Chapter Twenty-Five: Guardians of Lost Worlds
Guardians of the Twilight Lands -- The Sixth Book of Unexpected Enlightenment
“Lady Rachel, are you well?” Tennyson stood beside her, offering a warm comforter and a cup of hot chocolate.
Rachel started to demur, but her entire body was trembling. She could not tell if this was the aftereffects of the terrible cold of the water, which had drenched her three times, or if she were going into some kind of shock. She felt strangely lightheaded. She accepted, nodded her thanks to the butler, and slipped away. Peter and Laurel had come into the entrance hall and were exclaiming over Sigfried’s exploits. No one looked in her direction. She grabbed Vroomie and flew—first down corridors and then up the center of a spiral staircase in the highest tower of the Old Castle—to her grandfather’s library.
It felt so wonderful to emerge into the round, book-filled room, her favorite place in the house. She ran to the fireplace, pulled the cord, and whistled, until one of the great old salamanders came crawling up the shaft and into the hearth. It lay there, content, glowing the black and bright orange of embers and filling the chamber with the scent of cinnamon and a steady radiating heat. She paused by the delicate brass and wrought iron spiral staircase that led to the trapdoor to the roof, her hand resting on the banister, and considered sitting on the second step, a favorite place of hers for reading back when her grandfather was still alive, but the cold brass immediately chilled her hand. Abandoning that idea, she climbed into her grandfather’s huge leather armchair and curled up in it, snuggling inside the comforter.
The sight of the familiar paintings and stacks of books cheered her. This was a sorcerer’s library, cared for by an elusive book bogie. The volumes occasionally rearranged themselves, and s ometimes, she came upon titles she had never seen before on these shelves that she had examined a thousand times.
As she sat curled in the chair, sipping hot chocolate and trying to stop her body from shivering, Rachel thought about what had just happened. She had not meant to lie to her parents. She had not explained at first because it would have taken too long, and Sigfried had still been in the icy waters. After that, it seemed too late to change the story. But it was more than that. Her family cheered for the plucky boy who could breathe water when he dared the cold to save a child. She suspected they would not have cheered upon discovering that their daughter—who could not breathe water—had put her own life on the line for a stranger. Rachel felt no regret. The little child had stopped breathing. If she had not acted, he would not have made it.
Saving him had been the right thing to do. Yet she felt shaken. She had spent a long time in the cold water, between various dunkings, and she had offered her life without any thought for herself. She wished she could talk to her mother about this, but now she had to pretend nothing had happened. It was her own fault, and yet…
She put down the mug and curled up in the chair again, wrapped tightly in the comforter, her head resting on the chair arm. The warmth felt good, and the cinnamon smelled sweet and welcoming, especially here in the field of flowers with Dream Gaius and her dream unicorn. They asked her how she had been doing, to which she replied she was well and could she please go for a ride. To which the unicorn replied, of course, she could. He loved giving her rides. It was what he was there for.
The three of them rode across the field of flowers. After a time, Rachel glimpsed a strange red cloud on the horizon. Then, she, Dream Gaius, and the dream unicorn stood on the edge of a precipice, gazing down into the reddish cloud, which seemed to be coming from an endless plain of rusty rocks and red dust.
Rachel slipped down from the dream unicorn and peered over the precipice. Below, in the midst of the red rocks was a circle of black and white creatures—black and white creatures with bright red eyes of the exact shade and intensity of black, white, and red as the Guardian—and one silver one.
In a loose circle stood a Lobster, a Moose, a Bear, a Weasel, a Cat, a Swallow, and an Aardvark. The Moose was white except for his horns and hooves. The Swallow was colored like a reverse magpie, white with a black stripe across its wings and back. The Aardvark was entirely silver. In the way of dreams, as Rachel gazed at them, she became aware of the qualities each represented. Those that were mainly a single color emanated one quality; those that were a mix of black and white emanated two. The black Bear was solemn to the point of rigidity. The mostly black Cat was sardonic. The piebald Weasel was crazy and energetic. The Swallow was sweet and shy. The nearly white Moose was graciously somber. The silver Aardvark struck Rachel as compassionate.
“There’s a Fox, too, right?” Rachel murmured, recalling the one she had seen at the Year of the Dragon Ball.
“Is there?” Dream Gaius murmured back, peering down.
She had seen a Wolf, too, but he was bigger than these creatures, save for the moose, and had a different feel about him. In the way of dream logic, she felt he was of a different order.
“What are they?” Rachel whispered.
The dream unicorn said, “They are the Guardians of Lost Worlds.”
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