Quinn reached from her father’s book that was clutched in Abbott’s hands. “There’s most likely something in there that will help. Perhaps some kind of way to reveal what magic artifacts do.” She skimmed through the book’s contents until stumbling across a section that matched their needs. “Reviela Walla,” she muttered with the edge of her lips. Abbott tore the spine from his hands.
“Revele Wala?”
“You’re saying it all wrong,” Quinn blurted out, “You don’t pronounce the L sound. It’s Revie-a Wa.”
As Quinn enunciated the second syllable, the carved markings ignited into a golden light and shone as bright as a star on their faces.
The stone finally revealed itself.
10
Edmund drifted through the landscapes of slumber.
The front door creaked open, startled him. It must be Abbott or their guests unpacking their luggage, he told himself. Travelers, no common courtesy at this late hour. Nonetheless, Edmund rolled over to a more comfortable spot, attempting to fall back asleep, but their voices continued to grow.
He lit the candlestick on his bedside table with a match and leaned upright in his bed. “You mind keeping it down a bit? I’m trying to sleep here." The talking ached his sore rib cage. He clutched it in agony to subdue the pain. His nightly sleeping draft had all but worn off at this point, and he didn’t possess the patience to rise and meet his guests.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
“If you have any questions about your room, please ask my son. He should be arriving home any minute,” Edmund said, smoothing the bandages around his sides from coming undone. The torture he had endured within his own body was enough to permit a bad temper. And with the added distractions, Edmund hardly had a chance at all to rest. “Patience,” he said in a subdued voice. “Lord help me.”
Once the noise reduced to a favorable minimum, Edmund found himself able to rest again. In the snowfall of his dreams, he meandered into cherished memories of his late wife.
A red rose sprouted from a field of clovers. Edmund heard her laugh, and it cured his unease. It was spring, and they were picnicking under a shady elm tree.
“Angelia?”
She stood up from her wool-patterned blanket resting over the countryside. “Come with me.”
“How?”
“You know the way,” she smiled as she reached for his hand. “Ed, follow me.”
“I can’t leave our son behind,” he said tearfully. Their hands fell through each other like they were part of two different worlds. Grief struck him down with all its might. He reached out to grasp her hand again but had the same results. Edmund’s wife was disappearing and he couldn't do anything to stop it. “Angelia? Don’t go.”
“Ed?”
“Don’t leave me again, please. Stay with me.” But she continued to diminish.
Edmund wept until he could no longer, and the elm tree started to disappear along with the rest of the dream.
Angelia was gone.
A noise spooked Edmund to an upright position. The candlestick had burnt to its base. It had been four hours since he lit it.
A creaky floorboard reverberated through the silent house.
Edmund’s rib cage put him in agony once more. “Abbott?” he murmured, looking towards his empty sitting chair. “Son?”
A sinister disdain instead meet his ears.
“No,” the voice said in response. “But that’s why we’re here.”
“Who are you?” Edmund said with eyesight compromised by drowsiness.
“Who we are, does not matter,” a cold voice rang. “What we want is far more pressing.”
The obscurities met Edmund at his bedside.
“But until we get what we came here for, you’re coming with us.”
Edmund could not dispute the order. Before his grogginess wore off, large hands gripped his shoulders and ripped him from the linens of his bed. He was drugged before there was a minute to think, and led out into the darkness as their prisoner.
There was something of unordinary occurrences dwelling within the stone. Quinn knew with absolute certainty as an aura whisked around the porous material into the form of a human being. The rising light of the sky was no match. The dew that drenched the environment reflected magnificently like liquid droplets of silver and gold. Together, they stood in nature’s treasure horde.
Abbott looked abstractly at the scenery. “What is it?”
“A Guardian!” Quinn blurted. She could barely hold back the spark igniting her. “We’re in for a treat!”
The Guardian whisked in the passing breeze and hummed like the crashing waves of the ocean's coast. It was unlike anything seen before their eyes. They could feel its presence fill them with hope like it pushed all of the bad things from their hearts.
“As if I’m supposed to understand what a Guardian is?” Abbott exclaimed, feeling left out. Martin’s journal lay open on the soil where Quinn dropped it in astonishment. Perhaps these pages would know what it is, Abbott told himself as he flipped through to find out. He planted his nose firmly between the scribbling only to have Quinn’s lengthy finger wiggled in to stop him.
“There!” she said. “It’s on this page. I’ve seen it before.”
Abbott fumbled back to where Quinn’s finger was and read what was on the page.
The Guardians of Evinar
Appearance: Unknown to me
Ancient magic. Classification: Rare
A guardian is rumored to be from the Far Country and often dwells inside an object. Although I have not come in direct contact with one personally, legend has it that Guardians come to the individual as a helper when a perilous journey lies ahead. They offer counsel to the chosen subject. “A gentle push in the proper direction”
The last recorded sighting was three centuries ago by Zane the Brave, the known conqueror of the Upper Kingdoms. The Guardian resided in the hilt of a broadsword founded in the Aryian Desert. Evidence from Zane’s tomb suggests the object was destroyed when those who wanted to cause ill harm discovered its secretive properties.
The Vail has swept the known landscape to find and collect all such artifacts so that there may not be another like Zane to overthrow their rule. The Weeping Woman might have discovered the secret. The broadsword has the power to heal and grant the person wielding it, the Divine Kingdoms. But there is a trade for life, the wielder must...
“It’s not finished,” Abbott said, observing the inkblot marking an interruption in the thought. “What’s the trade? A sword is the answer! And this thing can help us!”
“But, the sword was destroyed.”
“What if it’s not?”
The question posed an interesting idea in Quinn’s mind. She could see how Abbott was bursting out the seams with faith. “Do you have any idea what this all means?” she said. "a perilous journey lies ahead.”
The Guardian proceeded to float before them. Abbott was mesmerized by its appearance. “But I don’t understand. Why me? I’m not even from your world. Couldn’t it be you that it was meant for?”
“Magic doesn’t make mistakes,” Quinn said, pulling Abbott closer toward the aura, “I would assume Guardians don't either. But I believe if you asked it a question, it may give you an answer.”
The mere premise of Abbott being chosen by a Guardian was daunting. Who was the lady who gave it to him? And why of all the living people, as he picked for such a destiny? “What are you?” Abbott asked, unsure of what to say.
The warmth from the rising sun spread over their cheeks and the wind laid back their hair. The Guardian took the form of a woman dressed in a grown that dropped like liquid from her skin. A set of womanly hands carried by the wind rested over to Abbott’s shoulder. And a set of oval eyes stared into his soul.
“Quinn?” Ara said, attempting to reach out. She went unnoticed.
“I have waited a long time to meet you,” the Guardian’s opal skin dotted the rays like a speckled diamond. Her silver hair blew with the curr
ent of electricity, which radiated the essence of a luminary orb. She had candy red lips under a pair of turquoise eyes, an appearance that could bring any weathered man to his knees. “I’ve lain in the wake for many moons to warn you of what is to come. You are in mortal danger. An unknown enemy moves to strike you where you are venerable.”
“What enemy? Is it the men that are chasing me now?”
The Guardian’s eyes spun from Abbott and settled on Quinn. “I believe she understands what enemies lies lurking in the shadows.” The statement put a lump in her throat.
“But what has that got to do with me?”
“To halt an ancient foretelling—one you have been destined for at birth by your mother.”
“My mother?” the thought gave Abbott a headache. “How is that possible? What foretelling are you speaking of?”
Quinn stood mesmerized.
“Quinn, are you listening?” Ara attempted again. She shrieked in protest.
“Truly, truly I say to you when the skies burn with fire and the tower weeps, a sudden death shall set in motion an age of misfortune— the rise of a lost evil, if not for you, who can cause a world of light amidst the darkness.”
A prophecy. Exactly like the ones he read in books. But this time it was his prophecy, his adventure, his life on the line. It was all unsettling to comprehend. “Why would my mother sign me up for this? None of this makes any sense to me. Before tonight, I knew of none of this.”
The Guardian's form moved in the changing winds. “Some things are hidden to us until the time is right.”
“Quinn?” Ara said again, “Are you listening!”
“And if don’t succeed?” The question had to be asked, even to Abbott. Failure loomed on the back of his subconscious. He wasn’t in a position to be running off on quests and adventures. He wasn’t prepared for the ramifications it would cause in his own life, let alone, the life of his father. An ounce of fear changed into an ounce of aggression. And what of father’s life? Would his mother want me to abandon him to die?
“There is no other way. The foretelling has already been put into motion. Both worlds lie in the unbalance without you, and it can only be made right with you.”
“This stone was supposed to help me save my father, not tell me to save an entire world. I can’t do this—I won’t do this. If I leave my father now, he's as good as dead. What son would I be if I left my father to die?”
“A necessary sacrifice.”
“If my mother knew, then why isn’t she here to tell me now!” A rush of anger boiled over. “I cannot let him die! I don’t want to be part of this stupid prophecy. And I don’t care what happens. If he dies, then I have nothing to live for.”
“A sacrifice for you,” the Guardian explained.
“Abbott, you have to calm down. Give this some thought,” Quinn said, ignoring Ara once more. “There are much larger stakes here than we both can comprehend. The Guardian's right. If you don’t stop what’s going to happen, everyone's as good as dead. You don’t know what evil is capable of in Evinar. You’ve never heard the stories. You have to do this.”
“And let my father die?”
There was no response that Quinn could offer. It was true, and even she knew that.
“Quinn!” Ara came barreling through with wings spread ajar. “The Vailïc, they’ve found you both. They have taken his father with them. And your father— he’s… he’s dead. They stabbed him. The caravan has been set on fire!” she landed on Quinn’s arm to offer comfort, but Quinn found herself knocked to the ground.
“No!” she screamed, unable to believe what she was being told.
“What is it?” Abbott asked.
“They’ve— they’ve killed my papa!” she said, fighting back the tears. “He’s dead! And they’ve taken your father.” Quinn shooed Ara from her.
An iron fist punched the wind from Abbott’s lungs. “What!”
“They’ve taken him with them.” Agony filled Quinn’s voice.
“And more will die if you do not accept this fate,” the Guardian said in sorrow. “There is no other person who can save our world but you alone.”
He pounded the dirt in denial. That was it. There was no choice in the matter. His decision had been made for him. His father’s survival was all that mattered. Forget the prophecy, it was worthless if he had to suffer in the pursuit. No. His father needed him more than ever. That hadn’t changed— the circumstances of where and the direness, despite that, had.
“What must I do?” Abbott said, gritting his very teeth with balled-up fists, his worst fears came to light.
“Travel to Evinar,” the Guardian said. "Put right what has been wronged."
Quinn’s mourning ended as she wiped away the tears from her cheeks. “I’m going to kill them— kill them all.” Her heart had never been so dead set on a decision before. She saw white as revenge surged through her eyes, blacking any part of humanity inside. She was hellbent with vengeance. “I can show you the way to Evinar.”
The Guardian’s voice expired, and her silvery form whisked away back into the confines of the stone.
A fire burnt white-hot in both of their hearts fueled by separate motives. Abbott and Quinn understood that from this point forward they were on their own. No one was going to watch over them, no one would be there to help. Everything had to be done with their own blood, sweat, and tears.
And there would be blood.
Lots of it.
Quinn was certain of that.
11
Flames licked up the walls of the Bradbury house.
“Abbott!” Billy roared as smoke filled his lungs. "I have to help him."
The inferno burnt with a heat hotter than any summer's day. When Billy approached the front window to look inside, there was a loud bang! It sent shards of glass flying through the air, only just missing Billy. A tunnel of smoke billowed into the sky. It was in the shape of an old boot.
Billy circled the perimeter of the house, but it was unbearable to get any closer. He attempted to go through the front door. But the handle was a bright red and orange.
“Don’t be stupid!” Violet yelled, restraining him by the arm.
“What madness is this?” barreled a man racing down the gravel pathway, coughing in between his words. “Was this you boy? Did you start this fire?”
“No!” he pleaded, brushing the embers and broken glass from his olive coat. “No ones come out, I went to see if there was—“
“We think the master of the house may still be inside,” declared a voice in the gathering crowd. “Ve vere lodging vith them. Ve awoke and left before ve could know. It all happened so fast.”
A cloud of gossip spread as the mob grew in observation. The fire raged on. Under their breaths, they all prayed no trapped souls were still inside. It would be impossible to put the fire out.
Billy stood rooted to the spot. He could hear them starting to begin. Everyone would blame him. Orphans were always to blame when things went sour. Rumors crackled away like the flames as they made guilty verdicts, but he could hardly stand by as people looked to him with judgment. Why would he burn down the house of his best mate?
As the chatter continued, Billy began to hear something else speaking. He walked closer to the fire.
“What is it?” Violet said joining Billy’s side.
“Voices?” Billy said quietly as he searched through the fumes for an origin. “Can’t you hear them?”
“Hear what?”
“Darkness of the moon…come closer and we will show you.”
Chimneys lofted like crows into the air. They carried secrets messages of anguish and distress— a hissing coaxed Billy to come closer. And he did. The temperature of his clothes grew with unbearable heat. Air escaped his nose only to burn from to the back of his throat like a dragon breathing fire. But their cries, they were intoxicating.
“Come closer…we wish to show you something…surrender yourself.”
“What in heaven’s name a
re you doing!” Violet said slapping his brainwashed face. “Trying to kill yourself? You’re a rotten idiot!” If not for Violet, Billy would have thrown himself into the front window willingly.
In protest, the fire exploded in a fury of ruby fireballs sending Billy toppling over. It was then a member of the crowd came forward to say a few words unknown. She fought for a moment until the fire seemed as it was in this world. The voices disappeared. Ending the fire’s trance.
“Can you hear me?” Violet asked.
“I’ll take it from here,” said the woman who calmed the fire. “We need to move him somewhere else. They’re beginning to talk.” With no words of objection, they hauled Billy’s limp body into the woman’s tent while volunteers streamed to the Bradbury house with buckets of water to choke out the flames.
“Set him down there,” the woman said pointing at a lavender corduroy armchair.
The inside of her canvased living quarters was coated in amethyst shaded textiles and fabrics. A cluster of half-melted black candlesticks were positioned on an oak chest. They burnt brilliantly and with a deep yellowing light. There was quite the collection of precious stones arranged over a clear tabletop in the corner. They went according to height and color, weight, and value. Violet saw sapphires, labradorite, dalmatian stone, hematite, and other stones she did not know. The woman must have been a trader, or so she thought.
“I’m Rose,” the woman offered, collecting some herbs from a cupboard. A plume of silver hair curled above her head. It was pulled back in a thin piece of ribbon. Rose wore a slack quilted gown of floral patterns. Violet noticed she walked barefoot. “Don’t have to fear me. I only mean to help the poor boy.” The candlelight in the tent revealed a braided pendant around her neck. It was red jasper, Violet knew that certainty.
The Shadow of Our Stars: The Tales of Evinar Page 8
