Chapter Seventeen
The Glow of the Bonfire
Eventually Michael, Sarah and Ilo glistened with such a sheen of sweat that they couldn’t touch the swing-bars without plummeting to the dirt below. Soon after, Oliver returned from the medical bay looking as good as new with no bruises to speak of. Michael wasn’t quite sure how that could be but it was one too many questions in a single day even for him, and before long Ilo had other things to attend to so he made himself scarce.
Finally, Michael, Sarah and Oliver lay in the late rays of the sun, watching others run the obstacle course and fight on the sword stage. The distant cheers and accenting cling-clang of iron seemed to soften the edges of the world.
A far away bell sounded three short times, pulling a frown from Michael’s face.
Oliver and Sarah rolled up to their feet. “Dinner,” she explained, offering Michael a hand up. “Your first feast is a big deal, you know?”
Together the trio made their way back to the forum and Michael marvelled once more at the number of warriors converging on the great set of long tables. He could only imagine what kind of fashion these people would feast in. Part of him wondered if Amekot’s aristocratic background would have them all using six different pieces of cutlery just to eat one square of boiled egg. The more he looked at the crowd, the more ease he came to find. It seemed they were waiting for the whole fortress to arrive but many were eager and drumming on the table or moaning to their neighbours. Many laughed and spoke quietly while others were loud and unapologetic. Some were slumped over the table itself, having some form of pre-meal nap due to their day’s extensive training. Ilo was one of these.
“Each chamber typically eats together,” Sarah said, “but there are no hard and fast rules about it. Want to keep us company?”
Michael appreciated the gesture greatly, because while he wasn’t afraid of eating alone, he was slightly weary at the premise of eating amidst a hoard of strangers.
They sat down on one of the long benches and Oliver poured him a drink and offered the same to Sarah, though his gentleness showed a touch more. They jested back and forth in a mock-courtly manner that even a blind man would blush to see, and Michael said nothing at all, smiling to his soul. He was many things, but never would he wish to be someone who interrupted the soft moments that turning living into being alive.
Michael wanted to sit and stare at them, just to watch the way in which they adored one-another in their sincere but hesitant way, as though kindling a flame, afraid of blowing too hard on the tinder for fear of it being stifled.
Michael noticed that the dining tables themselves were now laden with the covered serving tray, unlike at breakfast where it was a free-for-all in the centre. Plates were pre-set and cutlery at the ready.
Across the way Michael saw a couple of Legacies trying to sneak sausages from a serving tray when the cover slipped and clanged down noisily. They were met with a riot of jeers and laughter and both slumped back in shame as an older, short woman in a stained apron scolded them red in the face. Michael immediately knew her to be the ‘Silvia’.
Amekot was the last to arrive. He strolled down to the head of the central table and picked up a goblet. He raised it lazily above his head and began by saying, “Today, we have the pleasure of welcoming a new Legacy to our grounds!”
To Michael’s surprise, the crowd cheered easily, and Oliver and Sarah threw up their own goblets, both hollering louder than nearly everyone else combined, which only stirred the others on more so. Michael laughed and hid his face in an unserious fashion, but he found himself sitting taller.
“Michael Williams! Stand, won’t you?” the Fortmaster entreated.
The boy swallowed and his heart began to quicken but Oliver took his hand quickly and squeezed it before letting him go again.
Michael pushed himself up and looked over the sea of warriors, all with eyes on him and a curious intrigue laid thick about them. He spotted Aroha and Nichole sitting across the way, watching him happily, leaning into each other like they made up one shape. Jack the Javen-warrior was sat at the opposite end of the forum from Amekot. He was still fully clad in his beautiful armour with the exception of his helmet on the bench beside him. Michael hasn’t seen him without it yet and was surprised to see he was dark of skin with short-cropped hair, like he’d shaven it within the cresk. Michael also couldn’t tell if it was simply the poor lighting or not, but could swear the man was striped with long marks across his face and eye. Sidney, the tall warrioress and Flinn the broad-shouldered spearman both watched him closely too, but with more levity. They argued passionately beneath their breaths and Michael cracked a wide smile when he saw them gesture to his hair.
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“As is our custom,” Amekot continued, “We will ask you to declare a title. Keep in mind, this is all a formality, and as your companions will attest to, no one really cares, but I enjoy the ritual side and I’m in charge!”
The crowd rippled with small chuckles as everyone nodded in agreement and Nichole even mouthed to Michael, Told you so.
Amekot allowed the reverence to gather once more and he asked, “So, make your choice. Be you Paladin, Archangel, or simply Legacy?”
“Paladin,” Michael doubled down, though not entirely certain why.
Amekot nodded and the crowd seemed content. He raised his goblet once more and said, “Paladin Michael Williams, do you, here and now, before all the witnesses gathered, swear to uphold the integrity of Fort Guardian? Do you swear to maintain this place of magic and strength with all your ability? Do you swear to defend this home- this hold of our kin -against all foes, both from beyond and within?”
Michael was thrown. He wasn’t expecting such a moment to come over dinner, nor especially for it to come so soon. Not to mention, he quite aware he was already a glass of wine deep.
But there was nothing for it. Michael looked around him and found his eyes settling on Nichole. She smiled knowingly while everyone else sat on the edge of their seats.
Michael looked at her. “I swear.”
Amekot nodded solemnly, “Then I suppose, all we have to say…” he then raised his voice to a bellowing, joyful shout, “is welcome!”
To say the crowd cheered would be a vast understatement. It would perhaps be more accurate to say the Legacies, using only their thunderous hands, stamping feet and trumpeting voices, were like heard by the nearest three cities in any direction. Legacies leapt to their feet and clapped, many stayed seated only to hammer on their tables while other slammed their weapons and tankards against shields, all the while shouting his name.
Michael looked out over the sea of welcome and fought a hot wave behind his eyes. And deep within him, he hoped sorely that he would never let them down.
Amekot shouted, “Feast, god-damn-it!” before the roar could die and the energy of the moment seemed to last evermore.
The night swept in like a summer breeze after he spoke those words. The bronze lanterns glowed brighter and brighter to combat the dark and hilarity filled the sky as a shield against all cold thoughts.
Michael, Sarah and Oliver were bent double with their laughter, doing all they could to not spit food and drink across the table when blindsided by a joke or jest. Endless people came and introduced themselves to Michael. After an hour or so, the crowd began to lift away from the table and move toward the great empty space between the Arena and the obstacle course. As quick as anything a pop-up stage was assembled near the foot of the great fortress walls and musicians climbed up, semi-drunk and silly with laughter. Before their first song was over, they had crowds singing along.
A great bonfire was lit at the heart of the party. Food was brought from the forum and many drinks flowed and the night ensued unlike any Michael had ever seen. Music rolled across the fortress and shoes were kicked off to the sound of their friends’ voices. Legacies danced around the campfire and others assembled crowded by the stage. Oliver and Sarah dragged Michael into the light of the great fire and Oliver led them eagerly with the Leverest-Low fashion of dance, the kind of jig which anyone with a single foot and some semblance of balance could learn. Michael had grown up learning dances like them and he watched as Sarah broke into fits of giggles as she couldn’t figure out how to move her feet in such uncoordinated ways.
Many more people came up to Michael and greeted him throughout the night. Almost all of them offered him drinks to celebrate his arrival. Michael’s mother raised him to be man of manners. Naturally, this meant he was soon lying on the grass, staring at the stars and laughing at the shapes of clouds.
On the other edge of the fire, Nichole and Aroha were swaying in the light of the blaze and smiling sweetly with their eyes closed, barely even moving their feet, and certainly not listening to the music which kicked up around them. Aroha kissed her softly and savoringly, and Nichole broke out into a wider smile before nestling her head in Aroha neck. The word ‘stern’ suddenly seemed an impossible way to describe Nichole, who in that moment looked as though she could sink into the lips of her lover and stay there forever. And the word ‘unserious’ seemed an absurd way to label her Aroha, who in that moment, wore the look of a woman so perfectly in peace, she would burn worlds to protect it.
By abrupt contrast, Ilo was in the midst of an open circle trying to dance with three partners at once.
Michael was reminded of Carter. He’d once caught the boy flirting with the entire marching band of his school. It dimmed his smile a touch.
“Havin’ a good night, lad?” Down next to him sat the bright-eyed Flinn, unburdened by his long-bladed spear as he lounged in the firelight.
Michael forgot all about his momentary sadness and gestured in disbelief to the scene at hand. “How could I not be?” his words slurred ever so slightly.
Flinn chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. “I was wondering whether you’d like to take the chamber-tour, yet?”
Michael was unsure whether it was the drink or the night or the couple last days in general but he felt himself grow misty-eyed. He then realised it was because he’d been so prepared to leave. And more so, not only did he not want to leave, but they wanted him to stay. “I have a chamber?”
Flinn nodded gently. “We do. Want to see it?”
Michael sprang up and stumbled a touch but Flinn caught him with chuckling ease. Michael glanced to his friends, watching Aroha, Nichole, Oliver, and Sarah, seeming to forget the rest of the world spun around them.
“I get the feeling they wouldn’t mind a moment alone,” he said with a small nudge, towing Michael off toward the keep.
They moved through the great hallway and then drifted off to the right, through the door marked Paladin and passed the room in which Michael stayed the night before. They pressed on through another set of doors and came out into a long dorm hallway. Along the left side were four ornate room doors and on the right the entire wall stretched wide with enchanted glass, showing the beautiful dark fortress outside. They stopped at the first door and above it the word Defanin was written in golden script.
Michael mused for a moment. Defanin... Gargan of Resistance, Endurance and the Rebellion.
Flinn twisted the handle and let the door swing out.