Chapter Fifty-Three

Deliberation

They salvaged all they could from the destruction left by the Nithe. The company was down a few beds and blankets, a good amount of food, and most of their will to go on, but not quite all. After deciding that they should probably not stick around the same spot where they’d waged a small war, the Legacies pressed on down the tunnel, letting James set the pace.

As they walked, nursing their collection of bruises and scrapes, Michael cast his mind back to the last thing which had happened before the Nithe attack and reached to his pocket. He drew the gemstone out froze mid-step as he read it.

The company stopped, casting a series of concerned looks at him.

Michael looked up at them, pale-faced, and then read the Kosadi message aloud. “Priority Archives raided this morning. Fort secrets stolen. Amekot blaming suspects your team. Doing what I can. Don’t be late back or he’ll...” Michael trailed off.

Rose stepped over to him and glanced at the gemstone. It was Jack’s handwriting. “Or he’ll see your party blamed,” she finished.

The company was silent at her words. Even Magnus’ permanent smugness was alleviated as he looked back down the tunnel.

Michael caught his gaze and a chill ran down his spine. “Should we consider going back?”

James grimaced. “No.”

“He’s right,” Rose said, staring into the darkness ahead. “If Jack wanted us back, he’d have said so. Plus, if Amekot suspects us I doubt we’re even supposed to know.”

Sarah pinched the bridge of her nose and nodded. “If we go back, they’ll know Jack let slip and throw him in the stocks with us. He’s sticking his neck out pretty far for us.”

Rose smiled wryly at the messaging stone. “My brother is nothing if not reliable.”

“Wait-” Aroha said, spinning to face her, “-Jack is actually your brother?”

Rose looked at one everyone like they had grown an extra pair of ears. “Yes?”

All jaws dropped throughout room.

“He’s like two decades on older than you, isn’t he?” said Sarah, trying not to sound rude but too confused to be polite.

“And he looks nothing like you. I thought you were Riniglacian?” Carter said, scratching his head with the pommel of one of his daggers.

Michael snapped his fingers as he remembered Jack’s fluent sign and mumbled, “He is Riniglacian. He’s just got Crekaen roots.”

Rose nodded slowly and wide-eyed to each of them. “Jack is seventeen cycles older than me. We do look different, as I am your classic, Riniglacian stereotype, and he’s dark-skinned. He was born there, to a different mother, in Zanssien. Her name was Örailisul, I think. She had Crekaen lineage way back or something. But our father was- hold on,” Rose rubbed her eyes tired and gestured angrily, “why on Enthall are we talking about my family history! We just learned someone is trying to frame us all for treason!”

Michael glanced at the others and nodded. “She’s right, what are we goin’ to do?”

Rose looked to the others and waited before realising that everyone but Magnus was waiting on Michael.

Michael looked at each of their faces and didn’t know what to say. He used to believe he could talk his way out of anything. He used to think that he had a silver tongue, like so many dark story heroes. But the truth was, it was always easy to get out of trouble when the risk just wasn’t all that real. Oh sure, in school he might’ve been scolded for being a smart-arse, thrown out of class by Miss Marlow, or even suspended on a particularly bad day, but none of those things mattered. Not really. As he looked at each and every one of the people in front of him, however, he couldn’t stop thinking about what it would mean if he chose wrong. It had been one day, and James was only alive because the tusk shattered his ribs and not his head.

Michael spent a moment too long looking at James, thinking about that fact, and his heart suddenly felt thick in his chest. He didn’t know whether to prioritise the people in front of him or those they’d left at the fortress.

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Finally, Michael said, “Do you guys genuinely believe Amekot or Jack or Sidney or anyone has a plan?”

Nichole stepped forward slightly. Her eyes were firm and gave nothing away. “I don’t think Hillborn’s quite calculated what we’re up against. I think Jack and Sidney are the only ones with enough authority to question him, and I don’t think he’ll be willing to listen to them.”

Something about her voice relaxed Michael. Her steady tone and focused gaze put him at ease, even though it was quite the opposite of what he wanted to hear.

Magnus glanced at him from across the group of Legacies. “I’m going to tell you something you won’t like.”

“No shit,” Michael rolled his eyes.

Magnus smiled, but what threw Michael off balance was how little venom was in it. Magnus finally said, “Even if there is a plan. It’s not going to work. They might last a night. A spell. A fuckin’ cresk… doesn’t matter. They’ll go down swinging but they will go down.”

Michael held a moment of confusion, waiting for the backhanded comment to follow but it didn’t. He blinked and asked, “And?”

Magnus shrugged. “It’s on you.”

Michael huffed. “Okay.”

“What?”

“I’m pretty damn new here, you know!”

Magnus set his scythe on the floor to lean on it and everyone flinched, but he paid them no mind as he set his ruby gaze on Michael properly. “And yet this was your idea, right? Despite the fact you’re new.”

Michael felt himself being baited but couldn’t think of anything but unreasonable responses. “Right.”

“You might be new to this world, but you’re clearly not new to this.” He gestured to James, gingerly holding himself. “Or this,” Magnus reached out and place a firm finger on Michael’s quick-beating heart.

Carter cleared his throat, looking bitterly at Magnus. “Hate to agree with Andevār… but he’s right, Sparky. You weren’t born to be at the front. But you always put yourself there. And that’s why you’re here, and why we’re with you, every step into the dark.”

Magnus nodded to Carter. “So, whether we go forward. Back. Fuckin’ up or down. Doesn’t matter. Just pick. Because it’s not about doing it perfect. It’s about doing anything at all when no one else is bothering to try.”

There was a hard moment of quiet and Michael wrestled his anxiety down as he nodded, trying to hear the words in his heart, rather than in the orchestra of doubt being played in his head.

“Pick. Preferably before I wither away from old age.”

Michael ignored the snide remark and looked at everyone one last time. “Forward. If we go back, we have nothing but faith in Amekot, and that won’t do for me. Let’s go see if we can’t find something to prod with a stick.”

And with that, Michael led the group further down the impossibly long, dark tunnel.

For long hours, they walked. At first they walked in silence, to the beat of their own pace. But soon they found themselves listening to the sounds of the cave, from its trickling streams to its hollow, whistling winds.

The tunnel neither twisted nor turned in any meaningful way. The only true blemish which stood out in the great pathway was a great hole, gouged in the side of the cavern, which they passed at one point, which Aroha noted was likely the work of the Nithe.

It was as this point that James muttered, “I can’t believe how enormous that thing was. I mean, I’ve seen some of the creatures Jack brings in to the Arena, but it was enormous.”

Michael frowned. “Jack brings monsters into the Arena? What does that mean?”

Rose shrugged, using her bow-staff like a walking stick. “He’s the Fort Warden. He ventures out to places like this,” she waved aimlessly to the cavern, “captures feral Citizens and brings them back.”

Michael had to do his best not to gawp at that statement. “You say that like it’s bringing home groceries. How?”

Rose wrinkled her face uncertainly and said, “His Arcancy does some of the work and thick steel chains do the rest, I think.”

Nichole ruffled her long head of dark hair and frowned, “I don’t know how I feel about that. I know they’re “feral”, and they all manifest back eventually, but at some point, we all have to admit it’s pretty dark.”

Rose gestured offhandedly to her and nodded. “Oh its messed up. If it’s any consolation, he once told me he hates it. But whenever I bring it up, he tends to find a way out of the conversation.”

As they drew close to what they assumed would be an end to a day’s walking, though without the sun it was impossible to know, Michael heard a small whimper slip between gritted teeth. He turned and saw James moving with a limp as sweat beaded down his temple, but otherwise his face was placid.

Michael stepped to his side. “Ribs?”

James glanced at him and thought about lying before he merely nodded. He found Michael increasingly difficult to lie to ever since he learned exactly how much they’d been keeping from him. “And my leg.” He gestured timidly to his lower thigh, unwilling even to touch the flesh. His hand trembled as he pointed.

Michael nodded stiffly, but he felt sick. He patted James on the shoulder and turned calmly to Nichole. “Is there anything we can do for him?”

Nichole glanced at the limping young man and frowned. “How bad?”

James chose that moment to accidentally roll his ankle, sending a flare of muscle spasms throughout his leg and forcing a scream out from behind his teeth.

Aroha and Oliver caught him as he fell, narrowly stopping the heavy boy from cracking his head against the stone floor, but many hands gripping his busted torso pulled nothing but tight grimacing growls from his throat.

Michael’s heart began to race with panic, but Carter, looking remarkably calm about the situation, merely nodded to Nichole and said, “Time for a Cherry, I think.”

Nichole nodded and rummaged through her travel-pack and Michael sighed with panicked resignation. “A what?”