Chloe's Guardian (The Nephilim Redemption Series Book 1) (26 page)

CHAPTER
32

The ruts and holes jerked the cart left then right as the boy hauled it forward with the force of an ox. At least the hill was behind them. But Horatius lurched back and forth, trying not to fall out, even on the level road to the village.

“Do you have to go so fast? This crate doesn’t seem overly solid anymore.”

“All the better to hurry, then, to get there afore it falls apart.”

“I wish to get there alive,” Horatius said in a vibrating, unsteady voice.

“I told you to pray from where we were,” the boy threw over his shoulder as he propelled them forward without lessoning his pace. “You said you had to go to the church. I am taking you to the church.”

“I swear I will not pay you if I am dead.”

The top slat of wood came away in Horatius’ hand when they hit a particularly deep hole. On the next hard bump, one entire side of the cart wall snapped off and cartwheeled through the dust behind them. He grabbed the edge of the floor with the hand not holding the torch, wondering how many more bumps before he’d be riding on just the axle.

It took two.

A loud crack accompanied the second bump and several pieces of the cart broke away and bounced off down the road. One plank of wood from the flooring was all that kept Horatius off the ground. The cart picked up even more speed now that it weighed several boards less.

“Stop boy, stop,” Horatius yelled. “This is not Ben Hur, boy.” His voice jolted with each bump.

The boy made a quick glance back and his eyes flashed wide. He tried to stop, but the speed jerked him forward with his hands gripping the tongue. His spindly legs sprinted with the momentum while Horatius held on and tried to keep his teeth from rattling out of his head.

“Pull back, boy! You’ve got to slow it down,” Horatius yelled in a bumpy voice.

The boy dug in his heels and created a dust cloud. The crazed flight finally started to slacken. Horatius’ head was only a finger’s breadth from the ground, his hair mopping the dirt. Bouncing on his back, he lay head-down on the one single plank left of the cart, with a fist over his head, clamped around a peg sticking up from the wood, which was all that kept him from sliding off. The end of that single plank dug a furrow in the dirt, snaking down the middle of the path.

The cart slowed and at last they stopped, and Horatius lowered his leg that stuck straight in the air to rest it on the top edge of a wheel—and the wheel popped off, slamming down that side of the axle. The jolt threw him off and he rolled into the dirt. How utterly disappointing that they hadn’t made it to the church before losing their transportation.

Horatius lifted his eyelids and found the boy bending over him, studying his face with the torch he’d picked back up.

“You all right?”

Horatius did not move. “Do you not find it a bit distressing that, once again, we are in a situation that requires your inquiry into the state of my wellbeing?”

He looked baffled and took a moment to respond. “You are all right then?”

“Absolutely. I am fine.” It took much effort, but he managed to get to his feet. Dizziness forced him over, putting his hands on his knees to keep from toppling back over. “Have you any more great ideas?”

He had not meant it, but the boy took off again, disappearing once more into the darkness, which was not quite as dark anymore. The black of night was giving way to the graying of a predawn glow.

Horatius tried to straighten up. His legs didn’t feel like they were under his own command. Every three to four steps, he had to stop and take two deep breaths. After three cycles, his hands went back to his knees and he waited, bent over, for strength to continue.

Chloe’s grandmother’s walker would certainly be welcome about now
. Sure. He could just conjure it up. Or as long as he was at it, how about a limo? Yes, that would be nice. With champagne and Chloe in the back seat. But then, why not just
transfigure
and get out of this blasted mess and be done with it once and for all? He was sick and tired of the frustration and limitation. How would he ever be able to save Chloe if he couldn’t do something.
I
must
get
out of this godforsaken
situation
!

The anger got him through four more cycles of step-step-step-breathe-breathe. He straightened up and started walking again. And from the darkness before him came a shrill bray.

A distance down the path, the boy became visible as he strolled along with a mule walking at his side. And from all physical appearances, it was the mule he had abandoned.

“She will help,” the boy said.

Horatius could not believe it. The stupid beast meandered along the boy’s side without him even holding its bit.

“How did you get it to do that?”

“Do what?”

“Walk with you like that. I couldn’t beat it into moving.”

“Beat her? I just talked to her. She is a nice molly.”

“That beast is
anything
but nice.” But Horatius was relieved to see it. His legs were not going to hold him up much longer. “Okay, hold it steady and let me try to get on.”

He mounted and decided the mule had to have been a clone, because it looked exactly like the one he’d gotten from Knox, but it was a different creature entirely, letting Horatius on its back as though it wanted him there.

The ride was pitiful, but compared to rocketing down a ski slope in a rickety cart, plunging into a slimy pool of spoiled sludge, and being dragged nearly to death on his head, it was not too horrendous.

By the time they entered the village, a cock had crowed several times and the anticipated sun had painted the sky a deep orange. The mule followed the boy like a trained dog. Dark markings down its snout and around one eye confirmed to Horatius it had to be Knox’s animal. He cursed at it for cooperating so easily now.
Why couldn’t you do this in the first place?
He would have been saved a lot of trouble and might have even found the girls by now.

The boy led them to a small chapel on the edge of town. The stone walls were mostly intact. The straw and stick roof sagged on one side, in need of some good tending and upkeep. But it was Sanctuary, and Horatius was anxious to find out what was going on.

He slid off the mule’s back in front of the door. He caught himself and held onto the mule’s neck until he steadied. He grabbed the doorway and with a shaky gait, staggered through the low, dark entrance.

Six rows of wooden benches stretched from the entrance toward the front of the room. A narrow table up near the chancel was covered with a cloth and candles in plain, wooden holders. The room was austere and clean—a surprise after the dilapidated exterior.

Horatius dropped onto the first bench and put his head into his hands. The dizziness and fatigue were overwhelming. He had never had to endure it like this, with no control over when he would transfigure and rid his existence of the drawbacks of human form.

The boy spoke from beside him. Horatius didn't know he'd even come in, let alone settled next to him.

“Are you praying yet?” he said in a reverent whisper.

No. For all the rush to get there, he was so exhausted, his mind was empty. The thought of concentrating and listening in on the Celestial Chatter made him want to close his eyes and go to sleep. In fact, he thought just a few minutes rest couldn’t hurt.

A small hand pushed on his arm. “Hey, wake up.”

He must have dozed. The boy was still sitting next to him watching him, his short legs far from the ground and swinging opposite each other.

“Are you not going to pray?”

Horatius nodded, which took all his energy, and closed his eyes. He sat in darkness and silence, mustering the strength to focus. A faint thought assured him that if he just got transfigured, the cloud of exhaustion and oppression would be broken. It was enough to spur him on. He pulled together what little strength he had left and converged his scattered thoughts into one focal point.

He listened.

Nothing.

He listened harder.

Still nothing.

The silence pulled him from the stupor. It made him think about what he was doing, to be more intentional. He tried again, this time not taking anything for granted.

Nothing!

Panic clutched at his chest. His blood rushed faster and his breathing quickened.

He stopped just listening, foregoing the caution of tuning in before transferring into Communication Mode when he thought Satarel was near, and he sent his thoughts to the sentinel of the church.

Nothing!

He skipped the sentinel and went directly for the Guardians of the sector. He sent thoughts way out of the Chronos Band, hoping to find any of the Pure who might hear him.

Now his heart was beating like he’d been running. He started to hyperventilate. The panic was going to choke him. He found strength to stand up and he threw prayers and pleas in a hundred directions, supplicating, screaming in his mind, for any answer.

“What is wrong?” the boy asked.

“Mebahel! Jabamiah!” Horatius cried aloud. He even bellowed for Laviah. He listened for a second and called out again, this time for Darryn. “Where
are
you? Why have you left me here alone in this darkness? What has happened? Do not forsake me!”

He fell back onto the bench, spent, unable to stand. Unable to understand. “I cannot endure this.” His ultimate dread.

He was alone, left in complete, palpable blackness, disconnected from light and life. What would he do? How could he survive? He would not. He knew he could not. Why? Why was he alone? Anguish tore his soulless spirit. He would not persevere alone, abandoned, cut off. He could not. He was doomed.

CHAPTER
33

An army was coming and Pan was abandoning them to die. Chloe had studied medieval battles in history class. Raping, pillaging, skewering, and beheading. She wasn’t about to hang around and risk experiencing that firsthand.

“Kaitlyn, give me a boost. Then I’ll pull you up.” Chloe strained to climb the odd pole ladder. Her skirts kept getting in the way. Pan had swooped up the post with no effort and made it look simple.

Kaitlyn tilted up her head and shaded her eyes with her hand. “Do you think that’s a good idea? Pan said to wait for him. He said he’d take us home.”

Chloe almost was to the top. She reached down as far as she could, wiggling her fingers at Kaitlyn. “Come on! Give me your hand. We’ve got to catch him before he gets away. He can’t leave us here.”

Kaitlyn started up and Chloe locked onto her wrist as  soon as she was in reach. That skirt of hers was ridiculous. It didn't look like there was enough fabric between her feet for her to lift her leg to the next peg
.
But Chloe had to make Kaitlyn believe she could do it.

“Come on. It’s easier than it looks. Come on! We have to catch Pan.”

Kaitlyn whimpered.

“Hurry, we don’t want him to get away.” Chloe scrambled up to the top and glanced over the wall. Three horses were galloping away.

“They’re getting away. We have to go
now
. Come
on
!”

“I can’t. I’ll fall. This skirt won’t let me.” She slipped trying to get her foot up.

“Sure you can. Get up. Just do it!”

Kaitlyn tugged on the fabric, pulling the ankle opening up higher on her leg.

Pan, Gordon, and the other man were three small, dark spots shrinking toward a distant hill where she would soon lose sight of them. It was too late. She had to let them go, give them up.

“Never mind, Kaitlyn. It’s too late.” She threw her leg over the pole and climbed back down. “Don’t worry. Come on.”

Kaitlyn backed down behind her and when on the ground again, she wiped the tears off her cheeks, tucking her head down so her hand could reach her face.

She said, “Did you hear what he said?”

Chloe didn’t want to be angry at her, but she had really, really needed her to get over that wall.

“About Denver?” Kaitlyn said.

“What are you talking about?” Chloe still had an ear focused beyond the wall in case Pan changed his mind and returned for them.

“He said he’d take us back to Denver. He must be like Horace.”

Chloe stopped. “No, he did not. He never said Denver.”

“He said he’d take us home. That means Denver. He
knows.
”

“That’s just wishful thinking. He couldn’t have meant Denver because Denver doesn’t exist now. Just because he promised to ‘take us home’ doesn’t mean he knows about Denver. He’s only a medieval guy who just happens to look Arabian and huge and—”
Can it be? Is that why he knows Horace? Is that why he said he can take us home?

Kaitlyn nodded. “Of course he is. It makes total sense.”

If he was like Horace, something wasn’t right. Why was his face scarred? Why was he working for Gordon?

When they got around to the front entryway into the castle, everything was as they had left it. The gate had not been crashed down, no crazed warriors were sword fighting, no balls of flame were catapulting into the yard. No one was in sight.

Maybe everyone is already dead.

Yelling came from inside the castle. Chloe didn’t know what else to do but go inside and face whatever was happening. What did it matter anymore with their one last chance to go home and save her family gone over the wall and probably never coming back?