Renegade Guardians 1 Read online

  The tent darkened once more. Whatever the mischievous ringleader had planned for his captive audience had only just begun. A million questions about the scene raced through my mind. I should have forced Father to come in with me. I should have listened when he said no.

  But time had run out. The lights rose once more and changed to red, the platform empty. A rumble of confusion spread through the tent. Was the show over? Where had all the performers gone?

  The music morphed into something more sinister, the drums more robust. My chest tightened as my body tensed with anticipation. When the ringleader’s voice boomed through the arena, a cold sweat drenched my body.

  “We’ve seen some incredible talent here tonight,” his voice came from nowhere. “Fire dancers. Sword jugglers. Lion tamers. The invisible woman. All unique and talented freaks. But acts that have become…familiar. They don’t unsettle us the way they once did, even if they entertain.”

  His boots appeared first, the rest of his body right behind. He descended from a rope somewhere in the top of the domed ceiling, his arms outstretched by his sides. At first glance I expected to see a noose around his neck, but no. Instead, someone tied a three-pronged fishhook to the end of the rope. The center prong spliced through his tongue, no other measures in place to ensure his safety. When his feet touched the ground he reached for his mouth and removed the hook, his lips carved into a smile as blood poured from the cracks in his teeth.

  “I hope you’re ready.” The corners of his mouth twitched. “Bring her in!”

  The strong men from the first half of the show stomped out with the fire dancer’s arms gripped between their meaty paws. She kicked and thrashed as they pulled her back on stage towards the wooden wheel. Daggers still protruded from the wood. The men forced her onto the wheel around the blades and strapped her down. The ringleader reached into his pocket for a handkerchief to wipe the blood from his mouth. His topaz eyes flashed to crimson as he advanced with a predatory lick of his lips.

  The ringleader yanked one knife out of the wood. “Pain is an interesting sensation.” He ran a finger over the edge of the blade. “One of the few universal experiences every creature in the world shares.”

  Without warning, he spun on his heel and slashed the blade down the woman’s face. My hands flew up to cover my eyes as the dancer howled in agony. I held my breath and waited for someone to intervene and stop the madman on stage, but no one moved. The audience remained transfixed under the ringmaster’s spell as the woman’s cries filled the tent.

  No part of me wanted to see what the ringmaster was doing, but my fingers parted as if my curiosity had a mind of its own. I wiggled in my seat and prayed the show would end, but the woman’s screams only grew more tortured. I swallowed the lump of terror in my throat and forced my eyes open.

  The ringmaster had stripped away the dancer’s tiny dress, her bare flesh exposed. Smears of blood covered her skin, a strange design carved into her abdomen. Bile rose into my throat. How much longer would the dancer live through the ringmaster’s sick torture? And why did none of the other viewers share my repulsion?

  “Please, please, don’t!” The dancer’s tears choked her voice.

  The ringmaster only laughed as he raised the knife over his head to plunge into her once more. No one moved to stop him or help her. The surrounding faces appeared more eager than afraid.

  No. I sprang from my seat and raced out of the tent as fast as my feet would carry me. Twice I stumbled on someone’s foot or a stray rock, but I didn’t stop. I ran until the brisk night air met my skin. Acid rose from my throat as I struggled to breathe. I should have listened to Father; I should have stayed away.

  “Lili? Lilianna, what’s wrong?”

  Father appeared by my side. His face wrinkled with worry as he studied me. A pair of children giggled as they zoomed past. A chipper melody drifted out from the game booths. Father rested a hand on my back. His eyes searched my face for answers. Before I conjured an explanation, I fell to my knees and vomited into the grass. My lungs constricted against the corset as I heaved. Soil and sickness covered my linen skirt.

  “Ugh.” Father groaned as he stepped back. “I hope you didn’t care much for that gown. I’m guessing it didn’t go well? What happened in there?”

  I wiped my mouth on the back of my arm, my stomach still tight. How did I explain what I’d seen? A part of me felt dirty for being in the tent.

  “The show was more intense than I expected,” I said, at a loss for other explanations that wouldn’t force me to sacrifice more pride. “I shouldn’t have pressed so hard to see it.”

  I expected Father to chuckle at my expense. But his mouth remained a thin line as he searched my face. “What happened?” he asked again, this time with more urgency.

  I rubbed my forehead. “Nothing. I overreacted. I’d never seen dark magic up close before.”

  Father’s expression darkened as he reached a hand down to help me up. “I’ve told you a thousand times, Lili; there’s no such thing as magic. Whatever illusions they showed you were all part of an act. They prey on your fears for a living. Come. Let’s get you home. We’ve both had enough excitement for one night.”

  I didn’t argue as I took Father’s hand and rose on shaky knees, my chest still tight. The ground beneath my feet felt unsteady the entire walk home. I could still hear the music when I climbed into bed hours later, the images burned onto the backs of my eyelids.

  *

  My thoughts raced the remainder of the evening. I buried my face in my pillow, pulled the thick comforter over my head, and squeezed my eyes shut. But sleep never came. The woman’s screams and panicked cries haunted me. No matter how many times I played the scene over, my brain couldn’t make sense of what it had witnessed.

  Several hours later, I gave up on falling asleep. Father’s congested snore rattled the house as crickets chirped outside the window. I tried to distract myself by counting the dusty spines of the books on my shelf, but a million questions plagued my thoughts. How had the fishhook supported the man’s body weight without tearing his tongue from his mouth? Did they drug the animals to make them so docile and cooperative? If their talents didn’t come from some dark magic, how did they pull off such dangerous stunts?

  The longer I obsessed on the carnival, the more it warped into a twisted nightmare. Eventually, I couldn’t tell what I’d seen inside the tent and what my imagination invented to torment me. My skin crawled, my heart racing despite my lack of movement. Somewhere in the distance, I could still hear the trumpets and drums.

  Oh, blast. My thoughts became darker the longer I laid in bed. I crawled from my narrow mattress and onto my feet. A breath of fresh air might not help seduce slumber, but it might dispel the dark thoughts. I tiptoed towards the door on shaky legs. The floorboards creaked with every step.

  Father wouldn’t approve. But I hoped he might understand. With the stroke of midnight well behind us, I’d crossed into the age of independence. My actions—and their consequences—would be mine alone to shoulder. It seemed only right to test things with a low-risk decision.

  I’d take a brisk walk and return home before Father woke. I’d clear my head and come home with a tired body grateful for warm blankets and a place to rest. If I avoided the main road, no one had to know I’d broken the rules and left home unaccompanied.

  A sharp click echoed through the house as I opened the door of my bedchamber. I tensed as my grip around the handle tightened. When the rumble of his snores confirmed Father hadn’t woken, I slipped into the darkness of the hallway. With my back pressed against the wall, I held my breath and crept towards the staircase. I escaped down the stairs and out of the house. I gasped for air the moment I threw the door open and stepped into the nighttime.

  The temperature outside had dropped since the carnival. I shivered as a brisk breeze grazed my arms. I glanced down at my thin knee-length nightdress and winced. I hadn’t thought to change into something more suitable for a jaunt outside. If I w
ent back in the manor, the odds of Father sleeping through the front door twice were slim. I wouldn’t get another chance to slip out undetected. Father would ask questions I didn’t have answers to, inquiries about my erratic behavior.

  No thank you. I wrapped my arms around my body and scurried down the cobbled path away from the house. I’d deal with my father later if I had to, after I knew what to say. At the moment, it seemed impossible to find a label for the complex mix of emotions and thoughts swirling within me.

  A tense quiet hung over the tiny town of Faomere, most residents tucked into their beds for the night. Crickets chirped from the grass. An owl hooted a soft welcome overhead.

  Only when I strained my ears and listened hard did I notice the trumpets. I glanced up at the almost full moon, stars scattered across the black backdrop of night.

  At first, I had no idea where to go. I hadn’t left my house with a plan, at least not a conscious one aside from avoiding the busier roads. Even as the forest appeared in front of me, nothing about my journey stood out as familiar. I walked with the hope of a destination that helped clear my head.

  The whistle of the wind penetrated the quiet of the night and chilled my skin. The further I walked the louder the music grew. I only recognized the familiar fairground when I stood a few feet away. When I neared enough for a good view, my feet froze as my mouth fell open.

  “Sweet shadows...”

  Where caged animals and tents and booths had stood hours before sat nothing but an empty field. The grass stood tall and perky, no evidence of hundreds of feet prodding through. No trash littered the fairgrounds, no evidence of disturbance. As if the carnival never happened. Had I imagined the trumpets and drums? Had I dreamed the entire thing?

  I took a few steps further into the center of the field, my intestines twisted with panic. How is this possible? No matter how many explanations I offered myself, no matter how I tried to justify things in my head, none of it made sense. How had they packed up and left town within hours? And why did I still hear their whimsical melody?

  Movement caught the corner of my eye. The bushes rustled as my heart jumped into my throat. I scanned the area for something to defend myself with, but not even a twig sat within reach. I sucked in a sharp breath and braced for whatever evils Zanox had sent—

  Something rolled out of the bushes, obscured by the shadows. I waited for it to lunge, but a lame whimper left its crumpled form. I took a few small steps closer and squinted as I held my breath.

  A small laugh died on my lips. No monster or ravenous beast waited for me. An injured rabbit rested on its side, the belly of his snow-white fur stained red. His tiny body trembled with each breath, his eyes half-open. I stood frozen over the creature, unsure how to proceed. What hurt the little creature? And what could I do to ease his pain?

  Still, I had to do something. I dropped to my knees by his side. My hand shook as I reached for the bunny, my skin ice. I hovered over his body for a few moments before lowering my fingertips to his fur and giving his back a gentle stroke.

  “Ow!” My elbow locked as a searing pain shot up my arm the moment my fingers touched his fur. I jumped back, the pain gone the moment my skin left his. I glanced down at my hand and blinked. That’s new.

  I shot a skeptical glance towards the rabbit who continued to whimper and whine. I wiggled my fingers, but the pain didn’t return. Almost as if the agony wasn’t mine.

  “Impossible.” I shook my head and flexed my hand. I’d never heard of creatures transferring their pain onto other people. Had I let my imagination run away from me?

  Still, there was only one way to find out for sure. I leaned forward once more and reached for the hare, my jaw clenched. As predicted, the pain returned the moment my hand contacted the warmth of the creature’s body. I left my hand in place for as long as I could stand the discomfort before I collapsed next to the rabbit.

  It makes little sense. The animal had shared his suffering with me, a phenomenon I’d never heard so much as whispers of. Yet as I searched my brain for answers, it was the only explanation that made sense. Whatever happened to him had caused pain beyond measure. I glanced over at his wounds. A stab of pain ripped through my chest.

  I must help him. There’d be plenty of time left afterward to worry about how he had shared his agony. I’d wrap him up in the skirt of my nightgown and carry him back home. Father would help me clean his wounds and bandage him up or stitch him up. I’dA high-pitched squeal escaped the creature once more. Blood gurgled in his throat as he struggled for air. Hope deflated like a balloon in my chest. Time had run out to save him. His injuries were too severe to allow hope for recovery. The only mercy I could show him now would be in a swift, painless death.

  The thought twisted my stomach. I’d never taken a life before, not even when creepy spiders found their way into our bathroom or kitchen. Father’s voice whispered in the back of my mind. ‘It’s not murder, it’s an act of mercy,’ he said, but I did not see much distinction.

  Men carry knives and handguns for moments like these. Father never left the house without both. He’d have given the creature a swift, kind death at the end of his blade in my shoes. But I wasn’t a man, and I had no such weapons. I’d never been permitted to so much as hold a knife. My fist slammed against the soil in frustration.

  “I’m sorry, little one.” Tears pooled in my eyes. “I’ve left you to suffer for too long, and I’m so sorry. Be at peace, sweet friend.”

  My hands trembled as I leaned over and rested them both against the rabbit’s neck. I ignored the pain and pressed my weight into my hands, my eyes squeezed shut. A warm sensation spread from my shoulders down my fingertips. My arms shook as I sniffled, afraid to stop until I could be positive it was over. I waited until I thought my flesh might melt away from my skeleton to release the animal’s soft fur and collapse onto the ground next to it.

  I let my eyes drift open. My jaw fell to my chest. I’d expected to find blood on my hands or some other gruesome image. But the rabbit vanished like the circus before him. No lifeless body rested on the grass, nothing on my hands but dirt and a strange black goo.

  I sprang to my feet and sprinted away from the fairground as fast as my feet would carry me. I tore through the woods in what I hoped was the direction of the house. None of this is real. This is all a dream.

  I knew it wasn’t—the dull ache of my feet and brisk air against my legs screamed I was awake—but I wanted to believe it, anyway. The truth left a far more bitter taste.

  Was I slipping into madness? I’d always had an active imagination as a child, but this was different. Darker. More than I could take.

  I didn’t slow my pace until I reached the safety of the concrete steps in front of the house. Sweat poured down my face as I gripped the cold metal railing. Butterflies still danced in my stomach, my legs weak. As I dragged myself into the bedchamber, all I thought about was the new life morning might bring.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Tree of Atonement

  Whatever high expectations I’d held for the next day dissipated before breakfast. Only a few minutes of sleep came the night before. My muscles ached with fatigue. The music never returned, the excitement done for the evening. When the sun rose over the trees, I had to question how much of what I remembered was real.

  Father waited for me in the kitchen like every other dawn, a newspaper in his hands and a steaming ceramic mug in front of him. He shifted the sheet down to his nose when I entered the room. His topaz eyes studied me as he asked from behind the paper, “Sleep well?”

  I shrugged, unable to meet his gaze. “As well as I could manage.”

  Father chuckled and folded his morning read. “I didn’t suspect you would, even if we’d skipped the carnival. Something about the eighteenth birthday invites excitement and anxiety.”

  If Father only knew. “Hard to say.” I dug around the counter for a piece of fruit to call breakfast. “I don’t feel any different.”

  “Not yet.” He sn
orted. “You’ve only been an adult for a few hours. Give things time to take off.”

  I forced a smile. “Of course. I plan to inquire about a position as a soldier, or perhaps an educator—”

  “When do you plan to entertain suitors?” Father reached for his mug. “A gentleman stopped by to inquire about courting you earlier this morning.”

  I cringed. “So soon? I’ve only just turned eighteen. Can’t I wait until I can no longer avoid the task? Why is it so important for me to marry my life away as soon as I meet a man who will have me?”

  Father sighed as if dealing with the most difficult daughter on the planet. “You know why. Career ambitions aside, society has certain, ah, expectations of a young lady with good lineage.”

  I scoffed. “Good lineage? Am I livestock or a young woman? Will I overhear you discussing my pedigree with future suitors?”

  “Stop.” Father’s face scrunched. “No husband worth considering will listen to that sassy mouth of yours.”

  I snatched an eppia fruit from the counter and shrugged as I studied its dull burgundy peel. “Then I suppose he’s not a partner worth having.”

  Father rose from his chair as he massaged his temples with his index fingers. “You’ll be the death of me someday, daughter. You’re so ambitious, yet so naïve. As proud as I expect your mother would be, it’s a blessing she didn’t live to hear your tongue. Now save your sass. I need you to stop by the butcher’s market today.”

  Swell. I could think of a thousand ways I’d rather spend my birthday than hiking into center city to the crowded butcher’s stand and back. The business had long outgrown its building, and the stench of iron lingered on every surface. The men who worked there treated me with kindness, but that didn’t make it my favorite place to pass the afternoon.

  “Couldn’t it wait a day?”

  “Only if you don’t want to eat tonight,” Father said. “You resist so much when I ask so little from you. You have no appreciation for how well you have things.”