Guardian :03

Elven Linguistics 101…

***Flashback (WITHIN a flashback.  How innovative!)***

                        He couldn't tell up from down, river surface from river bottom, gravity from buoyancy in the frigid chill of the Rhyssen river.  The 8-year-old could tell the difference between air and water, enough to know that he was out of the former and not likely to gain any more of it at the moment.  In vain he propelled his limbs, kicking out wildly, but the gentle tendrils of seaweed were wrapping around them, enveloping his body like delicate, sinuous snakes, dragging him closer and closer to the rocks.  His burning lungs were on fire, and he reflexively gasped, filling them and his nostrils with icy water.  He writhed, shutting his eyes, refusing to give in to the inevitable watery death.

Joren woke up.

He was resting on the long grass bordering the river by his family's castle, his clothes sopping wet, with bits of seaweed still clinging tenaciously to his arms.  Joren took a deep breath, allowing his body to fill with precious, cherished air, and didn't flinch when gentle arms encircled him.

            "Feeling alright?"  A female's deep voice asked.  He looked up to see a woman--not from his family's region, by the look of her coal-black hair and dark eyes--who smiled down at him.  The one who rescued him from the river.  Yet her dress--a white, wispy garment with long skirts and wide sleeves--was completely dry, despite the state of his own water-logged attire.  With a sudden shock stiffening his limbs, he realized she'd spoken his people's language, the one passed down from their elven ancestors before they'd moved on to the divine realms, leaving their half-human progeny behind.  Joren gazed at the woman in wonder.

            "I was happy to rescue you," she told him, the timbre of her words reminding him of wolves baying in moonlight.  "Will you do me a favor in return?"

            "Of course, Goddess."  For that was surely who this woman must be.

            "I knew you would."  She raised an elegant hand to smooth his pale hair, which dried as she did so.  "In two years you shall leave your homeland to become a knight of the Tortallan realm.  When you are there, a girl shall arrive also to seek her shield.  When she does, you must hate her.  Do you understand?"

            Joren nodded.  "I shall do as you ask, my lady," he whispered.  The woman smiled again.

            "Good."

***End flashback***

            "See?  I told you," scowled Joren (teenage version) at the Goddess, after the two of them and Mithros had watched the scene unfurl.  "I did exactly as you told me to!  What am I in trouble for?"

            "It's hardly my fault the Elven words for 'hate' and 'befriend' are practically the same," she snarled back.  "And if it hadn't been for me you would have died that day in the river, so stop complaining!"

            "So you saved my life in order to kill me later?"

            "Actually, yes," interrupted Mithros from where he sat in the grass, weaving together flowers to make a daisy chain.  He rose and hung it around Joren's shoulders.  "You were living on borrowed time all along.  The idea was to let you live long enough to befriend the Protector of the Small, so there would be no problem later when she would need your assistance.  The Ordeal was a perfect opportunity to take your life the second time."

            Joren was nonplussed.  "The sorry of the who?  And how can I guard anyone when I'm dead?"

            Mithros and the Goddess exchanged glances.  "Do you want to tell him, or shall I?"  the Goddess asked.  Mithros sighed.

            "I'll do it.  Martyrs make good gods, as they say."  He looked down at Joren, expression entirely serious, and grasped the mortal's shoulders.  "Joren of Stone Mountain, you have been destined to the position of Guardian Angel for the Protector of the Small, known to you as Keladry of Mindelan."

            Joren stared in disbelief.  The God and Goddess stared back at him with deadpan expressions.  "Pardon?  I don't think I heard you correctly."

            "You did."

            Joren didn't say a word, covering his mouth with an aristocratic hand.  His shoulders began to shake uncontrollably.

            "Are you alright?" asked the Goddess, bewildered, but before she could take a step toward him the boy burst out laughing.

            "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!  I mean, I knew the gods had a sense of humor--look at Queenscove--but this?!  Come on, seriously, what'd you two off me for?"

            Mithros frowned.  "It isn't a joke," he insisted.  "You've been destined from the beginning to be the guardian to Mindelan.  She's got a very important task ahead of her and she needs some celestial assistance.  That's you."

            Joren looked between Mithros and the Goddess, his laughter stopping abruptly at the sight of their serious faces.  "You're joking," he said again, this time without humor.  When they said nothing, his white face began to color.  "There's no way in Hell I will ever--"

            "Hell," interrupted Mithros.  "Exactly where you'll be if you don't comply.  I wouldn't go there, especially if you don't like--"

            "Stairs.  Fire.  You got that from the ferrygirl," replied Joren testily.  "Why the h--why'd you choose Mindelan anyway?  And what's with this Protector of the Small thing?"

            "Read the book, it'll come out five minutes ago," the Great Mother interjected.

            "No, it'll make him mad," disagreed Mithros.  "She goes out of her way not to mention his name."

            "What are you talking about?!" Joren raged.  The deities exchanged omniscient looks and smiled patronizingly.

            "Nothing," the king of gods replied vaguely, with a wave of his hand.  "Anyway, do you agree or not?"

            "The choice is yours," added the Goddess.  "Sulferous pits or saving the world?"   The gods waited while Joren stood silently, staring balefully at the grass.

            "Well?" asked Mithros, after 7 hours (5 minutes to us mortals).

            "I'm thinking!"

            "Humans!" the Goddess rolled her eyes.  "We'll make you a deal.  If you help us out in this regard, you can be visible to certain others as well as Keladry of Mindelan.  Does that sound fair?"

            "Why would I care about that?"  She raised her hand; Joren's eyes closed, then snapped open a minute later.  "I'll do it," he agreed, slender body shaking.  Mithros frowned at his companion, then nodded.

            "Good.  We shall have our Director of Guardian Angel Affairs instruct you himself."  Joren felt something rub against his legs, then looked down to see a coal-black cat winding itself around his feet.  He picked the feline up.

            "Good morning," said the cat, causing Joren to nearly drop it in surprise.  "It's a pleasure to meet you, as one celestial guardian to another.  I shall be training you starting today."

            "What the--?" gaped Joren.

            "Meet Faithful," said the Goddess pleasantly.  "He'll be your teacher from now on.  Make sure he stays on task," she added to the cat, who was purring happily in Joren's arms.  The cat stretched lazily.

            "Don't worry," he reassured her.  "By the time I'm done with him he'll be a first class guardian angel."

***

To be continued…

Sorry sorry sorry for the long update.  I claim schoolwork as the cause?  Please review if you like my story.  Should it be K/J?  That would be necrophilia.  3  I shall try to update in exactly 1.5 weeks (that's next Wednesday, I think).  BTW, anyone interested in being my beta? (which serves the double purpose of also nagging me into updating before 4.5 months have passed…)