Bound (The Guardians) (2 page)

As I stand at the bottom I take a deep breath in and out.

It’s hard to believe that the Guardians are the cause of almost all of my parents’ arguments. Something happened before I was born, something terrible. I shouldn’t want to know more about them or think of them favourably.

They’re responsible for tearing my family apart.

***

I step under the house into my mother’s art studio. I pull my silver scooter off the charger pad and unfold it. I click it into place and press the button on the handle to start the levitation controls. It takes a few clunks to finally start hovering above the ground, only a few inches.

I push the forward leaver with my thumb and scoot down our lengthy dirt driveway. I stop to shut the metal gate behind me. I leave the letter with bold red writing in the mailbox and putt along the potholed asphalt strip into town. The warm season is almost gone, leaving behind brown grass and trees alongside the road.

My scooter starts to make a funny noise and I amp up the power for a second to settle it down. When I first received it from an old neighbour, it was second-hand. Since then it’s been a faithful device. However it’s almost as old as I am and some days it feels like even the slightest breeze could cause it to breakdown all together.

‘Miss Wendorn,’ calls a voice to me.

I’m deep in thought and the sound gives me a jolt. I stop the scooter, dropping an inch to the ground, before walking over to a nearby fence.

Our closest neighbour, an old man named Mr Horris, waves to me. He stands at the edge of his long driveway checking his mailbox, most likely for the third time that morning. Mr Horris smiles and his face crinkles.

‘Off to school so early?’

‘No Mr Horris,’ I say with a laugh. ‘I graduated months ago. I’m off to work, remember?’

He smiles harder and chuckles. ‘Oh spirits in the night sky, you’re right. It seems old age is starting to get the better of me after all.’

I see the long grass near his mailbox moving. Slowly Alison, Mr Horris’s pet sembra, waddles out and sits next to him. I move over to the fence and reach out. Alison leans in, allowing me to touch her head. The soft brown hair moves in-between my fingers. Alison’s brown eyes meet mine and her long nose pokes my hand in a “thank you for the attention” gesture. When she sits back on hind legs, she is taller than Mr Horris and me. Her long, thin tongue whips the air around us, catching small bugs. I’ve always liked sembra’s. They’re dependable creatures, be they a little slow in the brain. Kind of like me.

‘Do you think your father might have time to fix something for me this week?’ Mr Horris asks.

If my parents ever stop fighting, he will.

‘Sure,’ I say. ‘What’cha need?’

Mr Horris says, ‘My fruit picker’s automatic search system is out of whack. It keeps wandering off down the back of my property, trying to pick up leaves. I have no idea what’s happening.’ He reaches over and puts his hand on Alison’s belly. ‘I had to shut it off. We’ve been hauling the collection by hand. But it’s too much work for me alone these days. It hurts my back to ride Alison and I think her knees are getting too fragile to hold me up. She’s closing in on her fortieth birthday, you know?’

‘I’m sure Da can help you get it fixed. I will stop by after work and help with the pickings for today.’

A relieved smile reaches across his face. ‘Oh, thank you Mellea. You’re such a kind girl. I will get Mrs Horris to make you some cookies to take home as payment.’

‘Can’t wait,’ I say walking back to the road. ‘I’d better be off.’

I wave to him and Alison and start my scooter again.

I travel along the road until I reach the centre of my current town, Pekkin. I pass through, zipping by wooden houses that all could use a serious paint job. I travel past the only food shop in town, a local convenience store, and our soul restaurant that sells food cooked straight from a packet.

Up ahead, the small concrete lump of an old train station comes into view. I make it in time to see the rusty one carriage train arriving slowly. When it stops, I jump off the scooter, fold it up and scan my ticket card. I move through the empty cart and take a seat facing in the direction of travel.

I zone out as the one hour long ride begins. I’m so used to the trip that the views of the countryside have lost their amazement to me. I’m ready and standing at the door when the train pulls into Absotras.

The Absotras Link Station, or ALS, is the biggest transit centre in the world. Train lines from all over the Centreland work their way into the ALS like a giant spider’s web. The building sits five stories off the ground and the tracks pour out the sides like metal water from a fountain. Some tracks flow back down to the ground, some remain elevated. The Poridos City train is one of these lines. I always used to think that the trains that had the luck of being off the ground meant they were heading somewhere much nicer than I was.

I run from the south line platform, up two flights of stairs and down another, to the north platform. My one carriage, clunky commute is exchanged for clean, white, speedy Poridos City train. I rescan my card and wait. When the train pulls up, I push onto it and try and find somewhere to stand. There’s no chance of a seat.

It’s only a fifteen minute ride from Absotras to Poridos. As a guy smacks me in the back of the head with his briefcase, with no apology, I’m glad the ride is short.

When the doors open at our destination, I’m shoved from behind by other commuters. I scramble out onto the polished floors of Poridos Central and follow the crowd to the main exit. I walk down the stairs and out into the city.

Free from the highly strung atmosphere of the travel, I relax my shoulders. I glance up at the early morning sky.

Overhead I see people shooting past on flight boards, the most common mode of single and double person transportation. They hover into the city, the beautiful and flashy patterns on the boards screaming out to me, “You will never be able to afford one of us!” And as much as it sucks, it’s true.

I keep my crappy, busted old ride folded up and chose to walk. A group of young children in school uniforms thunder past me. I hear one cry out, ‘Let’s go and see the Tower again before class!’

‘Yeah,’ another answers. ‘I wonder how close we can get before we get busted.’

I look to the north. The building they’re talking about is Guardian’s Tower. I see it almost every day, but it never fails to amaze me. It’s a magnificent structure that sits on a hill above the city. The Tower is made of three thick columns of opaque crystal, all joined at the base, that soar hundreds of feet into the air. The middle pillar is tallest; the one to the left is a bit lower with a flatter peak and the one on the right, kind of shorter again. I’ve always thought that the pillars look like an award platform. They also have wonderful gardens outside the Tower, or so I’ve heard. You can’t really see because the grounds are encircled by a thick opaque crystal border. The only entry I know of is the large heavily guarded front gates. I will never know more than what I do about the Tower, inside or out. Its impervious structure makes it impossible for the common folk to see inside.

Also, as expected, only people with power or influence are ever permitted to enter the sacred home of our royal family. I wish I could see one of them in person, just once. Maybe shake their magical hand and hope something rubs off on me. But they hardly ever make public appearances.

The Guardians do a fantastic job at keeping their lives a total secret.

CHAPTER two

I make my way down the flat stone path of the shopping district. Only a few people pass me by. It’s still too early for the boutique shoppers to be out.

Down the middle of the straight line of shops is a long garden with green, lush plastic plants. Every hour, on the hour, tiny sprinklers come up and water them. That’s right. They water plastic plants; it’s designed to make them look realistic and shiny. It seems like a waste of perfectly good water.

My shoe lace comes undone and I rest my foot on a park bench to tie it. Even the seats in the strip mall are made of see-through plastic.

But as manufactured and fake as this place is, I have to admit that being surrounded by perfection makes me feel less like a forgotten rural girl who lives in a house with cracks in the walls.

I stand in line at my favourite drink cart and fish around in my bag for money. I try and make out like I’m deciding what to get. But in truth there’s only one thing on the menu that I can afford.

As I pull out a small array of different coloured coins, I hear boot-covered feet walking past me. The hair on the back of my neck stands up.

Two tall men stride by. They’re wearing black and white blocked uniforms, long pants and pressed jackets. People dressed this way are a common sight in Poridos. They’re members of Sentry. Unlike the policing Concords who worry about keeping the general peace, Sentry officers’ loyalty belongs only to the Guardians. They’re basically their personal army.

Sentry officers are well protected and have a reputation for being heartless. I heard a story once that they beat a man half to death for looking at them the wrong way. Apparently, another time they threw a woman in jail because she stood outside the Tower too long. Whether those stories are true or not, Sentry serves as a constant reminder of the Guardians rule. There are outposts all over Selestia.

It makes a lot of people feel like they can never escape the Guardians because Sentry are their ears.

When I’m sure the officers can’t see me, I turn a bit to watch them disappear around the corner of a shop. From the look of their jackets, those two were fairly high ranked officers. They were walking with a purpose, as if maybe they were looking for something.

I shrug a little and step up to the counter. The young girl working the machine takes my money. As she processes my order, she says to her co-worker, ‘Why are
they
patrolling so early?’

He replies, ‘Probably has something to do with those people that keep going missing. You’ve seen the news. But shush, if they come back and hear you talking about it, they might get rough with you. You can’t even joke about it when they’re around.’

The nervous girl hands me my beverage. I take it and walk away. The stories of people disappearing have become headline news everywhere. There’s no pattern like age or gender, place in society or even money. People simply disappear and never come home.

The locals have become restless with questions and Sentry’s numbers have doubled, snatching up anyone who even jests about the issue. My father is convinced it’s the Guardians who are abducting people, unsurprisingly.

I think that’s stupid.

If the Guardians
were
kidnapping people, for what purpose I don’t know, Sentry wouldn’t be on patrol. Plus, there is no way it would be on the news. What’s the point of being powerful if you can’t swish a little media coverage under the rug?

With my hot drink clenched tightly in my hands, I make my way towards work. I turn and stroll up through the main shopping arcade. The polished floors shine under the bright lights above. The wooden artefacts on the walls are hand carved. Every boutique’s glass window, displaying expensive wares, is polished to perfection. The arcade is not for those shy about splashing some cash. All the stores here sell mostly home gifts and expensive knickknacks.

However there is one store I pass every day that makes me stop. It’s a beautiful shop selling custom couture uniting gowns. The mannequin is changed almost daily into another stunning design - the lace and beaded dresses flowing down and around her plastic ankles - her shoes adorned with crystal gems. I try not to gawk too much or too long at the faceless woman. It only depresses me.

I don’t even have a boyfriend.

I step up to a store’s front window and tap lightly on the glass. I wait for a moment, glancing at the name, “Finishing Touches” painted on the shop front. The glass door opens and a black-haired young man pokes his head out.

‘Sorry Miss, I’m not interested in anything you’re selling,’ he says.

I smile. ‘Let me in, smart ass.’

The young man moves out of the way and I pass into the shop. He’s my “boss” and childhood friend, Blade. Until I was seven, I lived in Poridos City in an upper class apartment. Blade and I became friends when I was only six, my mother and Blade’s mother coming together for a design project. Being the same ages, our mother’s pushed us together to play whilst they worked. We became instant buds.

When I turned seven however, we had to declare bankruptcy and make several living downgrades, eventually landing in Pekkin. I was heartbroken. Not that I was leaving Poridos. I was getting further away from Blade. But we sent letters and as we got older, visited each other for sleepovers. Somehow, through all that, our friendship remained strong.

He’s the reason my life doesn’t completely suck.

Finishing Touches is an interior décor business owned by his mother, Kyla. I’m employed to help out; Blade’s hours had to be cut back when he got accepted to study music at the prestigious Bendoc Chamber of Arts.

I have to admit that things are different between us now. Not necessarily in a good way either. He’s slowly started making new friends at school, including with the ladies. I’m not surprised. Blade is eighteen and a real cutie. He’s got short black hair, glasses that suit him to a tee and a gentle smile. He’s sweet and funny and brightens any room he enters.

I’ve always had a thing for him. Not that I would say it to his face. But, sometimes I wonder if my feelings are still real or if they’re simply lingering residue from years gone by. I mean, I tell myself I like him. I then block out any other possible offers from nice looking gents. Yet I know that he doesn’t think of me that way. So admitting any feelings would only make things awkward and complicated. I’d rather not lose my one true friend over something like that.

‘Where’s Kyla?’ I ask, walking in.

Blade replies, ‘Ma has a meeting with the arcade manager. Well she
says
that. But I swear it’s a date. Those two have been making eyes at each other for weeks. Bler.’