The Forsaken Call

by Jamie Murray

  "Who are the Resurrected Spirits?" Jameson said. "Help point me to them."

  "You have all the information you will ever need to find your Spirits," the Ancient said in a jovial tone. "Their names are tucked deep into your memory. It will not be difficult to simply fish them out."

  "But—" Jameson began, but the Ancient One reached his hand out and placed it on the orb.

  "Time is running out," he said.

  "I'm dying," Baloric commented, sounding surprisingly calm as he looked past Lorne's hand to watch himself in the orb.

  "Now?" Jameson questioned.

  Baloric nodded.

  "How do we get back?" Jameson asked the Ancient One.

  "The flower," Lorne replied. "You still have it, don't you?"

  Jameson paused a few seconds, momentarily forgetting where he had put it. He did not recall putting it in his pocket but, of course, there were a lot of things he didn't recall these days. Sure enough, he was at the bottom of his pocket with the remaining five stones in it as well.

  Baloric stood up and Jameson followed suit, holding the crystal flower in front of himself for Baloric to see. The Ancient One remained on the floor and looked up at them with his milky eyes. "We will meet again," he said simply. "Good luck."

  "Hold on," Jameson told Baloric.

  Baloric put his hand on top of Jameson's, covering the crystal flower with his palm. "Jameson," he said quietly and somewhat weakly.

  "What is it?" Jameson asked.

  "I likely won't remember any of this," he said.

  "Maybe I won't either," Jameson pointed out.

  "One of us has to remember, for at least Cyrus's sake," Baloric said. "It's been a difficult ten years for him believing he ruined all our destinies."

  "I know," Jameson agreed.

  "I've been especially hard on him. I have to make it back, at least to just apologize to him."

  "You'll make it back," Jameson assured him.

  "I know you'll remember."

  "It'd be nice to remember something once and a while."

  Baloric closed his eyes and, because he did not know what he was doing, Jameson decided to do the same thing. Almost as soon as he did, he felt weak at the knees. He could feel Baloric's hand slip off of his, and then he began to tumble.

  First, he did not fall on anything. He felt suspended in the air, but he could not open his eyes to look at where he was. His arms and legs would not move and his voice would not listen to him when he told it to speak. It was as though he was bound tightly and blindfolded, and his frustration was building. Still, through it all, his mind remained clear and even sharpened while he hung there in space.

  All at once, he gained his senses back. His eyes sprung open and he was staring at the ceiling of the lavish room in the Angel's territory, the faces of his friends looking down at him.

  39. Part3: MANIPULATION: Relief is Simply

  PART 3: Manipulation

  Chapter 39

  "Jameson, you're awake!" Louisa cried, putting her hands on his cheeks and pinching them. "I could kiss you!"

  "You don't have to," Jameson said as he tried to sit up, but several sets of hands prevented him from doing so.

  "Don't move," Luke instructed. "You've been a weird unconscious like that for a couple of hours now."

  "I'm all right, I feel fine," Jameson said, wrenching himself from them. And, to tell the truth, he really did feel fine. If anything, he was feeling particularly well rested, as if he had just taken a powernap and was ready for the day. His main concern was not himself but, instead, the one he had brought along.

  "Baloric?" There was a calmer voice next to him, and he circled the bed to where Johanna was seated. She was right up against the bed, looking straight into Baloric's face. Jameson leaned over her and put his hand on Baloric's forehead; he felt warm, which Jameson supposed was better than feeling cold.

  "He hasn't improved at all," Erestina said passively. "Focus on your own health, Jameson."

  Before she was finished speaking, Baloric let out a low and faint groan. "Get some water," Jameson instructed no one in particular. He could see Baloric's eyelashes begin to flicker slightly. Johanna hopefully gripped Baloric's hand, and his face twitched as Jameson pulled away from him.

  Finally, Baloric's eyes half opened. Everyone gasped and cheered all at once, which proved to be quite too much for Baloric to have to listen to upon just waking up because he turned his head to the side and groaned again.

  "Who has that water?" Jameson said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and lifting Baloric's head up off the surface. Erestina handed over a small cup and Jameson took it, forcing it to Baloric's lip and feeding it to him perhaps too adamantly. At first, he didn't seem to accept the idea that there were people around him watching as he drank some water with great difficulty, but it became apparent to even him that his health was in danger if he didn't get hydrated. He finished the cup in a few quick gulps and almost choked it back up as Jameson allowed him to lay flat again.

  He blinked heavily and looked up at all the faces leaning over him. He raised one hand and dropped it on his forehead, rubbing it down his cheek and then coming to rest on his neck. "What happened?" he mumbled.

  "Oh, who cares?" Johanna exclaimed. "You're back!"

  She nearly jumped on top of him out of sheer joy for his consciousness, which he didn't find too comfortable at first. Jameson backed away from the commotion and leaned up against the back wall as everyone talked to him at once. At first, he wasn't sure what Johanna had meant by her most recent statement of, "You're back!" He realized that he had been somewhere, and initially wasn't certain of where that 'somewhere' was. All he knew was that he had been in that place with Baloric.

  "Jameson?"

  Jameson was surprised to hear his name so close to him and nearly jumped when he discovered Luke right there.

  "Oh, sorry," Jameson said, a little embarrassed at his reaction.

  "You sure you're all right?" Luke said. "I mean… you all there?"

  "Yeah," Jameson said. "What happened back there?"

  "At the maze?" Luke clarified, and Jameson nodded. "You passed out after you unwrapped the little flower. We didn't know what to do, but we thought it would be best to bring you back here."

  "And that was a few hours ago?"

  "Yeah."

  "What about the kid? Is he okay?"

  "He woke up when we were almost back here. He was a little sick, but he was able to walk. He left as soon as we got here, though, so I haven't seen him. I think he's going to be fine."

  "And so is Baloric," Jameson said with a sigh of relief.

  "Things are working out," Luke agreed with a nod.

  "It seems that way," Jameson said. "Now you can ask Baloric about your destiny."

  "I think I'll wait until he can at least sit up on his own before I start bombarding him with questions," Luke said with a laugh.

  Jameson didn't hear Luke's response, however, because the word "destiny" had sparked something significant in him. His memories rushed back to him. He remembered the bright white, and witnessing the event under Market City which occurred ten years ago. Most importantly, he remembered his conversation with the Ancient One about the Prophecy and the Spirits.

  "You okay?" He zoned back in to hear Luke once again questioning his condition.

  "I'm okay," Jameson said with a nod.

  He was shaken up, though, as if the weight of what Lorne had told him was finally beginning to wear on him. It had been his decision to leave for ten years, Walden was not the Protector and, most importantly he realized, Cyrus really was.

  "Cyrus," he said automatically in a voice which had been louder than he intended.

  Cyrus turned around, surprised, then quickly walked over to him. "Is something wrong, Jameson?"

  "Can I talk to you in private?" Jameson asked.

  "Of course," Cyrus said. "Now?"

  "Right now."

  "Yes. Of course."

  He gestured for Jameson
to lead the way so Jameson went right towards the door. The others curiously watched them go, confusedly noting their departure but then remembering Baloric was back with them, which was enough of a distraction to not follow after them.

  They went out into the hallway, and Jameson kept walking. He wanted to be far enough away so that if anyone happed to be listening, they wouldn't be able to overhear them. Cyrus obediently followed at first, but then started to become apprehensive about Jameson's sudden turn for secrecy, and decided to plant his feet. When Jameson noticed Cyrus was not following anymore, he stopped and turned around.

  "What do you want to speak to me about?" Cyrus asked directly.

  "The Fighter," Jameson said.

  Cyrus immediately put his hand on the sword at his waist. Although the sword itself was not the actual Fighter, it had belonged to Walden and, over the years, Cyrus had come to acknowledge it as interchangeable with the Ultimate Power.

  "What about it?" he asked.

  "It's you," Jameson said.

  "What's me?"

  "It was always you."

  "What was always me? What are you talking about?"

  "You were the armed swordsman from the Prophecy. It was never Walden. All along, it was supposed to be you who took the Fighter and no one else."

  Cyrus understood the words Jameson was saying, but it was clear he wasn't processing them. Instead, he only stood there, unmoving, waiting for further elaboration.

  "It wasn't an accident that the Fighter rejected Walden when he touched the pillar ten years ago under Market City," Jameson explained. "He wasn't supposed to have it. The only reason you were able to absorb it was because you arethe Protector. You have to see that. You have to have felt it."

  "Of course I felt it," Cyrus said immediately, which surprised Jameson. "But how could I say something like that?"

  "You knew?" Jameson inferred.

  "I didn't know," Cyrus said, shaking his head. "But I certainly felt something. When I touched the pillar, the power surged into my veins and gave me the Fighter. And it felt right. But really, Jameson, how could I say something like that?"

  "Why not?" Jameson questioned.

  "You weren't there, Jameson," Cyrus reminded him. "What would you say to a nine-year-old boy who has a habit of stretching the truth, saying it was right that he absorbed the Fighter instead of the hero who has just been killed? All the while, the nations are falling apart and we can't even return to Ailyth. There was just no time for me to say it and, once there was time, no one wanted to hear it. The whole topic became something we swept under the rug. It was silent resentment as the years progressed, and the guilt of the truth made me ache all over every day. That's why I left. I left because of a hunch that maybe…maybe I really was supposed to have it all along. I thought maybe… I was the Protector."

  "There's no doubt about it now," Jameson said. "I spoke with the Ancient myself and Baloric was there."

  "Baloric was there?"

  "And he said there was a chance he wasn't going to remember hearing it from the Ancient and he wanted to make sure I remembered it. I know what I'm saying isn't making a lot of sense, but just listen."

  "It makes a startling amount of sense, as it would happen," Cyrus said, pointing his eyes to the floor.

  "Baloric told me specifically to remember," Jameson continued. "He said one of us had to remember for your sake because he knows he was particularly hard on you. He said he wanted to apologize. I don't know if that means anything to you coming from me, but I don't know yet if he remembers, and I want to relieve you of any burden you've been carrying for the past ten years as far as this Prophecy's concerned."

  "The relief is simply that," Cyrus said. "But…"

  "But what?"

  "But…it is nice to have confirmation. It's true. It's really true?"

  "Yeah. It's true."

  "I was so young. I was only nine."

  "We were all young," Jameson pointed out. "It's complicated. But, in short, the ones who were supposed to be in the Prophecy were all our fathers. My father was murdered one year earlier to when it started, though, so destiny skipped that generation and gave it to me. The skip didn't just apply to me; it applied to everyone else."

  "It was supposed to be my father, I suppose," Cyrus said. "It's good it skipped. My father was a useless drunk. He would have done no good protecting."

  "I just wanted to let you know this before I told everyone else," Jameson said.

  "Everyone else?" Cyrus repeated. "No, don't tell anyone else."

  "Why?" Jameson questioned.

  "For the same reason I haven't told them all these years," Cyrus said. "How do you think they would react? How do you think Louisa would react? She already blames herself for Walden's death, what do you suppose she'd do if she found out Walden was never even supposed to be there?"

  "But…they'll all go on thinking you messed everything up."

  "That's fine," Cyrus said reassuringly. "I don't care what the others are thinking. I know the truth and, with any luck, you may have gained some faith in me as a result of these truths."

  Cyrus did not continue any further and Jameson realized he was waiting for confirmation. "Cyrus, I already depended on you before I found out you were the Protector. You had to have known that."

  "But never as you grew to depend on Walden," Cyrus said.

  Jameson was about to shake Cyrus and tell him to stop comparing himself to Walden, but Cyrus looked past him and stood up a little straighter. When Jameson turned around, he saw William standing a few paces away from them. His dark face was pale and he was certainly tighter in his posture.

  "The Angel wishes to see the both of you," he said.

  "Are you all right?" Jameson asked. "You breathed in some of that poison."

  "This way," William said, ignoring Jameson's question and indicating he wished to be followed.

  Even though Cyrus had previously been very unenthusiastic about visiting the Angel, suddenly he seemed more interested in following William than continuing the conversation with Jameson. Still confused, Jameson went with William as well, wondering how his recent talk with Cyrus was going to eventually be wrapped up. He wanted to think of some way to make Cyrus feel less insufficient in comparison to Walden, but presently, nothing came to mind.

  In the end, Cyrus was half right; even though they had only known each other for a short period of time, Jameson quickly grew attached to Walden and really liked being able to depend on him. He was content with viewing Walden as a father figure the more they got to know each other, but Cyrus was several years younger than him so he didn't see that kind of relationship panning out. He knew the reason for making new friends was not to replace old ones, so it was unfair to go one trying to fit Cyrus into the void Walden had left behind. It was unfair to Cyrus, and it was unfair to Walden.

  "Try not to offend her," William said, opening the door for them and allowing them to pass through into the Angel's throne room.

  Jameson stepped in a few paces behind Cyrus as the door closed and immediately knew there was something off. The plant life which usually lined the walls was brown and dead, while a thin layer of dust coated the floor. He prodded at the dust with his foot and realized that it was actually ash; the kind of ash the Forces left behind when they were defeated.

  The Angel looked as relaxed as ever, though Roth did appear on edge. As they entered, he stood up and stepped behind his throne as if this action had been previously orchestrated.

  "What happened here?" Jameson asked, referring to the ash.

  "You don't have to worry yourself with that," the Angel answered. "You need your rest to recover from the chaos you just endured."

  The Angel put her hand on her neckline to reveal she was wearing the crystal flower, so Cyrus quickly told Jameson that they were forced to give it to her when they returned to her complex.

  Cyrus's explanation appeared to delight the Angel. "Come and sit by me," she instructed, gesturing grandly towards the empty seat. Cyr
us didn't seem prepared to entertain her, however, and did not even dignify her request with an answer, which only caused her to furrow her eyebrows. "It is not wise to deny me."

  "Cyrus," Jameson said as a word of support as Cyrus looked at him over his shoulder. "Just stay on your guard."

  Still reluctant, Cyrus nodded and began to slowly walk towards the Angel who still sat on her throne, her frown morphing into a smile. Jameson advanced as well, keeping his distance, but also staying close just in case Roth decided he was jealous. Cyrus stood next to the throne and waited, perhaps hopeful that it would be enough to satisfy the Angel. She only kept her eyes on him, unwilling to continue the conversation until he took a seat.