Chapter Forty
The Scarlet Presentation
It was Arloday, the Third of Bronzing. Michael and his company had eight days until they either had to leave to start their quest or be told they weren’t ready to go.
Michael was leaving the arena in a huff, sweat-covered, and irate as Sarah jogged up behind him. He irritably slotted his arrows back into his quiver. It was the third time they’d fallen out during a fight. If he moved too quick, they jostled out. If he moved to slow, he got cornered or became a spectator.
“Michael! Slow down!”
He threw his hands up and said, “I can’t keep fighting close-range with a bow. My arrows fall out of my quiver every single time and it always throws me off! Oliver was right, I need a sword.”
Sarah grabbed his arm and stopped him as the others came running from behind. “Do you want a solution or do you want to huff? You’re good at this. Don’t throw it away because you’re not perfect.”
Michael rolled his eyes, in fact wanting to huff before he gave a resigned sigh. “A solution.”
Carter was sheathing a number of dagger into the dark of his cloak as he said, “Sarah, why don’t you drag him by the Forges and see if there’s anything they can do?” As he spoke, Carter made delicate gestures with his knives, outlining his words.
Sarah nodded and said, “That’s a great idea. Come, I’ll introduce you to Archie.”
Oliver sheathed Iron Tooth and yelled, “Oh! Can I come? I want to see if Avery’s figured out their gauntlet yet! I hear today’s the day.”
Sarah smiled brightly and nodded a few too many times. “You don’t have to ask permission.”
Michael’s sourness dissipated as he watched them speak when he noticed something peculiar. Sarah’s hands moved in much the same way as Carter’s. Her fingers flourished, rose, and fell, all in time with her words.
“You still with us?” Sarah tapped his shoulder.
Michael nodded, unsure why he’d even noticed it. He began following Sarah and Oliver, yelling back to the others, “See you all for lunch?”
Aroha and Nichole nodded and waved them off before turning to Carter and James.
“Obstacle course or drinks?” asked Aroha.
Carter held out both hands before him as though painting a picture and said, “Drunk Obstacle Course,” as Michael and his warriors headed down the central courtyard.
Michael shouldered his quiver strap and found himself growing moody again as it slipped down his arm. “I feel like I’m getting worse.”
Oliver linked his arm through Michael’s and said, “Once you know a thing or two, you do grow more skilled but you’re now more aware of all your mistakes. Makes you feel like you’re only getting worse but you’ve been doing those things all along.”
Michael knew it wasn’t his point but couldn’t help himself. “So, I’ve been terrible all along?”
Sarah swatted him and said, “Enough of that, you know it’s not true. You’re a great archer. In fact, it’s ridiculous how good you are in such a short time. Irritating really.”
“Oh please, go learn your seventeenth martial art, why don’t you?” Michael said as they made their way passed the dining hall, though he couldn’t help but smile. Michael tried to sling his quiver back onto his shoulder, but at that very moment instead, the strap slipped through its metal ring and the entire quiver came free right as they passed by a group of Legacies eating their lunch. The quiver smacked a young woman in the back of the head and the arrows spilt out onto the table, knocking over her drink and plate full of eggs.
She turned, revealing herself to be Rose, the sorceress from the funeral, and threw her hands up in anger. “Fuck’s sake!”
Michael flushed bright red with embarrassment as he apologised again and again while Sarah and Oliver scrambled to pick up the silver arrows.
“I’m really sorry! Seriously it was an accident... Rose, right?”
The thick-haired blonde glared at him as she wiped egg off her lap.
Sick with embarrassment and guilt, Michael stammered, “I’m Michael- so sorry –I’m new here.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
“I know who you are,” Rose said with a chill as she picked her plate off the ground. “Don’t worry about it.”
Oliver grabbed him by the shirt and towed the young man away.
Michael rubbed his face and shook his head. “I take it back. Now, I’m the worst.”
The two warriors dragged him into the steamy Forges, attempting to calm his newly frayed nerves and Sarah casually pointed to the young, toned redhead across the chamber. “There’s Archie. Stop fretting, come on. Archie!”
The redhead turned to see them approach and set down a pair of tongs he’d been holding before hurriedly pulling off his gloves to shake their hands. “S-sarah!” he stammered in his words. “Oliver!” He turned toward Michael, maintaining his optimism. “Person-who-knows-Sign!”
Oliver snorted reactively and Sarah laughed as Michael blushed. “Most people just call me ‘Michael’.”
The freckled boy nodded and shook his hand. “What can I do for you?”
Sarah jerked her head toward the archer. “Michael here is struggling with his quiver. Needs one that his arrows won’t slip out of.”
Archie frowned with amusement. “You know most archers s-s-stay pretty still when th-th-” he paused for a frustrated breath and continued, “they fight...”
Oliver and Sarah both muttered, “He doesn’t.”
Archie nodded. “Fair enough. Well, th-th... there’s a few ways you c-can go...”
A gentle bell sounded in the room, only just audible above the clatter of the forges and constant hiss of hardening steel. Despite its gentle sound, the general noise fell quiet and the movement stilled.
“What’s goin’ on?” Michael asked, looking to all the blacksmiths suddenly withdrawing from their projects.
Sarah’s eyes glittered with excitement as she nudged Oliver who looked just delighted and merely said, “Something these guys have been working on for a while.”
Into the centre of the room stepped a young Legacy with only one arm, but peculiarly enough, it was wrapped tight with bronze plating, layered all the way to their shoulder. They wore loose, patterned pants and a button-up shirt tied together at their stomach, though otherwise completely open. Their hair was cut short and their eyes were the colour of steel, darting back and forth as they had another Legacy come over and tinker with an open plate. As the helper’s fingers danced along the inside of the armour, a cold magical light glowed from within, colouring their upper body in a pale hue of blue.
Oliver nudged Michael as the Legacy closed the metal plate. “That’s Avery, they’re Noble, just so you know.”
Michael wasn’t listening and was instead wondering what happened to the Legacy’s other arm, as it ended high beneath the shoulder before he realised Oliver had spoken. “What did you say?”
Oliver glanced instinctively to Sarah for help and said rather softly, “Noble? Not a Dame, not a Sir... sometimes neither, sometimes both-”
Michael realised what he was saying and shook his hands. “I know what Noble is, I thought you meant... like Gentry for a moment-”
“Shh! They’re starting!”
Avery’s aid stepped away and the Legacy flipped the panel closed with a role of their shoulder. They flexed their bronze-gauntleted fist and asked, “Lain, can I borrow your target?”
A buff, apron-wearing Archangel towed over a wooden dummy, one likely used as a body double for armour. She had brown, braided hair and was shorter than most of the other blacksmiths by a head, but the broadsword strapped to her back took much of the attention away from that fact. “You sure about this, Ave?”
Avery’s grey eyes fixed on her for a moment before they nodded. “It’s time, Lain.”
Lain’s face softened and said, “Nisia be with you, my friend,” before she stepped away.
Avery raised their metal-coated arm, and only then did Michael notice that every inch of the bronze plate was inscribed with intricate runes. After a long moment, the veins in Avery’s neck began to seethe and glow beneath their skin. Avery’s face went rigid with pain and tears began leaking down the noble’s cheeks as their entire body shook and convulsed.
Michael watched as the Arcancy flowed down their neck and then through to their shoulder and before he understood why Avery was in so much pain, the bronze gauntlet came ablaze with blood red light, plate by plate, until it reached the Legacy’s armoured fingertips, humming and vibrating as Avery’s power surged through it.
Oliver grabbed Michael and tugged him down behind a stone forge to take cover.
Avery’s teeth were bared in pain but they could only contain so much before they began to scream from the base of their throat. The noble’s eyes shot open. They were the colour of scarlet, bright and glowing like a pair of shimmering rubies, and as their scream reached its apex, a bolt of red lightning exploded out from the young Legacy’s fingertips and roared into the wooden dummy, blowing the entire display to smithereens whilst sending the blacksmith backward to the ground.
Avery lay in a smoking heap while Lain leapt to the noble’s side and began ripping off the armour-plating. The moment she peeled back the first plate and saw their arm sitting beneath she crumbled with relief.
Avery opened their weary eyes and groaned. “So, that’s what Arcancy’s supposed to feel like?” They cracked a grin and from the ground gave a cheer from the bottom of the their stomach.
The other blacksmiths jumped out from cover and shouted in celebration.
Lain grabbed Avery’s face and squished their cheeks. “You would’ve made a terrible blacksmith without any arms.”
The noble chuckled as they sat up and the room crashed in around them, grabbing Avery and shaking them while shouting gleefully.
Michael was elated but thoroughly confused as he looked to Oliver and Sarah. “What did I just see?”
Oliver excitedly pointed to the young Legacy being pulled to their feet. “Avery has tried to use their Arcancy twice in their entire life. The first time was four cycles ago. It cost them their other arm, completely destroyed it. And the second time was nearly four cycles later... which was about ten seconds ago.”
Michael went wide-eyed with horror as he whispered, “Arcancy blew their other arm off? That can happen?”
Sarah began to speak when she seemed to weigh up the amount she had to say and turned back to Archie, who was busy congratulating Avery. “White-Steel! Can we leave the quiver with you?”
The freckled boy nodded happily and yelled over the noise of triumph, “Come back tomorrow at sundown!”