Raven's Strike

“Jes,” said Papa, with just a hint of power in his voice.

It was enough to pull Jes’s attention back to him. “He remembered,” Jes told him. “But we’re not sure how. It makes him upset.” He took a breath. “I don’t think he wants to remember.”

“Are you sure he doesn’t know more?” asked Papa gently. “I asked the Guardian, Jes, and he had you answer me. I think that he might know more about it, and doesn’t want you to—”

The Guardian pushed Jes away so far that he never did hear the rest of what Papa wanted to say.

“—know.” Tier paused to adjust to the jumpy feeling that made him want to move away from the man who sat at his feet. Jes was gone, and only the Guardian was left.

“I don’t want him frightened,” said the Guardian.

“It’s dangerous to keep secrets,” said Tier. “Your mother was worried about you. She told me that it is important that you and Jes stay close to each other.”

The Guardian stood up in a graceful show of strength that reminded Tier of watching an animal you thought was a dog and realizing it was a wolf instead. Jes and the Guardian didn’t move anything alike.

“There are some things he doesn’t need to know,” said the Guardian.

“He’s right,” Tier said in some surprise. “You are afraid.”

The Guardian hissed.

“You can’t lie to me,” Tier said, keeping his voice soft though his heart rate had picked up. “Everyone is afraid sometimes. It’s all right if Jes is afraid, too. What is not all right is for you to hide things from him. You need to trust him more.”

“You know nothing,” the Guardian snapped. “You are a Bard—blessed, not cursed.”

Tier raised an eyebrow. “You are not cursed. You were just given a rocky field to harrow. Seems to me that you are doing well at it. But you need to work as a team, or you’ll not make it, son.”

“I’m not your son,” said the Guardian. “Jes is. I am the demon he is cursed with.”

It was said without a flicker of emotion, but no parent could fail to hear the cry in those words.

“You are my son,” said Tier, leaning close enough to the Guardian that his breath turned to frosty mist. “I love you. I worry for you.”

“You worry for Jes,” said the Guardian, turning his head away.

His absolute certainty suddenly reminded Tier of himself as he confronted his father two days before he went to war. His father had turned and left Tier standing with his despairing cry still echoing. “You love the bakery more than you love me.”

He considered this volatile young man who was his son, then said the first thing that came into his head. “You remind me of my sister Alinath. No one ever convinced her of anything she didn’t want to be convinced of.”

“I am nothing like Alinath.” The Guardian crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels.

“You are. The only times she ever changed her mind was when she stopped arguing and started thinking. So you go think about what I’ve said—tell Jes what it is you fear. The weight of most problems can be lightened a bit by sharing. Trust Jes.”

The Guardian was swaying slightly from one foot to the next, the way Jes did when he was upset.

“Why don’t you go out for a run tonight?” Tier suggested gently. “I sometimes find that exercise and solitude make a lot of things clearer.”

Without a word the Guardian opened the door and slipped out of the room. Tier heard the outside door open and shut quietly, then turned to his sleeping wife.

“I hope that helped him.” He kissed her, then blew out the lantern and settled in for sleep.

When Jes came back to himself he was stretched out on a tree limb with his claws dug firmly into the bark as if the Guardian had been sharpening them.

Jes managed to climb down from the tree before he lost the cat-shape. It was difficult, but so was falling out of trees.

Once again in human form, he bent and stretched, trying to decide how far he’d come. He didn’t feel too tired—not with the deep weariness that sometimes hit him when he awoke from the times when the Guardian shut him away. Hopefully, it wouldn’t take him too long to walk home.

He wondered what Papa had said to send the Guardian out ru

The Guardian seemed subdued.

“All right.” Jes’s too-human voice sounded wrong out so deep in the woods. He didn’t have to speak aloud—but it helped him keep track of who was saying what.

“What frightens you?”

“I know that.”

Impatience and frustration overwhelmed him for a moment. Jes tossed his head in the vain attempt to shake the feelings away.

“Explain it to me then,” he managed. “Why is remembering so frightening.”

“You’ve always been dangerous,” Jes said. “That’s the point, isn’t it? How can we protect them if you’re not dangerous?”

The Guardian didn’t answer, so Jes started for home. While they’d been talking he’d found landmarks in the moonlit night and had a pretty good idea where he was and how to find the shortest way home.

“You are a part of me.”

Negation swamped him, and Jes stumbled over a dead branch that lay in his path. He stopped.

the Guardian said.

The Guardian’s shame brought tears to Jes’s eyes.

“You are a part of me,” said Jes. “You help me keep my family safe. Tomorrow we are going to follow Lehr and keep him safe, too. That is what we do.”

“No,” said Jes.

“I’m not mad yet,” said Jes. “I don’t feel like I’m going to go mad. Maybe I’m different from those others. Mother says that she thinks I am.” He smiled to himself. “She says it might be stubborn solsenti blood. She says that if Aunt Alinath is too obstinate to give in to reason, that I can be too obstinate to give in to madness.”

Jes knew who “she” was. He let his smile widen. “Papa says He

He waited for a heartbeat or two, but the Guardian had said all he intended to say.

Tier rested, but he couldn’t sleep. Had he said enough to Jes? Or had he said too much? He didn’t know as much as he needed to about the Guardian Order—though from what Seraph had told him, neither did anyone else.

He heard Lehr tossing and turning in the room below. He was worried about Lehr, too. Lehr was not reckless; he wouldn’t take chances unless there was no other choice. If Lehr were only going off to face a half dozen bandits, Tier would not be half as nervous. Skill and caution were of little use against plague. He’d have to trust to Lehr’s Hunter skills to get him safely to Benroln’s clan and to Brewydd’s skills to keep his son safe from the plague.

It went against his grain to have his son risk his life for him. It seemed the wrong way ’round. A father should be willing to lay down his life to protect his family—he shouldn’t have to rely on his son. But he’d had the whole of his stay with the Path, when he thought he’d not live to see home again, to decide that without him, his family was too vulnerable. In five years that would not be so true, but for now his family needed him. And for all Seraph’s mending he could tell that he wasn’t whole yet.