Guardian's Faith

by Jacqueline Rhoades

  Off to the right, she could see newer homes built of wood and brick with more modern style, though none looked newer than mid-twentieth century.

  The dirt road they traveled became gravel and then pavement worn to gray and took them to a crossroad which had to be 'Main Street'. It ended in a large square surrounding a central fountain. Beyond the fountain stood the village church, small and homely looking with an arch at the peak of its low roof that should have held a bell in its hollow center. Two plain wooden windows flanked the huge double doors.

  "You have a church? A priest?" she asked with her fingers in front of Diego's face.

  "Once, long ago, but no more," he answered.

  Diego didn't take them to the square, but turned down a narrow street and stopped before the third house in. It was pleasant looking house with a small fenced front yard filled with flowers, a stone walkway that led to a vine covered veranda and a bright blue front door.

  Diego knocked gently and opened the door. "Señora," he called softly as he stepped inside, "Señor?"

  Faith followed him in and was assailed by a wave of nausea and dizziness that had her closing her eyes and reaching for the wall to steady herself. In sharp contrast to the sweet and refreshing smell of the flowers outside, the house had an acrid odor that was all too familiar to her. This house smelled of rot and death. The ever open door in her mind beckoned her to come in and escape the memories those odors brought with them.

  Faith refused the offer. She was a Daughter of Man and no longer a weak and foolish farm girl easily betrayed by evil. She couldn't fight the damage done by those demons, but this was not demon borne. This was an evil she had the power to fight.

  The woman who greeted them was red eyed from crying, her face ravaged from tears and sorrow and at first, Faith thought they might be too late. The woman hugged Diego and buried her face in his hair for a moment before she spoke.

  "I'm glad you came. He was asking for you this morning."

  "I've brought a friend who might be able to help," the boy said once the woman had pulled away.

  Goyo's mother, who had not previously noticed the girl standing in the doorway behind Diego, now eyed Faith suspiciously with a hard and blank face. "We have no money," she said bluntly.

  "No, no, Señora, she comes from the Patron. He sent her," Diego lied. "Her name is Faith; Fe, confianza en Dios. Surely she could not be bad."

  Faith didn't argue with the boy's lie or his definition of her name, though she wasn't sure how much confidence she had in God anymore or He in her. She reached out and grasped the woman's cold and callused hand, squeezing it tightly for a moment before letting it go and signing.

  "I want nothing and I can't promise anything except that I will not harm him. Please Señora, let me see your son."

  The woman stared at her hand for a moment and then at Faith. She slowly nodded, turned, and led the way to the room at the back of the house where the sick boy lay.

  The odor was stronger here and it was clear the boy was slowly dying. His face had a yellowish cast and the skin hung loosely from his bones. Faith knelt beside the bed and pulled the light blanket down from where it was tucked up around the boy's shoulders. She lifted his shirt to find the injury just as Diego described.

  Goyo's abdomen was distended and discolored, no longer centered in a spot to one side; the whole area was now involved.

  Faith closed her eyes and called up the golden light to her fingertips and ran them lightly over the area on the side, right below the ribs where Diego told her the boy was kicked. She had no formal training in human anatomy. What she knew came mainly from the butchering of animals and even that came at a distance. She and the other women cut and wrapped the muscle and organ meats while the men did the real butchering.

  But her fingers knew. They gently pushed and probed, ignoring the groans of the unconscious boy and the whimpering cries of his mother. They found the tender place where the original trauma was centered, not below the ribs, but up under them. She felt the glow from her fingertips enter the boy and begin to work its magic repairing the damage, closing off the torn areas little by little and sealing the spots where fluids oozed.

  She had never delved so deeply into someone's body before. She'd healed surface cuts and broken bones, but had never seen anything as extensive as this.

  The boy's pain seeped into her own belly until she buckled with it and had to sit back on her calves and lower her head to the mattress. Her hand stayed where it was, the golden light spreading along the boy's insides, clearing away the infection and secondary damage.

  The door in her mind was wide open and her inner voice screamed at her to seek refuge there from the pain. Run! Hide before the pain became too great! Faith shook her head, silently screaming her refusal. To run meant leaving this boy behind. She had left too many behind her in the past. This pain was no worse than what she'd felt before. Now, it had a purpose. She could and would endure it.

  The light and the pain grew and Faith knew she had done enough. She tried to pull her hand away, but couldn't. It was as if she'd become permanently attached to Goyo's flesh. The pain had become so debilitating she no longer had the strength to break the connection.

  Vaguely, she heard a commotion from the front of the house, heard shouting and a woman's scream before the door behind her burst open and a man's voice roared her name. Faith could make no sense of any of it. All that was left of her was the light and the pain.

  She was torn from the floor and the boy and with the breaking of the connection, her body stiffened and then curled into itself in an explosion of agony. There was no longer a reason to remain outside her protective room. Desperately she searched her mind for the door, but when she found it, it remained closed. She pounded her fists against it, begging for entrance, to no avail.

  Strong arms encompassed her, holding her close and filling her with warmth. His voice, gentle and kind, reached her from very, very far away. It offered her the same silent refuge as her room and she buried herself in the sound of it.

  "Stay with me, little hummingbird. Don't go away. You've come too far to give it up now. I'm here. You're safe. I'll keep you from harm."

  *****

  It was dark, but Faith knew it was broad daylight outside. The room was too hot with the windows closed and the covers were too heavy. Nights were cooler. She pushed the covers down to her waist and forced her eyes to stay open. Someone was in the room with her. She could hear their slow and steady breathing from the corner of the room.

  "Did you come here to die? Is that why you came?" A tall, dark body rose from the chair in that same corner. "It's not enough that you turn my household upside down? You have to commit suicide, too? What were you thinking?"

  The little yellow cat also leapt from the place where it had been sleeping by her side and hissed defensively. The tiny terror had been dubbed Dito by Adam as a shortened form of maldito gato! -damn cat!- which was what Álvaro called it constantly. He and the cat were still at war and the cat was winning. No matter how many times the Vigilante locked it out, the cat always found its way back in.

  Once Dito realized no harm was meant, she curled back into her comfortable ball.

  "Lucien?" Faith tried to sit up and fell back on her pillow. "Goyo?" Her fingers fumbled with the names. Her stomach felt like she'd been beaten and she was a little nauseous.

  "No! Do not move," Lucien ordered, coming immediately to her side. "Goyo is fine. Healing. But you? You almost died, you foolish girl. What in blazes were you trying to do?"

  In contrast to his angry words, his hands were gentle as he raised her head and slid another pillow beneath it. He pressed his lips to her forehead and then chuckled when her eyes snapped open.

  "My mother used to check for fever that way. Do you do it differently?"

  "Thermometer," she whispered, embarrassed by her reaction and the pleasure she felt from his lips.

  "Ah." He nodded. "I'll ask Agdta to fetch us one from the druggist." He poured so
me water from a pitcher by the bed. "Drink," he ordered as he held the glass to her lips.

  He watched her fever cracked lips drink from the glass. He'd been watching her from the chair in the corner for two nights and two days, rising each time she moved. He'd held her when her fever rose and bad dreams tortured her. He'd watched her belly blacken and stormed around the room when he couldn't do anything to stop it. Helplessness did not sit well with Lucien ad Toussaint who was used to being in control and in charge.

  "Why? Why would you do such a stupid, stupid thing?" he asked, his anger coming back full force.

  "Did you get sick as a child? I didn't think the Paenitentia did."

  Lucien threw up his hands. "You almost died and you want to know if I had measles as a child?"

  Faith nodded and closed her eyes. "Tell me about when you were a boy."

  "I was wrong, wasn't I?" Lucien asked as he pulled his chair closer to the side of the bed. "You didn't run away from Lord Canaan's House. They packed you in my van and sent you here to get rid of the cause of the craziness that plagues their House. It was you who drove them crazy, wasn't it?"

  "No, that was Dov and Col," she said and smiled weakly at her joke. "Tell me about your life as a boy, about your parents." Faith closed her eyes.

  Lucien settled into the chair and covered her hand with his. "I'm not sure I remember. It was a very long time ago, hummingbird." He hadn't thought about those days in years.

  "You remember, Lucien. You can't fool me." she told him, "You remember it all."

  How easily she read him. He did remember. He remembered it all as if it was yesterday.

  He remembered his mother with her long piped curls hanging over her shoulder as was the fashion. He remembered the Arabian horse called Caliph that she would ride like the wind in spite of her long skirts and side saddle. He remembered her red landau carriage.

  "My father grumbled every time he saw that carriage. A proper carriage was black, you see. My mother would laugh at him and tell him if he wanted a proper lady, he should have mated one of those insipid misses at the enclave. He would laugh with her and tell her he preferred his gatita, his kitten, with claws. He would pull her to him and whisper in her ear and she would laugh and blush and ask him if she was worth her red carriage. Always, he would answer, forever and always."

  "They loved each other," Faith said, eyes still closed, but smiling softly. She liked a good love story.

  "They did," he said sadly. "This was her land, you know, her hacienda through her father's line. Her people originated in Spain and had been here for hundreds of years. My father was a French interloper. That's what he always called himself, but he was a great Guardian and Liege Lord. There were never fewer than six Guardians in his House."

  "So, this wasn't the House of Guardians?"

  "No, though the Guardians came here often enough. My mother was a great one for parties and celebrations. Any excuse would do. The old House was built at a point central to the triangle formed by the hacienda, the village and the Paenitentia enclave. It was partially destroyed when my father died. When I took over, I moved the House here. I was the only one left, you see, and since I had no plans to mate, it only made sense."

  Faith wanted to ask how his father died. What happened to his mother? Agdta said there was a sister who lived in Europe and who never returned once she was sent away to school. Why would she leave her brother here alone? She wanted to ask, but she didn't because she understood the look on his face.

  Lucien sat silently with his eyes closed and his face blank. He, too, had places in his mind where he hid the memories that were too painful to look at.

  "How long have you been Liege Lord of this House?" she asked gently, pulling him back from that sad place.

  "One hundred and sixty-two years," Lucien said and then he smiled to wipe away the worried look he saw on her face. "I told you I was an old man."

  Paenitentia children aged a little slower than human children. Then, when they reached full maturity at around twenty-five, the aging process slowed dramatically to the equivalent of about ten to twelve human years to one year of theirs.

  Faith was never very good at math, but Lucien looked about forty. Still, a hundred and sixty two years was a long time to be alone.

  "You're not so old, Lucien, and you're not alone anymore," she added without thinking.

  "A Guardian should always walk alone," he said and then he patted the hand he'd been holding when her stomach growled. "A sure sign you're on the mend. I'll tell Agdta you're ready for something to eat."

  "I can get up, Lucien. I'll be all right now." It had never taken this long for her to recover, but she'd never treated an injury or illness so severe.

  "No! You will stay in this bed until I say you can get up," he ordered and tapped his forefinger on the bed, "and once you are up, you and I will have a talk about what happened in that house and how it will never happen again."

  He kissed her forehead once more, not temperature taking this time, and left the room. Faith's hand absently found Dito's head and began to scratch while the cat purred.

  'Never to mate.' More and more, Faith was coming to believe that she was here for Lucien, but she still didn't understand why. Those words offered some relief from the fear that she would be expected to go in a direction she simply couldn't.

  She was attracted to him. Who wouldn't be? As Manon said, he was a handsome man and now that Faith knew he wasn't cold or heartless at all, it made him even more attractive, but that was something she could keep to herself. Lucien wouldn't see her in that way at all and he was too much the gentleman to see her as a convenient bed partner. It made things so much less complicated.

  Her stomach growled again and she laughed when Dito looked as if it might be a threat and growled back. The nausea had passed and Faith was now more than just hungry. She was ravenous. If she hurried, she would have time to get a quick shower and get to the kitchen before Agdta loaded her tray.

  Outside the door, Lucien listened to her jump out of bed. A drawer opened and closed and then another. When he heard the water running, he knew exactly what she was doing and he shook his head. She wasn't going to listen to him any more than that cat listened to Álvaro, any more than his mother listened to his father. She even addressed him by his given name without putting a title before it. That was something no one but his sister had done and then, only in her letters. Somehow, it sounded right coming from Faith.

  Maybe Álvaro was right. He was beguiled by the girl. That was twice he'd spoken to her of things he hadn't talked about in years.

  The sound of the running water changed and he knew she'd stepped into the shower. He shook his head again, this time to clear it of the image that was forming and withdrew his father's watch from his vest pocket. He would have time for a shower of his own before breakfast was served; a cold shower.

  He was so intent on getting to his shower he never realized that only once during their conversation had Faith used her hands to speak.

  Chapter 13

  "Are you sure?"

  The brujo stroked the head of the brown rat he held in his palm. The creature seemed to like it and he moved his finger to scratch behind her ear. The research behind Stockholm Syndrome began with rats as did most other behavioral research. Rats were the ultimate survivors and the world owed them so much, yet their presence still made people squeamish.

  He had his back to the speaker and the black robes swirled around his soft soled boots when he spun to face the man. The movement of the fabric and the silence of his feet gave the illusion of him hovering a few inches above the ground. The man flinched at the sight of his pet and the brujo smiled. Illusion and fear were powerful weapons and he used both to his advantage.

  The ends of the black silk cord tied loosely around his waist clattered when he stopped, drawing attention to the ornaments that hung from them. The most prominent was a long thin knife fashioned from hematite buffed to a glossy black and cold to the touch. Three dark red r
ubies dotted the haft, their tear drop shape symbolic of the blood that was shed in the name of the cause. It was the more dramatic of the two ornaments, but not the most important. That was the small, circular mirror encased in a frame of the same mineral.

  There was a threat in his question and as he moved forward, the informant stepped back. The brujo smiled with satisfaction though in the deep shadows of the robe's hood, no one would see.

  "Well?" he said roughly, regretting once more the loss of his smooth voice. He gently returned the rat to her cage and fed her a tidbit from the wooden bowl beside it.

  "I saw it with my own eyes, Señor. I saw the boy within an hour of her visit. She did what you could… chose not to," he amended quickly.

  The brujo ignored the man's slip of the tongue only because the news delighted him. He'd had his eye on another, but if the rumors were true, this one could be the one he was searching for. This one could be the key to the power for which he'd been searching for over a hundred years.

  If she was powerful enough to bring a boy back from the brink of death, she would be more powerful than any bruja this place had seen since his unfortunate accident. She could do for him what all the others could not. She could heal him and return him to what he once was.

  His father had called them witch women, spawns of the Devil, and had had no qualms about the torture and sacrifice of the evil creatures when the religious held their campaigns against them. He'd no doubt done his share of torturing, too. It was, after all, no more than they deserved. The Daughters of Man had suffered nothing in comparison to the penance paid by his Paenitentia brethren.

  The brujo did not agree with his father in this. He didn't see these women as evil, but as tools of power like the sacrificial knife at his side and the mirror. There were differences, however. The knife and mirror couldn't be replaced. His father had taught him that. His father had also taught him how to call the demons and make them do his bidding, but that was only after he'd committed the unpardonable sin. As much as the brujo appreciated his father's support, he would still make him pay for that.