Hey, everyone! Happy holidays to all of you! How's your Christmas vacay doing? What did you get? Me? I got a guitar from my tatay, but guess what? I don't know how to play one. It seems like every time I touch the thing, it just goes haywire and doesn't let me play any chord. Damn instruments and their intricacy! Anyway, I have a Christmas present for all of you. I haven't gotten the desired review I wanted last week, so I'm updating now.
Enjoy everyone! :D
Chapter Six
As promised, I returned Adrian's torch before dawn. And I brought a handy flashlight with me; don't want to get lost during dawn—that would be embarrassing. I went up to Adrian's temple and saw numerous of things I haven't seen last night. On the woods were sleeping dryads. They were part of the wood, so I could barely identify them, but in closer inspection, it was a pretty sight. It was as if they were being hugged by the trunk of the tree. A dryad stirred in her place on the trunk, and I redirected the flashlight into the shallow creek. Just below the bridge that led to the temple was a deep creek, about four feet. There were naiads there, sleeping on the stones while the water hummed their lullaby. All in all, it was pretty cool. The Academy was cool. Still is.
Gordon was nowhere to be seen when I stepped into the temple. The temple looked exactly as it had been when I left last night. Torches burning, fruits laid on the altar, big bouquets of flowers, inscriptions in place, and empty of any living thing. I put back to where I took the torch and left a note on it saying how rude Adrian was last night and I look forward to getting an apology whether he liked it or not. I didn't care if he was a fucking Vessel, but he had acted irrationally, and nobody should be that way. Indignation was my strong suit after all.
I took one last look around Hades' Temple and descended upon the stairs that led back into the creek. There were many things I have missed seeing last night, like the watch tower which was at least sixty feet high built with honest-to-god grey stones, and a homey empty lot at the middle of the two temples.
I cocked my head at the empty lot, wondering what was there as to why people have abandoned it. Just looking at the empty land full of weeds made me a little sad, but quickly shook the feeling off.
What was so peculiar about this place, anyway? I mean, Hades? Who's next? Zeus? Hercules? Is the Parthenon going to pop out anywhere here soon? Am I going to be my personal Homer and write down the history of the Academy? What will it be entitled? The Academy?
I shook my head and didn't even consider laughing at my dry wit. Who knew that I could have such dry humor?
Maybe the previous events were taking their toll on me. Maybe.
I frowned a little more at the chunk of land and looked at the other temple. It was simple with Doric-styled columns the color of burnt sand and ivory. The temple was on the far left side of the whole land, just near the greater side of where the creek's water came from. It was a lake, a huge one at that, and it was a color of bright unfiltered blue with only a hint of green. Even at early dawn, it just looked as good as the ocean of Greece and Croatia on a perfect sunny day.
Anyway, back to the temple. It was simple, if you call pinnacle to paradise simple. Unlike Adrian's temple (which was dark and had a Gothic feel to them), this temple was built like a classical—certainly ancient—beauty. Although the columns weren't the flashy Corinthian styles (I knew these 'cause I have a weird fetish to things that involve beauty and art—especially weaponry art), the temple was just as regal as the one on its opposite side.
I felt like singing a tune right now, I thought and did a neat one-eighty, marching off to where I had gone.
It wasn't until I was nearly up to the bridge that I started to hear things.
The things I was hearing were audible, yet inaudible. They were loud whispers and soft shouts and probably all the oxymoron I could think of that is about sounds. It was confusing, and I couldn't understand a single word the voices—noises—were telling me. But some part of me, a single, miniscule part of me, knew what it was telling me. Or at least what was happening.
I gasped as my temples stung from the pain something caused me. My eyes went blurry for a second, but I held on to the last thin thread of awareness I had. My scar at my back made a telltale tingling. I shoved as hard as I could, not wanting to ruin a perfect dawn by manifesting thunder that could probably destroy anything that was on its way. And that would be the Camouflage.
By now, I was clutching my head between my hands, covering my ears, hoping to drown out the noise, but the noises were inside my head. It did no good. I wrenched open my eyes, and the thing I saw confused me.
How could a pair of combat boots be in front of me? And why at dawn? Early dawn?
I didn't bother to look up at who owned the boots because if this was any person with good in their mind, they would have helped me, not stand there and look at me like I was a retarded fool who went swimming on dry land.
I rolled to my side and caught my sheath (not the holster anymore) that held one of my daggers. Clumsily, I fumbled for my dagger through the collision of noise and pain. Finally, I caught my dagger. I tossed it up into the air, hoping to catch it by the hilt, but I was totally in no shape to do any of those stunts because when I caught my dagger, my palm stung like hell.
I had caught the dagger on the wrong side.
Crap, shit, fuck, ow, was all I could think of. I know, I know, you think that I should be used to all these stuff being stabbed involuntarily because I was using them blah blah blah, but you're quite mistaken. You see, I was in a state of panic—well, not panic, but pretty much close to panic because the noises were making me a little insane in their own way—and had no moment to think about whether I'll hurt myself or not. In short, I panicked. Maybe. Okay, I did panic. One of my worst enemies was loud noises, and thunders were included. Ironic, is it?
"Shoooot…" I had cried out, and then miraculously, the noises stopped. Although the noises had stopped, I could still feel that I was light-headed and more than a little dizzy from my little field trip to the ground. I bit my lip, I wasn't a whiner, and I still am not. I looked at my hands, and closed my eyes, struggling to keep the bile down my throat. I wasn't a big fan of blood, and I still am not. I knew that we should cherish blood because it's the thing that gives us life by circulating around us, but I like to think the only thing keeping me alive was my loyalty and my sanity. Without sanity, I would be worse than dead. And without loyalty, I would be insane.
I rolled again, and slowly stood up with shaky knees. From the combat boots, to the black pants, to the white shirt, I raked my gaze at it as if I were to pounce and knock the living daylights out of the bastard—which was probably the only thing on my mind right now.
Atop of the white shirt were a long, pale neck and a face with the bluest of all electric blue eyes I have ever seen, and red hair.
Ashford, I remembered. Mason Ashford, the nutcase who put my bags up that fucking flagpole.
I considered spitting on his boots, but that would only make him amused. Concluding my revenge, I smiled, and reached my hands to his white unruffled shirt.
He didn't have time to react because he was just as shocked as, well, me. The stark bright red of the shirt drove me over to the edge, and then I spilled my guts. Damn, how nasty the sounds I make when I puke. Goodbye went my dinner last night. I had a second feeling a sheer sense of satisfaction that I had thrown up on Mason but was quickly followed by a huge feeling of embarrassment. Without further ado, I repressed the feeling of being embarrassed relentlessly, hoping no trace of it would invade the outcome of what I had just (not deliberately) done.
When I was done throwing up, I wiped my lips, and spat the remaining tastes of vomit out of my mouth. I looked up at Mason's face with a smug smile.
"Sorry," I told him. "I just ate a canary. I was a bit full, so I did the Technicolor yawn."
His face was stark white; I had the satisfaction to note. His eyes had lost some of its brightness, leaving a shocked, empty look in them.
"Mason Ashford, right?"
That seemed to kick him out of his stupor. Despite the colorful combination that he had on his recently white shirt, he still had the balls to look paternally domineering. Ew. "Major Mason Ashford."
I bit back the "you wish" I was about to say. Instead, I said, "Ashford seems better."
His eyes lit back to life. I almost had a hard time not squinting at them. "Major Ashford. Nobody—"
"Actually, Ashford, I don't care." I cut him off, truly genuine about my words.
The look on his face was an Aldea Moment.
I could still taste the bitter taste of vomit in my mouth. I spat again. I pointed at his shirt. "You should go change—that reeks."
Mason didn't even look down. I guess he had strong determination. I chuckled. And then stopped. I remembered what Lissa had said about the Ashford twins. Morgana and Mason, they were known to be the most destructive Academists if combined. Morgana, who was telekinetic in all things she created, was a big bitch and made no effort to hide it. Mason on the other hand was clever, sometimes deceitful, and "sweet-talking." Sweet-talking, as Lissa had said, might be another description for persuasive—per se, mind-control. Yeah, that was why Mason had Morgana avoid an argument from me yesterday. Mason simply had applied his magic to his sister, "sweet-talking" her into doing what he desired.
Well, then, if he decides to pull that prank on me, it will be his last one, I swear.
"What are you doing here, anyway?"
He pointed at the side where the watch tower was. "I guard there at four to eight a.m."
I narrowed my eyes at him, suspicious. "Then why aren't you up there, guarding like you're supposed to be doing?"
Mason looked a little uneasy. He should, my squint could be a little dangerous at times. Or maybe it was just my puke that reeked. "I am doing my job. I came down to escort you to the Headmistress for trespassing."
I was outraged. "Trespassing? What the fuck did I trespass? Why the fuck do you have to bring me to the fucking Headmistress? I didn't do anything wrong!" I barely hit my limit when Mason gave me a patient, chiding look like he was looking at a child and not an eighteen-year-old girl. Again, that made me enraged, but I held it back, knowing all too well what strong emotions did to me.
"Can't you read?" he pointed at a sign on the bridge, both facing the sides of the bridge.
"Well, I'm sorry if I can't read what I'm seeing right now. I barely even know what alphabets they are!"
That erased the smug look on Mason's face. Mason's jaw dropped, and he gave me a droll stare. He was about to say something when I held up my hand to silence him.
"Please, don't bother." I said and put on a patient look. "I'm not a genius like all of you Academists,"— almost, I snorted—"and I certainly am not trespassing. Adrian told me to bring his stupid torch back to his stupid temple before the stupid sun comes up, and I did what he just asked." Demanded was more like it, but I didn't tell Mason.
He looked confused. "Adrian?"
I gave him a strange look. "The Vessel who wears the stupid black cloak, duh."
Again, he gave me that look that made me think he was some kind of hybrid human fish. "You mean the Vessel of Hades? You talked to him? You came here and you didn't get in trouble?"
I gave him my "duh" look.
Mason looked excited as hell, which looked weird because there were still remains of my dinner on his shirt. "Oh man, oh man. Nobody except the Headmistress knew their names, but now! Adrian, the Vessel of Hades! Who knew his name was such a wimp!"
Realizing my fault, I grabbed the back of his neck (not at his shirt because there was puke) and pulled him toward me. "Listen, buddy, if you ever tell anyone his name, I swear I'll kick your skinny little white ass." I said in a harsh tone.
From Mason's look, he wasn't in the least fazed by my threat. Instead, he looked into my eyes, and the noises started again. More violent this time. Most were screams, cries, and one voice stood out. "Let go of me."
Oh, boy, he's using mind control on me. Okay, buddy, let's see what you've got. The scar at my neck and back burned but I didn't use the powers they offered me. Instead, I did the thing I never thought I will.
I slapped Mason with a bloody hand. I cringed. Nasty. It left a bloody imprint of my hand on his cheek.
Mason doubled over, his eyes clearly showing that he hadn't expected the blow on his face.
I decked him, kicking the most sensitive part on his midsection. Hard. He wheezed and landed on the bridge hard on his butt, clutching at where I had decked him.
"I warned you but you didn't listen." I told him, surprised by my own voice. It sounded so nonchalant. "Don't let me kick your butt out of here. Go change your clothes; I'll take over for a while."
Mason choked. "Yeah, I'll do that after you kill me."
I sneered at him, but I didn't feel good about bullying. But then again, he started it. "Don't tempt me, punk."
"Perhaps the girl is right, Ashford. You should go back to your cabin and change." A voice sounded from behind me.
I stopped dead-still. The voice was downright scary. The voice, its accent a mixture of Russia and America and a little something else, was definitely male and deep. Despite the deepness of the voice, it still held a lyrical tune to them, but not in an obvious way that made him sound bad. Authority was also plain on his tone.
For once, I stayed quiet, and let what happened happen.
Mason scrambled to his feet and bobbed a bow. "But my Lord, I am not supposed to leave until my shift is over." He explained, shooting me a look.
The reaction the tall, tall man gave was unexpected. "Do you think we are incapable of protecting the temple, let alone ourselves? You only insult us by guarding the temples when we are here." The man's sculpted features were stoic, but I could see that there was not even one funny bone in his body.
Mason's look would have been funny if the situation wasn't so ludicrous. "N-no, my Lord, I d-didn't mean t-to off-fend you, and—"
The man sent Mason backing away and running with one look.
I rocked back on my heels and whistled the tune of "Puff the Magic Dragon" and looked at the man probably in his mid-twenties wearing a long brown coat. A duster, I thought it was called. I caught his eyes, which were shades darker than his coat. His brown hair, like mine, was tied back in a short ponytail. A face that was pure male influence turned toward where I was, his eyes assessing me dispassionately.
I rocked back on my heels again and quit whistling.
"Hi." I said.
Joyeux Noel.
Hugs and kisses from moi.
K8
