Song #3

His cottage had been the first place Edward had come when he’d arrived in the Woodbine, and Jack had recognized the boy as the prophesied Bridge Builder almost immediately. But he knew that convincing the Guardians of this would be difficult. Guardians were notoriously slow to act, and skeptical when it came to doing anything that broke with tradition or daily procedure. He could only hope that the respect the Council had shown him in the past would count for something. He’d always made a point to ensure that his research into the Woodbine’s vast library of historical documents was done very carefully, and he had a good reputation among the Guardians.

It had taken Jack just an hour to get to Estrella, the Woodbine’s beautiful capital city. This was exceptionally fast, considering the fact that his cottage was over fifty miles away. But he’d had the help of two Guardians from Cornelius’s Valley, who had flown him there, slung between them in a small, wicker basket. Had the circumstances been different, he would have enjoyed the experience, having never had the opportunity to study the Woodbine from the air before. But as it were, the news that the Guardians had brought him was so distressing that he’d barely noticed the journey.

He and his wife, Joyce, had been startled by the sudden appearance of two green-skinned Guardians at their home. The Guardians had told him all that had happened at Cornelius’s Valley, from the arrival of the horsemen to Edward and Bridgette flying away. When he’d learned that Edward was being pursued by the Four, Jack had known immediately what had to be done. He’d left his cottage, determined to convince the Guardian High Council to act. The stakes had been raised! He hoped that the Council would raise a Guardian army to help Edward with his quest. If they didn’t act soon, all hope could be lost!

Jack had been waiting for over an hour when the majestic doors finally slid open. An important-looking Guardian emerged, her sandals making a light clip-cloppingnoise on the white marble tile as she walked.

Jack nodded and followed her through the entrance. A long hallway with immensely high ceilings stretched on either side of him. Tapestries depicting ancient battles between Guardians and Groundlings decorated every wall. At any other time Jack would have enjoyed the opportunity to get a closer look at them. It was rare for a mortal to be given the chance to enter the High Council’s courtroom. Fortunately, Zephath was a friend and held him in high regard. Otherwise his request to be heard might have been filed in the immense stacks of waiting cases, a process that could sometimes take more than a hundred years! It was a stark reminder that time in the Afterlife was largely irrelevant.

Rachel approached a bronze door with a knocker in the shape of an eagle and knocked sharply three times. A faint voice from behind the door replied, “Enter.”

Rachel opened the door for Jack and he rushed inside, eager to speak with his friend. As the assistant closed the door, Jack spotted Zephath sitting behind a huge mahogany desk that looked as if it had been carved from a single oak tree.

“Jack!” The Guardian’s tanned face broke into a huge smile. He was one of the older Guardians, a handsome man with silver hair and wings. Jack approached and shook his outstretched hand.

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Zephath. I wouldn’t have bothered you if it hadn’t been a matter of such high importance.”

“Not at all, not at all,” the Guardian said, motioning for Jack to sit in one of the two elegant, leather guest chairs. As Jack sat down, he noticed that the material wasn’t leather as he’d first assumed. The chair was exceptionally soft, but covered with small, red scales.

“Dragonskin,” the Guardian said, reading Jack’s expression. “Fought them during the Battle of Elysium Fields. They were quick, but my ring was quicker. I sure could throw back in those days . . .” The elderly Guardian trailed off, reminiscing.

“Exactly,” Jack replied, feeling nervous about the way that Zephath was treating the matter. It seemed like the Guardian was making fun of him.

“Yes, yes, I heard about it from Jemial. He mentioned that there was some kind of Groundling disturbance back at your place a week or so ago. Did they steal anything important? Any of your books go missing?”

“No, no, that wasn’t it at all,” Jack said, trying to control his temper. “It was Moloc, and he attacked because Melchior and his son, Edward, are here in the Woodbine. Edward is . . .”

“I know, I know . . . You think he’s the prophetic hero who will release the trapped souls.” The Guardian waved his hand dismissively. “Would that it were true, Jack. But I’m afraid the Council doesn’t have time for such matters. We’ve got several Guardians who need to be assigned charges on Earth, not to mention the usual backup of cases up here. We just don’t have time to investigate any far-fetched ‘Bridge Builder’ claims. I’m sorry, old friend, but I think you’ve been reading too much into those old books of yours.”

“Zephath, I think you’re making a grave mistake. Edward isthe Bridge Builder. And without the help of a troop of Guardians, he’ll never succeed in defeating the Jackal. The Four have been awakened and are chasing him. Even if he gets through the Jackal’s wall . . .”

“Gets through the Jackal’s . . .” The Guardian laughed sharply. “You know as well as I do that that is impossible. No Guardian can penetrate the Jackal’s Lair. Think about what you’re saying, Jack. There’s no way that the Jackal would send the Four after the boy. It just doesn’t make sense.”

“With faith, nothing is impossible,” Jack said evenly. “I can see now that I’ve wasted both your time and mine. Don’t bother, I’ll show myself out.”

Angry, Jack stood up and stalked to the richly decorated door. He ignored Zephath, who called after him, saying, “The Four? The Jackal’s wall! Honestly, Jack!”

The frustrated faun opened the door and was nearly flattened by Rachel, who had been leaning against it, eavesdropping. The young Guardian instantly straightened, turning a bright shade of crimson. Jack shot her a withering glance as he walked out of the office and made his way back down the elaborate corridor. His pulse thundered in his ears and he clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles showed white.

“Pompous peacocks!” he muttered. “They’re so caught up with their petty tasks that they have no idea what’s at stake.” He was just about to exit through the tall doorway that led outside when the young Guardian’s voice called to him from behind.

The girl gazed at him, awestruck, and then straightened her shoulders. “I heard Jemial’s report. Zephath might not believe in the Bridge Builder, but if you say it’s true, I believe you. And I’d like to help, if you’ll have me.”

Jack gazed at the young Guardian with newfound respect. He’d underestimated the girl. He noticed the determined look in her dark eyes and smiled gently.

“Thank you for believing me, Rachel. But I’m afraid we’ll need many more Guardians to help us if we want to succeed. The whole reason that I came here was to raise an army.”

Rachel smiled and said, “Leave that part to me. Word of what Jemial said has spread among the younger Guardians. Give me an hour and you’ll have your army.”