Chapter Forty-Four
Firsts
“Keep up, Legacies,” called Jack as he marched ahead of the group, clad in his usual ornate, steel armour with his plumed helmet beneath his arm.
Michael shook his head. “I’ve been here for nearly two spell and I’m only now learning that we have classrooms?” he said, looking over to the two sets of rooms, bending around the back of the keep. “What else is here?”
Carter pointed further around the back of the keep to a low, windowless building. “That’s our library. Beneath it are the Archives.”
“There is a library here and you didn’t tell me about it?” he glared at Carter.
The charming boy patted his shoulder and Aroha called from behind, “You picked a bad time, okay, its awkward to bring up a welcome tour during war-councils!”
The classrooms of Fort Guardian were little more than two sets of buildings, shaped like slightly bent elbows. They were framed in pale wood with roofing made from red-clay tiles and great wide windows on their faces.
Oliver hurried up beside Michael and Sarah, yelling to Jack, “You’re not going to make us do math or anything, right?”
The Javen-warrior ignored him and pulled open the door of the nearest classroom, checking inside. “This one’s free, come on.”
They filed in one by one and Michael found the room looked quite unlike any classroom he’d been in. It was filled with a single long table and over a dozen simple wooden chairs. Three of the walls were all covered in blackboards and every corner was accompanied by a small bookshelf. The fourth wall held the enormous window, showering the room in cozy light.
To Michael’s surprise, it looked as though the room was used regularly, which he found hard to believe as one could simply choose to go outside and swing a sword instead of writing an essay. However, after one glance to the bookshelves Michael had to admit that he felt rather drawn to the promise of all the knowledge buried away between those pages.
“Everyone take a seat!” Jack called and wandered over to one of the many bookshelves. He picked up a stack of black, leather-bound books and dropped one down in front of each Legacy with a thump.
Michael ran his hands across its aged surface and had to contain his joy. It was unmarked on its face and smelt like answers.
“This is Creatures of the Deep: A Discussion on Fiends,” said Jack, holding up his own copy. “It’s a catalogue of every creation which exists that we know of. Familiarise yourselves with it. It goes into detail on most creatures in existence in our world and discusses the most effective ways to go about either evading or defeating them. Your survival may depend on this book.”
Sarah glanced up at him rather sceptically. “Couldn’t we learn this kind of thing on practical assignments?”
Jack teetered his head side to side and said, “You could, or you could read it now and learn what I figured out too late.”
Oliver frowned. “What’s that?”
“That there are some Creations which you always run from. Always.”
Michael looked over the many scars on the older Paladin’s face. It was like a tapestry. After his last conversation with Carter, he’d been unable to look at Jack without wondering what he did during his time in the rebellion. But now that he was looking at his face, all he could wonder was what happened to his eye, and what kind of creature he’d chosen not to run from.
The silence seemed to gather for a moment and Jack looked about the Legacies, realising they’d all come to the same collective question. He cleared his throat and muttered, “Let’s rattle some off. We’ll start with a quick description test. I’ll name a Creation, and any one of you raise your hand and give me a five second description. First hand up gets to answer. Michael, as this will still be a little out of your depth, scan through the book in the meantime and just keep your ears open. Ready?”
“Ready!” they chanted back.
Michael began flipping through the pages of the book while he idly listened to the words around him. Each page was dedicated to a different creature, holding a small, fairly formal sketch of the creation in question as well as a block of tiny inscriptions, filling the page from top to bottom. Michael found himself quite quickly in awe, wondering if the same person had inscribed all these copies or if they’d somehow gotten a hold of a royal printing press.
The first of all were the Atyons, nature dwellers, one after another, listed in their various different biomes, many of which Michael had never even heard of nor believed would exist. After reading the first two, Forest and Sea, he flipped through the rest to find there were about as many races of Atyons as there were Draendicans. They each varied dependent on their environment in ways Michael could never have guessed, and by the words used to describe them, he could tell the writer also held them in an admirable light. Some, like the Magma Atyons, had obsidian-patched skin, and they were depicted as swimming within the mouths of volcanoes, whereas others like Storm Atyons naturally crackled with multi-coloured lighting and spoke in a dialect like rolling thunder and thrashing rain.
Michael drank in the words, utterly fascinated by every description, every strange unknown. He pressed on and came across other creatures which he’d heard of only in faerie-tales, such as Trolls and Angelhawks. According to the author, Trolls, despite what Draendicans told in their tales, lived not under bridges or in caves, but typically in the nooks of great rivers, and were called Enta in the native language. Michael read the passage on the creatures and found himself incapable of only reading it once.
I spent three days surveying an Oaken Troll as it dwelled in the mouth of the River Pridem, north of the city of Silvagard, and found that the creature seemed to spend much of its time listening to the water rush by. Without wishing to taint this article with poetic language, I feel rather comfortable stating that the Troll appeared to treat the melody of the river like the music of a song. I stayed for hours to be sure, and can say, without uncertainty, that the creature even seemed to sway to the sound of the water when the wind interacted with the flow, changing the river’s tune. Most curious and beautiful it was. I suspect it even knew I was there at one point, for the wind turned before I had the chance to move and the creature’s ears pricked. Yet, it did nothing. This lead me to believe that it was an Elder Creation, as opposed to a Fresh Conjure. Beautiful and daunting, indeed.
Michael read those terms over and over and raised his hand in the middle of his friends’ discussion.
Jack gestured to him. “Michael?”
“What’s Elder Creation mean?”
Jack opened to his mouth to answer and then stopped himself. “Anyone?”
Nichole raised her hand and said, “Well, it’s an idea that suggests Creations are only aggressive when they’re young. That once they reach a certain age after manifesting, they become intelligent.”
Michael felt rather taken aback. “Monsters can stop being... monstrous?”
Aroha teetered from side to side in hesitance, glancing to her girlfriend. “Well, technically we’re not sure. But, it seems that way.”
Sarah nodded. “Raeken, for example. He’s as old as Talisatia, practically, but we know other dragons have terrorised Draendicans in the past, which leads us to believe he was probably feral once too and grew out of it. But an opposing example would be... I don’t know...”
“Reapers?” Oliver suggested rather timidly.
Sarah nodded, touching his arm absent-mindedly. “Yes! They’re almost older than the world itself but they’re still just as murderous.”
“Quite right. And then there’s Nikereus,” said Jack, his deep voice interrupting their flow of conversation. “Who despite clearly being intelligent, still declared unprovoked war. Effectively, there are two working theories: First, which is that Creations eventually become less rageful with time, and second, which is that only some Creations have the capability of becoming so. Anyone know what’s unhelpful about those ideas in either case?”
No one spoke.
Jack gave a small, rare smile through his tired eye. “Every time we kill a Creation, we have no idea if it has to start from fully feral all over again. However, while they remain feral, they try to track us and kill us, and more often than not, we’re in no position to wait until they’re capable of reasoning with us. Some lose their feral nature quicker than others, like the Drakonian, but usually not quick enough. The cycle propels itself, essentially.”
Michael let out a dejected breath and looked down at the article again before flipping to the next page.
Jack saw the sullen look on the young man’s face and it reminded him of how he felt the day he’d found out the same thing. Jack idly raised his hand to his face, caressing one of the greater three scars which angled across his eye to the corner of his jaw. He pulled his hand away before anyone saw him.
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“Who can tell me what an Olitarii looks like?” the Javen-warrior said, placing his tome on the table.
Oliver half-raised his hand at the same time as Sarah and they both lowered them again, smiling and abating their eyes.
“You go, Oli.”
Oliver was hardly able to stop himself turning red. “No, it’s okay, you go.”
Sarah moved to tuck her hair behind her ear before realising it was all tied up in her ponytail and rapidly nodded and coughed before anyone had the chance to laugh. “Olitarii are four-legged, wolf-sized creatures. They’re scaled- usually black and pale green with squared skulls.”
“And where do they live?”
“Shorelines, usually. According to this author they tend to hide in the wild grass leading up to beaches.”
Jack gave an impressed grunt. “Carter. Fight or flee?”
The nobleman leant back, posing the question in his head. He idly looked everywhere but at Michael, like he was racking the depths of his thoughts.
Michael yawned, leaning curiously over the book. Before too much time could pass, he worked his pinkie-finger into the corner of his eye, as though trying to rid sleep-gunk.
Carter scarcely even glanced at his hand and said, “The first one. Fight.”
Jack looked at the nobleman for a long second and nodded with a sigh. “Olitarii usually live in solitude. In a one-on-one fight, I’d bet on a Legacy, so I’ll accept that. Oh, and Michael?”
Michael looked up, as though he hadn’t been listening the entire time. “Yes?” Jack threw a piece of chalk at him, bouncing it off his head.
Michael went wide-eyed in amused shock and the table bent with everyone’s laughter.
Jack shook his head at him. “Your other hand would be hidden behind your head, use that one. It’s just insulting, kid.”
Michael pursed his lips with suppressed amusement, unable to even look at Carter as James wheezed on the table.
Jack looked over the lot of them and sighed, smiling. “Good to know you have each other’s’ backs at least.”
A knock came to the door.
Jack set his hand on his mace out of habit. “Yes?”
The door opened and Rose appeared behind it. “You’re needed down at the Arena. Apparently, Kresta decided to try out some homemade spells and accidentally blew a hole in one of the cell gates.”
Jack pulled his helmet onto his head and strapped up the chin. “Any loose?” His levity had vanished in the blink of an eye.
“No, no. They had the sense to seal the Arena mains before she tried it. Lucky thing too.”
Jack grunted and headed toward the door. “She get out in time?”
Rose nodded.
The Javen-warrior drew out his dark mace and quickly turned to the Legacies at the table. “Continue without me. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
He left the room, and Rose stood there silently for a moment before gesturing awkwardly to the door and taking a step toward it.
“Is he goin’ to be alright?” asked James, glancing idly to his sapphire-edged axe leant by the door.
The Riniglacian girl nodded, stopping just shy of the exit. “He’s the fortress Warden. The Creations down there only listen to him. He’ll try to convince them to go back if he can.”
Michael shuddered at the thought. “I can’t imagine trying to persuade a couple dozen feral creatures to go back to their cells.”
“It’s what he does,” Rose said fondly. With that she left them and closed the door behind her.
Oliver smiled at him from across the table and said, “Looks like she’s forgiven you.”
Michael shrugged and smiled helplessly. “I don’t know what to think. Shall we carry on?”
Carter smacked both hands down on the table and said, “I’m tired of book-learning. How about we do some experience-study?”
Nichole frowned. “Which is?”
“Somethin’ I just made up,” Carter said with a guilty smile. “We go around telling our first monster-attack stories, and discuss the ins and outs after, if we want to.”
Oliver leaned back in his chair, looking idly to his hands. “I don’t know, guys...”
Aroha ignored him and yelled, “So, we were eleven-”
“Twelve,” Nichole commented, matter-o-factly.
“We were twelve, and we’d both been at Fort Guardian for a while, and one night we were sent on a courier-run to Kirke for some info regarding a possible Legacy. Anyways, we’re headed there when we come across this abandoned cart on a dingy little side-road. It was toppled over with apple crates all spilt on the ground. Couldn’t see anyone else around but occasionally it would just kind of... shift.”
The group played the role of the attentive audience and gasped appropriately.
“Right! And so, we drew arrows and approached it real quiet-like.” Aroha then lowered her voice and began to whisper. “Then we crept up close and saw one bigger crate was jostling around, moving everything else. So... I grabbed onto the handhold... counted one, two...” she went deadly quiet. “Three!” she shouted.
The table jumped and both James and Carter mumbled curses as she laughed. “I ripped open the crate and out came like ten Paletongue Vipers, which scared us both almost as much as I just scared Carter.”
Carter flipped her off as the table chuckled and he said, “Paletongue Vipers aren’t poisonous, though, are they?”
Nichole shrugged and chimed in as she glanced to Aroha. “No, they’re pink and red and about the size of rulers, but there was a lot of ‘em and we didn’t expect anything!”
Carter smiled and gestured idly around the table. “Very fair. Who’s next?”
They went around telling their firsts for some time and Michael sat and listened, growing slightly more anxious as they went on, knowing soon enough he’d have to tell his own, unsure how he’d tip-toe around all the moments he simply believed he was about die. Despite his anxiety, he happily listened to Carter and James’ story, who much like Nichole and Aroha, experienced their first monster together.
“So, we must’ve been about seven, I think.”
Everyone else at the table went wide-eyed.
“Seven! How come you never told me?” Sarah yelled.
Carter shrugged and waved it away. “You never asked!”
“Seven is crazy-young, I have got to hear this,” said Aroha, inching closing to the two boys.
Michael blinked. He looked at Sarah and then to Carter, feeling as though he’d missed something. “Wait, what? Do you guys-”
“Stop interrupting or we’ll never get through this!” Carter yelled. “We were seven, making our way back to Istol after one of our trips to the fort, and we decided to camp on the side of the Imperial Highway for the night...”
The group erupted into a series of expressions suggesting they were complete and utter idiots, but Carter waved his hands urgently to silence them. “But we had four guides along with us, all armed to the teeth, we were totally safe. Anyway, we fell asleep and about a couple hours later we wake to the sound of muffled yelling! We lurch up and burst out of our tent to find a Crimson Wing trying to… how to put this delicately… make sweet love to our fire-pit.”
Aroha and Nichole burst out laughing and Sarah chuckled into Oliver’s arm as Michael frowned.
“A Crimson Wing?”
Carter made a scrunched face. “How do I explain... They’re like long-tailed parrots made completely out of multi-coloured flame. People mistake them for shooting-stars at night a lot of the time. But yeah, one landed next to us and started squawking at our bonfire, and it was not a cute sound. The sounds which came after were worse, however…”
James chuckled at the memory and chimed in, “We had to scare it away before it lit the whole damn countryside on fire.”
The Legacies were teary-eyed with laughter when Sarah shyly stuck her hand up. “I guess I’m up. Mine’s a little less funny, but just as exciting, I think. It was actually my second day at Fort Guardian. I was thirteen. I didn’t really know too many people so I took myself on a tour of the stronghold and wound up down in the Conjurement while a class was on. So, I watched the Legacies fight their illusions and Sidney was running that session so she told me all about the spells and everything. And after they finished, I wandered around to the Arena as a fight was starting there.” The young woman began to grin. “And at this point, I think it’s only fair that I say I was pretty convinced that we only fought illusions. After all, I hadn’t seen any real monsters!”
Nichole covered her mouth. “Oh no.”
Sarah nodded, scrunching up her face. “So, I was watching this arena-fight between this Paladin and a Troll, when suddenly the Troll managed to throw a wild punch and just clipped the edge of his helmet. But, you know, it was still a massive hit, and knocked the Paladin out cold. I watched as Jack lined up the crossbow, fired and hit the Troll but it didn’t die, and I was really confused, I didn’t know why they weren’t just dispelling the illusion! And I don’t know what came over me, I really don’t... But I jumped in.”
Oliver went pale and his eyes were wide as dinner plates. “What?”
Sarah shrugged, halfway between embarrassed and proud. “Still one of my earliest times using my Arcancy. I ducked the Troll’s swipe, summoned all my power and clocked it upside the jaw. Didn’t kill it, but I put it to sleep. Only found out five minutes later than I was one good hit from being very dead instead of very lucky.”
The group of Legacies all looked back and forth to one another and then united in applause as she chuckled and bowed as properly as she could whilst sitting at the table.
Michael wrung his hands as the applause came to a stop and looked awkwardly to Oliver. “You want to go first, or should I?”
Oliver looked at him and seemed hesitant to answer. It took Michael a second, but he realised there was a rather desperate look in his eye.
Only then did the others seemed to grasp something was wrong and began bombarding him with varied sentiments.
“I’m sure its not as embarrassing as you think-”
“-doesn’t have been detailed.”
“You can’t do any worse than Carter-”
“-no one’s going to judge you-”
Before realising it Oliver was standing. His heart pumped violently in his chest and he staggered against the walls and said flatly, “I’d just rather not!”
Everyone looked to him in silence, and slowly soft offers of apology came in, but Oliver’s eyes wouldn’t meet them. He raked his hands through his hair and covered his eyes. Carter went to stand and Oliver moved a full foot further away like he’d burn him so Carter sunk back into the chair, hands raised softly.
It was a long, long minute.
“I was about fourteen,” Oliver spoke suddenly, his face still hidden behind his tense hand. “I was alone, in the wetlands of Leverest. Up to my knees in rancid swamp water… with a sword I didn’t know how to use… and a Saose.”
The room had been quiet before, like a sleeping man was quiet, but with his final word it became silent, like a corpse. A corpse that had spent so long rotting it was nothing more than sun-bleached bone.
Carter and James looked to one-another, horrified and frozen in silence, whilst Aroha had taken Nichole’s hand out pure shock.
Sarah stared at Oliver’ s distant eyes until turned and he walked out the door, without so much as looking back.
Michael looked from face to face and knew better than to ask anything about the creature he’d named. “Should I follow him-”
Sarah shook her head as a tear rolled down her cheek and she looked to the others. “Alone with a Soase?” was all she said for a long time. Eventually, in the silence, she finally breathed, “Dear gods.”