by T. Mikita
Round tables for all of the modern-day knights: they were the type one might find at an expensive restaurant. With linen table cloths and real cloth napkins in metal holders decorated with the school seal. A few people were seated, talking quietly. Everything here really was first class. Asher felt a little uncomfortable in his jeans. Maybe he should have dressed up for dinner. Snorting, he thought, maybe a suit of armor would have been more appropriate.
Some teachers came into the room at the far end of the hall, and Asher recognized his Aunt Evelyn. He hesitated, not wanting to interrupt her, but she detached herself from the adults who were chatting among themselves and came over to him.
“Are you all unpacked?” she asked.
“Not yet.” His clothes had been hung up, but Asher hadn’t even touched the boxes. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”
“Classes start tomorrow,” she advised in a prim voice. “You won’t have much time later in the week.”
Asher nodded thinking he never really needed that much time for classes or clothes, for that matter. He never worried too much about that sort of thing. On the other hand, Jules was not here to help him with her eidetic memory. He would survive. He always did.
“I want to talk to you about something, Aunt Evelyn, well someone actually. It’s my friend Jules.”
“What about him?”
“Her,” Asher said. “Actually.”
“I see,” said his aunt sniffing. Obviously, not understanding at all.
“I want her to come to the school,” Asher said rushing ahead with the request.
His aunt pursed her lips. “This is a very unique and exclusive school, Asher. Not everyone is invited, as I told you when you wrote to me of this issue.”
“I understand that.”
“No, I do not think you do.”
“Jules was with me when the things attacked us, and she saw my parents after….after...” Asher broke off the remembered sight and smell of their death overwhelming his senses.
“Sharon was not your mother,” Aunt Evelyn said coldly.
“She was my mother in every way that counted,” Asher snapped.
“She was the reason Michael stayed away…Why he kept you away. And the reason why he is now dead.” Aunt Evelyn’s voice was hard. Was it possible her icy heart cared about her brother? Asher rejected the very thought.
“That was certainly not Sharon’s fault,” Asher objected with fists clenched. This was not how he wanted to begin his relationship with his aunt.
Aunt Evelyn took a deep breath, pursed her lips and changed the subject. “You must be hungry,” she said.
Asher clenched his jaw and nodded. He would let this go for now. He had to. “Where do we sit?” He asked. He would not betray Sharon’s memory. His father had loved her, and so did he. And he would not give up on Jules. He would find a way to get his aunt to agree to let her come. Jules deserved to be here too.
“You will sit with me tonight,” his aunt said. “Some of the faculty wishes to meet you, but I want to speak to you about something of importance and that requires privacy. You can eat with your fellow students at breakfast. No one knows you are here yet. I know you don’t want to stand out from your peers, but this is more important than student social taboo.”
Yeah. Put me at a disadvantage, right off the bat, Asher thought. But he didn’t have the energy to argue tonight.
Aunt Evelyn led the way to a table at the front of the dining hall near the stage where the throne would be. Asher’s eyes kept going to the middle chair. It didn’t look like a throne, but then that was the whole point with the round tables, wasn’t it? Asher and his aunt sat down. Immediately a server came and asked what they would like to drink. Evelyn had coffee and the server brought a Coke for Asher. He was glad that they had such modern niceties. He had tried pumpkin juice once and thought it was weird, like drinking liquefied pumpkin pie.
“We get servers here?” he said as he pulled his napkin carefully out of the holder, setting aside an abundance of utensils, he was certain he wouldn’t use. “I don’t have to go through the cafeteria line like the students?” Asher asked, not wishing to stand out, but he knew it was already too late for that now.
“Rank has privileges, Asher, never forget that. You will get used to the finest in short order, I wager. You can’t want to go back to mediocrity.” She smiled a rather superior smile and said, “Remember, your family is respected here. The days of your trying to blend in and be like everybody else, are over. You are a legacy. You will never be ordinary again. In fact, you never were.”
Asher remembered the maid had said something similar earlier. “What exactly does that mean? A legacy?”
“That you and those like you are most likely to gain powers over the Otherworlders.”
She said it so casually. As if such things were common place here. Asher wasn’t sure if he should laugh or scoff. Instead, he voiced the question that had been rolling around in his mind since he arrived. “I don’t feel any different than before. I don’t think I have any powers.” He certainly had nothing exceptional to take on the monsters that killed his parents. It was Jules that blew the thing’s head off.
“You will,” Evelyn said confidently, taking a sip of her coffee. “After you fight some of the creatures.”
Asher gulped, nearly choking on his Coke. “What?”
“That is how Guardians gain powers, Asher.” She was looking at him strangely. “Surely your father told you this. We acquire them, from the things we fight. Legacies generally do so much more quickly than others. That is why the ancient bloodlines are so prized.”
Asher blinked. He and Jules had joked about it being a magical school, and perhaps he half-believed it after seeing the things that killed his parents, and then, hearing Galina talk about it, solidified the thought. Now, to have his aunt so nonchalantly confirm his suspicions over dinner threw him. It was true then. This really was a magical school.
Salad was served, but Asher was suddenly not quite so hungry. He rolled one of the little tomatoes around with his salad fork. At least he knew which fork that was.
The server brought some kind of creamy soup. Perhaps it was clam chowder. It smelled like fish. When he dipped his spoon in, he realized it was lobster bisque.
Several of the faculty members stopped by their table to greet Evelyn and to meet Asher. Aunt Evelyn chatted with a woman who wore a blue paisley caftan and spoke with a thick Russian accent while Asher ate his soup. She seemed very interested in Asher’s father, and he wondered if she had known him. It seemed unlikely, but his aunt answered her questions while he finished his soup and played with his tomatoes.
Absently, he looked around the dining hall and wondered why it was so big. There weren’t that many teachers and it seemed like the large room was a waste. He imagined it without electric lights, with rushes on the floor and hounds waiting for bones to fall from the plates. The thought made him smile, although no one in the middle ages ate so well as this, the Renaissance maybe or Baroque. His father always got upset when pop-culture mixed up the time periods. Ever the history professor. The sound of his own name brought Asher back to the present.
“Hm? I’m sorry I was just thinking.” Asher smiled at the fair-haired Russian woman who spoke to him in accented English.
“I asked what is your favorite subject? In the …” she hesitated and looked to his aunt and said a Russian word. His aunt pursed her lips.
“In the occult arts,” his aunt supplied.
Asher blinked. His aunt spoke Russian? Then he turned his attention back to the teacher.
“I don’t really know,” Asher said. “I never really studied the occult.”
“Your father taught you, maybe?” She said in her lilting voice. “I have heard that he was an exceptional battle mage. Very brave. Very strong.”
Not exceptional enough, Asher thought, but the very fact that his father was a battle mage at all was news to him. “Not really,” Asher said. “My dad told me stories, but I ne
ver realized that they were real. At least not until recently. I suppose I will have to wait until I actually have classes.”
“Ah, yes, classes,” she said sharing a look with his aunt. He wasn’t sure, but something passed between them.
“Nonetheless, your talents will change before you graduate, yes?” she said.
“That is what my aunt tells me, Ms...”
“Professor,” His aunt corrected. “Dame Versha Stellanovich.”
Asher nodded. “Nice to meet you Professor Stellanovich. By the way, Aunt Evelyn, I don’t have a schedule yet,” he said explaining.
Professor Stellanovich pursed her full lips and shifted her eyes over to Evelyn. “I am sure, we have plenty of time for you to develop your interests and talents, Master Pendragon.”
“Pendrick,” Asher corrected.
Professor Stellanovich only smiled, but did not comment on the corrected use of his name. “I look forward to teaching you many interesting things.” She said in her accented English. Stellanovich said goodbye to his aunt and slipped into a chair at another faculty table. The others seated there accommodated her. She was warmly received by her fellow teachers.
If Stellanovich was representative of the teachers here, maybe this was a good move, if only his parents were still alive, Asher would have felt better about the whole thing. Or if Jules were here with him.
9
Legacy
A lovely prime rib with herb crusted potatoes and asparagus was served and Asher stared at it for several minutes basking in the scent of it before digging in. This could not be school food, he thought with his mouth full. Not at all.
“I understand this is a difficult adjustment. How are you settling in?” His aunt asked.
“I don’t really know how to answer that. I’ve only just found out about all of this. I understand what you have explained to me, Aunt Evelyn, but it’s still hard to grasp. When Dad told me about the Knights of the Realm, I never thought it was real. I mean, I just thought he was obsessed with some old legend: understandable with his being a history professor and all.”
“Michael never said anything else about Whitehall, or about your heritage?”
Asher shook his head. “He always said we were related to King Arthur, but it was just stories, you know, about chivalry and round tables.” He gestured to the tables set up in the dining hall. “And fighting dragons and wild beasts.” His throat was suddenly dry and he paused to take a sip of his Coke.
“I remember the stories Dad told me when I was growing up, but I just figured that he was trying to carry on some kind of Templar mystique or something; maybe get me to be more interested in history. I never believed any of it was real. Now, since he is…” Asher paused. He still couldn’t talk about his father in the past tense. “Since that night, I don’t know what to think. Maybe if I had listened…” He used his fork to play with his food. “If I had really known…Or if I had been there.”
“Asher, there wasn’t anything that you could have done,” Evelyn said. Her voice was soft, softer than it had been in the few hours since he came here. “Your Father made his choice,” she said. “Now, you must make yours. At least you will now be given a chance to do that.”
“I have a choice?” Asher asked. “I thought everything was decided. That I would be inducted into this mystical knighthood. Not that I mind,” he said quickly watching his aunt’s expression. He was being invited into a secret magical world. You couldn’t say no to that sort of thing, even if it meant fighting dragons.
“Of course, you have a choice, Asher, but I for one, am glad that you are here.” Evelyn gave him a weak smile.
Well, that was a surprise, Asher thought. He had felt more like a burden than anything else.
“You are one of the elite that stands between those who would open the doorways to hell itself and unleash the most terrible things upon a helpless world,” his aunt continued.
“Yeah, about that,” Asher put down his fork and looked at his plate. “You know, Jules was always better at the mock sword play than I was. She should be here, too.”
Aunt Evelyn’s lips tightened. “Games with wooden swords, hardly count,” she said.
“Actually, they were plastic light sabers,” Asher said remembering their childhood. “But we both took a few fencing lessons. It’s just; I don’t feel very qualified for this job.”
“I know, but you will. As your powers grow.”
“By fighting these things? What do you do, import them for tournaments?”
“Yes, actually. Among other things.”
Asher thought that was more than enough. He pushed the remainder of his plate aside. He rather felt like Hansel being fattened up for the witch to kill. At least that is what Jules would say: Never eat the fairy food. Well, too late now, he thought. He shuffled, thinking to rise and perhaps go back to his room.
“Are you finished?” His aunt asked surprised.
He nodded, and she raised an eyebrow. “There is dessert,” she said as she called over a server. The waiter took his plate and another brought a chocolate mousse dessert which was placed in front of him. Always room for chocolate, Asher thought as he sat back down and took a bite.
Aunt Evelyn leaned on her elbow, watching him. “Now,” she said. “Am I to understand that your father told you nothing of our world.”
“Not really,” Asher said succinctly.
“Nothing about the Gates?”
“What gates?” He said around a mouthful of chocolate mousse.
Evelyn sighed. “We are not alone here,” she said.
Asher glanced around the room, somewhat confused.
“Not us personally,” she said impatiently. “But us Guardians and humans. From time immemorial, there have been others who share this realm. We call them Otherworlders. Some, like shapeshifters, are believed to be indigenous to this continent. Other areas have their own native creatures…”
“Shapeshifters?” Asher repeated. “Like, werewolves?” He said the word softly because it still sounded outlandish to his ears.
“Yes. Among other things,” his aunt said. “But the most troublesome of these creatures, are those that come through the Gates. The Gates are very powerful magical energy convergences. Portals to other realms. We are the Guardians of those Gates.”
“We?” Asher repeated.
“Yes. The Guardian Order is comprised of two parts: those who study and watch, the Sentinels, and those who fight, the Knights. The Gates must be guarded and regularly fortified against the onslaught of the Otherworlders. This school is positioned to guard one of the most powerful of those Gates. We are the defenders of this realm, both the Knights and the Sentinels, as well the as Guardian Council, which is made up of representatives of both. We protect the people of this land from…well, from monsters, I suppose.”
Asher put down his spoon. He wasn’t ready to be some sort of superhero and he told his aunt so.
She shook her head. “Of course, you are not ready, Asher. Your father did not properly prepare you, but you will learn. You will grow and you will fill your role. Perhaps better than Michael ever did.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Asher put his fork down with a clang and pushed his plate away.
His aunt shook her head. “We will talk more later, but you should know, you are not alone in the loss of your parents. Many of the others your age at this school, are here because their parents were killed trying to save them from Otherworlders. Creatures who likely knew of their heritage long before they ever knew themselves. We try to find those with the Gift, but it is not always easy. We search, but many Otherworlders can sense these things. Too often the monsters find those with the potential to become Guardians before we do.”
“So, the names don’t just appear in some magical book?” Asher asked with a smile.
“No,” Evelyn said a crease appearing between her eyebrows for a moment, and then her face brightened somewhat. “If, you are speaking of the grimoires,” she said. “I sup
pose if a Guardian found a child, then yes, whatever the Guardian wrote would appear in the master text, but there is no way to know for sure who carries the trait, and childhood magic can be capricious.”
“But if it’s a bloodline. Can’t you use one of those family tree tracer things?”
She shook her head. “The talent often skips generations. Once it starts skipping it is easy for people to believe the blood is too thin and they can go on to live normal peaceful lives in the mundane world. For many it has been so long that it is impossible to trace if they come from any established bloodline, if indeed they come from any at all. Their children disbelieve, and the grandchildren forget. Several generations, and no one in the family remembers what they are. Magic can be unpredictable. In any case, when we do find a child who has been orphaned by Otherworlders, we try to step in and give those children a chance at a new life, with us. Even if most will never be allowed into the upper ranks of the Order.”
“Why not?” Asher asked sipping his Coke.
“The highest-level positions are reserved for the strongest legacies.”