The Guardian Lineage

by Seth Z. Herman

  Just then, a short, squat woman entered the room, wearing a bright pink dress and an enormous blue-pearled necklace. Two chopsticks pierced the bun in her hair. Her cherry heels clacked against the floor.

  Mike suppressed a smile.

  Apparently not everyone in Windham wore leather.

  “Welcome, oh, welcome everybody!” The woman clapped her hands together and beamed as she scanned the class. “Such a beautiful group, yes, wonderful!”

  Mike put a fist in his mouth to stop himself from laughing out loud. How much coffee could she have drank to be this hyper at nine in the morning?

  Professor Happy-Go-Lucky – or, according to the schedule, Mrs. Holly Jorisch – did a short roll call. As she read off each name, she gave each student a gleaming smile.

  Except for Mike.

  When she got to his name, she stumbled a bit, as if shocked by what she was reading. She lifted her 50’s-style glasses to get a closer look at the sheet. When she seemed satisfied that the ink was not smudged in any way, she looked around the class tepidly and called in a squeakish voice, “Michael Prior?”

  Oh, give me a break, you too? I know Stockton hates my guts, but I didn’t know it was an institutional thing…

  “Yeah, that’s me.”

  Mrs. Jorisch’s gaze fell on Mike. She blinked a few times, then forced a wide smile. “Ahem, yes, well, welcome, Michael.”

  She fumbled with the attendance sheet, and it fell to the floor. She bent down to pick it up, one hand on her hair as if to make sure it wouldn’t fall out.

  Mike raised his hand. “Mrs. Jorisch?”

  Mrs. Jorisch stood up abruptly. “Yes, Michael?” She looked like Mike had just asked her to step outside into a dark alley.

  “Just something that’s been bothering me. Where are all the parents?”

  “I’m… I’m sorry?”

  “I’ve just been thinking,” Mike said, totally aware that everybody was staring at him. But he’d wondered about this during the night, and she was the first teacher he’d seen since. Besides, if she was going to be awkward about Mike being here, he could be awkward right back. “If we’re all here protecting gargoyles, shouldn’t there be, uh, older people too?”

  “Oh!” Mrs. Jorisch’s shoulders sagged, as if this was not the question she’d been expecting. “Well, you see, Guardian children usually attend school from ages sixteen to twenty, as per the Pact of Alliance. After age twenty, they are given the choice to continue on in service as one of the faculty—”Mrs. Jorisch inclined her head “—or return to normal life, without any Guardian responsibilities.” She gave a nervous smile. “Does that help?”

  “Oh. Yeah, thanks.” Mike sat back into his chair, his mind still agitated. Why would she be so nervous around me? It’s not like I’ve broken any rules around here, have I?

  “Lovely,” Mrs. Jorisch said. The relief on her face was evident as she returned to making her merry way through attendance. When she finished, Mrs. Jorisch slid the paper into a drawer and sat on the front of the teacher’s desk, her stubby legs swinging jovially.

  “Firstly, let’s discuss the wondrous magic of Telekinesis, hmm? It is a fine art, a delicate way to use nature and its powers in a healthy, productive environment…”

  Mrs. Jorisch continued with a flowery discourse for about twenty minutes. When she finished her speech, she moved behind her desk, and clapped her hands.

  Mike jumped as three objects appeared on his desk out of nowhere – a feather, a beaker, and a brick. He looked around to see that every desk in the room had them, including Mrs. Jorisch’s.

  Okay, not used to that...

  “Let’s jump right into the fire, shall we? Well, actually, you can do that with Dr. Punn in Pyro.” Mrs. Jorisch giggled at her own apparent hilarity, which was good because the response from the rest of the room was less than deafening.

  “But in a figurative sense, yes? We’re going to practice our own Telekinetic powers right away.”

  Mike straightened in his seat.

  Now that’s what I’m talking about.

  “The first rule of Telekinesis, in all magic, really, is that you cannot create the desired force from out of nowhere. We Guardians cannot create elements in space. Rather, we manipulate them, raising or lowering their strength as we wish. To illustrate.” Mrs. Jorisch placed the brick down on the desk and grabbed the feather. “If I want to push this feather from my desk onto Dana’s” – Mrs. Jorisch motioned to the girl sitting in the front right corner – “I need a wind, or some sort of energy, to manipulate and push in her direction.”

  Mrs. Jorsich thrust a hand forward like a chubby karate kid throwing an open-handed punch. “Energy is created when I push my arm forward. Whether it is the kinetic energy you use, or the tiny amount of wind that is produced, there is an element there for you to control.”

  She lifted the feather in one hand, then released it. The feather swung back and forth, falling slowly to the ground. Mrs. Jorisch thrust out her other hand, and instantly the feather stopped. It hung in the air like it was suspended by invisible cables. Mrs. Jorisch twirled a finger. The feather proceeded to glide in Dana’s direction, not wavering in the slightest, until it dropped harmlessly onto the desktop.

  The class burst into clapping approval. Mrs. Jorisch curtsied like an embarrassed schoolgirl. “Thank you, really, it was nothing.” She picked up the beaker. “We’ll start with the beaker, because it is more stable than the feather but lighter than the brick. This will show you how truly difficult it is at first. But don’t worry, you will be flinging this around in no time.”

  Mike pushed the feather and brick over to the left of his desk, so that the beaker was sitting square on his notebook.

  “Now, I want you all to focus. Don’t think about the beaker, we’ll work on that later. Think about harnessing the energy that is around you and using it for what your mind desires. That is the key. Take a moment, yes, think about what you want to do, get a clear picture in your mind… you want to use the energy to lift the beaker off the surface…”

  Mike imagined controlling the wind, the energy, using it to move the beaker as he wished… it was absurd at first, imagining he could control the elements… use the energy, harness it… what did that even mean…

  “Now, when you’re ready, create the energy and use it.”

  Mike readied himself, backed up just a bit in his chair and held his hands in a karate stance. Just like he had done a million times, he thrust his arm forward like he was throwing an open punch—

  And the beaker zoomed off the desk, directly at Mrs. Jorisch’s head.

  She ducked out of the way at the last minute. The beaker smashed against the whiteboard and shattered into a million pieces.

  Mrs. Jorisch’s eyes were wide, almost fearful, looking back and forth between Mike and the broken glass.

  “I… I didn’t mean to…” Mike stammered, shocked at what he’d done. “Really, I swear…”

  As Mike looked around the room, he noticed everyone else’s beaker hadn’t moved an inch.

  And that the room was deathly silent.

  Mrs. Jorisch composed herself. “Yes, well, that was excellent, Michael… ahem, for a first try.” She motioned to the entire class. “Why don’t we stick to the feather, hmm?”

  And so it went for the rest of the morning. In each of Mike’s classes, it was explained that Guardians could not create elements from scratch. In Cryo, there had to be some liquid in the area. In Pyro, some fire, and in Electro, any sort of electricity. Each time, the class was asked to attempt something miniscule, and each time, Mike’s experiment blew up in his face. In Cryo, he froze a student’s desk. In Pyro, he created a new Rorschach painting on the wall. In Electro, Mike blew the fuse in the entire left wing of the mansion.

  So he was relieved when it was time for his first non-magic class of the day – History. Maybe he could go half an hour without blowing anything up.

  Mike wandered towards the back of the classroom, totally s
haken up by his newfound “abilities,” if you could call them that. On the one hand, it was incredible to be so powerful. What teenager wouldn’t love to be able to explode a beaker from fifty feet away, or burn a hole in the wall just by thinking it? On the other hand, he was terrified of himself. This was all very new – scary new – and he was clearly not able to control himself. It was completely possible – no, even likely – that he would hurt somebody by accident, simply because he had no idea how to keep his power under wraps. He had never been the best kid in any class – definitely not karate class, Laura had proven that much – and now he was the most powerful kid in his grade…

  Mike shook his head, to try and shatter the panic. As the therapists had encouraged him, when his mind started freaking out, he had to focus on more comforting things. For every day in the last two months, that had been one single thought.

  Laura.

  What was she doing now? Probably sleeping, Mike realized. She always liked to stay up late and sleep late. In a few hours, though, she’d head out for the dojo… and if she hadn’t been calling him until then, she’d definitely notice when he wasn’t there, and then she’d get worried…

  Relax, you fool. You’ll find the office during Homeroom, make a call from the landline there. You’ll talk to her then, explain the situation…

  And then hopefully she won’t dump you.

  Mike’s stomach did a turn. He flipped over his notebook to check his schedule, to see who was teaching Hist—

  Mike groaned out loud as His Royal Highness the Magus walked in right on time, cape-coat flowing behind him in majestic style.

  Just when I thought the day couldn’t get any worse.

  Stockton slammed a textbook down on the table, creating a bang that startled about half the county. “Open up to page two hundred and ninety three,” he said in a slow, menacing tone.

  The stale air was filled with the sound of pages turning and students muttering to themselves. The kid sitting next to Mike muttered, “Heh, my book starts with page one,” a little too—

  “That will be two hours’ detention,” Stockton interjected without missing a beat. “With me, in my office, writing an essay about why you should mind your manners around someone who can fry your brain without so much as raising an index finger.”

  The class instantly fell silent, like a rock band that’s had their speakers unplugged. Mike scribbled a reminder to himself on the front of his notebook.

  Do. Not. Speak in this class. EVER.

  Stockton inhaled deeply, then turned his attention to the rest of the class. “Human-Gargoyle History, a subject no one wants to take and that everyone must know. What happened in the winter of the year 1682 in Wyvern, Scotland?”

  No one so much as budged. Stockton scanned the class for a response, hands on hips. “Pathetic. You must know about your own history, your own lineage.” He broke into a mock scholarly tone. “By studying history, we are able to avoid the mistakes our ancestors made, blah blah blah—”

  Stockton interrupted himself and raised a hand to the ceiling. A fluorescent bulb shattered, raining glass onto the floor. The electricity from inside the bulb shot down towards Stockton’s palm. It shimmered there, floating above his skin, as if it was a planet hovering in orbit. Stockton danced the orb between his hands like a juggler, then fired it into the crowd.

  Two kids jerked their heads away as the electricity collided with the wall in the back, creating an explosion and a small crater in the wall.

  Mike gawked. The guy was insane! Certifiably and maniacally insane…

  “That is why we must study our history,” Stockton said, pointing to the cratered wall and ignoring the open mouths of his students. “To know who we are, what our purpose is, and why we were put here in the first place. Without a greater purpose, we are all just marionettes, waiting for our strings to be pulled by somebody more powerful than ourselves.” Stockton motioned with his fingers. “But if we know what we’re here for, we can live life to its fullest, with a sense of purpose.

  “Now, someone scan page two-ninety-three and tell me what happened in the year 1682 in Wyvern, Scotland.”

  A few moments passed, and some girl in the front raised her hand. “The betrayal of Rafael.”

  “Points to the fastest reader,” Stockton said without recognizing the student. “In 1682, the course of Human-Gargoyle relations changed. Up until that point, the alliance between the clans had been steadfast. But then something happened, something that altered the history of our clan and its Gargoyle protectsia.” The last word rolled off Stockton’s tongue.

  “A war broke out between the gargoyles and the Vampiric Legion, which at that time was comprised of vampires, werewolves, and human magicians that are today called the Black Brethren.” Stockton walked back and forth at the front of the class, hands folded on his stomach, occasionally rolling a wrist as he spoke. “Naturally, the Guardians came to the gargoyles’ aid. The Guardian clans fought together, protecting each other. And until a certain point in the war, they had all but vanquished the Vampiric host.

  “A betrayer emerged.” Here Stockton’s voice grew cold. Almost… personal.

  “A warrior from our clan betrayed the Guardians, causing most of the gargoyles to be destroyed. The same creatures he swore to protect, those who guarded his life while he slept… he did not see fit to return such favors.” Stockton looked at the class, his eyes ablaze. Mike realized the whole room was perfectly silent. And not because of detention-boy. They were hanging on Stockton’s every word.

  “Thankfully, Rafael was caught before he could murder even more of our people. He had been sequestering himself in a village near Connacht, along the River Shannon, without the knowledge of the townspeople. His magical experiments caused people to take notice, and eventually word spread to us. He was taken to Wyvern Castle and kept under magical lock and key until the end of the war. Thankfully, due in part to the fact that it was so late in the campaign, the Gargoyle-Guardian alliance was able to turn back the Vampiric hordes.” Stockton exhaled, taking a break from his intense monologue. “But so much had already been lost.”

  A redheaded student across the row from Mike raised a hand. Surprisingly, Stockton acknowledged him.

  “What’d they do to him?”

  Stockton’s mouth curled into a tiny smile. “The clans were presented with a most serious dilemma. Rafael’s fate was sealed, no doubt, but he came from the most powerful of all Guardian families. What if another member betrayed the clans again? To kill the entire family was madness; only one had committed the crime. Yet to keep them around, despite their great power, would cause a terrible rift between the gargoyles and the Guardians, because of what those descendants represented.

  “After a long meeting, the Guardian leaders came to a decision. Our clan was excommunicated from the rest of its brethren, and the name of our clan was forbidden to be spoken.” Stockton scanned the room. “We are outcasts, thanks to Rafael. We have no place amongst the Guardian legions.”

  No one said a word. Excommunicated? Outcasts? They sure hadn’t put that on the glossy brochure.

  Stockton continued. “Rafael himself was executed, a murderer given the ultimate punishment before the entire Gargoyle nation. His family was banished from the Guardian lineage, never to be spoken to or heard from again.” Stockton’s voice cut off and his eyes narrowed.

  “Until now.”

  Mike shifted uncomfortably. Was that who was threatening the school? Rafael’s people? And the sweatsuits who had attacked him on his way home – were they Rafael’s family, too? Who knew how many offspring Rafael might have by now… and if they were the most powerful of the Guardian families, they might be able to cause serious trouble…

  “A descendant of Rafael has been allowed entry into our school.” Stockton’s nostrils flared, scanning the room for effect. Then they came to rest on Mike.

  “Welcome to Windham, Mister Prior.”

  Chapter Seven

  Mike trudged out of
History in a daze.

  So that was it. He was descended from the most reviled person in Guardian history, and Stockton hated him for it. That was why his mom had never told him about his past, why Mrs. Jorisch had freaked when she saw his name on the list, and why Mrs. Caulderon had told her son Aaron to stay away from him. And that was why he had blown the other kids out of the water in his classes. He was big evil, public enemy number one, the reason a whole clan of Guardians and Gargoyles had been cut off from their natural brothers and sisters.

  Well, that cleared things up.

  Except, it wasn’t him. It was an uber-great grandfather, some nut who played the traitor card for whatever the other side was offering him. Mike had nothing to do with it. And yet, Stockton clearly thought he did, as if he was responsible.

  Which was plain old stupid.

  “Listen, Mike, it’s not that bad,” Aaron tried as they walked through the halls. “So grandpa killed a few people. What’s the big deal?”

  Julius Brutus, who was tagging along, squeaked, “He didn’t just kill a few people, Aaron! He caused the whole clan to get cut off. We are alone because of him. Haven’t you read the chapter yet?”

  “Well, when you put it that way,” Mike muttered. He shifted his textbooks from one arm to the other. He knew they were trying to help, but it wasn’t working. Besides, the way everyone else was looking at him, there wasn’t anything they could say. Stockton had screwed him, and now Mike was getting evil-death stares from people he didn’t even know—

  WHAM.

  All of a sudden, Mike was on the floor, his books strewn everywhere.

  “Hey, look where you’re going!”

  Mike looked up to see a bulldozer of a kid standing over him. He wore khaki shorts and a black t-shirt that said “I Crush Nerds.” The boy’s fists were balled at his sides, and he was chomping on something – peanuts, maybe? – with spittle flying everywhere. On the guy’s arm hung a long-legged girl wearing a pink hoodie, a skirt that looked like a belt, and tall heels. She was chewing gum like she was from Southern California.