74. Jack
SEVENTY-FOUR
JACK
The robe itched the back of his neck. The helmet was heavy and hot. After donning the awkward pieces of clothing, Aareth and Jack were ushered through the door on the other side of the room. The only instructions they were given were: “Follow the hall until it ends. The meeting is about to begin.”
Now, as Jack matched steps with Aareth down the abandoned corridor, he wondered if it had been a good idea to give away their weapons. Jack would kill for the comforting feeling of his wand resting at his side.
The hall was better lit than the room. Torchlight quivered against the dark. Jack looked at his companion, but it was useless; the cloak covered every part of a person the mask didn’t. For all Jack knew, a stranger could be underneath the costume in place of his friend.
“If things go bad,” Aareth said, his voice came out distorted behind the shield of his iron mask; it sounded alien, almost echoing, “we head back for this hall. There are only two men between us and our weapons.”
“Sounds good to me.” Jack heard his own voice reverberate in his helmet.
There was no more time for talk as the sorcerer and inspector reached yet another door. The door itself was unremarkable. But it wasn’t the door that stood out to Jack; it was the noise that came from the opposite side. A rumbling like a thousand people talking in low voices penetrated the barrier.
Without pause, Aareth opened the door. A large room filled with people dressed in black cloaks and iron masks met Jack’s eyes.
There had to be hundreds of them. The room was shaped in an oval with stadium seating.
It looked like a hybrid between a courtroom and a coliseum.
At the head of the room, a raised platform stood with an empty podium.
A group of mask-wearing individuals sat apart from the rest of the crowd behind the podium.
Jack followed Aareth to a seat with robotic-like strides. For the first time, Jack was grateful for the mask; it hid an open mouth well. Aareth chose the closest available bench to the door leading back to the hall. If anything did go bad, they were only a few yards from their exit.
The room was too large to be lit with torches; instead, giant braziers housed flames licking skyward.
Jack studied the occupants sitting beside him.
He could only guess as to their gender. The ebony cloaks consumed each and every one’s physical appearance as if tailored for them specifically.
The helmets were all exact replicas of one another—two large, dark eyeglasses and an iron grate for breathing.
Jack tapped into his other senses. If his eyes weren’t able to distinguish anything unique, perhaps his ears could.
Most of the attendees around them were silent, the few voices he could pick up past their excited whispers weren’t familiar.
Jack leaned forward toward a pair of robes who sat in front of him, and listened in.
“This is exactly what this city needs,” a large figure with a barely discernible male voice said to his companion. “Someone to bring us out of this benevolent slump we’ve been caught in.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” said a clear, high-pitched female voice beside him.
It seemed that even the helmet had its limits when masking tones.
“What the Queen is doing, sending all of our hard-earned money to help these animals in the Outland cities, is horrendous. Survival of the fittest, I say. Leave the peons to care for themselves. Those who do survive were meant to. Natural selection, my good man. What happened to natural selection?”
Jack had to physically bite his tongue as he listened in on the conversation.
Pain kept his mind busy as he reminded himself a misspoken word here could mean death.
As much as Jack would have loved to give the two in front of him a piece of his mind when it came to the survival of the fittest, he had to remain quiet.
They wouldn’t last more than a few days in the Outland, left to their own devices.
Jack was grateful for the pause in conversation. But it wasn’t only their conversation that quieted; it was the entire room.
Jack followed the angle the other helmets were directed.
A figure had risen from the seats behind the podium to take the stand.
A black cloak just like everyone else’s fell down its body, but instead of a steel gray helmet, a gilded mask was in its place.
The helmet was the same in design but shone with a bright gold plating against the flames of the braziers.
“Friends, brothers, sisters.” The figure lifted white gloved hands in welcome. Jack could tell the voice was male. Past that, only a sense of familiarity with the syntax could aid him in identifying the figure. “Thank you for taking an interest in saving our city.”
A cheer erupted from the stands. To avoid suspicion, Jack clapped along with everyone else.
“Please,” the man said through his mask, “you should be applauding yourselves. It is us together who will reclaim our homes. We must stand as one united front.”
The cheers continued until the speaker motioned them to quiet.
“I have lived in this city my entire life. I am a son of New Hope and I love it with all my heart. However, events have begun to unfold that would hinder our progress. Recently, our elected officials have chosen to expand our borders, not in conquest, but in a plan that would empty our banks and distribute our wealth.”
Angry shouts, crude gestures, and boos permeated the air.
“I know, my friends. I feel the same way.” The man began to pound the podium, adding strength to his words.
“The Order was founded to combat the decline of our city. We have worked diligently these last years to build our ranks. Our time will come very soon. A time when you will be asked to take a stand against the Crown. Will you answer that call?”
The sound was deafening as hundreds of masked voices roared with consent.
“It makes my heart glad to hear it,” The Order’s leader boomed. “But before our meeting can continue, I’d like to draw your attention to a pair of special guests we have with us tonight.”
Jack’s heart caught in his throat. He couldn’t mean them. There was no way they were distinguishable from anyone else in the room.
Jack’s mouth went as dry as the desert Outland as the man in the golden mask pointed to Aareth and himself. All heads turned in their direction. It was like a nightmare as Jack swallowed hard and stared back into the dark eyes of his accusers.
Aareth was already on the move, grabbing Jack by the arm and rushing for the door that would lead them back into the hall.
“Stop them!” The shout reached Jack’s ears. “At all costs, they cannot be allowed to escape.”
Ranks upon ranks of Order members met them.
They rose from their seats en masse, blocking the door.
Jack ran beside Aareth into the army of ebony cloaks.
With their weapons, they might have stood a chance.
Outnumbered by a hundred to one was too much of a handicap to overcome.
Jack knew this as he collided with the first line of Order members, but what choice did he have?
If he was captured and killed, he would do so fighting every inch of the way.
To his credit, Aareth felt the same way. With more strength than any one man should possess, Aareth tore through the line of cloaked members. Bodies gave way under his powers as Aareth took the lead, more animal than man.
Jack’s approach had to be more methodical than the battering ram beside him. He sidestepped, batted fists away, and focused on knees and finishing blows.
Hope seemed to be within their grasp, mostly due to Aareth’s unnaturally lethal onslaught. Aareth was mowing down their enemies, while Jack followed close behind and protected his back.
Just as soon as the idea of escape became a viable option, it was ripped from their grasp. Aareth was beginning to tire. A group of Order members saw their chance and pounced on Aareth and Jack at once. There was nowhere to run; there were too many of them.
Jack felt blows land on his face and stomach; at the same time, hands grabbed at his arms and legs. His helmet was ripped from his face, as was the cloak. Half-conscious, he was dragged down to the floor in front of the podium.
Through a curtain of blood, Jack looked on as his hands were bound behind him with a thick cord of rope.
Jack took steady, deep breaths. The first step was to regain awareness.
His head was still buzzing from the blows he received.
As soon as his vision cleared, he would look for an opening to use his magic.
He’d only get one chance at it. As soon as they realized he could conjure magic without the use of a tool, they would kill him.
“That one,” the man in the gold mask said. “The big one. Yes. Secure him with a double steel chain. That should hold whatever he is.”
The metallic taste of blood was filling Jack’s mouth from a cut on his lip. He spit out the crimson liquid as he searched for the best course of action out of his current predicament. Numb pain, if such a combination could exist, traveled from his head to his knees.
Aareth was lying on the floor beside him, unconscious. Blood mixed with his long, black hair.
They were surrounded by what looked like the entire congregation of The Order. The man in the gold mask was looking down at them from behind his pulpit, shaking his head.
“Wake him up.” He pointed to Aareth. “I want him coherent for this.”
Aareth was shaken, then slapped across his face.
A yearning woke deep inside Jack to protect his friend.
Stronger was the urge to see both of them escape alive.
Jack twisted his wrists against the ropes that bit deep into his skin.
His hands were going numb from the lack of blood to his fingers.
Still, Jack restrained his magic. His father would have been proud of him.