Chapter Nineteen
The Blanket of Surreality
Michael awoke again in the morning with a slow start. He was muddled by a headache beating across his temple and a twitch in his hand, but by the time he’d fought his way out of his mess of blankets, the dream that had plagued him in the dark of night had all but disappeared from memory.
When he recalled the events of the dinner and party, a smile stretched easily across his face. He chuckled quietly, staring at the underside of the top bunk. Michael sat up and rubbed his eyes as he looked around the room to find it full of quiet, bustling young soldiers, each readying for their day. He made brief eye-contact with Flinn and the spearman smiled at him.
“Mornin’, friend. Guys, have you all met Michael?”
Michael quickly pulled on a shirt as half a dozen or more other Defanin roommates approached him or waved tired greetings. A good many names were thrown at him and Michael could only recall two for certain, Marken and Carlisla, but he was also delighted to find out Ilo was also from the Defanin chamber. Marken was a man from the ice queendom of Haron, complete with a side-shave, thick warriors’ braids flowing down his head and a heavy war-axe swinging from his belt. Carlisla, on the other hand was a short, stocky woman with thick arms and dark, frizzy hair. When attempting to shake his hand, she rushed it and smacked the bedframe, left cackling as she shook it off and slumped back into bed, not quite sober.
Flinn sighed and began strapping on his armour only to realise Michael was still standing there. “Anything you need?”
Michael scratched his head awkwardly and asked, “I know we’re in the middle of a hidden valley but is there any kind of bathhouse or river nearby that I can freshen up in?”
Flinn nodded and walked over to the bed next to his and kicked the frame, startling Ilo awake into a series of curses and groans.
“Fuck, Alexander, what?”
Flinn snorted and said, “Take Michael to the baths. Trust me, you need one too, you showered in more of that Crek Dark last night than you managed to drink.”
Ilo scowled at him but pulled himself up and grabbed a towel from his hidden wardrobe before telling the young archer to do the same.
Michael grabbed a fresh set of clothes too and followed Ilo into the corridor, this time to the left rather than right toward the great hall. They passed by three other dorms marked Harmonia, Rageous and Séjune and came to a circular ramping stair which twisted into the levels above and down below the polished floors beneath. Beyond the ramp to the lower floors, a set of double-doors sat, inscribed with the letters W.C.
Michael wanted to ask what the doors marked W.C. were but knew better than to make a drunkard think too hard too early. Ilo led him down into the floor below and immediately Michael felt the wave of steam waft through the air as the room came into view.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
It was an enormous chambre of pale tile, split into countless segmented cubicles. On the left side of the room was a series of benches stretching along the wall beneath a dozen lengthy shelves piled high with bags, clothing and towels. In one of the few spare spaces on the wall was an old placard with a set of rules, the first of which was “No Intimate Activity” which had been handily crossed out and written over in black paint with “If we catch you screwing, we’re stealing your clothes and locking your dorm.”
Ilo showed him to a bath cubicle and left to find his own.
It was little more than a cramped room with a polished bathtub and a side table, but on the inside of the tub three symbols were inscribed, one on either side and one on the bottom. Michael looked around the small room, unable to find any barrel water and smiled, on a hunch, reaching over to the farthest rune.
The moment his fingertip touched the swirling symbol, it came alight with pale red light and hot water began spilling out from the edges of the inscription. Michael wanted to gasp but the cubicles were open-aired and he had embarrassed himself the night before already. When the bath water became too hot, he touched the other, and cold water was added to mediate it.
He quickly stripped and washed himself thoroughly, only just then realising quite how grimy his hair had been. When he was finished, he touched the rune on the bottom of the basin and the water drained out.
He left the room whistling and his face was still gently sore.
*****
Michael wandered out of the keep and spotted Sarah and Oliver having coffee at the forum tables with Nichole and Aroha. They waved him over happily.
Aroha looked Michael up and down in gentle surprised.
“What?” Michael asked.
“I had no idea your hair was so long,” she said.
Michael rolled his eyes and said, “I haven’t had the chance to wash it for a while because I was recently kidnapped.”
Nichole smiled innocently and muttered, “Hate it when that happens. You sleep okay?”
Michael smothered a grin and nodded when suddenly a piece- a fragmented little echo -from the depths of his forgotten dream sun in his mind. He blinked but it was already gone and shook his head, smiling once more. “Good, sure.” He massaged his wrist for a beat and then said, “The lot of you had a serious go of it, didn’t you? My Istol friends drink like fish too, they’d be proud.”
Oliver and Sarah shared a small smile and to avoid the lull, Sarah quickly asked, “Who are your Istol friends?”
Michael opened his mouth to answer when a great thrum echoed across the entire valley. Then, blaring from the keep, Amekot’s voice followed like it was spoken through a cloud of rumbling thunder. “Paladin Michael Williams and Archangel Oliver Jacobs, please make your way to the central office, as soon as possible.”
Michael shivered as it fell quiet and looked to the others. “Not sure I’m a fan of that.”
Oliver chuckled and drank the last of his coffee before standing. “You’ll get used to it. Hope to see the rest of you around afterward?”
Their friends raised their glasses and quickly fell back into conversation as Oliver took Michael by the arm and whisked him away to the keep. As soon as he was out of sight, Oliver’s bright facade faded and he asked, “What’s this about, do you know?”
Michael shook his head and followed the tense boy to Amekot’s office door only to find it slightly ajar already.
Oliver glanced at him set his hand on his sword before pushing through the door.
The reception too was open, and Amekot waved to them from the adjoining room.
His face was ashen and avoided Michael’s gaze as he sat back down almost too quickly.
Michael and Oliver entered the office only to realise they weren’t alone at his wide desk. With their back to the boys, a slender figure sat with their hood drawn.
They approached the desk and Amekot stepped out from behind it, anxiously rubbing the base of his neck. A weight seemed to hang about his shoulders. “When you’re ready.” His voice was stiff.
The figure stood and turned.
Michael’s breath was taken from his lungs. “Mum?”