Messenger (Guardian Trilogy Prequel 1) (14 page)

The breakfast basket, however, was forgotten by the time Eran closed the door. He held it for me, staring over my shoulder while deep in thought as I pillaged through it, avoiding the eggs.

“What do you think they’ll be talking about tonight?” I asked, taking an apple.

He tilted his head in pleasant surprise. “You’re starting a conversation with me?”

“I hadn’t realized I never did.”

“This would be the first,” he replied pointedly. He had already set the basket down, which gave him free range to cross his arms over his chest and tilt his head in a questioning manner at me.

I ignored it. “So, you don’t have any ideas on the subject,” I replied. “All right-”

“How to suppress the nobles,” he said. “They’ll be discussing how to suppress the nobles. So, you might consider not attending.”

“Why?”

“We don’t know who is asking for you.” This seemed to be unquestionably alarming to him.

“We never do,” I countered. “They simply show up with a message.”

“Not during a heated debate on political warfare.”

He had a point, but there was logic working against him.

“If they want to see me, why shouldn’t they do it tonight instead of making another trip?”

“Now is not the time to be imprudent,” he said, not realizing how offensive it sounded. “These people are in the middle of a war, or the beginnings of one, which is oftentimes the most volatile stage.”

“All the more reason they need my help,” I insisted.

He exhaled impatiently through his nose. “Of course, of course you’ll go.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked, intrigued.

His lips pinched into a scowl. “Because I’ve asked you not to.”

With that, he marched out of the barn and we didn’t address each other the rest of the day. Since I had no guests to attend to, I helped Mrs. Volkmar in the kitchen until I had burnt the rolls and charred the meat. At the point when the house filled with smoke, she decided I didn’t have a single cook’s bone in my body and designated me to wash dishes from then on.

As we waited, night came and a fog materialized, seeming to seep from the earth and thicken the air. Its density quieted the night, allowing the calls of animals to echo through the hills. The full moon should have lent some light but it became nothing more than a small grey disk barely visible over a cluster of treetops to the east. That dim light soon paled in comparison to the various halos jostling over the ground in the distance, advancing on us in an uneven circle.

“Lanterns,” discerned the Volkmars in unison and stepped outside to greet their guests.

Eran and I didn’t move from the door until just before the last group of horses came into view. As the fog cleared for them, curling up around the horses’ hooves, I felt the prickle of pain on the back of my neck.

I exhaled and Eran looked my way.

“They’re…” It was all I could say before my heart lurched into rapid pounding.

“…Here,” Eran concluded, his sword already emerging from his cloak. “Remember to breathe.”

Then I saw them, the ones who I’d been waiting for.

Kaila dismounted first, doing so in a fluid, nearly motionless manner. Deschan, despite being tall and lanky, leapt from his horse with a confident strength, the level of which I hadn’t seen in anyone but Eran. Cedric moved slower, more precise, slipping off cautiously as if he had planned each movement well in advance.

It occurred to me that each of them resembled Eran in some particular way, but none of them had all three of his traits…power, agility, and foresight.

As they strode toward the door, where I stood, the pain at the back of my neck rippled through me. Eran saw it and slid in front of me, blocking my view. As he did this, I caught sight of the Kohlers and something in their expressions made me slide out from behind Eran just as quickly.

It was conceit.

They had learned to counter, evade or accept the pain I caused them. It hadn’t gone away, not entirely. I knew this after Kaila flicked her fingers at the ground while trying to shed the pain as discreetly as possible. It was there.

And that was when I breathed.

With the air came a mixture of dew and the aroma of stew, leaving an odd division of cold and heat running down my throat. It filled my lungs and spread relief across my chest.

My pounding heart slowed.

I breathed in again.

My hands stopped shaking.

One more breath and Eran was watching me in amazement.

“Good,” he coaxed.

I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I nodded.

By then, all parties were at the door greeting each other. Some were somber, others timid. Only the Kohlers wore sneers, which were pinned directly on me.

I heard the word “inside” and saw the group coming through the door. Eran’s hand lifted and leveled out at my shoulders. Although it looked like he was ushering them in, he wasn’t. His intent was to put some part of him between the Kohlers and me.

As they passed, none of them paid me any attention, but when the pain sparked at the back of my neck, I got the sense they were well aware of me.

They took a spot at the back of the room, where they leveled their eyes at everyone before landing them for a solid few seconds on me. I used that time to the best of my advantage and untied my cloak from around my neck. It slid from my shoulders, landing on the chair behind me in a whisper. For the first time since Eran and I had arrived, since the Kohlers and I had crossed paths, I revealed what I had been hiding.

My mother’s tunic, brazenly fit for fighting.

Their smug expressions fell almost simultaneously.

Eran openly surveyed me before mumbling a compliment. “Nice…”

I had to remind myself several times about my promise not to avenge.

Then a large man with a tuft of black hair blooming from the collar of his shirt wasted no time in stepping into the middle of the group and sparking the discussion.

“I say we meet sword with sword.”

Instantly, the room exploded into agreement or dissension, both equally vehement. It remained this way with most talking over others through lulls and bursts of intensity, though the lulls were far less frequent.

During the course of it, the Kohlers remained steadily fixed on me, calmly assessing, overtly critical. Then Deschan stepped forward and released a bellowing voice.

“We are fighting amongst ourselves when we should be fighting the nobles.”

Cheers erupted only to be followed by a sole dissenter as a small, squirrely man interrupted.

“Excuse me, but I’m not in mind to take orders from a boy.”

The room fell silent with the vocal propagandist stepping to the edge of the circle to crowd the man.

“Watch how you speak to this young man,” he hissed. “Not only did he, along with his brother and sister, lose their mother and father to the unjust condemnation of our class, this was the family who brought it to our attention that we should be looking at the nobles for signs of treachery in the first place.” Before anyone could refute him, although none looked ready to, he rushed to add, “And it makes sense. The nobles have the most to gain by keeping us quiet and enslaved. The young Kohler is correct!”

Heads nodded around the room as Eran and I exchanged a glance. We seemed to be on the short list of those who didn’t accept the Kohlers as one of our own so easily.

By the end of the meeting, the Kohlers had won over the crowd, insisting on advancing to battle and increasing the insurrections. By midnight, a plan was in place to do just that and goodbyes began to be exchanged. Eran’s hand remained on his sword the entire time, resting on the handle so that it could pass as a casual prop for his arm. I knew better. He was sending a message to them that we were not to be threatened.

“Don’t worry,” Eran muttered as the Kohlers made their way toward the door. “They won’t try anything.”

“How do you know?” I whispered.

“Because they are getting what they want.” Eran’s voice was loud enough for the Kohlers to hear as they passed by and into the night.

They turned their malicious smiles at Eran almost in unison, without fear or shame.

Eran was correct. They were getting something.

Keeping my voice low enough so only Eran could hear it, I confessed, “I don’t understand what it is they got.”

Eran answered me with a leading question. “What were they doing here tonight?”

“Starting a war.”

“The war has already started.”

“Then what could they gain by…” And this was when I came to the understanding Eran had. “By inflaming the war…”

He gave me a respectful nod to my analysis. “What they want is to create chaos where there is none.”

“But why?”

Eran stepped forward to watch them disappear into the night. “They’re covering something up, and they’re using the war to hide it.”

A deep clearing of the throat caused us to rotate around. Standing before us was the vocal propagandist, just as surly as he had been during the meeting.

“Are you the Messenger?”

“Yes,” I said.

“I requested your presence tonight.”

“You did?” The shock was evident in my voice. I had assumed it was the Kohlers.

He nodded. “I need you to bring a message…to my brother…whose throat was slit by the…” His lips curled back and quivered as he fought to control the anger brewing in him. “By the nobleman or the nobleman’s mercenary.”

With true sincerity, I replied, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

He waved me off, impatiently. “I don’t want your pity. I want your service.”

“I understand.” And I thought back to my family who had been slaughtered.

“I need you to ask him who did it.”

“Who-?”

“Killed him,” he spat.

“And what will you do with that information?” I asked, although I already knew the answer because I’d had an inclination to do the same for my own family.

“Return the favor,” he said and then hastily rattled off his brother’s name and place of death before marching around Eran and out the door. I watched him leave, wondering whether he might be surprised by his brother’s answer.

“Your reputation does precede you.” Eran grinned. “Are the Kohler’s gone?”

Mrs. Volkmar looked at him curiously and then out the window while I trained my attention on the back of my neck. Simultaneously, she and I answered, “Yes.”

Eran and I said goodnight to the Volkmars then and, as we had every night before, walked to the barn together and found our beds of hay in the stall. This time it was different though. There was a sense between us that my delivery tonight would be different, personal somehow. I knew this when, just before my eyes closed, I caught sight of Eran…somberly watching me from across the stall.

He cares about me, I reflected, more than a guardian should.

It was my last thought before awaking to Hermina’s voice quelling an argument between Alban and Caius. Apparently, Alban had expected Caius’s ward’s lover to leave her when she disclosed her ability to deliver messages.

“You’re wrong,” Alban demanded. “I told you it would happen, I told you right here.” He marched to Caius’ ward’s bench, which was occupied with the ward’s sleeping body. “It happens more often than you think.”

“Men, I believe we can find a resolut-”

“You didn’t tell me,” countered Caius, adamantly. “I didn’t place any wager, and we didn’t have a bet.”

Alban’s mouth fell open, appalled.

Hermina saw me stir and gave me a wavering smile before returning her attention to the men, who were beginning to draw a crowd.

I laughed to myself, feeling like I’d just come home to find two brothers arguing. I would be seeing them later, so I went about my business without joining them.

Knowing the surly vocal propagandist was my only message tonight, I headed straight for the scroll where I would find his brother’s name. It was several sections down the hall but I could hear Alban arguing his position all the way up until I’d swiped my finger across the scroll and began to be transported. That was when the arguing dissipated and silence filled the air.

It was a long trip, taking me over hundreds of heavens to place me inside a deteriorating, dirty, and bustling pub. It was not one of the more pristine heavens I was familiar with, boasting crumbling brick walls and wooden slats overhead that regularly shed deposits of dirt. It had its charm though, namely the colorful patrons who either roamed between the wobbly wood tables or sat on top of them. There were women with ample chests on the knees of brawny men twice their size and skinny barkeeps rushing between tables carrying mugs the length of their lanky arms. These were the people who felt most comfortable on earth in these sorts of places and had congregated here for the same familial atmosphere. I surveyed each one for a resemblance of the man who had sent me and, when I didn’t see him, began a stroll through the crowd.

A fight broke out in the corner, but no one paid much attention. Wounds weren’t possible here and thus it was really a battle of egos. A mug fell and broke, but the drink simply evaporated where it pooled. The place was absolute chaos but no one seemed to care, not even the husky man with the hairy chest sitting at the bar enjoying the view. I made my way across the room, dodged a chair flung in my path, and took a seat on a stool beside him.