Chapter Thirty-Four

Old Wood for Burning, Old Wine for Drinking

With his eyes shut tight, Michael heard the sounds of trays being moved about and medical equipment being tidied away. In amongst it all, an anxious voice muttered, one which Michael knew belonged to Amekot.

“I’m not sure it’s best to inform him about what happened. Perhaps we should just... provide an alternative?”

“He’s going to wake up in a medical bay…” replied Jack, his voice flat as iron by comparison, and added, “We tell him what happened.”

“Now, we cannot just brush off the idea. It will not bring him peace to know this and I’m not sure he can control what happens in his sleep, McKennedy.”

“It’s not up for discussion.”

A tense silence followed and although everything was shrouded by his closed eyes, Michael felt every gaze on him as he tried his best not to squirm.

A voice that was neither Amekot nor Jack then spoke, “I still cannot believe that he’s a Legacy-”

And Michael’s eyes shot open and lifted his head sharply.

They all jumped at Michael’s sudden movement.

Oliver clutched his heart out of shock like an elderly man and Sarah stumbled back crashing into several trays of tools. Nichole brought her hands up defensively and Aroha expressed her vast knowledge of curse words in Common and Driftiken. Jack and Amekot both maintained their composure to some degree, but Sidney and Flinn shouted, “Okay!” with such shock it sounded like a curse.

Michael looked at none of them, instead he was caught in a swirl of confusion, happiness, and anger as he stared at the young man standing politely at the foot of his bed. “You fucker.”

James, dressed in travel clothes, a good layer of dirt and sweat, and his beautiful smile, held up his hands in submission. “Guilty.”

Michael leapt up to his knees and wrapped his friend in the tightest hug he could manage while tears welled in his eyes. “Oh my gods.” He held the young man for a long moment and shakily said, “I didn’t know if I’d ever get to see you again... I can’t believe you’re here!”

James’ curly dark hair flopped in front of his eyes and he idly swept it away as he placed Michael back at arm’s length, but continued to hold him. “Carter’s here too, though he didn’t think you’d be awake for a little while so he’s unpacking his trunk. How are you feeling?”

Michael took James’ hand and held it gently to his head, closing his eyes. “You’re both here,” he whispered to himself more than James as tears rolled down his face.

After the moment had passed, James pressed him again, “Seriously, are you okay?”

Michael frowned with amusement before remembering where he was.

The Guardian Medical Bay was a great white pavilion held on the eastern side of the fort. It was lined with beds, all clad in white linen, and worked by a handful of the fort’s Legacies with Arcancies focused around healing, all directed by Lillian, the lead restorician as they called her.

“What happened to me? Why am I here?” Michael asked.

James sighed and looked to the others gathered around but no one spoke. “Well, like I said, Carter and I just got here, so we didn’t catch the start. To make a long story short, we’ve been coming here for- well, for a while. The trips to Ariaton that we always tell you about... yeah, those were just excuses for us to keep coming here to train- anyway, I’ll tell you all about that later-”

“-Damn right you will, asshole-”

“-Anyway,” James said, his face darkening idly, “a local messenger told us there’d been a new recruit, and after we travelled back to Bawdion we found your house was empty, so, we assumed we were right all along and that the new recruit must’ve been you-”

Michael’s face narrowed and James stopped talking. Any sense of humor had fallen away. “You knew?”

James shook his head softly. “Last few days we were at school I began to suspect, but we couldn’t bring you unless we were sure. We weren’t, so we couldn’t.”

Michael looked him square in the eye and had a million things he wanted to say but held them in his teeth. “What happened after?”

“We came as soon as we could. Showed up about an hour ago. I went to your room, opened the door and found every one of your dorm-mates crowded around you.” He took a moment. “You were convulsing. You were in agony, screaming and shouting, but no one could tell what you were trying to say. Kept yelling about darkness.”

Michael’s thoughts went to the dream. The sound of Nikereus’ voice made his skin crawl.

James carried on, unaware. “So, we picked you up and brought you straight here. Took us a minute but we think you were conjuring in your sleep, somehow.”

The young restorician, Lillian, stepped sharply through the crowd and picked up the clipboard, noting Michael’s condition. She was shoes to shoulders in white like the medical bay itself, with cropped shoulder-length hair as dark as night. The surgeon’s look was stern and analytic, worn on a face of sharp dark Ahuran features.

Lillian looked at her chart and spoke, “You should be fine, Williams. Lay off the Arcancy if you can. Let your muscles recover from the stress.” Her voice was clear and decisive, like she had already drafted her words three times before speaking them aloud.

Michael nodded, wondering if he’d have much choice. “Thanks, Doc.” He looked over the others and was unsure how much to say to Jack and Amekot. Jack, he was fairly at ease with, but Amekot only seemed to earn his trust less and less.

Amekot looked impatiently to the early morning darkness around them and cleared his throat. “Mister Williams, is there something you wish to divulge to us? I was under the impression that your only Arcancy was light-conjuring, and that hardly seems to have been the magic at work tonight.”

Michael looked instinctively to James and blinked hard once, like he was still a tad asleep.

James was quick on the uptake. Hidden behind his leg, he flashed two fingers like he was flexing his hand.

Long ago, Michael, Carter and James came up with a system. Growing up in Dim-side and being full of boredom led to a fair amount of poor, often legally questionable, decision making. And while they spent much of their time together, they often needed to speak on each other’s behalf with exactly no knowledge of what that exact behalf had stolen and how much. So, if one of them was forced to answer a question but was unsure of what consequences it would bring, assuming the others had some idea, they invented a code to communicate the necessary discretion.

One finger meant “any passable bullshit.”

Two meant “be honest but still vague.”

Three represented “we can trust them.”

A closed fist meant, “not a word.”

A fluttering of fingers meant, “I’m not sure, roll the dice.”

Michael glanced at Oliver and Sarah and the rangers, subtly wishing they could weigh in too, but the moment had already stretched on too long. James flexed two fingers again. “I’m a Prophet, apparently.”

James’ face was a canvas of confusion and the others reacted rather similarly, besides those who already knew. Michael stifled a laugh when Oliver and Aroha were about a second late with their performances of disbelief.

Michael quickly amended, “Not a religious one- I can just see things, I guess. My dreams have known to be... predictive, sometimes,” Michael said, as obscure as he could without lying.

Amekot leaned back in his chair, plainly unimpressed. “Anything else?”

Michael feigned a thinking face. Also, you weren’t going to tell me why I woke up in a hospital bed, you fuckin’ aristocrat. “Nothin’ comes to mind.”

Amekot didn’t look sold but the faces of surrounding company didn’t seem to appreciate his questioning. He noticed the favour turning against him and he painted on a tired smile as he buttoned up his cloak and stood. “Very well. Rest. Get better. Take the morning off if need be.” And with that, the Fortmaster walked back to the keep, leaving Michael with the others.

Jack rose the moment he left. He was in his armour, Michael noticed. “You okay, kid?”

Michael did his best not to be embarrassed and nodded. “You didn’t have to come all the way down, Jack.”

The maceman shrugged and looked darkly after Amekot. “Wanted to make sure he didn’t give you a hard time. You’re in good hands with this lot. Sleep.”

Michael waved as he walked off into the dark too, though not toward the keep. The weary archer then looked to the others at his bedside and smiled softly. “You all need some sleep. You especially,” he nodded to James, “’cause I got a shit-load of questions for you tomorrow and you’re going to answer them all.”

Aroha snorted and said, “How is that unique to him?”

Michael glared at her for the space of a moment before she quickly wrapped him in a tight hug, much to his surprise. “Hey- are you alright?”

Aroha held him for a beat longer and then let go. She fixed an un-tucked edge of his blanket, as though she hadn’t been doing anything else and nodded. Without looking at him, Aroha said, “Just glad you’re okay.”

Michael shrugged and smiled fondly at her. “I’m always okay.”

Nichole ushered Aroha out to let him sleep. After much convincing of Sarah and Oliver, they still refused to go. At which point Lillian threatened them with non-consensual medical procedures, and they left of their own will, promising to be back with breakfast.

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Once they’d all ambled away, James stood and stretched. “You going to be okay here ‘til morning?”

Michael nodded and wriggled back under the bedsheets.

James picked up a stool and parked it right at the bed-ridden boy’s side.

“Usually, people leave after saying stuff like that,” Michael said, amused.

James leant himself up against a tent-pole and shrugged.

Michael couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “You’re going to sit there all night?”

James shrugged again, plain faced. Too plain faced.

Michael’s own smile faltered a tad and he sat up again. “I’m okay. I am. The most okay I’ve been since I left Istol.”

James’ gaze dropped to his hands. The light in his eyes was far away. Guilt was thick about him, like a cloak.

Michael wanted nothing more than to know what he was thinking. But James didn’t talk when James didn’t want to. “I wanted to write to you guys. To see you. Every day.”

James leaned onto his bed and sat staring at him for a moment before resting his eyes. With his eyes shut, he whispered, “I’ve wanted to tell you every day. Every word I’ve spoken to you, I wanted to tell you about all of this first.”

The weight in James’ voice made Michael feel a wash of heat behind his eyes. Michael lightly ran his hands through James’ messy hair. Michael lightly mused, “Three Legacies in one school, huh? Thought this magic was supposed to be rare?”

James didn’t answer at once. “It’s strange, I’ll say that for sure. Apparently, it’s owed to some ancient, undying Gargan magical law. Around here they call it the Law of Necessity.”

Michael frowned hopelessly.

James talked with his hands, moving them like he was shaping the words. "It is said, that when Khasm crafted Draendica, if ever there was a problem of significance a Creator would be conjured with the power to resolve it. And then the Gargan all kind of… bit it-” James mimed tugging a rope around his neck, sticking out his tongue.

Michael blinked with a straight face. “They what?”

“They died. Do you only listen when its you talking?”

Still straight faced. “No, I think I need the demonstration again-”

James glared at him. “Anyway… There was a big Creation-against-Created War and it ended the same way any war ends. The bodies of the gods, their weapons, their essence and magic were left in the soil, the water… the lightning and the snow…basically whatever else survived the test of time. And that included the Gargan Law of Necessity.” James gestured in flourishes, like he was doing a series of magic tricks. “The same one they used to create other Gargan. But this time, it began enact itself on Draendicans. And it created Legacies.”

Michael leant back, wondering on the implications of something like that.

James saw it in his face. “Right? The sick joke is that the Gargan come out ready to create. Whereas Draendicans- we take at least fourteen winters to be strong enough to lift a sword, let alone conjure Blood Magic.”

Michael looked at the keep, watching the veins of bronze laid in the stonework glow and fade. “So, we get our Arcancy because of something happening in the world when we’re born. You, me, Carter, and most Legacies our age, our Arcancy probably has something to do with some kind of horrible event fifteen or sixteen cycles ago.”

James nodded, though he stifled a yawn to do so.

Michael did the math in his head. “The beginning of-” Michael stopped to yawn too “-the Conscription War. The conflict was the problem, and so our line of Legacies was the solution?”

“That’s our best guess. But honestly it could’ve been anything. We don’t know what Khasm and the other Gargan thought a disaster was, so we’ll never really know when new Legacies are going to be born.”

Michael let his head rest on the pillow. “That’s annoying.”

James chuckled softly with his eyes closed. He leant his head against the tentpole and finally without much preamble at all, both Michael and James dozed off.

No dreams or nightmares battered behind Michael’s eyes, only thoughts of his friends and the endless questions he had for them.

*****

The sun wasn’t far behind the Legacies and in only a few hours it had risen again. The fort spurred to life and soon a low-level chatter rolled from the dining forum to the walls.

Lillian, the fort restorician, looked over Michael as he dozed and made several notes on her chart. Her deep chocolate eyes skittered alongside her pencil and she smartly said, “Wake up.”

Michael and James jolted awake, groaning and bleary-eyed.

She ignored them and tore off Michael’s sheet of parchment to allow for a fresh patient’s details. “Go eat, please. Don’t want you fainting and clogging up my bay.”

Michael and James slumped out of the medical bay and made their way toward the keep. James excused himself to go use the bathroom and Michael saw the rest of his companions all huddled by a table at the front of the forum, eating and laughing.

Michael smiled broadly and made to join them when someone stepped swiftly in front of him, and held something narrow and hard pressed against his stomach. He looked down to find a short, silver blade with a black handle pushed lightly beneath his rib-line. Michael stiffly followed the blade to its hand and its hand to its face.

Carter flashed his bright smile.

Michael all but leapt on him, laughing and yelling out of joy as Carter shrieked, “watch the dagger!”

The nobleman looked the same as ever. His hair was perfectly swept, his eyes practically twinkled and his cloak seemed to billow even without the aid of the wind. He took Michael and pressed him to his forehead softly, whispering, “Aeyen,” in Old Crekaen. Meaning Love.

Michael tried his best to stay frustrated for the number of reasons he felt he should be. But he simply didn’t have it in him. “Aeyen.”

Carter gently touched his face and flashed his beautiful smile again. “Come on, let’s eat. We can catch up and drink coffee at the same time.”

Michael nodded, unable to stop smiling as they walked together.

His wrist twitched. Michael frowned at it as they walked and he shook out his hand.

Carter nudged him. “Everything okay?”

A small tremor passed through the ground in almost the same instant. Everyone went quiet.

Michael chuckled, lightly smacking Carter’s arm. “Get this, I think my Arcancy is trying to tell there’s a quake going on somewhere. Carter?” He turned to realise Carter had stopped the exact moment the tremor had happened. His face was frozen and his eyes were staring dead ahead.

Michael wanted to ask what was wrong when he noticed everyone in the courtyard had frozen too. “What’s going on?”

A dozen different Legacies, including Carter, angrily shushed him, returning the fortress to silence.

After a long minute, the Legacies seemed to relax again and some colour began returning to Carter’s face. His body visibly relaxed as he wiped sweat from his forehead. “You must’ve been right- just a quake-”

Another deep thrum rippled through the soil, this time much closer to the surface. Like an out of tune cord plucked on the heartstrings of the world.

This time it was followed by screams.

Every Legacy in Fort Guardian launched to their feet and ripped across the forum, abandoning weapons, shedding armour and shoving through one-another.

Michael watched in horror as the band of warriors all cried in terror and sprinted toward the keep doors like a pack of wild beasts.

Carter’s hand shot out and grabbed Michael by the arm. He began towing him as fast as he could in the same direction. Michael nearly fell every step of the way.

Michael’s natural reaction beat out his reason and he ripped free of Carter’s grip. “Hey! What on Enthall is going on?”

Carter took Michael by his shoulders and a cold, pure fear sat clear in his eyes. “No time. Run!”

Michael said no more and they took off at a hard sprint. The crowd stormed around them and he spotted different faces as they ran, all stricken with the same fear.

Flinn was picking up young Legacies who’d been shoved to the ground.

Sidney was wrenching open one of the stiffer keep doors.

Jack was herding the slower Legacies toward the greater group, shouting in amongst the mass of noise.

Amekot was nowhere to be seen.

The crowd crammed together as they moved through the keep hall, like cattle trying to flee a slaughterhouse.

Michael grabbed Carter’s arm tight and yelled, “What is going on! We’re not getting anywhere quickly in this mess!”

James rose from the mob like he was fighting a tide, shoving his way back outside. He was strapped with armour and a helmet on his head. He was the only one wearing something which could weigh him down, and in his hand was a battleaxe, edged with some kind of blue gemstone.

Carter saw him making his way against the flow of Legacies and screamed, “Don’t you fucking dare, James! James Taylor, I said stop!” his voice broke with emotion. “James!”

Jack turned at the sound of the pitched shouting and saw James along the way. “Sidney, grab him!” he roared, somehow above the height of the noise. Jack pushed into the crowd, forcing his way through, shouting and moving Legacies to either side. He made it to the front of the crowd where the bulk of Legacies had piled up near the doors to the reception room.

Sidney shoved in front of James and grabbed him by the plate of his armour. He struggled and fought but she ripped him back into the keep. Despite spending every ounce of his fighting strength, Sidney continued to lug him along though the masses.

“Let me go, Selene! Someone’s got to buy us some time!”

Sidney grabbed him by the jaw and yelled, “It will go through you like a wind through grass! Now, move!” She threw him forward and began ushering others.

Michael and Carter broke out the front of the crowd.

Carter was busy searching for James as Michael looked over the situation before him, still overwhelmed with confusion.

Jack was on his knees just before the door to the reception carefully running his hands along the marble floor. “Come on damn-it- Yes!”

A section of stone suddenly sparked and blazed with pale blue light. The lines in the stone burned, forming a wide square, zipping up and down the stone until it drew out the pattern of a hatch-door. Two handles jutted from the face of the rock.

Jack grabbed them quickly and they lit up brightly, painting his dark face azure. He began mumbling in a foreign tongue as the screams deafened him.

The noise only grew louder and the horde of three hundred Legacies began to pile deeper into the hall, pushing everyone further along whether they wished to move or not.

As Michael was forcibly crammed against other soldiers he spotted Oliver and Sarah and shouted, “Guys, what’s going on? Please!”

Oliver glanced at Sarah and she yelled among the deafening shouts, “It’s a Reaper!”

Michael blinked as the word was uttered. “A monster? One monster? There’s three hundred Legacies here?”

The door beneath Jack’s hand suddenly loosened with a loud shift of stone. Jack uttered a small prayer of thanks as he ripped it open and he yelled, “Everybody, inside! Right now!”

The opening was only big enough for two people at a time but quickly the mass of bodies began flooding down the dark staircase, disappearing into a vast room below.

Carter couldn’t find James anywhere. He was one step shy of completely panicking and Michael saw it on his face. He turned to Michael and said, “Stay here. If I’m not back in thirty seconds, go without me!”

Michael frowned and yelled, “What?”

Jack stood up and yelled above the noise, “Everybody quiet! Remember, it relies on hearing!”

The crowd’s roar softened despite the high aura of fear, but with so many people it could only get so supressed.

“I’m serious!” Carter sharply in a whisper. He turned to Oliver and Sarah, and whispered, “Make sure he goes!”

With that, Carter plunged back into the crowd to find James while the rest of Fort Guardian funnelled down through the bunker doors.

Michael’s heart had been racing but he was so overwhelmed by confusion he wasn’t certain how to process it. The countless echoes of their shuffling steps were nearly as loud as their voices had been.

A splinter-group of Legacies began to split off from the main mass, heading toward the Paladin wing.

Jack saw them as they ran and he spoke as loudly as he dared, “What are you doing? A Reaper will tear through those doors!”

Michael couldn’t see who it was through the crowd but they muttered sharply, “We’re not waiting to get killed in some queue!”

Jack went to follow them when the cold twisting of iron sang out from the main doors of the keep.

Michael ears cried at the pitch of it and he turned, looking past the advancing crowd, and witnessed as the hinges of the enormous keep doors were bent and ripped away like wet tissue. Light bled into the dim keep hall. A soft breath was taken from Michael’s chest as the tonne’s worth of bronze doors, were pried back, when it caught against the drop-lock bar.

The world went still.

Then with a hideous screech, it was the door was pulled like a bowstring and the bar snapped in half, ricocheting off the walls and exploding in a shower of stone and metal shards.

The doors titled and toppled inward, crashing against the floor of the hall, ringing like a broken church bell at dawn.

Standing in the threshold of the doors stood the Reaper, and a wave of hot terror ran in the back of Michael’s throat.