Greylith, page 2
"I'll be fine, Wren," I reply, my voice steady despite the turmoil roiling within. "I'll watch my back, I promise.”
When our mom returns and there is no sign of the General, Wren's expression softens with concern. Speaking as though she didn’t just tell me that the entire story we’ve been fed about our father has been a lie, "Mom, I've arranged for a neighbor to keep an eye on you while we're away," she says, her tone gentle yet firm. "And I’m leaving you with a large bonus check to hold you over until I can send more."
“Wren, I can't accept this," Mom protests, her hands trembling slightly as she sees the check. "We've managed before, I can manage now. You need this more than I do.”
But Wren doesn’t hear it. "Mom, please," she insists, her voice unwavering. "Besides, the leadership at Fort Weave sees a lot of potential in me and my Spiritwalking ability, and they want me on guard duty one weekend every month, so there’s more where that comes from."
After a moment of hesitation, Mom’s resolve wavers, and she finally nods, tears of gratitude streaming down her cheeks. "Thank you, Wren," she whispers, clutching the check tightly to her chest, "I don't know what I would do without you."
As the bustling activities on the Pier continue, a low, resonant sound echoes through the air, signaling our departure. The Ship's horn reverberates with a sense of urgency, jolting me from my thoughts. I turn to Wren, a mixture of excitement and nervousness knotting in my stomach.
"That's our cue," I say, my voice tinged with anticipation.
Wren nods in acknowledgment, her expression reflecting a similar blend of emotions. "Let's go," she replies, her tone steady despite the underlying tension.
Mom grabs both of us and pulls us in for a hug, “I love you both,” she cries. “Take care of each other.”
Wren and I smile.
With one last glance back at our mother, who stands watching us with a mixture of pride and worry, I take a deep breath and follow Wren as we make our way toward the waiting vessel. The Ship's horn continues to sound, a reminder of the journey that lies ahead and the challenges I’m about to face.
As the Ship pulls away from the Pier, I struggle to keep my balance on the swaying deck, my gaze darting back to the Pier where my mother would usually lingers until the Ship vanishes from view. Her absence stirs a mixture of disappointment and worry within me, but I shake off the feeling and settle into a seat near the railing, eager for the adventure ahead.
Excitement buzzes in the air as well as the smell of salt from the ocean, but it’s all abruptly shattered by the eruption of tension when a large, blonde-haired recruit gets into a heated argument with Arlic Shadowbane, a face from my past that I haven’t seen in years. Memories of our childhood friendship flood back, but they were quickly overshadowed by the looming threat of violence.
“My entire family has been Fire Weavers, so I’m sure that’s what's going to happen with me as well,” the built boy says.
“Well, actually, there is still a strong probability that you don’t become one, and in fact, you may Weave something different,” Arlic retorts.
That’s something that I do remember about Arlic. He always was a know-it-all, and it can be pretty annoying.
All of a sudden, the the taller, blonde guy lunges at Arlic with a fury that seems disproportionate, his intentions clear as he shoves Arlic overboard. Gasps echo around us, but before anyone can react, a muscular hand reaches out from below, saving Arlic from a watery fate.
“That’s what he gets for mouthing off,” the blonde one scolds.
"Hey! Settle down up there!" a deep voice bellows from below, its authority commanding attention.
I chuckle, but the blonde recruit’s rage remains unabated as he turns his fury towards me, his eyes ablaze with hostility.
"Leave him alone, Thorne!" a voice shouts from across the deck, cutting through the tension, her tone firm and unwavering.
"Ironwood, sit down and stop trying to start trouble," Wren's voice commands, her authority as a Senior Recruit evident. But Thorne's aggression showed no sign of abating.
"You look like you’re an easy target!" Thorne spits, his voice dripping with venom.
Before the situation escalates further, I stand, my voice firm but tinged with unease. "I don't want any trouble. Let's just calm down and–." Before I could finish, he whips a knife from his side pocket and lunges at me, the silver blade slices through the air, leaving a stinging gash on my arm. Pain shoots through me, but I refuse to show weakness. The cut is deep.
“What the hell, man?” I yell. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Seething with rage, I grit my teeth and tense my body. I ball my fist and throw a punch that locks directly with Thorne’s jaw. That should shut him up.
I turn my back and head to my seat, but it’s too late.
“You’re dead.” I’m thrown to the ground by the back of my collar. My vision blurs and my ears ring, a sign that I’ve hit my head. I look up and see Thorne staring down at me, his cheek becoming redder by the minute. He’s fuming.
Just as the situation threatens to escalate, a small voice cuts through the tension. "That's enough, Thorne!" a petite yet toned, auburn-haired girl, steps in to diffuse the situation. “Sit your ass down, Ironwood, before I make you sit down.”
“I’d like to see you try to make me,” Thorne retorts.
The girl doesn’t reply, she just glares up at Thorne and in the blink of an eye, the girl spins and drives a kick straight into Thorne’s stomach, sending him ten feet across the deck and landing flat on his ass.
I’m assuming he got the hint because as soon as he regains his breath, he gets up, shoots the girl an angry look, curses, and finds a seat near the back of the Ship.
“Well, thanks,” I say, blinking my eyes back into focus.
“Don’t mention it,” she smiles, reaching her hand out to help me up. “I honestly just don’t like bullies.”
“How the hell did you do that?” I say without thinking.
“Oh, you mean kick his ass?” the small girl says. “My uncle has woken me up at 4 a.m. every day for the last year and forces me to train.”
When I draw my attention back to the front, I can’t help but feel uneasy as a brown-haired, muscular man, who has nearly six inches on me, passes by. For some reason, he’s not wearing a shirt, and I can’t stop staring at the most defined six-pack abs I’ve ever seen.
“Can we help you?” she asks, in a very snarky tone, as if she knows him.
He doesn’t answer, he just gives an odd smile and heads toward the bow of the Ship and joins some friends.
“Don’t worry about that one, either,” she says as she rolls her eyes and brings her attention back to me. “I’m Lyric Nightingale, a New Recruit. I’m assuming you are too?” she says as she pulls a small bottle out from her breast pocket.
“Yeah,” I reply, still staring at the man. “I’m Phoenix. Is that alcohol?”
“And does Phoenix have a last name?” Lyric says in a very sarcastic tone. “Oh this, yeah, but don’t tell, I don’t think we’re supposed to have it.”
“Yeah, sorry. It’s Greylith. Phoenix Greylith - Ow! Fuck!” I yell, looking down to see that Lyric has broken the seal and is pouring the contents of the small bottle on the cut left by Thorne.
“Sorry!” Lyric jumps. “I’m not much of a doctor, but I know that you need to keep that cut clean. Who knows where that blade of his has been?” We both laugh.
The sun is beaming down now. We must have been sailing for at least an hour, as there is no land in sight; only open seas. I still can’t stop thinking about the guy that walked by us, or stop staring, for that matter. His dark brown hair, swollen pecs-,
“No, stop.” I can’t distract myself, and apparently I said that out loud.
“I’m sorry?” Lyric replies, giving me an odd look.
“What? Oh, nothing,” trying to change the subject and curious about her connection to the shirtless man, I ask Lyric, “Hey, who is that guy that walked by us?”
“Oh him,” she gestures in his direction, and after looking closer, I assume he must be the guy that caught Arlic, as he's got the same scar on his hand. “That’s-” she’s cut off by the man’s voice echoing across the Ship.
“New Recruits, listen up!” His voice is deep and loud enough to have all the New Recruits gather before him. Lyric and I both stand and move to the front of the group.
“It’s Elixir Day. As you all know, today is the day that you’re all planning on taking the Elixir and developing a Weave. Well, that isn’t the case this year,” he says, which causes quite the commotion amongst the group. “For the first time in our history, we will be selecting twenty out of the two-hundred of you to develop an ability, the rest of you will join the Army as normal soldiers, just as you are now.”
“Well, this is a first,” Lyric leans over and whispers toward me.
“What the hell!” a girl from the back of the group shouts. “We are all heading for Fort Weave because we were told we’d get to become Weavers.”
The dreamy man turns and glares at the argumentative girl. “And if that’s the reason you’re joining the Aetherian Army, you might as well jump off this vessel now and swim back home because that’s not why we fight,” the tall, muscular man retorts. “Command is starting to think we are giving power to too many of the wrong people.”
“Good, let's sort out the weak,” Thorne glares over at me. “Yeah, I’m talking about you.”
“Don’t react, that’s what he wants,” Lyric whispers. “And besides, Thorne won’t hurt you again.”
“How do you know he won’t try to kill me?” I ask. Because by the looks of it, Thorne is about two seconds away from jumping across the deck and driving his knife into the side of my neck.
“Because it’s like I said, I don’t like bullies,” Lyric says without taking her eyes off of Thorne.
“And how do you plan on stopping him?” I say, as if she could stop Thorne, who’s easily double her height.
“I have my ways, and if I can’t, my brother certainly will.”
“Brother?” I say, hoping she doesn’t say what I think she's about to say.
“Him.” She points to the guy that’s been talking, and now he’s side eyeing me, and is that a smile? “That’s my brother, Xander. Xander Nightingale. He’s a Senior Recruit.”
Holy shit.
“Now,” Xander continues. “Command has been watching everyone today and has made their decision as to who will take the Elixir upon arrival.”
I swear all the air has just left every one of the New Recruits’ lungs.
Xander pulls out a piece of parchment from the inside pocket of his jacket, “When I call your name, you’ll head down to the lower deck and wait for further instruction. Lyric Nightingale,” he shouts, glancing over at his sister.
“Congrats!” I say through my jealousy. Not because she will become a Weaver, but because she gets to get away from Thorne who has been trying to kill me.
“Thanks!” she says as she runs toward the back of the Ship and heads down the stairs.
As Xander reads a few more names, I look around and see the hope leave some people’s eyes as they slowly come to the realization that not all of us will become Weavers. And I can’t say I don’t feel the same way. “Thorne Ironwood.”
“What?!” I shout, not realizing I spoke out loud, but I don’t care. “You’re worried about giving the wrong people power and you’re giving the Elixir to this asshole!?”
“If you have something to say, Greylith, you can take it up with Command,” Xander snaps, without taking his eyes off the list in his hands.
How the hell does Xander know my name?
“You’ll be my first kill, fuckface,” Thorne says as he walks by, chucking his shoulder into mine.
“Watch it, Ironwood.” Xander shouts to Thorne’s back.
I roll my eyes and try to brush him off, but I can’t. If I don’t become a Weaver, I’ll die. Not like the ‘dramatic’ die, but like death, die. I’m not strong, I’m not a great fighter. I punched Thorne out of anger, but I’ve never punched anyone before that and I know my hands will feel it later. I’m screwed.
“Arlic Shadowbane,” Xander calls out.
Eighteen. Arlic is the eighteenth name. Guess I better accept my fate now.
“Atar Dryflame,” Xander shouts.
Nineteen. One spot left. Everyone looks around in anticipation as we all know what comes next. One of us will be called to become a Weaver and play a huge part in fighting this war we’re in, and the other one hundred eighty of us will probably die on the front lines.
“The final recruit that will be receiving the Elixir today is,” Xander stares at the final name and smirks. He folds the paper up and stares out at the crowd, and then at me, “Phoenix Greylith.”
♪ ‘The Time of Our Lives’ by Miley Cyrus ♪
On the bottom deck, everyone seems to be celebrating and cheering that they were chosen to become Weavers. I would love to get in on the celebrations, but I feel guilty for those who aren’t ever going to become Weavers.
Before my feet even touch the last step, Lyric pulls me into a big hug for someone so small, “Phoenix! You’re here! You made it!”
“Yeah!” I say, faking a smile. I know I should be happy and celebrating, but something about the way Xander looked at me makes me feel extremely uneasy. Why did he smile?
“Come on! Meet the rest of the ‘upper-classmen,’ if you will,” Lyric pulls me in the direction of everyone else. “Everyone, this is Phoenix! The last Weaver to be chosen!”
Not a huge fan of being called an ‘upper-classman’ while there are one hundred eighty people upstairs that have a pretty good chance of dying, but I’m also not going to argue with the fact that now I might actually stand a chance.
“Phoenix!” I hear my name called from somewhere behind me, and by the depth in her tone, I know it’s Wren.
I turn over to Lyric, who’s talking to a girl whose name I think is Sorin, “Hey! Come with me, I want you to meet my sister.” I grab her arm and pull her away from the conversation.
Walking through the crowd of Officers, Commanders, Senior Recruits, and even General Darkflame, I see Wren standing on a crate at the edge of the Ship. “Wren! I made it!” I give a sarcastic cheer.
“I figured you would, we have a pretty lucky family,” she says, with what I think is a fake smile. Wren isn’t one to let people know that our family has been struggling in basically every way.
“You must be… the sister?” Lyric butts in.
“Oh yeah! Sorry, this is my sister Wren. Wren, this is Lyric Nightingale,” I say as the two shake hands and exchange an awkwardly long smile.
“Ahh, Xander’s sister,” Wren says with an approving nod.
“Yes, but no worries, we’re nothing alike,” Lyric says.
“Well, let’s hope you guys have something alike,” Wren replies, “Xander is the best fighter at Fort Weave.”
“Don’t you mean Weaver?” I ask.
“Couldn’t tell you, no one’s ever actually seen him Weave,” Wren says.
“That’s weird.” Lyric questions.
“What is?” I ask while Wren and I look at Lyric.
“I mean, if he’s a good fighter, why has he been at Fort Weave for the last five years?” Lyric questions.
Wren lets out a sigh and raises her eyebrow while studying Xander from across the Ship.
Lyric and I look at each other, and judging by the look on her face, she doesn’t know what his Weave is either. “So, what’s your Weave?” Lyric looks back at Wren.
“I’m a Spiritwalker,” Wren answers.
“A Spiritwalker?!” Lyric shouts. “That’s so cool! Do you have a spirit familiar?”
I guess I’ve never thought to ask because I don’t know the answer to that either.
“Oh yeah,” she says, and in the blink of an eye, a dark, large object flies by my head and perches itself on Wren’s arm. “This is Cleo.”
A transparent, white hawk turns it’s head to study Lyric and I. Small puffs of smoke roll off of Cleo and dissipate into thin air.
“Holy shiiit!” Lyric and I say in unison.
“Does it follow you everywhere?” I ask.
“Yeah, he does,” Wren smirks. “He’s been following the Ship up in the air, he’s a great lookout.” Just like that, he flies right through the side of the Ship and back out to the open sea.
“Recruits that made the Weaver list, gather round,” a loud man shouts as he steps up onto a wooden crate. He’s a short man in the same black uniform as General Darkflame, except this one has a bronze emblem. “I am Commander Frostfall, but I don’t like titles, so please, call me Finnian.”
The chatter dies, “There are a few rules you need to be made aware of before you are allowed to take the Elixir,” Finnian continues. “First, there is to be no sparring with any New Recruit that hasn’t been chosen to become a Weaver.”
“Why?” Thorne asks, of course. “They’re going to have to fight the Shadow Army and they can all Weave, so why can’t we fight them?”
“Because they need to develop a skill first,” Finnian retorts. “They aren’t as lucky as you to develop a Weave, making them an easier target on the battlefield. We need to let them become skilled with a weapon or two first.”
“Jeez, Thorne really is power hungry, isn't he?” I say out of the side of my mouth to Lyric.
“Well, yeah. His father was killed while on a mission in Expiratum and the rumor is, he died because he had a lack of respect for authority and didn’t follow orders,” Lyric says.
“Well, now I see where Thorne gets it from,” I smirk.
“Second,” Finnian booms. “The only time you are allowed to fight with any other Weaver is during sparring sessions or at the Colosseum.”
“There’s a Colosseum?” I turn to Wren.
“Oh yeah, just wait until you see it,” Wren answers.
