The House of Grey- Volume 5 (18 page)

“Not yet. My associate is taking care of the flames. Just stay put.”

Monson did not care about that. Did not care about the flames, wind, the Magi Blade, or even the magic. He did not care because he recognized the speaker. He figured out who was holding him tightly by the shoulders.

“Mr. Gatt?” Monson’s voice sounded as weak as he felt.

“A gold star for you, Mr. Grey.” Mr. Gatt allowed Monson to peer over his shoulder and met his gaze with a toothy grin. “That should be about it I think?”

Monson had another surprise as waves of water rolled over the sea of flames. The two elements reacted violently but only briefly, before the natural grappling match dissolved into nothingness and left the night in silence.

Mr. Gatt made several quick slashes in the air with his hand, leaving traces of an odd yellowish light in its wake. The barrier of wind died out around them, making the foreboding atmosphere increasingly claustrophobic. Monson hesitated, searching for his friends. If they had not made it, if they were gone, he did not know what he would do.

“I assure you that all of your friends are perfectly intact, at least for now.”

Monson’s answer croaked in his throat. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that we are all in very great danger and— look out!”

A giant ball of yellow energy flashed in the distance and cruised towards them with a crackling, destructive light. The ball was going to hit them; they could not retreat and there was nothing they could do about it.

A voice yelled out. It sounded very familiar.

“Combat Spell Seven: Heavenly Columns!”

A sound of cracking beneath them caused Monson and Mr. Gatt to scurry back a few feet. The noise was so deafening, Monson found it difficult to think. In quick succession, large cracks in the marble gaped open. “Earthquake” was the fleeting thought that popped into Monson’s mind until something large and glossy shot out from the freshly made fissure.

A giant yellow ball caromed into the tops of the towering freshly formed ice columns that now surrounded the area, cascading debris in every direction. Several large chunks flew past the scrambling Mr. Gatt and Monson. Once he was sure that the hailstorm of rubble was over, Mr. Gatt jumped to his feet.

“Did you find him?” he demanded as he brushed off his clothes. “That is twice in a two-minute period that that man tried to kill me and our little Hero here. I am going to be very put off if he gets away.”

“It sounds like you are going to be very put off then, because the spell was automatic, tripped by your Kei expulsion.”

Monson and Mr. Gatt spun around as another familiar voice sounded.

Monson slumped to the ground. “Brian, what are you doing here?”

***

“OK—it’s story time,” said Casey with a blend of exhaustion and irritation. “Who were those guys and what were they do—scratch that, how were they doing whatever it was they were doing?”

Monson, Casey, Grayson and Artorius sat around Monson’s sitting room waiting for news. Upon the group’s return to his apartment, Grayson and Marie almost smothered Monson and the others with questions but let them slide quickly in the face of greater need. Kylie was clearly in shock and needed to get away and calm down. Cyann was in terrible shape as well. She had wounds all over her body, was completely pale, and her clothing was ripped to shreds. She was currently wrapped in Monson’s jacket to preserve her modesty, although that was of very minor concern at this point.

Marie had jumped up as soon as they all entered to help Mr. Gatt and Brian usher the two girls to Monson’s bedroom. They tried to object but she ignored them. It was some time before they appeared again.

Currently the boys sat gathered around the coffee table drinking a warm, soothing tea that Brian often mixed up. A bleak mood bore down on them all. Artorius was still holding two of the guns he had taken from the rock clones while Casey fingered one of their blades. Before returning to Monson’s apartment, Mr. Gatt and Brian had attempted to relieve the boys of the weapons, but Casey and Artorius stubbornly refused to disarm, insisting they were their only protection if those crazies came back. The argument did not last very long. Brian and Mr. Gatt finally conceded in order to get them all to safety as quickly as possible, but clearly disapproved.

Casey’s question remained unanswered and even he did not appear to have the energy to ask it again. They waited. Finally, Mr. Gatt strolled through the door, Kylie and Marie trailing closely behind.

They all stood up and waited with bated breath for news on Cyann’s condition.

“You can all relax.” Mr. Gatt gave them a warm smile. “Cyann is going to be fine. Brian is healing her now.”

“You mean tending to her wounds.” Artorius set down his teacup.

Mr. Gatt surveyed him inquiringly. “Do I now?”

Artorius made to answer but stopped, pressing his lips slightly. “You know, right now I’m not totally sure that’s what you meant.”

Mr. Gatt smiled. “There are many things you are all unaware of. It is regrettable that our large climactic talk has to be like this, but we will be leaving in the morning and I do not want any of you
causing a scene
while we are traveling.”

Several voices broke out all at once, all trying to talk over each other. Casey was the loudest. “Leave? What do you mean leave? Why would we leave?”

Casey glanced back and forth at a nodding Monson and Artorius; Grayson sat quietly waiting for Mr. Gatt to answer.

“You have to leave. If you do not, men are probably going to show up and try to kill you.”

Casey glared at him skeptically. “Kill us? Who would want to kill us?”

Mr. Gatt addressed Casey. “People who think that you are a threat to their goals.”

He laughed ironically. “Most of you were sent here in order to shield your innocence from our war. We merely did what we have done for hundreds of years. Who would have thought it would be this generation that would have to take up the mantle of leadership and prophecy?”

Casey sounded like he was starting to get frustrated. “Mr. Gatt, you aren’t making any sense. What—”

“Cassius.”

Casey stopped talking as Mr. Gatt held up a hand to placate him. “All will be revealed, but you must calm down.”

He turned and addressed the rest of them. “I need you to suspend any concept you have of reality, history, ideology
or your
identity because what I am about to tell you is the truest thing I have ever said to you since I have come to know you. This affects you all. So pay attention because it is information you need to have.”

They all sat watching the twitching of Mr. Gatt’s brow. He was clearly anxious, which was alarming to his students accustomed to his calm and poise. He pulled out a metal case, opened it, and snagged a long, fat cigar. He searched for a lighter, moving from pocket to pocket with increasing frustration. Then he glanced around at each of them; they were all staring with varying degrees of interest and consternation. Mr. Gatt slashed his fingers through the air in curious gestures. Once his slashing was complete, a flame ignited on the tip of his finger, but it was unlike any fire any of them had ever seen. It was ghostly…like it did not exist on their plane of reality. Without realizing it, all the boys inched closer for a better look. Mr. Gatt touched the flame to the cigar and started to puff on it. The flame on his finger disappeared.

Grayson spoke up. “You were just Scripting. How’s it possible that you can Script?”

“I think the more intriguing question is how you know about Scripting at all.”

Everyone turned towards the voice. Brian stood in the doorway of Monson’s bedroom and was closing it with that elegant touch. He smiled at all the upturned faces.

“Ms. Harrison is sleeping now. I have healed her as best I can. I am not sure what those ruffians were after when they attacked the girls, but they were very persistent. Ms. Harrison put up quite the fight. It is lucky you boys were around. Anyway, please try to keep your voices down. Tomorrow will be very eventful so it is important for her to regain her strength.”

Brian pulled up a stool from the bar. He adjusted himself, apparently searching for a comfortable position. Finding his sweet spot, he again addressed Grayson. “I think you were about to tell us a story, Mr. Garrett. First and foremost, how does a young man such as yourself know about Scripting?”

“Him?” yowled Artorius in exasperation. “Who cares how he knows about Scripting, whatever that is? Brian—those men tried to kill us using crap that is straight out of Harry Potter—”

“Arthur, you are so off, bro,” commented Casey slyly. “Those dudes weren’t even using wands. Your literary reference is totally
off-base
. It was probably something closer to Star Wars.”

“Shut up Casey,” spat Artorius. “I’m glad you’re all hunky-dory about this but I’m not. Those fools tried to kill us! KILL US! Why is everyone so calm about this?”

Artorius
stopped himself short, attempting to control his anger. “I want some answers. Who were those men and why were they shooting guns and swinging swords?”

Brian looked at Mr. Gatt who nodded solemnly, indicating his approval. “Those men were probably members of an organization known as the Brotherhood and they were most likely here to kill Monson.”

“Why Monson?” Casey gestured in Monson’s direction. “What threat could he possibly be to this Brotherhood?”

He bit at his lip thoughtfully. “Something about all this just doesn’t make sense.”

Brian gave them a long, somber look. “Understand that there are things that you will not comprehend now. That even if I explained them would not make this situation any easier. This is not the time for this discussion. You must get some sleep.”

“I hate it when people say that.” Artorius
glared at him. “Why don’t you try us, huh? So far, we’ve been pretty understanding; don’t you think that you owe us some answers, like this for example?”

Artorius
held up one of the massive guns. “I’ve never seen anything like this gun. There isn’t a clip, there isn’t a firing mechanism, and it’s lighter than plastic. This weapon is either from some alien world or our government is hiding it and they have some explaining to do.”

“It would explain why the healthcare system doesn’t work. All that money has to be going somewhere.” Casey laughed at his own joke. “We have even bigger fish to fry, Arthur.”

He addressed Mr. Gatt. “Those men who attacked us, umm…they weren’t real. They were made of rock. You heard that, right? Weren’t real—made of rock. Explain that one.”

“That’s not totally true, Case.” Artorius
set his guns on the table. “I don’t think that they were all those rock things. Some were different. Remember we heard that weird guttural language when we first saw that light?”

Both boys, as if on cue, leveled their gaze at Mr. Gatt.

Mr. Gatt took another puff on his cigar before he answered. “Replications.”

“Replications?” sounded several voices at once.

“It is a power technique used when you are outnumbered. The spell caster essentially casts an imprint of
himself
on inanimate objects like rocks or water. Those objects take on the appearance and skills of the user. It is a sloppy technique but very effective if done correctly. It is like having an army of multiple yous at your beck and call.”

“Whoa…wicked,” whispered Casey.

“You’ve entered into a world that is going to make little sense to you,” said Brian. “This is a world that was not ever supposed to be revealed to you, let alone involve you.”

“But we are involved,” pleaded Grayson in a small voice. “Please tell us what is going on.”

Mr. Gatt and Brian glanced at each other. Brian nodded and Mr. Gatt began, “A war.”

“War?” repeated a collective voice.

“A war that has been going on for thousands of years. A war based on the prophecy of a certain woman; a woman who has had a greater effect on the destiny of man than anyone who has ever lived, is living, or will ever live. A war based on a prophecy concerning a single being destined to fix what is broken, to right what is wrong. In the last seven thousand years, there have been countless lives taken and given, all so that this being might exist. And now, at a time when we least expected it, that being supposedly sits before me in the form of a fifteen-year-old billionaire from central Washington.”

Casey nudged Monson. “He’s talking about you, dude.”

“Shut up Casey.”

Everyone’s eyes widened and they all openly stared at Monson. Brian picked up the story. “What you have stumbled upon, my young friends, is the fullness of times. It is a period in history when the expectations of millions of people will finally come to pass. In other ages you would have lived your lives as normally as anyone, living, loving and dying. That opportunity, I am afraid to say,
has
now
passed. ”

“Brian, I’m sorry to interrupt your dramatic monologue,” said Casey, though he did not sound particularly apologetic. “But your cryptic orations aren’t getting us anywhere. Who is this all-important woman? Who is she to speak this supreme prophecy? And what does it have to do with Monson?”