A Guardian Betrayed: Guardians of Light, #6

Champagne Book Group

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A Guardian Betrayed

Guardians of Light, Book 6

By

Renee Wildes

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

A Guardian Betrayed was previously published as God of Fyre Mountain.

Champagne Book Group

www.champagnebooks.com

Copyright 2020 by Renee Wildes

ISBN 978-1-926681-34-4

January 2020

Cover Art by Sevannah Storm

Produced in the United States of America

Champagne Book Group

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USA

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not buy it, or it was not bought for your use, then please purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Other Books by Renee Wildes

Guardians of Light Series

A Guardian Redeemed, 7

A Guardian Betrayed, 6

A Guardian’s Destiny, 5

A Guardian’s Dream, 4

A Guardian Revealed, 3

A Guardian’s Hope, 2

A Guardian’s Heart, 1

Standalone

Seditious Hearts

Love’s Timeless Journey

Dedication

To all of you who embrace change and aren’t afraid to live the adventure!

Acknowledgement

I did some fun and amazing and diverse research for this story. Thanks to Sam Choy’s Polynesian Kitchen for the cuisine and recipes inspiration, the http://avesnoir.com/ website about the white ravens of Qualicum Beach, Vancouver Island, British Columbia, the USGS Volcano Hazards Program, National Geographic for some spectacular erupting volcano photos, and http://malaeoletalu.blogspot.com/2011/07/faleoo.html for information on Samoan faleo’o which is an open hut on stilts. There are also some amazing haka videos on YouTube, and Ancient Origins has an article on how to shrink heads!

Dear Reader:

Family is everything. They are your rock, your anchor, your cheering section, your warm hug and umbrella. My sister and I used to fight with each other, but no one better mess with one if the other was around!

For Maili it was her grandmother and her father. Even when she didn’t agree with them, everything they did was for what they thought was in her best interests. For Dax it was his aunt Pryseis, his fiercest advocate.

You might not always see eye-to-eye with your family. There will always be generational and gender disagreements, sibling rivalry, old grudges, and dirty laundry (both literal and figurative). But they’re your clan, your peeps. They’re the ones who get up in the middle of the night and rescue you when your car breaks down. No one gets you like they do. Gatherings and stories, hand-me-downs, and old family recipes. Cherish the memories. Visit often. Take lots of pictures. Pass the family legends on to the next generation. They’re your legacy to the world.

One

Utter horror nailed Maili to the plank floor of her grandmother’s elevated hut. Wed Pilipo? Old Stone Face? That pig-of-a-snake Toka war chief? He wasn’t whom she’d dreamt of. Numb, she sank onto the woven grass mat and stared at her father and grandmother, willing her dismay not to show. How to respond?

I’m unworthy of such a match.

Chief Iokia grunted and folded his massive arms. You’re a woman grown. ’Tis past time you were settled. Wed him and bind our two villages together, doubled strength against the Kali.

Lanikula’s brown eyes glittered within her wrinkles. We all serve a purpose.

My purpose— Maili rubbed her own arms to still their trembling, —is teaching the littles. Not catering to every demand of the village bully. Lad or man, she wanted no part of Pilipo. Especially that part.

Please let this be a bad dream. Please let me awaken now.

She’d dreamt of a powerful, faceless warrior coming for her, erotic dreams that made her awaken restless and flushed.

Pilipo wasn’t the passionate warrior in those dreams. His flat, malevolent eyes chilled the blood in her veins.

Even her brother, Feleti, had naught good to say of the war chief, although they’d traded places in the ritual hostage exchange.

A Toka woman’s purpose, Daughter, is to wed a warrior and bear his sons. Chief Iokia scowled and swept a tattooed arm toward the village beyond the wall-less hut. Mayhap you missed the effects of the latest Kali raid? Pilipo’s a royal match and names you the price of his leadership. He wants you and has exceeded your bride price. You can’t hope for better.

Ugh. So many better alternatives…like slavery to the enemy Kali. Doubt gnawed at Maili, though.

Across the compound, her best friend, Noelani, knelt to support her wounded cousin as he drank. Even at this distance, Maili saw his blood seeping through the bandages. Shark-tooth knives and swords savaged flesh. The brutal Kali raids had increased in frequency. Just yesterday, two of their own wounded warriors hadn’t lived to see the sunset.

Her father aged, and with graying hair came wisdom enough to know the Toka people deserved a younger, more battle-ready man to lead their defenses. Pilipo was a great warrior and the hostage son of the neighboring Toka chieftain.

If only he didn’t flaunt it to get whatever—and whomever—he wanted.

Now he demanded Maili. Her hand in marriage for his protection. How selfish of her to place her own wishes above the needs of the villages. But…

No matter how heart-pounding, dreams weren’t reality.

The blood pact’s made. You wed Pilipo on the night of the new moon. Chief Iokia descended the short ladder from the elevated hut to the sandy ground and strode off, albatross-feathered cloak and headdress rustling in the humid breeze.

If only her mother were alive. Yet she too had wed on command. Difference was her chief was autocratic, not violent. Unlike Pilipo…

Ten waning moonrises. Fitting for the darkest night to herald so fearsome an event.

Maili fingered her grass skirt. A bee zinged past her as she stared out from her grandmother’s hut at the bustling activity of the village nestled in the shadow of Mount Veamalohi. Elder siblings supervised their younger. Mothers labored at a variety of tasks—pounding taro root, weaving baskets or mats, drying fish in the bright tropical sunlight.

The rich, meaty smell of steaming pork wafted in the breeze. Her stomach gurgled.

Three crones worked in the communal garden, weeding and watering cucumbers and green beans. Two old men replaced the charred grass thatching on one of the other roofs, their ladders propped against that hut’s supporting bamboo stilts. It had been set ablaze in last night’s Kali raid.

Most of the men were fishing. Several of the older lasses were gone collecting clams and crabs in the nearby tide pools. The older lads braved the dangers of the surrounding jungle to harvest yams, fiddleheads, and fruit.

Clucking chickens fluttered around hut stilts, scratching at the sandy ground, making general nuisances of themselves. The more destructive pigs had escaped during the Kali raid last night and the largest boar had been stolen. Thanks to the efforts of the lads, the pen was once again repaired, and the remaining pigs secured at the edge of the village.

Just another typical day. Naught indicated the end of the world neared, though a spongy weight crushed her.

Her grandmother handed her a wooden bowl of tangled roots. Here, grind these.

Maili’s nose burned from the sharp, pungent aroma of the pulpy, bloodred roots. Donda dye? You’ve chosen an apprentice? You’re having a binding ceremony?

Aye. With sharpened nails, Lanikula rattled her finger-bone necklace. I won’t be here forever. I’d see you in good hands and our village settled with a new witch doctor afore I cross over.

Good hands? Did she jest? Pilipo didn’t have hands. He had fists.

Grandmother, why must it be Pilipo? Maili tried to rein in her desperation. Whining like a wee one would get her caned. Dream warrior aside, was it too much to ask for someone she respected? Or, at least, someone she didn’t…she hated to use the word fear…dread?

Pilipo’s a fearsome warrior. Lanikula eyed her. Is there another you wish to wed?

Even desperate, Maili couldn’t lie. Pilipo’s not the man in my dreams. How can I marry Pilipo if I dream of another?

You say you’ve never seen his face, Lanikula challenged, so how would you know?

His arms weren’t tattooed. It sounded mad to speak aloud of her dreams. A mysterious, faceless warrior she’d never met, whose strong arms and sure hands made her blood run hot and her knees go weak. It made no sense to hold out hope of an erotic dream becoming real. She’d not remain free forever. Her father had decreed she marry and begin the life of a Toka mother. But Pilipo? Whenever he approached, her first instinct was to flee.

Chieftain’s son and alliance were all her father saw. What did Lanikula see? Wouldn’t the witch doctor pause to consider the portent of a recurring dream?

Pilipo’s a brute. Maili shuddered. He tracked her every move with an avid, lustful gaze. Let other women boast of his endowment and sexual prowess. He made Maili’s skin crawl. The idea of him pinning her to his sleeping mats with his big hands, crushing her beneath his tattooed brawn while he thrust and grunted between her thighs, made her want to retch.

She was doomed. A blood pact between chiefs was unbreakable.

The village would be safe…er.

Ten waning moonrises…

Who’s your new apprentice going to be? A wild hope stirred. Is it me? I’d be perfect. I’m not afraid of the power. Not much. Pilipo would have to treat her with respect, or she’d curse the man root he was so prideful of, so it shriveled and fell off.

Hope plummeted as her grandmother shook her head. Well, why not?

Give the power to one with the heart of a warrior? With a gnarled hand, Lanikula brushed a wiry strand of gray hair off her brow. It must never be you. Only the purest of hearts can withstand the dark temptation of wielding the shadow-force. Her gaze strayed to where Noelani knelt in the trampled mud.

Maili’s jaw dropped. Sweet-natured Noelani? Grandmother, nay. She’s afraid of the dark power. And you. She doesn’t even like to swat insects.

You mustn’t speak of this. Lanikula scowled. ’Tis not your place to tell her. ’Tis mine. Once, I was as she is.

Whatever did those dark powers do to turn Lanikula into…this? Gentle Noelani’s transformation into a vengeful witch doctor most folk avoided chilled Maili nigh worse than wedding Pilipo.

I’m not growing any younger. Took time enough for the gods to reveal themselves to me. I began to lose hope.

Maili gasped at the blasphemy. Criticize the gods and court disaster.

Keep working. I’ll be back. Lanikula loomed over her. The shrunken Kali heads adorning her belt seemed to leer at Maili as the old witch doctor strode past to descend to the ground. Maili grimaced in dread as the shadow brushed her soul. Dark magic. The muliwa. Now those secrets of death and power would pass on to the next generation. She pitied Noelani, although a secret part of her was glad not to be the only one facing a miserable future. Rather ignoble of her, but there ’twas.

Too bad they couldn’t trade places. She’d risk the whole Kali nation—snake gods and all—to avoid Pilipo.

What did her dreams mean?

The sun seemed to dim. The chickens squawked and fluttered, trying to get airborne. What was wrong with them? Around the village, wild parrots and red-furred tree people raised the alarm. The pigs started squealing, adding to the sudden din. Women and littles glanced around. The old men stopped thatching the hut, dropped to the ground, and ran for their weapons. Noelani helped her cousin to his feet. He swayed as he brandished his shark-tooth club. Katoa, the old priest, shook his staff and chanted a quick protection spell.

Shark-tooth weapons proved useless as the ground heaved. The hut swayed. Ignoring the ladder, Maili scrambled over the railing and leapt off the raised platform of her grandmother’s hut. She landed hard, stabbing pain shooting up from her ankles, and stifled a scream. The supporting bamboo legs snapped like twigs, and the entire structure collapsed in on itself. A jagged fissure opened right through the far side of the village, splitting the ground. The dirt and sand along the edges slid into oblivion. Noxious hot, sulfurous fumes swept the crowd.

People coughed and backpedaled from the ashen cloud of smoke. Blistered women snatched up screaming babies. Maili’s heart pounded, blood thundering in her ears. She spied Lanikula across the compound on the other side of the crevasse. People staggered about. Katoa’s voice rose in entreaty as he stomped out the pattern of a protection spell on the bucking ground.

Your blasphemy brought this on us. Maili glared at her grandmother as the ground settled at Katoa’s prayers.

Children sobbed as they ran to her. She focused on comforting her students.

Hush now, Ona. She soothed a dirt-smudged young lass who clutched an even grubbier baby brother. Maili held them both, wrinkling her nose at the harsh acrid scent that clung to their hair. She hummed under her breath to calm them as the men shooed everyone away from the narrow fissure. It smoldered, far side now higher than the near.

A hand touched Maili’s shoulder. She started and focused on Noelani’s ashen face.

You escaped afore it collapsed, Noelani said.

Maili gaped at the utter ruin of her grandmother’s hut. ’Twas the only one the earthquake had leveled. She shivered. If the old witch doctor angered Afu, the fyre god, what further calamities would rain on them? She caught Lanikula’s gaze and jerked her head toward Katoa. Her grandmother pursed her lips. Katoa would hear the witch’s contrition. What would he demand as recompense?

Chief Iokia pointed toward Mount Veamalohi. Afu stirs.

Maili dug her toes into the sandy soil at a thin plume of smoke rising from the summit of the long-slumbering fyre mountain. Go back to sleep.

Noelani shuddered. We must placate Afu. All is lost if he awakens angry.

What of the temple atop the stairs where the fyre god dwelt? Tales prophesied he’d walk amongst them in the end of days. Naught short of an ultimate sacrifice would stay the demon-god’s destructive hand. Katoa wasn’t forthcoming on what ultimate sacrifice entailed.

Standing with Katoa and Iokia, Lanikula addressed Maili and Noelani. Come, Lass.

Me? Shaking her head, Noelani backed away.

Maili nudged her forward. Please, you must. Neither of us can avoid our fates. She couldn’t picture Noelani shrinking heads in the muliwa ceremony. Even Kali ones.

A curse on village elders who rearranged others’ lives to suit themselves.

Choking on bitterness, she handed Ona and her baby brother over to their mother and fled the village, wanting a moment alone to catch her breath. She followed the path to the spring where they got their water. The once cold spring bubbled hot with an ominous sulfurous smell. A dead lovebird floated atop the steaming surface, a tangle of sodden green feathers.

Maili clapped a hand over her mouth. Afu had taken their fresh water away, retribution for her grandmother’s blasphemy. Now they must journey farther inland to the river and risk the wrath of the mighty river-dragons guarding the muddy banks. Destroying Lanikula’s hut wasn’t sufficient? Must the entire village pay for her transgression?

Shades, what if the Kali were in the same dire straits? What if the Toka not only had to contend with the river-dragons but the enemy Kali as well? Just for fresh water?

She raked her hair back with a shaking hand and stared at the smoking tower of Mount Veamalohi. It loomed over the landscape. She shivered. Though her grandmother had brought this on them, Afu willing, mayhap Maili could convince him to spare the rest of the villagers. Even Pilipo. He was a great warrior, and if the Kali invaded again, the Toka would need his leadership. If Maili was the price for Pilipo’s skills, she must yield for the sake of their people. Dream or no dream.

A tiny voice whispered in her ear as she continued to study the smoldering fyre mountain, urging her to go plead with Afu for mercy, for him to spare them. She trembled at her own audacity. None but Katoa entered the sanctified temple antechamber. ’Twas forbidden to women.

She must do something.

She glided through the silent jungle as if in a trance, her steps bringing her ever closer to the incline. Giant ferns shivered in her wake. She stared through the lush mantle at the snowy crown covering the fyre mountain. The temple lay ahead. The dark, shadowy chamber called to her. Her breath caught in her throat as she drew back a prickly vine with bloodred flowers the size of her face, wincing as sticky thorns pierced her skin. The pain was forgotten as she revealed the first of an endless ascension of hand-chiseled stone steps.

A bat-winged stone guardian—cat paws with claws extended, river-dragon head with snake fangs, and curling tree-man tail—guarded the way. Worn by the elements and ages, ’twas fearsome yet beautiful. It eyed Maili’s approach. Her bloody hand trembled as she caressed its sun-warmed surface. The carved muscles seemed to ripple and shift at her touch. She cursed her overactive imagination as her blood soaked into the pitted surface. Naught more than a statue.

I come to you in peace. She removed one of her fragrant plumeria leis and laid it across its lower jaw. I wish to speak to him.

Maili began the climb to Afu’s temple. She climbed ’til her heart pounded and she gulped air. A stitch in her left side stabbed her with every breath. Her leg muscles burned. Sweat trickled between her bare breasts. How did old Katoa make this arduous climb daily?

Surely her willingness and determination to complete the ascent proved her worthiness. Surely Afu would hear her plea.

The shadowy opening loomed ahead of her, flanked by two stone columns covered in incomprehensible chiseled symbols. A gust of heated air swept over her. The breath of Afu? Her skin prickled as she entered the forbidden antechamber. Shadows danced on the walls from the flickering reed torches. Her