Ethan Wright and the Alchemist's Order, (Book 2) (24 page)

The Castellan, in shock and at a loss for words, backed down.

“Whether you know it or not, Thomas Wright has saved the city of Tirguard on more than one occasion. THIS IS HOW IT WILL GO. Thomas will be put to rest as a
hero
… as a Saint of Tirguard, or so help me—”

Suddenly the door burst open and King Basileus entered. “Or so help you what?” asked the King with a wink. “Getting rather serious in here, are we?” The King smiled and had a seat in an empty chair to Edison’s left.

“No … Sire,” answered the Castellan. “Merely having a discussion with a newly restored Captain, that is looking to give up his position yet again!”

“You threw me in prison!” snarled Edison.

“You
confessed
to murder!” the Castellan rebutted.

“To protect my students from your idiotic accusations and to convince the actual attacker that Wegnel was truly dead so he wouldn’t come back and finish the job!”

“A wasted effort on your part — Wegnel is in Losalfar!”

“He is much safer in Losalfar than he would ever be here!”

“In the hands of our enemy?!” argued the Castellan.

“Now now, Humphrey, Losalfar is not the enemy … no need to overreact — we all know how testy you can get,” chuckled the King.

“Humphrey?” snorted Edison. “Your name is—”

“Yes … of course — my name is Humphrey, what of it?” snarled the Castellan.

King Basileus’ laughter rose from deep within his belly. The humor was contagious and Edison started laughing. Finally, Humphrey the Castellan gave in and started laughing himself. His face no longer exhibited the redness of anger.

The King soon caught his breath and put his hands on both men’s shoulders. “It’s good to remember what makes us laugh during troubling times, gentlemen. It’s what makes us men — what makes us human.” He focused his attention on the funeral plans that were laid out on the table. “I would like to put my vote in for you, Castellan, to consider Thomas’ candidacy as a Saint of Tirguard. The choice is, of course, yours, my friend. But I believe Thomas was an extraordinary man, and in times of need, the people need a reason to celebrate extraordinary men.”

The Castellan thought for a moment, and then smiled. “If the people need a hero, they will have one. Thomas will be buried in Saint’s Cemetery and inducted as a hero of Tirguard.” He offered his hand to Edison.

King Basileus nodded to a hesitant Edison Rupert, who reluctantly took the Castellan’s hand to seal the deal.

“Edison … would you call him in please?” asked the King.

Edison nodded and exited the room. The Castellan and King sat silently in Edison’s absence. King Basileus fiddled with a small trinket on the Castellan’s desk — a small golden horse.

“Got that in Shandire,” muttered the Castellan. “Was a gift from the Duke — nice fellow.”

The King nodded and carefully placed the trinket back on the desk, and soon Edison walked back in the room, followed by Ethan. Edison pulled up two more chairs and offered Ethan a seat.

“What is this?” asked Ethan numbly.

The King cleared his throat as the Castellan and Edison fell silent.

“I know … we know … you are suffering, Ethan. But we need to ask you a few questions. Mainly, did your father tell you how he died?” asked the King.

Ethan thought for a moment. “He looked like he was stabbed,” he answered, “but there wasn’t time for him to explain. When I asked him, he said it wasn’t important. Do you know what happened?”

“Yes, we do,” answered the King as he extended his hand to Edison for assistance in revealing the details of Thomas’ death.

“Thomas was on his way back from what he claimed was researching new cartography techniques. He said he saw Tirguard in smoke as he came through King’s Point. He hurried his pace to find out what the commotion was about when he ran into …
him
,” explained Edison with a shudder.

“
Him?
”

“He ran into Xivon,” answered Edison quietly.

Ethan pulled his head up to look Edison in the eyes. “Did Xivon kill my father?”

Edison nodded. “Thomas acknowledged that he hadn’t been spotted and could have made his retreat, but saw a chance to end things, so he took it. It was your father who approached Xivon. He fought bravely. He may have even wounded Xivon — he mentioned the General didn’t initially put up a strong defense … almost as if he invited Thomas to succeed in his sword attack, which your father claims he did. After he ran Xivon through, he noticed the Mortuus Manus bracelet on the General’s wrist. Thomas knew that as long as Xivon didn’t tell a lie — he would be unable to die. Being as witty as your father was, he attempted to get Xivon to speak — tried to coax him to lie. Xivon didn’t speak a word.”

A tear ran down Ethan’s face. “What … happened next?”

Edison withdrew as he shook his head, feeling Ethan did not need to hear what had happened after that moment.

“C’mon, Edison … I need to know. He was my father.”

The King quickly spoke up. “Ethan, we’re here because we don’t want you to retaliate. If it was my father … I would want nothing more than swift justice. Xivon is extremely powerful and you must not seek him out — not now … not while he wears the Dead Hand.”

Ethan grew agitated. “Tell me — what happened … next?”

Edison looked over to King Basileus. The King in turn nodded, giving Edison permission to tell Ethan the rest of his father’s encounter with the Aegis Orobori. Edison took a deep breath. “He stabbed your father and sent a shockwave that ripped through the inside of his body. A strike of that nature coming from that sword was called Silentio Mortis … meaning ‘Silence of Death.’ Xivon was known to apply this death strike to people he wished to submit the worst kind of torture to.”

“But he didn’t die right away,” mused Ethan aloud. “Why didn’t they fix him?”

“That is Xivon’s intention, Ethan. Your father suffered tremendously, knowing that there was no way to cure the damage that had been caused.”

The Castellan leaned forward, now fiddling with the golden horse. “The internal organs slowly deteriorate from the shockwave, resulting in a horrible path to death. It is Xivon’s ultimate torture device,” added Humphrey with almost a slight admiration in his voice.

The King put his hand up slightly at the Castellan’s comment, letting him know he had gone too far. As the words echoed through Ethan’s head, they burned into the foremost part of his mind. He understood the King’s hesitation to divulge the information about his father. Ethan grew angry. He could focus on nothing but the Castellan’s comments as he stared at the golden horse trinket being flipped through the fingers of his quarry. He thought to himself that it was the Castellan that Xivon would have gone after, that it was the Castellan he
should
have gone after — not his father.

Attempting to give the Wright son a measure of comfort, the King reached forward to put his hand on Ethan’s shoulder when he unexpectedly felt a great warmth. He pulled Ethan’s jacket back and saw the handle of the fire sword glowing red and getting a blue haze to it. A muffled
CRACK
came from inside the scabbard. “Ethan! Your sword — you must calm yourself!”

Ethan broke his stare from the trinket and peered down at his sword. He loosened his belt and let the scabbard hit the floor of the Castellan’s study. The handle burned through the rug and blackened the wooden floor underneath. The floor charred as ash floated around the study. The Castellan’s face turned red with outrage.

“MY FLOOR! YOU DID THAT ON PURPOSE!” yelled the Castellan.

“Calm yourself, Humphrey. Remember how you get worked up for nothing? The floor can be fixed,” said the King, attempting to defuse the situation.

Ethan looked up at the Castellan. “Humphrey?” he asked without smiling.

Still on edge and now on his feet, the Castellan nodded, confirming his name to the young Orobori.

“Have the sword sent to me when it’s cooled, Humphrey,” ordered Ethan. He turned and walked out of the room.

***

The next morning’s sky was filled with a haze of mist that blew with the wind of men’s hopes and dreams. When the dream is driven by fear, only the hope of an individual giving their all in a war-torn city is enough to comfort its people. In the coming days, the people of Tirguard would rest well, knowing the death of a man can lead to the celebration of a hero.

Ethan stood in the misty rain with his alchemy jacket hanging open. His collar was still protecting the side of his face from the wet breeze, but his hair quickly grew damp and his head cold. His sleeve was repaired almost to his wrist. His fire sword was attached firmly to his waist and his friends were attached firmly at his side. The surrounding trees lay broken and undisturbed since the mighty swing of the sad lady’s enormous sword that resulted from Marcus’ earlier meddling. The statue now sat, holding the sword’s hilt as tears of rain fell from her face. Her wearied eyes stared as if to watch over the graves of the champions that had secured Tirguard’s past and present.

“Ethan Wright,” said a familiar voice from behind him. “We humbly ask your permission to lower your father into the ground … of the Saints — in a human custom of burial, we honor that Thomas Wright’s time to rest … has come,” declared Loka.

Ethan nodded. “Yes … Loka.”

Ethan looked on as Loka, Edison, Ghislain, Odin, Ventu, and Wegnel carried the casket of his father past the iron bars of his resting place. Faces that he had never seen before surrounded the cemetery.

“Looks like half the city showed up to see your father honored,” said Auren, standing by Ethan’s side.

“Yeah,” replied Ethan. “It’s really kinda weird — you think he was this well known? I mean, I don’t think I really knew him at all — not like they do.”

“Well, just look at my father,” replied Auren. “I thought he was running errands for Mum … here he was winning the Stadion championship — no wonder she was so cross with him when he’d leave,” he added, chuckling.

“There were a lot of secrets kept during the Curse of Silence,” added Availia. “My parents always told us they didn’t really have a choice.”

“The Curse of Silence was the cause — the will of the Oroborus,” added Stanley solemnly.

King Basileus stood before the masses and held up his hand. Everyone went silent and the King took a step backward to blend into the ranks.

Edison adjusted his spectacles and cleared his throat. “How do you summarize a man’s life with mere words? His deeds, his beliefs, his lessons learned and taught … his hopes, fears, his successes and failures … his dreams — how then? Is greatness measured by the history of a man’s actions, or the last action in a man’s history? Being a history professor, you would think I should know … but I do not. Some would think that wisdom is achieved when the lines in your face run deep, year after year. Those of you that knew Thomas Wright would know that he didn’t feel that way at all. If you truly seek wisdom, you cannot get it from any book … rather, you go experience it yourself. As a history professor, I can assure you … I’ve read a lot of books,” jested Edison with a slight smile as chuckling could be heard, “but I would not consider myself … wise, as I have not seen the things Thomas Wright has seen, I have not had to endure the weight he carried on his back, and have not experienced true loss … as he has.”

Ethan knew that Edison was talking about his mother, Eldamae Wright. As Edison spoke, Ethan started thinking about what his mother would have been like. He realized he did not even know where her grave was located — it was not in Strahlung. Nor did he remember it being located in Whitehaven. He wondered if his father would prefer to be buried next to her, instead of a strange cemetery just outside Tirguard’s walls where Ethan was not even certain it was safe to visit. He forced the distraction from his mind and refocused on Edison’s speech.

“…and in every hall, every forest, every hill and mountain … Thomas Wright will be watching over his boys … protecting them from darkness and guiding them through the trials of life.”

Whispers suddenly broke out through the crowd of people. ‘
Did he say boys?
’ —
‘Does he mean Isaac still lives?
’ As more whispers murmured through the crowd, Ethan walked up to where Edison stood. The crowd quieted down respectfully.

Ethan cleared his throat and addressed the crowd. “My father didn’t want any of this,” announced Ethan. “He doesn’t consider himself a hero of Tirguard — he was a hero to me, though. He died trying to save my brother and me from Xivon—”

“YOUR BROTHER’S ALIVE THEN?” yelled someone from the crowd. Murmurs and whispers once again erupted throughout the mass of people. More and more voices joined in, creating a clamor. Ethan grew frustrated as he attempted to answer the flurry of questions bombarding him. The King stepped forward next to Ethan and held his hands in the air. The audience quieted down, but not enough for Ethan to be heard.

“WE ARE HERE TO HONOR THIS BOY’S FATHER!” yelled the King furiously. The horde of people slowly fell silent. “This is a time for us to remember a great man — this is not a place to satisfy your curiosities, but a place to show respe—”

The King broke off as wisps of purple smoke emanated from the ground, forming a funnel. An erratic wind swirled the mist violently as the large twister rose up toward the sky and then abruptly dissipated. A tall dark figure appeared in its place. He bore strange armor, the likes of which had never been seen by any Tirguardian or Losalfarian. The chestplate was a bold black, with two sinuous white bars of metal wrapping around the shoulders and meeting at the center of the chest before continuing down the front. Enigmatic black writing was engraved on the bone white of the armor. The figure’s face was obscured by spindly wooden tassels, one of which had a purple seal hanging from a small cork. The tassels hung from a conical hat that rested atop the head, covering the figure’s face. Ethan and Auren immediately recognized the hat of the djinn they had encountered in the cavern.

“THE NORTHWIND IS COMING FOR YOU,” boomed a voice from the figure as it pointed toward the masses.