The Guardian’s Echo

Seeking Sanctuary: Penny

We found shelter at the Stag and Thistle. It was an inn that smelled of cedar and centuries-old dust that was only now being swept away. The innkeeper was too dazed still from what I had started referring to as “the thaw” to ask too many questions. He wasn’t quite as alert as the shopkeeper had been. He merely handed Soren a heavy brass key for the last remaining room.

The room itself was small, dominated by a large hearth and a single, sturdy bed. The window overlooked the Vale, but Soren immediately pulled the heavy velvet curtains shut, plunging us into shadow. The room was illuminated by his grey light until he got the fire roaring. The wood was dry and caught immediately.

He kept his back to me while he unbuckled his armor. His movements were methodical, and the metal clattered softly to the floor.

I was feeling the adrenaline crash too. My limbs were like lead, and the dampness of my clothes had become a deep, bone-chilling cold. I moved to the far corner of the room, near the tiny attached bathroom, and peeled off my soaked travel clothes. I hung them over a wooden drying rack, and shivered in just my tunic while I laid out the items from my knapsack.

What little bit of food I had left was ruined. The bread was a lumpy mess, the cheese was clumped together, and the dried meat was now water-logged and looked quite unappetizing. My knitting had become a soaked tangle of yarn as well, but I was almost positive it was salvageable. I laid out my change of clothes so that it could dry too, and then sat down with my grandmother’s journal to see if there was anything left on the pages, or if the river water had rinsed the ink away.

Soren was still by the hearth, stripped down to his breeches, and I tried not to think about the way the firelight caught on the defined muscles of his chest or across his back. He was sharpening his dagger, his jaw set. In the few days that I had already spent with him, I’d come to learn that he was a man of rigid discipline. He was a general who had lived by a code of “Protocol” for centuries. Our current state was absolutely outside of that protocol.

The room was getting warmer. The scent of drying leather and cedar filled the air. I caught Soren’s gaze in my peripheral vision. He quickly looked away, his hand tightening on the hilt of his weapon. I could feel the braid of our magic humming. It was becoming a physical pull, and I wondered if he felt it too.

My shivering had finally stopped. The tonic had become mostly dry while I sat in front of the fire. My wet clothes steamed on the rack. I felt small. I felt far from home.

I looked at Soren again, still sitting on the edge of the hearth. The flickering light played over the hard lines of his face. He looked like a statue come to life, something ancient and beautiful and dangerous.

“What are the Grey Paths?” I finally asked, breaking the silence that had filled the room since check-in.

“Before the Great Time War,” Soren started, sitting the dagger aside now. “The Highlands guard was known as ‘The Wardens.’ They were a military branch… a group of rangers designated to maintain the roads, ensure the safety of locals, handle wild animal attacks, and assist in managing major disputes.”

“Like… police officers?” I asked.

His brows pulled together as he looked at me with confusion. “I don’t know what those are.”

“In my world, there are ‘Officers of the Law’ that are supposed to serve and protect their communities. They don’t always… not well, at least. They’re not part of the military either. But it’s a similar concept. Protect communities and arrest the bad guys.”

Soren nodded, agreeing, “A similar concept. Our wardens did it well though. They went through rigorous training and were held to high standards. The Grey Paths were roads and tunnels that they used to quickly move between villages and through the forests. No one, except the Wardens, knew where the entrances were though, which is what makes finding them so necessary. We will be able to move discreetly without being seen until we’re out of the Highlands.”

“Out of the Highlands?” I repeated, voice low. “Soren, no.” I shook my head. “We can’t just leave. Not when the village is waking up after two hundred years being frozen in time. They’re going to have questions, they’re going to want to know where Rosariel is, and they’re going to want to know what’s happening at the estate.” I met his eyes then, my resolve solidifying. “They’re going to need… leadership. And what if there’s other villages here in the Highlands going through the same thing?”

The fire crackled, a sharp pop of wood breaking the heavy silence that followed my words. Soren didn’t move for a long moment, his silhouette etched in orange light against the stone.

“Penny,” he said, and the way he spoke my name wasn’t a rebuke. It was a warning. He walked toward me, his bare feet silent on the floorboards, until he was standing just at the edge of my personal space. “You are thinking like a Guardian, which is wonderful. But you have to survive long enough to become one.”

I didn’t flinch. I looked up at him, my damp hair clinging to my neck, feeling the heat of the fire beside me and the heat of his presence in front of me. “I can’t just be a package you’re delivering back to the capital, Soren. If Rosariel was an anchor for these hills, then I’m anchored to them too. I felt them wake up. I felt the house breathe. I can’t just turn my back on that.”

Soren reached out, his hand hovering over my arm before he pulled it back again. His fist clenched at his side. It felt as if there was a physical wall between us, but it was cracking. “The moment you step out there to lead them, you provide a fixed point for the Weavers to strike. In the capital, there are mages, sorceresses, and an army. We don’t even know if the Wardens are still here, or if they’re waking up too. So far, all we’ve seen is a village of confused ghosts.”

“Then we make them more than ghosts,” I challenged, my voice gaining strength. “You’re a general. Train them. Tell them what to do. My grandmother wouldn’t have run, Soren. Not unless she believed there was no other way. There has to be another way. We can’t leave until we know their foundations are solid.”

Soren’s eyes searched mine. He looked at the journal in my lap, then back to my face. The magnetic pull I’d felt earlier was now a roar. I could feel his energy wrapping around me, trying to shield me, trying to hold me.

“You have her heart,” he whispered, and for the first time, his voice broke. “That is the mist dangerous thing about you.”

He knelt in front of me, putting us at eye level. I could smell the river water and the woodsmoke on him. He reached out again, and this time, he didn’t pull away. His calloused thumb brushed the line of my jaw, a touch so light it was almost a question.

“If we stay,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to my lips before snapping back up to my eyes, “we are choosing a fight that may not have an end. Not a good one, at least. Are you ready for that, Penny from Chicago?”

I reached up, my hand covering his, pressing his palm firmly against my cheek. His skin was hot, a stark contrast to the chill I’d felt all day. “I’ve been fighting my whole life, Soren. At least this time, I know what I’m fighting for.”

Outside, the wind slammed against the shutters, a reminder of the black vortex swirling above the manor. But inside, the world narrowed down to the space between us.

“Then we stay for one day,” Soren conceded, his voice dropping to a low, rough growl. “We secure the town, find the wardens. And then…” He trailed off, his eyes darkening.

His thumb stilled against my jaw, as if he’d just realized where his hand was. Slowly — painfully — he let it fall away.

“And then,” he said again, quieter now, “I have to remember who I am.”

I swallowed. “And who is that?”

His mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Someone who doesn’t do what could endanger you.”

He leaned in anyways — not close enough to touch, but close enough that I could feel his breath against my cheek. “If you ask me to stay like this,” he murmured, “I will.”

The choice settled heavy and electric between us.

I didn’t move. Neither did he.

Outside, the wind battered the shutters. Inside, we held.

The moment felt like it would last an eternity. Then he rose to his feet. “You should sleep,” Soren suggested. “I’ll keep watch, you take the bed.”

“Soren…” I started, my voice low. Nothing else came out though as he turned away from me, moving slowly towards the window.

“Sleep, Penny.”