Guardians Inc.:Thundersword (Guardians Incorporated #2) (13 page)

Mrs. Pianova waved him away. “I’m touched by your concern, Mr. Della Francesca, but it’s unnecessary. Go on.” She began to walk toward the sound. After a couple of steps she turned back and waved them off again. “Go!”

Bolswaithe walked on.

“That woman is definitely out there.” Tony dropped the branch he had picked up.

“She’s very…special,” Bolswaithe said.

Thomas remembered hearing Doctor Franco saying the same about Tasha once, after she had betrayed them and become a Wraith. “Will she be all right?” he asked, peeking back.

“I’m sure she will,” Bolswaithe said, then lifted a hand for them to stop. “We’re here.” He had stopped in front of a crack in the rock face.

“But you shouldn’t be here,” a gritty voice said. Everyone looked around, but they couldn’t pinpoint where it had come from.

“Greetings from the Council of Twilight and the Guardians,” Bolswaithe said aloud.

“There is no Council of Twilight anymore,” the voice said. “There’s only the Guardians.”

Another, graver, raspier voice added, “And they only guard humanity.”

“That's untrue,” Bolswaithe said. “We work with Fauns and Fae . . . we protect nature.”

“For humanity's use . . .” the raspy voice seemed to echo off the wall.

“We would like to talk with you,” Thomas said.

“We are already talking,” another voice said; this time it sounded like a female speaking.

“Face to face.” Tony stepped forward. “Like friends.”

“We are not friends,” the female voice answered. “In fact, we should be enemies.”

“We have no quarrel with you.” Bolswaithe took control of the conversation again, motioning for Tony to step back. “Don’t be afraid of us.”

There was a longer pause.

“Why are you here?” the female voice asked.

“We seek entrance to the Halls of Remembrance,” Bolswaithe said.

“Why?” the first voice asked immediately.

Bolswaithe nodded at Thomas. “We are searching for answers,” Thomas said. “We...I want to talk with Mneme.”

There was a pause, and then the three voices whispered among themselves. Then the female voice said, “There are no answers here. Only memories of things long dead.”

“Mneme answers nothing,” the second voice added. “She talks with no one.” 

“Leave now,” the grave voice said with finality. “You are not welcome here. Not yet, at least.”

“But I am,” Mrs. Pianova said from far behind them. She walked slowly and steadily toward them. “Tell me, Phaerin, will you deny me entrance too?”

Suddenly, Thomas saw one of the rocks ahead of him moving, unfurling itself—legs, arms, a broad, flat tail, and a long-beaked face with beady eyes. What they had thought was a rock was in fact a platypus faun. Its fur matted with white hair, the faun walked slowly and deliberately, helping himself each step with a walking stick toward Mrs. Pianova.

“You know we can't deny you anything, old friend,” Phaerin said, opening his arms. Mrs. Pianova leaned down to embrace the faun. “It's been too long since you last came.” He continued, “I thought I wouldn't see you again!”

Two more fauns moved out from where they had been hiding. A small, brown opossum faun jumped down from a tree. Its large, dark eyes squinted at the light, its long ears testing the wind. A large echidna faun, its back bristling with coarse hairs, stepped from behind a large boulder.

“Do I get a hug too?” the echidna faun said, walking toward her. Its tongue wet the tip of his long snout.

“A careful one, M'wola. How you've been?” Mrs. Pianova embraced him, taking care not to pinch herself on his spines.

“I've been grumpy, creaky, and constipated,” M’wola said. “Thank you for asking.”

Mrs. Pianova looked at the opossum, who was still standing near a tree. “And you, Kilotee? Aren't you glad to see me again?”

“I am,” Kilotee said as she stepped closer, “but I don't get all mushy or soft at the sight of you.” She gave the other two fauns a chastening glance. “I try to keep my wits about me when you visit.”

“And what do your wits tell you right now?” Mrs. Pianova asked.

“They are screaming concern, mostly.” Kilotee glanced at Thomas. “You know you can go in. But them? Why bring them. You know the rules.”

Mrs. Pianova smiled. “I know them well,” she said, pointing at Oscar. “This man, Oscar, will be my assistant and Thomas…” she extended a hand toward Thomas who stepped forward, “our attendant. The rules are kept.”

Kilotee nodded, but still seemed hesitant.

“Indeed they are,” M'wola said. “It is your privilege to bring an assistant and an attendant.” He looked at the platypus. “Phaerin?” he asked.

“Unorthodox,” Phaerin said. “But then again, who are we to deny you anything?”

The three fauns moved toward the rock face and touched it lightly with their hands. The rock seemed to flow to the sides, and a long, dark tunnel opened in the mountain.

“The Halls of Remembrance welcome you,” Phaerin motioned them in with his walking stick. 

“You'll wait here for our return,” Mrs. Pianova told Bolswaithe. “Try to stay out of trouble,” she added at Tony. She walked into the tunnel and picked up a long staff from a rack on the side of the cave. The tip of the staff began to glow in a white light.

Oscar followed her immediately. When Thomas stepped forward, Phaerin stopped him with his cane. “Be careful, young one. Thread lightly,” he told him. “You might find more than what you seek.”

Thomas nodded. He really hoped to find more than what he was looking for. If Mneme would talk with him he hoped to finally find some clue that would lead him to his parents, or, he thought a little bitterly, to at least have some closure.

Phaerin lowered his walking stick. “Good luck,” he said as the rock closed behind Thomas.

The Halls of Remembrance

They followed a smooth, chiseled tunnel on the rock for a long time. The air wasn’t stagnant, but full of strange, pleasant smells that drifted in and out, lingering just enough for them to notice.

“I smell oranges,” Oscar said. Thomas smelled a strong scent of jasmine.

“We are approaching the first hall,” Mrs. Pianova said. “Don’t interfere with anyone.”

Thomas saw light at the end of the tunnel and their staffs dimmed. Mrs. Pianova placed her staff on another rack by the wall.

“The Hall of Endurance,” she said as she left the opening. It was like being inside a domed cathedral—the whole ceiling was covered in rock crystals that shone with white light, illuminating the Hall from all angles. Columns of rock rose from the ground at different heights—some had scaffold surrounding them, and Fauns of different species were perched on or around each one.

“What are they doing?” Thomas asked. He watched as some of the Fauns worked on the columns while others carried bags of instruments.

“Recording history,” Mrs. Pianova answered. “Their achievements, their heroes, the history of each clan is here. This is the Faun Library ... it’s the history of life on Earth.”

Oscar set out his easel, but Mrs. Pianova stopped him. “You can’t paint anything on this Hall.”

“I would ask for their permission,” Oscar said. “Would they get angry?”

“They would kill you,” she answered. “Come along, and don’t antagonize anyone.”

“And the columns are the books?” Thomas asked as he watched an anteater and his attendants inscribing into a column with feathered pens.

“Books, records, their history, their understanding of the world, their arts and traditions…it is everything Pervagus’s vault is to us and so much more,” Mrs. Pianova explained as they walked among the columns. “But it’s not for you to read, Thomas,” she cautioned. “Don't use your abilities here.” The Fauns stopped working and stared at them, but most of them sneered in distaste as they passed.

One of them, a badger sitting high on a scaffold, coughed up phlegm as they approached. Thomas knew the phlegm was reserved for them as they went underneath, but a stern gaze from Mrs. Pianova caused the badger to gulp it down instead.

“I don’t think they want us here,” Oscar said, stating the obvious.

“I don’t blame them,” Mrs. Pianova said. “Look...”

She stopped by a small column. While most of the columns rose fifty or more feet, this column was just below Thomas’s height. While most of the columns were inscribed in pristine colors or carefully tended to, this one was chipped in many places, scribbled and stained by paint, and streaks left by stained claws raked its surface. All of the columns they’d seen so far seemed to be revered. This one was reviled.

“Whose column is this?” Oscar asked as Thomas walked around it. On the backside Thomas found a single mark painted upon its surface.

Human hands.

Like those found in prehistoric caves in Spain or around the world, there was no other sign. No other scribble or record. The artist had just placed his hands on top of the surface and painted around it in a reddish stain.

Thomas flinched as his Cypher brain decoded the message immediately.

The human who’d made it didn’t care for records or traditions, no stories, or art. By painting his hands he just meant to say, “This is all we need,” and he used red, the color of blood, to place his mark upon this hallowed ground for Fauns.

By making that simple mark, he had separated humanity from the Fauns.

He looked beyond the column and saw the closest Fauns intently looking at him. A shiver ran down his spine. No wonder Fauns disliked humans.

“Amazing isn't it, human?” an otter asked Thomas with obvious distaste, “how much significance a simple symbol can have.”

Thomas didn't know how to answer. The otter gave him a contemptuous smile before getting back to his work.

Mrs. Pianova touched Thomas on the shoulder. “Let’s move on.”

They kept walking until they reached the other side of the Hall, and another small tunnel opened before them. This tunnel was short, and they didn’t need the staffs because the opening was close by.

“There is much anger and frustration in this next Hall, and most of it is because of humans.” Mrs. Pianova stopped short of the entrance. “Remember that they will not touch you,” she said, “unless you touch them first. Keep close and don’t fall for insults.”

She moved on.

They entered another cathedral. This one was smaller than the first, but its roof was also covered by rock crystals.

“The Hall of Transition,” she told them. “Let’s go across quickly.”

Again, the floor of the cathedral was littered with columns and Fauns were working on each one. This time Thomas saw many Fauns animals he was familiar with—tigers, orangutans, pandas. The Fauns all stopped their work as they walked among them.

Leers, then growls broke out, and the Fauns began to throw paint and dust at them. Shouts of anger filled the cathedral, urging them to leave. The Fauns surrounded them as they walked, screaming in their ears, waving their arms and claws in front of their faces, fangs bared under bloodshot eyes.

Mrs. Pianova kept walking, but the Fauns followed; their anger seemed to be centered on Oscar and Thomas.

Suddenly, the ground trembled, and Thomas saw a great brown buffalo faun charging in front of them from the far side of the Hall.

The Fauns moved back, but just enough to allow the charging buffalo to trample them over.

“Don't move!” Mrs. Pianova yelled. “They can't harm us.”

Thomas saw something glimmering around the charging buffalo's neck.

A blue flash.

“He's an Azure Guard!” Thomas yelled over the grunts and roars of the Fauns.

It was the perfect place for them to be killed: weaponless, in enemy territory, desecrating hallowed ground. His grandfather would win, and with him the Warmaster.

Mrs. Pianova remained motionless. Thomas hoped the buffalo would slow down, but instead the buffalo lowered his head and aimed its blunt horns to strike Mrs. Pianova.

They couldn't run—the Fauns around them prevented them from doing so—and even if they could, he wouldn't leave Mrs. Pianova alone. Behind him he heard Oscar yell. A long, high-pitched yell, like a young girl on a roller coaster.

The buffalo closed in on them, showing no signs of slowing down, and Thomas prepared for the coming impact.

A roar drowned out everything around them.

They all looked up and to the right, a black form landed, lifting a cloud of dust and interposing itself between the buffalo and them.

A great silverback gorilla faun caught the buffalo as it charged, one powerful arm on its horn and the other on his neck. He skidded back until the buffalo's momentum was spent.

The horns were just a couple of feet away from Mrs. Pianova.

“Why?!” the buffalo asked with clenched teeth.

“This isn't our way!” the gorilla said, twisting his arm and throwing the buffalo to the side.    

Thomas saw the symbol of the Azure Guards hanging from a necklace around the gorilla’s neck. Thomas had to accept that it was a beautiful symbol, a blue diamond surrounded by filigree in the intricate form of leaves and set against a diamond-shaped dark piece of wood.

“Enough!” the gorilla roared at the other Fauns. “Remember where you are! Remember why you're here!” The Hall immediately fell silent. The gorilla approached the buffalo and helped him to stand up. “Murder is a human trait,” he said as he placed a hand on his shoulder. “Not ours, brother.”

“Our gratitude, Chief Gratsat,” Mrs. Pianova said. The gorilla didn't answer, just grunted and motioned them to keep going on their way.

No other faun moved or said anything.

“He was going to kill us, wasn't he?” Thomas asked as they reached the end of the Hall.

“I guess he was,” Mrs. Pianova said. “In this Hall, there are Fauns whose anchor species are in danger of becoming extinct, most of them because of humans. We have protected and brought back the buffalo anchor species from extinction, but still only a couple of hundred buffalo fauns remain and nobody knows why.”

“And Chief Gratsat?” he asked. “Gorillas are in danger too?”

“Much more than buffaloes,” she answered. “The only thing that has saved them is the Guardians protection, and the Chief knows it.”