Guardian: Burning

"Run!"

My hoarse shout barely carried over the screams of the dying and the crackle of flames. My eyes skimmed the fire-lit carnage before focusing across the bridge at my feet. On the far side, fire caressed the tree and its platform, licking up the bridge's anchor ropes and flirting with the red-gold leaves. Blood trickled down my right arm, soaking into the denim gauntlet, as I watched the heavily pregnant woman heave herself up the ladder to the platform.

She stumbled at the lip, thrusting her arms forward to catch herself, as a barn owl swooped through the encroaching flames. The owl shifted as it landed, turning into a dark-haired man — his denim shirt singed but not burning. I scanned the forest floor and gritted my teeth while the man hugged the woman, then urged her toward the bridge. They made it to the anchor before she paused, clinging to the platform and shaking her head.

Past the fire line, a tree toppled, crashing into the platform's far edge and shaking the couple to their knees. The man dragged the woman to her feet and finally began to cross to the Trade Route's stone footing.

But they were still too slow.

"Bones!" I swore to myself. Forcing my leaden muscles to respond, I raised my arms — or my left arm, as the right hung useless. My veins burned as I cast a bubble-shield tightly around the anchor ropes. The shield flickered, then held, and the flames slowed their attack on the weakened strands. The man shot me a tight smile as he coaxed the woman along the damaged lifeline. Behind them, the damaged platform burned and half of it tumbled free as the braces gave way. Another feeble shield enclosed the remains, and my knees threatened to buckle even as the bridge stabilized.

My brain raced, searching for another option as the couple neared the mid-way point. I could force a shift — 'probably' — but it would almost certainly kill the babe. I wavered, undecided, until the helmeted head popped above the platform's ragged edge.

"Here!" The gruff cry was picked up and echoed from below as archers circled the flame's heart and cleared the tree's trunk. In a flurry, they loosed their arrows.

Swearing, I released the shields, creating new ones that each held long enough to deflect an incoming shaft. A sob caught in my throat as the man spun, intercepting the three missiles I'd failed to catch with the only resource he had left — his own flesh.

With his last bit of life, he pushed the woman into a stumbling run, and I caught her, pulling her onto the solid rock trail.

I did not let her turn back, casting a shield — thin and ragged — between us and our home.

"What are we going to do?" she sobbed in my ear.

"Run," I repeated, turning and shoving her toward the Trade Route. "Don't look back. The others—" those that were left "—are ahead of you."

"Are you sure that's the best option?" Kit asked.

I whipped around — the quirky girl stood backlit by the fire. The flames dyed her hair red and the loose strands slipped across her face as the wind caught it.

"What are you doing here?" I shook my head and stepped toward her. "Nevermind. You have to get out." My hand passed through her wrist when I tried to grab it. "What…?"

"Sorry. I wasn't expecting you to touch me." Kit smiled. "Are you sure leaving is the right idea?"

"Well, yeah!" I spun to gesture wildly at the chaotic battle around us. "It's not sa— Bones!" By the time I'd turned back, Kit was gone. I ran to the rocky edge and looked down. Soldiers with arrows nocked shouted and loosed, but I combed the flaming darkness for Kit. My shield wavered as the projectiles struck.

A piercing shriek drew me from my search, and a soot-stained hawk plummeted from the night sky. As it landed, it shifted into a panting woman; her pale face blackened.

"The trainees—" She broke off, coughing, then began again. "They're cut off to the north — the fire's too hot for them to fly through."

I flinched, remembering the feel of ashed butterfly wings against my feathers.

"You have your crystal?" The words bit at my throat like acid.

Her fingers darted to the leather lace that disappeared beneath her denim shirt.

"I — yes, but —"

"Lock it." My eyes resumed their search of the flames.

"What? No!" Her voice shook.

"Bones and feathers! There's no time, and no choice!" I glared at the archers, who'd held their arrows after my shield rose. "We can't let them reach Arirang."

I felt her stubbornness like a wind at my back, and I felt it die as she gave in.

"What about the trainees?"

A harsh sound — not a laugh, but its distant cousin, perhaps — clawed its way from my throat to my mouth. I met her eyes, then looked down at the black crystal in her hands.

"I'll try," I promised.

She nodded and shifted into a soot-stained snowy owl. Her talons clutched the crystal, and it bled black as she winged down the Trade Route.

I turned away, sucking in a deep breath, then coughing. I spat bloody phlegm from my mouth and scraped a filthy hand across my lips, before fumbling at the hilt of my knife. It settled into my grip once freed from its sheath, and I sucked another, shallower breath.

"North, huh?" I traced the Center's bridges in my mind's eye. With a sneer at the archers below and the soldier's slow, shaking crossing of the now-flaming bridge, I slashed at the right anchor and cut the last rope free.

The bridge fell, taking the flames that consumed it down with it, and a rush of heat rose in its wake. The soldiers below fell back, their red coats blending with the fire-lit darkness. I panted, pressing my hand to the wound on my right arm. A line of fire to the north drew my attention like a lodestone. The trainees were beyond that line, out of these soldiers' reach, but far from safe.

A glance behind confirmed the Trade Route was sealed — there wasn't any point in me holding its footing any longer.

With a gut-wrenching twist, I fell into my quartz, shifting despite my injuries and fatigue, and took flight. Violent updrafts off the flames lofted me high — 'too high' — but that was my only saving grace in the next breath, when the wind shifted, sending me plummeting back down. My owl had no trouble with the night's darkness or the fire's bright glare, though the transition between left my vision dazzled. Every downward thrust of my wings sent a jagged, tearing sensation through my injured wing, so I used my eyes — the only advantage I had left — to seek out the trainees.

I found them in the middle of a stream and far too close to the burning Post. One Guardian tried to lead them down the creek's ravine on a path that would put them, eventually, back at the Post but bypass the fire line. Two more fought to hold the narrow cleft that led into the creek. Rocky terrain kept the soldiers confined — for now — but if they found the western path, they'd be able to circle past the Guardians. And the trainees, still clad in their nightclothes, huddled together at the bank, edging along and trying to stay on dry land. Their tear-streaked faces caught the firelight as I passed the fighting to crash to my all-too-human knees in the streambed.

"What are you doing here? You're supposed to hold the Trade Route!" Worry and fear warred for supremacy on the Guardian's delicate features; worry won as I hacked out a smoke-strained response.

"Route's closed." A coughing fit cut me off. "Gotta get the trainees clear."

"I'm trying! How're we supposed to get clear if the Route's closed?" Despair laced the Guardian's voice, and she fell to her knees, putting our heads at the same level.

Habit sent my right arm to dig under my shirt, but ripping pain forced me to fumble with my left. I drew out two tangled laces, revealing my smokey quartz and a black disk that caught and reflected the fire from its glossy surface.

"You can't have that! It's not—"

"Take it!" I ordered, thrusting the stone into her hands.

"That's the stone Sorcha found." Kit peered at the black disk. "It feels the same. But why doesn't it have the markings?"

"What?" I blinked. The ravine was frozen around us, with Guardians and trainees in mid-action. I scrambled to my feet. "How…?"

Kit's head tipped to the side, and she met my gaze with a frankness that sent a shiver up my spine.

"You're not Kit."

"I'm not the original," not-Kit agreed, still smiling. "You're quick. I'll enjoy serving you."

"Serving me?" I shook my head, careful not to take my eyes off the impostor. "I don't need anyone's service."

"Are you sure?" In a blink, not-Kit vanished and reappeared, pressing against my chest and whispering in my ear, "Prove it. Wake up and act like a Guardian."

Gasping, I forced my eyes open. Above me, a sloping tent roof covered in colorful patterns wavered into focus. A firm cot supported my back and a light blanket covered my limbs, weighing them down like jesses. My head ached like fledglings were beating on it and my hand was clenched around something that bit into my flesh. With a groan, I drew my arm free and stared at the story crystal and the wire-bound charm Erebus had given to me.

'No.' I frowned. 'Erebus delivered it. Kit sent it.'

Both crystal and charm were stained with blood: my grip had been tight enough that my palm was cut.

"Bones and feathers. What is going on?"