The Guardian (The Gifted Book 1) (2 page)

2
Stranger

Randell leapt from the back porch and ran towards the man, stopping before stepping into the tall grasses. There, standing a few feet in front of him was a man out of time ... or maybe it was just some drunk from a costume party sleeping off the night before in his yard. But Randell didn't want to believe that was the case.

The fact that the man's long light brown hair reached past his shoulders was unusual but it was the gold streaks reflecting the sun's light that caught Randell's attention. They couldn't be natural, he thought to himself. As his eyes traveled down, he saw the man's long dark cloak draped over one shoulder, concealing one sleeve of a white linen shirt that was worn under a hard leather vest that resembled body armor. His dark leather pants and boots didn't look like they
had come from a store, and the bag that hung at his waist was like the one Randell had found in the trunk moments before.

The hair, the clothes,
and the bag were interesting, but that wasn't what took Randell's breath away. It was the swords that hung from the man's hip and across his back that had caught his attention. He could not take his eyes off of them. The scene was like something out of a movie or one of the books he enjoyed reading.

Randell stood watching as the man slowly lowered his hands from his head and looked around, appearing dazed and confused. The more Randell focused on the man, the more he saw. He couldn't believe what was happening
. It looked as if the man was starting to ... glow?

As
Randell peered intently at the man, he could see a green light sparkling, as if the man were backlit with a special spotlight. Randell leaned to the side to find the source of the light, but there was nothing. The light was coming from the strange man. Randell watched and waited for him to complete his scan of the area and finally notice him. But what then? What would he do then? What would he say to this stranger?

Excitement and fear raced through his body. Randell glanced down
at the dagger he carried and then at the weapons the man had strapped to his body. They were similar. Did he do this? He was rubbing the dagger and then ... "No way."

His voice
, though only a breath on the wind, was loud enough.

The man spun around, his hand on the hilt of the sword at his hip, his jaw clenched tight
ly, his eyes alert, ready to defend.

Randell couldn't move. He knew he should run; that would be the sane thing to do. But the last hour had messed with his mind. First the trunk,
then the book, the dagger, and the blue light, and now the strange man in his yard wearing swords.

He tried to formulate something clever to say but all that came out was, "Who are you?"

The stranger stared at Randell and then scanned the area behind him, taking in the house and the older man walking briskly towards them.

"Randell! Step away! Get over here. Now!"
Ander called. Randell didn't move.

As Ander placed a hand on his shoulder, Randell asked, "He's glowing. Does this mean I'm like you?"

Ander gently stepped in front of Randell. Glowing? Ander had been so worried about Randell that he hadn't paid much attention to the man, except to notice that he was a stranger on their property. Ander turned his focus to the stranger and gasped. "What ...? Who ...?"

Ander took in the si
ght that had his son mesmerized. The clothes, the weapons, the glow. Ander wasn't surprised to see the glow. He was used to seeing what was often referred to as a person's aura. He wasn't, however, prepared for its intensity.

Ander straightened his back, regaining his composure. "Who are you? What are you doing on my property? I will have to ask you to leave."

The man didn't respond except to look puzzled, as if he didn't understand. Ander watched the man scan his attire and his son's before whispering something in a language he didn't recognize. Amongst the words muttered by the stranger was the name “Gaulette.”

Ander stiffened slightly. How could that be? He hadn't heard the name spoken in a long time. "Who are you?"
he asked once again.

The man looked confused again before pointing to the book in Randell's right hand.
Until now Ander hadn't noticed what Randell was carrying, as he had not wanted to take his eyes off this potentially dangerous man standing in his yard. Quickly, Ander glanced down at Randell, who had raised the book to show the man.

"What do you have? Where did you get that?"

"I found it in the attic along with this," Randell said, raising the dagger in his other hand.

Ander gasped. "Where ...?"
He reached for the dagger and the man tensed, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword.

"Dad, wait! Don't. Look. You're making him nervous
," Randell said. He watched the stranger, his eyes wide with concern and excitement.

Ander's hand rested on top of Randell's
hand, the one holding the dagger but he didn't take it. No one moved.

The man pointed at the book again and said, "Gaulette."

Ander questioned, "How do you know my family name?" He wondered what the man knew about his family tree, the part that made him different, allowed him to see the special halo that emanated from people.

The man looked puzzled each time Ander spoke.

"I don't think he understands you," Randell said as he handed the book to the man.

"What are you doing?"

"Dad, he recognizes the book. It's a diary or something. It's got strange writing in it. He seems to know it."

Ander reached
out to grab the book back but it was too late. The man was already opening it and he didn't want to chance a confrontation. Randell and Ander didn't move, waiting to see what the man would do next.

The name
“Raisal” left his lips along with a sigh filled with understanding and sorrow. And then he said something else Ander and Randell couldn't understand.

"How ...?" Ander
stammered. He knew that name. He extended his hand again, asking for the return of the book, not wanting to tick off this well-armed stranger.

The man didn't look up. He was busy reading the pages that Randell couldn't understand. After four or five pages, he glanced up,
his eyes questioning. He pointed at Ander and Randell and spoke, but all they could make out was “Raisal Gaulette.” The man looked over their shoulder at the house behind them and pointed. "Raisal Gaulette?" he asked.

Randell understood and shook his head. "He wants to know if your grandmother is here."

Ander quickly glanced at his son. "I gathered that. What I want to know is how he knows her name."

"Why don't we introduce ourselves? Maybe that'll help
," Randell suggested. Without waiting for his father's approval, Randell pointed to himself. "Randell Young," he said, then pointed to his dad, "Ander Young. Raisal Gaulette was my great-grandmother."

For a moment the man was still, glancing between Ander and Randell, before recognition seemed to sink in. He pointed to himself. "Daen Mallaur." He held up the book and pointed to the writing on the page and read aloud. He lowered the book and spoke. Again, the only words they understood were
“Raisal Gaulette.”

They watched Daen continue to read the pages, flipping quickly through the book. After a few moments, Daen looked confused again and his reading slowed. He held up the book and pointed and said something.

Randell and Ander stepped closer to see.

Randell explained, "Ah, the language is changing. The author of the diary must have learned English."

Ander held out his hand for the book and Daen obliged. He scanned the pages, recognizing some of the events in the later pages of the journal. "This belonged to my grandmother, Raisal Gaulette. This was her journal."

Ander flipped to the front of the book but didn't recognize the language. Stories his grandmother had told him flashed through his mind; stories of a land called ... No, this couldn't be happening.

Randell was grinning, barely containing his excitement. "Dad, can we ask him to stay? Please?"

Ander scanned Daen's weapons. "I don't know, Randell. He looks dangerous."

"If he were dangerous, wouldn't he have hacked us up by now? He seems just as confused as we are."

Before Ander could reply, the screen door slammed and Pam shouted, "Ander, Randell, what's going on?"

She stepped from the porch and walked slowly towards her husband and son, trying to see who they were talking to. The closer she got, the more she could see.

"Are those real?" she asked, pointing to Daen's weapons.

Randell answered with a little too much excitement. "I think so."

Pam raised a brow. "Randell, get over here. Ander, what's going on?"

Randell hesitated.

"Randell, now!" Pam used her do-not-make-me-tell-you-again voice.

Randell slunk the couple steps to his mother, not taking his eyes off Daen. "He won't hurt us. Can he stay? Please?" Something told Randell he needed to help this stranger and to trust him. He could see Daen meant no harm. He couldn't explain why he knew it, but he did.

Daen could see what was happening and couldn't help but smile. He bowed to Pam and apologized for scaring her but he could see he wasn't getting through. He raised his index finger, hoping they would understand. Slowly, he untied the sword that hung at his hip and then the one across his back and laid them on the ground in front of him before stepping back.

"See?” Randell exclaimed. “He isn't going to hurt us. Can he stay? Please?"

Randell knew if he didn’t convince his parents to invite
Daen to stay, for at least a little while, he’d never find out who this strange man really was. Randell felt like he was living his own real-life fairy tale adventure. He thought to himself, "The man glowed, what else could he be but fey?"

Randell
knew his imagination was getting the better of him but a little voice in his head asked, "Can he do magic?"

Daen motioned for Ander to pick up the swords, trying to show
that he meant them no harm. Daen knew he could make such a grand gesture because he had a weapon they couldn't see.

Ander hesitated before stepping closer to retrieve the swords. He knew picking them up would mean he was inviting Daen to stay. He glanced over his shoulder at Randell and Pam. Pam looked skeptical
, whereas Randell looked like he about to ride the king of all roller coasters. He took a longer look at the man, studying his aura for any sign of danger, but there was none.

With a deep breath, Ander committed to the invitation and picked up the swords.

3
Duty

The sounds of night creatures sang as Daen looked out upon the field in which he'd found himself just hours before. The voices of the three people he'd met upon arrival competed with the symphony the crickets and frogs tried to create. He couldn't understand what they were saying but he didn't need to right now. He could tell by the tension in their voices that he was the subject of their discussion.

They'd been kind enough to invite him to their evening meal
, served at a table on the porch, something he'd not seen done before, especially when there was a house in which to take shelter. The table had been there before he arrived, but he wasn't fooled about what had prompted the outside meal.

As Daen stood at the edge of the porch
, staring into the darkness, the sounds around him started to fade as he remembered the words he'd read in Raisal's journal. He'd scanned the pages quickly but the message was clear. He knew where he was. He'd heard the stories as a child and knew that some still told the tales but he'd never given them much credence. Children's stories didn't have a place in the life of a guardian in Luxatra. Now he was wishing he'd spent more time with the elders and the histories. Maybe then he would have known what to expect.

Raisal's journal had liberated him from the momentary madness that
had threatened to overwhelm him when he first arrived. The questions in his mind now centered around who these people were, why they had Raisal's journal, and where she was now. One of her entries had talked about a family that had taken her in and helped her to survive until she acclimated. Were these the people? If so, where was she now?

The last words he'd heard in his mind before waking in the field in front of him were, "You must help her." There had been more instructions, more details about his mission
, but that's all he could recall.

He'd been told by the Seer that he needed to prepare for a long journey. Daen had prepared himself, donning weapons
and packing coin, bedroll, journal, and some provisions. He had planned to eat off the land or in taverns as they were available.

Once he was ready, Daen had stood at one of the cave entrances and watched the light dance and sparkle across the snow that blanketed the top of Kinling Mountain
s. It was one of his favorite sights, and if he had to be away from it for a while, he wanted to soak in as much of its beauty as possible before leaving.

What
had happened next was not what he'd been expecting. He had thought a fellow guardian would retrieve him when it was time to leave, but that was not the case. His world had started to fade from the edges; he’d begun to feel weightless, as pressure on his chest took the breath from his lungs. Just before everything went black, he'd heard a message he now struggled to remember.

When he came to, he was in a foreign land. The plants, the air, the smells, the energy were all different. Who was he supposed to help? It had to be Raisal. Why else
would they have sent him to her home? She wasn't here, but she had been. Could he trust these people? Or were they the problem she faced?

As his thoughts returned to the here and now, he noticed
that the voices from the kitchen had faded. The light from the screen door still lit the back porch, so he knew they hadn't closed him out completely. That had to be a good sign, right?

The spring that kept the door closed creaked as the door opened. Letting it slam after stepping onto the porch, Ander stepped up next to Daen. Out of the corner of his eye, Daen saw Ander standing a few feet from him, his face tense with concern as he scanned the darkness in front of him.

"I know you don't understand me. I must be crazy, because if I were in my right mind, I'd send you packing, away from my home. What man would welcome a stranger such as you into his home?"

Daen glanced
at the man on his left before returning his eyes to the wilderness he knew was at the end of the darkness in front of him as he wondered what would happen next. He was sent to this home but should he stay? Would they allow him to stay?

"My son showed me my grandmother
’s journal, along with the trunk containing her other belongings. Her things are ... different. The cloak is much like yours, the same fabric and style. I looked at your swords. The lettering on one of your swords matches some of the letters in her journal. I have no doubt you have a connection to her, somehow. Are you from ...?" he couldn't continue.

Ander was silent for a moment, drawing Daen's attention again. Daen glanced at
him, this time scanning him in full. He hadn't noticed the journal in his hand a moment ago. Ander seemed calmer, even though the tension in his face said otherwise.

Daen had been in a situation before where he
had needed to communicate with people who didn't speak the common tongue of his world. He'd been taught a technique for starting the process of learning another's language. He was one of the few guardians with the gift, or maybe it was just a knack, for picking up languages easily. He reached into the shoulder bag lying on the porch next to him and pulled out the journal and stylus he carried. He'd been taught to carry a new journal on missions that were anticipated to be long in duration. Recording and maintaining the histories was one of the guardians’ jobs.

Daen slowly stepped to the table where they'd had their evening meal, beckoning Ander to join him. On the first page of the new journal he started to write. He wrote his alphabet and then his name, stating his name aloud while pointing to himself and
then the writing on the page. He slid the journal to Ander and indicated that he wished for him to do the same.

The evening progressed as they pointed to objects around them
and wrote down the words in their own languages, using phonetic spelling to write the words the other spoke. Daen opened Raisal's journal and pointed to Raisal's name, a name Ander knew well, although he wouldn't have known the words Daen pointed to were Raisal's name.

The screen door creaked but didn't slam. "Have you decided what you're going to do?" Pam
asked as she slipped up next to Ander, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Ander looked at Daen and his gear. "I don't feel he's a threat
, but I do know there is more to him than meets the eye."

Daen hadn't learned enough
yet to discern what was being said, but he recognized the signs and the late hour. He knew Ander felt that letting him into the house would mean putting his family at risk but would he allow him to at least stay close by?

Daen retrieved his bedroll and pointed to the cushions on the lounge
, giving Ander a quizzical look and hoping that his request was understood. At first he hadn’t been sure if he should try to stay but after spending time with Ander, he realized that staying could provide some of the answers he needed.

"I think he's asking to sleep outside
," Pam whispered in Ander's ear, never taking her eyes off Daen.

Ander patted Pam's hand. "If we lock the doors, we should be okay. We can see how things go tomorrow and decide then whether we need to send him away
, assuming he even wants to stay."

Pam stepped towards the door. "Please come in now." She slipped inside to the kitchen but didn't leave the door. She'd been sitting at the kitchen table all evening, listening to their conversation
, but it was getting late. She wasn't going to leave Ander totally alone with this strange man but she was getting tired.

Ander motioned for Daen to sleep on the lounge. "You can stay here. I'll see you in the morning." He slipped inside and closed and locked the door.

~~~

Randell sat in his room
, staring down at the porch roof, trying to imagine Daen and his father. Their conversation had been strange but intriguing. His mother's request was his cue to scramble into bed. He was supposed to be asleep by now but the voices outside his window had been too much to ignore.

The sounds of his parent's footsteps in the hall indicated the evening was over. He lay in bed with his eyes closed
, trying to sleep, but his pounding heart and racing mind would give him no peace. His world had changed today. His life would never be the same. Somehow he knew the stranger was here to stay, that he meant them no harm, and that he was going to be part of something special.

After a short time, the excitement finally took its toll and Randell fell asleep.

~~~

Daen was left in the dark when Pam turned off the inside lights before retiring for the evening. Daen didn't want to forget anything that
had happened to him but he couldn't see to write in his journal. He looked at the windows and considered his options. Could he be seen by anyone? After a few moments of consideration, he determined there wasn't any risk.

He held up his hand but nothing happened. That hadn't happened in a long time. He thought back to his youth, before his gift had become second nature, and concentrated. Slowly the air above his hand started to ripple and warm. After a moment, the air coalesced into a small ball that cast a silvery blue light.

The effort it took to form the energy ball had been greater than it should have. He suspended the ball in midair, opened his journal, and started making notes. As he wrote, an intermittent sparkle danced in the corner of his eye. He studied the dark corner of the porch for the source that he knew all too well. There, leaning against the wall of the house, were the swords he'd handed over earlier that evening.

About an hour later, he called it a night, retrieving his swords, extinguishing the light, and lying down on the lounge cushion that he'd placed on the porch floor.