A Warden's Purpose (Wardens of Issalia Book 1) Page 2

  “Sinuous?”

  “What does it mean?”

  “Mother told me that it means long and curvy…like a snake.”

  Quinn tilted her head and squinted. “So it’s some sort of five-headed snake monster?”

  “Well, it’s a picture of a five-headed snake monster, but on the floor.”

  She nodded and carefully placed the block atop the tower. Her eyes glimmered with anticipation when the column wobbled. A grin formed when it did not collapse.

  Everson turned back to his book, scanning it in search of where he left off. As he moved his finger down the page, the shadow it cast from the light of the glowlamp followed, as did the softer shadow cast from the dying light coming through the window.

  “Jerrell was clever, and he knew that the Tantarri created clever traps to prevent others from stealing their treasures. Inspired by his intuition, he pulled his coin purse out and tossed it onto the tiles. Ten tongues of angry fire burst up from the eyes of the monster, creating a wall of flame that forced Jerrell to back away from the heat.”

  The sound of the front door opening drew Everson’s attention. He looked toward the open door of his and Quinn’s bedroom, and he listened.

  “This is the city watch,” his father’s deep voice boomed. “I heard that a pair of rascals have been terrorizing this house.”

  Quinn squealed, stood, and scrambled from the room with her long golden hair trailing behind. Everson slid off the bed and pulled himself across the wooden floor, sliding past Quinn’s wobbling tower as the rapid stomp of her footsteps descended the stairs.

  “Father!” Quinn whooped as Everson dragged himself through the doorway. When he reached the railing, he peered down to see Quinn jump into their father’s arms and give him an enthusiastic hug.

  “Did you have a good day at work today, Father?” Quinn asked.

  Everson slid over to the stairs and began easing himself down.

  “It was a bit quiet at the smithy, so I worked on something special.”

  “Really? Is it anything for me?”

  Everson stopped in mid-descent and pressed his face against the rails, watching for his father’s response. The big man grinned and flashed white teeth from within the thick curls of his blond-streaked brown beard. While holding Quinn in one arm, he reached into a sack resting on the table, nestled beside a glowlamp that bathed the room in pale blue light. Clinking and clanking sounds rang from inside the sack, and his hand emerged with a figure fashioned from metal. Quinn’s eyes lit up as he handed her a small statue of a female warrior, armed with a sword and shield.

  “She’s amazing,” Quinn said with awe in her voice. “Thank you so much, Father!” She hugged him and kissed his cheek, rubbing her nose when she pulled away – a result of the tickle from his beard.

  Everson resumed his descent, his backside touching each step for a moment before he slid to the next one. When he reached the bottom, Evers put the girl down and turned toward his son.

  “And who is this rascal?”

  “Hello, Father.” Everson smiled as he pulled himself over to the man. “Do you have anything for me?”

  Massive hands with fingers like sausages gripped Everson beneath his arms and hoisted him up. His Father smelt of the smithy, with fumes from the forge and melted metal embedded in his clothing and his beard. Everson wrapped his arms about the man and squeezed.

  “I happen to have something that might be of interest to you.”

  The big man reached into the sack and lifted a series of metal rings bent into various shapes, all interwoven into a jumbled mess.

  Everson’s eyes lit up, his mouth forming a big O. “A new puzzle!”

  He accepted the puzzle, examining it, his eyes following the interwoven sections and calculating which pieces fit over which as he decided on where to start.

  “I spent more time creating this one. I hope it takes you a bit longer to solve it.”

  The man set him on the floor, but with his attention focused on the puzzle, Everson didn’t even notice. He gripped a triangle piece and lifted it so he could slide a circular ring around it and onto a rod bent in the shape of a figure eight.

  The front door opened, and a woman with brown hair tied in a bun stepped into the room.

  “Mama!” Quinn ran over to her mother, holding the metal statue toward her. “Look what Father made for me. Isn’t she lovely?”

  The woman smiled and kissed her daughter’s head. “Yes. She will fit in nicely with the others.”

  “Hi, Polly.” Evers took two big steps toward her and bent to give her a kiss. He then peeked into the sack in her arms. “What’s for dinner?”

  “I brought some leftover stew from the kitchen and purchased a loaf of bread on the way home.” She crossed the room and placed her sack on the table, pulling a black kettle from it before walking the kettle over to the fireplace. “I need a little time to heat the stew up and then we can eat.”

  Polly grabbed some birch bark from the barrel beside the fireplace and used the fire iron to stir the coals until live embers appeared. She bent and blew on the coals, the glow growing brighter until a flame blossomed, its orange tongue licking the birch until it, too, caught fire. Grabbing two chunks of wood from the barrel, she slid the wood beneath the kettle as the bark crackled and curled, the flames soon spreading to the logs.

  During the entire exchange, Everson remained focused on the puzzle, working out the possible angles and dimensions for each piece. He slid the ring around the last bend, lifting, twisting and pulling on the rails that contained it. The ring came free and he whooped at the accomplishment.

  “What?” his father exclaimed. “I spent days making that thing, and you solved it in two minutes.” The man moved closer and rested his meaty fists on his hips. “What am I to do with you?”

  Everson laughed as he stared up at the man towering above him. “I don’t know. I just like puzzles.” He shrugged. “I like things that make me think.”

  The man grunted and reached into his sack, pulling out more creations made of metal. Leather straps dangled from the things, binding them together into two sets, open at the front. He knelt down and met Everson’s gaze.

  “I made something for you, Son. I think…I hope it will help you stand.”

  Everson stared at the metal bars, leather straps, and buckles in his father’s hands. “Really?”

  “They are braces for your legs. This part straps to your thighs, while this other part goes on your lower leg. They should keep your knees straight. Do you want to try them?”

  Everson looked into his father’s eyes and found deep blue pools of compassion, hope stirring the waters. He bit his lip and gave the man a nod.

  Gentle hands lifted his leg and slid the brace beneath. His father buckled straps across Everson’s scrawny thighs and around his lower leg. Upon closer inspection, Everson determined that the metal bars joining the straps together were intended to prevent his knees from bending. When the man was finished, he gripped Everson beneath the arms and lifted him.

  “Stand with your feet spread apart.”

  The boy spread his legs as the man put him down. His father gripped his hands to hold him steady for a moment, and then…he let go.

  Everson’s heart hammered in his chest, his breathing coming in rapid gasps. He wobbled and shook, but he did not fall. He looked up and found his mother and father staring at him, Polly with her hands covering her mouth, Evers kneading his thick hands in anxiety. Tears tracked down Polly’s face. Evers wiped his eyes and chuckled.

  “You did it, Ev. You’re standing!”

  Hearing Quinn’s voice, he turned and gave her a grin. When he tried to move a leg to step toward her, his body twisted and collapsed, sending him crashing to the floor.

  “Oh, my!” Polly shrieked and ran over to him. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, Mama.” He grinned, sitting upright. “I did it. I can stand.”

  “It looks like I need to make something so you can s
teady yourself,” his father rubbed his chin in thought. “Standing is only the first part. When I’m finished, you will walk, Son.”

  It was a beautiful spring day on the eve of Everson’s eighth summer when he first left his house under his own power. He blinked at the bright sunlight hovering in the pale blue sky. Water dripped from the eve above him and landed on his forehead before trickling down his face – a remnant of a snowfall that occurred just a week prior. Sometimes winter didn’t know when to give up.

  “Come on, Ev,” Quinn waved him forward. “I want you to meet the others.”

  She weaved her way through the puddles dotting the street, her long blond mane bouncing as she skipped. Everson gripped his canes and pushed himself forward, dropping down the single step to the street. Moving his canes simultaneously, he launched himself forward, two feet at a time, swinging his legs with each step. A winter of indoor practice had strengthened his arms and torso, enabling him to move at a moderate pace. The thudding of his canes striking the cobblestones echoed off the surrounding homes, tall and narrow and tightly nested together.

  He reached Quinn as she turned the corner onto a wider street, busy with foot traffic. Everson stopped and watched the people passing by – half of whom were too busy to pay him any attention. The other half stared with raised brows. His breathing grew rapid and his heart began to race. Strangers made him nervous. His braces and canes made him feel self-conscious. So many people…

  He suddenly realized that Quinn was fading into the crowd, and he hurried to catch her. The thought of being on the street alone terrified him.

  The girl weaseled her way down the street, slipping through gaps barely wide enough to see past. Unfortunately, Everson required a wider path, forcing him to wait until one opened or to circumvent the crowd entirely.

  When he approached the end of the street, he found that it led to a large square with a fountain at the center. Quinn was already beside the fountain, talking to a group of kids – those who were too young to start school but old enough to be out on their own. All but two stood taller than Quinn.

  The thought of meeting other children made Everson nervous. They might be kids, but they were still strangers. He had been so excited to venture outside, he had not considered what it meant. Stopping, he leaned into his canes and watched them from across the square, experiencing a pang of loneliness as they talked and laughed with one another. Four boys sat chatting on the low wall that surrounded the fountain, while three girls and another boy stood in a circle as they listened to Quinn.

  Deciding that he had better cross the square and meet them before Quinn forced him to do it, Everson gathered his courage. Once Quinn’s mind was set, there was no getting out of it. With a sigh, he set off to do just that.

  A boy seated on the fountain wall noticed him approaching. The boy nudged the boy beside him and whispered in his ear while pointing toward Everson. It only took a moment before they had all turned toward him – everyone except for Quinn. As Everson drew near, he heard her talking.

  “…play A King and His Court. My brother can join us, making two teams of five.”

  She noticed everyone staring and turned around. A smile crossed her face.

  “This is my brother, Everson.”

  Standing beside Quinn was the prettiest girl Everson had ever seen.

  A smattering of freckles dotted her button nose, while her green eyes sparkled in the mid-day sun. With brown auburn curls that framed a pale face, the girl flashed a smile, and he thought his heart might burst.

  Quinn put her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “This is Rena.”

  Rena. The name rang within Everson’s head as Quinn continued to introduce the others.

  One of the boys on the fountain wall stood, rising to a height a full head taller than Quinn. The boy had unkempt auburn hair and freckles. Everson decided that the boy must be a year or two older. Yet, despite being born during Empire rule, no rune marked his forehead. The boy glared at Everson as his lip twisted in a sneer.

  “What is this? I thought you wanted to play A King and His Court, not A Cripple and His Court.”

  Everson’s hopes faded.

  Quinn stepped closer to the boy. “Be nice, Torney. Everson might have to use canes, but he’s kind and he’s smart. Super smart. He already reads books and know lots of stuff – stuff you won’t learn until you start school.”

  “Who cares? It just makes him an even bigger freak.” The boy pointed past Everson. “Why don’t you crawl on back home? You won’t be able to play anything we play anyway.”

  Everson’s gaze shifted to Quinn, his eyes meeting hers. His lip began to tremble as tears blurred his vision. Quinn’s expression grew hard, defiant. She turned toward the taller boy and thrust her finger against his chest.

  “You take that back, Torney Jacobs. That’s a mean thing to say, and my brother has done you no wrong.”

  Torney slapped her finger away and pushed her backward. “What are you going to do about it, you little runt? If you like him so much, you go play with the little disease.”

  To Everson’s surprise, Quinn smiled. Torney’s brow furrowed in confusion. He turned toward the boys still seated on the fountain wall and he shrugged. Quinn launched herself at the taller boy, driving her shoulder into his stomach and pushing him backward. His legs hit the fountain wall and he flipped over it. The splash of him striking the water caused the other three boys to scramble clear.

  Torney flailed around in the fountain, gasping as he tried to get his feet beneath him. Eventually, he was able to stand, the water merely waist-deep. Quinn glared at him, and the other kids laughed as Torney’s wet face gathered into a thundercloud.

  “You’re going to get it now, you little runt,” Torney growled as he began to wade toward Quinn.

  Quinn turned toward Everson and panic gripped him. He couldn’t run to escape. If she fled, Torney would catch him. Watching Quinn’s face, Everson saw her reach same conclusion. Her grin fell away and her blue eyes seemed to turn the gray of steel, hardening.

  Torney reached the water edge, and he lifted a waterlogged trouser leg over the wall. Before he could bring the other leg over, Quinn hit him.

  The first punch struck the side of his jaw, knocking it open, leaving his eyes wide with surprise. The second punch hit his nose, and he raised his arms to defend himself, which left his middle exposed. He lifted his trailing leg from the water with his arms covering his face. Quinn lunged forward and kicked with all her might, connecting squarely with the boy’s groin before his other foot touched the cobblestones. Torney cried out and doubled over as he collapsed to the ground. Curled up into a ball, the boy whimpered in pain, interrupted by a fit of coughing. Quinn stood over him with her fists on her hips, daring him to stand.

  The other kids appeared in shock, their eyes bulging and mouths hanging open until Everson decided to intervene. He didn’t want anyone to get hurt…at least not more than what had already happened.

  “Quinn. Let’s leave,” he urged her. “We can come back and play another day.”

  When their eyes met, the fury on her face slid away, her expression softening.

  With a nod, she said, “You’re right. Let’s go visit father at work instead.” She glared down at Torney, who was still crying. Blood oozed from his nose, mixing with the spittle and tears on his face. “We’ll be back tomorrow and if anyone tries to pick on my brother, I’ll make them wish they hadn’t.”

  Quinn turned and walked away with Everson following close behind.

  The ring of a hammer on iron grew louder as Everson approached the building, its sound a guide to anyone seeking a smithy. Quinn gripped the handle on the large door and pulled hard. The sound of the hammer increased as the door slid open. Everson watched the metal wheels above the door with interest. The wheels squeaked as they rolled along a metal rail, protesting at the weight of the door suspended below them. Having only seen hinged doors in the past, he found the design intriguing and began imagining other uses f
or wheels on tracks to guide them. When the door was open wide enough, Quinn led him inside and he blinked, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dark interior.

  A fireplace sat in the corner of the room, lit with the glow of hot coals. That must be the forge. On the wall beside the forge, tools dangled from a row of hooks – hammers of various sizes and shapes, clamps, tongs, punches, files, chisels, and more. Upon the bench below the tools, rested various smaller tools.

  His father stood over an anvil mounted on a workbench made of stone, placed on the opposite side of the forge from the tools. The man was shirtless, and his hairy torso glistened with sweat. He wore leather gloves that covered his hands and forearms. One hand held a hammer while the other gripped a pair of metal tongs clamped about a sword, its blade blackened. When the man noticed them enter, he rested the hammer on the bench and removed the gloves.

  Evers smiled at the children. “Have you rascals come to take over for me? I could certainly use a break.”

  “Silly. We can’t use a hammer that big,” Quinn replied with a grin.

  The man grabbed a towel and wiped the sweat from his face, working it down his neck and torso.

  “In that case, I need to find something else for you to do.”

  A question burning in the back of Everson’s mind made its way to his mouth, passing his lips without him even realizing it.

  “Why doesn’t Torney have a rune?”

  “Who?”

  Quinn piped up. “Torney Jacobs.”

  Evers put his towel aside. “I see. Well, not everyone was marked with a rune back then. Some were…denied.”

  Everson’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

  Evers shrugged. “I’m not sure. You should know that those people were…treated poorly. They called them Unchosen.” He sat on a stool and looked Everson in the eye. “Remember how I explained my rune?” He tapped the symbol etched in his own forehead, shaped much like the letter Y with two antennas poking up from it. “They call this rune artifex altus. It means high craftsman in the old language. From the time I was just a little boy, I knew that I was destined to be a smith, or a jeweler, or something similar. It gave my life definition and purpose but left me without the ability to pursue my own path. Quinn would have a mark today if not for the invasion, which occurred the day before her Choosing ceremony was to take place. You were born even later.