Guardian of the Gate (31 page)

I don’t know if it is because we are growing closer to the missing pages or if it is simply paranoia, but I spend the day with a growing sense of foreboding. I cannot explain it or blame it on Emrys who, though not as talkative as Gareth, is not unpleasant.

As we make our way over a large hill, a town comes into view, nestled into the bowl of a valley. In the distance, elegant spires reach, it seems, nearly to the sky. It has been a very long time since I have seen a town of any sort, and I feel a sudden urge to continue on, to sleep at an inn with a soft bed, to eat hot food prepared by someone other than myself, to walk the
streets and purchase something from an inviting shop or take tea in a quaint hotel.

But we do not continue toward the town. Instead, Emrys hesitates briefly as if considering his options before veering to the left. We continue through a field of wheat, haloed in the golden sun, and travel toward a charcoal smudge in the distance. As we come closer to it, I realize it is a stone farmhouse sitting at the edge of a forest. Age-old trees seem to touch the sky beyond the house and barn.

As we continue toward the farm, I wonder if it will be one of our stops or perhaps a meeting place for a more talkative guide. It is neither, and we continue past the house and a small boy who stands outside it, feeding chickens that strut in circles, pecking seed from the ground beneath his feet. He watches us curiously as we pass.

“Bonjour, mademoiselle.” A smile touches the boy’s mouth as his eyes meet mine.

France,
I think, smiling in return. “Bonjour, petit homme.”

His smile widens to a grin, and I am grateful for even my questionable ability to speak French.

The shadows begin just past the house, and the sun disappears almost entirely as we enter the wood. It is not as dense as the one through which we traveled to reach Altus. The light finds its way through the trees, creating a lacy patchwork over the forest floor. It is beautiful, but even still, my chest grows heavy with anxiety. This is too much a reminder of the dark trip to Altus, of those few days when the world seemed to stand still and I lost all sense of time and myself.

We come across only one point of interest — a moss-covered stone pillar that rises bizarrely from the forest floor. It is not unusual, really, for stone tributes and sacred sites are plentiful throughout Europe. But this one reminds me of Avebury, the ancient stone circle mentioned in the prophecy.

My eyes follow it as we pass. Emrys is as quiet and uninterested as ever, and Dimitri is silent behind me. I do not bother asking them about the stone.

Some time later, Emrys slows, looking back over his shoulder at us. “There’s water up ahead. It will be a good place to break.”

It is the most he has said since departing camp this morning, and I nod in agreement. “A break would be lovely.” I add a smile for good measure, and though I think he means to return it, it seems almost painful for him to do so.

Unlike most of those we have come across in our journey, the stream is not in a clearing but is half-hidden within the shade of the forest. It is rather small and winds through the trees not with a roar or a rush but with a merry gurgle. We dismount, drinking from the stream and filling our canteens.

I am surprised when Emrys looks over and speaks directly to me. “I would be happy to care for the horses while you take a rest, Miss. I imagine the journey leading to this day has been long. We will make our destination by nightfall. There is time for a break.”

“Oh! Well… that is all right. I can care for my horse. I shouldn’t like to be a burden.” I don’t tell him that a rest, even a small one, does sound lovely.

Dimitri’s surprise gives way to agreement. “Emrys is right, Lia. You look tired. We can manage the horses.”

The energy seeps out of my body, seeming to leak into the ground at the simple thought of a rest. “If you’re certain it’s okay…”

Dimitri leans over and kisses my cheek. “It is. Close your eyes for a bit while we water the horses.”

I wander over to a patch of sun not far from the water and lower myself to the dry grass growing there. Lying back, my restless night’s sleep soon catches up to me, and I am sung to sleep within moments by the river’s lullaby.

I am not aware of anything until the touch of Dimitri’s hand pulls me from slumber. The stroke of his fingers is gentle on my wrist, and I smile, wanting to delay the moment when we will have to mount our horses once again.

“This is no way to get me moving.” My voice is still lazy with sleep.

He picks up my hand, and I feel the slide of something soft against the soft underside of my wrist.

“You’re not listening,” I tease.

The voice, when it answers, is quiet, as if trying not to be heard. “It will be so simple, if only you will do as they say.”

This voice is not Dimitri’s.

I open my eyes, pulling my hand back as I see Emrys, on his knees and holding something in his hand. Something trailing black velvet. The medallion.

“What are you… what are you doing? Give that to me! That doesn’t belong to you.”

I look down at my unmarked wrist to be sure, but, yes, it has been removed while I slept. Glancing around, I try to find Dimitri without taking my eyes off Emrys, but the riverbank behind him is empty.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I’m only doing what I was told.” Emrys doesn’t flinch, and his lack of concern over the possibility of being interrupted by Dimitri scares me more than anything.

It makes me wonder what Emrys has done with him.

I scramble backward over the hard-packed earth until my back comes up against a tree trunk. For all its solidity, I do not feel safe. There is nowhere to go from here.

“Please leave me alone.” I sound weaker than I intend but am too frightened to be angry at myself for it.

I have a moment, only a moment to curse myself inwardly. It is only then that I remember Gareth’s words:
You will be in the open from here
. And yet we are not in the open. We have been in the forest for most of the day and even now are well-shielded by its ageless trees.

We should have known.

Emrys stands, advancing on me with a purposeful stride. This time, there is no talking. This time, he grabs ahold of my wrist with force, falling to the ground beside me and leaning over my body as he tries to place the medallion on my marked wrist. Pulling back with all my might, I try to keep it from him. But he is too strong, even as I kick and struggle.

He has my wrist in his hand. The dry velvet crackles against my skin and the medallion, as cool and terrifyingly inviting as
the sea in which I almost drowned, pushes against my flesh. Emrys’s big hands fumble with the clasp, locking it into place even as someone comes into view behind him, racing toward us with single-minded fury.

I almost don’t recognize Dimitri for the rage in his eyes and the trail of blood dripping from his forehead, but I know it is him as he pulls Emrys away, dragging him from me and dropping him into the dirt. I do not have time to feel shock as Dimitri strikes Emrys with more anger than I have ever seen displayed from one human being to another.

I am too busy pulling the medallion from my wrist.

It takes me a moment to get it off. When I do, I am so shocked that my body begins to shake, and I drop the medallion where it falls. I do not worry about losing it. It is mine. Only mine. It will find its way back to me whatever I do.

Leaving the medallion on the ground, I rush to Dimitri, pulling at his shoulders as he continues to kick Emrys, now sprawled on the ground, moaning and holding his stomach.

“Stop! Stop it!” I scream. “Dimitri! We don’t have time for this!”

His breath comes so fast that his back and chest heave with the effort of it. When he turns to me, his eyes are filled with things wild and dangerous. He looks at me as if I am a stranger, and for one panic-filled minute I wonder if he has lost his mind completely. If he will not remember who I am at all. But then he pulls me to him, holding me tightly against his body and burying his face in my hair.

When his breathing finally slows, I pull back, looking at the gash that drips blood at his hairline. I reach up to check it, but pull back before touching him, afraid of causing him pain.

“What happened?” I ask.

He lifts a hand to his temple, wiping away some of the blood and looking at it as if he does not recognize it as his own. “I don’t know. I think he hit me with something. I was by the river and the next thing I knew I was waking up on the bank and hearing your scream. I came as fast as I could.”

Before I have time to say anything, the rustle of leaves a few feet away catches our attention. We turn our heads to the source of the noise and see Emrys, rising from the ground and making his way to the horses. He moves quickly for a man who has taken such a beating, mounting his horse and tearing off into the forest without a word or a glance back.

We do not try to stop him. There is nothing to be gained, and clearly, we can no longer use his services as guide.

I look up at Dimitri. “Was he one of the Souls?”

Dimitri shakes his head. “I don’t think so. If he had been, he would have been far more dangerous. It is more likely that he intercepted our original guide to do the Souls’ bidding for a far simpler purpose. It would be an easy matter to offer a peasant money in exchange for leading us astray.”

I remember the words of the man who called himself Emrys:
I’m only doing what I was told.

Taking a deep breath, I look at the surrounding forest. “Do you have any idea where we are?”

He shakes his head. “Not really, but I think it is safe to say that Emrys was probably not leading us the right way all this time.”

Overcome with frustration, I turn away from him and pace toward the river. Picking up the medallion and placing it back on my wrist, I can hardly contemplate the possibility that our journey will end here. That after all we have been through, all we have overcome, we will have to turn back because of a weak-spirited guide whom the Souls were able to turn to their cause. Worse, we may never find the missing pages now that Aunt Abigail is dead. Only she was the keeper of the pages’ secrets. Only she was able to set up such a careful journey.

And now she is gone.

Dimitri’s hands grasp my shoulders from behind. “Lia. It will be all right. We’ll figure this out.”

I whirl on him, a surge of hopelessness filling me up until I am overflowing.

“How will we do that, Dimitri? How? We are lost in the middle of an unknown wood. And if that is not enough — ” I turn from him, laughing aloud. It sounds as bitter as it tastes in my throat. “And if that is not enough,
we do not even know where we are going
! We have nothing, Dimitri. Nothing to guide us from here save a cryptic word.” I drop to a large boulder by the side of the stream. Anger slips through my pores like water, leaving me only with despair.

“What word?” Dimitri asks.

I look up at him. “Pardon me?”

He walks toward me, lowering himself so that we are eye
to eye. “You said ��nothing to guide us from here save a cryptic word.’ What word?”

I am still hesitant to give over the words passed privately to me from Aunt Abigail on her deathbed. Still, it is not as if I have a choice, and if I cannot trust Dimitri, then who is left?

I take a deep breath. “Just before Aunt Abigail died, she told me to remember a word that would lead me to the pages if we should become lost. But there is not much point to it now. Our guide is gone, Dimitri, and even if he were not, the word may be nothing more than the sickbed musings of a dying woman.”

He looks into my eyes. “What was the word, Lia?”

“Chartres.” I say it, though I am no surer of its meaning now than I was when it was whispered from Aunt Abigail’s dying lips.

I remember Aunt Abigail’s other words:
At the feet of the Guardian. Not a Virgin, but a Sister.
I don’t share them with Dimitri. Not yet. They seem meant only for me. After all, I may be the next Lady of Altus. As such, it seems fitting that Aunt Abigail’s secrets become mine.

Dimitri’s eyes take on a far-off glaze as he rises and paces away from me.

I stand up and call after him. “Dimitri? What is it?”

It takes him a moment to turn around, but when he does, something in his expression gives me cause to hope. “The word…
Chartres
.”

“What about it?”

He shakes his head. “When we were young and growing
up on Altus, the Elders would tell us stories. That is how our history is passed, you see. The culture of the Sisters and the Grigori does not believe in written history. Ours is told, passed from generation to generation.”

I nod, trying to be patient though I would dearly like for him to get to the important part.

“Chartres was… a church, I think… No! That is not right. Chartres is a town, but there
is
a cathedral there. One that is important to the Sisterhood.” He makes his way back to me, fire in his eyes. I know he is remembering. “There is a… a cave there. A grotto, I think, underground.”

“I don’t understand what this has to do with anything.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. But there is said to be a sacred spring there, as well. Our people revered it in ancient times. They thought there was a sort of… energy or current running underneath the building.”

I look up. “Dimitri?”

“Yes?”

“Where is Chartres?” I have to ask even as I think I already know.

His eyes meet mine, shared knowledge already in their depths. “France.”

I try to make sense of the things we know and how to use them to our advantage, but even the small hope we have seems futile. “France may not be a big country, but it is too big to cover every corner on horseback, at least without a guide. Even if Chartres is the hiding place of the pages, and there is still no proof that it is, we could be days and days away from it.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Wherever the pages are hidden, I don’t think we are more than a day off track. The supplies that Gareth gave us are already running thin, which makes me believe that our journey was never meant to be a long one. And I think we may count on the fact that Gareth, at least, was leading us in the right direction. If we backtrack to the places we passed while in his company or shortly after parting, we will likely be somewhat close to the planned route.”