Author's Note: My sincere apologies for the delay in posting this chapter, but unfortunately life sometimes gets in the way of writing the fanfiction. Frustrating, but true. Anyways, thanks to the reviewers who are so sweet and wonderful, and I hope you enjoy the chapter. Hopefully the next will be posted with more haste!
Chapter 9: The First Day
The boat bobbed laboriously through the waves, circling the island to reach the only accessible port. As they passed Amon could see the stark cliffs of the coast, pinkish grey granite that had been tortured by wind and sea into strange designs and shapes that emanated menace. Up close the island seemed even more forbidding than it had at a distance, the rocky, mountainous terrain looking uninhabited and thoroughly windswept.
Adrian stood at the cold steel railing and studied the landscape with him, but Morgan seemed disinclined to look. She hadn't moved from her seat and kept her eyes downcast, occasionally closing them firmly as though to clear her vision of the boards under her feet. Amon didn't know how she felt about being sent to this place, how she felt about her newly heightened power, how she felt in general. She had been as silent as her mute guardian since they'd embarked on their journey to the island. He had noted that she moved with a slight hunch that indicated internal pain, but that was to be expected. It had not been long since the incident in that terrible room. He would ask how she felt but he knew somehow that she would not thank him for reminding her of any of it. So he remained silent too, though it pricked his conscious a little to see her hurt and unhappy, such a different person than the vivacious woman he had met not so long ago.
But then, he felt as though he were a different person too. It felt like ages ago since he had been brought, wounded himself, to Italy for reasons that he didn't understand. He still didn't have the answers to his questions, queries that bred like rabbits in spring, but he felt that to come to this island was a step toward the answers. He just hoped he was right.
As they entered the small bay named Cala Maestra and drifted toward the pier, Amon spied a figure exiting a black jeep and striding out onto the wooden gangway. The ship's horn sounded, bringing the deck hands out from below to prepare to dock the vessel. The three Solomon agents didn't move, allowing the men to work around them. The light of the day was nearly gone and the north facing cove was blanketed in near darkness. Amon had expected buildings, lights of some kind, but there were none. Of course, Amon thought after consideration. To outside eyes this island is deserted. But this raised the question of where the Solomon training facility was hidden, a ponderance that peaked Amon's curiosity.
Deckhands were throwing lines to shadowy figures who had appeared on the dock when the horn had sounded, and the shadow men were guiding them into place along the pier. The massive churning engine was cut, and the resulting quiet buzzed in Amon's ears. That sound had been constant for such a long time that the absence of it was disorienting. Now water could be heard slapping against the hull and the pilings of the pier, and gulls screamed overhead at the intrusion of humans in their territory. Rapid fire Italian was also being slung between the sailors and dock workers as the gangplank was positioned for disembarking. Adrian caught his attention with a light touch to his sleeve, indicating that they should do so now. Then he left Amon to collect Morgan, helping her to her feet and threading her arm around his like a loving grandfather with his favorite grandchild.
The figure Amon had seen exiting the jeep was awaiting them at the bottom of the gangplank. He was tall and slender with sandy blond hair and dark eyes, and was wearing a long black coat, another victim to Solomon fashion or so it seemed. The man's first order of business was to bow his head deferentially to Father Adrian, who nodded curtly in return. "Welcome back, Master," the man spoke in a pleasant mellow tone, only then allowing his dark eyes to fall upon the young woman beside the old man. "This is Agent Excelior?" he asked politely. Again the Father nodded. "We are pleased to have her with us," the man said with courtesy. His pleasant voice, Amon noted, was well trained to be entirely without accent, and he had chosen English to converse in, no doubt to put Morgan more at ease. It didn't seem to matter, though. She had not lifted her eyes or in any way acknowledged the man or his words.
If he was offset by her lack of response, he made no sign. He turned to Amon and bowed. "And welcome to you, Amon," he greeted in flawless Japanese, the sound of which made Amon startle slightly. He had not heard another speak in his native language since the day of the attack at headquarters, and no sound could have been more welcome to his ears.
"I thank you," he replied softly with a bow of greeting.
"My name is Peter Wildling," the man told him, "and I teach languages here at the island. Of course just now I am sent to bring you to the Villa." He smiled a charming smile. "But let me say to all of you," he said, changing to flowing Italian, "Welcome to Montecristo."
Peter had taken them in the Jeep up a dark and unpaved track into the hills of the island, following the lay of the land into a large wooded valley protected on all sides by the steep mountainous terrain. In the darkness it was difficult to make out many other characteristics of the landscape, but the large lit building that had appeared before them was obvious. It was a monastery more in the make of a villa as even its name implied – Villa Reale. It was exceptionally large and just as exceptionally old, built in the comfortably decadent style of Italian manor houses. Its chief difference from any other monastery in Tuscany was that it was built from the very rock of the island, dense gray granite that lent it just a touch of menace.
Their linguistic guide had explained to them that the other inhabitants of Villa Reale, teacher and student alike, were all gathered together in the hall for dinner. When none of the travelers seemed inclined to food, Peter showed them to their rooms which indeed leaned toward the monastic. Small and bare, the private rooms boasted only a bed, chest, and writing desk, along with the obligatory crucifix on the wall. Being disinterested in creature comforts, Amon was not daunted by the spare ness of the accommodations, only glad that he was not being asked to share with a roommate. He was however in the male student's wing, and Morgan was ushered to the female corridor. Adrian of course would accommodate himself with the other Masters.
And as the hours ticked by Amon laid upon the thin mattress of his bed and listened to the wind howling in the eaves, pretending to sleep in an effort to induce it. It wasn't working and Amon stared out the small window to the clouds riding the strong wind. Every now and then a break would form and the deep ebony of the night sky would appear with stars that hung lusciously close to earth in this remote place. The moon would shine for that brief time and the light would shine onto his bare skin with a cold brilliance that only made his mood darker. For when the light disappeared again the darkness would rush in from all sides and in that darkness specters of long lost residents prowled. This place had a distinct sense of history, the stones themselves felt infused with it, the very air tainted by it. The history was as cold as the wind outside, as the moonlight, as the flat of a blade pressed against flesh. Just as dangerous.
It was nonsense, and Amon was thoroughly disgusted by his overactive imagination. Yet he hesitated to close his eyes all the same, and when he did he found himself holding his breath as though listening for the voices belonging to the echoes of the past. Sleep was a long time coming.
The next morning dawned bright and cloudless, a stark contrast to the stormy day before, and Amon found himself being led by Father Peter into a large and brightly lit hall that served as the gathering place for breakfast. Sunlight poured through the large windows that afforded a view of the oaks and gardens surrounding the villa.
Peter walked with him past long tables with young people gathered around them, the youngest looking around twelve years old and the eldest perhaps twenty. In all there were roughly fifty students. At a separate table sat the Masters, almost entirely male and ranging in age from mid years to elderly, and Amon saw Adrian seated amongst them. It was to this table Peter led him and they sat together. "It is unusual for a student to sit with the Masters," Peter explained in his affable way, "but for you I think an exception could be made. After all, you're no untried apprentice. Besides, I should like to talk with you before you're too busy."
"Here at the villa you'll see that there are varying levels of students," he explained between sips of espresso. "The youngest are in white, and they are first level. They are studying an accelerated course of class work that includes languages, history, geography, mathematics, and the like. They are also trained in forms of combat, weapons – all other physical studies associated with being an effective Hunter."
Amon nodded understanding and Peter continued. "After that are the first level apprentices, and they are wearing the light gray." Amon scanned the hall and found a young man wearing a long tunic shirt with matching trousers. "At this point their training becomes more specific and they are paired with a Master who shares their Craft. The study moves to the mastering of their skills. Above that are the second level apprentices, who wear charcoal gray." Peter gestured loosely toward a table full of older students, all wearing the identical dark color. "At this level the apprentices begin to accompany their Masters on actual Hunts for Solomon in order to gain experience in live combat."
Amon looked pointedly down at the black shirt and pants he had worn since Rome. Peter noticed the scrutiny and smiled. "Yes, you'll be allowed to dress in your own clothes. To be honest you're an odd exception to the rule and we were hesitant in categorizing you at all. You see, most of these students were brought here around the age of thirteen and have been on the island for several years. None have been employed by Solomon as Hunters as you have been. So you see you have far more experience than they when it comes to Hunting." He gave Amon a shrewd look. "And if gossip can be considered fact then you are only lacking Craft technique to earn the rank of Master."
"So what training do you have in mind for me?" Amon questioned gravely.
Peter frowned at this. "Father Juliano has instructed that you receive private tutelage in your Craft, so your interaction with the apprentices will be limited. But he insisted on a specific Master who is away on assignment. He has been sent for, and is in route as we speak. But unfortunately your tutelage will not begin today."
Even as Peter said this, Amon's attention was completely stolen by movement at one of the tables. A teenage girl had risen from her seat and was leaving the hall, and Amon's eyes were wide. The dress she wore – he knew it as though it had been seared into his brain. It was the distinctive dress Robin always wore. The girl wearing it now bore no resemblance to his partner at all, and yet Amon could see Robin standing before him, her jewel green eyes piercing past his mask to the shadowed core of himself. A quick glance around the hall found every female student wearing the same style of dress in various shades of gray.
Peter had noticed his distraction and was staring at him curiously. "Peter," Amon said quietly, "Did you know a girl named Robin Sena?"
The young Father's face lit happily. "You know Robin?" he asked incredulously. "She was a very special student of ours here."
"Yes, I know her," he confirmed quietly. "She was in the Master program?"
"Oh yes," Peter gushed, setting down his toast and dusting the crumbs from his fingers. "She was the youngest student ever sent to the island."
"How young?"
"Why, when she was sent to us, she was only eight years old," Peter remembered after a moment of recollection. "And she awakened even before that, or so I suppose. She lived in a convent on the mainland before she was sent to us. She reached second level apprenticeship by the age of ten, a remarkable feat that has never been duplicated. Even now she is only fifteen years old!"
Amon would never imagine himself to be even the least bit sympathetic or sentimental, yet he felt a twist of pity for such a young child to be sent to such a forlorn and remote place. To live one's formative years in a place like this, schooled to be the ultimate killer… Amon's hands squeezed the thought away as they curled into fists. He would not think of this now. He could afford no distraction at the moment, and her face in his mind was the last thing he needed. Yet he couldn't stop himself from seeing her thin silhouette rise from the table nearest him as the other girl had done, turning her eyes to him, the light of the morning shining onto her strawberry kissed blond hair…
Peter was speaking and Amon physically shook the memory away with a toss of his head. "Sorry?" he asked.
Peter began again. "There is someone I would like you to meet; he will serve as your guide today and better acquaint you with our facility and lead you through your first day." Peter beckoned with a flip of his hand and a tall thin adolescent appeared, dressed in the dark gray of a second level apprentice. "This is William," Peter introduced the blond haired boy to the Hunter. "He will see you through today, as I have classes to teach. I will see you for the evening meal, however."
As they rose, Amon stopped Peter with a question. "Father," he asked, "where is the other agent that was brought here with me? Agent Excelior?"
Peter nodded gravely. "It is the decision of the Masters that she be in seclusion for a time," he intoned in a lowered voice that indicated confidences. "Just until she gains control of her Craft. She is quite volatile at the moment, not only to others but to herself as well. When she is feeling more in control she will rejoin us."
Amon wanted to ask more but he refrained, and with a friendly wave Father Peter left the table, collected a small herd of white robed students, and ushered them from the hall. Amon turned now to the teen who was standing silently before him. At closer inspection Amon ascertained that William was probably about eighteen, thin but well muscled, and had eyes that had been schooled to the Solomon art of still watchfulness.
William stood silently before him, and Amon realized the younger man was waiting to be addressed before speaking. "Well," Amon said, uncertain how to proceed with the young apprentice. "Can you give me a tour of this place?"
"Of course sir," he replied, turning smartly and indicating Amon to join him.
"Call me Amon," Amon said impulsively, matching stride with the young man as they left the large hall. William glanced at him uncertainly, but Amon could feel some of the stiff formality easing away.
The two men toured the villa and Amon found that it contained the sleeping quarters of every person living on the island, a large sitting room and library, kitchens, and a well tended garden surrounding the building. Once they had finished this, William led him back to the library and stood before a large set of double doors. "This upper Villa is simply where we sleep and eat," he explained to Amon. Then he indicated the doors before them. "The remainder of the facility is below ground."
Past the massive doors a tunnel appeared to be carved out of the granite of the island, leading downward as though into the very depths of the earth. Dim electric sconces lit the passage and doors led off from the main corridor they were walking. William paused occasionally to allow Amon to see inside these offshoot rooms which more often than not proved to be computer workstations, multimedia centers, classrooms of various subjects and purposes, or else empty and dark.
As they walked William explained how the underground fortress came into being. "The whole island is riddled with caves and tunnels, and after the original monastery was destroyed by pirates in the fifteenth century, the monks began excavating the caves to build an underground fortress that would be invisible to the eyes of the world. Solomon continued this, and for hundreds of years workers have mined the island to create a whole other world down here."
Their steps led them at last to an immense circular chamber that could well have been in the very heart of the island. Pillars were placed evenly following the curve of the walls to support the weight of the domed rock overhead which soared to dim and dizzy heights above them. Unlike the electric light that had guided their way before now, the huge chamber was illuminated only by torchlight – by bracketed torches on the walls and huge hanging dishes of flame. There was a collection of grey toned individuals collected near the center of the room and William led Amon toward the group.
The students and Masters present had formed into a ring around two level two apprentices who were facing each other silently. Amon looked quizzically to his guide who explained in a whisper. "In the level two apprenticeships we master the art of combat. Some of this is through accompanying our Master on his missions, and some is through dueling."
"Dueling?" Amon echoed in an incredulous whisper. It had never occurred to him that a person would practice their Craft by using it upon another, however able the other may be. It seemed dangerous and reckless, like playing with a loaded gun. There was a sense of anticipation in the onlookers, and Amon felt his heart accelerate.
Two boys slightly younger than William were facing each other with inscrutable faces and they bowed formally to one another without breaking eye contact. With that the group took a collective step back and the match began.
Amon couldn't tell who struck first, it was so fast. What he could see was that both boys had sent an attack and each had blocked, sending light flashing into the center of the circle. There was a pause as the boys circled along the edge of the onlookers, sizing up the situation. Then one boy raised his hand and a jet of flame erupted across the circle. So this one has the Craft of fire as well, Amon thought. Just like Robin. However he could see that this pale skinned boy did not possess nearly as much power as his partner. His attacks were easily deflected again and again by the other boy, though Amon could not see quite how the other was doing it. He didn't seem to be actively attacking his opponent. Still the boys circled, and the eyes of the onlookers sparkled expectantly.
The pale fire Craft user suddenly stopped as though rooted to the spot, and Amon watched as his sallow face lost all expression, as his eyes emptied of any emotion. The other boy was opposite the circle and he stood at ease, staring his fellow apprentice down. And then slowly the dark haired opponent closed the distance, striding slowly and purposefully toward his fellow student who amazingly was showing no signs of movement or retaliation. In fact there was no evidence the boy was conscious at all except for his open and staring eyes. The dark haired boy stopped just before the fire Craft user and without looking from the other's eyes drew a dagger from his waistband. Amon took an involuntary step forward as though to intervene but William put a restraining hand on his arm. "Wait," was his only explanation.
The dark boy had raised the dagger and now positioned it against the throat of the pale fire user, just below the chin. At this gesture a black robed Master stepped into the ring and clapped his hands together sharply. "Enough," he called in a ringing voice, and the pale Hunter in training blinked and then started at the blade so close to his flesh. Then a red blush of shame burned on his cheeks and he hung his head while the Master clapped the other upon the shoulder in approval.
Amon turned to William in bewilderment and the emotion did not go unnoticed. "It was a fight between fire Craft and earth Craft," he explained patiently as the two stepped away from the ring of observers. The lesson was the use of Ogham wards in combat and how to avoid them. Apparently Avery did not manage to stay out of it."
"Avery is the fire user?" Amon asked.
William nodded. "He was fighting Olimay, who is a very good earth Craft user. I think I would have been surprised if Avery had managed to fight the ward."
Amon cursed his ignorance but swallowed his pride as he asked, "And what is an Ogham ward?"
William did not look askance at him as Amon feared he would. Instead he explained as though repeating a homework assignment. "Earth Craft users have the ability to manipulate one's perception of reality – to create an illusion that incapacitates the opponent." Amon nodded crisply, remembering his first hand experience with this devilry. "An Ogham ward is a circle cast by a Craft user to protect them against attack. However an earth Craft user can use this circle to encapsulate his opponent and make it seem as though the victim's Craft is being reflected back upon them, thus making them unwilling to fight. Then the earth user can simply walk up to the opponent and dispatch him, as you've seen." Amon shuddered inwardly at the memory of the dagger on the young man's throat, his eyes staring blankly ahead. Like a lamb to the slaughter…
And later, in his room and alone again at last, Amon could not quite shake the uneasy feeling that the duel had stirred in him. The unease gnawed at him and he absently acknowledged it. After all, he couldn't remember when he'd been without it to be honest, and its constant presence was almost a comfort in its reliability. And this place did nothing to lessen the low grade apprehension that shaded his waking and sleeping. He stood at the small window of his cell and watched wisps of cloud become translucent as they brushed past the moon.
The noise was far and almost unnoticeable at first, but the volume increased until it became recognizable. A helicopter was approaching the island, and landing on it from the sound of the propellers. Amon could see nothing of this from his window and so he focused all his attention to listening. The engine noise did not cut out; it only decelerated for several minutes before revving up again and lifting out into the starry night. The nighttime noises of the island's wildlife slowly filtered back in the absence of the droning engine, but Amon paid it no heed.
The knock on the door was unexpected, however, and Amon startled from his deep consideration. He opened the door to reveal Father Peter standing expectantly in the hall. "I'm here to summon you," he stated hurriedly. "Your Master has arrived."