Lark Rising (Guardians of Tarnec) (14 page)

“We of Tarnec are the Keepers of Balance. Ages ago amulets were placed in our care for this purpose—four amulets signifying the primal forces: a shell for Death, a stone to represent Dark, a blade of gold for Light.…” He paused. “And this.”

The king released my hand, and there in my palm danced a whole sphere—crystal, with blue, gold, and green threads
weaving through it. It was an apparition only, but I felt from it a tiny pulse, a tug of energy. I grinned up at him. It was beautiful.

“The orb,” he said. “The amulet of Life.”

“These—the primal forces are in your care?” I asked.

He smiled again. “
Balance
is in our care. We cannot hold Life, Death, Dark, or Light any more than you can lift a mountain or gather the sea. But we hold these amulets safe in our possession, deep within our castle walls, so that the four forces remain equally charged, and equally neutral.” There his smile faded, and he said gravely, “It is the Keepers’ birthright and eternal duty to protect this Balance. Because, my dear, if Balance is ruptured, then the cycles are broken, distorted. In other words: devastation.”

The king closed my fingers over my palm, and the sphere was snuffed. I was stunned at how empty my hand now felt. “But an
entire
kingdom,” I blurted, disappointed, “pledged to the safekeeping of an orb, a shell, a stone, and a blade? Why, then, do you look to me?”

There was a shifting of weight in some of the Riders. I saw the king’s eyes unconsciously flick to the empty chair beside him.

“We are not infallible, young Lark. Size may well belie power.” His voice saddened. “A simple-seeming arrangement, true, but understand this: while we protect, there are those who seek to destroy—who wish to manipulate Balance and bring full destruction to our world.”

The Troths.

The king said softly, “No, my dear, Troths are merely foot soldiers of a greater power.”

I stared in shock, looked away to the others. Wine had been brought after the king’s request, was being served. The Rider with the tawny eyes and molten bronze hair passed my cup to me; the king accepted his from Dartegn. Neither of us drank. “What can be greater than the Troths’ ferocity?” I finally asked.

“Ferocity is not the truest threat; the threat is the intent behind the ferocity,” the king murmured. “A
choice
of malice—that is the greater power.” And then with a resigned sigh, as if loosing a tremendous weight into the Great Hall, he said, “That, my dear, defines the Breeders.”

“What—what are the Breeders?” Even the name thrust a dark chill into the room.

“Our nemesis, Lark, our greatest threat. Chaos is the opposing force of Balance, and the Breeders of Chaos work to spread such force just as the Keepers of Balance seek to hold against it. As it is our task to preserve, theirs is to destroy: take what we have, rend the Balance, and watch us die or distort into something unrecognizable. A cunning, malevolent power they are, akin to us in form, opposed to us in purpose. Beyond the Myr Mountains—beyond what is known—lies the Waste, realm of the Breeders. It is doom and madness; it is what they intend for our world—to consume us with. They match us in strength; they never rest in their effort to foment Chaos within and around us. We are locked in endless struggle.…”

The words trailed away and the king’s eyes drifted from my
face. At length, he took a sip from his goblet for fortification, and I saw for what seemed the first time how extremely fragile he was, watching his thin hand trembling with its weight.

The king recognized his feebleness. He sat up straighter and cleared his throat. “While Tarnec holds the amulets, the world is safe. But Tarnec was breached and the amulets stolen, Lark, ripped most cruelly from us by a single Breeder. Now we all stand to suffer, unless they can be brought back. They
must
be brought back.”

My own goblet was trembling; I set it down. “And I am a part of this?”

“More than any Keeper.” The king looked down at me again with his sad smile. “Lark, do you understand why the Troths attack Merith?”

I could answer this. “Because we are near Dark Wood, because we have no weapons and are far from—”

“That is not the reason.”

“And, we have not yet learned the correct defense. There is something about color—”

“That is neither the reason. The Troths attack Merith because they are
told
to attack Merith, Lark. They look for you.”

“No.” I stood quickly. “No.”

“Lark.”

“No.”
It was petulant; I was like Min again, I knew, like a child. “
Please
. I accepted my summons—that I was bound to venture forth for help. But you cannot also place in my hands the burden of the Troths’ cruelty! Please do not do so!”

“Lark.” It was a command. I had to stop, to sit once more.
I waited furiously for him to speak, my breath making impatient little snorts while the king took time choosing his words.

“We are entrusted with Balance, and yet we are but
Keepers
, Lark. While we can protect Tarnec, protect what houses the amulets, we cannot protect the amulets themselves. Yet”—he leaned a little closer—“there are four who can. Four descendants of Tarnec, to whom the amulets ‘speak’—four who alone may find the amulets should they be lost, who alone may carry them, hold them in their grasp, and who alone can return them to their rightful place in Tarnec.”

The king paused a moment before adding solemnly, “They are the Guardians of Tarnec, awakened only when such crisis demands.”

Then, with that hint of sadness, he repeated it: “One Guardian connected with one amulet … 
Only
when crisis demands.” He looked over at the empty chairs along the wall. “We have not needed the Guardians in a very long time.”

I watched, dreading how his eyes moved from the chairs to me, dreading that he sat up a little taller, a little more commanding. I whispered, “And now you say I am needed.”

“Yes, I say it. You might have lived your life peacefully unaware of this calling, but crisis demands. You, young Lark, are one of these four Guardians; you are the first of these four. You are our Guardian of Life.”

Guardian. The Guardian of Life. I could only stare as he spoke the words.

“I will not say we knew it would be you, for on purpose we scattered our people, left little trace of lineage and of destiny,
trusting that the Guardians will rise when needed.” His eyes crinkled a bit. “You wonder why we did not keep everyone here, that Tarnec is strong. But even Balance must be balanced, for concentrating power in one place only weakens the whole. So, through village, through town, Keepers were spread as allies to Tarnec, as were those in whose line is destined a Guardian.”

“My mother was a Guardian? My grandmother?” How could it be—how could I not know this?

He shook his head. “The line that I speak of is the extraordinary connection that links a Guardian to her amulet, her primal force. You know this, Lark, you’ve felt this connection all your life. The Earth speaks to you; creatures speak to you. But, no, it is not a direct bloodline, for then it would be too easy for the Breeders to track you.”

“And they cannot track the bloodline of the Guardians, so instead kill indiscriminately,” I whispered. How many villagers had Merith alone lost?

His gaze did not falter. “Our task, Lark, is to protect the amulets. To this end, of our people and creatures we may ask for sacrifice.” And then he said harshly, “Understand this, Lark: innocents will be killed. Allies of Tarnec, all living things, are at risk as they offer us help. We know this; we allow this.
Regardless
of the sacrifice,” he repeated, “the amulets must be protected, returned,
balanced
, or our world will be destroyed.”

We sat for a while in silence. The fires roared, rippling their dancing light across the tapestries, across the stage, making the wine sparkle. I could have been alone, hushed as it was. I wondered at their fortitude, in the face of this horrible news, these
men and women standing so simply, so quietly, for so long a time. Perhaps it was a strength of these Riders of Tarnec and their loved ones—a strength of all Keepers of Balance—this acceptance of sacrifice. I did not possess it.

The king was weary, troubled, maybe, as I was. He said, “The Breeders would not unwittingly kill the Guardians, Lark, for they need them as we do. Instead, they spy, stir up fear. They manipulate, and weaken, and erase the Keepers and their allies as they can, looking to
find
the Guardians and separate them, not obliterate them. They need the amulets destroyed in order to unleash permanent Chaos on the rest of the world. Only the Guardians can do that.”

“We can destroy what we are born to protect? Why?”

The king’s eyes only flickered, but I found myself looking again at the empty chair beside him. He said it slowly: “We are all at the mercies of our own frailties. Choices are not always made with clear mind and heart.”

There was a change then; the king made to rally. “Lark, truths reveal themselves in time. It is enough to know that the Breeders found their opportunity to steal the amulets. With Balance undone, Breeders’ powers are no longer in check. They will toy with us now.…”

Toy
. Brahnt had used that same word, as if we were there for Breeders’ whimsical pleasure.

“It will begin with small rifts of Nature, or the vicious attacks,” he was saying, “as you’ve already witnessed. Uncontrollable things, things to frighten and instill unease in an innocent population. It will lead to worse—as fear and anxiety grow,
so too will anger, and then violence among ourselves. Breeders can plant such seeds and cultivate the madness. But … for Chaos to triumph, the amulets must be destroyed. They need the Guardians for that, just as we need the Guardians to bring the amulets home.”

He looked at me then. “Lark, you are the first of the Guardians to be sought, for the Life amulet was the first forged, the necessary foundation for the other primal forces. You were awakened for this.”

The king paused, then said formally, “Lark, Guardian of Life, will you reclaim your amulet?”

My eyes were wide. “I have no experience in battle.”

“No? You fight for Balance every day. It is your chosen daily task to root out the ghisane and its insistent efforts to claim your land.”

I flushed, admitting, “I weed the gardens, pick the herbs, and yes, dig up the ghisane. That is my strength.”

“The Earth is indeed a strength, but you underestimate yourself,” he said. “You are here, are you not? Your courage in the face of uncertainty still brought you to us.” A bit of humor crept in as I met his gaze. “Neither, I would add, do you fear challenging a king.”

“Am I bound to this?”

There was a slight pause before the king answered very clearly, “No. A Guardian cannot be bound to protect her amulet. To protect or destroy: it is a choice she must be free to make.” Then more softly came, “
Always
Balance.”

And I looked—hard—at my reluctance.

Ruber Minwl had not expected the Troths’ attack, nor that his hand would be my second sign, but he’d stood still and accepted death. Raif, Quin, Evie … not one of the villagers in Merith would have pushed me forward could they have given their life in place of mine. And the foxes: what of their sacrifice, or even the Riders who protect with their lives this secret kingdom of Tarnec and its precious burdens? Who was I, then, to wish my burden away, off of me?

Even if I did not believe I was worthy of it, I’d been given this task. What sacrifice would I make? I hung my head under the weight of such choice. “I will seek the Life amulet. I will return it to Tarnec.” My voice was low, but at least it was clear.

There was a collective breath—one of relief—from everyone, before the king said, “We Keepers thank you.”

I looked up at him. “Do I journey to the Waste?”

He shook his head. “Lark, the Sight is your extraordinary connection to all things belonging to the Earth. Embrace this power;
use
it. The orb will reveal its whereabouts. But remember too that the Breeders want you. They will know you are awakened. They will find you, and they will lure you, using the people and things that mean most to you. They will attempt to trick you into destroying your amulet.”

“Then I have to go home. Merith is too vulnerable—” I stopped, counted the days I’d been gone—three. “The Troths attack six days from the morrow.”

The king said, “Lark, the Riders will go. There is time. They will help Merith.”

“I have to go with them. I
must
return—if even for a short while. I have to know that Merith stays safe, to let my family know that I am safe.…” I swallowed. “Or at least to make farewells.”

The king was so very tired. His eyes watered slightly; his smile was not as full. But he said as loudly as he could, “You make a choice. I cannot refuse it, young Lark, though once you leave Tarnec, you will be exposed to grave danger. I would you remained here first to better prepare for the great challenge you face. Do you still insist?”

I nodded.

He made a little sigh. “Then take with you this knowledge: three items—three small tokens—I will give you to help you in your task; wait for them. Do not choose your way from impulse or fear, Lark; listen and look for signs of your path. Trust that you
will
know what to do.”

The Merith elders had similarly charged me with warnings those few days past. Now it seemed a lifetime ago.

“Ask for help, Lark, for you are not alone.” The king paused then to draw breath before calling out to each of the men who stood so calm and strong beside him, “Laurent. Dartegn. Sevrin. Ian. Arnon. Cargh. Marc. Taran. Wilh. Evaen. Brahnt. And, our absent Gharain. Lady Lark, meet your Riders.”

I found myself rising as the eleven turned to me to pay homage to their Guardian of Tarnec, and the king repeated, as if he commanded it to be so, “You are not alone.”