by N Felts
You’re all heroes as far as I’m concerned. No one else was going to do a thing. Including me,” he admits, the revelation initiating a heavy sigh.
“Who is this?” Azrael asks, not recognizing his face from the training sessions.
“This, I believe, is our newest recruit,” Geist proudly proclaims, followed by a painful whimper. “Welcome to the tattoos and magic club.”
Decline
“—and that’s when he did it,” a captivating student reveals, the entire class gathered around him, and hanging on every word.
“Wait, how did he get onto his shoulders?” A skeptical member of the audience interrupts. “Have you seen Keeta? He’s crazy huge!”
“Like I said,” the irritated narrator sighs, eager to continue his recount. “By that time there were so many arrows in his back, the Sub just climbed up like a ladder.”
“Ohhh,” the skeptic nods, wide-eyed.
“Anyway, Keeta is so busy throwing Subs around, just picking them up and launching them into the woods, right—“ he continues, energetically describing the scene as Geist makes his way into the barracks with Cale alongside.
“What’s going on?” Geist can’t help but ask.
“Awww,” several members of the group moan. “C’mon! It’s the best part.”
“I’m telling them what went down in the graveyard,” the storyteller explains.
“In the graveyard?” Geist asks, turning to Cale with a puzzled expression.
“You haven’t heard?” Cale blurts out, shocked there is anyone who isn’t aware of the fall of Captain Keeta. “Aqua lives in the housing closest to the graveyard. He saw the whole thing chopping lumber with his dad last night.”
“Craziest thing I ever saw,” Aqua breathes, shaking his head.
“What happened next?” An impatient member of the crowd insists.
“Ok so Keeta is smashing and stomping on Subs left and right, but the archers in the woods are just raining arrows on his whole crew. He’s the only one still standing when a Sub climbs up the arrows on his back and stabs into his shoulder. Before Keeta can slap him off, the coward suicides,” he reveals, miming an explosion. The audience of enthralled students reels back, picturing the horrific moment in the battle. “The captain drops to a knee, and he looks like a corpse. Most of his upper half is burned to the bone, there’s just enough muscle left to hold him together. The Subs stopped attacking, but that was their mistake, because Keeta wasn’t done yet!”
“No way,” a couple students insist, not buying the absurd tale.
“I’m telling you, he killed at least a dozen more of them. His face was gone, there was only a skull. He roared like a demon, and kept thrashing them, but they finally got him when two more Subs charged in and did their suicide attack,” Aqua sighs, overwhelmed with respect and admiration. “After that, they had no choice but to retreat. My dad is at the castle right now reporting what happened. He called him Skull Keeta,” he adds with pride, turning to Geist as the story concludes. “I know you didn’t like him, but he saved a lot of lives last night.”
“Sounds like it,” Geist has to admit, still bitter about the incident at the checkpoint. The assembly continues to rant and rave about the tale when their teacher arrives uncharacteristically late. Quickly quieting down, the group files into their typical array, waiting for instruction. Geist feels immediately uneasy, his greatfather having never moved so sluggishly anywhere in his memories. After struggling to sit in his traditional meditative way, and exhaling a deep breath, the master magi addresses his class with a tired tone.
“By now you’ve all certainly heard of the Subrosian encampment nearby. It is believed they intended to move through the graveyard under the cover of night, and strike out into the residential districts,” he reports, pausing to stomach the potential outcome of such an attack. “This is a form of warfare Ikana has never seen, and regardless of Captain Keeta’s questionable tactics, we have learned not to underestimate this foe,” he pauses, struggling to keep his composure. “That having been said, I cannot begin to emphasize how important every single one of you have become for the days ahead. We haven’t seen the last of the Subrosians, and more importantly, we haven’t truly seen the first of the apparitions this conflict will breed. As some of you know, I’ve been consulting with an expert in supernatural dealings, and he has graciously agreed to instruct you in my stead,” he concludes with a sad expression.
“What?” Several members of the class mouth, looking to their peers for understanding.
“My greatfather has fallen ill,” Geist reveals, emerging from the rank and file students, and speaking beside his mentor, too proud to conduct the meeting in any way other than that in which he is accustomed. Sensing his teacher’s weakness, he cannot watch him continue to strain himself. “When the Stone Tower was opened, a curse emerged from its depths. Many of the soldiers, as well as some of your friends and family have suffered the effects. This man,” he asserts with pride, pointing to the old man seated behind him. “Charged into the darkness and held the curse at bay, and probably save more lives in the long run than even Keeta did last night.”
“Geist,” his greatfather pleads, embarrassed by such flattery.
“No! It’s true,” Geist maintains, only now questioning if he is out of line taking charge of the meeting.
“It is true,” a gruff voice agrees. Stepping into the barracks, the very man Geist saw the day of the checkpoint prank gives him a respectful nod before speaking to the ensemble. “My name is Grahn, and I will be your instructor moving forward.” Tired, yet commanding eyes rest within a weathered face, the new instructor promptly taking a sturdy, but far from imposing stance. “While I’m certain many of you find this to be an unwelcome change, unfortunately, it is very necessary. I’ve little hope of filling this man’s shoes,” he admits, glancing over to his predecessor. “But I will aptly prepare you for the trials ahead.” The room falls silent for a moment, the students struggling to come to terms with such a drastic change to their day to day routine. As Geist helps his greatfather to his feet, Grahn offers a proposition to the class. “Many of you will soon see, if you have not already, time is not a luxury we can afford any longer. The souls of the departed are not at rest, and many are angrily searching for retribution. I will begin instructing you today, however, considering the nature of this change, I will permit any number of you leave until tomorrow.”
“Need a hand?” Cale asks, looping the free arm of the proud old man between them, over his shoulder. Grahn continues to address the class as they assist the proud elder, too stubborn to allow the bulk of his weight to rest on their shoulders.
“Appreciate it,” Geist conveys as they make their way out of the barracks. Approximately half of the remaining students decide to leave as well, their hearts heavy seeing their mentor in such a state. A harsh, cold wind pierces through the area, the grey sky advertising snowfall, though it has yet to be seen. The heavy crunch of frosted grass becomes soft scraping upon cold stone as the trio reaches the shack of solitude just outside of the residential district closest to the barracks. Never willing to accept any manner of assistance from the wealth his son amassed, Geist’s greatfather has preferred a simple life of seclusion since the passing of his wife many years ago. With little effort, the pair of assistants manage to set the old man upon his bed with a sigh of relief. The unforgiving wind is kept at bay when the heavy wooden door clamors shut behind them, the end of fall all too apparent as the temperature continues to decline.
“Thank you. Both of you,” the stubborn magi expresses with a stifled cough.
“What are you doing out and about in your condition?” Geist immediately retorts.
“You would rather I sit here and wait to die?” He responds with a smile.
“I would rather you not go out looking for death,” Geist sternly replies, moving to and fro within the small space in a frustrated trance. “We’re going to see the apot
hecary to get you some more aloe. I’m sure he has something for the pain as well.”
“I am so proud of you,” he breathes after a brief silence.
“What?” Geist mumbles, preoccupied with straightening up the living space until he hears the solemn tone in his greatfather’s voice.
“The selfish, arrogant adolescent I once knew is gone, and now here you stand, a compassionate, responsible man. You’re going to survive this,” he insists, absently twirling a hand in the air. “This is not the end of our family, and it is not the end of our people. I could not honestly say this until recently, but I believe in you. I believe you are capable of leading us all out of this tragedy. I believe you can save us,” he manages to express before another coughing fit. The dark affliction beneath his robes is briefly revealed, the discolored hex spreading around his neck in its quest to blanket his entire body.
“What are you talking about?” Geist asks, his face twisted in confusion.
“Well he’s right about one thing for certain,” Cale interjects, socking him on the shoulder. “You’ve grown up in the past few months.”
“Very funny,” Geist sighs, rolling his eyes. “What is this, a—“ he pauses, too flustered to think of a witty response. Just then, three knocks sound at the door behind them. Cale finds four