Chapter 26. Fielding Grief

Florence had, in all her years, never seen The Archive as it now sat. What used to be shelves of books grown from potted plants was now a blossoming city. City seemed too stagnant a word actually. This was more of a hive. There was so much in motion, so much color. There were trees with books growing out of them on small blossoms. The base of the blossoms had transparent fluid filled cauldrons made of plant matter.

The liquid within the cauldrons glowed merrily. There were blues, greens, yellows, all manner of colors actually. They were all attached to what at first appeared to be trees, but on closer inspection were vines. Big ones. Like Jack and the giant beanstalk big. They disappeared into the sky high above.

“This is something else,” Florence said.

“It is indeed,” said a friendly sounding voice. Friendly sounding or not, it still made Florence jump. It didn’t sound like it came from one direction in particular, but from all directions at once. The lights glowed brighter and dimmer with the voices intonations.

“Are you The Archive?” Florence asked the disembodied voice.

“That is a difficult question to answer,” the voice responded. It sounded so familiar to her. “I was not, but the archive is the summation of magical knowledge attained by the Stewards Guild. Having absorbed said knowledge, I have become a Steward myself. A Steward of knowledge. Does that make me The Archive? I think not. I think I am a librarian. No, The Librarian.”

“Do you have a name Librarian?”

“I do. You may call me Clarence.”

“Clarence!” Florence shouted. She knew him! Gulliver had prattled on about him when she regrew one of his limbs after the Hong Kong incident. Gulliver had shown her the prototype for his construct.

“Yes, ma’am,” the construct said. “You are Florence, leader of the Healers Sanctum. Notably, your most powerful innate gift is being an elementalist. You are one of the most powerful elementalists currently documented and have a protocol file written. My apologies on the loss of your friend Zedekiah.”

That was a lot for Florence to take in. “What’s a protocol file?” she asked.

“A protocol file is a stratagem written with explicit details on how and where to defeat a particular magician,” Clarence said.

“What does mine say?” Florence asked.

“Please wait, requesting permissions,” Clarence said.

“From whom?” Florence asked. No response. “Excuse me? I need the information. If you can’t give me the protocol file, I’d like to know about the High Marshalls.”

“I will be with you as soon as permissions are granted,” Clarence said. “It may be more than an hour before those become available.”

“Great,” Florence said. “I’ll come back then.”

“I must apologize,” replied Clarence's almost robotic voice. “I have sealed the archive against all intrusions. You must remain until my master decides what to do with you.”

“Oh, well then. I’ll make myself comfortable.” Florence grabbed a vine and focused her power through it. She could feel it, nourishing the books, the files, the information. She couldn’t access that, but she could access the vines. She had them grow a small hammock for her. She sat comfortably in it and waited. Then she waited some more.

“Florence?” came a voice. This one was female, and it echoed through the chamber.

“Andromeda?” Florence asked. Why Andromeda and not Gulliver? Gulliver created Clarence.

“Yes, it’s me. What’s going on?”

“Zedekiah is dead,” Florence said. “Scarlet killed him.”

“Scarlet?” Andromeda asked.

“Are you okay?” Florence asked. “You sound like you’ve been crying.”

“I know about Zedekiah,” Andromeda said. “Gulliver is gone too.” Florence’s heart skipped a beat in her chest. She realized she was standing, hammock swaying behind her.

“Gone?” Florence asked. She felt light headed. “As in his memory?”

She heard Andromeda inhale, then say, “They used a mind spike.” Florence fell back into the hammock.

“Who?” she asked. She could feel herself tremble with a sickening mix of rage and pain.

“Garen,” Andromeda said.

“We’ll get a group of stewards. We’ll kill him,” Florence said.

“We can’t,” Andromeda said. “He’s the Wizen.” Florence tried to speak. Her mouth moved, but she had nothing to say.

“How?” she finally managed to stammer. “There was no council with the High Marshalls?”

“He didn’t follow protocol,” Andromeda said. “He just took it.”

“What do we do?” Florence asked.

“We gather the High Marshalls,” Andromeda said. She cut off, Florence could hear the emotion in her voice. “Clarence. Explain.”

“In the event that the title of Wizen was taken unjustly,” Clarence said merrily, “At least three High Marshal’s may elect one of their ranks as a replacement. They can then challenge the Wizen to a duel. The entire guild must observe etiquette, all interference is barred, and the Realm of the Wizen will ensure a fair duel. The wizen and the high marshal elect will engage in a non-lethal battle for the title of the wizen.”

“We have to find the High Marshal’s then,” Florence said.

“I’m one, we need two more,” Andromeda said.

“Clarence, where are they?” Florence asked.

“Requesting permissions,” Clarence said.

“Granted,” Andromeda replied.

“Thank you, ma’am,” said Clarence. The books on the vines began the shiver excitedly, then stopped. “The Archive does not have information on the whereabouts of the High Marshals,” Clarence said.

“How do we find them?” Florence asked.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

“I know Fal Oakroot has a former apprentice we could track,” Andromeda said.

“Oakroot?” Florence asked. “As in Garen Oakroot?”

“It is his great uncle,” chimed Clarence. “He was a battle mage in both great wars. He became High Marshal when Holden Higginbotham senior held the position.”

“Andromeda,” Florence said. “Won’t he be biased for Garen?”

“No,” Andromeda said. “He arrested Garen early in his career. Zedekiah gave Garen another shot, trying to do Fal a favor. Fal got mad and left. He was never stripped of his rank.”

“I always wondered what happened there,” Florence said. “You’ll track him down?”

“No,” Andromeda said. “I have something I need to do. You’ll be on your own on this one Florence. Clarence can stay in touch and help though.

“What could be more important than this?” Florence asked.

“I have to keep a promise to Gulliver,” Andromeda said. Her voice cracked, and it was several moments before she spoke again. “Florence, good luck. The battle mages don’t like the Stewards Guild much, not after the second great war. Not after we forsook their ways. Clarence can keep us in touch.” Florence stood and thought, Scarlet would have to wait. This was more important than revenge, it hurt to admit it to herself, but it was true. She knew now that she would find the high marshals.

Andromeda stood, her legs were shaky. She didn’t know if she could walk, so she supported herself on a nearby table. She had sat in silence for the better part of an hour. Florence had a charge to find the other high marshalls. Andromeda had to return to the grove where Gulliver lost his memory. That was the key to this whole mess. She didn’t know how, she didn’t know why. All she knew is when Gulliver lost his memory, she saw something in him. Something that was big. She took a step towards Koko. He was sitting on the floor, head drooped, tears flowing freely.

She took another step then her legs gave out. She fell onto the man, who wrapped himself around her. She cracked, she broke. She hadn’t admitted it to Gulliver, but she was in love with him. From the moment she met him as a child she was drawn to him. Just a silly little girl with a crush on a boy with a goofy haircut. It had grown, and she loved Gulliver. She and Koko clung onto each other and wept. She could feel his tears drip down onto her, she didn’t care. Gulliver, her little Gully, her best friend. He was dead. Before she could tell him...

She could feel a pang of fear and pain stab through her. Guilt. She steeled herself against it, but the shakes of pain and fear overtook her. She felt the urge to vomit, but dry heaved instead. Koko seemed not to notice and continued to sob. It couldn’t be real. Gulliver was too strong. Maybe Gulliver was in the seal. Maybe the mind spike didn’t break the seal!

“He’s not dead!” she exclaimed.

“He was crushed!” Koko cried. “By those bastards! Those worthless...” his voice trailed off as he began to rage. “They killed my…” He let out a howl, sounding more like an animal than a man. “I’ll find them,” he said. “And I’ll kill every single one of them.” His voice softened, and he continued, “Did you see Pip? He was a paladin the whole time. I knew he was special!”

“He was magnificent,” Andromeda said. She had seen there was more to them than just friendship, but she had to go. Her head was spinning, she had to get out of here. There was too much emotion between the two of them.

“He was!” Koko said. He began to sob again.

“Koko, I need a portal,” she said sitting up. He handed her his pocket watch.

“Think of where, then open it,” he said.

“How do I get back here?” she asked.

“Once you’ve been here you always know your way back, the watch can help,” he said. “Good luck.”

Andromeda stood and envisioned the forest where she had found Gulliver. She shuttered, not knowing what to expect, then opened the watch with a click. A flash of green light shot out and a small portal opened in front of Andromeda with a crackle. A rush of cold air flooded the room. Leaves shot in on the current and Andromeda stepped forward into it. Into the forest. She got through, then shut the stopwatch. Another crackle sounded as the portal snapped shut behind her.

“Help!” screamed someone. A little girl? All the way out here? The map in Gulliver's cabin said there wasn’t civilization around for miles. Andromeda spun and saw a small girl running to her. She had to be three or four years old. The child had brilliant blue eyes, almost too big for her face. She had pigtails, a dress, and despite the size of her eyes, the most beautiful face Andromeda had ever seen in a child. She was carrying around what looked like an old stuffed animal.

The girl's face was tearstained and afraid. Andromeda crouched to her level and extended a hand. “It’s okay, I can help.” The child looked at Andromeda, who did her best to look reassuring. There was a pause, where the girl seemed to consider Andromeda.

“He needs help,” the girl said. “He can’t get up.”

“Okay, show me where,” Andromeda said.

“Okay,” the girl said. She grabbed Andromeda’s outstretched hand and turned to run. Andromeda let the child lead the way through the forest. They reached a small stream, where the girl stopped and screamed. She thrashed her hands in the air toward the water and sent it splashing away without touching it.

“I don’t want my hippo to get wet!” the child yelled. “But the water keeps coming!” As fast as the child splashed the water away, the stream refilled it as it ran past.

“It’s okay,” Andromeda said, lifting the child. Was that telekinesis? “I’ll carry you. Let’s go.” She stepped over the stream, and the child leaned into her, clutching the stuffed animal closer. It looked like a cross between a bear and a hippo. It was ragged and worn, but the child gripped it like a friend regardless.

“He’s over there,” the girl said, pointing to a clearing. There was a cabin with smoke flowing out of the chimney. “Down, down!” the girl cried, squirming free of Andromeda. “Follow me!”

Andromeda followed the child, and they went into the cabin. It was barely large enough on the outside for more than a small room and maybe a washroom, but when Andromeda entered she realized it was bigger on the inside. Magic was here. She could feel it tingling, sense it hanging in the air. She saw an old man, on the floor, facing away from her.

“Nayvee, is that you?” he gasped.

“Yes, I got help,” the girl said, running around him. She crouched near his face and stroked his white hair with her hand. “It’s okay.” She looked up at Andromeda and said, “Help him!”

“Please Andromeda,” wheezed the old man. “Don’t be shy. The mind spike to Gulliver took a toll out of me. I just need a little tonic and a hand up, and I’ll be good as new.”

“What?” Andromeda said. Who was this and how did he know who she was? “Who are you?” she asked.

“Tonic first please my dear. I’m quite old, and mind spikes hurt,” the man said.

“Where do I find it?” Andromeda asked.

“Top shelf above the fireplace, labeled tonic. Nayvee can’t read or reach the shelf, and her control over magic isn’t fine enough to get it down herself, or I’d have had her fetch it,” the man said.

Andromeda looked at the top shelf, but it was far out of her reach.

“Use your wand,” the old man said. Andromeda didn’t say anything. The man didn’t need to know that it was destroyed fighting Garen. She thought of the power she had channeled through it, the aura she had summoned, the way she deflected Garen’s spell.

“That was quite the impressive feat. You have a defensive endowment. It looks like an aura of protection, but we can find out later,” the old man said.

“You read my mind?” Andromeda asked. If he could read her mind...

“Then yes, you’ll have to control your thoughts,” he said, finishing her sentence. “I know, it’s not supposed to be possible, even with magic, but alas, we don’t know as much about magic as we once did.”

“How do you do it?” she asked.

“There is a ladder in the closet, use that to reach the tonic.” The old man waited until he heard Andromeda moving before he continued, “Each thought creates an impression on the world around it. Tiny, small impressions. They shift the world ever so slightly. Well, magic runs through everything, and I’m just reading the impressions you make as you think.”

“But you can’t see me,” Andromeda said, pulling the ladder from the closet.

“I don’t use my eyes to see the magic; therefore I do not have to be facing the magic. Just after that mind spike, I can’t seem to use my body or magic,” he said.

Andromeda set up the ladder and climbed it. The top shelf was a good fifteen feet in the air and laden in bottles. Each was labeled, though many not in any language Andromeda recognized, and some with simply a picture or symbol. Finally, she found one labeled ‘Tonic’ and grabbed it. She climbed down the ladder and walked toward the old man.

“I’ll do it!” hollered Nayvee. She ran forward, and Andromeda gave her the bottle. Nayvee walked around the old man then pulled the stopper from the bottle. She gave it to him, and he drank. “Here you go,” she said.

“So much better, thank you Nayvee,” he said. He slowly stood then turned to Andromeda. His face was pale and kind, eyes a brilliant blue. His beard was long and white, his hair as well. He picked up a wide hat and placed it upon his head, stretched his hand to the side, fingers open, and a gnarled old staff shot into it. He leaned on it and smiled pleasantly at Andromeda.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Andromeda,” he said. “My name is Merlin. You’ve heard of me I presume?”