by Jared Stone
“Well, Mr. Aarden, I was immediately identified by the specialists at the camp as one who possessed a particular aptitude for the generation of spiritual energy. As such, I was separated from my parents, whom I would not see again, and placed into an underground testing facility. For almost three years thereafter, my captors… tested my abilities. Tested the extent of my powers… and my spirit.”
The professor then grew silent. He looked off to the side absently, as if his mind had somehow been transported back to that dark and terrifying place. Lucian, in an effort to cast his professor a lifeline back to the present moment, asked, “So, did you… escape?”
“No. Not exactly,” Schuntz responded, snapping back suddenly to once again narrate for the boy. “In 1944, before the arrival of the Soviets, a special operations unit infiltrated the medical ward of the camp and extracted several test subjects, myself included. I would discover later that there were certain individuals who wished to ensure that such knowledge of the arcane would not fall into the hands of the Nazis. Argus was one of the soldiers in that unit. After the war was over and my parents were never found, Argus took me in and let me live with him.”
Lucian suddenly found himself smiling. He could immediately envision Gus’ caring, good-hearted nature, and he was in no way surprised by the Kílán’s generous adoption of an orphaned child. He instinctively reached up and held onto Gus’ crystal pendant that hung around his neck.
“So Gus taught you how to be a Kílán?” Lucian asked.
The professor let out a sigh. “Yes, he did,” he responded, almost somberly. “Argus was so proud of being a Kílán. And, with my natural abilities, it seemed to be a perfect opportunity for me to better the world and protect others from the hardships I had been forced to endure.”
“So then..., what happened?” Lucian inquired. He hadn’t intended to suddenly be so prying, but he was now completely wrapped up in the story and wanted to understand how Schuntz and Gus had ended up not speaking to one another for decades.
“Well, Mr. Aarden,” said Schuntz, seeming to once again settle into the archetype of the stern professor, “we eventually encountered what I would call a ‘divergence of opinions.’ You perhaps have noticed the stark contrast between my method of instruction and that of Panhavant.”
Lucian was stunned yet again. Somehow, Professor Schuntz’s connection with Gus hadn’t been fully translated in his mind to the professor’s knowledge of Panhavant’s existence; but, as Panhavant had been Gus’ sagely instructor, it only made sense.
“I had noticed some differences, yes,” affirmed the boy in what he was sure was the understatement of the year.
“You should be thoroughly familiar by now with my position on religion, philosophy, and inherent attributes of human nature, Mr. Aarden,” Schuntz said. “My experiences as a child have taught me that, without firm moral codes dictating ethical behavior and systems of propriety, society would devolve into chaos. Panhavant’s view of humans as inherently enlightened and pure in their natural state was incompatible with my own. As such, I parted ways with the Kílánór in my late teenage years.”
“So, wait,” Lucian interjected. “You can just stop being a Kílán whenever you want? They don’t, like, erase your memories or anything?”
Schuntz raised one eyebrow. “Yes, Mr. Aarden,” he affirmed. “The Kílánór are not some sort of cult or life sentence. One may choose to come and go as one pleases. It is not in their nature to compel any being to conform to their beliefs, and the notion of free will is of paramount importance to the order.”
Thinking back on Gus’ and Panhavant’s easygoing dispositions, the professor’s words certainly made perfect sense to Lucian.
“But that’s why Gus stopped talking to you!?” Lucian then asked in disbelief. “Because you left the Kílánór?” Such a reaction seemed completely at odds with the man he had known as a friend, and he couldn’t picture Gus holding a grudge against anyone, least of all his own adopted son.
“No, Mr. Aarden,” replied Schuntz with more regret in his voice than Lucian had ever before heard him express. “It was I who refused to speak with him. I was a teenager – full of resentment and rage. He attempted to reach out to me for many years there-after, but I would not relent. After a long period of failed attempts, he eventually stopped trying…. And, when I was old enough to realize my folly, I believed that it was too late….”
The professor grew quiet and pensive yet again. Lucian sat there feeling profoundly saddened by this tale of excessive pride and destroyed family relationships.
“Relationships are the essential backbone of human existence, Mr. Aarden,” said Schuntz suddenly, seemingly having read the boy’s mind. “Especially those between children and their parents. I have many regrets in my life, but that is one of my greatest….”
“Well, what did you do after being a Kílán?” Lucian asked in an attempt to shift the professor’s focus away from his filial failures.
“I left Europe for other areas of the world which better sympathized with my philosophical leanings. I traveled around Asia,” responded Schuntz almost proudly. “In Confucian traditions of adherence to rituals and rites, I found a system of thought which resonated with me. I journeyed across China, Korea, and Japan, learning from great masters and further developing my skills. I also later met a young woman there and fell foolishly in love….”
Schuntz looked off to Lucian’s side, almost as if this mystery woman was standing there in the room with them as they spoke. Lucian was tempted to turn and check if anyone was, in fact, standing there, but he thought it would probably be too rude to do so.
“However,” Schuntz abruptly interjected into the extended lull, focusing his eyes back on the boy, “Argus was adamant in ensuring your protection, should anything happen to him. Before his passing, he came to me and entreated that I serve as your guardian in his stead, following any unfortunate occurrences. As such, there are some matters to which we must attend….”
As he said this, the professor leaned down in his chair and opened up the lower right desk drawer. Reaching in, he then pulled out a manila envelope and laid it on the desk in front of him. Unfastening the flap that had been held shut by two bent metal prongs, Schuntz carefully extracted a sheet of paper.
“To the first order of business…,” the man stated, looking down at the paper in a very official manner. “Are you currently in possession of Argus’ sword, Mr. Aarden?”
It took Lucian a moment to realize what Schuntz was even talking about, but he then remembered scooping up the weapon and carrying it with him back to Willow’s apartment following Gus’ death. It now lay hidden beneath a pile of clothes in his dorm room closet, which was the best hiding place he could find for it in such a miniscule living space. “Yes, I am,” he said.
“That is a relief,” responded the professor seriously. “That sword is a very powerful weapon of antiquity. It would truly be a disaster were it to fall into the wrong hands.”
“What is it, Excalibur or something?” Lucian asked, half-jokingly.
The professor scowled at the boy’s poor attempt at humor. “Does it look like Excalibur, Mr. Aarden?” he inquired of the boy harshly. Lucian slouched down in his seat in embarrassment, wondering how he should be expected to know the appearance of a legendary sword of ancient times.
“No, this sword is called Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi, and it is said to have been handed down to the humans inhabiting Japan by the goddess Amaterasu ages ago,” Schuntz went on to explain. “Thought to be lost at sea during the battle of Dan-no-ura, it was actually bequeathed to Argus by the child Emperor Antoku before his defeat at the hands of the Minamoto. Argus has ever since kept it close to him, both as a memento of a lost friend and as a powerful weapon to wield in battle.”
Lucian pondered over this for a second, impressed by both the professor’s knowledge of history and his pronunciation of seemingly complex Japanese words. Of course, he hadn’t really understood most of what Schuntz had ju
st said, so the professor could have easily made up any word he wanted without a hint of protest from the boy. “But, what makes it so much better than any other sword?” he asked.
“This particular sword cannot be dulled or broken by any human-made force on Earth. Additionally, the materials used in its crafting are able to draw out the spiritual energies of its bearer, holding them within itself and giving the wielder the ability to shoot out blades of pure energy at his opponent,” Schuntz clarified.
Lucian immediately thought back to battles between Gus and the demon, Zagan, and how he had seen Gus utilize the sword to emit his energy both in a glowing aura and in blades of energy. Though the sword had ultimately not saved Gus from his fate, Lucian theorized that it was perhaps more a power limitation of the wielder than of the weapon.
“All details aside,” Schuntz continued, “Kusanagi is now yours. Argus believed that you would have use for it in your ongoing struggles against opposing forces.”
Lucian wasn’t sure what to say. “But… I don’t even know how to fight with a sword! Gus never taught me that!” Then, coming to another realization, he added, “Anyway, don’t you want it instead?”
Schuntz suddenly had a look of disgust on his face. “I have no use for a sword,” he said with disdain. “Such a weapon would not be appropriate for a gentleman scholar such as myself. As for your lack of skill with such a weapon, I suggest you learn, Mr. Aarden. Learning is always advisable in life.”
“Okay…. Well, thank you,” Lucian said hesitantly. He was still unsure of what he would do with the sword now that it officially belonged to him, but he reasoned that it certainly couldn’t hurt his chances.
“Onto the second matter,” Schuntz continued. “I see that you have also taken possession of another article formerly belonging to Argus.” He nodded down toward the boy’s chest as he said this, and it took Lucian a moment before he realized that the professor was referring to the crystal which now hung from his neck.
“Oh… yeah…,” responded Lucian mournfully. He was not as willing to part with this particular trinket as he had been with the sword, and he feared that the professor might request it instead as a keepsake of his adoptive father.
“Do you understand the significance of the crystal, Mr. Aarden?” Schuntz asked him.
“I just wear it to remind me of him, sir,” Lucian responded, consciously making an effort to look sad and pitiful in the hopes that the professor’s heart would soften and no longer desire to take such a thing from the boy.
“It is much more than some simple keepsake, Mr. Aarden,” Schuntz clarified. “Every Kílán is given such a necklace at the time of his or her induction into the order. The pendants are known as Atlantean Crystals, purportedly originating from the fabled Lost City itself. Each crystal shard was taken from one larger, singular source crystal of origin. Due to a particular phenomenon now labeled in quantum theory as “quantum entanglement,” these crystals are all connected to one another on a level which transcends what we experience as physical reality. This allows their bearers to communicate between themselves through the energy frequencies of the crystals, without regard to temporal limitations of distance or even time.”
“So…,” Lucian said, attempting to grasp this vast swath of knowledge being bequeathed to him, “they’re kinda like mystical cell phones?”
“Much more powerful than your cell phone, Mr. Aarden,” Schuntz corrected. “And unburdened by the risk of reception problems or roaming charges.”
Lucian swore he might have seen just the smallest hint of a grin on the professor’s face as this possible joke was uttered; yet, having never seen Schuntz smile before, he was truthfully uncertain of what to even look for. He therefore sat uncomfortably, unsure of whether or not it would be appropriate to chuckle.
“The crystal is now yours as well, Mr. Aarden,” the professor concluded succinctly before Lucian could make up his mind. “I already possess one myself, though I have not used it in many, many years. I will find it, however, and begin to wear it once again. This will allow us to maintain contact outside of my usual office hours, should you be in need of any assistance.”
Lucian let out a silent sigh of relief. Outside of the practical usefulness of the crystal on his chest, he was simply grateful that he would be able to hold onto one of the only reminders of Gus he had left.
“Thank you, sir,” he responded earnestly.
“Lastly,” Schuntz continued, without for an instant acknowledging the boy’s gratitude, “the issue of the automobile.”
With this, Schuntz once again picked up the manila envelope and turned it over above his desk. As he did so, a pair of keys on a metal ring slid out and fell to the flat surface below with a clinking sound that seemed overly bothersome in the otherwise noiseless room. Lucian once again found himself with several questions.
“Argus requested that his car also be given to you, Mr. Aarden,” Schuntz said. Lucian sat, awestruck by this clarification.
“Huh?” Lucian mumbled.
“Yes, Mr. Aarden,” Schuntz affirmed. “You are now the proud owner of your very own sleek, black sports car.” The professor said this in a sarcastic fashion which clearly displayed his disdain for such a thing.
“But…, I…,” Lucian stammered.
“Yes, I do imagine parking would be difficult for a freshman here,” Schuntz said without hesitation. “You may keep it parked behind this building, where Argus left it, until such a time that you should need it. As the head of the department, I have the authority to label it with a tag to prevent it from being towed out of the lot.”
“I…, Thank you…,” Lucian said, still staring at the keys.
“Do not thank me, Mr. Aarden,” Schuntz insisted. “Thank Argus for his generous contribution to your efforts.”
A sharp twinge of sadness hit Lucian in the gut as the professor said these words. Gus had been so kind and giving toward him, and he suddenly felt a deep-seated guilt that he had not properly displayed enough gratitude while his good friend was alive. Now, it was too late to express it, and Lucian hated the circumstances and himself for such a thing.
“That is all for now, Mr. Aarden,” Schuntz said, bluntly cutting through Lucian’s self-loathing. “You may go now. We will keep in contact.” Lucian immediately realized that he had no idea how to properly use the communication crystal he had been given, but he wasn’t in the mood for any more instruction that day.
“Thank you, sir,” Lucian mumbled as he clumsily stood up and grabbed his things. He was still in a clouded mental state from all the information which had been revealed to him, and he found himself emotionally drained from once again thinking of Gus. He silently turned to walk toward the office door.
“Forgetting something, Mr. Aarden?” the professor asked, suggestively glancing down at the keys lying on the desk. With a forced chuckle and another “Thank you,” Lucian walked, partially braindead, out the door and into the creaking hallway.
3 - Tears
93 CE: West Gaul
Argus stared intently into the campfire as sparks floated up and slowly faded away into the darkness around them. It was a temperate night with a cool breeze that wafted through the trees and made the forest around them seem to hold a life all its own. Although the priestess squatting next to him was busy skinning a recently caught boar with a sharp Roman knife, he took no notice. His mind was elsewhere.
“You are thinking of her again,” Dareia whispered softly to her companion, gliding the razor-sharp metal beneath the flesh of the unfortunate animal. She wore a dress of golden cloth, now spattered with blood; but this did not seem to bother the beautifully elegant woman at all as she relentlessly continued to carve.
Argus closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. “Sometimes, it just feels as if she is here with me,” he said mournfully. “Or that she should be. And I wonder if I could have done more to save her….”
The priestess stopped abruptly, looked up from her work, and glared at Argus sternly. �
��Do not question yourself further. You know that you did the correct thing. Making such a sacrifice to release her from her suffering was an expression of your deepest love for her.”
A tear escaped from the corner of Argus’ eye and rolled down his cheek before he had the opportunity to catch it. “But…, if I could have found some kind of remedy….”
At this, Dareia lifted up her knife and drove it straight down into the carcass before her. “I shall hear no more of this foolishness!” she exclaimed. “You loved her more deeply than anyone I have ever heard of before! You spent centuries searching, only to set her free once you found her. I can only wish someone would care for me so truly and so selflessly!” She then grew silent and cast her eyes down again, as if ashamed of her own display of vulnerability.
Argus looked at the priestess and smiled lightly. “Thank you, Dareia,” he said earnestly. “I truly value your counsel and dear friendship over these past few months.”
Dareia also stole a glance at Argus before her eyes darted away yet again. “Yes, well,” she said with a shrug of her shoulder, “the Goddess knows you cannot be trusted to stay alive on your own!” As a coy grin crept across her face, she once again plucked out the knife and continued slicing into the night’s meal.
After the preparation had been completed, Dareia reached beside her and picked up a long wooden stick, the end of which had been whittled into a sharp point. Without ceremony, she grabbed the boar’s body and roughly jammed the stick into its rear end, skewering it completely back to front. Argus winced as he witnessed this gruesome spectacle, experiencing both admiration and horror at how easily and readily the priestess might impale a once-living being.