The Guardian Lineage

by Seth Z. Herman

  Mike watched the chimaera go. The rain was so thick that it obscured his vision, and before long the chimaera was gone.

  “Do you know how to break this thing?” Mike removed the necklace and handed it to Stockton.

  “Nothing magical about it.” Stockton took the amp by the strap and slammed it against a rock. The opal burst into a million pieces.

  Immediately Sepulchra collapsed, as if she had been hit over the head with a club. Mike and Stockton ran to her side, each kneeling beside her. Mom lifted her head slowly. She wiped the dripping hair out of her eyes.

  “Where am I?” She looked concussed, as if she didn’t remember what had happened for the past month.

  “Outside Chateau de Vincennes,” Stockton said. “It’s a long story, we’ll tell it inside.”

  All of a sudden, Mike jumped up and grabbed the Magus by the shoulder. “Steph – you have to help her!”

  Stockton’s eyes went alert, as if he had also just remembered. “Take care of your mother,” he said, and ran back into the Greeting Hall.

  Mike threw his mom’s arm over his shoulder. They moved slowly, gradually, until they worked their way inside, out of the rain. When they got inside, Stockton was kneeling next to Steph, eyes closed, his mouth muttering spells.

  “I have to go help the others,” Mike said as he rested his mom on one of the staircases. She nodded at him, a tired smile spread across her mouth.

  Mike tore into the Dining Hall, ready for a fight. Instead, he found Slayers and Guardians standing around, helping the wounded, tending to the injured. Shocked at the utter reversal of events, Mike found the nearest Guardian and asked, “What happened?”

  “Everybody split,” the boy answered, who was at least half a foot shorter than Mike. “Out of nowhere, the Brethren all stopped fighting, holding their heads, like they’d all been hit with lightning or something. Then everybody turned and ran.”

  Mike said, “You didn’t follow them?”

  The boy raised an eyebrow. “I think most of us were kind of happy just to be alive.”

  And the kid was right. Wasn’t that the bottom line in any war? Surveying the landscape, Mike had to think it was. There were tons of bodies lying on the floor. Some were dressed in black robes, some in Guardian leather. But most of the dead appeared to be Slayers, or at least incapacitated Vampires. Mike noticed some of the Slayers walking amongst the bodies, staking a few of them in the heart even though their heads had been decapitated. And of course the ashes; they were everywhere, littering the room as if a dump truck had emptied its contents in front of a snow blower.

  Mike breathed a huge sigh of relief as he spotted Laura tending to one of the injured Slayers. He stood there, his gaze fixed on her, until she looked up. Their eyes met, and Mike found himself running over to her. He wrapped her in an emotional embrace. Then she grabbed his face in her hands, pulled him close, and kissed him.

  Hard.

  “Um…” Mike stuttered after she pulled away. “What about the no-kissing-in-public thing?”

  Laura smiled, her cheeks flushed a little. “I guess I got a little carried away.”

  Mike felt the heat rising in his ears. He stared into her eyes. Blue, weary. And gorgeous.

  “I owe you for your help back there,” Mike said, dropping his arms so that he could hold her hand in his. “I know what you were thinking.”

  “That Dementae would kill me on the spot? I’ll admit, it crossed my mind.”

  Mike tugged at his sopping clothes. “How did you guys end up here, anyway?”

  “We pegged Cassandra as the Brethren spy. When she left abruptly, her tail followed her to the airport. We assembled the team and headed out.” Laura rubbed her eyes. “Haven’t slept in forever.”

  “You guys are going to need a new leader. You up for the job?”

  “I dunno.” Laura turned away, a sudden look about her. “Listen. I’m going to go check on the others, to see if I can help. Can we… talk later?”

  “I’d like that.”

  Laura left her hand in Mike’s for an extra moment. She tickled his palm with her thumb, then smiled as she left.

  Only after Stockton called “Prior!” did Mike realize he was staring straight ahead, an enormous grin on his face.

  “Coming, Magus!” Mike hurried over to his professor, who was resting against one of the wooden doors. It looked like he’d aged a week.

  “She’ll survive.”

  At first Mike didn’t know who he was talking about. Then he realized. Steph. A warmth washed over him. He ran into the makeshift laboratory, where Steph was sitting up, holding her left arm, being treated by one of the Guardian healers. As they made eye contact, Steph smiled weakly at him.

  “I guess we made it,” Mike said as he crouched down.

  “I guess we did,” She was alarmingly pale, but at least she was alive.

  “Stockton took out the Aneksham?”

  Steph only nodded.

  “You know, when Dementae hit you with that green energy…”

  Steph grimaced as the healer did something to her stomach, near where the Ankesham had taken root. “I know. I think Stockton blocked it somewhat. I don’t know how, but I think he redirected the attack before it hit me.”

  Mike smiled. “The guy fights pretty good, huh.”

  “So do you.”

  Mike blushed.

  Then Steph reached out with her uninjured arm and softly grabbed the back of his neck. She pulled him close to him, and kissed him.

  “Thank you. For putting up with me.”

  Mike, again, had a crazy sense of déjà vu. In a good way.

  “Um, anytime?”

  Steph laughed, and for the first time, Mike realized how conflicted he felt about her. He realized he had tried to lock Laura out of his mind since the mission to Central Park – it was too painful for him to think about her, after all – and as such, he had slowly, over the past week, opened himself up to new possibilities. Not that he was running after Steph, but Mike realized for the first time that he really liked her. More than just a little.

  Except now, Laura was back in the picture.

  Sort of, maybe, possibly.

  Hopefully?

  If the whole animosity between Guardians and Slayers lessened, and if he could go see her, and if he could get her an Amp, or maybe they would start allowing cellphone service at Windham… maybe Mike could borrow a car once in a while…

  But then, on the other hand, there was Steph, who was at Windham full time, who he could see literally every day, and she could relate to everything he’d been going through…

  Ugh, Mike thought. This is going to drive me nuts. He’d have to think about what he really wanted, but for now, all he knew was that he didn’t want the headache of a two-faced relationship, especially after the past few days of insanity.

  He stayed with Steph for another minute, then headed back into the Dining Hall, looking for Julius Brutus, and to a lesser extent, Annabella. He spied the two of them talking in a corner, along with several other Guardians, and breathed a huge sigh of relief.

  Then Mike saw several creatures swoop into the Dining Room. It was a total of seven Gargoyles, led by Jakkus, Groundhog, Yaris, and Nukes. They had signs of battle about them – open wounds, slashed clothing, broken swords. But they looked proud, upright, weary. Jakkus landed near Stockton.

  “Magus! It is good to stretch my wings again, and it is even better to see you. Where is the Headmage?”

  Mike clapped a hand on his forehead. He had totally forgot about Garzan!

  “Does anyone have an Amp?” he called out, looking around.

  After a minute, Professor Punn came running up, her thin hands clutching a bunch of opal necklaces. “I found them in one of the rooms upstairs,” she explained, taking one for herself, giving one to Stockton and one to Mike.

  Fumbling with his Amp, Mike corralled it between his fingers and searched out in his mind for Alexis. Professor Punn distributed the Amps to the other t
eachers, while the remaining Guardians watched him with eager looks on their faces.

  Alexis? Come on, if you’re alive, answer me…

  But Mike heard nothing.

  Alexis? You there? How’s Garzan?

  Silence.

  “I can’t get Alexis on any frequency.”

  Stockton said, “Alexis? Alexis Jackson? Why are you contacting her, is she hurt?”

  Annabella came up to the Magus, a grim look on her face. “Garzan had an Aneksham. We left him with Alexis, but we couldn’t contact her after the vampire raid on Windham.”

  Stockton was slow to respond, as if he couldn’t process the information. “Garzan… an Aneksham? But that’s impossible…”

  Mike blocked out the conversation, trying to focus on Alexis. Maybe he had forgotten what she looked like… or maybe because he didn’t know where she was, he couldn’t reach her… the obvious possibility occurred to him, but he didn’t want to think about that... not just yet…

  Annabella shook her head. “We found him after we got back from Blackrock Castle. He was in his office. Mike’s mom diagnosed him.”

  Stockton shivered, his face visibly pale. “But he knew the counterspell… he would’ve blocked it before it entered his body…”

  Mike?

  Mike said, “Quiet, all of you!” Alexis?

  Oh, Mike, thank heavens! Where is everybody, is everyone okay?

  Yeah, we’re fine, long story – where are you? Are you hurt?

  There was a pause on Alexis’s side. I hid in the basement, in the portal room. Is there anyone still in the Manor?

  I don’t know, I’m not there right now. How’s Garzan doing?

  Alexis didn’t respond.

  Alexis?

  There was still no answer. Mike felt his skin prickle as the seconds ticked by…

  Alexis, are you okay? How’s Garzan doing?

  Then Mike heard the faintest of sounds. Almost a soft, sniffling noise…

  Mike, it was so strong… I couldn’t…

  The color drained from Mike’s face. Stockton must’ve noticed it, too, because his eyes went wide.

  Alexis, I need you to tell me – how is the Headmage?

  A pause, then a sniffle. And a long blow into a Kleenex.

  The Headmage… he’s dead, Mike.

  Chapter Forty Four

  The funeral took place two days later, at night, so the Gargoyles could come. Mike couldn’t think of anything to wear but his Guardian uniform, which had still been in his room when he got back.

  There was a full moon tonight, and a strong summer breeze. Yet it was a chilling sight, something Mike thought he’d never have to see. Fifty seven lacquer coffins lay in three rows, each marked with the Skyfire insignia. A podium was set up to the left. Seats were spread out across the grass just off the winding dirt road, mostly white folding chairs, with some larger ones for the Gargoyles to sit.

  Mike knew that many of the coffins lay empty. Dementae had apparently fed tens of Guardian prisoners to his demonic chimaera, and several Gargoyles as well. The only thing keeping Mike from breaking down entirely was the knowledge that far away in New York City, the Slayers were having their own procession for a far greater number. Which wasn’t really comforting at all, really, but somehow it imbued him with a need to stay strong.

  He sat in the second row, amongst the remaining warriors of the Skyfire clan. Behind him were parents and families, no doubt of those who were about to be eulogized, but also of those who were still alive, as if they wanted to stay close to shield their children from further harm. The thought occurred to Mike that this was the first gathering of the entire Skyfire family in quite some time. And for what? Not for a celebration of the clan history, or a dedication of some sort. No, this was far more terrible – a tribute to those who died because of the evil of others. Because of Evan Morningstar. Because of Dementae.

  But not only Dementae. Mike felt an unbridled anger towards the other Guardian clans. If they had put away their hatred years ago, if they had buried their unfounded bias towards the Skyfire clan, if they had helped… all of this could’ve been averted.

  Each of the remaining Guardians was given a member of the clan to speak about. Mike received a six by twelve index card, with a name that read “Joseph Abner” and a picture of a skinny, freckled, red-haired boy who would never see his parents again. Below it were details about his life – his hobbies, his personality, and how he died. Joseph had apparently been killed by Dementae himself after refusing to go quietly to meet Chimmy. Fighting back tears, Mike noticed on the card that he was slotted sixth to speak.

  He dazed through the first five speeches. Not out of disrespect, but because his feelings of sorrow were too deep for Mike to allow them to surface. No, an emotional outburst of that magnitude would only further demonstrate his wimpy—oh, who was he kidding, anyway? Was it manly not to cry at a funeral? What strength was there in holding back real, heartfelt emotion? And with that thought, in the middle of Alexis’s speech about Kiva, Mike the Guardian buried his head in his arm and broke down into tears.

  Why had he been one of the lucky ones? Who decided who should survive, and who would die? Was it arbitrary, or was there somehow a greater plan behind it all? The latter was certainly more comforting, but right now Mike didn’t care to contemplate it at the moment. All he wanted to do was pour out his emotion, as if he was a sponge that held too much liquid inside, so he would be able to do this kid Joseph some respect by not fumbling around with his speech.

  As Alexis finished, Mike felt the tears drying up. He had wept for a good while. He felt drained, tired, sad… but he owed it to Joseph to put on a face and speak clearly.

  Mike rose to the podium. Oil-soaked torches flickered off the faces of those who had gathered. He looked across the expanse to see humans and Gargoyles alike, looking up at him. Anguished cries broke out sporadically amongst the crowd. Mike placed the index card on the podium and looked straight down at it, hoping to avoid eye contact with anyone that might trigger a teary fountain.

  “I’m here to talk about Joseph Abner,” he said steadily. A cry broke out from the left corner of the lawn, no doubt from members of Joseph’s family. Mike did not look up. With wind blowing in his face, he made himself focus on the index card.

  “Joseph was seventeen years old, a boy whose passion for magic was surpassed only by his love of his family and the Boston Celtics.” A soft, heartfelt chuckle went up from the crowd, only to be replaced with a long cry from a woman, most likely Joseph’s mother.

  Mike kept his head down. He read straight from the card. “He wrote his family a postcard every single day, flooding Jane’s office with so much mail that she fashioned him with the nickname ‘Rainman.’ The moniker stuck. The Rainman scored well on all his first year magical tests, and was certainly poised to do more of the same before his life was cut tragically short.”

  Here Mike paused, the tears surfacing on his eyes. The hair on the back of his neck stood up from the wind. He looked up at the Guardian family situation on the lawn. His Guardian family. His mother sat with the Windham staff, eyes red and a proud look on her face. Stockton, a sure bet to replace Garzan, nevertheless an emotional train wreck. Annabella, who undoubtedly had drawn Zachariah for her speech. Steph, who would be speaking about her father. And for so many others, not even the prospects of a decent burial, amongst their clan, their people…

  Sucking in wind, Mike forced himself to wrap up his speech in proper fashion. He concluded with a prayer that Joseph should be amongst his friends, wherever he was, and that he should be happy there. Mike strode off the podium and unconsciously walked over to his mom, where he buried his face in her shoulder and cried for a long time.

  ***

  The funeral took three hours, which Mike thought wasn’t nearly enough time to properly honor the dead. Annabella spoke tearfully of Zachariah. Both Steph and Stockton spoke about Garzan. Mike could see the sadness in Steph’s eyes. She apparently had barely gotten a
chance to know him, after spending much of her life shuffling between Windham and Slayerland. Which was probably the most tragic part.

  After Stockton’s speech Jakkus spoke about all the Gargoyles, using both English and a language Mike didn’t understand. Then the Gargoyles rose and circled the coffins, kneeling in prayer and speaking tributes and praises to those who had sacrificed themselves.

  After the vigil, the caskets were physically lifted by the Guardians and brought over to the cavities in the ground. It seemed fitting to do manual labor for the burials instead of using magic as a shortcut. Mike got an empty coffin, or so it seemed, sharing the load with Julius Brutus, who apparently was stronger than he looked.

  Mike trudged across the grass. Somewhere there was music playing, a somber tribute to the deceased. Mike thought it to be proper. It was as if the tune was there to remind them that not every story had a happy ending, that those types of endings were reserved for fairy tales, video games, and made-for-TV movies.

  There was no talking throughout the entire burial process, nor any animal noise of any type. It was as if time stood still. Just the sound of crying in the background, and shovels hitting dirt in the foreground. Sweat trickled down Mike’s forehead as he shoved the metal into the earth. Then tears, silent ones, joined them in wetting Mike’s face. For some reason, he thought it appropriate not to wipe them away.

  When the burials concluded, Mike stood with his mom and wrapped her in a silent embrace. He stared out at the three rows of nineteen, a total of fifty seven headstones set against a forest backdrop. The realization that he was mortal hit Mike like an attack from Garzan, who he would never see again. Amidst all the sadness, the thought occurred to Mike that when the day came that he too would be laid to rest, he would love nothing more than to be buried amongst his friends, his brothers.

  Amongst his Guardian family.

  Epilogue

  A month later, Mike sat on a sofa in the library, twirling a small telegram between his fingers. He was staring at a brutal textbook on microbiology – or whatever the fancy name for pond scum was – but he wasn’t actually reading. The clock read ten minutes to midnight, and the only thing on Mike’s mind was the message on the small piece of paper in his hand.