Sky Warriors: Poleuthan's Thief (Sky Warriors Saga Book 1) (45 page)

Ange’s eyes grew wide, shocked. Daren met her eyes looking equally startled.

“That’s him. I’d remember those ominous eyes anywhere…you’re exactly the same as all those years ago,” he directed his last frightened statement to him.

Shock filled their bond but only an empty expression existed on Showl’s face as he thought of the significance and Ange stared.

“Ah, I recall now. How…intriguing,” he replied simply.

“That means that you…named me. You gave Daren my name,”
she thought amazed feeling strangely warm inside, overwhelmed.

“I was just thinking the same,”
he replied gently, his eyes softened as they locked gazes.
“It would seem we named each other, very fitting, don’t you think?”

Ange looked at him dumbstruck, the thought came slowly, hesitantly.
“Named each other?”

“You still don’t recall?”
he asked a little sadly.
“I did, on one of the many nights your dreams were of old memories. It is hard to believe how our lives have intersected over the years, I had always been drawn to this city on occasion, but the magnetism was so fleeting it always took me back and forth between here and the mountains.”

She continued to stare, lost.
“If you knew, felt the draw towards me so many times…why did you never find me?”

His mental voice cracked with shame, vulnerability, as he visibly flinched, ignoring their company.

“Because I was afraid,”
he admitted contritely.
“I partially didn’t want to find my Soulbound…because I knew they would be doomed to a long and painful fate. They would be forsaken to my suffering and that of our Order, I knew their life would be hard and they would have to leave everything behind for a shadowy and indeterminate future. Even if we succeed in our ultimate mission, you must know like us that this world is far past our time, it is too far gone for us to ever be a part of it again. You will live a long solitary life without the chance to live a normal life, to live your dreams, fall in love, have a family, grow old and die…none of it, my mark, I, have denied it all to you.”

Ange pensively thought on his miserable words, recalling the fear he had displayed when he had first seen her mark. It all made sense now, why he had lied to her on several things when they had first met and his overbearing attitude to shelter and protect her. Even his
weak attitude during the time when it came to them bonding and joining the Sky Warriors, it was only after she had gotten sick that he truly pressed the matter of their bonding and he had even been willing to run from his duties to give her the life she desired.

She felt guilty Showl had bared all those conflicting emotions, that he had suffered thinking what she would lose if he had found her, she had never even thought of love or family. It was too much hassle to be a
part of her original dream to be the best thief in history. But now that the dream was dead and she knew she couldn’t have those simplicities, she couldn’t help but feel slightly robbed. But she could never resent Showl, this may not have been the life she had envisioned but she found she loved being with him and the Sky Warriors even if for some time yet she would wonder about the possible life she had lost.

Nevertheless, she could never hate Showl for the noble person he was helping her become even when he had assured her it was fine that she was a thief at heart. Perhaps she was no longer so…only for one more night before she’d finally let that part of herself go.

For once, she could say she would be content and willing to no longer be a thief. She realized she no longer needed to steal to survive, it was now in her power to give back if she wished it so.

Unbidden, her thoughts wandered to who she could have loved and had a family with but the thought stopped instantly as she stared at Showl.

“I still don’t see how we named each other,”
she admitted quietly.

“Let me help you remember.”

Ange closed her eyes, his yellow gaze still haunting her behind her eyelids. Her breath rushed out as he dived into her mind like radiant sunlight, diving deep before latching hold and pulling forth a memory so old it dusted with dark edges as it played in her mind.

Running, she was running through a cold dark night.

The city buildings loomed threateningly over her, her legs trembled as she ran, running out of breath quickly as she sobbed. Behind her was the dim light that lapped out of the windows of the orphanage, the dank small building that held all her misery. The children had been teasing her again, stealing her food and throwing trash at her while the cruel fat woman snarled at her like she was a deadly omen.

She ran in no particular straight path, it was winter and it was cold. Her tears hardened on her cheeks, she could hardly see as she tumbled between buildings. She finally collapsed in a small empty square, a dry fountain at its center and rimmed by small homes.

She picked herself up and trudged forward, shivering, her small hands rubbing her lank arms for warmth. No moons hung in the sky and the only light was a lone lamppost at the edge of the small stone tiled clearing. She huddled in the shadows of the fountain, where it was colder, just like the hole that gapped in her heart.

She didn’t know how long she had lasted there, sobbing in despair, her crying echoing faintly through the air. She jerked shocked, recoiling as a hand gently touched her back, a hand as large as her small head.

“Why are you crying, little one?”

She gazed up through blurry eyes into a pair of shining yellow eyes, they reminded her of the gold coins she had seen the fat woman pocket as she answered the gentle male voice.

“They…” she hiccupped painfully, “took my food again and called me names and threw hard things at my head, it hurt. That fat angry lady only stared, she said I’m no good. That I’ll never be adopted…that I’m not wanted.”

She froze as the large hands picked her up off the floor, she was so tiny, and she was only five years old wearing tattered dull clothes.

He placed her on the edge of the fountain after brushing away the snow
drift, his cloak fell around her as he sat beside her and she could still feel his arm around her as he kept her close.

The cloak was soft and warm, more than anything she had ever felt in her life. It wrapped around her, bringing a powerful sense of security and tranquility.

She looked up at the man’s face as his hood fell back, his hair was tousled and whiter than the snow that blanketed the roofs, streets, and objects in the world. He as the most beautiful person she had ever seen, she stared in wonderment at the kind man.

He pulled something out from underneath his cloak and pressed it gently into her hands.

She gazed down at the red rip fruit, she recognized it as the fruit and other foods the fat woman never shared with the children but taunted them with. It was a magron.

She stared up at the man confused, yet begging for permission.

He pushed her hands gently up towards her face. “Eat it,” he said quietly, his breath billowing out in a soft mist that smelled like the cold snow.

She stared at him unsure for a moment, her stomach clenching painfully before she snapped at the fruit, tore away the soft skin and the juicy flesh filled her mouth.

He chuckled at her abrasive reaction.

She paused for a moment, relishing the sweet and sour hints of the fruit in her mouth as she chewed and swallow. She had never eaten anything as remotely
good in her life, never had she been shown any kindness, it was foreign to her…but awfully nice. She decided that the magron would officially be her favorite food.

Once she had devoured the large fruit she licked her sticky fingers, savoring every last bit of the fruit. When she was done she stared up
unabashed at the kind man, the words came out slowly, words the fat woman had taught them to say but always felt wrong when she said them to her.

“Thank you.” And for once the words felt right.

He nodded once, his hand brushed her cheeks, removing the remnants of the tears that had stained her skin. She pouted but didn’t complain as he cleaned her face.

“You should not stay here in the cold little one, you could become sick.”

She frowned grimly. “But that orphanage is so horrible, I rather freeze,” she growled quietly.

“Never say that,” he rebuked gently but sternly. “Your life is precious, you only get to live it once, do no waste it. The bad things will pass so long as you are hopeful and keep walking forward.”

She frowned at his words, staring into his strange eyes that looked old and sad, they didn’t fit his young face.

“Why do you look different?” she asked.

“Because I am different,” he replied simply, unashamed.

“Do you hate being different?” she asked in a hush, the question personal.

He frowned and stared at her carefully, his reply was slow and steady. “Why should I hate being different? It is part of who I am and I will never be ashamed because of it, it is what makes me unique. I cannot change that fact even if others may not appreciate it, but that is fine. So long as I am happy with my differences, it doesn’t matter what others think.”

She stared puzzled by his words, but somehow she understood them, they made sense and brought her peace and strength as she savored the words.

She nodded in acceptance.

She had never bothered to remember a name before, but she didn’t want to forget this man, the one that had first shown her kindness, the one that had given her resolve.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

He frowned deeply at her words. “I don’t have one.”

She frowned, knowing the feeling, the sense when one lacked identity.

“Me neither,” she admitted. She looked away for a moment then back at him, her eyes fixed on his snowy hair and yellow eyes. She remembered a picture book with animals, a dirty torn book but she membered a bird in it. A snow owl.

She mashed the two words together but it didn’t sound quite right, but she had no other idea.

“You’re Showl,” she declared in a soprano voice.

“Showl?” he echoed surprised at the strange name.

She nodded very seriously. “You kind of look like a snow owl. So, s-n-o-w-l, Showl!”

He chuckled. “Don’t you mean, Snowl?”

She shook her head stubbornly. “No. Showl,” she stated stubbornly repeating it barely able to pronounce it with an ‘h,’ though she hardly knew the difference.

He smiled amused by her heated reply before falling silent and gazing up at the sky for a long moment.

She looked up with him, wondering what he saw in the white dots of the black sky.

He finally looked back down at her and nodded in acceptance.

“Very well, Showl it is.”

She smiled widely, pleased. She shuffled out of his cloak and grasp and landed on the floor, looking at him curiously.

“Could I stay with you, could you adopt me?” she asked hopefully.

He frowned sadly. “I’m sorry but I cannot, where I live is even colder than here and very dangerous…” he trailed off, his eyes veiled and lonesome.

She frowned, she didn’t like the cold so she nodded.

She quickly skirted away and waved. “Bye, Showl!”

He smiled after her. “Be strong little one, remember, be proud that you are different and it will bring you happiness one day.”

She stopped for a moment and nodded in promise to his words. She turned away and quickly ran back to the orphanage, a new determination burning inside her making her hopeful.

She would be proud of what made her different even if others scorned her for it, she would stand tall, and one day, she would have a family that accepted and loved her as she was. Someday…till then she would stand proud and strong.

Ange opened her eyes, realizing tears had swelled in her eyes. She couldn’t believe she had forgotten, that she had forgotten why Showl’s name had sounded so familiar when he had told it to her back in his cave. She couldn’t fathom that she had forgotten him and the will he had given her, the perseverance that had shaped her entire person since that day.

She stared at him grateful, her heart swelling in her chest with emotion.

“It’s fitting,”
she agreed. “
If not creepy.”

“How so?”

“I am named after one of your last life’s daughters,”
she stated amused, quickly wiping her tears away before they could spill.
“Don’t you find that creepy in the least?”
she asked expecting him to agree.

He gave her an
oblivious crooked smile.
“A bit,”
he replied and it was a lie.

Through their bond Ange could feel he did not believe so at all. To him they were two very different people, and that made their names completely different and unrelated as well. In his
eyes, Ange was forever unique and special, if not an obstinate and nuisance of a woman.

Ange had to restrain a laugh at his last thought.

“Have I ever told you how lucky I am to have met you?”
she asked, willing to admit the fact.