Legends of Myriad: Arc One - Chapter 40: Wrath
Chapter 39 | Chapter 41
Arc One Masterlist
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Traversing the fine fog of Lumen’s broad pavements, Bartholomew repressed a cough. Delorem’s climate clogged in his day, but now it choked, suffocating in a bracing grip that kept its victims alive long enough to be useful before it brought them to their undignified end. Death wandered in the wake of the misery on bloodied feet, feeding off the scraps the governing families discarded in their goal for more and quicker. Three-hundred years had not softened this world into kindness; it made it worse.
A discomforting twinge tunnelled into his chest. Could he have prevented Delorem from reaching such stifling levels if he had woken from his sleep when planned? Had his grave miscalculation caused this grief and the escalating hostilities? He would never know. And that marked fact irked him more than he cared to admit.
He evened the wrinkles in his waistcoat and loosened the pent up pressure in his demeanour as he drew near the commotion of city folk amassing by the river. The barriers barely hampered their efforts as they craned their necks and aired their confusion in whispered theories and rumours.
“Are we going to be without water again?” an oily man asked his friend. “This’ll be the third time this month the filtration’s gone bust.”
“I think it’s a bit more serious than that,” the woman beside him answered, snooping over the people in front of her and almost tripping over her curiosity. “Look, they’re rounding up district guards.”
Hearing her observation, the few surrounding her rose to their tiptoes, some scaling the riverside railings to watch the proceedings. Agents sporting night vision gear and long-nosed rifles escorted the apprehended officers to a cluster of unmarked vans. One of the agents removed his goggles and conversed with the woman overseeing the operation.
When her focus diverted to the increasing crowd, Bartholomew distinguished the stern, if not slightly rosy, features and gradually advanced between the gathered bodies towards her. A couple muttered their protests, but he ignored their grumbles and stuck to the rusty river barriers to remain unobtrusive to the process of arrests and eager gawping.
“Esther,” he called, capturing her attention with a signal of his cane.
She allocated the agent his orders and addressed Bartholomew with a brisk nod. “I wondered when you’d show up,” she said. “Or if you even would. We had to lock some of the gateways to be on the safe side. Miss Kingsrose has agents in most of the active ones now.”
“That is good to hear,” the professor affirmed. As she assessed the river boats patrolling and the dusky, inky hue of the night manifested in the water, he noted the splay of finger-shaped bruises folded around her throat. While she appeared unaffected by the attack, he promised Lilith she’d come to no harm. If he had known how dangerous Delorem had grown, he may have reconsidered sending a student there.
From the pouch on her belt, she extracted a clear packet and handed it over to him. “Are they the right feathers?”
“They certainly seem to be,” Bartholomew replied. He inspected the fibres and the repeating patterns. Satisfied with their shape and design, he slipped them into his inside coat pocket.
“Shame,” Esther sighed. “I was hoping for a reason to smack that smug grin off Ralph’s face.”
Bartholomew had little time to ask her who Ralph was and what this mystery man had done to agitate her. “Exactly what actions have the industry families undertaken in their attempts to hold the gateways?” he queried.
“Only what I told you on the call,” Esther said, arms crossed tightly over her chest and her analytical stare studying the ongoing convoy of captured officers. “Penelope doesn’t want any part of it, she warned me about what the others were planning. She wants the gateways free for all to use, but she’s one against four.”
“She may declare she does not wish to possess to them, but many carry an ulterior motive for their altruism.”
“I can assure you she really isn’t interested in laying any sort of claim. She runs her district differently to the others.”
While Bartholomew sought to take an optimistic view whenever possible, especially if somebody with power on Delorem served with a candid heart, his experiences warned him to proceed with caution. Trust with vigilance for now, but prepare for difficulties along the way.
“You have done remarkably, Esther,” the professor commended. “Your thorough reports provided an interesting insight into the issues here.”
“Just doing what I can,” she replied, but the unmistakable grin she tried to bury betrayed of her satisfaction at a job executed well. “Did Alek and Oscar get-”
A cry from the steady flow of handcuffed officers stole her question, and she charged into the unfolding dilemma, Bartholomew close behind.
Above his head, an Ironstrike guard brandished a shock grenade, pin intact and bloodshot eyes bulging from his skull. The gawking crowd scurried to the refuge of nearby doorways and bus stop shelters, some fleeing the scene completely in a flurry of shrieks and wails.
“You can’t do this to us,” he screamed. “I won’t let you!”
One look at Esther and the agents obeyed their silent order to retreat. Refusing to be pacified by the withdrawal, the Ironstrike guard bolstered his position, but his morsel of hesitation was enough for the mage to worm a spell around his ankle. With a firm twist, he buckled onto his face. The explosive tore free from his grasp, and Esther rescued it from the air, depositing it in the care of the Kingsrose agent beside her while the others rushed to restrain the guard. He continued his tirade, promising that Ironstrike would never permit them to get away with the arrests. Whispers broke out from the smaller crowd that remained to see how the spectacle played out.
“Good catch,” Bartholomew said.
“You grow used to splitting your attention here,” Esther shrugged. “Stuff kicks off all the time with no warning.”
“In any case, I recommend you go back to Miss Kingsrose once your duties are finished here. Rest if you can,” Bartholomew suggested. “I shall contact you when I am ready to leave.”
The prospect of leaving Delorem both delighted and disappointed Esther. Home occupied her mind whenever she wasn’t sorting problems, but a feeling of unfinished business crept in. Her presence gave Penelope another ally, and Lumen another set of hands to aid in their struggle for liberation. But she had yet to complete her studies, to learn all she could of her power and how it might be best utilised.
She tracked Bartholomew’s departure through the crowd, pondering what he planned to do to dissuade the industry heads from their path. It would take more than a stern talking to, that she was certain of.
* * *
“With the feathers in Professor Spark’s care, I’ll be going soon,” Esther said, loitering by the windowed door of the upper library. The lambent fire buried the room in a cordial warmth, the glass cabinets overcrowded with books and family tomes mirroring the spirited pop and pirouette of the embers.
Since the assassination, Penelope exhausted much of her time in the library, secluding herself within the stained mahogany and discoloured pages her father failed to dissuade her from as a child. Attended by the musty smell of mottled paper, pallid ink, and rudiments of dust, she protected the continuous burn inside the fireplace at all hours and nursed more tea and coffee than a student on a stringent deadline. Esther accompanied her for the most part, and while quiet, she couldn’t argue with the lengthy stretches tucked away when they offered such a wealth of new knowledge at her fingertips.
“I hope your time in Lumen has not been completely awful and that you won’t judge us too harshly,” Penelope admitted, the toe of her slippers shaving the flowery rug.
Esther listened to the dainty telltale clink of a porcelain cup meeting with its matching saucer and strayed from the silhouette of the city. “With people like you here, it is difficult to make a condemning assessment of Delorem. There are bad influences everywhere, my own world included, but it is the actions of the good and the rise of their voices that matter most.”
“So you do not criticise me for bringing you into Kingsrose territory for a tactical advantage over my competitors?”
Head and heart in agreement with the answer, Esther’s response dangled on the brim of freedom. She viewed her differently in light of the new information, but in the aftermath of the riverside attack and on proper reflection, was it truly a deplorable act? While Penelope concealed her intentions, she had done so with no malice or acquisitive intent. She required an upper hand, and Esther did not blame her. “Is that the only reason you brought me here?” she asked.
“Does any complex decision really have a singular reason?” Penelope returned. “No. It is true I requested your assistance so that the others could not use your power against my district and myself, but I do not wish to control your gifts either. Delorem is dangerous at the best of times, and I wanted you here to bring you under my protection and keep you safe. You have a good heart and the courage to stand up for what is right.”
“There then,” Esther reasoned, as though nothing more on the subject needed to be discussed. “You did not request my help for egotistical reasons. I probably would have done the same if I were in your position.”
“Thank you, Esther. My father always taught me to look out for those like you, and I hope to one day be able to pass that teaching onto Gabriel. If he lets me.”
“Give him time. I’m sure natural curiosity will get to him soon enough.”
As Penelope took in her fearless posture and mettle-laced bearing, she acknowledged that her life would slip into loneliness again once Esther returned to her world, fenced in by nodding heads and bottling those worries that the daring mage so kindly helped her to unpack. If she had found a friend like her as a teenager, perhaps she may have stood up for herself more, married her love, raised her son without a care towards what anybody else thought. Instead, she resigned herself to isolation. “Your absence will be noted when you leave,” she said, standing from the crescent armchair.
“I can always return,” Esther said. “When I’ve finished my studies.”
“I am certain you shall do splendidly.” Penelope straightened the pin on her lapel that she animatedly informed her over dinner one night represented the outstanding institute of The Citadel and her chosen school within the Academy. “You are very astute. I dare say you will graduate at the top of your class and be the envy of them all.”
“Just getting through my exams is fine by me,” Esther admitted with a shaky chuckle. “But perhaps now I have other options after graduation. Maybe I could learn more about the gateways and put my knowledge to use there instead of archaeology like I’d planned.”
“No matter what you decide, you have my support,” Penelope said. “Whatever you need and whenever you need it.”
Not acquainted with heartfelt praise, Esther flushed, a swell of potential fulfilment fluttering within the uncertainty.
Blazing white engulfed the room. Esther stationed herself by the Kingsrose director in anticipation of another attack, but when the library remained standing and silence fell, she compelled her racing mind to hush and heed the rational thoughts fighting to overcome the initial alarm.
“What was that?” Penelope breathed, trailing after the mage as she slipped out onto the balcony to observe the ashen sky.
Seething rain clouds waded through the factory plumes and resolved into a gargantuan humanoid form. Ruby firebolts discharged in its eyes, mini storms contained within the sockets that synchronised like a natural eyeball. To that monstrosity, they probably appeared as dots of dust, flicked aside with the merest effort.
A threatening rumble wound tight inside the behemoth’s throat before its booming voice rocked over the city. “What power do you hold to assume command of my gateways?” the creature roared. “None!”
Esther stilled.
“Beings of little consequence would dare to wrest my creation from me? I, Lord of Adventure and Navigator of the Starlight Path, will not suffer such insolence.”
“Is that the man you called to help us?” Penelope whispered.
“He was much smaller when I last spoke to him,” Esther replied, attending the performance in equal parts horrified and awed.
Her amazed rapture shattered once the protective spells she nurtured as the gardeners did the roses ruptured and split. The magic that guarded the house fractured, and in a final, apologetic breath, withered into oblivion.
Penelope blanched and recoiled, grasping her right wrist. Droplets of tears wavered on her lashes and a strangled gasp shivered through her lips.
By her side in an instant, Esther gingerly turned her arm over. A red, ovate impression simmered, boiling on her pale skin as though something sought to crawl out.
“To the industry families of this world, I have marked you and your descendants as a warning,” the storm declared. “If you do not cease in your bid for my gateways and dare to challenge my authority again, I will wipe your lines clean from Delorem.”
Esther paid little attention to the clouds as they thundered and dispersed, occupied in striving and failing to counteract the potent spell searing into Penelope’s arm. The inner windings of the charm dug deep, not only into her skin, but the fabric of her being.
Increasingly flustered thumps ceased by the open balcony door and a disconcerted maid stared at Esther’s trail of magic attempting to pacify the raw marking on her employer’s wrist. “Miss Kingsrose, the guards are asking if they are to mobilise?” she panted out. “What was that thing? What do we do?”
“Go fetch me clean water, some ice, and as much gauze as you can,” Esther said firmly, shocking the maid into action with a severe glare and returning to comforting the injured woman. “It’s all right, try to keep as still as possible.”
Penelope muttered something, a word so quiet and so fearful it was more a breath than an actual sound.
“What did you say?” Esther asked.
“Gabriel.”
“What about him?”
“He’ll be marked too. If anybody sees it, they will know. It won’t take the other heads long to figure out he is my son once rumours start to spread.”
The mage met Penelope’s terrified gaze. It wasn’t as though he could pass the blemish off as a birthmark; the stain was far too devised for that. “Oh shit,” she muttered.
“What am I going to do?” Penelope panicked.
“I don’t think there is anything other than what you did for me,” Esther said, little hope in her tone for a covert resolution. “Bring him here and protect him. That is all you can do now.”
* * *
As she descended into the tangle of channels beneath a deserted Wrenlow warehouse, a luminous sphere bobbing above her upturned palm, Esther directed her indignation into her assignment.
Why had Bartholomew marked the industry families? Why commit such a callous act when his own imposing form would have been enough to persuade them to retreat from the gateways?
Despite every compulsion to stay, to find Gabriel and apologise, she resisted. What good would an apology do for him? The only hope remaining was Penelope’s final vow to bring him into the Kingsrose district and shield him from the other industry heads and potentially angry rebels.
Coming to the underground gateway room, tucked behind an assemblage of charms and enchantments, her temper boiled again at the sight of the busied professor.
“You are late,” he noted, pausing in his restless shifts at the flare of her nostrils and inching by the waist-high globe of Delorem. “Did you not receive my messages?”
“I thought it best to help Penelope with her new wound first,” Esther replied, taking long, slow strides into the room and extinguishing the guiding orb with a clench of her fish. “That seemed more important.”
Straightforward and concise, like her reports, Bartholomew deemed it wise to keep his mouth shut. Not that any sign of tenacity would persuade him to concede on the matter. He performed a necessary action to ensure the safety and integrity of his gateways, and in doing so, protected Delorem too.
“What was that?” she demanded. “That… thing wasn’t you, but it had your voice.”
“It was a Wrath,” Bartholomew explained, undeterred by the rigid lift of her chin and resuming establishing a link to The Core. “My kind can create them. It takes the form of whatever we choose, and as the name implies, unleashes our rage.”
“You didn’t need to injure them,” Esther hissed. Try as she might, she couldn’t stay quiet, not when honest people had ended up hurt because of him. “Scare them a bit, sure, but this? Really?”
“The marking will not trouble them further, but it ensures they think twice before attempting to cross me again.”
A scream bristled like thorns in her throat, withheld with a bite. She doubted he realised the danger he brought to Penelope and Gabriel. Two innocents caught up in a plot they had no part in. “What you did was cruel,” she asserted. “Do you truly believe that will stop the industry heads? If anything, you’ve only incensed them more.”
“My solution affords me more time to enact extra protocols and protections on the Delorem gateways,” Bartholomew insisted. While ready for a challenge, he would not tolerate impertinence.
Concern for Penelope and Gabriel converged on her conscience. They deserved none of this. Stars, even some of the industry children did not deserve this punishment. Many were too young to comprehend the atrocities of their world, and yet they had been tarnished for life, their bloodline with it, fated to pass the scar to their descendants.
“You will understand one day,” the professor said. The gateway swirled and fixed a stable connection to the laboratory. “Now, let us get those feathers to The Core.”
If this is the way of Myriad, I don’t think I’ll ever understand, Esther locked behind the tight press of her lips as he sauntered into the uninterrupted flow of light and allowed it to swallow his form whole.
Beneath her feet, the churn and vibration of Lumen stirred, steady and persistent. Hesitation pursued her steps up to the gateway, an invisible rope tied around her waist and making each footfall heavier than the last. “I’ll come back,” she muttered to the unseen outstretched hands and the pleading, coal-smeared eyes begging her not to go. “I swear it.”
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