Ch7-8: Call to War
Morning dawned upon the Temple of the Summoners. And with the dawning light came one major realization…
Newt’s really, really sick.
Of course, the White Mage wouldn’t admit to being ill. And AC didn’t expect to ever hear him do so.
Still, sheets of sweat from a newly formed fever now covered Newt’s face and arms. His face was almost as white as his mage tunic and his eyes seemed red and irritated. His voice was hoarse as if he was having a lot of trouble talking. But worst of all, he seemed to have lost a whole lot of strength overnight.
I’ve never seen him down like this. I don’t think he can even walk at this point.
Palom was restless and worried, pacing the length of the stone floor. He had managed to go out and forage a little food and water while he scouted to see if those strange creatures were still waiting for them in the forest.
The ghosts must have left with the coming of morning… thank goodness. Palom said he couldn’t find anything unusual out there.
But now that the coast was clear, they found themselves with two new problems: not knowing where they were in relation to Baron, and not being able to move Newt even if they had known. Not to mention the fact that they were poorly equipped to stay out in the wilderness for even a few days.
And the creatures could always come back. The only thing that seemed to stop them was this Temple. But once we get out there in the forest, who’s to say….
Lost as to what else to do, AC took the damp end of a cloth and began to wipe Newt’s heated face with it. He had tended to other sick people before in his time – his mother being one of them. But never without some sort of medical help on the side.
If this was some illness that the ghost-creature gave him… who knows what it could be. I wish we were back in Baron… then the White Mages there could help.
“Will you stoppit,” Newt complained, weakly trying to bat away AC’s hand with his own. It seemed to frustrate him all the more that he didn’t even have the strength to do that.
“Just relax now, Newt… you’ve got a fever–”
“I do not!”
“–and you may need to sleep it off more than anything else. So, if you’re tired–”
“I’m not!”
“–you might try getting a little bit of sleep, now.” AC finished with dedication.
Newt only huffed with a disgruntled face. “You’re not listening to me. I’m fine… just give me an hour and I’ll be back up and ready to go.”
Palom shook his head, “Dude, you’re totally wasted.”
“I am not!” Newt protested again, falling into a round of weak coughs.
AC sighed. “I know a fever when I see one, Newt. It’s true, you might come out of it in a few hours, but you gotta rest first. Okay?”
The White Mage grumbled.
“And stop fighting with me… a damp cloth helps bring down the temperature,” the Black Mage told him, wiping his face down again.
“He should know this crap… he’s the White Mage,” Palom snorted.
“You think I ever pay attention in any of those lame first aid classes they force me to take?” Newt retorted.
“Probably not.”
“Exactly.”
The conversation fell to a halt as a strange, deep sound rumbled through the chamber of the Temple. The boys froze, silence overtaking them, eyes darting to the walls which had once again taken on a strange, luminous glow. The statue-creatures that guarded the doorways seemed somehow more fierce, their eyes almost glittering in dark anticipation. The rumbling continued to grow in volume, a soft vibration under their feet.
Palom was the first to speak, his voice lowered in a hiss, “What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure?” AC found himself responding, despite the fact there was nothing that he could see in the chamber to lower his voice from.
A strangled gasp came from Newt’s wide open mouth, a startling choked sound. His eyes widened, hands twisting over the front of his robes as if groping for something. “It’s them…”
“Dude?” Palom inched away with a distorted expression, moving to the other side of the room. He leaned his hand against the doorframe, trying to keep his balance against the ripples that shuddered over the floor.
AC, on the other hand, crept closer, leaning in to try to make sense of the situation. “It’s who?”
“Them…” the White Mage groaned in something akin to pain. The flush across his face had grown more pronounced, a fevered feeling clinging to the air around him. As if the illness was trying to spread.
“Newt, I don’t understand?”
“Those spirit things. From the forest..!” he hissed in return.
“Oh man. Check this out…” Palom’s voice echoed in waves just over top of the rumbling. He turned his attention away from the view outside of the doorframe, eyes a bit wild as he peered back over his shoulder.
AC’s brow wrinkled, hesitating, reluctant to leave the writhing White Mage’s side.
“I’m serious, dude! Scope this!” the boy had begun to shake, and not just in reaction the reverberations that shook the chamber.
Struggling to his feet, AC stumbled across the room, catching on to the other side of the doorframe. His eyes squinted, adjusting to the morning light where it streamed down outside of the dim Temple. At first, it was hard for him to make out anything. But where his vision was lacking, his other senses began to speak. And he felt a tremble rush through his frame as well.
The forest on the perimeter of the Temple grounds was churning, a sickly tainted wave of motion slithering in and out of the dappled leaves. It was the same feeling that he had from the creatures that had chased them the night before. Only, it was far more vast…
How many of them are there…?
“I guess they still come out at day…” Palom’s face was pale, his brown eyes wide, reflecting his fear.
“I… guess so…” AC answered, his voice no more than a whisper.
It was as if the forest had become a liquid ocean of shadow and green. Eerie, translucent forms passed between the tall trunks, some walking upright, some hunched, some creatures that pawed along on all fours. Flickers of deadly light pulsed, a sickly energy born behind the sockets of their eyes. And though they passed by the Temple at a distance, the feeling of dread and choking sense of decay still clutched at the Black Mage’s throat, gagging him.
“Do you think they’re coming here to surround us?” Palom’s voice croaked, cutting through the hazy darkness that was pressing in on AC’s senses.
Shaking out his head, the Black Mage clutched tighter to the doorframe. If that was the case, then there would be no way for them to escape. There was only so long they could hold out there in the safety of the Temple without food or water. And there was no telling how long the energies of the Temple – or whatever it was that protected them in that place — could hold up against the combined darkness that seethed through the forests outside.
“No…” Newt’s rasp carried unnaturally across the inner chamber, even over the vicious intensity of the thrumming. There was something haunted about his eyes, haunted and full of wrathful hunger. They almost seemed to glint and catch the light in the same manner as the glare of the spirit creatures outside.
“Ne…ewt…?” the word came out watery from between AC’s lips.
“What’s happening to the dude?” Palom shivered, one hand inadvertently grasping at AC’s robe sleeve for comfort.
“There is a call…” the White Mage continued on as if he had no awareness of his companion’s reactions. His gaze distant, far over their head. In the same direction that the sweeping tempest of shadows moved.
“Call..?” AC choked, taking a step forward.
“Don’t..!” Palom warned, trying to catch at the Black Mage’s sleeve again.
AC ignored him, eyes fixed on the shivering form of his friend. One hand reached out, grasping the White Mage’s shoulder. “Newt? What’s going on? Snap out of it!”
“Shit…!” a dismayed sound gurgling up in Newt’s throat as he jolted back from AC’s touch. The unwavering, ice-blue eyes blinked as he seemed to regain his senses. His focus fell upon the Black Mage, breath whistling through his nose as if he had just run a very long way. One hand lifted, wiping the dampness of his face. “What the hell was that!?”
“Whatever it was… it was not cool,” Palom swallowed.
“Are you alright?” AC asked, eyes intent as he sponged at the White Mage’s heated face again. The thrumming within the Temple was diminishing now and his senses told him that the torrent of darkness outside was also diminishing, passing.
“I don’t know,” Newt admitted for the first time. That in and of itself was concerning.
Palom’s head was stuck out through the doorframe again, “Hey… I think they’re leaving!?”
“The must have seen your ugly face… and split,” the White Mage coughed.
“More likely, they caught wind of my reputation,” the Black Mage turned with a slitty-eyed look.
“Yeah… that’s what killed them in the first place – they died laughing about it.”
Palom huffed, “He sure seems alright now.”
“What happened, Newt?” AC’s face was still lined with concern.
Newt pushed the damp cloth away from him as he shook his head, “I don’t really know. I started feeling really funny and the fever got worse. It was like I was getting sicker cuz they were all out there so close. And there was some sort of call…”
“Yeah, that’s what you said before?” the Black Mage encouraged. “What kind of call?”
“It was like an order… like you’d hear in the army or something. I think…” Newt’s face shifted to slow understanding. “I think that’s what they are.”
“An army?” Palom sucked on his bottom lip.
“Yeah… a damned army of freaks… and I think they’re moving… on Baron?” the White Mage scowled sharply.
“No way! How do you know?”
AC’s mouth had dropped open and hung there in mute shock.
Why? Why would this army march on Baron?
“Look, they didn’t exactly spell it out in small words and all caps for me,” Newt sneered.
“Obviously, they needed to,” Palom retorted quickly.
Who are they… what are they…? Where did they come from and what do they stand to gain by attacking Baron?
“I’m just telling you what I felt, alright?” the White Mage slumped back, seeming to have no energy to banter anymore.
The silence that now pervaded the Temple around the three of them seemed deeply profound. The sound of breathing was loud within AC’s ears – his own was quiet and rhythmic compared to the ragged struggling rasps of the White Mage. For once, even Palom had nothing to say and busied himself tracing the embroidery on the hem of his cloak with one finger.
As if the silence was all too much for him, Newt burst out, “What the hell did they do to me — I almost lost it!”
“Don’t talk like that!” AC pressed his lips together. It was strange to see the White Mage so out of sorts – usually Newt was the level headed of the two.
“What are we gonna do? Just sit here with creepy-possessed-jerk while Baron gets marched on?” Palom spread his hands wide, taking cue from the other two mages.
They all began talking over each other, a jumble of fear, consternation and desperation. The chamber was filled with the sounds of their annoyance and voices attempting to outspeak each other. AC fell quiet within the first few moments, soft voice never one to compete, and watched as the other two had it out. Finally, Newt faltered with exhaustion again, and Palom got the best of him.
“I’m serious! We just gonna let them beat down Cecil’s kingdom? What if they don’t know that army is coming?” the boy demanded.
“And what do you propose we do about it?” Newt sneered, unhappy about being overspoken.
“Well, if they’re going to Baron, then we’ve got some direction to go in. We need to follow them till we figure out where we are, then run ahead and warn Rosa!” Palom waved his hands around.
“That’s nothing but suicide,” the White Mage waved his hands back. “We’d never last five minutes doing that. They’d figure us out… chew us up and spit us back out.”
“Not if we’re careful?”
“He’s right,” AC agreed quietly. “These aren’t regular people we’re dealing with. I think they’ll sense us being there. Besides, Newt’s in no condition to be up and walking yet.”
Palom gave a deep frown, but nodded, “Yeah. I guess we can’t just leave him here.”
“Why not?” Newt’s brow furrowed, still dotted with fever sweat.
“Because… I don’t leave anyone sick out in the forest when they can’t fend for themselves,” AC glanced over. “Certainly not my friends.”
“Friends?” the ice-blue eyes flickered over to consider the young Black Mage for a moment. “You are a real idiot, you know that?”
“Maybe…” AC murmured, refusing to back down to the insult.
“Didn’t I just tell you what I did to my bastard of a father last night?” Newt’s lips twisted into the semblance of a snarl.
“Yes, you did,” the Black Mage nodded.
“So? Even an idiot knows better than to hang around a murderer.”
“Well, maybe it’s because,” AC’s own gaze fell upon his companion, words growing firm in his mind, “I don’t think you’re a murderer, Newt.”
The White Mage’s mouth was open, in the midst of a retort that never came. The sound died right there, in his throat, as if that was the most shocking thing that had ever been said to him.
And in seeing this reaction, AC knew he was right.