The Warden

Chapter 7

His father's words at the time sprang to mind. "Just remember Masis this is a tool," Lord Domrae had said. "And like tools it can bring about much good or much evil. It's up to the wielder to decide which."

Shivering in mountain runoff but still holding fast to his light, his thoughts turned to moments of warmth—a warm bath, a crackling fire—his fingers gliding through the water to stabilize him. Thoughts turning to warmth, the water surrounding him almost felt as if they were heating. He imagined steam rising from the beck's surface, flowing into his nostrils as he inhaled, relaxing his muscles. Not opening his eyes, he could almost believe the water around his body to be a pleasant fire-warmed bath.

The itch of eyes on him returned.

His eyes snapped open. Launching himself from the stream, his light completely forgotten, Masis scrambled to the shore. Snatching up his clothes, he backed himself into the brightest sunbeam, turning, scanning, hoping to find those eyes.

"I know you're out there!" he yelled at the taciturn trees.

Nothing but his words faintly reverberated back at him.

"You've been watching me for days now and it is becoming rather annoying."

The listening wood returned no reply.

"Why are you doing this?"

His words devoured themselves in the silence.

"Where are you?!" he screamed. "Who are you?!"

Panic had bled into his words as he clutched his garments to his body and turned in sporadic circles, breath ragged.

"Easy, now," a voice said behind him, "someone is going to hear you and think you're a bit touched in the head talking to trees like that."

Masis pivoted on his heel. His clothes fell from his arms as he drew his fists up to defend himself. But he stopped as he took in the stranger standing before him, his eyes widening and his arms hesitating not knowing if a fight was imminent.

A woman stood there. An air of complete nonchalance and ease hung about her, as she leaned casually on a walking stick. Older than Masis by no more than a decade, the fact did not detract from her obvious beauty. Tall with hair as dark as a new moon night, she dressed somberly in traveler's garb, wearing trousers instead of a skirt, her calves wrapped tightly and neatly with winigas. A cloak clasped about her neck falling to her feet, which were oddly bare. With a pack hanging over one shoulder, the woman hosted a pleasant smile on her face.

Traveling by foot was almost unheard of unless one could reach their destination within daylight hours. Most traveled by means of the lines—a mage contraption best described as a sailing ship on wheels running along tracks—if they had to go any great distance, as it allowed them shelter in the night hours. A lone female traveler going about on foot was beyond comprehension, even sanity. And yet, here she stood before him.

Straightening, Masis loosened his posture. She wasn't what he conjured up when he thought of someone watching him from the woods.

Maybe I imagined the whole thing, he thought, frowning with embarrassment.

"I'm sorry if I startled you," she said. "It's not every day that I meet a half-naked boy screaming like a maniac into the greenwood."

Masis glanced down at himself, hands aflutter with indecision. Quickly pulling on his shirt, Masis tossed his jerkin over it, distractedly combing his limp hair from his face. An off-kilter smile hesitated on his lips. "I'm sorry if I startled you. I had the strangest impression that someone was watching me."