19. Declan

Chapter 19

Declan

B y the time I returned to the courtyard, determined to plant myself beneath my tree, ignore the world, and pretend to study, more than two dozen students had gathered. They surrounded a lone figure who towered above on some sort of makeshift platform. Several Mages stood a few yards outside the ring. Whether they were there to supervise or eavesdrop, I couldn’t be sure.

As my feet slapped the cobbles of the courtyard proper, the speaker’s thick green cloak with its silver clasp fashioned as a flying owl fluttered in the stiff almost-autumn breeze.

“What’s a Ranger doing here?” I muttered to myself.

Curiosity is a dangerous thing.

It drove me forward.

The man’s features were hard, his skin pulled taut across angled cheeks that spoke of one who labored through long days and kept himself as fit as any Guardsman or soldier. His voice, while rough as the unpolished stone of the Mages’ tower, carried an unmistakable ring of command, drawing all eyes toward him like moths to a flame.

“ . . . is a life of service, of duty, of honor,” he intoned with a reverence I often heard Mages use when they spoke of magic. “Ours is not an easy life, but it is fulfilling. We protect the border and those who live on its wooded mountains. We protect the people beyond, the Empire itself. We guard wildlife and traveler alike, and we do so with purpose and joy in our hearts.”

“He makes it sound like a storybook tale,” one older student whispered to another—so loudly the Ranger’s head snapped toward him.

“This is no storybook, boy. Those who lose focus die on our peaks. Those who wander may never be found.” The man’s eyes were ice. His jaw clenched. A moment of silence passed, then he spoke again, his voice again calm yet strong. “We serve an ancient purpose. The key word there is ‘serve.’ Most who live within our borders will never know—or appreciate—all we do to maintain their way of life. But we know. We take pride in our service, in our sacrifice.”

The Ranger scanned the boys and girls before him, then concluded his speech.

“Few are called. Fewer earn the Green. If one among you joined our ranks, it would be more than have entered our service from this guild in many years. I am Ranger Cillian Moore. If you believe you bear the strength and will to serve, I would speak with you.”

The Ranger scanned one last time, meeting each student’s gaze, then stepped down from his platform and strode toward the Guild Hall. The Mages who’d been listening followed in his wake, but no student broke from the safety of their pack.

I knew none of that lot would offer to serve any but their own interests. But curiosity combined with boredom, and I trailed behind the Mages and the Ranger.

Visions of my time near the woods at the base of the mountain came to me, the countless nights I sat there, staring at the stars and ever-waving leaves, desperate to feel connected yet dreading closeness to anyone. The space behind the Mages’ tower wasn’t exactly wilderness, but I’d felt such peace being cloaked in darkness and the sounds of nature. The lack of chattering students and lecturing Mages made it even more calming, more serene.

I wanted to feel that peace every day, to know the sun would rise and spread her warmth through my weary bones without caring about collars or magic or . . . anything. I couldn’t begin to understand, much less process, what had happened with Rylan and Eamon. Nothing like that had ever happened to me before. I wasn’t even sure what had happened, much less what to do with it.

The idea of traveling to some faraway place where none would question or quip tugged at my heart in ways nothing ever had. Doubts and fears swirled through my mind, battered my senses and beleaguered heart.

I stepped forward.

One foot. Then another.

Before I knew it, I was running, heaving air, desperate to reach the Ranger before he vanished alongside visions of a calmer path.

“Ranger Moore,” I called out as the man reached the door to the Hall.

The Mages and the Ranger turned.

“I would like to know more . . . if you’ll talk with me.”

A twitch at the corner of the man’s mouth was as close to a smile as I suspected he ever gave. He stared at me—through me—so long I shifted on my feet, and the Mages began to whisper among themselves. Finally, Moore nodded once, then turned and stepped inside the Hall.

I stood there, frozen, staring at the door to the building no student was allowed to enter.

“If you want to talk to him, you’d best go inside. He leaves for Grove’s Pass in an hour,” one of the Mages said, stepping out of my path. As I brushed past, he leaned in and whispered, “Be cautious, Declan. When he leaves, those whom he recruits leave, as well.”

“Right. Thank you, sir . . . I mean, Mage, sir. Um, Mage.”

The Mages chuckled at my discomfort as I strode down the center of their gaggle and passed before the Phoenix emblazoned on the ancient doors.