Guardians (Seers Trilogy) (27 page)

“I would like to reply to his letter. I’ll write quickly, I promise.”

“Of course.”

He stood at once. “I haven’t anything to write with here. I’ll need to return to the house. But I feel terribly rude asking you to stay here alone.”

“Don’t. I’ll be fine.”

“I will hurry,” he assured me. He was already moving, walking briskly past the pews. I watched him until he disappeared behind the door. I heard his retreating footsteps, and then—aside from the growing stiffness in the wind—silence filled the steadily darkening church.

I
didn’t remain sitting
for long. I wandered over to one of the near windows, watched as the clouds thickened for the coming storm. I took in the beautiful countryside until it began to rain; the effect was both relaxing and melancholy, and I could only stand to watch the raindrops sliding down the glass for a short time.

I moved to the pulpit, opening the Bible to expose Pastor O’Donnell’s notes. I let my eyes run down the words he’d hand-written, skimming the markings and marginal notes without definite purpose. I’d read parts of the Bible, and though I was familiar with most of the popular stories, I’d never actually studied the words. My mother had read the New Testament daily, and I knew my father favored the Psalms and Proverbs. It seemed that Patrick’s father did as well.

He’d circled some of his favorite verses and my eyes were immediately drawn to one of them—Psalm 33:22. “Let thy mercy, O Lord, be upon us, according as we hope in thee.”

That seemed to fit perfectly with all this talk of trust and hope. I turned a small chunk of pages, almost excited when the next marked verse jumped out just as readily. “A soft answer turneth away wrath: but grievous words stir up anger” (Proverbs 15:1).

I had mixed feelings about this one. Sean’s face leapt immediately to mind; was this some kind of divine intervention? Was I supposed to see this verse because this was the way to help him? Should I put away my anger and treat Sean with sympathy and love? I wondered if that was humanly possible. It was the age-old moral, to love your enemy. Could I do that after everything Sean had done to me personally? To those I loved?

I turned a single page, still feeling troubled. Proverbs 16:25 fell into view. The words were ominous and made my arms feel strangely heavy. “There is a way that seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death.”

Right on cue, the first boom of thunder shuddered nearby. I jumped, my hand jerking harshly against the edge of the podium, earning my palm a shallow scratch. But even without the theatrical emphasis of the thunder and the sting of pain, the verse was haunting. I don’t know why the words seared into my mind so completely. They didn’t seem to have anything I could relate to, unlike the other scriptures. And yet . . . It seemed eerily prophetic.

The mission to assassinate the Demon Lord seemed like the right thing to do. But it would lead to death. Maybe one day he would be a horrible enemy of good, but when the Demon Lord was killed, he would be a frightened little kid. Could that possibly be the right path to take? Ensuring the death of an innocent child? And what of all the repercussions? Would his death lead to other deaths? Or would the people he killed come back to life? Would my grandpa come back?

The door to the church opened—a gust of wind blew in, whipping some of the pages closed. I looked up to see Pastor O’Donnell, dripping wet and still in his black robe. His was breathless from running. “My family believes me to be insane . . . I’m sorry for how dark it is.”

“It’s fine.” I stepped away from the Bible, away from the words that kept playing over in my mind.

We met in front of the first row of pews and he handed me a sealed envelope. There was something small and heavier than paper inside, but my fingers didn’t investigate the curiosity because he was speaking. “I apologize for keeping you so long. There was so much to say . . .”

“I understand. And it wasn’t any trouble. No one will be missing me.”

“Really?” he asked, water dripping from the tip of his chin. “How do you mean?”

“It’s instantaneous for them. I’m gone and back in the same second.”

“How amazing.” He exhaled loudly, trying to slow the low panting as he reached to take my free hand. His rough palm rubbed against my smoother fingers. “I’m grateful for you, Kate. I will continue to pray for you.”

An unbidden smile twitched the corner of my mouth. “Actually, I was hoping you might say one of those prayers with me now.”

He bowed his head. “As you wish.”

We didn’t bother to sit down, and he didn’t release my hand. Our eyes squeezed closed. He began to pray.

Unlike last time, when I’d been so overwhelmed by so many emotions, I tried to listen to every word Pastor O’Donnell said. He began by addressing God as if He were a dear friend he respected greatly. His words were comforting and warm, as deep and meaningful as I remembered. His tone of voice changed as his words became especially personal. “Bless thy daughter Kate as she goes through these horrible trials. Let her know of thy love and the love of her departed loved ones. Let her know her strengths, her wonderful potential.” He paused briefly, nearly overcome with emotion. “Please, dear Father, be with my sons. Bless and watch over them. Let them know how fortunate they are to have Kate in their lives. Help Patrick as he protects her, and bless Sean in his darkest night to see hope again.”

He was quiet for at least a full minute. His hand was shaking. I tried to steady him by flexing my fingers around his. I don’t know if I helped or not, but he was speaking again—not as surely as before, as if he wasn’t positive of the words. As if they came from somewhere else. “Bless Kate in her coming trials. Let her have the courage she will need. Keep her faith strong as it is tested. When she sees death next—no matter how many times—let her understand that thy ways are higher than our ways. Bless her to make wise choices, for she will be influencing so many lives.” Another pause. “And bless Patrick that he will not blame himself for the things to come. Let him know, as Kate knows, that all will be resolved in the end.”

I didn’t like the sound of this. The things he was saying, the blessings he was imparting . . . They were as ominous as the scripture I’d read. At the same time, there was comfort; I was beginning to feel less frightened of the future. More prepared to face whatever was coming. The only thing that had me aching was the thought of more deaths.
Please,
I prayed silently.
I can’t lose anyone else. Please . . .

Pastor O’Donnell finished his prayer. I’d missed the end, but I didn’t mind. I don’t think I could have taken much more foreshadowing. His grip on my hand tightened, and then he impulsively pulled me into a firm embrace. His strong arms reminded me so much of my father, my breath was stolen.

“I love you, Kate. I thank God for the chance I had to know you.”

Had?
I thought mentally, a second too late. I could feel myself beginning to fade. I was being pulled back. I willed myself to stay, but it took a lot of concentration. “I have to go,” I said into his shoulder.

He nodded against me. “I know. Godspeed, Kate.”

“Thank you for everything. I love you too . . . Dad.” I don’t know what possessed me to add the last part. But his aura showed me that he was pleased. It was the last thing I saw. His arms evaporated around me, and I was falling. The sounds of the storm vanished. My eyes were already rolling back into my head.

Patrick grunted as he caught me, his words already trailing away into my dreams. “I’ve got you, Kate. I’ve got you . . .”

***

I
knew I was
in the warehouse long before I opened my eyes. I could hear the echo that filled the spacious room, ringing off the ceiling and walls as Toni talked easily.

“I mean, come on man, just once. You can watch me the whole time!”

“You’re fast, Toni. Too fast.” Patrick sounded amused but adamant. He was also right beside me; that was the most important thing.

“I wouldn’t steal from my best friend, all right? I want to see what it looks like on me!”

“Don’t you have anyone else you can bother?”

“There’s no one else I’d rather bother.”

“That’s supposed to make me feel loved?”

“Definitely. So! How much longer, do you think? She’s already been out . . . three hours longer than the others.”

“She’ll be awake soon,” Patrick assured him, unworried.

“You sound a bit chipper about the whole thing.”

“This is a lot better than last time.”

“I can imagine . . . When’s she going to wake up?”

“Toni—”

“I’m awake,” I groaned, peeling my eyes open to stare blearily up at Toni, who was sitting near my feet.

He grinned. “Kate! Welcome back.”

Patrick’s hand brushed my arm. I rolled my head to meet his stare. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Yeah. I think my body knew what to expect this time.” I pushed up into a sitting position, grateful for Patrick’s supporting hand against my back. I glanced around the room, noting we were the only ones present. “All the others made it back?” I asked.

Toni nodded. “Yep. They were only out for about an hour and a half.”

Apparently they’d already cleaned up their mattresses too; we’d laid them out before the lesson began, knowing we’d need a place to rest and readjust to our proper time.

Patrick was rubbing my back absently. “How long did you stay?”

“Almost an hour this time, I think.”

Toni whistled lowly. “It’s almost creepy, you know that? Knowing you could go back and watch my death or something. Eerie.”

“Toni?”

“Patty, you need to learn some new words.”

“Like, ‘go away, Toni’?”

“I think you mastered those too.”

“Please?” I put in. “Can you call my grandma and let her know everything went okay?”

He sighed deeply before standing. “If I must, I must.”

“You must,” Patrick said.

Toni stuck his tongue out at his partner before spinning on his heel and marching toward the double doors.

I twisted around and Patrick’s hand fell from my back. I sat with crossed legs, facing Patrick where he sat. I immediately noticed the envelope from his father, the flap lifted partially. “You read it?”

His head dipped once. “Yes. Have you?”

“No. He wrote it in the house.” I hesitated. “He let me read yours, though,” I admitted at last.

He almost smiled. “I knew he would.”

“You’re not upset?”

An eyebrow rose. “Should I be?”

“No, of course not.” My fingers wandered to his and he scooped them up easily. “The things you said . . . they were beautiful. Thank you.”

His cheeks glowed with color. “They were still inadequate.” He released his breath and lifted the envelope, passing it to me.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

He nodded. “Very.”

I had to pull my fingers away from his to take the envelope, and the action applied pressure to the thin cut on my palm. I winced, fingers flinching back from the discomfort reflexively.

“What?” Patrick asked, brow furrowed.

“It’s just a scratch,” I assured him, bringing my palm up for closer inspection. The cut was pink and thin, curved at the end, like a sharp hook.

Patrick leaned in, his hand gently reaching to curl carefully around my wrist. I let him get a good look at the light graze, but my tone was dismissive. “It’s not bad. I’d just forgotten about it. I got it from your dad’s podium.”

He shook his head slightly, but he wasn’t disagreeing with my analysis—he was just marveling. “It’s so strange. I know you were there, but . . . this is physical evidence. It’s almost absurd.” He frowned, perhaps bothered that injury was possible in the past.

I spoke to pull him away from that line of thought, before he could get lost in needless worry. “Your dad’s letter wasn’t evidence enough?” I asked him.

Patrick released his grip on my hand. “It’s just weird for me. To picture you there, where I was all along. In a church that was probably destroyed over a hundred years ago.”

“You don’t know that.”

He shrugged a little but didn’t bother to voice his opinion.

Duly prompted, I turned my attention back to the envelope. I slipped out the letter, my fingertips knowing instantly that this paper was special. From a different age. An object was pulled out along with the folded page. It was golden and would have fallen to the floor if Patrick’s hand hadn’t flashed out to catch it. I set aside the envelope and he dropped the object onto my palm.

It was an intricately decorated ring. The metal was scratched, indicating its considerable age. It was in impressive condition, notwithstanding it had just jumped two centuries.

“The family ring,” Patrick told me. “In the family since the late 1500s. One of my regrets was never knowing what happened to it. I understood why he didn’t give it to me before the war, but I never saw him give it to Sean, during the time I spent with him as a Guardian. Now I know why I never saw it—he’d already given it to you.”

“To you,” I disagreed. I lowered the letter to my bent leg and wriggled my free fingers, urging him to give me his hand. He rolled his bright eyes, allowing me to slip ring onto his middle finger. “It’s a little big,” I stated unnecessarily.

“The O’Donnells used to be sturdier men, I guess.”

“Is that a cross on it?” I asked, focusing on the design beyond the scuff marks.

He nodded. “It’s a family tradition to be religious.” He tossed his chin toward the letter. “Are you going to read it?”

I gave him a frown for rushing this special moment but obediently picked it up, sensing he’d suffered enough attention for the moment. I pulled back the stiff folds and started to read. I sensed Patrick shift over to sit beside me on the mattress, his arm coming around to support me as he read over my shoulder.

My Dearest Patrick,

I will follow your example by first reminding you of my ever-present love. My heart is full of many emotions, but my love is most prominent of all. I am still unsure of all the things I will eventually say to you, to succeed in driving you away. I want you to know without a doubt that I didn’t mean any of them. From what Kate tells me, the words will be strong and hard to forgive. But I hope you will find it in your heart to do so.

Kate is a marvelous young woman. Treasure her always. When you said she was your heaven, I believe you were absolutely right. I am comforted to know you have someone so wonderful, so full of love, to share your life with. Though it pains me to know I shall never again see you in person, I feel a measure of the joy you must feel, being in her world. I am forever grateful for that, as I know your mother will be when I eventually share these things with her.

The news of Sean’s fate troubles me deeply. I am at a loss for what I should say to you about this issue. Though I know you have every right to hate him, after all he has done to you, Kate, and so many others, I feel urged to remind you that he is your brother. You cannot hate what you love. I know these words seem foolish, but there is truth therein. Instead of hate, I would have you choose to love him. Nurture that love until only love remains. Perhaps I am preaching again—it is Sunday. But you knew that. You were late again. Maybe that’s why today stuck out in your mind. For all I know, you may have remembered my strange behavior. Running in from the church after being in there for near a half hour—only to dash upstairs to my study and then eventually run back out into the pouring rain.

I cannot seem to focus my thoughts. I would apologize, but you know it happens to me frequently. I hope you will allow me my dose of senility. I do not wish to keep Kate waiting for long. So I will suffice myself by once again expressing my love, and I appreciate all of the choices and sacrifices you will make. I hope you are remembering to pray. There is One who understands all your needs. I would hope that I taught you enough that you would go to Him. You have many worries on your shoulders, and though I wish I could meet with you face-to-face, help is never far. Remember that.

My family has always been my greatest earthly treasure, and I am comforted to know you understand the worth of love.

I would love to hear from you again, Patrick. Until such a time as that is possible, I will rest in the knowledge that you are well, happy, and loved. And not just by Kate.

My deepest love forever,

Da