Unbreakable Storm

by Patrick Dugan

My mouth wanted to shoot a snappy comeback that included a reference to his mother, but I realized we were in a hospital, so instead, I let the exhaustion take over. “Thank you.” I flopped onto the bench that was larger than most of the couches I’d seen. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, amazed at how tired I felt. My stomach ached. I tried to figure out when I last ate but couldn’t focus enough to remember. A vague recollection of breakfast with my parents was the best I could do.

  Voices rose, pulling me from my fog.

  A tall, dark-skinned woman dressed in a vivid blue robe exited the Physicka, yelling for Bertron. He stepped over to intercept her. “What exactly ya thinking keepin’ the boy out here? He’s a guest of Lord Alyx, not some poacher.”

  Bertron, who’d been dressed down by Alyx without flinching, blanched. “Ummm,” was all that came out as he stood still as a statue. She waited for more, but his witty banter had fled him.

  The woman threw her hands to the sky. “Ummm. Best you can do is ummm. If you’d spend as much time readin’ as you do trainin’ to stick people, you might be worth talkin’ to.” She pushed him aside, walking to where I sat. She appeared to be in her early thirties, but like Gladiator, had to be a whole lot older. A simple head wrap, which matched her dress, covered her hair. Her face broke into a soft smile as she spoke. “Thomas, I’m sorry for these brutes, they don’t think much. Same as when I was a girl, the more muscle, the fewer brains they’ve got. Makeda at your service.” She stopped, a penetrating look in her eyes. “I see the ichor from your run in, but did you lose blood in the fight?”

  Did I? My thoughts seemed full of static. I tried to clear my head, but it didn’t help. Maybe if I stood up, it would make things better. I pushed away from the wall, lurching to my feet. The hallway spun, but revolutions slowed. Makeda said something, but I couldn’t tell what it was. She placed her hands on either side of my face, then pulled my ruined shirt off my shoulder. Pain flared through my sodden brain, but I couldn’t find the energy to react.

  Makeda held me up as my knees began to buckle. A couple of guards caught me as I fell, and then the lights went out.

  18

  Consciousness slithered its way back into my brain, pushing out the foggy recollection of what had happened. A pulsing pain flared behind my eyes. I forced them open and regretted the decision immediately. My shoulders were straight out of a mummy movie, but the bandages weren’t soaked with red, which was a step in the right direction. I checked around me. I laid in bed in a small, white room. Dad sat in a chair at the foot of the bed, reading a battered book. He looked up as I pushed myself to a seated position.

  He closed the book, a smile on his face. “You know your mother doesn’t appreciate your adventures. You’re giving her gray hairs.”

  I rolled my eyes, the pain reminding me why it was an epically bad idea. “Good thing she’s blond. Where are we?”

  The answer presented itself as Lady Makeda entered the room. “Welcome back, Thomas.” Her tone was warm, but serious. “Lucky for you, the creature that pierced your skin uses a sedative, putting its victims to sleep so they can eat warm meat. I’m sure you’ve got a hell of a headache for your troubles, though.”

  I thought about nodding and decided against it. “I do. Thank you for helping me.” My dry throat caused my voice to sound like a croaking frog.

  “Think nothing of it. Sir Charles would probably be dead if not for your intervention. He’ll take longer to mend than you, I’m afraid.” She stepped over and checked my forehead with the back of her hand.

  “What happened to him?” Dad asked. For being brought to a magical fortress to see an unconscious son, he had a firm grip on things.

  She tsk’ed as she let go of my face after closely examining my eyes. “Kra-kelal’s talons are extremely poisonous. We have an antidote, but the toxin is nasty and hangs on for a bit.” She adjusted the front of her dress before continuing. “In the morning, once you’ve had a meal and some much-needed rest, the Council would like to speak to you.”

  “I can go now.”

  Makeda stopped me with a gentle hand on my injured shoulder. “Take your time,” she scolded softly. “When you’ve been alive as long as we, you develop patience. The guards outside will escort you in the morning.”

  Dad stood up and put his fist over his heart. “My thanks, Lady Makeda.”

  Makeda chuckled. “Ranger, you never change.” She swept out of the room as if she floated on air.

  “You know her?” I blurted out before I could think better of it. Every time I thought I had a handle on Dad, some new fact or story came out that set me back to square one. Did other kids feel like that? Did one day they find out something that changed their image of their parents? I didn’t know if it was because he’d been gone for most of my life or if he had lived such a large life, I could never know it all.

  Dad returned to his seat. “Yes, there are times when the Council’s goals line up with ours. Alyx worked with the teams as a liaison. We helped out on several occasions, though I’ve never seen anything like you saw today.” He retrieved a bottle of water from beside him and tossed it to me. I opened it and drank most of it, water splashing across my face and chest in my rush.

  “Thanks,” I finished off the bottle, setting it on the bed next to me. “I didn’t have time to think about it. One minute we were going to the basement to remove the doorbell, then next we were standing on red sand fighting giant bat things.”

  Dad chuckled. “It’s the way of combat.”

  A light tap on the door announced a man pushing a silver cart. I could smell the food from my bed; my stomach rumbled in response. “A good appetite is a sure sign of recuperation,” the man said, shooting me a smile. “Mistress Makeda left instructions for you both to eat everything, but I don’t see it being an issue.”

  “You never turn down a meal when you don’t know when the next one will be.”

  “Words to live by, Master Ranger.” The man busied himself setting out plates of food for each of us before excusing himself. We devoured the food in silence. Once we cleared the plates, Dad left to check in with Mom. I dropped off into a deep sleep.

  Dad shook my shoulder, waking me from the dead. “You up for getting dressed? The Council may have infinite patience, but where you’re concerned, your mother doesn’t.”

  “Oh, yeah.” I grimaced thinking of the lecture I’d be getting when we reached Castle. “I think I can manage.”

  “I’ll be outside if you need me.” Dad handed me a bag with clean clothes, a silver Pop-Tart pouch, and a bottle of Mountain Dew before stepping out of the room to allow me some privacy. I pulled on the faded Nike t-shirt and jeans and kicked on my sneakers. It took longer than normal given how stiff my shoulders were, but the pain was manageable. I devoured the pastry and chased it with a couple of gulps of Dew. I headed out the door, wiping at my mouth in case of crumbs as Dad signaled the three guards. We made our way down the long hall, taking a series of turns before we saw our destination.

  A bridge arced away from the marble hallway, sun cascading through the glass arches that enclosed it. You could have driven six tanks across it with room to spare. Whoever designed this place wanted to be able to accommodate a whole lot of people. As we approached it, I realized the entire walkway had been constructed of glass, allowing an unobstructed view of the clouds scudding below. Stepping onto the smooth panels was unnerving; my senses screamed that my foot wouldn’t meet anything but air. The surface could have been rock for there was no give or sway to the bridge. We continued our journey to see the Council, the wonderful Council of wherever we were.

  Embedded stained glass symbols decorated the walls and ceiling as we went, the colors dancing across the floor like facets of a giant diamond. We crossed over the apex of the bridge, seeing a floating castle turret before us. My stomach flip-flopped as we approached.

  Where the bridge ended, it opened out, revealing the Council hall. The floors were cream colored along the edges with onyx throu
gh the middle of the room. The room ended in a raised dais with six ornate thrones, each painted to match the mage who sat on them. I noticed the red throne was empty. Behind the thrones was a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the cloudscape below. Giant pillars rose majestically to the ceiling. Each had been carved to represent a man or woman who grasped a staff with an ornate animal head, like Charles’ dragon staff.

  We strode silently across the center of the chambers. Arched windows dotted the outer wall with murals between. All sorts of mythical creatures were represented, as well as huge and vivid fights between mages. I’d seen smaller football stadiums than this place. My head swiveled as I tried to see everything at once. Dad, unlike me, peered straight ahead as we went.

  The lead guard stopped in front of us. In a booming voice, he declared, “The outsiders have been delivered as you commanded.”

  A middle-aged woman with long, black, braided hair and dressed in a long green robe stood. “You have our thanks, Tarlon. You are excused.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” the guard said, bowing his head with his fist over his heart. His unit did the same before pivoting and marching out of the room single file. The Reclaimers had nothing on these guys.

  The green mage extended her hands before her, palms up in a welcoming gesture. “Please, you are honored guests. There is no need for formality. Join us, will you?”

  I glanced at Dad. He inclined his head slightly. “We would be honored, Lady Maya.” He went up the half-dozen steps, and I followed behind him, hoping I wouldn’t embarrass myself or him in the process.

  Two chairs that hadn’t been there earlier awaited us. Maya leaned back in her throne as we took seats. I settled into the straight-backed, gilded chair, surprised by the soft, comfortable seat. I wish we had these in Castle. I sat so I could watch Dad for guidance out of the corner of my eye.

  Alyx spoke up next. “Cyclone Ranger, you’ve met everyone before, but I’d like to introduce the remainder of the Council.” Alyx, wearing blue robes I’d never seen before, shot me a quick wink. I relaxed slightly at that. I’d known Alyx wielded magic, but this setting intimidated me. “You’ve met Makeda the Arcanist.” She nodded to me, a small smile on her face. “Lady Maya the Wanderer greeted you.” Maya pulled her long braid over her shoulder as Alyx spoke. “Next to her is Pimiko the Seer.” In the golden throne was a small Asian woman who could have been a teen or forty, I couldn’t tell. Her eyes appeared to be two different colors and slightly unfocused. If she knew we were here, it was hard to tell. “And on the end is Yatu the Elemental.” The white mage smiled broadly; his teeth gleamed against his tanned skin. Large, bushy eyebrows and salt and pepper hair made him look like a kindly old man. Having seen what Charles could do, I didn’t think I’d want to make him, or any of them, mad.

  Dad glanced at me before speaking. “I’d like to thank you for the hospitality and a special thanks to Lady Makeda for saving my son.”

  Makeda waved a hand in dismissal. “Thomas is young and strong; he’d have slept it off. If you’d like to repay the small debt of a clean bed and bandages, maybe you could talk Lord Alyx into letting me restore his legs.”

  Shock sped through my system. She could fix Alyx’s legs? Why wouldn’t he allow her to? Knowing Alyx, I wouldn’t be getting any answers about that. Alyx’s scowl confirmed this subject was off limits.

  “And if Lady Makeda could leave long ago arguments in the past where they belong, it would be appreciated.”

  Yatu belly laughed. “You two squabble like two walruses over a seal carcass. May we know why you convened us?”

  Alyx composed himself before continuing. “I’ve called us together. Dark times have come again. Eiraf has returned.”

  A chorus of gasps and exclamations mingled in the wake of the news. Alyx restored the quiet and told them what happened to me.

  The gold mage spoke first. “Who is the man she speaks of? Why would he be so important as to upset the balance that Eiraf claims to protect?” Her eyes never landed in one place, constantly moving as if in REM sleep. It was deeply disconcerting. Chills ran up my spine watching her. I averted my eyes.

  “He is a good man, a Gifted, who fought to save my family. He fell to the Syndicate, and we’ve been attempting to rescue him.” Dad paused for a moment. “I hadn’t heard about this before now, or I would have brought it to your attention.”

  His tone left no doubt in my mind I would be hearing about it later. I’d screwed this up, bad. I wondered if Marcel could get me into a witness protection program.

  “Do not be hard on him, Cyclone Ranger,” Maya said softly. Her coppery skin almost glowed in the shadows that her seat drew around her. “When we first encounter the mystical realm, it feels unreal, a dream perhaps, and makes us question reality. Many of the greatest of us were convinced they’d gone mad before they were found and trained.”

  I jumped in quickly, sensing an opening. “I thought I had hallucinated it. I told Alyx as soon as I could.”

  Alyx indicated his agreement. “Ranger, he did come to tell me, and we were lucky he was there, or we’d be searching for a new red mage.” He returned to the main question. “I’ve met this man, and he is not strong in his Gift. The prophecy Eiraf gave makes little sense, though they never do until after it’s too late.”

  Yatu grunted. “No sense worrying if the ice will break. It will in its own good time. The question is how we stop a plunge into a watery death?”

  Smoothing the fabric of her emerald robes, Maya smirked. “You can take the boy out of the Arctic…” A friendly look passed between them before she continued. “Well, it would seem you should find this man.”

  “We have enlisted the Underground in finding him. I owe him a great debt, and I mean to see it paid.” Dad’s voice had a note of pain to it. I wondered if Waxenby would feel the same. By his accounts, Dad had saved his life in Washington. Would he consider them square?

  “We dare not lend aid to the task at hand,” Pimiko said dreamily. Her head lolled to the side like a junkie sliding into the haze of their latest fix. “The balance is in jeopardy. The enemy is preparing a massive event intended to destroy all life as is their wont. We need to be here to defend, to respond to the looming threat. Death, death is coming!” Twitching, she slumped against the arm of her throne. The room sat silent, no one making a sound.

  “Well, that was enlightening,” Makeda said, standing and moving to check on the unconscious gold mage. “Pimiko’s power is great but glimpsing the many paths of what may come fractures a mind over time. She needs to rest.”

  A guard, gold tabard over his uniform, approached as if summoned. Makeda spoke to him softly. He picked up the slight mage and carried her as if she were a child, not one of the six most powerful wizards in the world. The purple mage returned to her seat, carefully arranging her robes as she sat. “Based on her visions, I think the Council will have to leave you to your own methods until we know more of the situation.”

  Dad stood. “Would the Council be willing to scry where Oliver Waxenby is? It would be of great help.”

  “Ranger, we would, but Pimiko would need to do magic, and she’s not available. When she awakes, we will...” Alyx stopped dead as his eyes widened. The others on the dais had adopted the same expression. I turned in my seat to see Eiraf standing to my left.

  Just when you thought your life couldn’t get any stranger, you drop into the twilight zone.

  19

  The silence shattered as words returned to the collective council members, ranging from ‘how dare you’ to ‘get out of here right now,’ all delivered as befitting the era each mage came from. Eiraf stood as still as a boulder, the symbols on her forehead glowed softly under the white cloth that covered her hair. If the commotion from the assembled mages bothered her, it didn’t show on her face.

  Yatu restored order with a loud, “Stop your blubbering, and let the woman speak.”

  Eiraf nodded to him before directing her eyeless gaze to the assembled
group. “You’ll have to pardon my unorthodox method of procuring your attention, but the balance has shifted, and it is in peril of collapse.”

  “The balance, by its very nature, cannot collapse,” Maya said, her tone prickly with anger. “Are you accusing us of imperiling the universe?”

  “Not at all, wise Maya. The Order of Midnight facilitated the Dark Brigade attacks in the attempt to destroy all life on the planet.” Eiraf’s open hand gestured toward Dad. “Cyclone Ranger and his peers thwarted their plans.”

  Dad cleared his throat. “We lost the fight, the Dark Brigade escaped. They wanted to subjugate the people of Earth, not destroy them.”

  “To what purpose would destroying the people of Earth bring the Order?” Alyx asked, his face a mass of warring emotions. “And why divulge this now? You didn’t warn us before the attacks.”

  “The sole responsibility of my sisterhood is to protect the balance at all costs. We knew the attacks would not succeed.”

  I knew not to interrupt, but my mouth ran before my brain could stop the avalanche of words. “Billions of people died. The Gifted were shackled. You didn’t think we deserved a warning?”

  The eyeless face turned toward me. “Thomas, there are bigger concerns in the universe than people dying. Wars have killed more than those attacks. My sisters aren’t concerned with the trivial.”

  I gasped. “Trivial? Trivial!” My voice rose in pitch as my anger flared hot and raw. “Billions of people died, never to be seen again. Those people had done nothing to provoke their mass extinction.” Dad put a restraining hand on my shoulder; I had not realized I’d been getting ready to attack. I settled down, seething as I stood there.

  Eiraf’s demeanor hadn’t changed. “The human race survived. Innocents are always the price for power. The Order is actively blocking our sight. The echoes have become waves across reality. It will be years before the waves drown us, but the loss of Oliver Waxenby would set off a chain of events culminating in the elimination of the human race. It can’t be allowed to happen.”