by Ugo, Kachi
Everyone was in high spirits, everyone except Peter, though he didn’t show it. A couple of maids came out onto the porch and served them hot cocoa, after which the meeting began in earnest.
“I know we’re all tired. I don’t intend to take long,” Grey said. “First, I’d like to thank my two sons who led us to victory against the Woodfolks!”
Everyone cheered.
Julian seemed to revel in the high praise. Peter, however, just wanted to be away from it all. Spotlights weren’t his thing, majorly because they could easily double as target lights.
Julian cleared his throat. “And thanks to Peter, whose ingenious idea about using stealth, and not brute force, saved all our asses.”
“To Peter!” Brad roared.
“To Peter!” everyone agreed.
Peter felt his cheeks blaze with embarrassment. “Thanks,” he muttered.
“Though we won this battle,” Grey continued, “there is still a war to fight. To think the Monarch of the Metallics, Marcus Stane, would take this lying down is foolhardy. This is why we must be ready.”
Grey reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out a piece of parchment. The Elders looked on this parchment and nodded. Other than them, no one knew what the parchment said, only that on such parchments were usually written decrees, which all Woodfolk had to abide by.
Grey unfurled the parchment, took a long look at its content, and said, “The decree set forth in this parchment makes provision for us to have a robust and powerful offensive force for our territorial defense and also to further our cause, both home and abroad.”
It took a while to sink in. When it did, Peter was shocked.
“A military?” he blurted. “You decreed a military?”
“About damn time!” Greg yelled. The other Leaguers cried out for joy. Julian’s voice, perhaps, was the loudest as he led the Leaguers in a chant.
Peter looked around at the Elders at the table, hoping someone would realize how dangerous this decree could be, especially to the Accords, the pre-established order, and pretty much to everything! You couldn’t just decree a military and expect Earthlings and Metallics to do nothing. This would lead to chaos, a breakdown of the social order, and inevitably war.
If Peter had any hopes that they could somehow escape retaliation from Marcus Stane—he did attack them first, after all—such hopes had just been dashed against the rocks.
Grey silenced the Leaguers with a hand and continued.
“Yes, this decree makes provision for a military force,” Grey replied to Peter’s question. “By this decree, every clan is mandated to provide its quota of men and resources to constitute the military force. This quota will be set forth by the War Commander.
“By this decree,” Grey continued, “the military force will serve as the Council’s tool to defend our territories and attack our enemies. By this decree, the military force will have at least two divisions: an aeronaut division and a land force. If other divisions become apparent, the War Commander is empowered to create such division.
“By this decree,” Grey said, “the WRI will dedicate substantial amounts of resources to the militarization of developed techniques since inception and for immediate deployment to battlefields.
“By this decree, the military will create divisions and battalions out of our territories across North America. Battalions shall report to their respective divisions. Divisions shall report to Central Command. Central Command shall be the War Commander’s chosen base of operation.
“By this decree,” Grey went on. “The War Commander shall be recommended by the Chief Elder and ratified by the Council then sworn in before both parties.
“Finally,” Grey said with an exhale, “by this decree, every clan is to commence building a Territorial Shock Force, which will be responsible for protecting our communities against an invasion force until the military is functional.”
“Wow, Dad,” Peter joked sarcastically. “You thought about everything.”
Grey ignored Peter. He laid the parchment bare on the table, took a quill pen from an ink bottle sitting on the table, and signed the decree. Other members of the Council signed the parchment one after the other.
Peter expected Balthazar to oppose the decree or refuse to sign it, but the man signed it if only with an acrimonious frown. The man obviously knew how to choose his battles. This was, after all, a battle he could not win.
We’ll have to keep an eye on him, Peter thought. He has the eyes of a murderer.
Elder Bishop, who was responsible for the dissemination of information and decrees, took the parchment in his hands.
“Chief, you must now name our War Commander,” Elder Bishop said.
“I nominate Julian Crawford as the War Commander,” Grey said.
“What? You name your own son?” Elder Arman snapped. He glanced around the table, observing that no one was opposing Grey Crawford.
“Have you all no sense of dignity?” he demanded. “Will you allow this man to run the Woodfolks like a personal family business?”
Still, no one replied. Balthazar scowled and became quiet.
“I take it only Elder Arman opposes this nomination?” Grey said after a while.
Most of the other Elders nodded.
“It is hereby ratified,” Grey Crawford said. He turned to Julian. “It is your responsibility, should you choose to accept it, to constitute, train, and prepare the military.
“So, what will it be?”
Julian didn’t hesitate to reply. “Hell yeah!” he roared with gusto and pride.
“Julian! Julian!” Brad said, leading the Leaguers in a chant. Grey allowed this to continue for only a minute before silencing them.
“Since we have succeeded in eradicating the Metallics from our hometown,” Grey continued, “I see no reason for the Sprouting Ceremony not to hold in the next two days as planned.”
To Julian, Grey said, “I know you’re probably excited to get started on making our military. But that’ll have to wait until after the Sprouting Ceremony. It gives us enough time to mourn our dead and to celebrate the new addition to our ranks.”
Julian nodded in acquiescence.
Grey turned to Elder Bishop. “Disseminate all the directives of this meeting. Most importantly, let nothing hamper the constituting of the military. We need to be ready for the Metallics by going on the offensive.”
“I’ll get right on it, Grey,” Elder Bishop replied.
Grey sighed. “That said, I call this session to an end.”
Peter left the porch immediately, headed for the staircase at the side of the Tree House. Before he could get to the door, he heard a shriek behind him.
“No!” It was Delphina.
As he turned to see what was wrong, an incoming fist connected with the side of his face.
Peter instantly saw stars. Next, he was on the ground. Still disoriented, he looked up in confusion, and through a blurry vision he saw as Delphina held Dylan back, begging him to leave Peter alone.
Peter attempted to stand, but Dylan booted him back down to the ground. Peter grunted with the pain.
Dylan pointed an angry finger at him. “Stay the hell away from Delphina.” Then he grabbed Delphina’s hand and pulled her away.
“Oh, so that’s what that was about?” Peter muttered, remembering the kiss he and Delphina had shared. Someone must have told Dylan.
“Son?” a voice said. Grey stood a few yards away, holding a black duffel bag.
Peter struggled to his feet. “Did you watch all that?”
“Yes,” Grey chuckled.
“And you let it happen?” Peter wiped blood from his mouth.
Grey handed the duffel bag over to Peter, a sly smile crawling up his lips. “You know as well as I do that you’re more than capable of defending yourself.”
“What’s this?” Peter looked down at the bag now in his hands. Then he opened it and saw it was packed with wads of
freshly minted hundred dollar bills.
Peter looked up at his father, stunned.
“That’s the money I owe you,” Grey said. “You kept your end of the deal, and now I’m keeping my end of the deal. That’s one million dollars. It should be enough to get you out of whatever shady business you’re involved in.”
“Yes…” he said breathlessly. “More than enough.”
Grey came closer to Peter and touched his right cheek with affection.
“Look, son,” Grey whispered. “I love you. Everyone here loves you. What you did yesterday at the training facility and the Metallics base has turned you into something of a legend.
“I guess what I’m saying is you’re always welcome here, anytime. This is your home, too. These are your people, too. That’s one thing about family, son. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done, you’re always welcome here.”
“I’m not leaving immediately, Dad,” Peter said impulsively. “I can stay until after the Sprouting Ceremony. Then I’ll have to go and pay the people I owe before they put a target on my back.”
Grey patted his back. “That’s a start, son.” And turned to leave.
“One more thing, Dad.”
Grey paused. “What is it?”
“The bond you made between me and Delphina,” Peter said. “I think it’s having a side effect of making us have feelings for each other. And it’s getting worse by the minute. I can’t stop thinking about her!”
“Is it broken?” Grey asked.
Peter nodded.
Then he smiled slyly. “Son, the bond didn’t wake up in the both of you what wasn’t already there.”
“She feels the same way?”
Grey’s sly smile only broadened as he returned to the porch.
***
Lead Dumont walked into the Monarch’s throne room. As powerful and skilled as Lead was, the moment he entered the presence of the Monarch, dread fell on him. It wasn’t every time a Grunt such as himself was called upon to face the Monarch.
He approached on shaky legs, dragging himself forward.
The throne was an ornate and excessively glorified diamond chair on a raised dais. The throne room would have been breathtaking had the light been on. But darkness hid its beauty.
The only light in the room illuminated the dais and Marcus Stane’s enraged visage.
News had come barely an hour ago that their outposts in the Woodfolks’ seat of power had been decimated. Dozens of Metallics wasted.
Even though Metallics weren’t exactly as populous as Woodfolks, it wasn’t the loss of lives that incensed the Monarch. It was the gall of the Woodfolks to not only contemplate but also execute an attack on Metallics.
So, naturally, when Lead was summoned, he was terrified. The Monarch wasn’t a man who had a lid over his anger. He was quick to fury, prone to violence.
Lead stood, ramrod straight, in the small circumference of light from the overhead light source.
Marcus Stane stood leaning on his throne with his back to Lead.
“The star has appeared over the sky,” Marcus said, his voice echoing against the metal panels of the surrounding walls.
Lead remained quiet. Any wrong word and his head would roll across the floor.
“It means The One has come into his power,” Marcus said. “He is the final piece of the machinery required for us to dominate the Levitators. We find him, we rule.”
Marcus turned, and Lead almost dashed out of his body. It took extreme discipline and sheer force of will to remain standing.
“The star shines brightly over Maine,” the Monarch continued. “Locate The One and bring him to me.”
“Yes, sir!” Lead replied.
Why send a Grunt on such a critical mission? Lead wondered, however. Why not send Raiders? Or even a Wraith?
On thinking of Raiders and Wraiths, Lead shuddered.
“Should the Woodfolks try to stop you? Lay waste to them,” the Monarch snarled. “Let no one live.”
“With pleasure, Monarch,” Lead replied with a smile.
Marcus Stane waved his hands, dismissing Lead.
Lead swirled around with perfect precision and marched out of the throne room.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
T
he next morning, Peter joined the Leaguers at the table for breakfast. He took the seat they had reserved for him, refraining from the hearty small talk around the table and doing all he could to avoid Dylan’s hardened gaze. And Delphina’s for that matter.
The atmosphere in the common room was light and cheery. Food was served, and they ate like one big family.
Oddly, Peter felt like he belonged. He felt the bond. The animosity he felt when he had first arrived was gone. Dad was right. He was loved here.
He had even earned their respect. This didn’t help Peter’s situation. He felt responsible after a fashion. He had to help them fight the Metallics. He had to help them retaliate against the Metallics. He had to be here when war finally came to their doorstep. If not for anything, at least to finish what he started.
Or, at least, he needed to help Julian set up the military. Julian could definitely benefit from Peter’s CIA training.
But then, he also had to pay the people he owed. His life depended on it.
Peter took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He would enjoy the remaining time he had with the Leaguers, no matter how short it was. And when he was done paying what he owed, he would return.
Maybe, just maybe, together with his brother, he could get vengeance for Cynthia’s death, and then his troubled heart could finally know peace.
Time passed, and the dishes were cleared by the maids. After this, a group of ten Woodfolks filed into the dining room and stood in a straight line opposite Peter’s side of the dining table.
Peter recognized Cathy, Brenda, and Melinda, the girls who wanted to test him when he first arrived. He also recognized Timothy from yesterday’s attacks. There were four other guys and two girls.
Greg leaned into Peter. “Initiates. We’re indoctrinating them today.”
“Oh,” Peter replied.
Julian stood. “Today, I will not be indoctrinating these initiates.” He glanced at Peter and said with a smile. “My brother will. Peter?”
Surprised, Peter glanced at Julian, unsure of what he had heard. Only the founding members of the Woodland League could carry out an indoctrination. When Peter left, he had forfeited that position. By allowing Peter to carry out the indoctrination, Julian was in effect reinstating him as a founding member.
Peter didn’t know whether to be nervous or excited. As he stood, Julian clapped. Greg joined. Before long, everyone in the room clapped, cheering his name.
Peter fought tears. “Thanks, Julian,” he said, bringing the cheering to an end. He heaved in a deep sigh. It was a custom that he made a speech before leading the initiates in the Oath.
What would he tell these folks in these uncertain times? Did he even have a right to…inspire, when he himself had led an uninspired life for the past five years?
How could he encourage these people when he himself lacked courage?
But isn’t that what it means to be a Leaguer, Peter? he wondered. The single most defining quality of a Leaguer is not absolute success. It is absolute grit. Leaguers weren’t people who didn’t fail. They were people who didn’t quit.
“When we started the Woodland League, I, Julian, Del, and Cynthia,” Peter started, all eyes on him, “had four pillars of thought in our minds. Firmness of mind. Invincible spirit. Unyielding courage. Fearless fortitude.
“You see, being a Leaguer isn’t just about joining an elite fighting group in all of the Woodfolk realm. It isn’t about the prestige or the authority that comes with it. It’s about these founding principles. It’s about doing whatever it takes, even if it takes your life!”
As he said those words, memories came flooding back into his mind. Cynthia shouldn’t have die
d that night. When the Metallics attacked, she should have been in the bunker underneath the Tree House along with the other teenagers.
But Cynthia was always the recklessly fearless one. She had joined the home defense force’s charge against the attacking Metallics, roping Peter, Julian, and Delphina into the raging battle.
And she had died that day.
Peter claimed to have loved his twin. But was he desecrating her memory by being a coward?
“The Woodland League is the power behind the power. When the Elders fail. When the Chief fails. When the military fails, we don’t. We proved it when we ran the Metallics stronghold in Maine out of town. And we will prove it again when we emancipate every Woodfolk community that’s under the oppressive hands of the Metallics.”
Peter paused and caught his breath. He then took his time to look from one initiate to the other. His speech had gripped them all. The fierce fire of determination burned through their eyes and the eyes of the Leaguers around the table.
“The Oath you are about to take will change your life forever,” Peter said. “I am required by law to give you this one chance to back down.”
Peter waited for a minute. Within that time he saw one by one as the initiates shored up their minds, deciding to give their time, their lives, their all for the Charter of the Woodland League, for the defense of the sovereignty of the Woodfolk tribe.
This unwavering loyalty struck a chord in him as he remembered when he himself had once taken the Oath along with his brother, sister, and Delphina before the then Chief Elder.
It seemed like a long time ago.
Peter knew the Oath by heart. It wasn’t something he could forget easily.
He led them in declaring the oath, which they declared wholeheartedly.
“I welcome you into this elite group,” Peter then said. “Henceforth, you shall no longer be known as Woodfolks or initiates but as Leaguers. Congratulations!”
“Congratulations!” everyone at the table echoed. And the celebration continued. Soon, the celebration moved outside. Peter remained in the back of the company as they made their way down the staircase to the open field.