Chapter Forty-Eight
Titles and Ranks
Michael’s bleary eyes opened on the morning of the Tenth of Bronzing. Immediately he was surprised to see a general bustle of bodies moving throughout the Defanin chamber. Michael swung his legs over the side of his bed, turned and sharply smacked his forehead into the crossbeam of the top-bunk.
He sighed and rubbed his head whilst many of his roommates said, “Mornin’”, only to suppress laughter.
Flinn snorted openly. “Good job, Williams.”
As he massaged the lump growing on his brow, Michael caught a glance of three small symbols etched finely into the crossbeam, both faded and marked with many cycles of use. Both were runic circles like the other utility magic around the fortress, but unlike many, they each had a word scrawled beneath them: Lock, Light and Shade.
“Flinn, what are these runes? I’ve never noticed them before.”
The spearman busily tied up his boots and said, “The left one, Lock, is what you press if someone summons you but you don’t want to answer. Shade, is the bed-shutter. And Light just turns on the door-light rune so you can see at night.”
Michael frowned. “Bed-shutter? It shuts my bed?”
Flinn blinked and turned to look at him, breathing out an amused smile. “You know what a window-blind is? A shutter? Like a curtain...”
Michael bit his tongue in embarrassment. “That makes more sense. How does it work?”
Flinn stopped tying his boot and quickly laid down on his bed. “Like this.” He raised his hand to the rune on his own bed and suddenly the bed was encased on all sides with a gentle sheen of darkness, like it had been covered by an unseen curtain. After a beat, the shadow dissipated and Flinn stepped out again and began lacing up his other shoe.
Michael tested out his own Shade and sure enough, the edges of his bed on all sides became clouded with a thin wall of darkness, sealing out almost all the light, though leaving enough for him to see patchily around the space. Michael gently reached out a hand and his fingertips moved effortlessly through the magic, like it wasn’t there. He tapped the rune again and it vanished.
Flinn tied off his bootlace and stood up, leaving his spear by his bedside. “Just so you know, you can climb out through the Shade, but you can’t climb in, and the only rune is on the inside, so don’t leave it on if you’re getting up because we’ll have to rip off the entire top bunk to get to it again.”
A shirtless young man dropped down from said top bunk with a thud. His head was shaven on its sides with a thick, single braid on top running down to his shoulder-blades. It was a Ringlish warrior braid, a marker of the Queendom of Haronia. Every day away from home they let it grow, and once they return they cut it short again. Michael remembered his name to be Marken, though had trouble recalling it in the moment as his chest was more chiselled than most brick walls and his back was covered with an intricate tattoo of Mount Khargëgat, the most sacred peak in Haronia and the tallest mountain in the world of Draendica.
Idly listening to their conversation, the Haronian muttered in his deep voice, “If you tear off my bed to fix yours, I’mma make you sleep with Flinn.”
Flinn threw up his hands in complaint. “Why wouldn’t you just go sleep with Kirk? No one here cares about the rules.”
Marken sighed as he pulled on a shirt. “I love everything about Kirkley, except the fact that he snores like a toppling tree. Plus, Kresta cares about the rules and she sleeps in next chamber to him. Dusty old rag reported me last time she caught me sneaking in.”
“In Kresta’s defence the paintings were beginning to fall off the hooks in here,” someone called out.
Marken gave them the middle finger and Flinn gave a weak huff.
Michael nodded all the same as a yawn slipped out from his mouth. “I’ll make sure I don’t leave it on.” He wasn’t too sure why they didn’t just use curtains, but he wasn’t prepared to rain on that parade. “Where is everyone goin’? Did Nikereus turn up early or something?”
Flinn chuckled and shook his head. “You don’t know what day it is?”
Michael frowned. Tomorrow they were leaving for the cavern, which meant today was the Tenth of Bronzing. “Oh wow, its Bonfire Day. Damn, I completely forgot.”
Bonfire Day was the first of three days celebrating the end of the Crekaen Witching Crusade, most notably marked by the death of Highlord Coure. It was celebrated around the world as the day of freedom from tyranny, but Michael suspected Legacies celebrated it for its other meanings.
“We usually throw a big party, but everyone pitches in to get it ready. Your mission is tomorrow, though, so you needn’t worry.”
Michael hopped up and began pulling on his clothes. “Nonsense. I’d love to help. Plus, my legs are so damn sore I need an excuse to get out of training for a couple hours.”
Flinn looked him over and gave a wry smile. “If you say so. Go rally up those other idiots and tell ‘em to meet Syon and Royston by the crop-fields. You can pick some fruit for the feast.”
Michael found his idiots on the obstacle course, irately trying to remove him from his position on the leader-board.
Rose lay sunbathing on the grass with James and Carter whilst Sarah, Oliver and Aroha took turns trying to out-do each other. Nichole was busily keeping their times in the shade of the score-keeper’s hut.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
After a stubborn minute, Michael dragged them across the forum and they led him to the low-lying crops which sat snuggly behind the tavern, bakery, and fountain-garden. Michael saw them every time they scaled the walls, or every time he cast out his gaze while eating breakfast, but only as he walked out toward them did he realise how far-reaching they actually were.
A pair of Legacies stood by a small hut, directing other groups of harvesters before they spotted Michael and his company. One was a bushy-haired, pale Talisatian with a plump face and the other was a shorter Ahuran girl with dark skin, and unblinking, attentive eyes.
“You must be Michael. I’m Syon,” said the Ahuran girl. “Why don’t you start by taking some baskets and then Royston can take you to the orchards and get you started?”
The fluffy-haired boy gave an obligatory smile and nodded toward the stack of baskets. Before long they were deep in the rows of apples and Royston turned to address them all. He seemed to be the kind of guy who only did things after being prodded a couple times with a sharp stick.
“You’re each going to fill your baskets with an assortment of apples, apricots, plums, oranges and peaches- roughly fifty -then walk them back to the rinsing shack. After you deposit them with Syon or I, return to this grove. Do that ten times, and once you’ve picked your five-hundredth piece of fruit, party-prep should be finished up across the fortress. Take your time, drink lots of water, please don’t pass out. Cheers.”
Michael looked across the vast range of fruit as the monotone Paladin Royston turned and walked away and was awestruck to see that every single of the fruits he mentioned all grew upon the same trees. And all the more amazing was that when one was plucked, another immediately began blossoming in its place instantly. Michael couldn’t help but stare, as it like was watching an entire summer unfold in the space of a minute as fruit grew to complete ripeness in but a lazy moment.
And so, the Legacies began picking fruit in the morning sun. Within minutes they were sweating and complaining about the heat, but soon found that snacking on the perfectly juicy fruit from the trees was an excellent way to stay cool.
As Michael came to fill his third basket, he noticed James whistling as he moved through the orchid trees. The tall, strong Paladin moved with a kind of grace that he usually didn’t let people see. Perhaps he wasn’t even aware he was showing it. The way his hand plucked the fruits with just enough pressure to remove them, but not too hard so at to shake the entire bushel or bruise its skin. Every time he placed the apples and apricots in his basket, he did so like they were made of glass.
Michael cast his gaze about to find the others had wandered some way away. Carter was idly flirting with Oliver in a way which Michael knew he was only doing to amuse himself and Sarah spoke softly with Rose, finding every excuse she could to glance back at Oliver, trying to gauge his reactions. Nichole and Aroha had slipped off somewhere and he noticed their baskets were huddled together in the centre of the rows, unattended.
Michael was unsure why he picked that moment, but he plucked a beautifully ripe plum and held it delicately in his hand as he said, “I know you both said you’d come with me because we’re old friends and because I think you think that I expect you to come. I just want to you know that if you don’t want to go, that if it worries you or if it’s just not what you want to do, then you can stay, and I won’t think twice about it.”
James froze his outreaching hand and instead ran it gently through his hair in thought before placing his basket on the ground and turning his head toward Michael. “You talking to me or the plum?”
Michael cocked his head, serious, and James smiled, conceding.
James answered, “That’s not why we’re going, Sparky. I can’t speak for Slick, but I’m going because I love you, and whether it be to the markets to see the olds girls, or the Gates of the Aether to fight God and all his Holy Seraphs... I’ll follow you.”
Michael listened to his words and was almost shocked by the simple and soft way he spoke them.
James turned back to the bush and gently plucked another peach.
*****
By the time they’d each delivered on their grand piles of fruit, the night had rolled in once again, and as they wandered back through the crops, the company of Legacies saw a great glow on the other side of the forum, where the space between the Obstacle Course and the Arena lay bare. Music echoed and laughter filled the air and the smell of cooked food and fresh fruit perfumed the darkening sky.
Michael and the others made their way passed the dining tables and the great celebration of Bonfire Day rolled out before them, in such a way he had never seen before, nor ever would again.
Hundreds of Legacies sang and danced to the music played on a central, pop-up stage, and behind the platform, some twenty feet away, a bonfire the size of a small house roared into the night, casting a great cone of flame high above everything else.
Michael and his friends were elated at the sight of it when a stern voice echoed out of dark from the direction of the keep.
“Mister Williams!” shouted Amekot. “You were due at the Arena at Felling’s End!”
Michael blinked with confusion. “We were?”
Seemingly out from the darkness, Jack stepped in between Michael and the irate aristocrat. The soldiers scar-ridden face was neutral as a guard dog’s. “Not to worry, Michael. You all go enjoy your party.”
Michael glanced to Jack and then to Amekot, who almost seemed stunned by the warrior’s audacity. “You sure, Jack?”
“Go on,” he said lightly, though his body-language was clear.
Michael and the others nodded and made toward the great party. Michael turned to Rose as they walked, muttering, “Do you know what that was about?”
“Not a clue,” she said, casting one last glance to Jack before they began weaving through the crowd.
Amekot shook his head in wry disbelief. “You were ordered to tell those kids that they needed to demonstrate their ability, yet you never so much as mentioned it to them, did you?”
Jack’s smile vanished and he shook his head. “No. Because you seem to have forgotten something, Fortmaster. Not a single person in this fortress owes you a damn thing. Just because you treat that mahogany desk like it’s a throne, does not make it one. Michael Williams, Oliver Jacobs, Sarah Robinson, Carter Cox, James Taylor, Nichole Huntress, Aroha Oswald... do you know what that list is?”
Amekot chewed on his response like it was a piece of gristle stuck in his teeth. “Do tell.”
Jack took a harsh step toward the Fortmaster, forcing him back a startled pace. “It’s a list of people who learned to survive long before they ever wound up here. A list of people who don’t need your permission, nor mine, to do anything. And a list of people who I respect, and whose backs I’ve got covered, because they earned it. An entire War Council has spent two spells deliberating on which plan to begin considering when Nikereus shows up, and these kids are preparing to risk their lives so we might actually stand a chance. So, Amekot Hillborn, if you want to throw anyone in the Murk,” Jack set his hand on the head of his dark mace, “I suppose you’ll have to start with me.”
Amekot looked to his hand and then coldly to him. “Okay, Jack. Okay… Tell you what, if they are truly as valuable as you say... and they die in there? Well, it’s on your head, and not only will you have to stomach that, but you’ll also have to live with the fact that on the brink of a siege against ten-thousand enemies, you pissed away seven lives just prove a point to me.” He looked the veteran soldier over and shook his head idly. “Enjoy your party.”
Jack watched Amekot walk away and took a long moment to breathe out his anger. Jack then glanced toward the colossal crowd of Legacies. In amongst the mess of people, he saw the young Legacies he’d been defending. Michael was singing to the heavens. Nichole and Aroha were locked in a fast-paced dance. Sidney and Flinn drank in the face of the bonfire. Syon spoke Archie and Avery, asking questions about the bronze-plated arm attached to their shoulder. Oliver was playing a ring on Sarah’s hand, twisting it innocently as she stared at him in the firelight.
Jack let his hand fall from his mace. “Actually, I think I will. Thanks, Hillborn,” he said to himself and joined the party.