The Phoenix Fallacy Book I: Janus (28 page)

Chapter 36: The Blood Poets’ Ceremony

Formal dress was not much different from standard attire, especially for a new Adept, as a matter of practicality.  Janus’ formal dress consisted of armor that featured a red stripe along the right side of his torso and the ODIN symbol embroidered in gold thread on his left breast.  He met up with the other cadets in the main room of Sigma 3. 

An air of depression and nervousness hu
ng over them.  Not one cadet had witnessed the ceremony before – it would be a final farewell to friends who would never witness it – and there were proper protocols to follow.  No one wanted to mess it up.

The sun was low on the horizon as they departed, deep orange light piercing the windows of Valhalla.  Unconsciously, Janus and Marcus took the lead of the marching column, and the others fell into formation behind them.  The Adepts jogged in silence, their thoughts wandering as their subconscious minds guided them to the center of the floating citadel. 

When they entered the great hall, however, Janus stopped.  Several surprised cadets collided with him, and a few irritable cries rang out before a general hush quickly fell over the group.

The Praetor stood talking to Wouris in front of the trunk.  Both were dressed in the most impressive outfits Janus had ever seen.  Praetor Jennings wore incredibly detailed gold armor, blue and silver etching covering the full breadth of the suit.  The suit was a
mixture of both an ancient knight and an Adept soldier.  The gold armor plates fitted perfectly with each other and with the black Adept suit that formed their base; the etching transitioned flawlessly onto the Praetor’s gauntlets and greaves.  The Praetor, however, paled in comparison to Wouris’ striking garb.  She was robed in deep red velvet, gold thread throughout.  Her long, flowing robes were elegant and stately, her hands disappearing within its long sleeves.  An incredible number of medals and awards were pinned to her front.  For the first time, Janus truly realized why she commanded so much respect within ODIN.  If the number of medals on her chest were any indication, she should have left her Sergeant’s position long ago.

“She is ODIN’s Blood Poet,” Celes whispered just behind him, awestruck.

The cries of surprise had alerted the Praetor and Wouris to the squad’s presence, and both turned to the halted column.  Wouris and Jennings waited patiently for the group to cross the floor.  Janus saluted the Praetor and Wouris, “Praetor. Sergeant.”

“Janus, it is proper for you to refer to Sergeant Wouris as the Lady Poet while she is performing her duties as a Blood Poet,” Praetor Jennings smiled at him.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.  Now, as the Lady realizes,” he spoke a little more loudly, turning once again to Wouris, “one’s Blood Poet duties should take precedence over any other necessities.  I have given you a great deal of leeway on this before, Lady, but on this matter you will hold to my orders.  I am sure your
former
cadets are quite capable of proceeding to the Ceremony under Adept Janus.”

“Of course, Praetor,” Wouris bowed slightly.  Although she had clearly lost whatever disagreement she had been having with the Praetor, there was no disrespect in her voice; it would have been beneath her.  She turned and strode purposefully away from the column.

The Praetor sighed and smiled, and then turned back towards Janus.  “You are capable of getting to ‘Voyages’ within the next ten minutes, I presume?”

“Yes, sir.”

Marcus spoke up, “Of course, sir, we will get there, you can count on that.”

Janus looked at him in annoyance.

“Good.  I will hold you to that cadet Auras,” the Praetor said.  Janus was momentarily confused, but the Praetor did not pause, “Once that task has been accomplished, you, cadet Soltis, and cadet Janus will join Colonel Hawkes at the rear of the formation.” Janus suddenly realized that the Praetor had been referring to Marcus and Celes, and that he had never heard their surnames before.  It grated on him slightly that he did not have one.

The Praetor watched the group disappear, and headed off towards the trunk, his armor giving off a faint golden glow in the low light.

The setting sun had turned the sky a deep red as it began its final slide below the horizon.  The Ceremony took place on
one of the smaller platforms, the Chariot of Voyages.  A cool evening sea breeze played along the nooks and crannies of the metal pad.  At the edge of the platform, a large raised dais had been constructed for the ceremony, and covered in a red felt.  A single, plain pedestal rose from the center of the dais.

Joining the formation of silent, massed Adepts, the former cadets solemnly lined up in the rear of the formation.  Janus tried not to fidget while he waited for the ceremony to begin.  He did not have long to wait, however, as Colonel Hawkes appeared and pulled Marcus, Celes, and himself from the gathering with a single silent motion of his hand.  Leading them around the outside edge, Hawkes placed them alarmingly close, at the front right corner of the gathering.
  To their left waited Lieutenant Forrenza, who seemed completely at ease.  Grunting in satisfaction, he quickly disappeared back into the formations.  A chill breeze blew across the platform, but Janus felt very hot and uncomfortable in his new location.  A quick glance told him Celes and Marcus were equally alarmed. 

But he had no more time to reflect upon it, because when the sun touched the horizon, the ceremony began.  A pathway opened through the middle of the massed Adepts, and the officers of ODIN appeared in a slow marching processional.  Each officer wore black armor with red torsos and shoulders and carried a tall lance with broad red standard and the ODIN warrior symbol emblazoned upon it.  On top of each standard was a burning brazier.  At each row of Adepts, two officers stopped, forming a burning pathway down the center of the platform.

And then the senior officers appeared, draped in red capes.  They did not carry standards, but wore sheathed Ghostblades.  They climbed the steps to stand behind the pedestal, and stared out over the ocean, their backs to the crowd.

Janus felt ill at ease.  He had never seen so much resp
ect given for the dead and he had never been so directly responsible for their passing.  The Praetor appeared at the edge of the gathering.

He walked alone, silently bearing the gaze of the assembly.  He too climbed the dais, joining the senior officers and staring out over the open ocean.

Six sergeants materialized, moving at a slow march between the burning standards.  They bore a single, empty Adept suit between them, acting as honor guards as they carefully suspended the suit by six sheathed Ghostblades.  The moment wore heavily on Janus; the weight of his failure seemed crushing.

The six sergeants halted at the pedestal, and draped their silent burden on top of it.  The officers did an about face, turning towards the empty suit, and raising their sheathed blades in a
salute.  They held themselves stiffly at attention, neither swaying nor shifting.  The Praetor did not turn.  At that moment, the gathering became deathly still. 

Wouris had appeared and she was absolutely entrancing.  Her red robes had become a deep blood red in the setting sun, while the inlaid gold filigree glowed in the last rays of the day.  She seemed to flo
at along the path of burning standards.  As she approached the pedestal, the honor guard of Sergeants took a step back.  She mounted the steps to the dais, walking around the pedestal so that she faced the Adepts. As she did so, her hand hovered above the empty Adept armor, as if the suit had an invisible occupant.  Her face bore a look of incredible sorrow.

She turned once to look at the Praetor, her
eyes full of pity.  He seemed acutely aware of her gaze, but did not turn to look, instead bowing his head.  In that moment Janus came to understand why Wouris remained, and would be forevermore, a sergeant. 

Celes whispered softly in Janu
s’ ear, “It must be so painful, to send Adepts to their deaths.”

Janus nodded.

Wouris returned her gaze to the crowd, but now the look of sorrow was gone, replaced by a calm demeanor that swept over the Adepts.  Amplifiers caused her voice to resonate throughout the night sky.

“Sisters and Brothers of ODIN.  Tonight we stand together in remembrance of those who fought valiantly beside us in battle.”

Wouris closed her eyes, and the senior officers stepped forward, each intoning the names of the lost.  There were so many.  They were spoken in no particular order, a cadet honored alongside a veteran, both remembered for their sacrifice, each familiar name an unexpected stab within Janus’ heart.

When the names had finished, Wouris’ resonating voice washed over the crowd, “Some of you may wonder why those we love and cherish are taken so suddenly away... let me tell you this:  Never forget them, but never ask why they fought and died.  For they fought for the same reason those who came before us fought.”

From deep within her, the most mesmerizing and beautiful voice Janus had ever heard rang out:

There was a time,

Not so long ago,

When Executors were sublime,

And all people cowed below.

Harsh existence,

That was certain.

Upon fiends, people’s reliance;

Wretched souls, behind the curtain.

Then one day,

Some arose,

Wanting to know freedom,

Stood to say,

Simple prose,

“We leave your foul kingdom.”

Wailing, crying,

The rulers fought.

But despite great many dying,

Corp’rate deceptions were for naught.

Broke free, we did,

From Corp’rate shroud,

And those who cowered and hid;

Today we stand, strong, tall, and proud,

And with every breath,

Every lifeline cut,

To Corp’rate curse, we say:

‘Tis better for death,

For no matter what,

“We will not live that way.”

Chapter 3
7:  Ascension

The last note of the poem died slowly in the twilight and Janus noticed that the officer’s braziers had gone out in the wind.  “Never forget them or the reason why they fought,” Wouris said.

“Never forget!”  The officers intoned.

“We honor you, Lady Poet,” The Praetor said solemnly, turning to face the expectant Adepts and bowing his head slightly.

Wouris smiled, bowing fully, but keeping her eyes focused on the Praetor “No, Praetor, we honor you, for having the courage to lead us into battle.”  She straightened.

A slight smile came unbidden to the Praetor’s lips, and a single glistening tear ran down his cheek.  He mouthed ‘Thank You’, and regained his composure.  Wouris gracefully left the platform, escorted by the six honor guards.  The Praetor watched her go, and when she and the guards had fully disappeared back inside, he spoke to the Adepts.

“And now, let us begin the Ceremony of Ascension!”

Immediately, the officers relit their braziers, but now they spouted blue flames.  Each officer drew their Ghostblade and held it aloft.  An ethereal blue glow filled the air.

The Praetor’s voice resonated through the crowd.  “When faced with the heat of battle, there are those who rise above the rest.  We have honored some of them tonight.”  He paused, glancing at the memorial pedestal.  “Now, we honor those who will continue to lead us to victory so that the sacrifices of those whom have fallen will not be forgotten.”

Captain Rogers and Major Northcott stepped forward.  Rogers produced a small, dark cherry wood box.

The Praetor spoke again, “There is not a single Adept here who did not fight bravely and made Titan pay for what they did to our brothers and sisters in battle.  However, only a select few fought with such ferocity and valor to deserve, and preserve, the sanctity of the awards we honor them with tonight.”  Rogers marched over to the Praetor and presented the open box to him, while Northcott called out a booming voice:

“For uncommon bravery and skill in battle, and for their efforts in returning so many safely in a battle where so many were lost, we award the Order of the Shining Lance to Lieutenant Cecilia Forrenza and to Adept Marcus Auras.”  Forrenza clapped Marcus heartily on the back, and Marcus grinned. 

“Congratulations, Marcus,” Janus and Celes said together.  “You deserve it,” Janus added, feeling a pang of bitterness.

Marcus strode forward at the Major’s motion and stood at attention in front of the Praetor, who plucked a small silver lance from the box, pinning it to Marcus’ left breast.  The Praetor made a motion for the pair to stay.  Marcus smiled from behind the Praetor, clearly enjoying the moment.

Janus could see two more sets of honors resting within:  Three bronze stars, and a set of silver bars.  He recognized both:  The bronze star was one of three awards for recognition of special service to ODIN.  The silver bars were the symbol of the lieutenants’ rank.

Northcott continued:  “For special services to ODIN, we award Adept Celes Soltis, Adept Janus, and,” he paused as Wouris reappeared next to Janus, “Lady Poet Wouris the bronze star, for their part in alerting ODIN forces to the Titan trap and for the discovery of vital information below the ruins of Phoenix,” Northcott read.  He looked out over the crowd, “And for providing a damn fine morale boost.”  The crowd and most of the officers laughed.  Both Wouris and the Praetor gave him a disapproving look, but he merely shrugged and grinned.

Celes, Janus, and Wouris stepped forward as one to present themselves to the Praetor.  He pinned the award on each of them, although he struggled to find a place to put it on Wouris.  There was a general applause from the crowd, and Janus thought for sure he could hear someone whistling.  Janus shifted uncomfortably.  Lingering doubts gnawed at him.  Marcus smiled and clapped, clearly proud of his friends.

“Good ole’ Lyn,” Celes whispered.  Janus smiled slightly as another whistle sounded.

“And now we have one other special honor tonight.”  The Praetor said, turning to face the crowd.  “Sometimes on the field of battle, individuals go above and beyond what is required of them, putting themselves in danger, making difficult decisions, and doing whatever is necessary to ensure that their Brothers and Sisters here at ODIN come home both victorious and safe.”

“Many of you also know that it is sometimes difficult for us to find officers here.  It only takes a battle for many of you to realize you do not want to be the ones who are responsible for such difficult choices.  But when we,” he pointed to the row of officers before the crowd, “see those of you who demonstrate the traits necessary to lead, and lead well, ODIN cannot afford for you to sit idly by…  even if you may not feel ready,” he glanced at Wouris, “Lady Poet.”

Wouris took a step forward.

Northcott brought the cherry box with the silver lieutenant’s bars, and Wouris carefully reached in to pick them up.  She stared at them hesitantly for a moment.

Suddenly, she turned to Janus, “Adept Janus.  I, the Blood Poet of ODIN, hereby promote you to the rank of Lieutenant.”  She put a bar on either side on his neck. 

Janus was stunned, “But…”

Wouris cut in, “Never forget your responsibilities and duties to your Brothers and Sisters.  Lead them, and lead them well.  The other Sergeants and I will be watching you.”

Janus was at a loss for words, he looked around at the grim faces of the officers, the sergeants, and the crowd.  And then he looked Wouris in the eye and said, “I will not fail them.”

Wouris nodded.  And the crowd broke into cheers.  The officers looked palpably relieved.  Lyn whistled louder, and even Ramirez was smiling.  Celes beamed at him.  But Marcus wore a look as hard as stone.

When the cheering had died down a bit, the Praetor cried out, “It is the resolve of these individuals which drives us onward!  But we must not forget what we suffered only a few days ago…”  His voice hushed.  “We must be ready to face some hard questions.  And we must never fail to be ready to fight.”  There were murmurs of agreement from the crowd.  He paused.  “Train your hardest in the coming days, for we may soon have the opportunity to avenge our fallen companions.”  The Praetor’s voice rose, “Why was our assault met with such huge force?  Because throughout the world, no warriors are as feared as Adept warriors!  And of all the Adept Legions, which one has the most brilliant officers?”

The officers banged their standards twice upon the ground and shouted.  “ODIN!”

The Praetor’s voice lowered slightly.  “The most powerful weapons?”

The Adepts responded: “ODIN!”

His voice lowered to a hush:  “The greatest reputation?”

“ODIN!”

“The most fearsome warriors?”  He roared.

“ODIN!  ODIN!  ODIN!”  The roar came back.

Janus let out a cry of victory.  He was an Adept – he was an officer!

Lightemann’s ridge waited.