The Ghost of Vermil-Chapter 45: James IV

James had lost many comrades in the Darkseed Mountains, but he had never really come to terms with the feeling of loss and fear. Each death was fresh sorrow. As he watched the breathing figure of Wilcan Libbery on the infirmary bed, that terrible feeling rose up again, filling his chest with dread.

The young lord was lucky to be alive. But his injury had caused him to enter a long sleep to recuperate.

"Professor," a lady's voice called behind him. The incident had left Theresa morose and lifeless. Her face did not radiate the unadulterated fairness it had before, now sullied by worry and listlessness.

James was the same. Ultimately, the accident was his failure. His fault.

Still, he wondered how the runes had come to be broken. It was the dome that crumbled then, but he felt it was his life too.

"Theresa, don't you have classes?" James did as well. But he dropped by in the hope of seeing the young lord wake up. A brave young lord. A troublesome one, a carefree young man. But a courageous one.

"Just brought him fresh fruit from the cafeteria," the young lady said, stepping over to the bedside table and laying a plate of pomegranate seeds and slices of watermelon. "He looks so peaceful, doesn't he?"

"Indeed."

"Even when he lost his arm, he didn't flinch. He fought and clung on. He was ready to die, Professor."

Was it for glory? Did Wilcan desire of dying a hero? He once said he wanted to be a ranger, like him. James took on the role for it was his family's duty. From day one, he had been reared to fight cursed beings and demonic monsters. It was not out of desire but rather out of obligation. "The damn bastard must have been afraid of looking like a wimp," he said light-heartedly. "He is valiant." And now a cripple. No amount of praise could bring back the arm that was lost.

His injury nearly festered, the demonic curse threatening to devour his arm. The Sisters had to cut two inches off from the stump that remained. As for the rest, they cast him with healing spells. Although they could never regrow a limb, the curse had at least been driven out of his body.

The severed half had been corrupted. When the shards of Director Garren's FIRST LIGHT poured down, the cut flesh became riddled with holes, unrecoverable.

Before James left, he told the sleeping lord as he pulled the blanket snugly over his chest, "If you miss more classes, I'm giving you demerits. So, come back quickly. I know you can hear us."

Wilcan's chest heaved up and down, the sound of his breaths resonating in the quiet infirmary room, giving James no response.

Theresa still visited his office to help in checking papers. She would sit there and flip one leaf after another, marking answers and passages with the swiftness of an intellectual. On occasions, she would seek his advice. But mostly, they sat in their own spots wordless, content in the company of the other who shared the same sorrow.

One afternoon, James suddenly heard her sniffing. He sneaked a glance at her and saw her rubbing her eyes.

"Are you well, Theresa?"

"I'm alright, Professor," she sniffled, "It's just the smell of ink."

He heard three gentle knocks on the door. "Come in!" The pale face of Lucas of Vermil greeted him. "What are you doing here?"

The lad gingerly inched through the doorway. "I'm not welcome in Mathematics class, Professor. It's too difficult for me," he answered with eyes downcast.

After presenting him as a saviour of Demach, James thought Lucas's situation would improve. "How about the others?"

"Professor Devonchy sent me out as well. I won't be attending his course anymore."

"But you're ranked among the top students? How can they just dismiss you?" Do I have to talk personally with them again? He leaned back, sighing, "Take a seat. Just study whatever you want."

In truth, rank Eleven was a generous reward, although James should not call it that, given the director's true intentions. Keep him here. Until we know for certain what kind of power he holds. James recalled the director's words.

"He has a strange talent," Director Garren had said, upon laying eyes on Lucas's ability that siphoned the dark energy out of the Weeper and into himself. "It was like he could command it. A Demach student able to wield dark energy. What have we allowed entry to the Academy, James?"

"Are you saying he's a demon?" James cut to the point.

"And yet he saved his comrades... He is a puzzle, James. In respect for his selflessness, I think we have to give him some doubt."

"But if he turns out to be one, we are putting the whole Academy in danger, director." Logic dictated to nip the danger at the bud.

"We have to be certain. He does not give off demonic energy."

"In that one instance, he did, Director. I sensed it," James divulged. "When the Weeper's energy transferred to him, his power felt like that of a demonic monster. A strong one. It was my House's duty to cut down demonic creatures, but I hesitated because he's someone familiar. And honestly, he did not look like he wanted to harm us."

"Thus, all the more reason to keep him here."

"Then you need to put him in the rankings, director."

"A boy capable of subduing the Weeper, I believe he deserves a place just below our top ten."

"What do you mean?"

"Eleventh. Yes, the Eleventh he must be."

"Pardon me director but that is too high. Many students will covet his place."

"More opportunities to test him then."

"And if he harms them?"

"I myself shall see to it that no one is crippled again."

To their dismay, they were afforded no chances to test Lucas's newfound power as the lad became known as the Craven of Vermil — refusing any offers to a duel. In spite of Lucas's previous intention to challenge anyone for a chance to break into the rankings, he seemed disinterested in battling any of his challengers now. With his goal achieved, there appeared no need to accept a fight anymore.

It was in his lesson with the third-year Aleph that James heard one of them say, "Bastard must be shitting his pants after the trick he pulled to get into the top slots. He can't even face me. Even Lord Dowser was refused."

"Professor!" James turned to face Lady Riverstine.

"Yes?"

"You were in the scene when the break-out happened. Did the Cr—Zayin really slay the Weeper?"

He nodded. "It is true. Although, it was the director's power that eventually subdued it."

"Then perhaps, he had not really helped much."

James swivelled his head side to side. "You must be underestimating a demonic creature. Yes, the director could have defeated the Weeper on his own, but not before the monster had killed Theresa and Wilcan and five guards."

Silence fell over the small auditorium, until another noble questioned, "But how? He doesn't have the smallest pinch of holy power. How can someone like him defeat the Weeper?"

James felt the question came out of their own insecurity, yet he could not blame them. If James himself did not bear witness to that moment, he would be equally incredulous too. He answered, "He stopped it."

"Can you tell us in more detail?"

"Unfortunately, I cannot."

"We know he stood there and blocked the Weeper. Doesn't mean he should get Eleven. Anyone could have done that Professor," another scholar said.

Theresa shrank her shoulders to make herself appear smaller, ashamed. James had forgotten to tell her to keep Lucas's power privy until they understood what it was. Still, as an instructor to these raucous lords and ladies who minced no words in expressing their displeasure, he felt the need to give them caution.

"Then let me tell you this, so you don't provoke him unnecessarily. It was Director Garren who defeated the Weeper but Lucas of Vermil could have felled it by himself."

His declaration smothered any more uproar.

Walking back to the Professors' Building, James Hilbury took the long way around that passed along the Atelier. In just a few days' time, wooden scaffolding had been raised around it as reconstruction commenced. Dust and rubble were pushed to a corner, along with pieces of broken cages. The marble building was devoid of runes and light, reduced to nothing but broken stones.

The walkway was pockmarked with potholes, stumps that were once fiery maple trees — remnants of the chaos that ensued as the horde poured out of the Atelier. The maples that remained stood sentry with broken branches, or with half of their foliage blown away.

As the damp autumn wind blew, the lingering sobs of the Weeper faintly thrummed in his ear. huuu... huuu... It brought him memories, but not of the break-out incident from a few days ago. Instead, scenes from the Darkseed Mountains bubbled up to his recollection. A body lay broken as another man sobbed over him. And the dark forest answered his sorrow with dead silence.

James walked more briskly towards his office chamber.

As he stood sipping tea, looking over at the direction of the dense cityscape of Gallenport, someone knocked on his door. He opened it to Theresa of Cotton Lake whose face blushed with shame. "Come in, Theresa. But I don't have papers for you to—"

"I'm sorry, Professor, " she interrupted him. "I did not mean to put anyone in trouble. I did not know."

"It is of no worry, Theresa. His power will come to light sooner or later. Care for some tea?"

"Thank you, Professor. I just wanted to defend him. They're calling him a Craven, when he has saved Wilcan twice."

Which on both occasions, his injuries miraculously vanished. James was at a loss how to explain it. It was unhuman, if at all.

"I understand their sentiments for he has refused any duel presented to him. After a while, they would doubt."

"But they are calling him more horrible things now. It's unreal."

"How so?"

"They tag him a murderer... It's all a rumour meant to provoke him, I believe."

"Murderer? That's a tall accusation. Who's purveying these rumours? This is crossing the line."

"I don't know exactly."

"I must go see the director." Lucas's life was veiled in secrecy. If he were the demon that they suspected him to be, then him being a murderer did not seem so far-fetched. Yet, for the sake of fairness, they must not judge him by rumours alone.

The two of them trod to the director's office but it was empty. "He's left for the infirmary," one assistant told them.

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Director Garren was speaking to Sister Lily when they found him there.

"James, Miss Theresa, how fares the day?" He said.

James answered with a frown, "Not so bright, we've come to speak with you."

"Have you heard, Director?" Theresa asked.

Director Garren's face took on a solemn expression. "Is it about the boy and his past?"

James nodded. "It's absurd. Calling him a murderer? Is there any truth to it?"

"We shall see. I've called for Marco Vermilon to meet me. If they're brothers, he must know. But I wanted to check on our young hero first. The Libberys shall be here soon. It's a week's ride to Walrus Bay. The letter must have reached them five days ago. They should be at the gates in a couple of days."

Nearly a dozen days abed, Wilcan's face had grown emaciated, the shape of his jaw and cheek poking saliently through his skin. In the lack of sun and nutrition, his complexion had paled almost matching the silver of his hair, the veins turning visible beneath. His stub of a moustache had thickened, making him appear older and sicker.

"He's going home, isn't he?" Theresa asked, staring at Wilcan's face as she combed his silver hair like she had usually done during her visits.

"He cannot continue in the Ordination anymore, my dear," the director replied. "It saddens me to lose such brave young soldiers. But he had done enough, I believe. He has shown that he has the makings of a hero. I think even the Lord would agree it's enough."

James caught Theresa rubbing the edge of her eye, sniffling. She must steel her resolve as a future recruit of the Holy Army. She would hold a high position, so she must not let her emotions get the better of her. Yet James could not bring himself to tell her. She is young. Young as the rangers when they set off on their maiden trial to kill their very first cursed being. She is young. And she simply grieves for a friend. Something James had done too many a time.

"He has lost weight. I think we must throw a feast when he wakes," Director Garren said.

James grinned. "He'll be thrilled, I'm sure."

He moved to part the windows. "He needs fresh air. But we ought be careful the mosquitoes don't bite him." He also tied the curtains to the side. Looking at Wilcan's figure cast in the golden rays of sunset, he uttered wistfully, "They said patients dream in their long sleep. I wonder if he is dreaming now. I wonder if in his dreams, he still possesses his arms. I wonder if he knows he's dreaming."

"I just pray it is a good dream," James added, "The nightmare he had suffered was terrible enough."

"Wilcan!" Theresa suddenly cried.

The young lord gasped, as if choking. Suddenly one of his finger twitched. Theresa cupped her face as he coughed and jerked, as though breaking the water, surviving a drowning. James wondered if it was the dream he had immersed in.

Blinking weakly, Wilcan of House Libbery opened his eyes slowly, revealing the emerald green of his eyes. It had been always full of cheer, even now. He panted faintly, looking up at the face of Theresa.

"Are you an angel?" he said, squinting.

Theresa finally broke into tears as she suddenly embraced him. "You're back. You're finally back."

"Tess." He wrapped his arm around her — the one that was intact. "I want to hug you with the other one but it's missing."

"Stop jesting." She embraced him even tighter.

"Aw, my neck, Tess. I know you fancy me but you're going to choke me to death. The Weeper could not even send me to heaven yet, but you're about to succeed."

"Sorry," she withdrew, cheeks flushed. She smoothened out her hair, one hand laying on Wilcan's arm, sniffing as she fought back more tears. "Who said I fancy you?" She muttered under her breath.

He giggled softly and eyed James with a smug smirk. "Professor, I'm not getting demerits for being out like a light, am I?"

James replied, "You will if you don't take care of yourself more. Why would you try to stop a demonic monster alone?"

He tried to shrug but he only managed a bit of movement before he flinched in pain. "I'm a great hero, I guess."

Director Garren moved closer, saying, "You are now, young lord. A hero of Demach."

"One-armed Hero of Demach, Director. No demonic monster can defeat me, I must say. With two ams, I can certainly fell a demon alone."

James wondered if Wilcan even felt a sense of loss towards his lost limb. He ought to, but perhaps he wasn't the type of man to show it. "You're a bad weed, tough to get rid of."

The young lord laughed but stopped as it caused him more pain. Then suddenly, as if remembering, he told them, "Professor, I saw it all. I tried to tell you but there was too much going on then."

James inched closer so as Wilcan would not have to strain to speak. "Saw what, Wilcan?"

Wilcan mouthed, voice still coarse and dry, "Lucas. Lucas freed the beasts, Professor. Before you or the guards arrived, it was just the two of us there. It was him who set them free."