.” Giving vent to my anger wasn’t wise, but it was the only emotion that held back my fear.