“I’m sorry,” Nolan said, his voice coming out in a rasp.
The Guardian gave a tired smile. “I am glad I am able to help you. But if you could refrain from using your powers tonight, or touching the bars, it would be helpful. The sun will be out soon, and you can replenish yourself then.”
Nolan shook his head. “No. The sun does nothing for me. I need the stones.”
“The stones?”
“The stones of Brim.”
Nolan shared how they’d found the first, and how it called to him. He shared how he’d gotten his powers, and the story of his death and transformation. The Guardian didn’t speak through it all, his face unreadable.
“So the stones are recovered?” the Guardian finally asked.
“Yes. And I need to stand in their light soon. I can’t live without them.”
“I will find them for you if I can,” the Guardian said. “First, I need to return this dagger before Jezebelle realizes it is missing. Morning is soon upon us. I will return once it is dark; we can speak more then.” His angular face studied him. “There is another performance tonight.”
Nolan frowned, puzzled. Then realization, and dread, fell over him. “Which means they will do it again.”
Sympathy lines creased the Guardian’s brow. “Yes. I will help you once I have rested.”
He slipped his arms from Nolan’s cage, but Nolan grabbed his large wrist. The Guardian’s eyes fixed on Nolan’s, his eyebrows raised.
“What’s your name?” Nolan asked.
The Guardian blinked. “My name?”
“Yes, your name. You do have a name, don’t you?
The Guardian nodded slowly before speaking. “My name … is Rikar.”
Nolan squeezed his wrist. “Thank you, Rikar.”
Rikar swallowed loudly. “You are most welcome, Master … ”
“Nolan.”
“You are most welcome, Master Nolan,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.
Nolan released his hold, and Rikar slid his hand from the bars, carefully avoiding touching the steel. He then retreated, heading toward the center of camp.
It was strange how Guardians responded to gratitude, like they didn’t deserve the praise. They sacrificed themselves so much; even this new Guardian gave Nolan his own light to help him.
The others wouldn’t be able to see his light, so Rikar crept around the camp easily. He wound through the sleeping and drunken gypsies before heading to his own self-inflicted prison and climbing in.
Nolan lay back in the putrid, blood-coated straw, watching Rikar settle in his cage. Why would he accept such treatment? What would drive anyone, especially a Guardian, to imprisonment? He chose to be confined and ridiculed as a freakish beast, rather than come to the castle and be honored and respected. Nolan didn’t understand. He was a strange Guardian, for certain. And if Nolan lived through this, he would find out what had come between him and Greer.
At some point, Nolan must’ve drifted off. He awoke abruptly to cold water over his head. Nolan gasped, sitting upright. A grinning gypsy held an empty bucket; the remnants of the water dripped to the ground.
“Get another,” Jezebelle said. “He still smells.”
Before Nolan could even rise, another bucket doused him, the cold stabbing his skin. He sucked in a breath, his body trembling.
“Now go,” Jezebelle said to the other, waving him away with a soft tinkle of her bracelet-covered wrist.
She waited until the man had left, then she jumped up to the side of Nolan’s cage, hanging on the bars, examining him. Nolan considered lunging toward her and punching her in the face, but he was too tired and sore to care.
She clicked her tongue. “Either you are pretending to be weak, or something has happened. Was it my drugs? Did an item give you your powers?” She studied him. “No? You don’t wish to share?”
She jumped to the ground, flipping her braids. “Tonight will be more of the same. Unless you are willing to demonstrate your powers another way? Strength perhaps? Something with Speed?” She shrugged. “Well then. Have it your way, Emissary. Healing it will be.”
For the remainder of the day, Nolan rested. Rikar did the same, barely moving in his cell. Nolan wondered how much light the Guardian had shared and what harm it had done to him. But what would’ve happened to him if Rikar hadn’t stepped in?
Finally, after a tasteless dinner, preparations started for their evening performance. The musician warmed up his voice—both of them—and the jugglers tossed balls into the air.
Nolan stood and adjusted his pathetic excuse for clothes. He fingered his side where numerous new scars lined his flesh. Brim help me! Those spears hurt worse than all the arrows from the trials put together. And at least Kardos’s sword had been sharp when he’d stabbed me; the gypsies’ spears feel like they are twenty years old.
Two gypsies—the ones from the previous night—approached, their spears resting on their shoulders. Nolan clenched wads of straw in both his hands, so tightly his knuckles whitened. Somehow, he had to get out of this mess. But how could he? Even Rikar couldn’t open his cage.
Voices rose from the path into the clearing, a gathering of people more plentiful than the night before. Nolan inhaled a stuttering breath, strengthening his resolve. He hoped Rikar had enough light to keep him alive, if he survived the night at all.
Chapter Twenty
THE GUARDIAN HELD UP HIS HAND, and the wound on his finger closed, but slower than it usually did. Five days of performances had passed, and Rikar visited after each one. Each time, the Guardian shared his light, and each time the glow around him dimmed.
His face seemed thinner. His steps dragged, and his shoulders stooped. Nolan knew that Rikar couldn’t keep this up forever. He didn’t look well at all.
“Forgive me, Master Nolan. That is all I can give you tonight.”
Nolan swallowed a lump in his throat. “Don’t worry, Rikar. You’ve done more than enough already.”
“Then I will retire, if that is all you need.”
“Of course. Thank you again.”
Once again, the Guardian straightened at the praise, but only slightly this time; he seemed too tired for anything more. He turned toward his cage, but after only two steps, he staggered and his body collapsed.
Nolan jumped to his feet, ignoring the fatigue. He dove to the bars, almost grabbing them without thought. Rikar lay sprawled, a faint light glowing around him.
“Rikar,” Nolan whispered as blood pumped in his veins.
The Guardian stirred, groaning. His eyes fluttered open and met Nolan’s. Slowly, he hauled to his feet.
“You need to stop.”
“Stop what, Master Nolan? Stop falling?”
“No, Rikar. You need to stop healing me.”
Rikar scowled. “You were dying, Master Nolan.”
“Then let me die.”
Rikar stepped closer, leaning toward the bars so their faces were only a hand’s width apart. His breath was slow, labored. “You know other Guardians?”
“Yes,” Nolan hissed.
“Then you must know: Letting you die is not an option.”
A hollow space opened in Nolan’s chest. Rikar was right. A Guardian’s primary objective was to protect and preserve human life. He inhaled and clenched his fists. “But I’m not human.”
The Guardian nodded, his head only just supporting its weight. “You are human enough. And we are both still alive.”
Nolan opened his mouth, ready to fling another objection at the stubborn Guardian.
Rikar held up his hand, stopping him. “We have several days of travel before us now, plenty of time for me to rest and replenish.”
“And the next time we stop?”
“We will concern ourselves as it happens.” His arm dangled limp at his side. “For now, I rest.”
Rikar trudged to his cage, staying on his feet this time; however, his light was so dim, Nolan could hardly see him cutting through the dark night.
&nb
sp; Nolan fell in the straw, wishing he had a bed, wishing he had somewhere else to relieve himself besides pissing out the side of his cage. He was tired of being treated worse than an animal. At least an animal would be slaughtered only once, rather than multiple times a day.
He ran a hand over his chin. If they would’ve performed one more night, Rikar would use all his light and sacrifice himself to save Nolan. Then what would happen? The very next time they stuck Nolan, he wouldn’t have Rikar. And without Rikar, Nolan would’ve died days ago.
Pushing up, he looked to Rikar’s cage. Why did the Guardian stay? Obviously, they hadn’t trapped him—he could come and go as he pleased. Why didn’t he just disappear in the night? Crows, he could even escape in the middle of one of their nightforsaken “performances” and change to one who’d come to watch. Blending into the crowd would be easy for him, and the idiot gypsies wouldn’t have the slightest idea where their lizard man had gone.
If he convinced Rikar of their desperate situation, Rikar could leave and get help. Maybe even go to Faylinn and tell his friends, or at least retrieve the stones. With full Shay light, Nolan could bend the bars of his cage and get free. He’d broken Guardian steel before, when he’d snapped the restraint around Emery’s throat in Faylinn.
Nolan tugged a hand through his hair and allowed his body to relax. Rikar was hesitant, as if afraid to leave. And issues hovered between him and Greer, though Nolan couldn’t fathom what problems they could have. He sighed. Tomorrow he’d talk to Rikar, convince him … somehow. One way or another, something had to change. He couldn’t keep healing Nolan. He’d nearly given everything this time. One of these nights, he’d have nothing left to give.
Nolan needed freedom. But even if they found a way to open his cage—a key maybe—they’d both most likely be too weak to get very far. Nolan needed the stones.
***
Morning came much too soon. Voices roused him from a dead-like sleep.
“Something is wrong with him,” a voice said.
“Did you feed him?”
“Of course I did,” the man snapped. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”
Nolan’s cage rocked, and his eyes snapped open. A gypsy teen hitched a pair of mules to Nolan’s cage.
Nolan turned toward Rikar and saw two men hovering near the Guardian, staring through his bars. Rikar lay unmoving, no light emanating from him. Nolan’s heart froze.
“Is he alive?” Nolan asked.
“What’s it your business, freak?”
Nolan flared his Perception, listening in on their conversation—even if he shouldn’t use any power.
“Check to see if it’s breathing,” one whispered.
“You touch it,” the other said. “I’m not touching it.”
The man grimaced, disgust oozing from his emotions. He lifted his hand toward the cage but then stopped, fear pulsing from him instead.
“Fine,” the other said. “I’ll do it.” He hesitated, then threaded his hand through the bars.
Nolan leaned in, holding his breath.
“Where do you feel for a heartbeat on this thing?”
“I don’t know. How about the neck?”
The gypsy shot a dagger-like glare at the first, then moved his hand toward the Guardian’s throat. He relaxed. “It’s alive. Although I don’t know for how much longer. We’ll check it after our next stop. If it’s dead, we’ll dump it and tell Jezebelle it got loose somehow.”
Nolan pulled back on his powers, tucking them away. His head swam, his body nearly going limp with relief. He’s alive.
“You seem concerned about the creature.”
Nolan turned, and the four-armed woman eyed him. She stood outside his cage, a smirk plastered on her face. How did she get out?
“I come and go as I please,” she said, crossing all four arms over her chest.
“Why the cage then?”
“Adds more intrigue during the performance. I also happen to like my cage; it’s quite comfortable. You know, if you’d only corporate, you could go far here. Matter of fact, I heard some of the customers talking about you. One even made an offer. But you were too passed out to even notice.”
Nolan blinked. “An offer?”
A memory drifted in his mind, something that happened during Nolan’s weakness and pain-filled haze. A few noblemen had lingered, speaking to Jezebelle. They passed a coin bag to her, and she led him toward Morna’s cage. The latch was lifted, and Morna welcomed the man in, all four arms wrapping around him. Jezebelle pulled a curtain around the cage, concealing them inside.
His stomach churned. He’d rather die than accept such a disgusting offer. Besides, that kind of … activity … could kill any customer. “No thank you. I have no interest in selling myself.”
Morna shrugged, smiling. “Suit yourself. However, I don’t have to bathe and relieve myself like an animal.” She motioned toward Rikar. “Or maybe you’d prefer to be like one of them.” Opening the door to her cage, she entered, sat in her plush chair, pulled out a book, and started to read.
Nolan glared. Another book? Where in Brim’s name does she keep getting books? Each day passed so excruciatingly slow, he longed for something to do. A book was always a great way to pass the time. He pushed down a spike of jealousy and refocused. He didn’t need a book or anything from them. He wouldn’t be here long enough to care.
The cage lurched forward, nearly knocking Nolan from his feet; he almost grabbed the bars but decided to sit instead. Scanning the camp, he saw the cages lined up in a procession. The mules affixed to his cage huffed and bowed their heads, treading over the trampled soil.
The procession bumped over the ground until they reached the main path. The jostling turned to a gentle rocking. Nolan glanced back at Rikar; he still hadn’t moved.
After a full morning of travel, the group stopped at one of the camping markers along the trail. The gypsies started a fire, and the smell of roasting meat made Nolan’s stomach rumble. He stood and stretched, feeling more rested than he had in days. A wave of tension dropped from his shoulders when he saw Rikar propped up against the rails.
The two gypsies from earlier returned, stopping first at Nolan’s cage. They didn’t speak to him, but only slid a plate of steaming food under the bars. Nolan dove for it, tearing into the hot flesh and practically swallowing it whole.
The gypsies stopped at Rikar’s cage next, grunting in satisfaction at seeing him still alive. They threw a hunk of meat to him, forgoing the plate altogether. Nolan paused, gawking. They treated him horribly. Nolan gripped his plate, and the metal groaned. He jerked his head down and cursed; he’d crushed the edges of the plate in, leaving finger-shaped grooves. He’d forgotten to restrain his Strength.
Rikar gradually crawled toward his meal. Slouching, he picked straw off his meat. Nolan flared his Empathy and spoke to Rikar’s mind.
“Are you all right?”
Rikar’s head jerked up, and he met Nolan’s eyes. “I will be fine.”
A trotting horse drew Nolan’s attention. He turned as Jezebelle drew back on a brown and white mare. It whinnied and bobbed its head as she threw a braid over her shoulder.
“Emissary,” she said.
Nolan placed his hands on his hips.
“I have been thinking of what you said when we were in the city of Renfrew.”
Nolan scowled. “I said a lot in that city.”
Jezebelle reached to the side of her horse, opposite Nolan’s cage. She revealed a worn leather pouch, one that Nolan knew exceptionally well.
He straightened and dropped his arms. Jezebelle pulled out a Stone of Brim, turning it in her palm.
“Where did you get that?” Nolan growled.
A laugh bubbled from her. “Your room, of course. You didn’t think I’d leave them there, did you?”
Both excitement and rage swelled. She took them. They are here, but still outside my reach. His anger turned to hope. Rikar could get them, maybe even tonight. He wouldn’t have to search for
them at Faylinn.
She pulled on the reins, taking a few sidesteps away. “So, Emissary. Is what you say true? That all can gain a Shay power?”
Nolan didn’t answer.
“And if so,” she continued, “how does one know which one? All six look the same.”
Nolan turned away. Crows take her! Now she believed him? In the city, she started a mutiny with her doubts. Why should Nolan help her gain one of the Shays? She could rot in the Darkness as far he cared. Then, an idea slipped into his mind. He would be helping her, but she would have to arrange the stones in a way to obtain the light—the light Nolan so desperately needed. He turned to her, swallowing his revulsion. “Which one calls to you?”
She nodded and rummaged the pouch, the stones clinking against one another. Finally, she pulled one out, fingering the smooth surface in her palm. “I keep going back to this one.”
“Then you should try it.”
She cocked her head, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Which stone is this?”
Nolan shrugged. “Don’t know. Hold it in the light to find out.”
She clicked her mouth, drew the reins, and trotted to a sunny patch. She held out the stone, and the symbol of Empathy splayed on the ground.
Nolan held back a groan. Empathy. Great. Now he’d have to guard his emotions—not that he needed to hide much; he displayed his disgust of her freely.
“And this one iiiiis … ?” she asked, dragging out the “i” sound, waiting for Nolan to complete her sentence.
Nolan sighed. “It’s Empathy.”
“Which allows me to do what?”
“Read people’s emotions. You will know if they are happy or sad, or anything else they are feeling.”
“Oh! That sounds fun!”
Nolan shook his head. It was probably the worst power, in Nolan’s opinion, for her. She already manipulated everyone she encountered.
“So how does it work?” She ran her hand under the beam of light and flinched when the light touched her.
“You need it higher, so you can submerge your body in the light; otherwise, it won’t work.”
She led her horse, circling the clearing. Occasionally, she would stop and examine a tree, then continue on. Nolan pried his eyes from Jezebelle and found Rikar. He stared at Nolan, his face in shock.
Blood of the Guardian Page 16
