Malachi Armstrong

A vacuum had been building inside Malachi and now he was forced to acknowledge it. The eyes of the Council seared him like needles. Their expectation, the weight of a yoke over his shoulders. That emptiness inside bulged and quivered as his emotional state fractured. All in his head, pain wracked his body in the illusion of torture. The bubble burst. Everything churned together. Fury with guilt. Despair with horror. Fear with confusion. Each with the other. A reflection of madness.

The maelstrom consumed him. Except the little him, the pillar within. It held against the eruption. A man on the mountaintop screaming into the storm. The outside world fell away to just the beating pressure of his heart. Malachi focused all of himself into that spot. Stood there in the one spot of clarity and looked into the whirlwind of his turmoil.

It came at him in flashes of feelings and remembered moments. Horrors and despairs, guilt and fear. He gritted his teeth thinking of duty. They waited for him outside and the bearded leader refused to fail them again. Malachi knew there would be no going further until this was resolved.

Already three days had been burned away. Spent, if not in idleness, than in an unrelenting attempt to be productive. Since Julia awoke, Malachi threw himself in teaching his stupid arm into being useful. Swinging his sword and fighting simulations until exhaustion took him. To tried to do more than lay on the cold stone floor. Waking up sore and cold wasn’t a deterrent to change the pattern. The sword acolyte flung himself back into the reckless drilling. Two days spent pushing before finally believing the left hand could replace the right.

That hadn’t been enough to quiet the turmoil inside, so Malachi had slouched back to his feet. A new task came to mind to shunt everything away. Like a rag doll pulled by strings, he had gone to the panel to modify the shadow projections. Limiting it to one and putting its strength just beyond his own. He battled it and bled.

Once a fatal mistake had seen him shredded. Malachi had dragged himself clear of the battlezone to avoid the respawn. Looking back at the smear of blood left behind, the sword acolyte had wondered if he had gone too far. The thought of dying here in the training room due his foolhardy choice was a clashing mix of emotions. Blending satisfaction at being punished and panic before the prospect of experiencing death.

The clinking of glass on glass interrupted his introspection on mortality. Eyes blurry from bloodlost and tears found a cloaked figure entering the room. They carefully walked in and bent down to set an armful of bottles on the ground by the panel. Moving as if unconcerned by the sight of him bleeding. In that slow, watery motion, the cloaked figure picked out one bottle and brought it down to him. Before Malachi could finish the potion, his visitor was gone. Looking at the armful of potions left behind, he decided to dive completely into preparing for another dead beast. Burning that day and next until the Council came.

He knew now that, for all the value gain, it would never resolve the turmoil inside. The emotions had only been pushed aside or deep inside. Left to fester and ruin him. Malachi thanked his friends for the reminder. Praised them for forcing him to face the maelstrom.

Taking blame wasn’t enough and there was truth in that it wasn’t something any of them could have expected. Not fully. New protocols would be needed, but mostly the bearded leader agreed. The fault wasn’t just his own. Malachi would continue to castigate himself, even if they proclaimed him innocent. A leader knew that everything that happened under his purview was at least partly his fault.

Blame was one thing, but there was his own experience to unravel. To look at the mess and accept it. He ran through the events first from the point of view as their leader. Not second-guessing, just understanding their results. Logically focused turnings of his mind, learning and reevaluating.

The next part was the worst. Malachi put aside the mantle of leadership and felt the events as a person. Allowing the raw emotions to flow through him. They came first in a flood as he released the pressure of suppression. It was almost too much. The little self on the mountain top trembled and a sob escaped his real body so far above. The second and third times through were easier to take. He processed the emotions before allowing them to pass through. A clarity spread behind the last wave.

On the mountaintop, the maelstrom dispersed. A dreamscape of clean blue sky appeared above the little core of him. Malachi looked around at the imagined heavens and thought, I miss the sky. The notion rocked through him. A simple longing that set off a tempest of sparks. A conclusion and a goal formed in the heart of the Sixty’s leader. A calmness flowed from it and returned confidence to his state of mind. It was ragged and frail, but there again. When opened his eyes to the Council, the sword acolyte saw it reflected by them again.

“I have been... selfish,” began Malachi. “Lost in my grief, I did not think of anyone else… This meeting should have happened earlier. Thank you, Molly, for arranging things. To all of you, for giving me more patience than I deserve.” He paused to single Warner out with a nod. He wasn’t sure why the big man hadn’t stepped in, but this whole thing proved the brawler had held back.

“To answer the issue brought forward, yes, let us return to the tunnels. The going will be slower, but splitting up is no longer an option until we are clear on what awaits us in the dark tunnel. Tomorrow, I’ll address everyone and we’ll move forward from there. I need to rest and refresh before we should push for this. I am neither in the right headspace nor have the right appearance to act as your leader.” None argued as they all looked down at his shredded and stained clothes. Malachi put them through enough that the repair and clean functions were way behind. He was currently dressed more to play an undead than a respected leader.

“We’ll pick this up tomorrow morning, here and then gather the rest of the Sixty in the Hall,” declared Malachi with a lopsided smile. He got up and gave each a smile before leaving. It felt a little like fleeing, but he needed to be alone. The equilibrium that had been found at the Council table was temporary. A momentary stability to react appropriately. Tomorrow the bearded leader promised himself to be in a place to appropriately play his part. Today would be for weeping and sleep.

Once in his room, the sword acolyte got ready for a shower. Efforts to remove the clothing properly resulted in more in the vein of tearing them off. Their damaged durability created a lot of tangles and confusion. In a rush to get clean, Malachi ripped them off to get free.

The warm water was peace. Cleansed the sweat, blood, and even some of his ill feelings. By the time Malachi left the steam dry, he was already relaxed enough to start falling asleep on the last few steps to the bed. He did so with a true smile as the smell of the last occupant inspired dreamy thoughts. Julia’s smile lauded him the last inch to sleep.

Many dreams played as he slept. Delightful ones, full of friends and Julia. Terrible ones that tormented him with past mistakes and future ones to come. When he walked out of a forest into a clearing, Malachi knew this dream was different than those immaterial ones that had come before. There was a fullness of self that you didn’t get in most dreams. Almost lucid dreaming, but heavier.

He looked around and thought of the dream Phelain had told him about. A meeting with himself around a campfire in a forest made of shadows. There was a campfire, but it was on the side of the road. The trees that he walked out of were clear to his eyes and the sky was not full of stars. It was either dusk or dawn, but Malachi couldn’t tell. The illumination was neither growing lighter nor darker as he stood there. A world standing still was an odd thing to see.

That only added to the dream-like look of his surroundings. He couldn’t pinpoint where this was, but the sense of familiarity was strong. The road was worn pavement of the sort you found in the back roads of most anywhere. The cliff wall on the other side of the road spoke of a few places, but none matched with having a nearby drop to another cliff on his side. It looked out on a river valley that could be from anywhere. More painting-like than a memory. Malachi concluded that maybe this was an amalgamation. A mixture of his favorite qualities in the many roadside camps he had made.

When he turned back to the campfire there was someone there now. Dressed in plaid and jeans. Patiently going about the work of preparing a meal. “Hello, you weren’t there before,” called out Malachi. Feeling a little whimsical.

His own face turned to him with a calm smile. “You weren’t ready to see me until now,” they replied before returning to their work. It was dizzying to see a face so familiar and yet oddly not his on another. A face that showed the years in the seeds of wrinkles and a brushing of gray hair. An old face, earned by paying the time, but now a stranger’s face in so many ways. “Well, stare at me over there if you want, but the view is better over here,” called out the other him with a laugh.

Heistately, he decided to follow the advice. The impulse of doing the opposite would be pointless. Also, the smells from the fire were enticing. There were logs surrounding the campfire that may have or may not have been there before. Malachi took the one closest that put him to the side of his reflection. The wood was smoothed by use as if varnished. Warmed by the fire it was a comfortable seat to watch the meal cooked.

Ah, breakfast, thought Malachi spotting what was contained in two iron skillets. One sizzled with bacon and sausage while the other cooked pancakes over calmer flames. Of course, breakfast foods are good anytime and easy food to carry on the road. Breakfast, Brunch, and Brinner, anytime and every time. The sword acolyte laughed at the thought and found he wasn’t alone. The other him was laughing too and gave a knowing wink.

“So,” ventured Malachi.

“We can talk after,” assured the older him. “Eat some comfort food, and then we can get into it.”

They offered a kindly smile over a plate heaped with everything. The sword acolyte took it and gave it the side-eye. He wondered how it had looked half-cooked a moment ago and now everything was ready to eat. Watching his mirror self prepare his own plate made Malachi dismiss it as a dream thing. Deciding it was best just to enjoy the taste of home, he dug in.

That was the dream for a while. The fire crackled and they ate quietly in peace. Their only interaction was to pass the travel syrup which never ran out. Neither did the skillet of food. His reflection gave up after seconds, but Malachi went back for fourths before there was no more room. Even in a dream, there were limits apparently. The last bite of bacon touched with syrup marked the end of the meal. In a strange quickness, the dishes were clean and the two of them sat by the fire.

“So,” smiled the other him.

Malachi opened his mouth to start talking, but tripped over his words. The lack of surety on what to say betrayed him. Coming out as a babble of several subjects at once. All that came out clearly was an echo. “So, yeah.”

“Rough couple of days, huh?”

A sharp inhale as the emotions roiled at the scrutiny. Sighing, he agreed, “Definity. I don’t think I reacted well to it either. Pretty much ran from it.”

“I can’t say I would do much different in your shoes,” replied his reflection honestly and with a bit of humor.

“Helpful,” Malachi’s dry reply.

They gestured as if to say “fair enough” before offering, “I think, taking the lead has come natural to us, but it’s a moment like this that held us back from taking on the role.”

“And it happened worse than I ever could have expected. People died.”

“Yeah, that was a nasty bit of business,” nodded the older him. “They still wanted us as the leader though. That’s something. A brightness to this shitstorm.”

“Is it though?” whispered Malachi in a strained tone. “The blame is debatable. They refused to lay it at my feet, but it was my orders, my plans that led us to that horror. Maybe it is an aberration. Maybe. I fear it’s a standard that we will all too quickly be experiencing... How can they trust me after my leadership put us through that?”

The other him turned up to the tye-dyed sky and Malachi saw the shadow of his own feelings in that look. “Let me ask a few things… Do you think you’ve done a good job up until then?”

“I thought so, maybe a few things I could have done better…”

“Good enough, you were happy and they were happy. Could someone else have done better? Hell maybe just as good?”

“I..” he hesitated to answer. Faces flashed through his mind. A barely conscious blur as he coldly measured them against his efforts. The process was done on the periphery of thought. Natural instinct rolling out judgments. They pilled up like a surge of letters from his deepest self. Whispering the truth as its logical shrewdness perceived. Warner: compassionate, but blinded by ambition. Molly: perceptive, but lacking charisma. Phelain: inspiring, but naive. Clarissa: talented, but unwilling and erratic too. The few others that were worth considering wouldn’t consider it.

Who else? echoed the thought and Malachi could think of no one else to pass the mantle to. A complete dearth of candidates to switch himself with. Even if the bearded leader had the power to manipulate time and go back. I wouldn’t change my choices. Not with any conviction. Is it arrogant to believe that? The faith that I am the best? If not, then why am I scolding myself if no one could have done better; that I made the best choices to make? Arrogant and sullen. Bemoaning my own imperfection. He grimaced into the fire, a flood of revulsion almost eclipsing his guilt.

“We often forget that arrogance and pride are a thin line apart,” said the reflection with steaming tea in each hand. He offered one to Malachi and sipped from his own. “Throughout life, you’ll waver over the line often and rarely will you notice at all that you did. The right man for the job? I’d say we’ve proven that to ourselves right here. The SIxty believe and now you know it.”

“So, I’m the best they have, doesn’t mean I didn’t fuck up,” said Malachi, tone laced with pain. “So many died, and I couldn’t stop it. Didn’t even have the fucking chance to!”

“What's worse? That they died or that they don’t blame you for it?” accused his reflection. The kindness fell from their wrinkled face. For a second he saw the black anger that had terrified others in the past. Malachi understood why now and flinched at the sight. “Their faith in Malachi Armstrong is unblemished and he weeps for his untarnished reputation! O woes is me, I live up to their expectations and yet it is not enough!”

The sword acolyte growled as his own anger rose indignantly, “Fuck you! I care about them! Sure, I chafe at the responsibility, but every single one of them matters to me. I promised myself to see every last one of them through this! I meant it and strive to fulfill that oath with my every effort!”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” grinned the other. “Strange you’re bellyaching about being their leader then.”

Blinking, Malachi realized he had been tricked into reacting. To lash out and become free from the weight of his depression. Though the anger faded, his pride remained above the dark waters. Grief and sorrow remained if faded by the proclamation. It was freeing. The sword acolyte reflected anew on his actions of the last couple of days. A self-deprecating smile appeared on his face. The laugh that followed was soft and sweet.

It’s easy to forget your own motivation can get complicated, thought Malachi. I always avoided taking charge before… how many times did I walk away from promotions? Or when people began to rely on me, wasn’t I suddenly motivated to move on? I didn’t want the responsibility, it hadn’t really mattered before, to have the best leader available. Those were just restaurants and such. They didn’t need the best… and I didn’t want the frustration.

Here though, here the best was necessary and I saw no one else. My sense of duty compelled me to take charge. Wouldn’t allow me to ignore the call this time. Then, the deaths. It wasn’t just grief that I fled from. Failure, I validated that old fear in me. That if I tried, I would fail. That seemed proven. But it hasn’t, not one bit. I’m just scared… and I still have a job to do.

“I’m the leader they accepted and still hold to,” Malachi stated out loud. “I have a duty to them to shake this off and be worthy. Live up to what they imagined.”

“Good to hear,” smiled the older him. “Get out there and do the job. We got some baggage, but this is what we have been looking for our whole lives. Leading something matters.”

Nodding, Malachi agreed, “It’s everything and I came close to ruining it.”

“Perhaps, but more important… are you going to make that same mistake again?”

“No,” He promised. Then with light humor added, “Maybe all new ones, but never the same one.”

The sword acolyte thought back to the battle with the dead thing. Thought of that strange force of Mana that had been part of him and yet separate. His, but sourced from outside him. It was a manifestation of the Sixty’s trust in him. Authority born in Mana. The revelation brought forth a warm confidence that stoked his surety. He accepted their mantle of leadership and couldn’t/wouldn’t let himself falter again. For the sake of them, the sword acolyte vowed.

After that Malachi’s attention turned inwards to contemplate what to do next. His reflection offered their silent companionship. Thoughts drifted as hungry eyes took in the landscape. It was perhaps the most healing part of the dream. The older him had guided him through, but the place of the dream was a healing vision. An aching reminder of what the surface was like.

The drifting notions and fragmented ideas collided into an epiphany. Simply and exquisite. The shock of it launched him into wakefulness. Moving through the dark, the bearded leader occupied his room’s desk. Impatiently he turned the lamp on to reveal one of the notebooks Julia had left in his room. Pen in hand, the words rushed out of him. All the right things to say if Malachi could just keep up.