“Be my guest.”
“They went into a huddle and whispered together for less than a minute.
“We accept your conditions and would be honored to have Acting Sovereign Catch serve with us.”
“An excellent choice. We’ll take care of the formalities and roll out the new team configuration in seven days, after the funeral and the honors ceremony. I’ll add just one more thing before I close these proceedings.
“I want to be sure you understand the cause and effect that led you here. If not for your arrogance and rashness, you wouldn’t have left the non-combat staff and trainees without your badly needed skills. Not to mention the other knights. You started to believe the myth of your invincible badness, which is too foolish to even dignify with discussion.
“Most importantly, if you hadn’t grown complacent with your antisocial policy of us-four-and-no-more, you would have learned, through interaction with other knights during your stay here at Jefferson Unit, that the Lady Laiken was the prize of B Team and not someone to be dismissed in the event of trouble. You would also have learned about the pure, immortal vampire known as Animal House around here. Had you known about them when you encountered them, you would have asked for their help in fending off the attack rather than trying to murder our allies. Had you done that, the conflict would have been put down effortlessly without injury to any of ours.
“You would also not have ended up sitting out the battle in a freezing kennel with no air while the women and children WERE BUSY DOING YOUR JOB, WHICH WAS TO DEFEND THIS BLACK SWAN UNIT!”
The badass members of Z Team visibly winced at that and had enough sensibility left to look appropriately embarrassed.
“Are you able to follow all that?”
Gunnar, Torn, and Raif were wearing expressions that looked more thoughtful than belligerent. Storm took the fact that the smirks were gone from their faces as a sign that there might be something worth saving in there.
Finngarick, who was the actual de facto leader of Z Team, looked at his teammates, cleared his throat. Quietly and respectfully, he said, “Aye, Sir Storm. We are followin’.”
“Good. I’ll plan to see you at the funeral and the honors ceremony, dressed like knights and not riffraff. You’re dismissed.”
The three looked shaken as they left the Chamber which Storm took as somewhat encouraging.
With The Order’s maintenance and construction crews working round the clock, the facility was miraculously put back to rights in time for the funeral.
Farnsworth walked into Operations looking like hell, but insisting that no one else could possibly handle all the details of making the arrangements and gearing up for a horde of guests to descend on Jefferson Unit, all expecting to be fed and quartered. No one could argue with that because she was right. She alerted Simon to the fact that J.U. would need some of its support staff temporarily returned to accommodate
There was a Veterans Memorial Cemetery at Fort Dixon and Farnsworth wanted him to be buried there. She said it was fitting because of the way he felt about Jefferson Unit and the way he loved his job. Since he didn’t have family that he was close to, there was no one to disagree. Simon made arrangements with a few well-placed phone calls.
While it can’t be denied that sadness and loss are part of funereal rites, it is also a celebration of a person and the life they led, a statement of how they mattered and to whom. Baka and Simon flew in along with dozens of knights, who had been under Sol’s command at some time or another, representing nearly every Black Swan unit in the world. The rising bustle in Jefferson Unit encouraged an optimistic sense of continuity.
Knights who had trained together as teenagers or served together as knights were reunited with whoops and hugs, chest bumps, or punishing slaps on the back. The cause for coming together was somber. Nonetheless, laughter often rang out and echoed throughout the renovated Hub that still smelled like paint and new lumber . The Mess was lively and crowded and reminded Elora of the first time she’d seen it, when there were so many people stationed at Jefferson Unit that they had to eat in shifts.
The day of the funeral was cloudy and cool. Elora thought that was somehow fitting. Rain would make emotions hard to control. Sun would feel like mourners were being mocked with the fact that life does go on without the one being laid to rest.
Except for Hawking and Finngarick, the knights all wore dark suits. The two elves wore tribal dress kilts, Ram in Blackwatch Tartan, Torn in McElvoy hunting plaid. The entire ceremony took place at graveside. Simon and Storm stood on either side of Farnsworth looking every bit as grim as the lover who was left behind.
Ram held Helm, who never made a sound as if he understood the solemnity of the occasion. Careful to make sure that Ram and Helm were on the side of the uninjured shoulder, Elora reached out, took Helm’s hand, and kissed his little fingers. She’d missed holding him so much, but injured shoulders don’t heal fast in close proximity to hooligan baby boys.
When Elora looked back at the service in progress, she noted that the dates on the head stone indicated Sol had been fifty-three. He kept himself in such good shape she would have guessed younger. She was sure there were a treasure trove of stories that had died with him and she felt a rush of sorrow about that. She wished those stories had been recorded somewhere so they hadn’t been lost.
No one knew who was going to take over the Sovereign office at Jefferson, or even whether Jefferson needed a Sovereign since it was no longer an active hunter unit. Glen had declined. Storm said something along the lines of “not for all the tea in China”. But that was a worry for another day.
The honors ceremony Elora had planned was scheduled for the following night after dinner. Knights were expected to wear their dress uniforms, which consisted of black sileather pants, black combat boots, black tees either sleeveless or long sleeved and sashes that identified them as belonging to a particular team. Those that had medals or ribbons wore them pinned to the sashes. They were an incredibly handsome gathering that the mundane world would never know about, much less see, and the air buzzed with the combined energy of powerful second sons.
Normally only knights and, occasionally, knights-to-be were invited to such ceremonies, but two guests were included. One was Baka, whose service to The Order, as vampire and man, was unquestioned. As Storm had often said, “He may not be a knight, but he should have been.” He sat on the first tier with B Team. The other was Blackie, who had once been intended to be the Black Swan mascot. He wore a kerchief in Blackwatch tartan, looked magnificent, and made Elora proud enough to bust buttons with his beauty and impeccable behavior. Like Baka, he sat on the first tier with B Team, but on the other side because the ex-vamp’s presence rubbed his ruff the wrong way.
The mood at Jefferson was particularly chaotic, partly because the trainees had been invited to attend and couldn’t completely contain either their giddiness or their immaturity.
At the appointed hour the knights filed in. The gas torches were lit to complement the ambient lighting and remind those present that the modern organization had roots in past times. The first thing everyone noticed was the huge Black Swan banner hung high on the wall opposite the main entrance. Eyes drifted up, took it in and knew that The Chamber was a special place.
The trainees, wide eyed, but trying to hide it with a show of nonchalance, were shown to a section that had been roped off for them. The only ones not sitting with the group were Glen, because he was Acting Sovereign, Barrock, who was assisting Elora, and Link, who had been assigned to push Sir Fennimore’s wheelchair.
Fenn was far from recovered, but given the extent of his injuries, it was astonishing that he’d been released from the hospital so soon. It was either a testament to great conditioning and nutrition or to youth and stubbornness. Still, the prognosis indicated a lot of painful physical therapy in his future. Fortunately, he knew a nurse who was willing to make the effort, both constant and personal. Whether or not he would be able to return to active duty wa
s yet to be seen.
When everyone was inside, Elora came forward. She was wearing the dress uniform with a long sleeved tee. Her sash had been refashioned as a sling to keep her shoulder immobile. The side of her face was still bandaged, but no one there thought she was less beautiful because of it.
She stood still waiting for everyone to settle and quiet before she spoke. The acoustics of the Chamber had been designed so beautifully that voice amplification wasn’t needed.
“Undoubtedly there are those here who knew Sol better than I. There are knights here who served under him. There is at least one knight who served with him.” At that, some of those who were close to Sol turned to look at Simon for his reaction. “Still, he had a powerful impact on my introduction to this world. In fact, the first time I encountered him was in this very room.” Storm, Ram, and Kay glanced at each other in a shared moment of camaraderie as the memory flitted by.
“I’m sure you’ve all noticed the veiled frame. This is part of Sol’s memorial.”
She nodded to Barrock. He pulled the edge of the cream silk that covered the rectangle hanging on the east wall. The tarp floated downward to the sound of collective gasps and murmurs. Those who had never been to the Hall of Heroes couldn’t know that the portrait matched those in the hallowed vault in Edinburgh, which meant that it was a full length portrait, about eight feet tall. Larger than life as was befitting one of the Black Swan heroes. Elora had prevailed on Simon to have the current artist in service to The Order do a portrait of Sol quickly enough to present at the event.
The subject was set against a dark background, black with swaths of brown, reminiscent of Dutch masters. The artist had been given a photo of a young Sol in a brown leather bomber jacket and faded jeans looking supremely capable and ready for anything. It was arresting partly because of Sol’s youthful beauty and stark masculinity, but also because some of the force of his personality had been captured on the canvas. The painting was nothing less than a masterpiece and Elora could hardly wait until the ceremony was over so that she could bring Farnsworth in to see it.
The silence brought on by the stunning recreation was replaced with polite applause.
When the room quieted, Elora said, “The second part of tonight’s ceremony is about honors.”
Apparently that was a cue because Link unlocked Sir Fennimore’s wheelchair and pushed it around Elora to the rear before he brought it to a stop with Fenn facing the congregation.
“You’ve probably heard that Jefferson Unit was attacked with only two active knights, Sir Fennimore and myself, defending against twenty assailants.” She looked at Z Team as she said that. They lowered their eyes or looked away.
Elora looked pointedly at the section where the trainees sat.
“I need Rolfe Wakenmann and Kristoph Falcon to come down here and stand with me.”
A grin quickly replaced surprise on Wakey’s face. Kris paled, looking like a severe case of stage fright, but with urging, he managed to stand and follow Wakey. When they reached Elora, she beamed at them before continuing to address the gathering.
“First let me say that, during the attack on Jefferson Unit, all of the trainees responded to the crisis like the knights they will be someday. But I’ve been given permission to honor two of my students, Rolfe Wakenmann and Kristoph Falcon, who demonstrated exceptional courage under fire. Since they saved my life, repeatedly, and survived, I’ve decided to waive disciplinary action for disobeying my orders.”
There was a brief eruption of muted laughter.
“The story doesn’t end there. In an effort to emulate Sol’s style of creating punishments for trainees that befit the crimes, Acting Sovereign Catch assigned these two the task of learning to fly Whisters in their off time as penalty for stowing away.
“On the night of the attack, our only casualties were the two Whister pilots on duty. When the conflict was over, all believed that Sir Fennimore was mortally wounded. These two, however, flew the Whister that took him to emergency surgery and saved his life as well. That is why he has the honor of bestowing these commendations.
“At the direction of The Council, for the first time in Black Swan history, two trainees are being cited for bravery and the medal they are receiving is the Solomon Nemamiah Medal of Honor.”
Barrock came forward with two medallions attached to large loops of wide green and black striped satin ribbon. He handed them to Sir Fennimore.
“Rolfe Wakenmann.” He looked at Elora. She motioned him toward Fenn. Wakey bent down so that Fennimore could loop the medal over his head. Wakey said thank you, immediately grasping the medal to look at it as he stood. “Do you have anything to say to the assembly of knights?”
Still holding his medal, Wakey looked the crowd over. He grinned, looking a little goofy, and said, “Cool,” which prompted a round of good-natured laughter.
“Kristoph Falcon.” For a moment it looked like Kris was glued to the flagstone floor. Elora leaned over and whispered, “Kris. Go get your medal from Sir Fennimore.”
The hazy look in Kris’s eyes cleared a little. He walked toward Fenn woodenly and bent down to accept his medal. Like Wakey, he was compelled to grip the precious round seal and hold it so that he could look at it up close.
“Kris, would you like to say something to the assembly of knights?”
Kris did want to say something memorable. He would have loved it. At that moment he would have sold his soul for spontaneous eloquence.
In the blink of an eye his experience unfolded and played on his heart like it was an instrument ill-used or seldom used.
Kris was second son in a family of three boys. His older brother was the golden child who could do no wrong. Beautiful, talented, smart, athletic, and popular. Kris’s parents were so busy taking pride in the accomplishments of his older brother that there wasn’t much left to give anyone else. What was left went to Kris’s younger brother.
As his childhood unfolded, Kristoph was like a plant without water. He longed for attention and recognition. As his developmental years went by and neither were directed his way, that need was replaced by anger-fueled attitude. Black Swan had given him a way to channel that anger into something that might be productive, even precious, someday.
In short, public recognition was utterly alien to Kris Falcon. It was utterly alien and utterly overwhelming. Truthfully, standing in the middle of the Chamber, with the eyes of so many Black Swan knights and all his peers trained on him, waiting for him to speak, could have been his worst nightmare. And he could not have been more unprepared to deal with attention on that scale.
The Chamber was quiet as a tomb while everyone waited to see how the boy would answer Elora’s question. He wasn’t spontaneous and easy-going like Wakey, but he wanted to express what the honor meant to him in some way.
“I…”
All present looked on as Kris Falcon tried to wade through the depth of his emotion and find voice and words. It was a battle he ultimately lost. His chin trembled slightly and his eyes grew red rimmed. In a moment suspended in time, a moment of shared empathy, everyone involuntarily held breath, waiting for the inevitable. When tears that couldn’t be held back spilled out of his eyes, the entire class of trainees poured out of the risers, jumping the rope or going under. They ran forward and smothered him in a pile on of a group hug accompanied by quiet words of support and congratulations.
In the rows above, the seasoned knights who bore witness – some of them legends - looked at each other with smiles, nods, winks, and also pride, as if to say, “Yep. That’s what it’s all about.”
Almost in unison, onlookers in the assembly rose to their feet with loud applause and shouts of appreciation. Everyone was a little emotionally wrung when they began filing out of the Chamber on their way to the lounge for drinks and billiards or drinks and cards or just drinks.
Elora was one of the last to leave. Ram walked up to her looking dazzling in his sleeveless tee that showed off sculpted arms, a sash crowded with m
edals and ribbons, and his beautiful signature smile. “Amazin’ is what you are.”
He gave her a kiss that qualified as a public display of making out, while still taking care with the injury to her cheek.
“Rammel. Not a good example to set for the trainees.”
He looked around. “They’re long gone, my girl. ‘Tis just us and the fuck ups. So do no’ be embarrassed.”
Fuck ups?
She realized Z Team was still there.
“You go on with Storm and Kay. I’ll stop by in a while. I’m going to go get Farnsworth and bring her to see the portrait.”
He glanced back at Z Team before saying, “Do no’ be long.”
When Ram was gone, Z Team came forward. Torn Finngarick spoke for them, “We talked it over and decided we owe you an apology. ‘Tis been a long time since anyone was expectin’ us to work or play with others. And ‘twas badly done.”
Elora looked them over and took a minute to respond.
“Storm has a very low opinion of you. When you first arrived, I questioned him about it. Thought he was just being prissy. So I decided to keep an open mind and see for myself. And I kept an open mind right up until you…” She looked at Glyphs. “… told me to stay out of your way and you…” She motioned to the others. “…gave your implied approval of that by letting that stand.
“Fenn,” she paused, “Sir Fennimore is in love with my best friend and they were planning a future together. Right now that future is very uncertain because they don’t know if he’s spending it in a wheelchair.
“I can’t say for certain that the outcome would have been different if you’d done what you were supposed to do, which was to defend Jefferson Unit according to authority of command, which was me.
“I get rash behavior. I married somebody given to Irish hotheadness. Lots of people can live their lives controlled by their aberrations. But not Black Swan knights. More is expected from us.
Gathering Storm Page 27
