The Trials of the Core by Michael E. Thies

Author:Michael E. Thies [Michael E. Thies]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Writer's Block Press
Published: 2022-09-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter thirty

The Third Letter

Even though Zain had been short with him, Eirek could not blame him. It was because of Eirek that he was in the apothecary. There was a sense of conviction in Zain, though, and confidence too. He hasn’t even won how can he remain so confident? Even with winning the second trial, he would need more if he were ever to be guardian.

On his way back to the lobby, Eirek stopped to take a closer glance at two of the portraits hanging in the hall. Men, idolized in golden frame and an angel-white background. Profiled from the chest to the head. Names spelled in onyx and embossed on an ivory plaque at the base: Guardian Jorey Raule and Guardian Matthau Crevon. How peculiar that such a prestigious position did not receive a crown; instead they wore a sleek, black bandanna fitted to their heads, obscuring most of their hair. Exactly like the one Guardian Eska wore.

Will I be featured next to you eventually? What did each of you fight for? Eirek wanted to touch them, but he refrained to staring into the unwavering eyes of the past guardians.

“Wondrous, aren’t they?”

Eirek turned his head to see Conseleigh Tundra approaching. Her heels enabled her to stand at eye level with Eirek. Her flowing, kimono-sleeved dress—trimmed with beads, sequins, and copper thread and highlighted with intricate cerulean designs—reached below her knees. Open slits in the sleeves allowed the loose rayon fabric to hang to her waist, exposing a silver bracelet with diamond beads that snaked up her right arm.

He didn’t respond. He turned back to the portraits.

“Each guardian vows to protect Gladonus from any danger threatening to disturb it, until the Ancients see fit that they be relieved of their duty.”

“What of the Twelve? I thought that was their job?”

“The Twelve never reached an agreement as to which clan would protect the Core. And after the Great War, tensions still ran high, so they gave the duty to someone not of First Blood but bestowed upon them abilities and tools and longevity to protect the Core.”

“How do you know that?” The question came out before Eirek realized how stupid it was. She’s a conseleigh. Of course she knows.

“I have been at Guardian Eska’s side for thirty-five years now.”

Eirek noticed the nostalgia creep into her voice, as if she remembered her own ceremony—if one had even occurred. He gulped, continuing to stare at the paintings and barely noticing Tundra pass him by. “One last question.” It had nagged at him ever since seeing the portraits.

“Yes, Mr. Mourse?”

“Why does Guardian Eska wear a black bandanna over his head? Why not a crown? Isn’t he the king of Gladonus?”

“The bandanna is called a reimaje. He may oversee everything that occurs in Gladonus, but that does not make him a king or a lord. He is guardian. The cap is enchanted with special magic from the Twelve. It holds all the secrets to Gladonus. It is passed down from guardian to apprentice when the time comes for the Passing of Power.

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