Warrior of the Way

Chapter 2: Reaping the Harvest

The elven hound pressed his massive forehead against Rhychard's shoulder. A tingling sensation coursed through him as he felt Kree's magic knit muscle and tissue back together. Rhychard glanced down as his injuries seemed to shrink back in time, the open wounds finally becoming thin, pinkish lines of new flesh with blood coating the healed wounds the only evidence something had happened. The pain was still a dull ache, but he was no longer in danger.

Tryna looked into Rhychard's eyes once Kree finished. “I knew you would be here, at this church, when I felt your pain." There was no accusation in her voice, only sadness. “This is not good, Warrior. This distraction almost killed you."

Rhychard didn't answer. There wasn't really anything to say. He came here to remember; he came here, to this church, every day for the past three months because it was as close as he could get to the love he had lost, the love he had lost because of being at the right place at the wrong time. Vargas had been doing his homework, apparently. He knew where Rhychard would be as well and attacked. I wonder if he knows why I keep coming here. If Vargas knew Rhychard had a personal interest in Harvest Fellowship, it could put Renny in danger.

But Renny won't even talk to me now. Could Rhychard blame her? He knew that from where she stood, the past three months must have seemed like he went off the short pier right into the deep end. He was always vanishing to fight some sinister creature or investigate some bizarre disturbance. Yet, the faerie world forbid him from telling Renny what he was doing, not even allowing him to hint about it. Sharing his secret was against the rules for being a Warrior of the Way as they told him over and over again. Furthermore, that knowledge could put her in danger; make her a target the Unseelie could use against him. Warriors did not possess emotional attachments. That's probably why they're all elves and so damn grumpy. In the end, his secret life was more than Renny could take, and she walked out. In a dramatic flair, of course. Rhychard smiled as he closed his eyes, picturing that night. My Renny did nothing small. He still had a scar over his left eye where the wineglass she hurled at him shattered too close for safety.

Rhychard glanced down at the Guardian Sword in his numb hand. The blade had returned to cold bronze. The broadsword, his inheritance from a dying elf, had an intricate design of vines engraved around the edges. Faeries cross, a stone resembling the bark of an ancient pine, encased the pommel. The stone supposedly helped him to draw upon the elemental magic around him, protecting him against the Void and its denizens. The Guardian Sword held the memories and skills of a dozen previous Warriors who wielded the blade before him. He wondered if the Seelie knew the number thirteen was bad luck. Whenever he pulled the sword out in battle, he could hear the Warriors' voices and cries for action. Rhychard hadn't quite learned how to use that aspect yet and avoided pulling the sword out unless absolutely necessary.

He laid the sword of power on the concrete beside him and tried to flex his fingers. Life slowly returned to his extremities thanks to Kree's healing magic. It was one advantage of having an elven watchdog.

Rhychard hadn't asked for the blade or to be a Warrior. He had been happy in his life as a moving man, helping people haul their overabundance of possessions from one place to another. Simple. He liked the way his life had been before he even knew faeries existed outside of Disney movies. On top of that, he was about to enter his fourth year of the greatest relationship that had ever happened to him. He even planned to propose! Then, he had to blow it and come across a dying elf. Jamairlo, Warrior of the Way, had fought the demons of the Void for one hundred and fifty years, Tryna had told Rhychard. Why couldn't the elf wait one more night before getting himself slaughtered? Then Rhychard wouldn't be losing blood at the church where he would have been married. I should have stayed in my damn moving truck.

Kree shook his head as he sneezed the sulfur out of his system, shattering Rhychard's thoughts of self-pity. :How came Vargas to be in the parking lot, I wonder?: Kree sent to everyone.

“Damn good question," Rhychard snarled. “Didn't you tell me this couldn't happen?" This was really going to suck if they ripped his last sanctuary from him. Places of faith, whatever the religion, were usually off-limits to the creatures of the Void. That nugget of information was one of the many things they sent Tryna to teach him when the Seelie discovered they had a human as a Warrior. The battle of good and evil had a name, the Way and the Void, and it had nothing at all to do with religion. If that truth ever got out, a lot of preachers would actually have to work for their bread instead of jabbering their jaws. However, wherever a gathering of people who lived in the path of the Way met, that land became sacred ground and anathema to creatures of the Void. So steeped in the Way were they that creatures of the Void usually burst into flames upon contact. That usually included the homes of righteous people, cemeteries of the righteous, or even businesses that ultimately served the Way. They told him it was impossible for demons to come as close as Vargas had just a few moments ago.

“Something is not right here," Tryna said, her soft voice a child's soprano. “Sacred ground is a haven. Vargas should not have been able to cross the sidewalk."

Rhychard gripped his upper arm where Vargas had ripped his flesh open. “Well, he was here, and faster than the sword could announce." This was not how Rhychard saw his life going. He wanted nothing to do with demons or elves or swords. He banged his head once against the cream-colored column. He missed his old life. “Why didn't the sword warn me?"

Tryna glanced at Kree, but the elven hound just sat, his tongue lolling in the morning air as the day began to warm.

“Whispering about someone is rude," Rhychard said, bouncing his gaze between the others.

The ellyll nodded. “You are right. Our apologies, Warrior." Tryna stood with her hands behind her back, the wind pulling at her blond hair. She looked like a six-year-old giving a lecture to a room of dolls. “It's as I was telling you about your distraction with Renny Saunders. Your bitterness is creating a wall between you and the power of the Guardian Sword. Emotions can affect magic, for good or ill."

Rhychard closed his eyes. Another lesson. Another lecture. Great. The past three months had been that way. “If your precious Guardian doesn't like my emotions, he or she or it can take this damn sword back. I didn't ask for it, and I sure as hell don't want it."

:It doesn't work that way, Warrior, and this you well know,: Kree mind-spoke.

Rhychard knew it. He learned the hard way that he was bonded to the Guardian Sword for the duration of his life. Rhychard opened his eyes and stared at the pale clouds above. “This isn't my life."

Tryna gazed down at him, her eyes almost sad. “Life is what we make on our journey through this existence. This may not be the journey you wanted, but it is the journey you must take."

Rhychard said nothing. He just sat there in a morass of self-pity, mourning the life fate stole from him.