Chapter 9

James McKay awoke and bolted upright. He drew his hand across his exposed chest, tracing where his wound had been. There was nothing. No abrasion, irritation, or scar, let alone the gaping wound it had been. It was as if his battle against the guard, Jar tor Ell, had never occurred. It was impossible though. He remembered the battle, every detail etched with precision into his memory, every emotion felt burned into his psyche. It had happened. He had been wounded. He just couldn’t remember healing, or being healed.

As James sat on the bed pondering the conundrum before him, he failed to notice the two figures that had entered the dimly lit room.

“It is good to see that you are awake,” one said, startling James. He quickly steadied himself, having nearly fallen off of the bed. He glared at the figures, his eyes glowing dimly. The figures shifted uncomfortably, but held their positions.

“I am sorry that I startled you,” said the same stepping out of the shadows near the door. James’ eyes widened in utter shock as the figure came into clear view, his old, chiseled features triggering recognition in James’ mind. I really hate alternate realities, James thought, not for the first time. Before him stood an exact replica, down to the grey streaks in his hair, of his old deceased friend, Jack. Except this Jack dressed in a manner that, to James, was completely out of character for his friend. He wore a tattered red tunic with glittering chain mail beneath it, a flowing blood red cape, brown pants that bunched just bellow the knees where they met faded black boots, and a lopsided belt whose only purpose was to hold the man’s scabbard that held a hefty-looking sword.

“Yeah, and that’s why you decided to show your face,” James spat, his voice dripping in dark sarcasm.

“Your friend’s death is unfortunate,” the alternate Jack said, “but I assure you it is not my intent to make you uncomfortable with my similarity to him. I am Hal Toth, High General of the Dragon Legion.” Pride resonated in his voice as he spoke, further disassociating himself from Jack in James’ mind.

“Yeah, that’s nice,” James spat sarcastically, “but I’ve got places to be, so if you’ll excuse me…” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, grabbing the ripped and bloodied shirt and his trench coat from off of the headboard. He grabbed his toque from the side table and moved towards the door.

“Mr. McKay, you are not fully healed. You still need to rest,” said a female voice from the second figure still hidden in shadows. She stepped forward, her blonde hair bright even in the dim light, her cool blue eyes boring into James. There was kindness in them, but beneath that there was severity. She was dressed in a simple white robe with red trim, her pale features given some color against the pristine white of the robes. James was stopped dead in his tracks.

“This is our Head Cleric, Seria Davare,” Hal Toth explained. “She is responsible for your speedy recovery.”

“Ah,” James said, “well in that case, thanks.” Then, with a dark glare at the two of them he added, “Now move.”

His attempt to push past them was quickly thwarted as Hal Toth drew his overly large sword. He raised it with ease despite its size, and James wondered if there were more similarities between the General and Jack than looks.

“I think not,” he stated bluntly, placing the sharp blade directly in James’ path. It was, he would later realize, not one of his brighter moves.

James’ eyes began to glow and the air started to crackle with energy. Hal Toth cringed as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Just as James was about to fry the general, two familiar figures dashed through the doorway, both panting with obvious exertion, the blond more so than the other. It was Dave and Sam.

“James, don’t,” Dave blurted. James just grinned. In an almost unnoticeable action, James snapped his fingers. A few seconds later Hal Toth hit the far wall with a sickening thud. His sword crashed to the floor only a split second after he did. He did not move.

James moved towards his two friends, only remotely noticing Seria’s hate-filled glare before she dashed to Hal Toth’s side. Dave shook his head as he passed by, but couldn’t help smiling.

“Nice one, James,” Dave remarked, casting a glance into the room at the fallen guard and then following James.

“James, where are you going,” Sam asked suddenly, quickening his pace to match James and David’s. James did not respond; he just kept walking at his fast pace. He rounded a corner and abruptly stopped. He looked at the man standing before him, intentionally blocking the corridor with both his body and his large sword. James didn’t even bother questioning how the older man had gotten there so fast.

“Get outta my way, General,” James commanded firmly, charging up audibly for a battle. Hal Toth, with hair standing somewhat on end, just grinned and crouched slightly, sword held in front of him, ready for combat. James heard Sam groan and mutter something unintelligible, but chose to ignore it.

“James, not again. You need to calm down. These people want to help us,” Dave explained hurriedly.

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” James retorted, not a trace of sarcasm in his voice for once. “Generally when someone pulls a sword on me I take that as a negative thing.”

“Hmmmn,” David hummed, “good point.” He directed his gaze at Hal Toth. The general gave a sigh of reluctance and put away his sword, a sour look contorting his face.

“Better,” David acknowledged. “Now, James; are you going to at least try to be civil, man?”

“Since when did you become the level-headed one of the team, eh?” James shot at his friend, but made no move to make trouble. David scowled but denied the angry teen any other reaction. He needed to get James to wind down enough to start thinking logically and rationally again. It was the only way Terra was going to be saved. Hal Toth’s presence, it seemed, was not working to their advantage.

“Your friend is correct,” the general suddenly stated, “we are only trying to help. We know of your plight and wish to give any aid we can.” James gave him a questioning glance.

“And what exactly do you guys get outta this?” he asked bluntly.

“Dude, can’t you just accept the fact that someone is trying to help without expecting personal gain?” Sam blurted. Hal Toth seemed to cringe slightly at Sam’s words. James noticed and gave a wry grin.

“Do I need to repeat my question?” he asked sarcastically.

“No,” Hal Toth replied cautiously, “You do not. It is true; we do not offer our help without some form of return. What we propose is complicated, and as such it would be much better explained by the Elders. Which brings me to why I am here in the first place; the Elders wish an audience with you and your ‘team.’” A long silence followed. It seemed like James was finally calming down and beginning to think things through. David and Sam kept their silence, crossing their fingers that James would make the wise choice; to accept help. Either way, though, they would follow James. Even though each of them was an integral member of the team, they all recognized James as the head, even if at times he himself did not.

Finally James drew a deep breath, as if the next few words were the hardest he could ever say.

“Alright. Let’s talk with your elders and see what they have to say.”

-

A short while later James McKay, flanked by David to one side and Sam to the other, stood before the five Elders; leaders, and in essence rulers, of those who served the Rising. It was what they called their rebellion against the self proclaimed Great One; a title, according to Hal Toth, derived from an ancient manuscript detailing a similar rebellion.

The middle Elder rose from his chair, his grey beard falling well below his waist and his equally grey hair brushing his shoulders, and stepped down from the raised floor on which the Elder’s chairs stood. He stood tall and proud before the mutant teen, and James had to raise his gaze to meet the Elder’s. The old man towered over him by nearly a foot, a colossus of not only power and strength, but also ageless wisdom. James quickly got the impression that the Elder was more than he seemed to be.

“I am Elder Keyzan, head of the Council of Elders. On behalf of the Council and the Rising, I welcome you to our fortress. We call it Ja Tuth, although most outside of the Rising do not even know of its existence,” the Elder greeted in a deep, but soft voice. He bowed his head slightly that James took as part of the greeting.

James mimicked the bow of the head and replied, “And I am James McKay, leader of The Four.” James paused to observe the Elder’s reaction, but realized there was none.

“It’s my understanding that you wish to speak to me about aiding in the rescue of my girlfriend and fellow teammate, Terra,” James said, attempting to imitate to a degree the speech of the people in this universe. It felt strange and too formal, but it was necessary for communication with the Elders.

“Indeed,” the Elder replied. “But not without a returned service.”

“Like what?” James asked suddenly, reverting back to his usual speech pattern. The Elder held up a hand.

“Do not rush things, James McKay.” The old man gave a weak smile and continued, “This is what I purpose…”