Guardian - Part 5

Children danced in the streets, their shadows flickering in the firelight. Musicians struck up a lively tune on their flutes, and someone began to sing. Soon the whole square was a light with music and dancing. Paul tapped his foot to the beat of the ancient song. Yes, he'd known this tune since he was a child.

“The King is my strength, my rock in troubled times.

My soul will sing his deeds, and my heart will magnify.

Lifting up his body, and laying down his sword,

He will rescue me from danger, and pay the ransom for my life.”

Paul's heart swelled with pride as he watched his daughter Lilith join the dancers, her feet moving gracefully to the music. Her voice rose above the other girls, and a light twinkled in her eyes. She was watching someone. Paul followed her gaze to a group of young men. One towheaded boy towered above the rest. Micah.

He couldn't decide whether he should pull his daughter from the dancers or confront the youth. Anger still raged inside Paul, even though he knew the boy wasn't guilty. He'd been angry for so long, he didn't know how to let it go. The King's hand on his arm forced him to break away from his thoughts.

“Something bothering you?” He squinted at Paul in the torch light.

“I still don't trust that boy,” Paul mumbled.

The King glanced at Micah with a frown. “He was your hired hand?”

Paul nodded.

“It seems he certainly is looking for trouble. Brave young man though. We could certainly use young men like him in our ranks.” The King cleared his throat and snapped his fingers, motioning to a man nearby. “Barlow, bring the drinks.”

Paul watched the man slip back into Ada's Tavern, soon returning with others at his heels. They lugged ale barrels through the door into the street. Ada herself followed the barrels, her eyes watchful slits. When her gaze fell upon the King, she approached, a smile stretching across her face. “We have food and drink for everyone, just as you ordered, O King.” She gave a slight bow.

The King beamed and leaned close, whispering something in her ear. Paul tried to catch the words, but the music drowned them out. Finally, the King leaned back, stepping close to a barrel. He pounded his fist against its belly. When that wasn't enough, he snatched the dagger from his belt and banged the barrel with the hilt. The crowd hushed, and the musicians lowered their flutes.

The King smiled. “Thank you, everyone, for coming. I know you've long awaited this day. I only wish it could have come sooner, but now, let us not dwell in the dark memories of the past, but rejoice in present, for deliverance is at hand. Soon your crops will grow green again and your homes rebuilt. No longer will raiders rob you of your children, of your possessions, and of your joy. Come, let us celebrate. Ada has provided food and drink for us all.”

With one voice the crowd cheered, and the ale barrels were opened. Paul's hear drummed in his chest. This wasn't right. The elder King had always discouraged drink, and now his son was supporting it? The picture was wrong, all wrong, as the King filled a mug himself. He lifted it to Paul. “Come, general, wipe that sour frown of your face.”

Paul accepted the mug with sweaty fingers, before glancing back to where his wife stood among the crowd, little Elaine on her hip. No, he couldn't do this. He had to prove to his wife that he was a man, a faithful father, but the King stood over him waiting. Paul lifted the foamy liquid to his lips, but forced himself not to drink. The King, however, seemed satisfied. He turned and filled another cup, this time giving it to Carlos.

All at once the music began again, but all the more lively. Now the people sang of summer, of green crops, and of life. The girls began to dance again, their steps faster. The scene only disturbed Paul. To his relief, Lilith had slipped away and was standing with her Mother.

Paul continued his charade, lifting his mug to his lips whenever he believed the King was watching him. Lissa watched him too, her frown deepening by the minute. Go home, Paul tried to message through his eyes, but she looked away every time their gazes met.

Now what? Paul thought. Chaos would ensue before long. Why, even children were gathering around the ale barrels. Realization dawned on him as eyed the King and tavern keeper. Neither of them drank nor ate, but served. And there, another man, one who had ridden with the King earlier, wasn't drinking either. In fact, most the men he'd seen with the King from the beginning were apart from the crowd, laughing among themselves. And they all had sheathed swords at their sides. All except for Carlos.

Paul gripped his old friend's arm. “Does anything look suspicious to you?” he whispered.

Carlos lowered his mug and peered down at him. Paul saw, with relief, that his friend's mug was still full. “Everything,” Carlos hissed. “Everything looks wrong. From the ale barrels to the King himself. I'm beginning to wonder if that scrawny brat did know what he was talking about.”

Paul nodded, although he wasn't sure he was ready to admit Micah was right. “What are we going to do?”

Carlos shook his head. “I don't have a clue. The whole town will be in a drunken stupor before we know it.”

“Perfect time for a raid,” Paul muttered. The men's eyes locked and silent words passed between them.

“Get your family out of here.” Carlos nudged Paul forward.

“What about you?” Paul spun around.

His friend's eyebrows furrowed, determined. “I'm going to find that boy. See what else he knows.”

The men parted, Paul splitting to the right, and Carlos to the left. It didn't take long to locate Lissa, her disapproving frown sticking out like a sore thumb among the party. Paul grabbed her hand. She jerked away, glaring at the ale still in his hand. Paul let the mug slide to the ground. It clinked against the gravel, and ale splashed onto his boots. “Let's go home, Lissa.”

His wife's eyes softened, and she nodded. “Lilith, gather the children.”

Paul's eldest daughter grasped Amos and Arnon's hands and scanned the crowd. Her eyes widened. “Papa, I don't know where Ernan is!”

Frustration balled Paul's hands into fists. Not again! That boy always had a way of disappearing at the wrong time. “Go on home, Lissa, I'll find him.”

Paul weaved back through the crowd, his eyes scanning every child over four feet tall. None had Ernan's face. Finally he made his way back to the ale barrels. No. Rage shook through Paul's body, and like lightening he split through the crowd and jerked his son to his feet.

Ernan's eyes widened in surprise, and ale dribbled down his chin. “What's wrong, Papa?” he asked innocently.

“You know exactly what is wrong, young man!” Paul yanked the mug from his son's grip and slammed it to the ground.

A funny sound gurgled in Ernan's throat, and his eyes rolled into his head. Then snapped back, fiery and green. An unearthly cackle shook it's way out of the boy's chest.

No, no, no. Paul let his son slump back to the ground. “Someone, please, help!”

The crowd only cackled in response, lifting their mugs to their faces. Fear shivered up Paul's spine. He knew that sound. Yes, he'd heard it the day the raiders burned the castle and dragged away the King. He'd heard it the night he was robbed of his horse, the night his neighbor's barn was ablaze, the nights he spent in the tavern. Wait. The tavern? Paul shook his head. How was this all coming back to him now? Visions of Ada filling his mug, whispering into his ear, him stealing into the night, his fingers digging into the soil and lifting an ebony box from the ground. Paul glanced at his fingernails. Dirt was lodged deep beneath them, every single one of them.

No, no, no. It can't be! Paul collapsed to his knees, pressing his hands over his ears. He had to block out the laughter, block out the memories, block out the shame. He'd given the sword to Ada, and Ada had given the sword to this king, whoever he was. What a fool he was! The ale had been poisoned all along. He had to tell Carlos, and warn the people, but oh, it was too late. Paul glanced back at his son, sprawled on the street and clawing at the ground. A sob caught in Paul's throat.

A hand touched his shoulder, and he jerked his head up. The king stood above him, a smug smile on his face. He extended a mug. “Need more ale, my friend?”

Paul knocked the king's hand away. Ale splattered the ground, but the crowd didn't seem to notice. Paul glared at the king. “I don't want your drink, and I don't want your party. You are not my friend, and you are definitely not my king.”

The king's eyes narrowed. “Ada, I think my general needs a stronger drink.”

The woman appeared at his side, a large mug in hand. She leered at Paul, and then cackled. “You fool. No one refuses my drink.”

Paul jumped to his feet, intending to run, but the sound of metal scraping metal froze him in his tracks. The king thrust a smoking black blade under is chin. Curling up from the sword, the smoke drifted into Paul's face, stinging is eyes. Paul trembled. When had the king retrieved the sword?

“You will drink,” the king spat in his face. Two large hands forced Paul's jaw open. He struggled against them, but the sword pricked his skin, sending a searing pain through his neck. Paul found himself paralyzed and helpless. He couldn't move a single finger, bat a single eyelid. Ada leered over him, pouring the foaming liquid into his gaping mouth. The ale hit his throat, burning, tingling, urging him to swallow. But Paul wouldn't. He couldn't. The king pricked him again, this time deeper. Paul gasped in pain, choking down the ale.

The hands released Paul, and the king stepped back, sheathing his sword. Ada's hand fell, and she set the ale to the side. Paul's vision blurred. A warm tingling filled his body, and the ground rocked. Paul cradled his head. No, he couldn't let the ale take him.

“It's really such a pity, Paul,” the king circled around him. “That the smart ones like you are the ones I'll have to kill first. You were useful for awhile, you know, but now, I don't think I need you anymore. Now if you will cooperate...”

“N-never,” Paul gasped.

The king drew his sword. “You say that again I'll kill you on the spot.”

Paul drew back, attempting to avoid the curling smoke. The king stepped closer, blade ready.

“Stop!” a voice shouted. “In the name of the one true King, stop!” Micah pushed through the crowd, Carlos at his tail.

The king sneered, swinging his blade under the boy's nose. “I was wondering when you would show up, Your Highness. Have you come to save the day?” He playfully swiped at Micah's head. “Whoops, it seems you've lost your sword.”

“The King's sword cannot be lost.”

The king rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. Your guardian gave it away. Now what are you going to do?”

Micah held the king's stare. “Again, you have forgotten the law.” Taking a deep breath, the boy stepped forward. He grasped the smoking blade and tilted it toward his chest.

The king gawked. Then he chuckled, an evil chuckle. “What good will a sword be to you if you are dead?”

Micah just blinked through the smoke, tears forming in his eyes.

“But I must say,” the king continued, tracing an x across Micah's tunic with the tip of his sword. “I would really enjoy seeing you dead.” The king laughed, trailing his sword down one side of Micah's face. The boy winced. Smiling, the king spoke in a hushed voice. “You know, I won't allow you the privilege of a quick and easy death.”

Still, Micah said nothing. A trail of blood trickled down his jaw line.

“Well, okay, I suppose if you really want this.” The king turned away and then spun around, whacking Micah's head with the pommel of sword. The boy stumbled to the ground.

Carlos rushed to his side, but the king swung at him. “Stay back, unless you want to die now too.”

Paul heard the king strike Micah again, harder this time. He winced inwardly at the dull thud, but then he couldn't focus. The ground was rocking again, and his eyelids felt so heavy. Paul groped in the blackness, and finally, gave in.

<><><><>

“Paul.” Hands shook his arms and splashed water on his face. “Paul, wake up!

Paul lifted his head, looking into the anxious face of his friend. Lissa stood on his other side, grasping his hand.

“Where am I? What's going on?”

Carlos glanced at Lissa, then back at Paul and sighed. “Do you remember anything that happened last night?”

“The-the king. There was a party.”

“Yes, yes, what else?”

“Ale,” Paul murmured. “Lots of it.” His eyes widened. “Ernan? Is he okay?”

Lissa nodded. “He doesn't remember anything, except a party.”

Paul jerked to sitting position. “Micah, what about Micah?”

Carlos' eyes clouded. Pain crossed his face. “He's dead, Paul. Deader than stone. That phony king beat him to a bloody pulp and slung his body over the castle wall. He's taken up residence there. His men stalk the streets, pillaging homes and robbing shops.”

“We must gather men -” Paul attempted to stand. “- And force them from the streets.”

Lissa shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “Paul, it's useless. We've no weapons, and most our able bodied men were imprisoned during their drunken stupor last night. Carlos has questioned neighbors and friends. They remember nothing but the party, and then awakening to a pillaged town.”

Paul fell back, shock numbing his mind. “It's all my fault.” A sob finally broke through his chest. “All my fault. If only I'd stayed away from the tavern, if only I'd seen the king for who he was, if only I had believed Micah.”

Lissa squeezed his hand. “If only we all had the eyes to see and hearts to believe.”

Together they sat in silence for awhile, except for the children, whom Paul could hear playing somewhere above him. “What is this place?” Paul finally asked, wiping the tears from his face and studying the dark walls around him.

“An abandoned barn. We had to hide. The king is looking for us. He wants us dead.” Carlos' words were bitter.

“But why? We can't do anything to him, not when he has that sword.”

“That's just it,” Carlos said. “He doesn't have the sword. The moment Micah's breath left his body, the sword was rendered useless, a dull and ordinary blade. The king cannot wield it.”

“Where is the sword now?” A light dawned in Paul's head.

Carlos reached his hand into a dusty pile of straw, withdrawing a silver blade. Paul excepted it with trembling hands. “Why, it's not black any more.” Dried blood still smeared the weapon, all the way down to the hilt, but an unmistakable silver twinkled in dim light. “He bought it back with his blood,” Paul whispered.

“What do you mean?” Lissa leaned forward.

“Micah,” Paul murmured. “He was the true King, and he bought the sword back through his death.” Tears welled in his eyes again. “Lissa, I turned the King of Kings out on the streets.”

“You didn't know, Paul.”

“But I did,” Paul sobbed. “I did. Every time he spoke, something stirred deep within me, calling me to respect him, give him the honor he was due, but Lissa, I hated him for it. My heart did not want to recognize a quiet, awkward, towheaded youth as my king. I dreamed of a warrior, an orator, a hero, not a servant.”

“So did we, Paul.” Carlos squeezed his shoulder. “So did we.”

“...And he saved my life,” Paul continued. “Despite what I did to him.” His body trembled with sobs again. Lissa cradled her husband's head, tears trickling down her own cheeks. Carlos stood not far off, his shoulders slumped and head bowed.

<><><><>

Dawn was just peeking over the horizon as Paul threw his last shovel of dirt over the spot. He'd done this before, twenty-nine years ago, but this time, he wasn't burying a sword. No, this time he was burying a King. Carlos stood on the opposite side of the grave, his hand resting on Lilith's shoulder. The girl swiped tears from her cheeks, her eyes glistening in the early light.

Paul had been afraid their night mission would be too much for her to stomach, but the girl had insisted on coming, at least for the burial. Paul wiped the sweat from his brow and reached for the burlap sack at Carlos' feet. He withdrew the sword, still smeared in blood. Overwhelming sorrow and gratefulness swelled in his chest. Taking a deep breath, he gripped the hilt and drove the blade into the soil at the foot of the grave.

Silent words passed between the three, and they turned, disappearing into the woods.

<><><><>

Paul, his wife and children, and Carlos gathered around a meager meal of a few tiny fish. They ate in silence, jumping at the sound of the wind whipping around the barn walls. They couldn't continue to live like this, fearing every second they'd be found. Paul wanted to move his family farther away, but he didn't want to risk being spotted.

Rain pounded the roof now, leaking in a few places. Thunder crashed, and Elaine crawled into Paul's lap, burying her head into his chest. “It's all right, dear. It's only a storm,” Paul reassured her.

But then something banged against the door. Paul's heart drummed with fear. He transferred Elaine to Lissa's lap and grabbed a pitchfork from the wall. Carlos stood beside him, his hands balled into fists. Another bang slammed the door. Whoever was out there was trying to break in. Paul motioned for his family to hide, and he and Carlos approached the door.

Swoosh. The doors flew open, wind and raindrops ushering in a tattered figure. Paul raised his weapon, and Lilith screamed. “Papa, don't!” But Paul was already hurdling forward.

A flash of white flew out of the stranger's tattered folds, knocking Paul to the ground. Paul blinked a few times at the glowing sword pointed at his face. His eyes trailed up the blade and up the arm, all the way to the stranger's face. Paul blinked again. “Micah?”

The boy lowered the sword. His face was marred and dirty, and his blonde hair was matted with dry blood. But he had those gray eyes, the long nose, the scrawny frame – he was undoubtedly Micah.

Paul looked away, and trembling, bowed his face to the ground. “H-how?”

Micah touched his shoulder. “Our enemy forgot another part of the law.”

Paul jerked his head up. The boy was smiling. “The true King does not stay dead.”

Of course. Joy rippled through Paul's body, and his eyes filled with tears. He grasped Micah's feet. “My King.”

Carlos also still knelt on the ground, his eyes wide. Lilith flew past him, her arms open wide. “Micah!”

The King returned her embrace and then greeted the other children, his eyes twinkling a new light.

“Tell us a story!” Amos bounced around his feet.

“Yeah.” Arnon tugged on his tattered tunic. “What happened to you?”

“Where did you get that sword?” Ernan's eyes were saucers. He reached out to touch the blade.

Lissa swatted his hand away. “For goodness' sake, children! Leave him alone. What he needs right now is good bath and a bed.”

The King laughed, the noise lighting up the barn. “Maybe later, but right now...” he glanced at Paul and Carlos. “It's time to see what this sword can do.”

 Paul stood, grasping his pitchfork. “I'm ready. Let's go.”

__________________________

Thanks for reading, everyone, and I hope you enjoyed it! It didn't end exactly how I planned, but I think I still got my point across :)