Reaper Academy: Book One

Chapter Two: PLEASE REVIEW

CHAPTER TWO

Articus felt numb as he walked back to the 1st’s barracks.

I’m leaving, he thought still in denial.

He had known nothing else but the soldier’s life since he’d been sold into slavery at the age of twelve before slavery was outlawed in the empire. Leaving it hadn’t crossed his mind once during the sixteen years he had been with the Legion.

No, he told himself stubbornly. I will be back.

Are you sure? a small voice mocked him from the depths of his mind.

He squashed the thought quickly. Of course, I’ll be back. I’m no reaper and they will send me back when they quickly realize that.

Crossing over the invisible line that divided the barracks from the rest of the grounds, he found a familiar face leading Ronin toward one of the many stables. The man’s name evaded Articus--he had always been bad with names--but the man obviously knew him.

At the sight of Articus, the soldier stiffened into a salute. Articus returned the salute, only half paying attention. He didn’t weigh too much into formality and at times he wished they’d do away with the whole saluting thing all together. But some things couldn’t be changed.

“Call the File Leaders and the Under-Centurion to the Red Room. And be quick about it.”

Before Articus even finished the order, the man had turned and was sprinting back the way he’d come.

Cursing to himself for getting what he wanted, Articus yelled after him, “And don’t breathe a word of this to anyone!”

Grabbing the reins of Ronin, he led the great black warhorse toward the Red Room at a slow walk.

The ‘barracks’ were divided up into four sections, one for every Legion. Every section had its own low squared buildings for the soldier’s dorms, one for every Cohort. Off to the side of the low buildings was a slightly smaller building for the Legates and Under-Legates and one even smaller building for the Centurions and Under-Centurions.

He found the 1st Legion’s Centurions’ Quarters sooner than he hoped and, unexpectedly, he couldn’t find the courage to enter. He felt like if he did take the few steps to enter the building that he’d be abandoning all that he had come to know and love.

Ronin snorted into his ear and, when Articus looked at the horse, the stallion rolled his eyes. At least, he thought he saw the horse roll its eyes. Some men claimed their animals were stupid but Articus was starting to think that that was what the horses wanted you to think.

“I know. I know,” he muttered.

Ronin gave another snort and Articus threw up his hands. “I’m going!”

Not bothering to tie up Ronin, he let the reins fall to the ground. The animal was too stubborn to leave him and no man was stupid enough to steal him. Bonte, the famous Horse Master of the 1st Legion, had personally trained the animal. Not only had the he trained him but had also claimed Ronin had been his greatest accomplishment yet--which was no light boast.

Looking at the small door with dread, Articus ascended the steps that lead up to the small porch.

The building had only one level and seven rooms. Six of the rooms were the living quarters for the Centurions and Under-Centurions of the 1st Legion. The seventh room, called the Red Room by everyone, was their map room. After all his time with the 1st Legion, he still didn’t know why they called it the Red Room. It wasn’t red, like one would believe.

He knew the other two Centurions were out on patrols far to the north and that they wouldn’t be back for another week. But instead of finding the room empty, as he had hoped, he found Theron pacing the room impatiently.

The moment Articus walked in Theron asked, “How was the meeting with the Primus?”

Instead of answering right away, Articus walked around the enormous table that dominated the room. The table had a detailed map of the Empire etched into its center, a magnificent piece of woodwork.

There were black pins placed into three of the holes that peppered the wooden map. Articus found one of the pins marked with a red ‘1’ placed close to where he had been a few days ago--the last pigeon he had sent. The two other pins were the other Centurions’ destinations and in front of each of the pins were ten or so white pins outlining their patrol route. It was something that they did--letting each other know of their whereabouts--since their Legate kept them in the dark more times then not.

His fingers trailed along the oak as he studied the map. He really didn’t want to have this conversation. He hated goodbyes. Grabbing his pin, Articus walked to the other side of the table.

“I-“

The door opened and Giles, Borne, and Tesa walked in. All three of his File Leaders wore a mask of worry. They had all sensed that something had been wrong when he had last left them. When the last File Leader was in, Articus began again.

“I am leaving.” He was surprised to find the words had come out so calmly and Articus had to catch himself. He sure as hell didn’t feel calm.

Before the eruption could start, he raised his hand and four sets of eyes bored down on him.

No, they aren’t happy at all.

“Theron is being promoted to Centurion. I’m sure you will give him the same respect as you gave me.” Articus made it clear that he didn’t expect anything less of his File Leaders. To Theron, he said, “By law you have a week and a day to decide your Under-Centurion.”

The man visibly paled.

I really am going through with this.

The realization came to him with a cold finality.

As if I have a choice, he thought sourly.

“I am not being demoted,” he continued firmly. “And I will be gone for some time. I do not know when I will be back or if I will be back. As for the men, let them know that they have been granted a full moon of leave for their brave efforts. Now I’d like some time with your Centurion.”

The silence was deafening.

All three of the File Leaders looked as though they had been pole-axed and were eyeing each other. Then as one they turned to him and slowly raised their fists to heart in a salute.

“We will all wait for your return.” Giles said thickly.

After the words died away, something broke in the air.

Did the man have tears in his eyes? Articus had seen the man stitch his own stomach up before without so much as a grunt.

He returned their salutes with a grateful smile. Perhaps it was the Primus’s attitude that warned him, or some sixth sense, but he knew he wouldn’t see them again. At least, not as their Centurion.

Tesa covered the distance between them and hesitated a moment before throwing her arms around Articus, hugging him. The uncharacteristic gesture shocked him, but not enough to return the hug.

He remembered when he had promoted her to File Leader. The shock and joy that had overcome the Squad Leader had been a rare treat. She'd always been a hard ass to her men. Articus suspected that it was because she was one of the very few peasant women who’d not only successfully made it into the Vanguard but was also in a position above others. Seeing her face torn between anger and anguish, a bitter sense of regret pained him.

The expression he held must have been comical, for Borne gave a great booming laugh. He gripped Articus’s arm as Tesa’s hug crushed him.

“You didn’t think we’d just shrug and leave, did you?” The man laughed even harder when Articus tried to shrug. The woman really was strong.

Giles beamed at the File Leader and nodded in agreement. The man beamed? He felt like he hadn’t ever really known the three people that stood before him and guilt quickly joined the regret he was feeling. After a moment longer of sad grins and a few forced laughs, they all said their last farewells with promises to hunt him down if he didn’t send word.

He was afraid that they would keep to their promises and made a mental note to send word once he got to Tekal.

When the door shut, Articus turned to Theron. He was still pale. In fact, Articus could have sworn the man was even paler than he had been before, if that were possible. The big man looked as if to vomit.

“I’m not ready for this, Articus,” Theron said at once in a burst of incredulity. “Why are you leaving? This is ludicrous. You’ve got to stay.”

Articus sat down heavily and sighed like the Primus had. Weariness was finally getting to him as the shock of it all wore off. He hadn’t slept much on his ride back from the Kalian boarder, either.

Spreading his hands wide, he said, “It’s out of my hands, my friend. Not even the Cap can do anything about this.”

At that, Theron’s eyebrows shot up.

“The General?” he asked probingly.

“No, and I’ve said enough already. You have been ready the day I promoted you to Under-Centurion. You just didn’t know it. I saw potential in you, boy. Don’t prove me wrong.”

Theron’s color slowly returned and he stood a little straighter. The man really wasn’t a boy. Hell, he could have passed as Articus’s brother, but the words seemed to have the right effect.

“But don’t get your head up your ass either. They will chew you up and spit you out faster than you can say ‘peon’,” Articus said, pointing to the door the File Leaders had exited.

Theron grinned and nodded. “Aye Centurion.”

Articus tossed him the two three striped pins that Primus Titus had given him.

“Here. You’ve earned them twice over.”

Theron picked them up off the table gingerly and fingered one of the three silvered stripes as if it’d break in his hands.

“I don’t have a lot of time, so I’ll make it quick.”

Articus took the pin in his hand and stuck into onto the very edge of the map, north of Kalian. He felt bad for leaving the two Centurions without saying a word, but he hoped they’d understand.

Grabbing the sword on his hip, he unfastened the straps and pulled the sheath away. Standing up, he held the plain wooden scabbard out to Theron horizontally.

“In the tradition of the 1st Legion and of the Empire’s Guard, I, Centurion Articus Lykos, hand over to you my command of the 1st Cohort, 1st Legion willingly and confidently. So say we all.”

“So say we all,” Theron replied formally. The ceremony was as old as the Empire itself.

Theron grabbed the scabbard from Articus, as he had done before him, and weighed it in his hands.

“It can be heavier than a boulder,” he said quietly.

Theron only nodded.

“I could spend all day telling you the advice you will need but, as I had said, not enough time. Don’t let Theodoros or Lucius force your hand into anything you don’t deem right. While Lucius isn’t a complete idiot, Theodoros is. And Theodoros outranks Lucius outside of the Guard. The Primus is a good man and you can trust him to make the right… overruling decisions,” he said the last part with a grin. Articus had gone over the Legate’s head once before with the previous Primus.

“I’ve watched you enough times handling those two bluebloods,” was all Theron said.

It was Articus’s turn to nod. Yes, he has.

“I must be off, then. I still have to grab a few things from my room.” He paused in front of the new Centurion and smiled sadly. “Good luck Centurion. I know you will do me proud.”

“Thank you, sir. Gods be willing, I’ll see you again,” Theron replied with mixed emotions.

The man really needs to stop calling me sir, Articus thought with amusement.

He reached his room and quickly grabbed what he would need. He lived out of the room more times than he did in it, so he didn’t feel any real attachment to it. And yet, it was still his room and the only place he could have called home.

Articus had only a few personal belongings but, after he was done, he had yet another saddle bag to add to the three others that were already stowed near the door. Stripping off his traveling clothes, he quickly washed his upper body with soap and cold water before donning his uniform. Even though it was nothing compared to the hot bath he craved, he was still the most cleaned he’d been since he had left.

Articus was going to be every inch the Centurion he was with Celia.

His eye caught the glint of a sword hilt hanging from the wall to his right. He’d almost forgotten it. Feeling the lightness on his hip, he pulled the blade off the wall. Articus had purchased it the day he had risen to the Vanguard. Single edged and made of the best steal he could afford at the time, it was a small reminder of how things could change.

Strapping it onto his belt where his old sword used to be, he hefted the saddlebags over his shoulder and walked out of the room without a second look.

He found Ronin right where he had left him and quickly strapped on his saddle bags. Lifting himself up into the saddle, he reined the horse around and aimed him toward the golden arches before tapping his heels into the animal’s flanks.

Articus found Celia waiting patiently by the arches were she had said she’d be. She wore a travel worn cloak and had her hood pulled up tightly. For obvious reasons, he knew she couldn’t reveal her hair but he still pitied her.

She must be soaked to the bone in sweat.

The slender woman was gaining more than a few stares, too. No one in their right mind wore a cloak, let alone had their hood up, in this weather.

Without saying a word, he rode past her and didn’t bother to look if she followed him. He wouldn’t give her a chance to start ordering him around. Back in the Officer’s Building, Articus had gotten the feeling she would do just that if he gave her the chance.

And so it was for the rest of the afternoon. In silence they rode on with Articus at the lead. He grudgingly became all too aware that he didn’t know where they were going. Twice he had to backtrack when she had taken a different path than him. Knowing that there were countless of routes still ahead of them, Articus reined in next to her. He was about to ask her where they were headed to when she said, “When you apologize.”

Mouth still opened, he blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“When you apologize to me, I’ll answer all your questions. You are blaming me for your… misfortune,” she mouthed the word as if it were the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard.

Technically he knew she was right but Articus didn’t feel inclined to voice it. Instead, he simply said, “I’m sorry.” His tone straightforward without sarcasm.

“Good,” she said with a maternal nod.

The single word made him feel like a chastised child and the image of him disciplining her like one of his soldiers popped into his head. It would do me no good, he thought, but he let the idea simper.

Instead of saying a few choice words, he asked, “Where is Tekal?”

“About a moon’s ride north. But don’t worry,” she added quickly when Articus’s mouth dropped. “We are taking a portal in Seq’l. We will be there by tonight.”

“A portal?”

“Portals are windows to other places. They accomplish this by compressing time and space. Stepping through one, you can cover thousands of leagues in a single step. We believe they were made back during the War of the Thrones by the mages. Since the war, the mages have forgotten how to build them, or at least claim ignorance, but we know how to use them.”

When Articus didn’t say anything, she continued in a lecturing tone.

“Reapers have the ability to thread bands of energy. Energy is the element that portals need to activate. Since the war, mages have sworn to never use the Power to harm another unless in self defense. In your Empire, I believe the mages use it for strictly healing purposes. At the end of the war the necromancers unknowingly tore a hole between our world and the world of the Darklings.” Her matter-of-factness sent a chill through him.

Tore a hole?

“The mages hadn’t known any of this until later, of course.” He caught a hint of resentment in her voice.

“Upon realizing this, however, their numbers were too few and too weak to do anything about it. And, since the Darklings started showing up in greater numbers than they could have ever predicted, the mages took a risk and-“

“Created Reapers,” Articus said.

“Very perceptive.” She beamed at him as if he were a student who had answered a tough question correctly. The thought of disciplining her came to mind again and he smiled back at her pleasantly.

“Yes. We are the product of the mages. Or, at least, our powers are.”

“Powers?”

Celia paused to pick at her reins. Taking an educated guess, he said, “The bad news first.”

Startled, Celia smiled. “Yes, you are a perceptive one. Very well, I’ll be straightforward. We can’t produce children and, as you may have heard, we live very long lives. You will find out quickly that all your friends now will be long dead and buried before you are even into a tenth of your life. That part is the hardest for most people.”

Articus hadn’t planned on having any children, but he still felt like a part of him had died. And the long life? Well, he didn’t have many friends. “The price of leadership,” the General would always say.

“I don’t take to whoring, so I guess that is bad news.” Articus muttered in agreement.

Celia frowned and Articus heard her breathe “Many start.”

“And the good news?” he asked as if he hadn’t heard her.

Smiling again, she said, “Your body will start to change and sooner than most, I believe. We call it the Awakening. It normally happens gradually over a moon or two. First it is usually your reflexes. Everything around you will seem to slow down as your mind and body adjust to the new speed you react at. Your brain will process things faster and your stamina will increase exponentially. Many Reapers can go days without sleep but most don’t unless they have to. They say it’s because we do it out of habit.” She laughed lightly behind one of her delicate hands at that. When he didn’t laugh, she made a sour face.

“Then it’s your strength,” she went on. “You won’t bulk up like an ox, but you will notice a significant change in the weight of things. Like everything is lighter around you. It has nothing to do with your former body’s strength but how strong you are in spirit. Then it will be your eyesight and your hearing. After which the rest of your senses will follow. They all will heighten, to some degree or another, and it normally takes some time to get use to it.

“The last will happen subtly and you most likely won’t even notice it until you get cut or wounded. Your flesh, muscle, and bones will heal themselves at such a rate that you can see yourself heal. This is why we live such long lives. Age evades us because of our healing. We die, of course, but some Reapers have been known to live for over 900 years. The current theories are that the power in us slowly gives out over time or that a Reaper believes their time is up and they lose the will to live. No one really knows why we die. To be honest, there is still a lot we still don’t know about ourselves.”

Articus’s eyebrows had risen higher and higher until his forehead hurt. He felt his mouth dry up and he knew he must have looked like Theron did when he had first heard of his promotion.

That, could be bad. The military part of his brain had started working before he had even realized it.

She patted his shoulder companionably. “I would’ve thought you’d be happy, being a soldier and all.”

Shaking his head gravely, he said, “First thing you learn upon entering the Empress’s service; true soldiers fight for peace. What troubles me are the people who aren’t soldiers.”

Celia pulled her hand away and a look of wonder crossed her face. “And to think I thought I knew Ce’lians,” she muttered.