Honor, p.20
Honor, page 20
part #2 of The Avant Champion Series
His mouth curved as if he might smile, but his blue eyes remained sad. “You’ve trained with Baird extensively with fighting. I think it’s time you trained with me in meditation.”
I eyed him skeptically. “Does it involve hypnosis?” The last time I had sat with him by the Aqua Santos, he lulled me into a trance and deposited a poem in my memory.
He smiled. “I promise not to hypnotize you if you promise to allow the meditation to heal your wounded spirit.”
“Wounded spirit?”
“You worry too much. You engage in too much self-flagellation. You drown your spirit in doubt and fear and uncertainty.”
I scowled. “Uplifting words to rally me?”
He arched an eyebrow. “Deny this, Abigail: at this moment you blame yourself for your husband’s capture, the Hunju’s unforeseen double-cross, Arturo’s plight, Baird’s entry into danger tomorrow, and Eustace’s threat here.”
I mumbled and tugged irritably at my ear.
“Am I missing anything else?”
“That’s the sum of it.”
“You’re too critical of yourself.”
“And this suggested meditation will rid me of my self-criticism the way one scrapes dirt off a boot?”
He gave me a pitiable glance. “More akin to the way water soothes a parched throat. You will feel refreshed and rid of a burden that serves no purpose other than to create festering wounds in your spirit.”
I sat straighter and folded my legs to mimic Zack’s position. I had hours before a restless night, so there was little harm in attempting meditation if for no other purpose than to help pass the time before the battle arrived.
A few hours later, I summoned Carrot and left the sanctuary with her, returning to the lake. Moonlight glistened on the gently rippling surface. The stone circle that had held our nightly fire was filled with cold ash.
I stroked the feathers on my hawk’s breast. “It will be dangerous tomorrow.”
She made a strange guttural clucking sound as though trying to reassure me.
“I’ve put enough things I care about in harm’s way.”
With her beak, she pruned at a long black strand of my hair.
“All right. But I will be a target, so keep to the air. And you must avoid those darts.”
A combination of potent paralytic in a tiny bird and a fall from heights created a frightful image.
“Go hunt and rest.”
As I dropped my arm, she took flight into the darkening forest. I walked to my cabin, aware of the absence of the comforting sounds—Joshua’s heavy steps on the floor; Joshua splashing water on his face from the basin; Joshua climbing into bed.
After removing my boots, I unwrapped the leather wrist cuff I wore as Carrot’s perch and dropped it on the floor. I found a candle and lit it with a match, then walked to the bedroom and cleaned my face in the water basin.
I didn’t sleep well that night. My imagination tortured me with visions of Joshua in the brutal hands of the Hunju. I blamed myself for his capture. I had distrusted the entire nature of the quest yet still took no precautions. My ignorant belief that the Warrior Stone and the Traveler’s Star were sufficient in any situation astounded me. I thought about Zack’s suggestion to relinquish blame, but it sounded too simple.
Oh, Joshua.
I knew my emotional pain was nothing to his physical suffering, but it hurt nonetheless.
I refused to visit Mal that night. I would not allow myself to find comfort in his friendship. I would not have him attempt to soothe my anguish by suggesting little else could have been done differently.
I knew better.
I could have insisted on being the intermediary to talks between Portia’s army and the Dantajists. Would diplomacy have worked? The thought of sitting down and mediating a conversation conjured images of being shot with a poisoned dart and fed to Hunju dogs.
Berating myself accomplished nothing, but I did it all night anyway.
24
The morning sun peeked over the horizon, and I was awestruck by the sight of Dantaju in the distance. The city, though not aesthetically pleasing, was impressive in its size and expansiveness. Great towers built of baked red clay stretched toward the sky. The buildings stood two to three times the height of the tallest tower of Marrington Castle. The towering, main municipal building appeared unmistakable even from our distance. A few acacia, palo, and fanning palm trees peppered the landscape.
Out of our visual field but further southeast would be their farmland. Fields of rice fed by Hunju-dredged ravines connected to the Stag River—a branch of the Meredith River originating in the mountains of Karnelik and flowing south to Lake Wahla. Further inland from the river spanned fields of cotton.
I thought about the worst mankind had done to itself during the Hundred-Year War when we had full possession of our evil. Crops burned, cities ravaged, and people enslaved. Comparatively, the Hunju defectors hadn’t destroyed crops, poisoned water supplies, or intentionally spread disease. In our truest form, were humans the real barbarians?
I turned around to face the conglomeration of some one hundred or so warriors—Portia’s army. They had assembled from the mixer camp for our assault. The army comprised both Hunju and mixers, male and female, young and old. They wore similarly lightweight, caramel-colored cotton clothing. On their right biceps they all had tied a red strip of fabric.
I sighed. I missed my red cloak now that it was shredded into accessories, but I needed a way to tell friend from foe once the battle commenced in the streets of Dantaju.
Portia emerged in front of me. “We are grateful to have the Champion on our side,” she commented, leaning down and speaking quietly to me.
I nodded. “The least I can do is fix my mistake.”
She contemplated that for a moment, while I tried not to stare at her bulging bicep, the size of my thigh.
“This assault is better,” she said as she straightened. “I prefer a direct fight over sneaking and kidnapping. Once we’re within the city and people know the rebellion is fully underway, more will join us.”
Arturo stood stiffly to my left and Baird, ever the force of calm, to my right.
“Well,” I said, “spread the word so they don’t attack the tiny woman in the blue cloak with the glowing red stone.” I didn’t want to get pulverized by sympathizers or take friendly fire from flying darts. “And if they can wear a red cloth, it would help.”
She nodded. “You will be an asset on this day.”
I looked out at the eager faces. I hoped I would be an asset and not simply an ass.
“I will get you into the city and do what damage I can, but full control will be up to your army. My main objective is to rescue the hostages.”
One of whom is my husband.
We had already established this, but I felt it needed to be said again. I was not here to win their war for them.
“Aye, it’s our war,” Arturo agreed.
“Comrades!” Portia boomed to the group of fighters. “Today we fight on behalf of all Hunju and mixers. We fight against the discrimination and repression that have plagued our civilization for millennia...”
As she addressed her troops, I looked at their fixed gazes and determined jaws. I wondered how many had been persecuted by Eustace or lost family to his brutal regime. Most of the defectors were armed with the jagged sabers of the Hunju and many had blow darts as well.
I pursed my lips. I didn’t like the idea of small projectiles flying through the air during close combat. It seemed to create unneeded risk of paralyzing friend rather than foe—especially if that friend was a small human with a mighty red stone. Small and mighty as my father had said. As Paul had said.
At least no one here is calling me the Red Goddess.
As Portia rallied the troops into a frenzy, I became proportionally calmer. I channeled the nervous energy I felt into the star on my palm. Transporting this small army presented a challenge. I needed to focus and conserve my strength.
But I wasn’t alone. Baird and I linked hands, holding our palms star to star. I smiled weakly up at him, grateful for his willingness to help and the monks’ willingness to allow him leave. Apparently, monks were allowed reprieve from their commitment in the interest of aiding a loved one.
I wasn’t present when Baird met with the other monks to plea his temporary release from his vow, but I imagined he would have explained his deep friendship with Joshua and the need to save his friend’s life.
Baird smiled faintly back at me, squeezing my hand in reassurance. His blue eyes reminded me of the rich blue ocean before the deeper water met with the green shores of Misty Isle.
The defectors linked hands, and Portia laid a hand on the Hunju closest to her. Baird and I touched her other hand. Her role was to focus us to where we needed to go—the heart of the city. Baird and I had never tried to transport simultaneously, but it stood to reason if we worked in conjunction, a larger transport would be feasible and perhaps less taxing than attempting it individually.
As Baird and I focused our energy, a jolt of lightning coursed from our linked palms through my body. I felt singed from the inside out—slightly painful and mysteriously energizing. An extracorporeal sensation of floating through time and air rushed through me.
Something had gone wrong with the transport. I couldn’t see the usual landscape image as we transported. There was no army, no Baird. I couldn’t feel Portia’s hand or Baird’s touch.
Baird! I had no body or mouth with which to speak, but I called his name with every fiber of my being.
Abigail... The sound of his deep voice reverberated through me, bringing me warmth and reassurance.
I saw flashes of people and places I didn’t recognize—men, women, a river ride, a mountain home. These faint images passed briskly by me the way a leaf swept through the current of a stream.
A young boy ran through the forest, laughing and joyful. Thin, agile legs carried him across stumps and over a small stream. Baird as a young boy appeared playful and carefree.
In a flash, I saw an image of him older, perhaps fifteen. He sat at a large dining hall and momentarily fidgeted with the frills on the shirt he wore. “Sebastian, sit still,” a woman scolded him. I could sense a mischievous streak pulsating through him. He watched a man across the table and several seats down about to drink from his goblet. Baird had dipped the cup in a salt solution and the man would soon drink the salted moon juice and gag, humiliating himself at a table of nobles.
In the next vision, Baird was the same age, but brawling in the mud as rain poured down. I felt the throbbing pain from the blows he had suffered. Judging by his knuckles and the weight of satisfaction in his core, he put up a good fight. He defended two other children, a small boy and his redheaded sister.
A gust of ethereal wind blew me through different scenes in Baird’s life. Sebastian Slade, the long-haired mythologist, autographed his books. Professor Potts taught in his lecture hall. Sebastian Fox swam in a river. The dizzying array of his lifetime flashing before me slowed to a Baird in his twenties.
A beautiful redhead wrapped her arms around a young Baird and smothered him in kisses. I felt the warmth of their love followed by embarrassment to be witnessing such an intimate moment. He wore a cream tunic in contrast to her purple dress. Purple flowers were woven throughout her hair. His brown eyes—not yet blue from the Aqua Santos—gazed at her with overflowing adoration.
In a flash, he appeared older and holding her limp body to his chest while on his knees in a grassy field. “Mary,” he said in a voice so filled with anguish it squeezed my heart.
I felt frigid, as though I was being sucked into Baird’s emotional whirlwind, his tragic past with loss and pain. My entire soul ached under the weight of his suffering. The powerful sense of devastation felt real, as though part of my life. His pain became my pain.
Something is wrong, I struggled to tell him.
Agreed, he replied. I’m trying to pull us out. It would seem the stars weren’t designed to be physically connected as we did.
I choked and struggled to free myself from Baird’s past. I had the sensation of trying to swim upstream through quicksand.
It’s not as though we were given a manual.
Indeed, he said, his intonation lighter.
We had both been gifted our stars from a mysterious blue fortuneteller without a word of what the stars could do or shouldn’t do.
Our struggle to untangle ourselves ceased when I suddenly knelt down in a forest beside beautiful Mary as she took aim with her bow. Ten meters from us, a stout buck looked up from the foliage he nib- bled. I could smell the scent of huckleberries from a nearby bush and moss on the fallen log near where we crouched.
Mary’s red hair was barely contained by a ribbon woven through it. I had the strange urge to reach out and touch her hair. She smelled of cinnamon spice. I knelt close, touching her and helping her aim her bow. Despite the hunt in progress, only desires of love and courtship of Mary filled my thoughts.
I tried to wrench free from Baird’s mind, from being merged within his memories. I felt like I trudged through the Black Marsh. In the next vision, I stood behind him in the library of the Gunthi monk sanctuary. All was dark save one candle on the table where he worked. As I approached, I could feel the anguish swirling around him. I felt suffocated by it but still stood close enough to read his writing.
I have tasted love,
But only enough to know it is sweet.
I have tasted pain,
Enough to know it hurts.
I have tasted success,
But only enough to know I want more.
I have tasted failure,
Enough to know its humility.
I have tasted passion,
Enough to know it is addictive.
I have tasted guilt,
Enough to know it is hollow.
And so life keeps me at bay,
Striving for more of the good I have tasted
Steering me away from that which is bitter.
I have tasted freedom,
And I will never quit.
Baird, I half sobbed, half pleaded. I thought I would drown in his sorrow-laden memories.
25
We are floundering here, Baird said.
Obviously. We’re lost in memories.
Let’s try sharing the same memory.
I would try anything to escape this entanglement. Which one?
Something memorable we shared.
Not Malos. Not the battle of Marrin Beach. I couldn’t take any more anguish.
Carrot, I said.
As soon as I thought of the hawk, I stood in the canyon valley near the Gunthi monk sanctuary. A cool breeze blew in gusts, tousling my dark hair. I watched myself standing and talking with Baird. I wore black leggings and a long-sleeved wool tunic. Baird’s blue cloak billowed around him. We had finished sparring, and he led me to the field to show me something.
I watched my curious expression as he produced a leather wrap and entwined my left forearm. He smiled down at me and his fingers pulled leather straps snug.
“Hold your arm high. I have a surprise for you.” His blue eyes sparkled.
“What are you up to?”
He winked.
I heard a screech, and a great-winged beast blocked out the sun as it streaked through the sky toward me. I recalled the seconds of terror I had felt thinking of Malos’ Swallowers and perhaps one dove after me. Quickly, I saw this bird had reddish brown feathers and brown eyes, not midnight-black feathers and red eyes like Scouters’ belonging to Malos.
I knew what to expect next.
Brace yourself, Abbey.
The bird did not properly slow its descent. It struck my arm forcefully, and I watched myself stumble back a pace and grimace as the hawk dug its talons into my arm.
“What is this?” I shrieked. I had heard the monks trained birds, and Zack was well-known for his talent with the creatures.
“She’s one of our pets.”
The bird flapped her wings and settled on my arm, and I held her a cautious distance from the rest of my body.
“And she is your gift,” Baird added.
“Gift?” He stroked her breast feathers.
“It is three years since you became Avant Champion.”
“Oh.” I looked back and forth between the bird and Baird. “What am I to do with a hawk?”
“She can scout and hunt.”
“That could be useful.” I reached a tentative hand to her soft feathers. “If she turns her attack dive on a deer, she might take down a small doe.”
“Landing has been a challenge for her.”
“What’s her name?” I asked.
“I thought perhaps you could name her. It’s an excellent way to bond.”
My expression formed a skeptical glance.
I recalled thinking bonding with a bird sounded odd at the time. My reservation had vanished after a month into our relationship. We had indeed bonded.
“She’s special, Abigail. She’s more keen than most birds I’ve seen trained here.”
He continued to gaze upon her adoringly, and I wondered why he would relinquish her if she were such a prize.
Because of the landing, no doubt.
“She’s like a rare diamond from Bellos,” he said.
But a clumsy bird could not be given a lofty name regardless of keenness. I thought of the way her feathers glistened orange by the sunlight.
“Carrot.” I stroked the top of her head. She stared at me with large brown eyes.
“Like a diamond karat.” Baird’s tone indicated approval.
“Certainly not.”
He frowned.
I started to feel Baird’s hand in mine again, grounding me. I felt as though I had realigned with my corporeal self.
Blinding light seared my eyes, and I momentarily squinted against the sun. I sucked in a revitalizing breath as though surfacing from a deep dive. When I fully opened my eyes, I saw we had at least man- aged to get the army to the correct location. They were already in full combat—Portia’s army versus the Dantajists.
