by Ugo, Kachi
Peter was blinded momentarily by the harsh glare of the sun the moment he stepped out. However, when his eyes adjusted he was stunned to stupefaction by what he saw.
He stopped dead in his tracks as he tried to comprehend the scope of what he was seeing and the momentous amount of power it would have taken to accomplish this feat.
Hundreds of wooden chairs were arranged in the open field, no doubt formed by Levitation from the trees beyond the fence. The craftsmanship was so precise that Peter didn’t see wood chips or shavings littering the ground.
High up in the air, leaves and flowers were knitted into a covering shade over the chairs. How was all this possible in this resistive region? Just thinking of it made his chest itch from all the pains he’d felt Levitating here.
Before long, Peter had his answer in the form of a group of tall Woodfolks wearing white, loosely fitted dresses, moving around and Levitating more leaves and flowers into place, expanding the canopy.
Another group of white-dressed Levitators uprooted trees from beyond the fence, carved out more chairs from these trees in a swift and efficient manner, and added them to the chairs in the field.
Although they stopped to rest every few minutes, none of them seemed to be on the verge of a heart attack.
Peter realized he was watching the tour de force of Wood Levitating.
“It’s something, isn’t it?” said Julian’s voice to his side.
Peter briefed a glance at him.
“Who are they?” he asked, still puzzled. They should be bending over in pain or death from all that power usage, yet they simply carried on. How?
“WRI specialists,” Julian replied. “Very powerful bunch.”
“How is it that they can easily Levitate in this environment?”
Julian shrugged. “They found a way to build resistance to the Wood’s resistance and inertia. It’s all sketchy, they say. Frankly, I think they just don’t know how they became able to do it. And if they don’t know, they can’t teach it.”
Peter stared at this peculiar bunch with renewed admiration. Then he remembered that Elder Arman controlled California. Did he also control the WRI specialists? If Balthazar rebelled, would the WRI rebel with him? If they did, would Grey be able to conquer them?
Peter turned his attention to other things. In fact, the field was a beehive of activity. A set of people were setting up a dais and podium. Another set of people were cleaning the chairs. Others milled about. Preparation was in full gear for the Sprouting Ceremony tomorrow.
“Hey, where’s Stephanie?”
“She’s in charge of the Sprouts,” Julian replied. “Most of them arrive today from all across the country. So she’s out getting them settled in and briefing them on the Ceremony and what is expected of them.”
Brad Anthony came around the Tree House to where they stood.
“Julian,” he called. “Grey wants to see you.”
Julian followed him away.
Peter angled to the nearest WRI specialist, a fierce-looking man who was adding to the canopy and stretching it toward the Tree House. Peter tried to engage the man in a conversation, intent on discovering the secret to their power. The man refused to speak for too long. He was pleasant and promised to speak with Peter later on.
Strangely, Peter was slightly relieved to see that at least he was under a lot of strain using his power. He hadn’t loved the thought of Balthazar Arman commandeering the WRI specialists and rebelling against his father.
Delphina found him close by the fence and pulled him to the side, out of the path of the walkway.
“I wanted to apologize for Dylan’s behavior yesterday,” she said. “He found out we kissed and blew a gasket.”
But Peter wasn’t listening to her. She was so sweaty and hot. Her thin blouse stuck to her body, outlining her ravishing figure. Her eyes were intense, and it wasn’t because she was apologizing; it was because she felt the same way he did.
Her pulse was quick. Peter oddly found it arousing. He roped an arm around her waist and yanked her to his body. Instinctively, her hands gripped into his hair. Their lips met. This time it was like an explosion. They kissed like two starved animals until Delphina shoved Peter away.
“Stop doing that, Peter!” she shrieked in panic.
“That’s the thing, Del!” Peter shouted back, out of breath. “I can’t!”
Peter was frustrated. “I…I can’t stop thinking about you, Del. I don’t know. I…” His voice faltered.
Delphina harrumphed, folded her arms, and looked away, worried.
How could Peter explain the way he felt? How could he? It was so intense. So urgent. It was as if he’d been blindsided. This thing had come out of nowhere. It was the binding.
But Grey had said the binding didn’t create feelings. It only revealed them. And Grey was rarely wrong about these sorts of things.
“Del?” Peter started.
“I can’t listen to this right now,” Delphina replied and turned to go, but Peter caught her by the arm.
“I know you feel the same way, Del.”
Delphina shoved Peter away for the second time. This time he stumbled and crashed to the ground.
“It’s too late, Peter!” Delphina yelled. “You left me! I’m with Dylan now. Get used to it.” And she stomped away.
Next, an arm gripped him. Peter brazed for a punch from Dylan, but instead the arm pulled him to his feet.
It was Julian. “What was that all about?”
Peter only shrugged, watching longingly as Delphina disappeared into the Tree House.
“Dad wants to see us,” he finally said.
Peter followed Julian to the porch, where a stern-faced Grey was just coming out of the Tree House. Without a word, Grey led them back toward the fence, through the surrounding woods, out to the highway, where a three-car motorcade waited for them. They climbed into a black limousine and were on their way.
After twenty minutes of silence, they arrived at their destination: a private runway at the local airport. First, about a half dozen Woodfolks exited the cars that had come with them and fanned out, taking up positons around the cars and the private jet sitting on the runway. They were armed with their staffs and conventional weapons.
Next to the jet were a table and two chairs. Dressed in expensive suits were three men. One sat while the other two stood at his sides.
Three Woodfolks approached and searched the men. Finding no weapons, one of them signaled the limousine.
“It’s clear,” Julian said.
“Welcome, Chief Crawford,” the man sitting called out, his voice sounding muffled in the vehicle. He waved at the empty seat across from himself. “Come and sit. We have quite the discussion.”
Grey Crawford climbed out of the limousine and ambled over to the table, Julian and Peter following him.
“That there is the President of the Earthlings and his two closest and strongest allies,” Julian whispered to Peter. “They called early this morning and requested a meeting. We think they’re trying to broker peace between us and the Metallics.”
Julian’s tone suggested he detested the notion.
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Peter asked.
“They’ve never done this before,” Julian said with a sly smile. “So I guess it’s a good thing. It’s a good thing that they are finally taking us seriously.”
Grey sat down with the man. “Welcome to Maine, President Thomas Wystan,” he said in a congenial tone.
President Wystan flashed a broad smile. “It’s good to see you again, Grey,” the man said. “How long has it been? Eight years?”
“Ten actually,” Grey said. “What do you want, Tom? I have a Sprouting Ceremony preparation to get back to.”
Thomas arched his eyebrows. “Oh…? Is that soon?”
“Tomorrow,” Julian spewed.
Thomas looked up at Julian, then Peter.
“Let me guess,” Thomas said,
relaxing back in his chair. “That there is Julian, and that other one is Peter. Your sons. I haven’t seen them since they were...what? Around thirteen?”
Julian made an irritated face.
“All right, yes, right to business,” Thomas said. “We know what you did to the Metallics. You destroyed their outposts. Now, while it’s against the Accords to have outposts in each other’s states or cities, much less the capital city, you and I both know that the Metallics would do whatever the hell they want to do.
“And we have allowed them some leeway in the past. Why did you attack them now? Are you trying to start a war?”
Peter watched as Julian’s face turned several shades of red.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he exploded. “Are we trying to start a war? They fucking attacked us out of the blue, killed us in the multiplied dozens. We retaliated in kind and you’re accusing us of trying to start a war?”
Grey flashed a glare at Julian to silence him. It worked…barely. Peter noticed that Thomas wasn’t surprised by the outburst.
“If you’re here to patronize us, Tom,” Grey said in a measured tone, “you’re wasting valuable time. I know you have your facts right. Tell me, if they attacked New York City and not Maine, if they slaughtered your men, women, and children, would you sit back and say, ‘Well, boys will be boys’?”
The man standing to Thomas’s right sneered. “We’ll slit their throats, pillage their towns, and destroy their people a thousandfold!”
Thomas frowned at his colleague’s undiplomatic response but said nothing.
“So, there you have it, Tom,” Grey replied. “We only did what was in the best interest of our people.”
“Was it, Grey? Was it?”
Peter could see the veiled threat. The Metallics would view their reprisal attack as an attack on their sovereignty. They would attack again, this time with more than a handful of Metallics.
What Tom didn’t know was that his father was ready for this eventuality. They now had a military. They now had a War Commander. If war came, they’d be ready.
“You think Marcus will take this sitting down?”
Grey smiled. “No. He’s probably already plotting vengeance.”
“And this amuses you, why?”
All Grey had to do was tilt his head slightly in Julian’s direction, and Julian let it rip. “Because we’re not going to sit on our butts and let the fight come to us.”
“Are you insane, Grey?” Tom said. “You want to go to war with the Metallics? With Marcus Stane?”
“That’s the only way they’d leave us alone forever.”
“That’s against the Accords!”
“So was attacking us in our fucking home!” Julian replied with equal intensity.
Tom shot to his feet and slammed his fists into the table. “I wasn’t talking to you, boy!” he roared at Julian. He glared at Grey. “I can’t let you do this.”
Grey, calm as ever, said, “You can’t stop this, Tom. I’m sorry. Join us. Otherwise, stay the hell out of our way. We will fight you too if we have to.”
Thomas settled back down in his chair and took a deep breath. He was silent for a moment.
“Let’s look for a diplomatic solution, Grey,” Tom said. “Let’s try peace.”
“We already tried that,” Julian replied, “it didn’t work.”
Thomas sighed, rolling his eyes. “Grey?”
“What do you suggest, Tom?”
“Let me talk to Marcus,” Tom said.
“What good will that do our dead peo—”
Grey silenced Julian with a raised hand. “Let the man speak.”
“If I can get him to not attack, will you stand down on this obviously foolish plan of yours?”
“Only on one condition.”
Julian jerked his head down at his father in surprise. He opened his mouth to speak, then paused. Grey’s hand was still raised.
“What condition?”
“Let him issue an apology for his attack on us and send it to me and all our clan Elders.”
Thomas rolled his eyes. “Marcus might not agree to that.”
“Then he’ll have a war on his hands.”
Grey stood and started to leave.
“All right!” Tom stood and signaled his men to return to the plane and get ready for departure. The men obeyed.
Tom clasped Grey’s right shoulder as if they were old friends.
“You’re swimming in deep waters, old friend,” Tom said. “Don’t count on the Earthlings’ help when this all goes sideways.”
“How about your help?” asked Grey.
Thomas only shook his head in pity. “I’m flying straight to Minnesota. Stay put until you hear from me concerning Marcus’s response. Farewell, Grey. Clarisse sends her regards.”
Grey clasped Tom’s shoulder, too, and for a brief moment they stared at each other in the eyes. This time, it seemed like they were old-time war comrades
“Give Clarisse my love, Tom.”
Thomas nodded. He gently detached himself from Grey and returned to the plane. Grey and the men around put enough distance between themselves and the plane as the plane taxied to the end of the runway and took off into the late afternoon sun.
“Who’s Clarisse, Dad?” Peter asked.
“And why do I get the feeling you and the President of the Earthlings are best buddies?” Julian added.
Grey, still looking up at the continually shrinking plane, replied, “That’s because we were…a long time ago.”
Grey looked down at Peter and Julian. “And Clarisse is his wife.”
Once the plane was beyond the horizon, they climbed into the car and began their journey back to the Tree House.
“Dad? Are we going to hold off on forming the military while President Wystan brokers for peace?” asked Peter, surprising himself and Grey with the anger in his voice. “And if Marcus agrees to the terms, will that mean the military will not be constituted?”
Grey started to say something, but Julian jumped in.
“He’s not going to stop, Dad,” Julian said. “He might not attack now. But he certainly will. Sooner or later, he will attack.”
“Calm down, boys,” Grey said. “No one said anything about not constituting the military. Go right ahead. It’ll take you some time to get everyone together and battle-ready anyway. Let’s see what Tom can do in that time.”
“If he fails?” asked Julian.
“We’ll go to war.”
After a brief silence, Peter asked the next obvious question. “And what if he succeeds?”
“Then we’ll have to stand down.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
T
hey drove back to the Tree House in silence.
The first sign of trouble Peter saw was the gray nondescript crossover utility vehicle parked by the pathway adjacent to the highway. It was surrounded by a group of five guards who all had their staffs pointed at the car, ready to strike.
Further inland, just beside the outpost building, was a standoff between the guards and a red robed figure.
“What’s going on?” Julian quizzed as the driver parked a few yards away from the CUV.
“Stay here, Dad,” Julian said. “Peter and I will go see what’s happening.”
Peter was the first one out. Julian followed, along with the Woodfolks who had accompanied them to the airport.
About fifteen Woodfolks had the figure surrounded, with another fifteen or so hanging around. The crouching figure’s features were hidden by the thick folds of its red robes and the hood that covered its head.
However, from the black curls of its bangs, he assumed it was a woman. A very powerful woman, for Peter could sense the strong pulse of Wood power she emitted.
The woman seemed to notice their presence as she slowly rose to her feet, turning to face them.
Peter was mildly surprised to see that she was a teenager. She stared calmly
at Peter and Julian as they approached, and the Woodfolks allowed them entry into the wide berth they had given her.
“What’s going on?” Julian barked.
“She’s some sort of powerful Woodfolk,” replied Sanders, their head of security operations.
“Why is she being surrounded?” Julian asked. “The Tree House is open to all Woodfolks.”
“Sir, she refused to tell us who she is and why she is here,” Sanders replied. “She also refused us entry into her vehicle. There’s also a kid in there.”
“A kid?” Julian asked.
Peter looked over his shoulder, back at the CUV. True enough, a younger lady stared out at them.
Peter returned his attention to the red-robed girl.
“We thought she might be a spy or an assassin sent to murder the Chief,” Sanders continued, “so we had to stop her.”
“So why isn’t she in cuffs or something?” Julian asked.
“Because every time we try to bring her in, she fights us,” Sanders replied.
Julian frowned. “All of you?”
“She says she wants to see the Chief,” Sanders said, “She keeps saying that.”
Peter noticed that Sanders had skillfully avoided Julian’s last question. Could she have had the power to keep thirty-something Woodfolks at bay?
Peter took a step forward toward the girl. She reacted, flaring her power.
“Careful, Peter!” Sanders said, slight fear in his voice. “She has some sort of…”
“What?” Julian asked.
Peter could sense it. The folds of power. Invisible force fields of pure energy surrounding her, probably defending her from attack.
Peter had experienced something like this when he’d gone up against the Metallics at the beachfront. Then he hadn’t thought much of the occurrence. Now he wondered.
“…some sort of protective field,” Sanders was saying. “I don’t know how she does it.”
The girl’s vigilant eyes roamed the faces around her, seeking anyone who attempted to move against her.
“WRI specialists?” Julian asked.
Sanders sneered. “They claimed they don’t interfere in inter-clan feuds, except by the instruction of the Chief Elder or the newly minted War Commander.”