Post by James Bradley on Jul 5, 2009 15:00:17 GMT
Nothing like the scorching sands and sun of the Sahara could make a man appreciate the natural beauty of the British countryside as much as James Bradley did.
Nothing else could make a man’s heart ache for the gentle shower of a grey British afternoon; the cool wet air of the country; the rich, fertile soil of the forest floor. In the heart of the Sahara, the sound of the blowing sands was the only music to be heard. In the heart of a British forest, there was beautiful music everywhere. There were the birds that sang. There was the rustle of the leafy canopy above. There was the snap of a twig beneath a foot. There was the gentle patter of rain that rose in a wet mist of evaporation when the ever-shy sun chose to shine from behind the clouds. The British forest- in particular- was a feast for the senses. Damp-clinging moss climbed on rocks and bark; vines snaked across the trunks trees; grass-blades smattered the ground- flashing green and bright and glittering with drops of dew. In the seclusion of the forest, one could feel safe and comfortable, locked in a maze of trees and sheltered by the network of branches above. In the desert, there was no such feeling. There was no such protection. There was no shade. In the desert, one was completely exposed and vulnerable. But in the forest, one was safe and hidden.
The Sahara was dead.
The forest was bursting with life.
Blueberg Forest was perhaps the crowning glory in all of the British wilderness. It thrived under the constant care and supervision of the Carers- it danced with life and with magic and the laughter of the Orchid Hill students as they passed along the ancient, moss-touched paths that networked throughout. At the forest’s edge lay the Glass Lake- a deep, glistening natural lake with a surface not even the roughest winds could ruffle.
Back in his youth, James had spent a lot of time in the forest- running along the familiar paths- and when he was feeling adventurous, which he was almost every single day, he stepped off the path, and crossed through into the rustling heart of the forest, where sometimes the shrubbery grew so thick, and the trees so tall, James had felt as though he was about to be swallowed.
Blueberg had become… somewhat idealised in his memories of Orchid Hill, when he’d thought longingly of the school at his post in Africa. Where he worked, rain was about as common a phenomenon as a blue bloody moon. In the barren land of the desert, James sometimes had been forced to wonder whether or not such a place even existed. Therefore, it had become one of the places he’d most looked forward to returning to.
Therefore, when he returned to find it in its current state, James was… somewhat disappointed.
Actually-
He was really, really bloody píssed off with the stupid little toerag responsible for the burned-out sepulchre he now found himself standing in.
“We were getting our butts kicked,” the chirpy little Warrior who’d volunteered to escort James around the place was beginning to get on his nerves. “Jack Trove needed to get us out of there- and fast!”
If James had been in a more reasonable mood, he would’ve admitted he, too, would probably have acted similarly in Jack Trove’s position. However, as it was-
“What the hell kind of 2i/c is Jack Trove, anyway?” he snapped irritably. “Didn’t he think this through?”
The young boy, who seemed somewhat star-struck by James, was not in the least put off by his sharp tone.
“Oh, no, Professor Bradley! He thought very hard! He’s a very good 2i/c. It’s just a shame you haven’t met Madeleine Baudelaire, yet. She’s amazing. She’s-”
“Don’t call me, ‘Professor’,” James closed his eyes, wincing slightly. God, how he hated that title. Having rebelled against it for most of his school life, he couldn’t bear to have it thrust upon him now.
He didn’t bother to add that the Warrior would’ve also been more correct to say if he met Madeleine Baudelaire. Not that James didn’t expect great things from the current Head of the Warriors. Hell, he had heard some pretty great things about her from every member of her group he’d met so far- and heard glowing commendations from all of his fellow staff about her. Not to mention, James had a pretty good memory.
And even if he had a terrible memory, James doubted he could’ve forgotten the young Warrior, Shaun Baudelaire.
Shaun Baudelaire and Malcolm Trove were two of the best Warriors he’d ever seen.
And now there was Madeleine Baudelaire and Jack Trove- who, as Head and 2i/c, were probably relatively better, and this was saying something.
Then again, Jack bloody Trove had burned down one of James’ fondest memories of his schooldays. And James found it pretty tough to forgive these sorts of things.
“Nurse Gornray says-”
“Gornray?” James brightened. “She’s still here? Aw, hell- there’s a blast from the past-”
“Sir?” the young boy looked up at him, his dark eyes large.
“Oh, yeah, yeah, go on, kid,” James nodded, waving his hand airily.
“It’s Craig!”
“Craig,” James echoed weakly. “Right. Okay. I’ll remember that.”
“You will?!”
“Yeah,” James was somewhat taken aback by the sheer width of the grin that was stretching the second-year’s face. It looked like the kid’s face was about to split in half. “I will. That’s my job, isn’t it?”
“Oh, sir!”
“Calm down,” James laughed awkwardly.
At the moment, he didn’t know which students scared him more. Some of the guys seemed pretty dead-on, but kids like this (his fan boys) and their painful enthusiasm at meeting an ex-Head were positively alarming.
All the girls he’d met so far had been pretty much the same- they all gaped. And they all gushed.
A lot.
Even now, the back of his neck was prickling. He could feel the stares of the teenage girls following him as he and Craig trekked across the blackened landscape of Blueberg. Worse still, he could hear them giggling. They seemed even worse than the monsters he’d had to face when he himself was a student at Orchid Hill. Their giggles seemed somehow more pronounced- more like the sound of a cackling pack of hyenas than ever.
Any second now, he was terrified they were going to pounce.
“Nurse Gornray has been letting volunteers like me,” the child’s chest puffed out proudly, “help out in Blueberg forest. Y’know, reparation to fire damage, and stuff. It means more Carers-”
“- are available in the Hospital Wing,” James nodded. He’d given her a lot of cheek back in the day, sure. But he had a lot of respect for Nurse Gornray. She was a tough woman, but she was wise- and fantastic at her job.
“Yeah,” Craig grinned. “So, like, you’re gonna help?”
“Whatever I can do,” James nodded. It was hardly like the work was going to be difficult. Hell, after the long days he’d worked out there in the desert-
This was a walk in the park. Granted, a black, dead one.
But a park, all the same.
James was accustomed to death. In an army, you had to be. And now, for once, he was glad of it. As he stared around him, drinking in the once-beautiful, lush environment, he was secretly grateful that whilst the condition Blueberg was in was a shock- whilst it angered him horribly- at least, he could adjust.
The grass had withered at his feet- what was left of it anyway- and curled up, black and crunchy. Amongst the debris, bodies were still being discovered- and being picked out bone by bone. Smoking branches and trunks had relit several times, causing several small catastrophes and minor injuries. Most of the shrubs had shrunken and twisted back, coated in grime. Between branches, students bent, nostrils flared at the scratchy smell of smoke and picked. Every so often, a flash of green seared into James’ line of vision, where Carers were Healing plants in cleared areas. But these sprouts were small, and weak, and coughed and withered in the still low-hanging smoke. Water-benders and air-benders did their best to clear the atmosphere, but the smoke relentlessly continued to rise. It was because the fire had been magical that it was so difficult to combat the damage caused. Magic made for resilience- and persistence.
“Here,” Craig said enthusiastically. “Will you be… um…?”
“Yes?” James prompted him, as kindly as he could.
The boy flushed suddenly. “You… you think maybe… you’ll be giving demonstrations?”
James laughed, and the boy jumped. “Nah, I’ll be sitting around on my arse barking out orders. Of course I’ll be giving demonstrations!” He shook his head, still chuckling. “What did you think?”
“Oh, good,” said Craig, not in the least bit abashed. “See, we didn’t really know what you’d be doing, exactly. Professor Hoodham just announced you and three other ex-Heads would be coming to be like… advisors, and well-”
“Three other ex-Heads?” James came to a sharp halt. “What do you mean three other ex-Heads?”
Craig frowned. “Oh, y’know. Like you came for the Warriors. And ex-Heads are coming for the Spies, Carers and Academics, too.”
All of sudden, James’ stomach lurched.
“Did he mention any names?” James asked quickly. “Y’know- the names of the other ex-Heads?”
Craig- for the first time since their introduction earlier that day- drew a total blank. “Sorry, sir,” he shrugged. “I can’t remember.”
Of course you bloody can’t.
James’ insides felt cold. He hadn’t expected that- to react like that, after all these years. And God, it had been so many years. He’d thought… maybe… he’d thought he was past all that.
After all, James was 24 years old. And he’d left school when he was 18. He’d left school nearly 6 years ago. And today… James was a completely different person. Where he’d been and what he’d seen… it had changed him. He was sure it had changed him. You don’t see things like that and come out of it with all of you intact.
His right fist furled, and his thumb automatically swept over the two empty spaces where his fingers once lay.
“Sir? You look all funny.. Should I fetch a Carer?”
“No, Craig,” James’ shoulders sagged, and his fist unfurled. “I’m alright.” He even smiled for the young Warrior’s benefit.
Apparently reassured by this, Craig marched on his way, carelessly slipping into the role of tour guide, and pointing out different species of plants and trees (though James had honestly no idea how the kid was able to tell what was what; they all pretty much looked the same and dead to him) as they went. James pretended to look interested, but the truth was, it all went over his head. As much as James appreciated natural beauty-
A tree was a tree.
A bush was a bush.
A flower was a flower.
End of.
“Look!” Craig said happily, pointing. “That’s Jack over there!”
At the sound of his name, a young man of around 18 or so leaped up from the ground where he and another young man (who for some inscrutable reason, was wearing a cowboy hat…) had been sorting through the debris with some Carers. Breathlessly, Jack Trove approached James and the quivering second-year, who watched the 2i/c approach with eyes wider than coins.
“Jack! Jack! This is Professor Bradley.”
“Sir,” Jack croaked, and thrust a calloused hand forward. “It’s an honour.”
If the name, ‘Nurse Gornray’, had been a blast from the past, this was a bloody supernova.
Jack Trove was the mirror image of Malcolm Trove, the young Warrior whom James had trained in his time at Head at the school. Stranger still, when James had left school, Malcolm had been what? 15? 16? Jack Trove on the other hand was 18 years old. Effectively, James was staring at the man that Malcolm Trove had already become.
Jack’s eyes were bright blue- perhaps even a shade brighter than Malcolm’s were, but maybe that was an illusion caused by the enthusiasm that sparkled there. Jack’s hair was scruffier- a lighter brown- and his features somewhat less coarse. Subtle differences, yes, but differences all the same that marked Jack out as his own person; a Warrior in his own right.
The moment James lay eyes on Jack Trove, he swore to himself that he would not treat him as Malcolm Trove’s kid brother. He would treat him as Jack Trove; 2i/c of Orchid Hill’s Warriors.
And he’d a bone to pick with Jack Trove.
“Likewise,” James said, inclining his head as he returned the handshake. He had to hand it to the guy- the surprise that crossed his face at James’ missing fingers only lasted for a split second before he rearranged his face into a professional blank. Retracting his hand, James stepped back, and gestured to their surroundings. “I’m told this is your handiwork.”
Jack apparently had been expecting that. His face flushed a hot, bright red.
Behind him, the guy with the cowboy hat chuckled.
“Got something to say?” James called over Jack’s shoulder.
The chuckling stopped, but the grin remained. “Naw, sir. Ain’t got nothing.”
The cowboy’s grin was more infectious than James had expected. He worked furiously to keep his face straight as he looked back at the beetroot young man before him.
“Well?” James prompted.
“Well, sir?” Jack asked weakly.
“What’s the meaning of this?” James shrugged, looking around. “This is vandalism.”
“Oh, sir, please no!” Craig looked stricken. “Don’t be mad, sir! It’s not his fault! Well it is, but, ah-” Coming up short, and looking up desperately between the two men, Craig threw all restraint to the winds. “Did you know Jack’s not just 2i/c, he’s captain of the rugby team? Aw, yeah, and er- he dates lots of pretty girls- and um… he’s a dab hand with a sword, he is-”
“Shut it, Craig,” Jack said sharply.
James was surprised into laughter.
Jack’s cheeks deepened in colour.
Jack, James noted, was taller than him, by a good two inches. Clearing his throat slightly, James instinctively puffed out his chest, and spread his legs, effectively making himself appear taller.
“We were… if you’ll pardon me, sir, absolutely screwed,” Jack spoke quickly, but rather than attempting to hide his embarrassment, he met James with a steady stare. “I acted on impulse. And now I’m here and working to repair the damage I inflicted. At least, sir-” a glint of defiance entered his eyes at this, “- no-one else died.”
James’ face relaxed into a smile. “Good answer.” Then his expression hardened. “Though next time, I’ll thank you to think these things through a bit more carefully.”
Jack jumped to attention. “Yes, sir!”
James had to admit; he did enjoy having this sort of authority. It reminded him of the good old days when he was Head of the Warriors- top man. Of course, he still had wielded some authority as Lieutenant Colonel but it wasn’t like he was General or anything- though he’d have done one hell of a better job than Anderson did. And, as Lance once said, he’d have looked better doing it, too.
The cowboy was still watching them surreptitiously out of the corner of his eye. A young girl, maybe fourteen or so, was persisting in pulling him into conversation, and a lazy Texas drawl was floating through the air towards them.
“Aw, Tameron, c’mon-”
“I ain’t picking that up. That’s disgusting. What is it-?”
“Sir, I am… that is,” Jack held himself up straighter, a little to James’ dismay, “prepared to accept the consequences of my actions. It is why I am here today and working with the Carers to try and… do what I can.”
He was obviously working hard to avoid it, but there was a certain weighty resentment hidden behind his final words. This resentment was obviously shared by young Craig, whose nose wrinkled ever so slightly, and the Cowboy, too, who’s back stiffened.
James frowned. “Something wrong, Trove?”
“No, sir.”
James remained sceptical. “I see. Is that why you’re wearing a face like a slapped dog’s arse?”
Jack wasn’t, but he might as well have been. Anyway, Jack couldn’t see his face. For all Jack knew, his expression was showing off his emotions like a big flashing billboard. Well, James had sure as hell convinced him that it was, because Jack looked quickly abashed.
“It’s just- sorry, sir- it’s just… difficult as a Warrior to not be able to do anything more… for… Madeleine.”
These words, spoken with a surprisingly heartfelt honesty, shamed James slightly. Suddenly, he felt guilty for pushing Jack into telling him the truth.
“Oh. Okay,” he said gruffly.
There was an extremely long, awkward pause, during which the back of James neck grew uncomfortably hot.
“Carry on the good work,” James finally said, a little pathetically, nodding at Jack, who nodded back stiffly.
“Yes, sir. It’s my pleasure, sir.”
James sighed inwardly and decided, in an act of compassion towards Jack, to drop the formalities. “No, ‘sir’. Call me James… please.”
The teenager’s expression brightened and he opened his mouth as though to speak.
He didn’t speak quick enough.
“Oh, wow that is so cool! Can I call you James? My dad’s called James! Oh, oh, call me Craig- oh well, I mean you already call me Craig- but like-”
“Shut it, Craig,” Jack and James said in unison, and the boy, apparently delighted at being unanimously silenced by his two biggest heroes, shoved a fist into his mouth and bit down hard.
“Carry on, then,” James continued, looking back at Jack.
“Yes, s- James,” Jack tried it out, smiling slowly. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” he shrugged. “Come on, Craig. You’d better show me which group I’m working with.”
The boy’s now sticky fist dislodged itself from his mouth. “Oh! Not far now, sir! Just round past that tree, sir-”
James nodded to Jack as he passed, who grinned knowingly back. James also nodded automatically to the Cowboy guy, whose tip of the brim of his cherry red Stetson stank of cheeky charisma. The girl who was with the Cowboy apparently caught sight of him for the first time as he passed, and barely waited until he was out sight before rounding on the Cowboy to demand-
“Who was that? He’s fit-”
James winced inwardly. God. How he hated teenage girls.
Craig was wrong. It hadn’t been, ‘just round past that tree’. It had been, ‘just round past that tree, just over that stump, past that boulder- no, wrong boulder- back past that boulder, follow that path and up and over to that pile of ashes’.
Thank God this kid wasn’t a Spy. He’d get lost on his way to the enemy camps and turn up at Orchid three weeks later missing all of his clothes, clutching a basket of eggs and stuttering his apologies.
No joke. James had seen it happen.
“That’s your team through that clearing there!” Craig’s eyes shone with delight- and apparently- realisation, which was emphasized by his sudden intake of breath. “Oh…”
James, now fairly exhausted of the boy’s babbling style of conversation, looked down at him wearily. “Oh, what?”
“I remember now!”
Very abruptly, James was on edge. “Remember what?”
“The ex-Heads!”
That cold feeling- the one he’d only just managed to completely shake off- returned with a nasty, icy vengeance.
“Their names?”
“Yeah,” Craig said carelessly, “and another thing-”
“What other thing?” James rounded on the boy with a sudden aggressiveness that caused the boy to freeze in his tracks. “What other thing, Craig? What else?!”
“I-”
“James?”
Her voice was sudden; light and Irish. It was the same- yet, older, somehow. She appeared suddenly- as had always been her habit- materialising out of thin air beside him. Her hair tumbled forward, dark and longer than ever; her eyes were still sharp, and her face a smooth, creamy white.
She watched him curiously, a little teasingly. “Is that really you?” Then she looked now at a nervous, pale little Craig and laughed. “What are you torturing this poor boy for?”
Oh, God.
Oh, God.
James turned slowly, shakily, to look at a woman he had not seen in 5 and a half long, hard years.
“Katie le Faye.”
“James Bradley,” she grinned wickedly. “Late as ever.”
James winced. He was beginning to get really sick of this, ‘blast from the past,’ rubbish.
“Thanks, Craig,” he said miserably to the boy.
Craig took this as his dismissal, and scampered away. Katie watched him thoughtfully, her head leaning on a low-hanging twisted, blackened branch.
“Trashed this place, haven’t they?” she said conversationally. “Come on, then-”
Oh, God, oh, god, no.
“Katie, what’s going on-?”
“I don’t know! Hoodham told me after I’d finished unpacking to come to the forest- so I came. And look! You’re here.”
“I know I’m here-” he began hotly.
“Temper, James,” she winked. “Through here, I think-”
“Katie, no,” he grabbed her arm, swinging her round.
She stared at down at his hand, then at his face for a couple of seconds, an unfamiliar frown creasing her forehead. “James… what happened to you?”
He wished people would stop asking him that. “Nothing. Look, I think that-”
“Shush, shush,” she stopped him, and turned back to the clearing. “Do you hear voices? No… it couldn’t be…”
It could.
James knew.
He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt it could. And he didn’t want to do it. He didn’t want to go there. He didn’t want to open that box of memories. He didn’t want to tap into that source ever again.
But he was going to, goddamit. He was going to. He knew it was too late now. He could feel his feet, dragging him mercilessly forwards, following in Katie’s floating wake. It was like he’d lost all control of his body.
He shouldn’t go in there.
He couldn’t not.
So James followed Katie, the ex-Head Spy of Orchid Hill through into the clearing of the burned up forest he’d once loved so. There he found two people, looking more than a little surprised to see him and Katie there.
There, he felt the bottom drop out of his world, and leave him to fall.
Nothing else could make a man’s heart ache for the gentle shower of a grey British afternoon; the cool wet air of the country; the rich, fertile soil of the forest floor. In the heart of the Sahara, the sound of the blowing sands was the only music to be heard. In the heart of a British forest, there was beautiful music everywhere. There were the birds that sang. There was the rustle of the leafy canopy above. There was the snap of a twig beneath a foot. There was the gentle patter of rain that rose in a wet mist of evaporation when the ever-shy sun chose to shine from behind the clouds. The British forest- in particular- was a feast for the senses. Damp-clinging moss climbed on rocks and bark; vines snaked across the trunks trees; grass-blades smattered the ground- flashing green and bright and glittering with drops of dew. In the seclusion of the forest, one could feel safe and comfortable, locked in a maze of trees and sheltered by the network of branches above. In the desert, there was no such feeling. There was no such protection. There was no shade. In the desert, one was completely exposed and vulnerable. But in the forest, one was safe and hidden.
The Sahara was dead.
The forest was bursting with life.
Blueberg Forest was perhaps the crowning glory in all of the British wilderness. It thrived under the constant care and supervision of the Carers- it danced with life and with magic and the laughter of the Orchid Hill students as they passed along the ancient, moss-touched paths that networked throughout. At the forest’s edge lay the Glass Lake- a deep, glistening natural lake with a surface not even the roughest winds could ruffle.
Back in his youth, James had spent a lot of time in the forest- running along the familiar paths- and when he was feeling adventurous, which he was almost every single day, he stepped off the path, and crossed through into the rustling heart of the forest, where sometimes the shrubbery grew so thick, and the trees so tall, James had felt as though he was about to be swallowed.
Blueberg had become… somewhat idealised in his memories of Orchid Hill, when he’d thought longingly of the school at his post in Africa. Where he worked, rain was about as common a phenomenon as a blue bloody moon. In the barren land of the desert, James sometimes had been forced to wonder whether or not such a place even existed. Therefore, it had become one of the places he’d most looked forward to returning to.
Therefore, when he returned to find it in its current state, James was… somewhat disappointed.
Actually-
He was really, really bloody píssed off with the stupid little toerag responsible for the burned-out sepulchre he now found himself standing in.
“We were getting our butts kicked,” the chirpy little Warrior who’d volunteered to escort James around the place was beginning to get on his nerves. “Jack Trove needed to get us out of there- and fast!”
If James had been in a more reasonable mood, he would’ve admitted he, too, would probably have acted similarly in Jack Trove’s position. However, as it was-
“What the hell kind of 2i/c is Jack Trove, anyway?” he snapped irritably. “Didn’t he think this through?”
The young boy, who seemed somewhat star-struck by James, was not in the least put off by his sharp tone.
“Oh, no, Professor Bradley! He thought very hard! He’s a very good 2i/c. It’s just a shame you haven’t met Madeleine Baudelaire, yet. She’s amazing. She’s-”
“Don’t call me, ‘Professor’,” James closed his eyes, wincing slightly. God, how he hated that title. Having rebelled against it for most of his school life, he couldn’t bear to have it thrust upon him now.
He didn’t bother to add that the Warrior would’ve also been more correct to say if he met Madeleine Baudelaire. Not that James didn’t expect great things from the current Head of the Warriors. Hell, he had heard some pretty great things about her from every member of her group he’d met so far- and heard glowing commendations from all of his fellow staff about her. Not to mention, James had a pretty good memory.
And even if he had a terrible memory, James doubted he could’ve forgotten the young Warrior, Shaun Baudelaire.
Shaun Baudelaire and Malcolm Trove were two of the best Warriors he’d ever seen.
And now there was Madeleine Baudelaire and Jack Trove- who, as Head and 2i/c, were probably relatively better, and this was saying something.
Then again, Jack bloody Trove had burned down one of James’ fondest memories of his schooldays. And James found it pretty tough to forgive these sorts of things.
“Nurse Gornray says-”
“Gornray?” James brightened. “She’s still here? Aw, hell- there’s a blast from the past-”
“Sir?” the young boy looked up at him, his dark eyes large.
“Oh, yeah, yeah, go on, kid,” James nodded, waving his hand airily.
“It’s Craig!”
“Craig,” James echoed weakly. “Right. Okay. I’ll remember that.”
“You will?!”
“Yeah,” James was somewhat taken aback by the sheer width of the grin that was stretching the second-year’s face. It looked like the kid’s face was about to split in half. “I will. That’s my job, isn’t it?”
“Oh, sir!”
“Calm down,” James laughed awkwardly.
At the moment, he didn’t know which students scared him more. Some of the guys seemed pretty dead-on, but kids like this (his fan boys) and their painful enthusiasm at meeting an ex-Head were positively alarming.
All the girls he’d met so far had been pretty much the same- they all gaped. And they all gushed.
A lot.
Even now, the back of his neck was prickling. He could feel the stares of the teenage girls following him as he and Craig trekked across the blackened landscape of Blueberg. Worse still, he could hear them giggling. They seemed even worse than the monsters he’d had to face when he himself was a student at Orchid Hill. Their giggles seemed somehow more pronounced- more like the sound of a cackling pack of hyenas than ever.
Any second now, he was terrified they were going to pounce.
“Nurse Gornray has been letting volunteers like me,” the child’s chest puffed out proudly, “help out in Blueberg forest. Y’know, reparation to fire damage, and stuff. It means more Carers-”
“- are available in the Hospital Wing,” James nodded. He’d given her a lot of cheek back in the day, sure. But he had a lot of respect for Nurse Gornray. She was a tough woman, but she was wise- and fantastic at her job.
“Yeah,” Craig grinned. “So, like, you’re gonna help?”
“Whatever I can do,” James nodded. It was hardly like the work was going to be difficult. Hell, after the long days he’d worked out there in the desert-
This was a walk in the park. Granted, a black, dead one.
But a park, all the same.
James was accustomed to death. In an army, you had to be. And now, for once, he was glad of it. As he stared around him, drinking in the once-beautiful, lush environment, he was secretly grateful that whilst the condition Blueberg was in was a shock- whilst it angered him horribly- at least, he could adjust.
The grass had withered at his feet- what was left of it anyway- and curled up, black and crunchy. Amongst the debris, bodies were still being discovered- and being picked out bone by bone. Smoking branches and trunks had relit several times, causing several small catastrophes and minor injuries. Most of the shrubs had shrunken and twisted back, coated in grime. Between branches, students bent, nostrils flared at the scratchy smell of smoke and picked. Every so often, a flash of green seared into James’ line of vision, where Carers were Healing plants in cleared areas. But these sprouts were small, and weak, and coughed and withered in the still low-hanging smoke. Water-benders and air-benders did their best to clear the atmosphere, but the smoke relentlessly continued to rise. It was because the fire had been magical that it was so difficult to combat the damage caused. Magic made for resilience- and persistence.
“Here,” Craig said enthusiastically. “Will you be… um…?”
“Yes?” James prompted him, as kindly as he could.
The boy flushed suddenly. “You… you think maybe… you’ll be giving demonstrations?”
James laughed, and the boy jumped. “Nah, I’ll be sitting around on my arse barking out orders. Of course I’ll be giving demonstrations!” He shook his head, still chuckling. “What did you think?”
“Oh, good,” said Craig, not in the least bit abashed. “See, we didn’t really know what you’d be doing, exactly. Professor Hoodham just announced you and three other ex-Heads would be coming to be like… advisors, and well-”
“Three other ex-Heads?” James came to a sharp halt. “What do you mean three other ex-Heads?”
Craig frowned. “Oh, y’know. Like you came for the Warriors. And ex-Heads are coming for the Spies, Carers and Academics, too.”
All of sudden, James’ stomach lurched.
“Did he mention any names?” James asked quickly. “Y’know- the names of the other ex-Heads?”
Craig- for the first time since their introduction earlier that day- drew a total blank. “Sorry, sir,” he shrugged. “I can’t remember.”
Of course you bloody can’t.
James’ insides felt cold. He hadn’t expected that- to react like that, after all these years. And God, it had been so many years. He’d thought… maybe… he’d thought he was past all that.
After all, James was 24 years old. And he’d left school when he was 18. He’d left school nearly 6 years ago. And today… James was a completely different person. Where he’d been and what he’d seen… it had changed him. He was sure it had changed him. You don’t see things like that and come out of it with all of you intact.
His right fist furled, and his thumb automatically swept over the two empty spaces where his fingers once lay.
“Sir? You look all funny.. Should I fetch a Carer?”
“No, Craig,” James’ shoulders sagged, and his fist unfurled. “I’m alright.” He even smiled for the young Warrior’s benefit.
Apparently reassured by this, Craig marched on his way, carelessly slipping into the role of tour guide, and pointing out different species of plants and trees (though James had honestly no idea how the kid was able to tell what was what; they all pretty much looked the same and dead to him) as they went. James pretended to look interested, but the truth was, it all went over his head. As much as James appreciated natural beauty-
A tree was a tree.
A bush was a bush.
A flower was a flower.
End of.
“Look!” Craig said happily, pointing. “That’s Jack over there!”
At the sound of his name, a young man of around 18 or so leaped up from the ground where he and another young man (who for some inscrutable reason, was wearing a cowboy hat…) had been sorting through the debris with some Carers. Breathlessly, Jack Trove approached James and the quivering second-year, who watched the 2i/c approach with eyes wider than coins.
“Jack! Jack! This is Professor Bradley.”
“Sir,” Jack croaked, and thrust a calloused hand forward. “It’s an honour.”
If the name, ‘Nurse Gornray’, had been a blast from the past, this was a bloody supernova.
Jack Trove was the mirror image of Malcolm Trove, the young Warrior whom James had trained in his time at Head at the school. Stranger still, when James had left school, Malcolm had been what? 15? 16? Jack Trove on the other hand was 18 years old. Effectively, James was staring at the man that Malcolm Trove had already become.
Jack’s eyes were bright blue- perhaps even a shade brighter than Malcolm’s were, but maybe that was an illusion caused by the enthusiasm that sparkled there. Jack’s hair was scruffier- a lighter brown- and his features somewhat less coarse. Subtle differences, yes, but differences all the same that marked Jack out as his own person; a Warrior in his own right.
The moment James lay eyes on Jack Trove, he swore to himself that he would not treat him as Malcolm Trove’s kid brother. He would treat him as Jack Trove; 2i/c of Orchid Hill’s Warriors.
And he’d a bone to pick with Jack Trove.
“Likewise,” James said, inclining his head as he returned the handshake. He had to hand it to the guy- the surprise that crossed his face at James’ missing fingers only lasted for a split second before he rearranged his face into a professional blank. Retracting his hand, James stepped back, and gestured to their surroundings. “I’m told this is your handiwork.”
Jack apparently had been expecting that. His face flushed a hot, bright red.
Behind him, the guy with the cowboy hat chuckled.
“Got something to say?” James called over Jack’s shoulder.
The chuckling stopped, but the grin remained. “Naw, sir. Ain’t got nothing.”
The cowboy’s grin was more infectious than James had expected. He worked furiously to keep his face straight as he looked back at the beetroot young man before him.
“Well?” James prompted.
“Well, sir?” Jack asked weakly.
“What’s the meaning of this?” James shrugged, looking around. “This is vandalism.”
“Oh, sir, please no!” Craig looked stricken. “Don’t be mad, sir! It’s not his fault! Well it is, but, ah-” Coming up short, and looking up desperately between the two men, Craig threw all restraint to the winds. “Did you know Jack’s not just 2i/c, he’s captain of the rugby team? Aw, yeah, and er- he dates lots of pretty girls- and um… he’s a dab hand with a sword, he is-”
“Shut it, Craig,” Jack said sharply.
James was surprised into laughter.
Jack’s cheeks deepened in colour.
Jack, James noted, was taller than him, by a good two inches. Clearing his throat slightly, James instinctively puffed out his chest, and spread his legs, effectively making himself appear taller.
“We were… if you’ll pardon me, sir, absolutely screwed,” Jack spoke quickly, but rather than attempting to hide his embarrassment, he met James with a steady stare. “I acted on impulse. And now I’m here and working to repair the damage I inflicted. At least, sir-” a glint of defiance entered his eyes at this, “- no-one else died.”
James’ face relaxed into a smile. “Good answer.” Then his expression hardened. “Though next time, I’ll thank you to think these things through a bit more carefully.”
Jack jumped to attention. “Yes, sir!”
James had to admit; he did enjoy having this sort of authority. It reminded him of the good old days when he was Head of the Warriors- top man. Of course, he still had wielded some authority as Lieutenant Colonel but it wasn’t like he was General or anything- though he’d have done one hell of a better job than Anderson did. And, as Lance once said, he’d have looked better doing it, too.
The cowboy was still watching them surreptitiously out of the corner of his eye. A young girl, maybe fourteen or so, was persisting in pulling him into conversation, and a lazy Texas drawl was floating through the air towards them.
“Aw, Tameron, c’mon-”
“I ain’t picking that up. That’s disgusting. What is it-?”
“Sir, I am… that is,” Jack held himself up straighter, a little to James’ dismay, “prepared to accept the consequences of my actions. It is why I am here today and working with the Carers to try and… do what I can.”
He was obviously working hard to avoid it, but there was a certain weighty resentment hidden behind his final words. This resentment was obviously shared by young Craig, whose nose wrinkled ever so slightly, and the Cowboy, too, who’s back stiffened.
James frowned. “Something wrong, Trove?”
“No, sir.”
James remained sceptical. “I see. Is that why you’re wearing a face like a slapped dog’s arse?”
Jack wasn’t, but he might as well have been. Anyway, Jack couldn’t see his face. For all Jack knew, his expression was showing off his emotions like a big flashing billboard. Well, James had sure as hell convinced him that it was, because Jack looked quickly abashed.
“It’s just- sorry, sir- it’s just… difficult as a Warrior to not be able to do anything more… for… Madeleine.”
These words, spoken with a surprisingly heartfelt honesty, shamed James slightly. Suddenly, he felt guilty for pushing Jack into telling him the truth.
“Oh. Okay,” he said gruffly.
There was an extremely long, awkward pause, during which the back of James neck grew uncomfortably hot.
“Carry on the good work,” James finally said, a little pathetically, nodding at Jack, who nodded back stiffly.
“Yes, sir. It’s my pleasure, sir.”
James sighed inwardly and decided, in an act of compassion towards Jack, to drop the formalities. “No, ‘sir’. Call me James… please.”
The teenager’s expression brightened and he opened his mouth as though to speak.
He didn’t speak quick enough.
“Oh, wow that is so cool! Can I call you James? My dad’s called James! Oh, oh, call me Craig- oh well, I mean you already call me Craig- but like-”
“Shut it, Craig,” Jack and James said in unison, and the boy, apparently delighted at being unanimously silenced by his two biggest heroes, shoved a fist into his mouth and bit down hard.
“Carry on, then,” James continued, looking back at Jack.
“Yes, s- James,” Jack tried it out, smiling slowly. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” he shrugged. “Come on, Craig. You’d better show me which group I’m working with.”
The boy’s now sticky fist dislodged itself from his mouth. “Oh! Not far now, sir! Just round past that tree, sir-”
James nodded to Jack as he passed, who grinned knowingly back. James also nodded automatically to the Cowboy guy, whose tip of the brim of his cherry red Stetson stank of cheeky charisma. The girl who was with the Cowboy apparently caught sight of him for the first time as he passed, and barely waited until he was out sight before rounding on the Cowboy to demand-
“Who was that? He’s fit-”
James winced inwardly. God. How he hated teenage girls.
Craig was wrong. It hadn’t been, ‘just round past that tree’. It had been, ‘just round past that tree, just over that stump, past that boulder- no, wrong boulder- back past that boulder, follow that path and up and over to that pile of ashes’.
Thank God this kid wasn’t a Spy. He’d get lost on his way to the enemy camps and turn up at Orchid three weeks later missing all of his clothes, clutching a basket of eggs and stuttering his apologies.
No joke. James had seen it happen.
“That’s your team through that clearing there!” Craig’s eyes shone with delight- and apparently- realisation, which was emphasized by his sudden intake of breath. “Oh…”
James, now fairly exhausted of the boy’s babbling style of conversation, looked down at him wearily. “Oh, what?”
“I remember now!”
Very abruptly, James was on edge. “Remember what?”
“The ex-Heads!”
That cold feeling- the one he’d only just managed to completely shake off- returned with a nasty, icy vengeance.
“Their names?”
“Yeah,” Craig said carelessly, “and another thing-”
“What other thing?” James rounded on the boy with a sudden aggressiveness that caused the boy to freeze in his tracks. “What other thing, Craig? What else?!”
“I-”
“James?”
Her voice was sudden; light and Irish. It was the same- yet, older, somehow. She appeared suddenly- as had always been her habit- materialising out of thin air beside him. Her hair tumbled forward, dark and longer than ever; her eyes were still sharp, and her face a smooth, creamy white.
She watched him curiously, a little teasingly. “Is that really you?” Then she looked now at a nervous, pale little Craig and laughed. “What are you torturing this poor boy for?”
Oh, God.
Oh, God.
James turned slowly, shakily, to look at a woman he had not seen in 5 and a half long, hard years.
“Katie le Faye.”
“James Bradley,” she grinned wickedly. “Late as ever.”
James winced. He was beginning to get really sick of this, ‘blast from the past,’ rubbish.
“Thanks, Craig,” he said miserably to the boy.
Craig took this as his dismissal, and scampered away. Katie watched him thoughtfully, her head leaning on a low-hanging twisted, blackened branch.
“Trashed this place, haven’t they?” she said conversationally. “Come on, then-”
Oh, God, oh, god, no.
“Katie, what’s going on-?”
“I don’t know! Hoodham told me after I’d finished unpacking to come to the forest- so I came. And look! You’re here.”
“I know I’m here-” he began hotly.
“Temper, James,” she winked. “Through here, I think-”
“Katie, no,” he grabbed her arm, swinging her round.
She stared at down at his hand, then at his face for a couple of seconds, an unfamiliar frown creasing her forehead. “James… what happened to you?”
He wished people would stop asking him that. “Nothing. Look, I think that-”
“Shush, shush,” she stopped him, and turned back to the clearing. “Do you hear voices? No… it couldn’t be…”
It could.
James knew.
He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt it could. And he didn’t want to do it. He didn’t want to go there. He didn’t want to open that box of memories. He didn’t want to tap into that source ever again.
But he was going to, goddamit. He was going to. He knew it was too late now. He could feel his feet, dragging him mercilessly forwards, following in Katie’s floating wake. It was like he’d lost all control of his body.
He shouldn’t go in there.
He couldn’t not.
So James followed Katie, the ex-Head Spy of Orchid Hill through into the clearing of the burned up forest he’d once loved so. There he found two people, looking more than a little surprised to see him and Katie there.
There, he felt the bottom drop out of his world, and leave him to fall.
