Guardians (Seers Trilogy)

“
Guardians
is a more than satisfying ending to Heather Frost’s Seers trilogy. It’s packed with suspense, action, emotion, romance, and plenty of heartrending moments, and fans of the previous books will be thrilled by this exciting ending to Kate and Patrick’s story.
Guardians
is everything I hoped it would be, brilliantly satisfying this fan. The only fault I can find with it is that the book inevitably ended.”

Cindy C Bennett
Author of
Rapunzel Untangled
and
Geek Girl

“
Guardians
is the perfect ending to this edge-of-your-seat series. I laughed, cried, and gasped for breath many times while I was reading it. Fans of this series will find this is a perfect ending for the characters we have grown to love.”

Mindy Holt
Popular blogger, www.minreadsandreviews.blogspot.com
& www.ldswomensbookreview.com

© 2013 Heather Frost

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever, whether by graphic, visual, electronic, film, microfilm, tape recording, or any other means, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles.

This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. The opinions and views expressed herein belong solely to the author and do not necessarily represent the opinions or views of Cedar Fort, Inc. Permission for the use of sources, graphics, and photos is also solely the responsibility of the author.

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-4621-0544-1

Published by Sweetwater Books, an imprint of Cedar Fort, Inc.
2373 W. 700 S., Springville, UT, 84663
Distributed by Cedar Fort, Inc., www.cedarfort.com

Cover design by by Kelsey Webb
Cover design © 2013 by Lyle Mortimer
Edited and typeset by Melissa J. Caldwell

I
stood at my
mother’s side, listening to her soft laughter. The sound was delightful and polite, easy happiness that carried on the light breeze. She was standing with a group of women, discussing a variety of things: vegetables, weather, flowers, children—the things women enjoy talking about. Though I was twelve years old, I was content staying near my mother during social events. Many thought it was a bad habit—a sign of infinite shyness. A few of the women openly pitied my mother, and the men often asked my father if everything was quite all right with me. My parents were patient and kind, though, and, as a result, the neighbors were constantly assured that I was perfectly normal.

I don’t know exactly what the other children thought about me and my reticence. Most in the area were younger or older than me, so I didn’t care to join them very often in their games. Besides, I wasn’t extremely athletic. I preferred staying unobserved, unnoticed. I preferred painting, reading, or daydreaming over playing rough games outdoors.

I was the exact opposite of my younger brother.

Sean was energetic, active, and well loved by everyone for miles around. He was always in the thick of things, for good or for ill. The women adored him, the men often gave my father satisfied looks, and even some of the children older than Sean’s ten years looked up to him. Though he was young, his magnetic personality, good looks, and bright mind drew everyone to him. I don’t believe anyone said it aloud, but I knew many believed Sean was the superior son.

While I understood all of this—accepted it—I wasn’t bothered by their obvious thoughts. Because I knew my family didn’t share any of these opinions. My father was the local pastor, and he was well respected. He was equal parts spiritual and brilliant. He’d often told me that my quiet strength was my greatest virtue, and that someday I would find my place and be sure of it. My mother was the kindest woman the earth had ever known, and her heart was infinitely pure. She always whispered to me that I was extremely talented and would grow into a strong man one day. My brother would grin, clap my shoulder, and tease that someday I would be his equal. Their quiet words were enough for me; I needed the respect of no one else.

Perhaps I was unnecessarily hard on my neighbors. They did not disapprove of me, exactly. In fact, many of the women commented on my charming O’Donnell looks, and quite a few of the men believed I was uncommonly wise for my age. Still, I knew that in the privacy of their homes, many heads were shaken on my behalf.

My mother rubbed her hand absently over my back, causing me to glance up at her. It wasn’t a long distance to her face anymore—I was already past her shoulder and growing more rapidly every day. She didn’t respond to my sudden look, but I continued to watch her beautiful face as she listened to Alana Carroll describe the antics of her youngest child, a girl of two.

I stared at my mother’s face until she finally bent her head to give me a fast smile. She slid her hand around my shoulders, pulling me closer to her side before turning her attention back to Mrs. Carroll.

I shifted my gaze to our peaceful surroundings. My father’s small white church was beautiful in the early evening light. The rolling hills that surrounded the area were gentle and sloping, inviting the grazing sheep to wander freely. It seemed half the province was gathered in the churchyard. Father sometimes joked that he never realized how many “sheep” he had to care for until they came flocking for a springtime social. There were many faces I was used to—faces from school, frequenters of the church, and the nearby families that often visited our home. Many of the remaining crowd were unfamiliar to me; relations of my neighbors, perhaps. The face of Sarah McKenna was notably absent, but a cold had taken hold of her only yesterday, so I’d known not to expect her.

The picnic portion of the social was over. The sounds of playing children punctuated the clear air, and mingling adults created a low, persistent chatter. I was content here, next to my mother, and could have stayed for the duration of the evening.

My father stepped up behind me, balancing one large hand on my shoulder. “Patrick, you haven’t been standing here all this time, have you?”

Before I could answer, Mrs. Carroll was speaking. “Aye, indeed he has, Pastor O’Donnell. And if I’m not too bold to be saying so, I might add that he hasn’t spoken a single word. What thought holds his attention, I wonder?” She peered at me with her big green eyes, as if wondering whether I had a single thought in my head at all.

Mother laughed lightly at my side, and her arm tightened around me. “Patrick’s thoughts are usually his own. Whenever we are allowed inside, however, I’m always amazed at the depth of them.”

Father’s palm lifted to rustle against my light brown hair. “Indeed. Nevertheless, if I might intrude upon those thoughts . . . Patrick, your brother has gone missing, along with the Doyle boy. What’s his name . . . ?”

“Colin,” I offered, tipping my head up so I could catch a look at his face.

He gave me a small smile. “Yes. Colin. His parents would like to go home, so I assured them you would be happy to find Colin.”

I lowered my head with a small sigh. “Yes, Da.”

Mother squeezed me thankfully before I slipped out from under her falling arm. I turned and pushed my hands deep into my pockets, though after I’d gone just a few paces I threw a glance back over my shoulder. My father had taken the place beside my mother, their arms casually supporting each other as Mrs. Carroll resumed her tale. They often stood like that, his hand almost imperceptibly rubbing her slender side, drawing her closer. They could remain that way for a long time, not saying anything, whether they were standing at a window, on the back step, in the garden, or on the stairs of the church. Sean told me once that such silence and stillness bothered him. It didn’t seem affectionate in his eyes. “They look bored,” he’d said once, when I’d commented on their posture.

Personally, I thought it was a comforting stance. It showed me that words were not always necessary, which was something I was relieved to see evidence of. It made me feel less self-conscious when I saw my parents act like I did.

I nearly stumbled on a loose stone hidden in the long, trampled grass, so I returned my attention to where I was going.

I wandered through the loose crowds, nodding to those who met my eye or called out a special greeting. I didn’t know where Sean and Colin would be, but I knew they’d be together. I decided to check the cemetery first. I’d found them there more than once before.

I passed through the edge of the lingering party and rounded the corner of the white church. Though there was not a great span between the church and the crowd, as soon as I passed through the gap in the waist-high stone wall that fenced the small, crowded cemetery, I seemed partially cut off from the noise. It was distant now, as if I was in a place too sacred to desecrate with light laughter and easy banter. I enjoyed the sudden peace, and the thought briefly crossed my mind that I should make this my retreat more often.

The varied gravestones and simple wooden markers were crowded tightly together, but I navigated the cemetery with an ease that came only through repetition. I’d been walking these grounds since my first steps, and I wasn’t about to start tripping over the dead now. God rest their souls, of course.

The cemetery ran the length of the church and wrapped around the back. I hadn’t reached the end corner before I could hear the small voice of Colin Doyle.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” he was saying, voice timid.

My brother answered immediately, confident and faintly panting. “Oh, shut it. I can do this.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes as I stepped fully into the backyard. I saw Colin standing beneath the sprawling branches of the large yew tree, the sparse green leaves just coming in due to the earliness of the season. He was nervously fiddling with the strap on his suspenders, and he was looking to three other boys I didn’t recognize. They were young, judging from the roundness of their faces; however, they were not small. The oldest couldn’t be older than me, and the youngest was probably nine years—if that. The one in the middle was staring up into the heavy branches of the ancient tree, and I followed his gaze—already knowing who I’d see.

Sean was climbing up the thick trunk, swinging on the evenly spaced branches with an agility that equally amazed and terrified me. He was already more than halfway up the gigantic tree. My neck strained painfully as I followed his rapid progress.

I walked a bit unsteadily the rest of the way forward, stopping when I reached Colin’s side. Colin saw me from the corner of his eye, and then—upon realizing my identity—he cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled up to my brother, “Sean! Patrick’s here!”

Sean wavered in his climb, but only for a moment before he braced himself against the branch and trunk, gripping the rough bark tightly. Despite the flush in his face, his grin was too wide to miss—even from this distance.

“He can watch me too!” he yelled down, not in the least bit fazed by my presence.

I turned to Colin, glancing at the three large boys who were now staring at me. “What’s going on here?” I asked evenly.

Colin was biting his lower lip, obviously agitated. “Sean’s going to jump from the tree onto the church roof. I told him he couldn’t do it!”

I craned my head back up to my brother, who was climbing ever higher. He’d surpassed the top of the church, the tree shivering under his weight as he came closer to the top. I then turned to look at the church behind us, noting that although the tree was
close
to the roof, it was nowhere near close enough.

“Sean!” I hollered up to him.“You’re going to break your neck!”