2
The Guardians
Maeve climbed, heart pulsing in her ears, the shadow creatures hissing at her heels. Darkness floated around her and a thick fog claimed the sky, blotting out the red glow. She knew it was still night, but the incessant darkness gave her no sense of time. She continued until the shadow creatures withdrew, snarling as they sank into the mountain, as though they were part of it. A glimmer of gold flickered on the edges of Maeve’s vision and she slowed to a quick walk. She needed to save her strength for there was no knowing what lay in wait at the summit. The air was warm as though she walked close to a furnace. Beads of sweat dripped down her neck, and deep within the mountain she thought she heard a bubbling sound. Perhaps nothing more than the shift of rock on rock. She assumed the volcano would rumble and shake if it were close to erupting, but there were no tremors, nothing after the shadow creatures disappeared.
Rounding a curve, Maeve came to a halt as the summit of the mountain opened before her. The path continued, running in a zigzag pattern around a great rock with words carved on it. The words glowed on the stone as though illuminated by a light within. Maeve’s hands tightened on her sword and her throat went dry as she took in the giant who stood just beyond the rock.
He looked like a man, but the resemblance ended there. He stood ten feet tall and golden armor covered his bronze skin. His face looked as though it had been carved from stone and his gloved hands rested on the hilt of an unsheathed sword, shining in the darkness as though it were made of light.
A breath escaped Maeve’s mouth in a long, drawn-out hiss. Every inch of the man’s body was covered in thick layers of muscle. His round head was bald, eyes deep-set, and lips full and serious. His was a mouth that never smiled. But it wasn’t his size, nor the golden armor, or the naked sword that drew Maeve’s eyes. It was what lay on his back. Golden wings that swept almost to his feet arched from his back, with long, golden feathers. An aura of light danced around him and as Maeve gawked, a sudden knowing came over her, a fear. She fell to her knees and cast her sword on the ground.
As she did, a flash of light lit up the sky. Instead of bowing her head, her eyes were drawn upward as another winged creature descended. She, too, was clothed in golden armor with great, swooping wings on her back. Sparks of light danced around her as she landed beside the man. A shimmering circlet, much like Maeve’s, was around her head, but it was plain, with no jewels. Her yellow hair was pulled back from her face, but the ends of it were loose and settled over one shoulder as she landed. Her skin was a deep bronze and her eyes a blend of green and gray. She faced the man but followed his gaze down the path.
Ragged breaths tore out of Maeve’s throat in fear and wonder and astonishment. Were these the beings spoken of in age-old stories? Were they the ancient celestials, the ones who would fight against the demons?
The woman spoke first, her voice like music of the night as she conversed with the man in a language which Maeve did not understand. He answered, his voice rumbling like thunder on the edge of a storm.
Head down, Maeve listened, her thoughts whirling. While she had no doubt they would assist her in some way, she was woefully unsure of the protocol for standing before celestials, those blessed to spend eternity in the presence of the Divine. And somehow, their very existence made the old guilt and shame she thought she’d beaten rise within her. A shiver went up her spine and wormed its way up to her mind. She was not worthy to stand in their presence.
“Rise, oh warrior, defender, Carnite,” the woman’s voice rang out like a bell, strong, commanding.
Taking a deep breath, Maeve rose to her feet, sword in hand, and faced the celestials.
The solemn expression on both of their faces had not changed. Maeve was reminded of her days as a mercenary, when she would stand among warlords and comrades, discussing their next task. But she was a sellsword no longer and her decisions were born out of both revenge and hope. Hope that her actions would erase the darkness of her past.
“Better,” the woman said, pressing a hand to her heart. “I am Yael.” She bowed her head. “This,” she extended an arm toward the man, “is Asim. We are the guardians.”
Courage returned to Maeve as the woman spoke and she pressed a bloodied hand to her chest, aware of how dirty her clothing was and her lack of armor which the dark fae had ripped from her. “I am Maeve of Carn. The last defender.”
The last phrase she spoke had an odd ring to it, but she added it, because it was true and at last she’d decided to walk in the way of the prophecy.
“Well met, Maeve of Carn,” Yael admonished her. “Tell us, are you the one responsible for the Crown of Erinyes?”
Maeve opened her mouth and faltered. Responsible? Her brows knitted together. “I am not sure what you mean. The king of the fae has the crown.”
“Currently, yes.” The woman frowned. “But you are the one who found the seven shards? Are you not?”
Excuses flooded Maeve’s mind. Yes, she’d found the seven shards but only because she was collared, forced. And at the end, she’d believed Sandrine, that it was the right thing to do, the only way to destroy the fae once and for all. Except she hadn’t succeeded. They’d escaped, and she was here, in some forsaken land with golden guardians glaring down on her. Was this judgement for her actions? “Yes,” she said, her voice hushed. She wanted to say more, but it seemed imprudent.
“And you have taken it upon yourself to fulfill the prophecy and become the last defender?” Yael’s tone was sharp, insistent.
Maeve lifted her chin. “Yes.”
“Then I bid you welcome, Maeve of Carn.” Yael smiled.
Maeve almost sagged to the ground in relief, but kept her position, feet apart, head held high. “Why am I here? What do you want from me?” she asked, glancing at Asim, who watched her out of unreadable eyes.
Yael’s eyes widened. “We require nothing from you, it is we who will assist you.”
“We are the Guardians of the Gates,” Asim spoke for the first time, thunder in his booming voice. “The crown has been restored, curses have been broken. The fae run free, the last dragon has taken her true form and the gates of the underworld will not hold. War is coming to this land, a great war between demons and celestials, humans, hunter, orcs, and fae. Your strength, your skills are needed if good should win against evil, and this world continue with those who can survive what is to come.”
A chill went through Maeve. Despite the warmth, she shivered. “I am not a leader,” she admitted. “I don’t know where, or how to begin. I went through a portal, following the fae, and found myself here.”
Yael nodded. “You are exactly where you need to be. For now. The fae passed through here, but they are gone, likely home, or wherever they can cause chaos as they celebrate their newfound freedom. Your journey begins at daybreak, for now we will retire to our watchtower lest the gates of the underworld swing open earlier than we expect.”
Asim spread his wings, and Yael held out her hand to Maeve. She took a breath and stepped forward. This was her destiny now, her path. Lifting a hand, she took Yael’s and suddenly they were airborne.