And today I will hereby record my first words upon this book of legend and song. Of pride and shame to my family.
I am lost, that is all I know.
I grew up a soldier, well knowing that one day I was to die on the battlefield, my enemies before me, my friends to my sides. I was never meant to lead. My uncle was, just as he was supposed to live long after me.
But the fate I had come to believe so fiercely will never occur. And that terrifies me. Has our time come? The time of another Shattering? Are we even ready to stand before this Storm?
All I know is that the House of Kovanen is doomed, and their vows, an unfeasible deed.
Sombre words written shaky yet elegantly, singless, in 'Black Book of Hunters'.
Chapter 67 - Courage, resilience, and duty
There was an eerie touch to this day. An unseen veil clung to it, thick and heavy.
The large cavern transmitted it far too well. The stone was mossy and humid, giving away a scent of dampness one couldn't get fully used to. What little light there was came from the many torches set all over the place, standing tall and firm upon long poles, their flames blazing to an intensity which dared to mock the stillness and sombreness of the place.
Levitt waited far away from the light, standing atop a ledge at the far end of the cavern. Below, the shadows of men and women raised under the blazing flames. Silent, frozen. Daring not to move a finger, not even to take deep gulps of air. With a quietude to their bearings which spoke far louder than any word might.
Once, this gathering of Hunters would've filled the cavern; line after line stretching as far as sight went. A show of power and identity from an order that had lasted millennia. An order born from the ashes of lost civilizations. Today, however, only around a hundred had answered the summon.
Memories of that cursed day came to Levitt's mind, but he quickly suppressed them, burying them beneath a facade of strength. Yes, he'd done his best to save his men. He'd failed, but he was alive to try once more. None of them would've ever surrendered, were they in his place. Least he could do was to pay them tribute by doing so himself.
"Anything troubling you?" Ashley asked in a whisper. The woman sat by his side, legs dangling from the ledge. Her eyes were also set on the gathering crowd below.
"Plenty of things," Levitt replied in a similar whisper. He dared not raise his voice above the cryptic silence of the cavern. It felt too disrespectful. "And not one I can do a damn thing about…"
She simply hummed in response; because, sometimes, words were the worst form of expression.
Levitt scanned the natural chamber, searching for a flash of blonde. Mikko had decided to attend the gathering as one more Hunter. Levitt had accepted the invitation too, but had settled for a more distant place since he hated crowds. And even from afar, he caught no sight of his friend.
And so, his eyes returned to the end of the cavern, where another ledge—a far larger and taller one—sprouted from the rock. A most sacred thing, it seemed, for everyone stared at it reverently; breaths held, words scared to flow out. Vines ran down the rocky surface, piercing into the very roots of the cavern. Eroded, arching inward as it went down.
But it remained empty.
"I imagined it differently, you know?" Ashley mused, kicking at the air like a bored toddler. "The end of the world, I mean. I thought there would be plenty of fire and lightning and earthquakes. That seas and rivers would dry, mountains would erupt and become volcanos. Plenty of shouting and crying, too. And yet, it's so silent…" She looked up, glancing at Levitt hesitantly. The fear her eyes held… "Because that's what happened in Brazil, right? The end of the world."
A shadow appeared at the ledge at the other end of the cavern. Tall, with a calm stride, she stepped into the light. Lozen Kovanen wore her usual robes of gold and white, hair bundled into a long, tight tress. Her longbow hung on her back, though there was no quiver to make it company. She was ice herself, an emotionless rictus on her face.
And the bringer of something awful.
"No, that wasn't the end of the world," Levitt replied, shaking his head. "What's coming next, that's the end of the world."
And so, as those sombre words echoed into the vastness of the cavern, Levitt was witness to the beginning of the end.
Lozen's eyes travelled through the solemn crowd, taking her time to reflect on every face. On every story. "You know me quite well," she said, at long last. "I believe I have always been a very close commander, that I have taken my time to know you well enough. And you know me too. As a woman, as a Hunter, as a warrior."
She let out a long sigh, glimpses of that weakness she'd tried to mask rushing into freedom. Though for a very brief instant, for no emotion would ever free itself from that jail of icy determination.
"I was never meant to stand here," Lozen continued, "much less in too sombre a time. I was meant to lead you on the battlefield, charging against our fatal enemy in the first line; shoulder to shoulder, back against back. My uncle was supposed to lead the Union. But he is dead. He killed himself, jumping from atop the Black Tower, as soon as we departed for the Frontier. I will be bluntly honest, as I often am. I want to cry, I want to scream, to curse at my uncle, to pretend this is not happening. But life is what it is—cruel, unkind, unforgivable to those who surrender."
Her eyes were now ablaze with a light which was not meant for any regular person to ever bear.
"Courage, resilience, and duty!" Lozen claimed fiercely, taking a step toward the end of the ledge. "Those are the words we Hunters are bound to honour! I will not ask of you to forswear of your lives, nor to swear a vow befit of heroes and legends. This venture is beyond all, both known and unknown. You will not find honour here, nor wealth nor prestige. Death awaits us all. And how can we turn our back on it when it is us alone to stand before the Storm? I refuse to surrender. I will fight the hordes of hell. Not for vengeance, inasmuch as my heart yearns for it. Neither for glory, as my name will be known to no one whose life I saved."
Lozen quieted, her fists clenching. When she spoke again, it was with a voice devoid of any fire. Her coldness had returned.
"I, Lozen Kovanen, leader of the Union, hereby unbound you all to the vows you swore when you became a Hunter. You have my utmost thanks for your service and loyalty. And now, allow me to make a petition. Not as a commander, nor as a leader. But as a desperate woman. Please, stay. Please, fight one more time. I will bear this burden because no one else can. Will I stand alone before the fire and the Storm?"
Silence crept through the cavern, spreading its oppressive fingers all over the crowd. Many turned their backs on Lozen and walked out of the chamber. One after another, like a line of ants. And none of them held their heads up, knowing what they had just done. Shame was almost visible; a burden upon their backs stepping down on them.
Levitt couldn't blame them; of course he couldn't. These were men and women who appreciated their lives, or the lives of those dear to them. They'd seen hell, survived it even. The mere thought of facing it one more time would terrify the bravest among bravest.
Still, many remained. Around fifty or so, enough to give the cavern a semblance of life. They stood so still one might take them for stone figures. Though stone men would never bear themselves so proudly, heads raised into the air, eyes set upon their commander. Yes, there was beauty in the impossible. In that stubbornness so familiar to men, in that art of never surrendering they had come to make theirs.
Ashley took hold of his arm; her fingers, so slender and clean of blood and death, had a strength so unfit to them.
"And you, Levitt?" she asked, voice shaking and weak. "What are you going to do?"
As soft as possible, Levitt untangled himself from her gasp. "I'll do what I must," he replied in a whisper, staring right into her eyes. Oh, the fear they bore! The worry and anxiousness! "I'll try to protect them, these hopeless fools. I might fail, as I've already failed countless times, but I'll try as many times as needed. It's all I can do to honour the fallen, Ashley."
She gulped down, shaking. "How do you do it, Levitt? How do you find the strength to move forward?"
"All my life, I've been fighting for selfish reasons. To survive Blackdusk. To help Jordan. To save my friends, the Wings of Liberty. I thought I'd found my purpose with you, but I realised in the forest, when I gave up after Michael's death, that I, once more, had been doing it all for my own sake. I thought I was cursed to fail, to always survive and see my loved ones die. And so, I surrendered that day, Ashley. And so, I did not care about anyone else anymore. And yet, when I took a glimpse at those poor bastards' faces, I knew I couldn't give up on them."
Levitt halted, for the memories of that day were still nightmares he hadn't let go of.
"When Maria spat those truths at my face, I understood it. To have a purpose is to try regardless of how many times you fail. To always stand up after a blow. These lot, they all did that today. Every woman and every man who remained here. They all saw hell itself and the many horrors it harboured, and yet they chose to fight it. Scared, worried, pained, but they held on to their purpose and took another step. I need to do that too. I need to believe I've finally found something worth fighting for."
"I can't do it…" Ashley whispered. "I can't fight any longer. I've seen enough friends die. I've mourned enough for a thousand lifetimes. My life wasn't supposed to be this way. So full of death and pain. It was supposed to be about adventure and its thrill. About Wards. A bit of blood from time to time, perhaps… But this is too much for me, Levitt."
"Then don't do it." It was so easy to say that, the words so light and earnest to be spoken. Levitt wondered if he yearned to take the easy route himself. He'd tried enough times already, hadn't he? To put all the blame on himself. On his fate. To embrace it. And how had it ended? With him being swallowed by an endless pit of misery. "No one will ever blame you for leaving, Ashley. The Wings of Liberty are no more. The three of us are all who remain. Go and find your purpose. Live. Live for those who can't."
A gleam set Ashley's eyes ablaze. In them, Levitt saw doubt for a fickle instant. An emotion as fickle as the aforementioned spark. For she ended up nodding to his words.
"We'll remain in touch, right? I… All we lived through… It wasn't a lie, was it?"
"It wasn't a lie, Ashley. Those memories are the best I've ever had."
"Promise me you will survive! And that you will take care of Mikko. Promise me!"
Levitt turned around, making his way toward the slope that led down into the cavern. He couldn't bring himself to look at Ashley. For how brave people have always spoken of him to be, he dared not to bid farewell to a dear friend. Much less to make her a promise he knew not if it was possible to fulfil.
"We'll meet again, Ashley. The three of us. Someday."
When Levitt walked down the slope, he did it a different man. Merely a few hours had passed, and still, many things had changed. He felt at peace with himself, at long last.
Set with a purpose—that of a true Hunter.
Gerard Stokes limped his way through the graveyard, feeling exhausted. Thud, thud, thud—his cane echoed each time it clashed against the dirt road. A useful yet shaming tool, he reckoned. And one that, unfortunately, couldn't mask the blazing pain in his leg.
His left leg fared a bit better, the echoes of that firehound bite but a bothersome sting. The right, however… Well, the Mediwitch had told him he was lucky to still have it whole, more so to be able to use it with the help of a cane. Come the time, it would surely heal completely. Hopefully.
Step after step, Gerard crowned the slope that led to the main field of the graveyard. There, he halted to regain his breath, his eyes taking in a sight they knew far too well. A long, sinuous road slithered through the green field, as if a river of dirt. To the sides, tombs lay solemnly; simple, without a hint of embroidery. These were for the poor, he knew. A misty veil hung thick upon it all, giving the place too sombre a look.
And so, he walked past them as he'd done countless times before.
Death scared him. It had always frightened him, since he had a memory. That emptiness, the void and nothingness after a life full of colour and emotion and warmth… And yet, lately, he sought it fervently.
No, it wasn't that he truly sought it, but he didn't flee from it despite his enormous fear. Not since the end of the Great War. Not since Fabian and Gideon left him. Not since shame didn't allow him a night full of sleep. A night free of their smiling faces, of their thunderous laugh and chirpy puns.
A night free of her terrified face…
Gerard sped up, eager to reach his destination.
Why had he survived the War? He, a coward. He, a bastard who had turned his back on his friends when they most needed him. He, a Hufflepuff who had embodied all the insults people had always thrown at his lot.
Breathing raggedly, face full of sweat and bearing a pain which had numbed his leg, Gerard came to a halt in front of their tombs.
They were beautiful. Tall, polished, without a spec of dust or dirt on them. Rising above the sea of green and grey as if lighthouses upon a stormy sea. The coat of arms of the House of Prewett—a lion of red mane up on its legs with a rose between its fangs—carved upon the stone, right in between their names and that of their family.
Gerard kneeled before them, ignoring the flaring pain, clutching the cane before him with such strength his fingers turned white.
"They visit me at night," he croaked, voice hoarse. "They come with you, and they don't leave until I open my eyes. Those monsters… They killed countless of my people. It was a horror I wish I could erase from my memories. Oh, so much blood! Their screams haunt me too. Because I turned my back on them as I once did to you, Fabian and Gideon. I wasn't there to help them. I lived as they all died…"
One of them he remembered most vividly. That humanoid creature with the gleaming blade—Vrael, the Lord of Mist.
Gerard knew that, if he were to remain a Hunter, as Lady Lozen had pleaded of him merely a few hours ago, he would cross paths with that monster once more. And fortune had already shone upon him far too many times. Next time, he knew it would be his last.
Many had left the Union, forswearing their vows. He'd seen them pass him by, heads bowed in shame. It would surely haunt them for the rest of their lives. But they would have a longer life than all those who had remained. Was it worthy, perhaps? And all those who'd remained… How? How could they be so brave? So strong…
"Please," he mused, hands shaking, puffing words under a weak breath, "give me a bit of your strength. I need it, now more than ever. Please…"
Of course, his whimpering was met with silence. Was what to expect of…
"Gerard?" a voice tore apart the stillness of the graveyard. "Here again, really?"
Gerard opened his eyes with a start, looking to his side. And there, looking down upon him, was a woman he knew far too well. Short and skinny, wearing wide robes of black and a feathery hat and coat of the same shade. Her bony fingers clutched a cane right below its head, that of a roaring lion with a rose in between its fingers.
"Muriel," Gerard mused. He raised to his feet, finding it too arduous a task.
"You've seen better days, boy," she observed with a sneer. "Ah, poor of you if you ever get to my age! You won't fare well, that I know."
Gerard said nothing, staring at the woman. She, instead, came to stand by his side, looking down at the tomb. And finally, her gaze softened.
"They wouldn't like to see you here, again," she said with a gentle voice so unusual to her. "You need to move on from them, Gerard. It's been too long. Whatever silly debt you owed them, I'm sure it has been more than repaid, given the way you've punished yourself since that day."
"Can death be repaid?" Gerard said sourly.
"You didn't kill them. Your inaction in the War didn't kill them. You weren't so important, boy. The true culprits are… I don't even know where to start. Dolohov is rotting in Azkaban, unfortunately. Oh, how I wish they'd granted us the right of revenge, as it was done in the past! Others are dead, thankfully. And the rest…"
Her hands started to shake, and she didn't seem to be able to finish.
"And the rest are yet free," Gerard added with a sigh. "Yes, I know. That haunts me too. But there's nothing we can do about that, as much as it pains me to say so. The law shelters them now."
He'd tried to change that in the past, hadn't he? To serve justice by his own hand. That had been a dark time for him. He'd committed mistakes that would haunt him for as long as he lived. Perhaps as heavy as his debt to Fabian and Gideon. There was a woman's face, and a name…
Gerard shook his head clean of those thoughts.
"Can I ask you something, Muriel?" he said, instead.
"Shoot it, boy."
"Why didn't they ever surrender? How could they find the strength to move forward every time they tumbled down?"
Muriel remained silent for a few seconds, gaze still set on the tomb. "Because they were the strongest boys I'll ever meet. They had one another to watch over their backs. And they had their friends, too. Are you such a fool to think they never flattered? Of course they did! But they always stood up. Why, you ask. Because they had a reason to fight. Not a selfish one, as many have. They didn't care one bit about riches, lands or whatever. When they were down, all they had to do was to look to their sides, and there, they always found someone in need of their help. Fabian and Gideon, my beloveds, were the greatest men to ever live. And because of that, those bastards killed them."
Muriel held a breath, then turned to stare at him. Despite her old age, there was a fire within her eyes not even time could extinguish. "And they loved you like one of their same blood, Gerard. Are you still looking for a reason to stand up and keep fighting? Do it for them, you fool. Stand up and fight, regardless of whatever arises before you. Honour them. Keep their fight alive through you. Make them proud."
When Gerard left shortly after—so she could mourn them in solitude—her words still thundered within his head. Had he been about to give up? Really? Was he so pitiful? Had they stood in his place, would Fabian and Gideon have abandoned their fellow Hunters to their fortune? No, never. Even when the threat was so horrible, more proper of a nightmare than of real life? With more reason, they'd fought back.
Gerard felt ashamed of himself; a sensation which was growing quite familiar, perhaps too much for his own good. Still, there was a light shining amidst the darkness. That of a renewed purpose. To honour them. Yes, he could do that. He wanted to do that. Even when facing a most probable death, he wanted to stare at it and say: I'm doing this for them, so I can look at them without feeling shame.
Still, about to leave the graveyard, he halted once more. This time, before a nameless tomb. He liked to think it was hers. Of that woman whose name and face he dared not to remember.
"I'm so very sorry," he whispered, making a faint bow. "If I could go back in time, I'd do it differently. I'd do it better. I was in a very dark place back then. Alone, scared and full of hatred and rage. You weren't to blame for your husband's sins, and yet… I'm so very sorry. I will carry this shame and regret with me until my last breath. That's all I can do."
A few hours later, dusk upon him as it set the cloudy sky on fire, Gerard returned to the Black Tower, and there he swore his vows once more before the Lake of Tears. He would honour Fabian and Gideon by protecting the world against the Forgotten.
The Black Tower, the heart of the Hunter's Union.
From the outside, it was a plain, needle-like bastion which raised above the surrounding valley and the Lake of Tears, crowning the end of the land which pierced into the mass of water. Of a black stone so devoid of gleam, almost made of darkness itself. It went up straight as an arrow, but its head was shaped like a wedge, as if a giant had once sliced it cleanly with a sharp blade.
Levitt had been summoned to the base of that wedge-like part of the Tower, where Lozen's chambers had been relocated. It didn't surprise him the least to find them dull and austere; just like the woman herself. Still, the views were incredible, he reckoned as he stood before the large window which took for itself the entire east wing of the chamber. The Lake of Tears reflected the moonlight which seeped through the clouds, creating rings of white lines upon the otherwise black mass of water.
Footsteps resounded, and he didn't bother to turn around.
"Thank you for answering the summon, Seyfreid," Lozen said. The woman had not uttered a word to Levitt since his arrival, about half an hour ago. Sat before a simple desk of dark wood, she'd allowed him to stand aside as he did the same with her.
"Always, my lady," Seyfreid replied earnestly.
Levitt had never talked to the witch, but he'd heard the whispers she left in her wake. A mad woman, many thought of her. A slave to battle. An enemy to orders and teamwork. A rogue Hunter, perhaps, but also one of the very few to survive the Awakening—as the battle for the Frontier was referred to now—with her sanity intact.
From that day, he remembered a short woman with sharp features and a fearsome character, unbothered by the blood soaking her battle robes. Pretty and young, with blond hair that reached around her shoulders and brown eyes. And still, with an air of danger to her that no man was able to overcome when approaching her. There were a few scars on her face too; faint, well-healed, of battles from long ago most likely.
The other two arrived at a time.
The first man, Levitt knew him from the stories Mikko had told him—for it was no other but his elder brother, Jariel, first son to the deceased Lord Viljo. A tall, thin wizard in his late thirties, balding, fair-eyed and of sharp jaw. A man bound by honour, it seemed. A man to believe in silly stories of past times in which glory and virtue were said to be a thing. A man to have forsworn of his lordship to the Great House of Kovanen in favour of his younger brother, Mavrel.
Jariel Kovanen had fame to be a skilled duellist, yet one to never partake in federated competition; because the damn virtuous was too noble for that, of course. He'd never been bound to the Union through a vow, also, from what Levitt understood, but it seemed he put on those monsters the blame for his father's death.
The other man was shorter and with a more muscled complexion. Of brown skin, a shaved head and a thick beard covering his jaw. His name was Belal, with no regal surname to announce the grandiosity of his blood. The robes he wore were simple too, that of a field soldier in his free time.
He too had survived the Awakening, though Levitt didn't remember seeing him on the battlefield.
Lozen raised from her chair. "Well, we shall begin the meeting. I suppose you can imagine why I summoned you four to my chambers after today's gathering."
"And the answer is yes, my lady," Seyfreid said.
"At ease, Seyfreid. I commend your earnestness, but this is too important a matter to simply jump into the abyss without looking down first. Yes, as you may have guessed, I summoned you here because I need to rebuild our order. And for that, the foundations shall be settled. That is to say, four new Guardians shall be anointed."
Levitt rolled his eyes—all this secrecy and grandiose performance to do something that could be solved with a few words in private. Purebloods and their sense of dramatics, indeed.
"I had to forswear of my position due to my new duty," Lozen went on. "And the other three—my beloveds Usman, Sora and Shane—were murdered in the Awakening. Since times past in which this order was born, there have always been four Guardians, one for each piece of cardinal land. I intend to keep it that way."
Levitt finally turned around. He took an instant to stare at the three soon-to-be Guardians, then shook his head.
"This won't work," he said. "They aren't fit for the position, simply as that. To protect, one must be strong. This woman, she's strong, true enough, but she's selfish and arrogant, often running into battle and leaving all those who can't follow behind. I've heard the way people speak about her, yes. And then, your lordship, he's a man who's never stepped into a battlefield. Duelling is a thing for the pretty and the elegant, and has nothing to do with a real battle. And you, Belal, you are simply weak."
Belal seemed to find amusement in his crude words, for he gave away the hint of a smile. Jariel frowned, clearly bothered, yet made a show of temperance so unusual to the always proud and arrogant purebloods. And Seyfreid…
She took a step forward, her left hand going down to her pockets, above which the handle of her wand raised. "I'll give you selfishness, you damned mercenary! I-"
Lozen raised her hand, glaring daggers at the two of them. Seyfreid came to a halt in an instant, and Levitt… He simply shrugged his shoulders and leaned back against the cold glass. These were words which needed to be said, and he didn't regret them one bit.
"I would have it if you were not to insult my Hunters in my presence, Levitt," Lozen said coldly. "There was a bit of truth within your words, however. Yes, none of them are as strong as Usman was, the Guardian to best represent the ideal of strength. And the same can be said about you, Levitt. But a Guardian's role is not so simple as to be powerful. A figure to which every Hunter might look up in hope. A figure of leadership. One to inspire courage. Of fairness and justness. That is, among other virtues, what a Guardian embodies."
She turned toward her three Hunters, and her gaze softened. "Belal might be weak, but he is a renowned tactician, a great field general. His battalion lost the fewest men in the Awakening, and he is well-loved by every man to ever serve under him. Are those not qualities to value in such sombre times? Then, my cousin Jariel. He may have yet to step onto a battlefield, as you said, but he is a well-versed duellist with martial formation. A man who, despite not being part of the Union until recently, has spoken to every single Hunter, learning their names and their stories. Also, he has dedicated his entire lifetime to the study of the times past. If there is a man to know our enemy, that is Jariel."
"And I'm fearless," Seyfreid cut in with a wide grin. It was a menacing sight on her. It didn't fit, like a blade with a blunt edge. "I will walk into the Nightmares' den and show those fuckers the strength within a woman. They ain't ready for me, sure they ain't."
Levitt kept his thoughts to himself. On the one hand, he still thought these people fell very short compared to their predecessors. On the other hand, there was a bit of reason for Lozen's words. Power wasn't everything, more so when there was an evident lack of leadership within the organisation. To understand that, one only needed to take a look at Jordan; at the way he'd lead them despite his weakness.
And the fact he'd been scolded like a silly child…
Yes, it was best to let the matter die.
Lozen, however, had yet to finish with him. "What is your answer, then? You have remained here for the entirety of the wait up to this reunion, much to my surprise and delight. But the only time you have spoken was to express your complaints. What will it be, Levitt? Will you swear the Words and become one of us? Will you lend me your strength and skills so I may shape a better future? Will you bear this crushing burden upon your shoulders? Or else, will you flee away even when knowing the great peril that looms upon us all, both the guilty and the innocent?"
Levitt had an impulse to do that—to close his eyes and turn his back on these people, as he knew salvation was but a feeble dream, like a man who yet wanted to touch the moon with his fingers. He owed nothing to them. He owed nothing to anyone, hell. But he'd grown past that selfish mentality, hadn't he? Wasn't it time to take the next step?
And so he did.
"I will become one of you, damn it all," he grunted, stepping away from the window. "To hell with it. But I have one condition. I want Mikko to serve directly under me. And Maria and her squad, those whom I took out of the forest. Grant me this wish, and I'll swear whatever the hell I must."
Lozen smiled as she nodded. It was the first time Levitt saw such a thing. "Come to me, then, Guardians of mine. Let us swear the Words and bind ourselves to duty by a vow of honour and will."
The four Hunters came to stand in a lime, kneeling on the cold stone floor, gaze set upon Lozen, their leader. Time stilled, and he wasn't sure if he even had a need to breathe anymore. Pressure upon them, but not the kind of oppressive one, strangling them into submission. No. It simply reminded them of the odds, and the importance of their mission. It was a hand on their backs, encouraging them to take the next step, not a rope around their necks.
And there, somehow, the Words came to Levitt's mind as if he'd always known them.
"I shall protect life against all sources of horror, regardless of its nature," they all mused, and their voices gathered into an echo as they became one.
A spark of warmth blossomed within Levitt.
"I shall honour the fallen and carry their burdens and dreams with me, for as long as I yet live."
"I shall bear this burden so the weak do not have to."
"I shall inspire strength and valour upon the hearts of men, inspiring them into becoming a better version of themselves."
"And I shall stand before the Storm, keeping it away from the realm of men."
Lozen closed her eyes, drawing in a deep breath which seemed to unfroze time. "The Words have been accepted. Rise now, Guardians, and become a blade and shield to our ancient order."
Levitt sprung up to his feet, sweating, breathing raggedly. This warmth within filled him with a sense of responsibility that terrified him. It seemed to spread through his veins like a river of molten fire, and no inch of flesh seemed to escape from its reach. "What have you done to us, woman?"
"She blessed us, Levitt!" Belal replied in a whisper full of awe. Or perhaps of madness. He stared at his hands as he took them to his heart, eyes flooding with tears. "I feel bound to them. To every fellow Hunter. Their fear, their burdens and dreams, their love… It's almost too much, but it could only be this way. For I have become a Guardian."
Seyfreid seemed to be at a loss for words, whereas Jariel had closed his eyes and he tried to regain his calm.
"To become a Guardian," Lozen declared solemnly, "it means much more than merely a fancy title or a position of power. It entails too great an honour and burden. The Words you spoke are no ordinary words either. An ancient vow forged so a few, those strong and willed enough, could shape their fellow subordinates through example. These are dark times, my brothers and sister, and we must stand strong. For that is the sole reason why this order came to exist. In times past, there was treason toward us. It drove us mad, and led us to betrayal, madness and bloodshed. We forgot our oaths. Now, in the present age, we will not lose our way. So I hereby vow today. We might live, we might die, but we shall outcast the Storm."
Lozen pulled out a little leather bag from her golden robes. Inside awaited four silver clasps, shaped as a blade pointed downward with twin feathers as its hilt.
"Accept this gift," she said. "The Mark of Guardianship. You may wear it upon your cloaks or robes, you may forge it into any weapon of your choice, even into your wand. Wear it as you please, but wear it, for this is a beacon of hope and will to every other Hunter."
Three Guardians nodded to those words, already free of their stupor, as they took the Mark from her hands. The other one, however, needed a bit more time after seizing his Mark. Levitt knew there was no way out of this now; it was far too late for that. The Words he'd spoken… The mere thought of them made him shudder with emotion.
To hell with all of this. This is my life now. I can't whine like a damn baby whose parents forgot to feed him. Chin up and embrace your new responsibilities.
And so, he grasped the Mark into his hands, feeling the fine steel of its forging.
"And now that the Words have been spoken and the Marks delivered," Lozen continued, "we shall focus on a few other matters of equal importance. First of all, the world must know of the Awakening. They must be warned. If there is any hope for us to survive, it is through cohesion, our forces all bound by a sense of survival. The Nightmares have the edge on sheer power, and we must have it in numbers."
"That will not be feasible, I fear," Jariel said. It was the first time he spoke through the meeting. His voice gave away an impression of fineness very fit to a cultivated man. And without a trace of arrogance. Perhaps Levitt had judged the man too early. "The news has spread all over the world already. With more gossip and silly conjectures to them than truth, perhaps, but it does not change the fact every country has heard of the fire in the Amazonas. I've had men—sworn to my House, of course—deployed in many countries, and they all say the same: no one has taken the incident seriously."
"Can't we simply tell them what happened," Seyfreid said. She'd taken a seat on a pillowed chair, and was quite invested in carving a figure with her knife out a wooden chunk she'd pulled out of nowhere. "Something along the lines of 'listen, things are fucked up, and you all are gonna die unless you help us and bla, bla, bla…'"
"That would not work," Jariel shook his head. "Too sudden and crude. They would laugh at us, labelling us as madmen. Or worse, they will see it as a ploy to steal resources and power out of them. Politicians are quite savvy to create enemies out of thin air to find benefit in the non-reasonable and senseless conflicts."
"Well, that's plenty of fine bullshit I don't give a damn about! Don't you dare to lecture me if you don't know what to do either!"
"Actually," Jariel said, ignoring her outburst, "I do have a proposition."
"And that is…" Lozen prodded.
"We must send an emissary to every Ministry albeit body of power of each country. We must find allies within them, people of trust. And we shall feed that trust bit by bit. Were we to be too crude with the information, they would reject us. Were we to be too passive, the scourge we face may grow too strong to ever purge it. No, it must be someone with experience and knowledge. Well versed in politics and communication and foreign cultures."
"And who do you have in mind?" Belal asked.
"I propose Mara."
Chaos blossomed within the chamber after that. For whatever reason, that name wasn't appreciated. Seyfreid—with a blustering bellowing more proper of a dozen people instead of one—called Jariel a fool for, in her words, thinking of a senseless fool with less touch than an ostrich, and of a person with less sanity than a drunk Centaur, for the task. Belal expressed his doubts in a far calmer way, whereas Lozen… Hell, even she seemed full of scepticism.
"Mara is a fine woman I deeply respect," Lozen added, "but I too find her unfit for the duty. She has suffered a great loss very recently. Shane and her… They were a couple bound by passion, yes, but also by hatred toward our enemy and a thirst for revenge it even scared me a few times."
Jariel seemed unfazed by the uproar. "That is why, precisely, we should trust in her. Look, I know her as well as you do, if not more. She has studies in foreign relationships, via a degree through Ilvermorny, which she graduated from with exceptional merits. And her hatred… That is what truly will fuel her. She wants to see our enemy eradicated more fervently than any of us. She has a motivation of strong foundation. She will do her best to avenge her beloved Shane. That is why I think she is the most fit for this task."
They all stared at Lozen expectantly. For a moment, she seemed to relinquish the attention, cowering from it.
"Let's do a votation," she proposed, at last. "Those in favour, raise your hand." Jariel and Belal raised their hands without hesitation. "Those against…" Seyfreid raised hers, then frowned when she discovered herself alone. "And you, Levitt, why did you skip the voting?"
"Because I don't know that woman," he said. "I'll trust your judgement, as I'm now one of yours."
"If so, the matter is settled, for the better or the worse. Mara and a little entourage of her choosing will be in charge of negotiations. Now, the next matter is…"
Jariel took word once more. "It is about the gross of our army. More than nine hundred Hunters died in the Awakening. And we must add those who deserted right away and those who were granted leave from their vows this morning. We stand as weak as we have ever been. More so, we must keep in mind that most of the deceased were our best and most loyal."
"In short, we are fucked," Seyfreid observed.
Jariel's lips thinned into a white line. "So to speak in a brutish way, yes we are."
"We must increase the recruitment," Belal proposed. "But how do we do it? We can't make the entry exams too easy, else our ranks will be filled by mediocrity and bandits who saw in us an easy way out. We might go in search of retired Aurors and honest mercenaries—as honest as they can be, of course. But again, that would entail a whole different set of problems. For starters, how do we convince them?"
"Aurors might be charmed by a fair reason," Lozed guessed. "Perhaps if we give them a show of the problem, they will agree to join our cause. And mercenaries, well, we can always treat them in gold."
"With all due respect, my lady," Belal said, "but there are too many conditionals. To begin with, Aurors aren't always the fairest lot around, and most of them would coward before a threat of this magnitude unless their homes and loved ones were to be in direct peril. And about the paying of those mercenaries… How deep do our vaults run these days?"
"Quite deep."
Levitt saw the problem too—treat a mercenary with riches, and they'll ask for more until there was nothing left. They were a source of skilled and often obedient wands, but for them to risk their lives in such a venture…
"Your vaults might hold for a while," Levitt cut in, "but given the shortage of men, you'll likely want them all in the field. And what does that mean? That you'll have no one to carry out those contracts which have filled your vaults in the first place. The gold will run out incredibly fast as there will be no source of income. And then, there will be too many mouths to feed, and problems will start. I've seen it happen plenty of times in the Underworld. Patrons who promised too much, who reached too far without minding the foundation of their homes first. It'll be like a poison killing us from inside."
"Bah!" Seyfreid grunted. "Too many complaints and too few solutions! What are we supposed to do then? Wait for our dear sicko Mara to tell the world the truth and have faith in their sense of justice. Bah!"
Lozen slapped her hand on the table, putting an end to the debate. "Jariel, I want you to select a few men who are best fit for the recruitment. We'll do a bit of everything without pushing it too far. I want to contact retired or unhappy Aurors, to see if the prospect of a fair and urgent duty seduces them. I want some of the best mercenaries out there, and a good accountant and negotiator to oversee the recruitment. And I also want the exams of access to the Union a bit more… feasible for the weak and the ordinary. I intend to put the greenvines to work into easy contracts that will bid us a bit of gold, and as they harden, to introduce them into the real duty. All in favour? Any further proposition?"
No one uttered a word this time. It was the best they could do, Levitt reckoned. It wasn't good enough, not nearly, but these were their odds. It was long ago when he understood one could but play with the given hand in the game of life. And better make the best out of it, for fate did not take pity on any poor soul.
He'd made his choice, and now it was time to reach the end of this venture. And yet, this feels good, Levitt thought. Standing against the bellowing storm, a rain of fire and death upon us, with the looming abyss behind. And despite that, I don't feel so hopeless. Have I finally gone mad, then?
Mad or not, he'd reach the end of this.