Chapter 9

“You must learn to make fire and to build your homes by other means. It will be difficult, but you shall prevail.”

The words of the Guardian, penned by Polan the scribe, year 3000

School

Silas led Oliver through the bustling city. Neither of them spoke, too absorbed in their own thoughts. Oliver didn’t pay attention to all the new sights, smells, and noises surrounding him this time as they walked.

After fifteen minutes or so, they arrived at their destination. Oliver peeled his eyes off the cobblestone street and gazed at the cluster of buildings before him.

They passed through a wooden gate with a sign that said, Welcome to the School of Magery. Surrounded by a wide field of grass, five, spacious lodges stood in a semicircle, their large doors wide open. At the center of the semicircle was a shallow amphitheater made with stone steps.

Men and women, most dressed in simple, sweat-stained practice robes and wielding long and short sticks, filled the campus. Some jogged around the field with a team while others sat in on the amphitheater’s steps studying scrolls. Another dozen stood in rows, twirling their staves violently around in a synchronized routine. The School of Magery seemed to be a mixture of a university and a barracks; a place of education and training for magical warfare.

“Atten-SHUN!” shouted one of the men.

Everyone immediately stopped what they were doing, straightened their postures, and saluted Silas with a fist over the heart. Silas didn’t slow his pace but acknowledged them by returning a quick salute and shouting, “As you were!”

No one moved. They must be excited to see their general return, Oliver thought, but then he realized the truth. Every eye was focused on him. He sighed. Looks like it’s already time to start pretending. Here we go…

He puffed up his chest and walked confidently. Well, as confidently as he could while struggling to keep up with Silas’ break-neck pace. He noticed the reactions were mixed between gawking wonder, muddled surprise, and furrowed confusion. He heard a few whispers about his unique clothing and timely arrival.

“Mage Ashley,” Silas said. “Where’s Ilan?”

“He should be here shortly, General.” Ashley was a tall, tan-complected, pretty woman with defined muscles and big lips. Unlike most of the men and woman around, she wore folded green robes similar to Silas’. This was obviously a sign of rank, but she looked to be near the same age as Oliver, younger than some of the onlookers.

She looked Oliver up and down and said, “Speaking of short….”

“Hey,” Oliver said defensively.

“Is he really the—?”

Silas cut her off, whispering. “We’ll talk about it in private, as soon as Ilan arrives.”

Ashley raised an eyebrow at Oliver and then looked up. “Here he comes now.”

Oliver lifted his gaze and dropped his jaw when he saw Ilan… flying. Oliver probably would have passed out at the sight, but given every incredible thing he’d witnessed today, it was just another thing on a growing list of now possible impossibilities.

Ilan flew in a horizontal position, his head forward. He held tightly onto a black staff with two hands close to his chest. He didn’t use the staff to support his body weight; he seemed to float on his own and somehow used the staff to direct where he flew. He swiftly dove toward the grass and then pulled up for a graceful touchdown just in front of Silas. After landing, he twirled the black staff once and drove it into the ground as if it were a flag for land claiming and left it there. Oliver narrowed his eyes at the staff stuck in the ground and realized it made a billowing sound, like a strong wind blowing through a small hole.

“Welcome home, General,” Ilan said with a salute and a smile.

Oliver tilted his head. Something looked familiar about Ilan. Oliver wondered how that was possible since he was over two thousand years away from anyone he knew. But there was something he recognized in his wavy blond hair, long nose, tall, muscular build, and rounded jawline.

“Good to see you, son,” Silas said clasping two hands on Ilan’s shoulders.

Oh.

Oliver could see it now, the resemblance. Silas had darker hair, a beard, more wrinkles, and broader shoulders, but the face was basically the same.

“Why were you gone so long?” Ilan asked and, before Silas could answer, he looked at Oliver. Unlike Ashley, his eyes immediately lit up. “The Guardian.” He fell to one knee, bowed, and gave a fist-over-the-heart salute.

Silas tried to pull Ilan out of the bow but stopped when he realized the entire campus had followed Ilan’s lead and bowed down to their Guardian of Magic. Oliver looked around, unsure of what to do. This was the second time in the last few hours that he’d had people bow to him. Maybe I could get used to this, he thought.

Ashley, still standing, gave Silas a questionable look. He huffed in annoyance and then knelt next to his son. Ashley did the same.

Oliver finally found his voice. “Um… arise? Everyone?”

They did, slowly.

He bit his lip, wishing he hadn’t sounded so weak. I need them to believe I’m the Guardian if I want to get home, he thought. “Your respect is much appreciated,” he said in a louder, bolder voice.

They all looked at him expectantly, completely silent.

What? A speech? Oliver’s mind raced to find something encouraging to say. “Er… we will win this war!” He raised his fist in the air with a loud shout.

At first, no one joined him, and it was beyond awkward.

Finally, blessedly, Ilan cheered, raising his fist in the air, and the rest followed. The sound was surprisingly loud, like a noisy crowd at a Drone Sports stadium. Oliver guessed there were probably about a thousand people there, cheering for him.

For the Guardian of Magic, he reminded himself. Not for me.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Silas said, grabbing Oliver, Ashley, and Ilan. “Let’s talk in the mage’s Lodge.”

The mage’s Lodge was not the largest of the five lodges there, but it was not by any means small. The size of two average-sized homes, it was probably half the size of each of the other four lodges.

What amazed Oliver the most about them was that they were completely made of wood, except for the brick chimney of course. Huge logs, one after another, were stacked up as high as twenty feet. Each log was glued together by mortar and seemed to hold firm. Large windows on the front allowed a great deal of light to pour in.

Oliver had never seen anything like it. In 4027, every building, home, skyscraper—you name it—was completely devoid of wood. Most used brick, concrete, or steel. Some Seculars dreamed of making log houses like this, and some in the distant country of Verence had begun to try it out, but the Arbolers in Salveria wouldn’t allow it. But they do allow it here in the year 2000, he thought. Don’t they believe trees are sacred?

“So, tell us honestly, General,” Ashley said, bringing Oliver out of his reveries. “Is he really the Guardian?” She looked at Oliver skeptically, not impressed.

Silas closed the lodge doors after everyone had entered. “I’m not sure,” he said. “The Grand Arboler and most of the Justices believe he is. I’m still trying to figure it out.”

He went on to explain his accidental trip to the future, how he found Oliver, and what the Grand Arboler and Justices decided to do with him.

“So, we can’t go to Cambium for a whole week, and we’ve got the task of training Oliver as fast as possible in magery.” Silas paused. “When we leave, he’ll be coming with us. We’ll need him to be battle ready, just in case.”

Oliver’s eyebrows shot up. “Just in case of what? I thought I would be far behind the ranks.”

“You’re never safe on the field of battle. You can always be attacked no matter where you are.”

Oliver took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. He’d never had the desire to be in the military, and he’d never lived through a real war before, just seen it in movies.

“Hm,” Ashley muttered, her arms folded. “You’re right, Silas. He can’t be the Guardian.”

“Not yet, anyways,” Ilan said. “But he’s got the potential, right?” He stared down at Oliver with a cheerful smile, a dimple in one cheek. Nobody answered his question, but he kept on grinning, hopeful.

Oliver narrowed his eyes at Ilan. He wore the same folded green robes that Ashley and Silas wore. There was something that still seemed familiar about him that he couldn’t place. Something about him that his father lacked.

“Look,” Oliver said. “I’m not the Guardian. But I’ve got to pretend to be him to get home. So, unless you can change the Justices’ minds—which doesn’t seem remotely possible—then you’re stuck with me. And if there’s any way you can keep me from getting killed or assassinated, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

“I’m afraid we don’t have any other choice,” Silas said. “I don’t like the idea of harboring a false guardian, but I’ve got to hope the Grand Arboler is right. Even if you’re not the Guardian, Oliver, we’re going to teach you how to fight like him. As long as you can convince the people you’re him, and as long as you learn how to keep yourself from getting killed, you might just be the morale boost the people need to defeat the likes of Lennox. That’s what really matters.

“Ash, I want you to drill him in the mornings, make him battle-ready as soon as possible and train him in basic combat. Ilan, I want you to teach him Casting techniques every afternoon. And after dinner, I’ll teach him Carvings and magery combat. Got it?”

“Yes, sir!” they both said.

“He’s all yours, Ash.”

“Alright, shorty,” Ashley said. “Let’s start by running five laps around the campus.”

Oliver blinked.

“C’mon! Get to it! The morning is nearly over!”

He looked down at his dirty dress shoes and back up at Silas. “Before warrior lady makes me do a thousand pushups, can I get a change of clothes?”

“There are practice clothes in the Trainee’s Lodge,” Ashley said.

Ilan shook his head. “He’ll need to wear mage robes if anyone is to believe he’s the Guardian of Magic.”

“But he hasn’t earned his robes yet.”

She looked at Silas, who rolled his eyes and heaved a weary sigh. “Give him mage robes,” he grunted as he walked out of the lodge. “And let him bunk here for the night.”

Ashley puckered her lips, looking furious.

Ilan led Oliver to a corner where piles of green robes were folded, and he showed him his room with a single bed in it. Ilan left while Oliver changed. After slipping into a green robe, he was surprised how comfortable and flexible they were.

A moment later, Oliver walked into the lodge’s main hall where Ashley was waiting for him. Ilan had left while Oliver was changing.

She inspected his green robes with a scowl. “You don’t even know how to put them on,” she said, adjusting a few folds until they were straight. “I worked day and night for fifteen years to earn my robes.” She paused, staring at him. “You don’t deserve them.”

Oliver shrugged. “Hey, I’m with you. I’d honestly rather wear shorts and sports shoes.” He walked past her and clapped his hands together. “Okay, let’s get this training over with.” He began stretching his legs. “I’ll have to ask you to take it easy on me. I’m way out of shape.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

Before Oliver could register the movement, Ashley spun her staff around her and whacked him in in the right shoulder; he flinched. She staff-jabbed him in the left knee; it buckled. And then she kicked him in the chest, sending him sprawling to the hard, wooden floor. He landed with a thud, dazed.

She pointed the tip of her staff threateningly at his face. He backed away on his elbows, afraid she wasn’t finished inflicting pain on him. Going cross-eyed, he realized for the first time that there was a small blade embedded in the staff’s tip.

“This isn’t a game, Shorty,” she said in a cold tone. “This is war.”

Oliver thought to shout for help but couldn’t find his voice. Would anyone come if he did?

She still pointed her bladed staff at him. “On the battlefield, the simplest of soldiers could’ve done to you what I just did. By now you would’ve been dead, soaking the grass with your blood and guts. There will be no ‘taking it easy.’ Either you’re prepared, or you’re dead. Either you’re trained, or you’re dead. Either you’re physically fit, or you’re dead. Get it?” She didn’t move, waiting for him to answer.

His heart was racing. “Got it,” he muttered, finally finding his voice. He inched farther away from that cruel-cut blade.

She raised her staff and took a step back but kept her piercing glare fixed on him. “Five laps around the campus! Go!”

He scrambled to his feet and rushed to get out of the lodge and away from her. His shoulder and knee throbbed, but adrenaline pushed him forward. This is insane! he thought. What have I gotten myself into?

Before he left the building, he thought he could hear Ashley say something under her breath, “I wouldn’t have been able to do that to the real Guardian.”