Chapter Ninety
Dark Tongue
As they neared the crowd, Jack found himself walking so fast that he dragged Oliver by his manacles, anxious to get it over with.
The swarm of Legacies grew noisier as they noticed the blond-haired boy being brought up before them. Amekot didn’t so much as turn.
Jack watched as the all-encompassing shouts blared from the crowd and knew the Fortmaster had spent his time without him wisely. He pushed Oliver forward a pace, and the boy spent a moment hazily staring down at the sea of familiar faces.
Their anger vanished for the space of a beat upon seeing him, only for a concussive roar to replace it. Food was thrown. Curses cast. And all the while, Oliver merely looked down to his feet and closed his eyes.
Amekot’s eyes sparkled slightly at the reaction and then turned pointedly to Jack. “We could probably tally up the vote just like this.”
The maceman rolled his eyes and moved to the front of the platform. “Everyone settle down or I will start cracking skulls!” he roared, bringing the noise to a dull murmur.
“Now who’s being diplomatic...” said Amekot, loud enough for the quietened crowd to hear and spritz of laughter to follow. He stepped to Jack’s side and called, “We will hear the traitor’s defence then decide his fate. All those in favour?”
The entire fortress sent their hands up and Jack begrudgingly raised his own when an out of-breath Michael came sprinting out of the shadow of the keep.
He grabbed Jack by the arm and the mercenary whispered harshly, “Michael, what’s the matter?”
Amekot ignored them and began describing the process of the trial as Michael looked up at Jack and urged, “We need to talk inside. Now.”
Jack blinked and nodded, quietly guiding him through the keep doors into the first few feet of the hall, careful not to let the great doors slam as they closed.
All sound of the hearing was shut out and Michael began pacing back and forth on the polished floor, leaving Jack irate with suspense.
“Michael, something important is happening out there, can this wait?”
Michael stopped pacing and turned as Jack reached for the door. “He didn’t do it.”
Jack froze. For the barest moment, he blinked and frowned until he saw the petrified look on his face. “Yes, he did. You saw him. Are you telling me that’s not true?”
“No! It is true- but-” Michael’s nails dug into his palms as he tried to think of a way to explain. “Look... there’s something just not right,” he said between his teeth.
Jack looked closely at the boy, then was overcome with an expression of pity. “Michael, I get it. You feel responsible for what’s going to happen to him and now...”
Michael shook his head but couldn’t bring himself to say the right things.
Jack watched him panic for a moment before laying a calm hand on the scruff of his neck. “I want you to listen...”
Michael grabbed Jack by the chest-plate and pulled his face close to the man’s, much to his shock. “No, you listen!”
Jack’s dark scars were dull in the low light and ran jagged all the way through his blackened eyed and tired face. Seeing it, made Michael’s thoughts clear and his breaths steadied. They were anchoring to say the least.
“Jack, I’m not doing this out of guilt. I’ve known good people and I’ve known evil people. I’ve known decent people to do indecent things. But if I know nothing else, I know this. There is something going on. I’ve spent my entire life knowing that if I saw something with my own two eyes then I could believe it, but I don’t believe this, because there’s too much in this world that doesn’t make sense, even when I see it happen one foot in front of me. So, if you can look me in the face and say ‘Michael, there is no way -no way at all- that something could’ve made him do it’, then I’ll believe you.”
Michael fought for a breath and Jack hung in silence.
“But if you can’t… then we have to do something because I looked him in the eye, and something about it was just so wrong!”
Jack stared at him in shock and felt the echoes chanting down the empty hall.
Michael let go of him. “Just say it. Just tell me. Tell me there’s no way. I’ll let it go.”
Jack merely looked at him as Michael hung his head. The maceman let out a great, weighed sigh from the pit of his lungs. “No.”
Michael’s face drifted up toward him. “What?”
Jack looked at him at him and brought a hand up to his face without meaning to, brushing the corner of his cursed eye. He stepped back and rubbed his temples before releasing a gruff breath. Nothing’s ever easy, he thought.
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“Think very carefully about this,” Jack began. “Don’t worry about sounding too pretentious or too blunt, just speak from within. You mentioned his eyes. And something about that makes you think he didn’t do it. Wrong, you said. Tell me, why do you think that?”
Michael looked curiously at his scarred face. “I didn’t mean to. I just- wait why does it matter? Are they related?”
Jack looked to the sealed doors and gripped the handle of his mace tiredly. Jack then turned back to the archer and spoke ritually, “Smiles can be false. Words can pretend. But eyes do not bend. Whether it’s the dark of the soil, or blue of the sky, the windows to the soul are not made to lie. Now just tell me. Did you know what his eyes looked like when you first met him?”
Michael spoke with hard conviction. “Hazel. Light hazel. Flecked with gold.”
Jack looked at the archer. “And now?”
Michael shook his head, trying not to judge the way he wanted to speak. “It’s like they’re adrift in… in…f-f-”
“Fog,” Jack said, his heart heavy. “Right?”
Michael couldn’t speak. If someone had put a knife to his throat, he’d have stayed silent. He simply nodded, feeling sicker than the day he’d caught the Blush.
Jack pulled on his helmet and his hands shook as he steadied his palm on the head of his mace. “Arcancy shows in two ways. When we wield it, it glows in our veins always, and in our eyes when we truly test it. But when Arcancy is used against us... it doesn’t show at all, unless it is one specific kind.”
Michael watched Jack flex and stretch his right hand, as though trying to rid it of its nerves. “What kind?”
“We call it Dark Tongue. It’s the foulest Arcancy magic in existence. Like any Emotive Arcancies, it alters your perception by unbalancing or stabilising your emotions... but unlike any other, it maintains its hold for as long as the caster wishes. Even after death, if they are strong enough. It is powerful and horrid. It’s the same kind of magic which forces the Reapers to endlessly hunt Legacies, or Creations to be ravenous and mad for hundreds of cycles on end.”
“Mind control?” Michael asked, the sickness blooming in his gut.
Jack tasted the words bitterly. “More than that. Mind. Heart. Soul. They all became strung to the will of the puppeteer. Dark Tongue is like forcing someone to sign away everything that makes them who they are. The victim can’t so much as blink outside of their exact instructions.”
Michael felt his heart stop in his chest. “How about speak?
Jack pushed open the keep door to hear the roar of the crowd. “Not so much as even hold eye-contact.”
“I think I’m going to be sick, Jack.” Michael took a hard breath. “Who has that Arcancy? Please tell me that you know.”
Jack glanced back at the office doors of Amekot’s room and then to Michael. “I know two places that might. You know how to get into the Priority Archives, yes?”
Michael nodded sharply.
“The Legacy Profiles. Go.”
*****
Oliver had his eyes closed as he zoned out the blaring language and cursed shouts. It was only when he opened them again, hazily looking around that he saw Michael slip quietly back out from the keep, and for the shortest glance, the archer held his eye.
Oliver wanted to react, he wanted to scream and shout but as soon as he tried to render the look on his face, a quiet wave of sickly-sweet nausea moved through his head and something quiet lulled his waking mind back to sleep.
Somewhere, faraway, he could hear Amekot speaking.
“Archangel Jacobs, you are found guilty of the following crimes: Conspiracy to commit High Treason, theft of Priority One documents, destruction of Priority One documents, conspiring with the enemy, and conspiracy to ensure the downfall of a Legacy stronghold. By the testimony of Michael Williams and Sarah Robinson, as well as the discovery of the stolen documents, aforementioned, within your possession, you are convicted of these crimes, and the determination of your guilt with not be a debated subject of this trial.”
Amekot took a breath as the crowd grew quiet with anger.
The Fortmaster looked over the catastrophe waiting to happen and turned to Oliver with a smile on his face, knowing he’d said all he’d need to say. “So, what exactly do you have to say for yourself?”
Oliver pulled his head up and felt the wash of warm, thick air moving through his eyes. He couldn’t so much as he keep himself steady. Every time he’d see a face wrought with pain or anger or sadness, an icy pang of rage drove into his heart.
He’d done everything they’d convicted him of. He remembered walking into the library, smiling at Dolores, stepping right up to the book on the shelf, down into the Archive, taking everything he wanted and destroying nearly everything else.
Oliver remembered wanting to do it all.
He just didn’t know why.
He didn’t even remember it until they sat and read their orders at the lunch table. Like the very words had shaken the memory loose, and like a rising fog, the yearning to go back to the archive returned thick and blinding.
And from the moment Sarah tied to word ‘spy’ to him, his voice was stripped away, and the grogginess clouded his mind all the more, like he was somehow waking only to find himself intoxicated from the night before. Almost every moment after that he tried to speak, tried to explain that something terrible was happening, his mind would warp. It was not his own. He was limited to his thoughts with no way to show them, and even they were hollow and unstable. Even his anger was quelled within him, and every time he wanted to scream and shout, a distant, cold voice repeated its unheard commands to him, sending him back into solemn silence.
Amekot watched in silence as Oliver did everything in his power to raise his head. Oliver fought to the point that a bead of sweat glistened on his forehead, but it was like weights were slung around his neck.
The Fortmaster let out a disdainful smirk and turned to see Jack had vanished. Glad to be uncontested, he asked Oliver, “Nothing?”
At the sound of his smug voice, Oliver wrenched his head up, and for the barest of moments, he saw Amekot’s face falter as they connected eyes. But the overwhelming wave of nausea rolled back over him and he shut his eyes again, unwillingly bowing his head once more.
Amekot swallowed a discreet breath and looked to Klaryah, still sitting on the step down from him.
The assassin sighed as she watched Oliver twitching in his manacles and shrugged, disappointed by his lack of a show. “Suppose it was worth a try.”
The crowd all seemed to follow similar thoughts. Those who knew Oliver seemed desperate to hear him say anything at all, but those who’d already condemned him merely fumed, as though his silence was just as insulting as anything he might say.
Amekot looked out over the array of Legacies and grabbed Oliver by his manacles, shoving him back a pace as he stepped up the crowd. “By show of hands, we shall now determine the fate of Archangel Jacobs. His guilt is incontestable and he has no defence for his crimes. Miss Klaryah, what is the imperial punishment for treason?”
Klaryah watched the leader standing there and knew he was only asking for the dramatic effect. “Death.”
Amekot put on a gently satisfied face and turned back to the audience, all seeming quieter from bluntness of it all. “All in favour, raise your hands!”
Oliver didn’t have the strength or presence of mind to even raise his head. But in his peripherals, he watched as a sea of hands raised. He felt his face grow numb and his stomach hollow as the cold rain bled through to his heart.