Beautifully Dark Places
Chapter 12
Glory and Gore
"Glory and gore go hand in hand."
I couldn't say it was the longest morning of my life; that title was reserved for the morning I got my hair curler stuck in my hair. It did, however, place in the top five longest mornings I had ever had.
The charms on the boys had long since worn off, and Boris had only protested to my actions for the first ten minutes after he regained consciousness. After it became apparent that I had no intention of listening to him, he excused himself to 'watch the door for intruders'. It was more likely because he had a weak stomach than because he feared a dragon might come sauntering into the room if he didn't stand at the threshold.
Nolan had been sitting on the bed, white faced and still, since sometime around midnight. He'd sat still for so long that he now blended into Ambrose's grimy collectibles that sat atop a shelf nailed to the wall. I almost wondered if sitting still for so long had given him the capability to collect dust. I was also acutely aware that I didn't want to find out.
Malorn wasn't much better. He was pale, but he was always pale, and hadn't moved from the chair since Boris had untied him. Instead, he was staring down at the unstained wooden floorboards with a distant expression woven onto his face.
"It's considered rude in nine different cultures to have dinner without a guest." Genevieve's smart mouth hadn't subsided in the past hours, either. Currently, she was focused on pointing out all the things we did that were considered 'rude'. The nerve I had the previous day had subsided, though, and I had only managed to get a few scraps of useless information out of her.
I really wasn't as tough as I acted.
"Interesting," I deadpanned, flipping the knife over in my fingers as I stood in the middle of the room. Her chain-mail boots began their tapping on the floor again, filling the room with monotonous, metallic clinking. "Why don't you answer questions instead of throwing useless knowledge at me?"
Genevieve smirked, causing blood to trickle out of a crack on her lip. "Oh, am I beginning to bore you?" She twisted her head to the side, starting a cascade of sweat-drenched black locks down her shoulder.
"I would say you're beginning to bore me," Nolan's voice was cracked and dry from unuse. I glanced at him side-long and he cleared his throat, "but that would indicate that I was once entertained."
"Ah, lover boy's back, I see." Genevieve turned to give him an almost pouty look. "Miss me?"
I considered stepping on her toes for that, but it wouldn't have done much good with her weapon-resistant shoes. I settled for freezing one of her hands again, which was received with a half-annoyed and half-furious glare from the black haired woman.
"She's working for Malistaire." Malorn mumbled, not taking his eyes off the hole in the floor that he had been fixated on for the past few hours.
Genevieve snorted and rolled her eyes. "Malistaire is old news. He's not got much of a backbone, either. Too scared of Ambrose to do any real good."
"Good?" Nolan raised an eyebrow incredulously. I nearly clapped; it was the first time he'd moved in hours.
Genevieve simply shrugged the best she could. "The world isn't black and white. Good and evil don't exist. There are only those who fight for what they want, and those who have it handed to them." Her blue eyes flickered up to meet mine. "Isn't that right?"
I was stunned, to say the least. Of all the people to understand, Genevieve had been the least I expected. Rooted to the spot, I glanced between Malorn and Nolan, neither of which was looking back at me. Nolan understood. He'd fought tooth and nail for everything he had. He'd studied and stepped on people. He definitely hadn't played fair but…
Malorn had been handed a lot. He was naturally gifted and excelled in his studies without waving so much as a finger or looking at a book for over thirty seconds. Still, that didn't mean he didn't deserve what he had. Right?
"I…" What was there to even say? That I understood? That she was right?
"That's right." Genevieve nodded, flipping her hair to the side as she straightened up her posture. "You can't argue with it because you believe it. The universe is painted in gray and so are you. You're not good—"
"—But I'm not bad." I shot back defensively. I wasn't bad. The people who had made fun of me were bad. Genevieve was bad. I was nothing like any of them. I was on the hero's side, not the villains.
"You know how they say crazy people don't know that they're crazy? It's not all tha—"
"She's not bad." Nolan shot a glare in the dark headed warrior's direction. Her blue eyes lit up in response, and my hand twitched slightly toward the dagger I had put away not too long after using it.
"You'd know what bad is, wouldn't you, lover boy? You've done some pretty bad things yourself." She looked him up and down, voice maddeningly level as she spoke. Nolan's gaze dropped instantly.
"There's not a single person in this room that can claim they're good," Genevieve continued with an annoyingly sane smirk. I've never wanted to hit someone as much as I wanted to hit her then.
But I didn't. "Then you can't say you're completely bad." I countered, shaking my finger in her direction.
"I never did," she replied cooly, "that was something you said. I remain unaffiliated, to be honest. Although, I would get a pretty penny for bringing him in," she nodded in Nolan's direction, "Morganthe always did have a weak spot for pretty faces."
The room seemed to fall away as the name left the Pyro's lips. Morganthe. I had no idea who that was or what they wanted, but it was a name. After days of interrogation, Genevieve's own arrogance had been her downfall.
The most satisfying part was that she knew it.
The dark headed teen's eyes widened and her lips pressed into a thin, pale line. Nolan was staring at her in shocked silence while Malorn shook his head in disbelief. Boris, who had opened the door to retrieve his shoes, was regarding the Pyromancer with a stunned look.
I, on the other hand, was completely collected yet overjoyed by the revelation.
"Morganthe?" I tapped my chin absentmindedly, wondering who could fit a name like that. "Who's she?"
Genevieve had gone impossibly quiet, head bowed in a silent prayer. It was death for treason, after all. "Să mă ierți." She whispered faintly, so low that I barely heard her. It sounded faintly like German, though I was sure the accent wasn't quite right.
Slowly, she lifted her head. Blue eyes lifted to meet mine. "I'll tell you, but you have to promise me something."
"Why should we do that?" Nolan's voice rose in disbelief.
Genevieve shot him a glare. "Do you know what happens to those who oppose the Queen?" Nolan's eyebrows furrowed, though he said nothing. "I thought not." She turned back to me, and set her shoulders.
"I expect protection in exchange for information."
"Absolutely not." Nolan reiterated for probably the fifteenth time since we sat down at the table. The table itself was used only for council meetings of the High Teachers-a clever name the oldest teachers had assigned themselves-and was a large oval slab of ash wood. It reminded me of the Knights of the Round Table, for some odd reason.
"Do you want the information or not?" Malorn voice was muffled by his hands, which he hand his face pressed into and was shaking his head softly. I half expected him to drag his fingers down his face and pull his eyelids down like cartoon characters always did when they were under stress.
"Of course we want the information." Boris reasoned, as if he was the understanding force between the two extremists. "We just don't want to have to protect a wanted criminal. It's all very simple."
"Except it's not simple. That's what she was saying, right?" Ryan responded from the chair to Boris's right. She'd been briefed on everything that happened when the meeting was called. Luckily, she hadn't been there for the worst of it (she had been helping control the outbreak in the city) and didn't know much about Genevieve besides the fact that she was the enemy.
"Nothing's black and white." I nodded, glancing between each of the faces at the table. Stephen and Ambrose were the only silent ones of the group. They seemed to be more concerned with listening then aiding in the dilemmas. Cyrus Drake, who had his hands clasped in front of him, had said very few things since he sat down at the table but had at least offered a few suggestions (such as "perhaps you shouldn't stick your nose where it doesn't belong" and "maybe if you paid more attention in class you would know what to do next").
"We have to have the information. We'll just have to sacrifice our prides until this mess is over." Nolan looked through his fingers at the faces around the table, as if he was scanning for disapproval. That, of course, he found in Cyrus's face.
"Your prides will not be the only thing at stake if you do such a thing. Must I remind you that would be housing the enemy in the heart of the city?" The Myth Professor sighed in his usual annoyance.
Boris blew out a breath I hadn't realize he was holding. "If we don't get the information how will we find Morganthe?"
Ryan shrugged. "We could beat it out of her."
"Doesn't work." I offered lamely. Nolan nodded in agreement.
"We could use Judgement on her." Stephen suggested calmly. Nolan went stark white. Malorn turned in his seat and dropped his hands to the table. Ryan raised an eyebrow. Boris crossed his arms. Cyrus nodded. Ambrose stroked his beard. I wondered what the hell was going on.
"B-but Judgement was banned…" Malorn managed to croak out after a few moments of silence.
"It was banned from using in duels against other students," Ambrose clarified. "It was too powerful and the side-effects were too risky. This is different."
"You would know how trust worthy she was if you did," Cyrus nodded thoughtfully. "If it doesn't kill her then you might as well protect her. She could be valuable."
Mummers arose from around the table. I blinked in confusion. "Kill her? Then we wouldn't know-"
"If Judgement kills her, Ms. Dawn," Cyrus was back to being his degrading self again, "then she would have lied to you anyway. The attack is measured by her intentions. If they are good, she lives. Bad, she dies. Even you should be able to figure out something so simple."
"She's not from here, Professor Drake." Malorn rolled his eyes.
"I hadn't noticed." Sarcasm must be a trademark of Myth students. I wonder if they have to take a Sarcasm class. Sarcasm 101. How to be a Douche for Dummies. The Ethics and Polar Theorem of Being an Asshat.
The corner of Nolan's mouth twitched upward and after a few seconds of wondering if he had even heard me, there was the unexplainable feeling of having a dial tone in my mind. Polar Theorem is a math term. It almost sounded like a laugh. I rolled my eyes. Math had never been one of my strong points.
"So, what? Stephen summons Judgement and we hope she doesn't die? That's ridiculous." Ryan shook her head. "We need something that will keep her from dying. We need—" She glanced over in my direction, eyes wide.
"What?" I asked innocently, looking over my shoulder for whatever had surprised her.
"You're an Ice."
"Yeah?" I blinked back in confusion. So?
"That won't work. Judgement can't be shielded against." Malorn waved his hand in dismissal of the idea.
"What about the Tower Shield?" Ryan asked, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. Boris, Malorn, and Nolan all exchanged glances.
It was Nolan who spoke first. "No one has been able to wield the Tower Shield for years. It's a defective power. Only the school shields work."
Ryan sighed in annoyance.
"Wait, what do you mean it's defective?" I asked, setting my chin on my folded hands in front of me. "Can we not go find a blacksmith or whatever to fix it?"
Boris smiled gently and Cyrus blew out an annoyed sigh. "The shields are like wards or force fields. Most of them are designed to shield you against a spell originated from one of the first guardians, but there was a shield invented that protected against all of them. That's the Tower Shield. It was the only defense against Balance spells, but no one's been able to use it for a while." The Storm wizard finished.
Nolan nodded. "They think the connection between the shield and the wizards were severed, but that's pretty much impossible. You can't see the connection between spells and magic, and you can't sever something you can't see."
"Actually," Ambrose interjected, stroking his beard even still, "it is more than possible to break the connection. Although, it wouldn't be breaking it in the traditional sense. The connection is still very much intact. The problem is more likely to be that the power of the connection was sapped."
"Which would mean you'd need someone whose powers weren't sapped?" Ryan asked quizzically. Ambrose nodded thoughtfully.
I clapped my hands together. "Let's go see Greyrose then."
"You can't just 'go see Greyrose', Kymma." Malorn sighed dramatically, "She can't teach you something that she can't cast."
"Then find me someone who can teach me." I responded.
"There is no one who can teach you." Cyrus shook his head. "You'll have to learn it on your own. You do not use a wand, correct?"
"Well," I paused, "I tried to but it wouldn't work. I can freeze stuff without a wand, though, if that counts."
"Wizards of Earth didn't need wands, correct, Headmaster?" Cyrus turned to Ambrose, who nodded. "I would say it's safe to presume you're… more skilled than I anticipated. You'll have to be taught differently. There's someone I think you need to see." He glanced at Ambrose.
"Are you referring to Galerind the Hammer, Professor Drake?" Ambrose asked kindly. Cyrus nodded. I frowned.
"Galerind the Hammer? What kind of name is that?"
"You tell us. He is from your world." Cyrus muttered bitterly.
Ambrose held a hand up to the Myth Teacher for silence. "He was born long before your time, Kymma. You see, time is different here than in your world. Galerind is from what I believe was called the Age of Enlightenment. That was the last few years we had with Earth, before the key was lost. That would have been, oh, about a hundred or so years here in Wizard City. The naming system was quiet different back then. He was given the suffix of 'Hammer' for being a blacksmith." Ambrose smiled as if proud of his knowledge.
"So… You want me to visit an old blacksmith guy?"
"He uses magic without a wand and is the last known Wizard of Earth. You ought to be begging to visit him." Cyrus replied dryly.
"Well," I nodded slowly, pushing myself up from the chair. "Let's go."
Wow! So, it's been months since I last updated this! I've gotten a ton of PMs about continuing it (I tried to answer them all! Sorry if I missed you!) so I thought I'd try it. College might take up my spare time though! I might be kinda slow!
What do you think? Is Genevieve really gonna be evil? And who's this Galerind dude?
Oh! And I'm writing a prequel thingy for this (probably a one-shot. Totally unsure as of now) about the prank Genevieve and Malorn played on Sylvia.
And, uh, is this even interesting anymore? Maybe... review and tell me? Or PM me?