Chapter 39

“One of my favorite passages of history would be the final duel between Lennox Elmson and the Guardian of Magic. It is one of the rare events that has many eye witness accounts. They say the Merith stood still and refused to spin until the victor was decided. Oh, how I wish I could have seen it with my own eyes.”

Faith in the Guardian by Grand Arboler Norman Thicket, year 4021

Faith

With the sound of polycarbonate shields against flesh, the mob collided with the Enforcers, who used their metal rods to bat people away. Bloodcurdling screams rose, and all hell broke loose.

Norman, even at his old age, stepped in front of Kimberly and pushed fiercely against a mob member. After a few misses, the man with a plastic pole managed to land a blow on the back of Norman’s neck. He yelped in pain, holding his neck, and backed away. Kimberly screamed in horror and pulled him away from the violence, getting him to safety. A tall man on the Arboler side, filled his gap and pushed hard against the mob.

“Are you okay?” Kimberly asked, her hand tight on Norman’s shoulder—she wouldn’t let go.

He inhaled sharply through his teeth, his eyes shut, hand over his neck. “It’ll heal eventually.” She could barely hear him over all the commotion. What’s happening? she thought. How could someone strike the Grand Arboler?

A hand pulled on her elbow, spinning her around. It was Marissa, looking frantic. “Watch out!” she screamed.

Something heavy whizzed past Kimberly’s face and made a loud thud near her feet. Her heart thumping, she looked at what the object was. “A brick?” she sputtered. “They’re throwing bricks?”

The throng of people pushed and pulled at each other; the line between the two forces staggered. It was a massive, chaotic clump of angry humans who ripped and tore at each other’s throats. Bricks, rocks, and bits of concrete were raining down on the Arbolers and many were hit. Some in the head. Some fell to the snow and didn’t get up. It was the most horrific thing Kimberly had ever seen.

What have I done? she thought.

“Back up! Back up!” shouted Riker, ushering Kimberly, Marissa, Eland, and Norman farther away from the mob.

It didn’t take long for the Arbolers to realize this was far more violent than expected. The wall broke apart and people fled deeper into the Grove, hoping to find refuge from the onslaught. Some ran into the small forest, out of view, escaping the scene. Most, however, filled with spiritual zeal, stopped running, and turned around, ready for a second bout.

The Enforcers pushed their way past the first row of leafless trees, entering the Capital Grove. Half of the Enforcers’ backs were to the Arbolers because they were pushing against the mob of Seculars, trying to keep them from murdering people. It quickly became apparent that the number of Enforcers present wasn’t sufficient to keep these two branches apart.

Some of the enraged Arbolers managed to push their way around the Enforcers and whacked members of the mob with poles that were originally used to hold up protestant signs. More Seculars broke through the line of Enforcers and wrestled with Arbolers in the snow.

Kimberly helped Norman back away far enough to avoid thrown bricks and looked up to see what the whirring noise was above the trees. Half a dozen drones hovered over the Grove, beaming spotlights down on the scene. They were probably recording the entire thing and broadcasting it for the entire world to see—and, of course, reporters were likely describing it in a way that made it look like this was all the Arbolers’ fault.

“WE WON’T MOVE! WE WON’T MOVE!

A new human wall of chanting Arbolers had begun to form beyond the throwing range of the mob. It weaved around the trees, steadily growing in number. Kimberly stood in the line but didn’t hold hands, still tending to her uncle, who stood next to her with a bloody hand on his neck.

“I didn’t think it would be this bad,” she muttered.

“It’s not quite the nonviolent protest we signed up for, eh?” Norman said with a wince. “But we signed up. So we’re staying.”

“Are they ever going to stop?” Marissa asked.

No one responded. They just watched as the mob slowly pushed their way deeper into the Grove. At this rate, they’d reach the center in about a quarter of an hour.

“Why hasn’t the Guardian come?” Kimberly asked. “She said he would.”

Norman coughed. “Maybe he’s on his way.”

“He’d better hurry,” Marissa said, rubbing her hands to stay warm.

Eland limped to the new line, looking exhausted. “If we left, do you think they’d damage any of the trees?”

As if in immediate reply to his question, a terrible sound brought their attention back to the first row of trees lining the perimeter of the Grove. It sounded like a rocket taking off. The chanting cut off and was replaced with gasps and screams.

A man from the mob had brought a flamethrower.

He shot a torrent of fire on the first row of trees. Even with the cold and the snow, the trees still caught fire and burned on their own. Seculars, Enforcers, and Arbolers alike scattered from the crazed man, avoiding the flames.

Kimberly watched in shock, unable to believe what she saw. How could someone hate us so much?

Her heart sunk further when the roar of a second flamethrower went off. A woman launched fire at the trees, a malevolent grin on her face. And then a third flamethrower went off—this one manned by a teenage boy who barely seemed big enough to hold the weapon.

The fire cast an eerie glow through the Capital Grove. The entire line of Arbolers watched in fear. They no longer held hands, but clung to each other, as if it were their final embrace before the end of the world.

An Enforcer attempted to flank the first pyromaniac but was unsuccessful when he quickly turned the deadly flames on the lawman. Even though he managed to raise his shield in time, the flames crept over it and consumed his entire body. Kimberly turned away, revolted by the sight.

“He’s not coming,” she muttered.

Those near her looked at her but didn’t argue.

“The Guardian. I thought he….” She stared at the fire that consumed the trees; the glow of their orange flames reflected off of the tear that crawled down her cheek.

✽✽✽

Ashley brought death to the Barklians.

Casting ash and willow with her staff, she aimed a jet of fire at the countless ranks of blue-clad soldiers, engulfing them in flames. Most tried to maneuver around her, but she cut them off, sending them into a hot, painful death. Enemy mages flying above Cast fire and lightning down at her, but she raised her elm extension to protect herself.

With a final puff of flames, the ash wood in Ashley’s staff ran out of magic, but its willow kept Casting wind. She pointed it upward at the Forid mages, trying to blow them away, but they were too skilled at flying. They Cast a torrent of magic down at her, forcing her to hide behind her magical shield.

That will extinguish soon, too, she thought.

Salverian soldiers and mages died left and right of her. They were either scorched black from fire, struck dead with gruesome entry-and-exit scars from lightning, or stabbed and slashed from a bladed staff or sword. Falling back was the only option.

Looking back, Ashley spotted a scared young man pulling a Salverian weapons handcart toward the city gates. The morbid fear in his eyes grew starker as he drew closer to battle. The smoke and thunder was enough to make anything living want to keep miles away. But, he pressed on, delivering the life-saving weapons the Salverian mages needed.

Ashley bolted toward him, eager to grab another ash-willow staff from his cart. Lightning bolts struck the ground around her as she ran. Salverian soldiers charged past her to keep pushing against the seemingly endless waves of Barklian soldiers that continued to poor through the gates.

She didn’t reach him in time.

A white-robed mage swooped down just above the young man and Cast a torrent of fire on him and on the weapons cart.

“NO!” Ashley shouted.

She could hear the teenager’s screams for only a moment, then the roaring fire quickly swallowed up his agonized voice. The mage reangled his staff so that it would blow him upward.

Finally close enough, Ashley raised her now-extinguished staff above her shoulder and threw it hard like a spear. The mage shrieked as the staff embedded itself into his back. He dropped his flame-spouting staff, but, for some reason, clung onto his ebony wand in his other hand, which continued to grant him weightlessness. He floated higher and higher, dripping blood over the Barklian soldiers entering the gates, slowly dying from the staff lodged between his ribs.

As Ashley dashed toward the body of the young man, she fished through her robes for a maple wand… and found none. “Flames!” she groaned, wishing she could mourn over the young man’s corpse but knew she couldn’t. He died doing his job.

Now, she would die doing hers.

Ilan will be waiting for me in the Ascensions, she thought. But I’ll bring as many Barklians and Forids with me as I can! She used her nearly-extinguished elm extension to push away the flames as she searched through the burning cart.

She sighed.

All of the staves and wands were already burnt black—no magic in them.

Without magic, the Salverians wouldn’t stand a chance.

✽✽✽

Silas dropped his wand, its shield extinguished, and reached into his robe pocket to grab another elm wand. He always carried two spare wands with him: one elm, the other maple.

Lennox reappeared just as he threw his birch wand off the wall. It was still invisible as it fell to the street below, clanging a few seconds later. He’s changing his tactics, Silas thought.

Lennox tossed his mahogany staff off the side of the wall, too. His lips curled into a snarl, his long black hair covering half his face. He raised his hand straight out behind him. “My staff!” he commanded.

The nearest Forid mage behind him on the wall walk tossed him a light brown staff. Lennox caught it and fell into a two-handed stance. This staff seemed thicker than most staves Silas had seen. Probably another dual-oriented one.

Lennox started twirling it. “You are better than rumors say,” he said. “I am pleased for the challenge. But now I will show you why I am the Guardian Reborn.”

Two magical red shields Cast out of the staff, out both ends, twelve feet each way. His staff had a span the size of moderately large tree! In order to reach the vertical Casting position, he had to hold it over the side of the wall. Typically, any person holding a weapon that long would move it exceptionally slow, but because of elm’s magical properties, he could spin it just as fast and as hard as a standard six-foot staff without any drag or extra weight.

“I don’t have to kill you to prove you’re a false guardian,” Silas said as he finished Casting a simple six-foot shield out of his wand, and gripped his mahogany staff, which still had electricity dancing at its tip. “But I will anyways.”

He lowered his staff, aiming it at Lennox’s heart, Casting a lightning bolt at him. The false guardian spun his staff horizontally, bringing a shield that extended so far, it nearly touched Silas’ staff. The extension absorbed the lightning, and then Lennox swung it at Silas, who ducked and backpedaled away—keeping his distance from those long extensions.

Lennox pursued him along the wall walk, nearly taking off the General’s head with every swing. Silas—constantly on his heels—didn’t dare block a side swing with his small extension. He knew it wouldn’t be strong enough to withstand Lennox’s longer, and stronger extensions. Instead, he kept Casting lightning bolts at Lennox, to somehow keep him out of range.

The duel progressed with a fierce energy. In the darkness of night, only the blur of red extensions, brown staves, and white lightning colored the air. Mages on both sides of the wall watched as the two titans tested their might against each other.

The wall walk made an ideal location for Lennox to use his tree-length staff. It gave him the space to twirl his staff in nearly every direction, except vertically—his extensions would cling against the wall if he tried. It was better than on flat ground, where it would impede him from spinning at any other angle than horizontally.

As Silas continued to backpedal, some Salverian mages had to back up to keep from tripping their General. He wanted to focus on looking for an opening to attack Lennox but couldn’t concentrate on anything other than not getting hit by those massive extensions.

He aimed his staff to shoot another lightning bolt, but just before it Cast, Lennox swatted an extension at it, knocking the staff out of Silas’ grip and onto the stone wall walk. Lennox thrust his extension low, jabbing Silas in the stomach. The general groaned. Lennox spun his staff, bringing about the second extension, but Silas managed to block it with his wand’s short extension, holding it like a two-handed sword.

Lennox came in hard. Silas pivoted back and forth, barely keeping Lennox’s extensions from hitting him. He gritted his teeth. Sweat dripped off his chin.

Then… his elm wand’s magic extinguished, the extension disappeared. Silas held nothing but the wand to defend himself. Lennox smirked and swung his staff hard, expecting to connect with flesh.

But Silas blocked it.

“What?” Lennox yelled.

Silas held the wand’s tip and butt between his hands horizontally, withstanding Lennox’s blow. Lennox pushed downward. Silas didn’t buckle.

Lennox sneered. “Why you stubborn little…” He spun his staff sideways and struck at Silas from the right repeatedly as hard as he could. Silas blocked every blow. The impacts brought him to one knee for leverage.

His wand broke in half.

In a blur, Silas took painful blows to the wrist, the ribs, the ear, the jaw, the eye.

He pushed his elbow against the walls surface, keeping himself up, trying to stay conscious through the pain. He couldn’t tell what was broken and what wasn’t. He tried fishing for his maple wand in his robes, but Lennox jabbed him in the chest, knocking him on his back.

Cheers and shouts for Lennox rose from without and within the walls. Within? Silas thought. How did so many of them get inside?

“Now do you see, General Jarrah?” Lennox said as he strutted forward, sweat beading down his forehead. “I am the one who was foretold would come. Can’t you see it? I am wielding the Staff of Life. I treespeak directly with Life and I am her servant. I will save the world. Save it from you and your kind who believe in a false guardian. After I conquer Magen City, the white tree you worship will burn.”

“You killed my son, Lennox,” Silas said, looking at him with only one good eye. “You are not, nor will you ever be, the Guardian of Magic. I will forever defy you.”

Lennox frowned, as if hoping Silas would actually change his mind and join his cause. Holding his dual-oriented staff in his left hand, he picked up Silas’ mahogany staff with his right. Its electricity was extinguished, but its bladed tip was still sharp. He held it vertically over Silas’ heart and said, “So be it!”

He thrust the staff downward.

White.

All was white for a split second. Silas blinked and saw that Lennnox was no longer standing over him. A powerful bolt of lightning had struck the wall near Lennox and had knocked him off his feet. A clap of thunder echoed off Magen City’s tall inner buildings.

Dazed, Lennox crawled back to his feet. “Who—?” he sputtered as he spun toward the inner city, looking furious and gripping his dual-oriented staff with both hands. With effort, Silas raised his head and watched Lennox as he gazed at whoever it was that Cast the lightning.

Lennox’s expression transformed from fury… to shock… to fear.