Gathering Storm (39 page)

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 medals 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.
N
ot 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.

“If
Fennimore
recovers completely,
then I’ll accept your apology and we’ll be good. If not, there
won’t be enough words or deeds in your collective lifetimes
to
ever
make it right.”

She turned her back on them and
walked out.

When she
returned a half hour later with Farnsworth, there was no one else
in the Chamber. Elora had thought to bring some tissues. Even
though Farnsworth had not shed a tear publicly, not during the
funeral proceedings or while directing the traffic of so many
guests converging on Jefferson Unit at one time, Elora anticipated
that, sooner or later, she would let go.

Farnsworth
wasn
’t given to emotional
displays. She wasn’t dramatic and wasn’t hysterical. She did have a
little bit of a temper, but it took some doing to draw out of her.
She stared at the portrait transfixed then looked at Elora with
bright eyes. When one tear spilled, Elora handed her a tissue.
Farnsworth accepted gratefully, but that was it. One tear. Elora
thought that meant that Farnsworth had probably been ideally suited
to the man whose visage was hung proudly on the wall like a
guardian in spirit.

Looking back up at the painting
with admiration clearly written on her face, Farnsworth’s eyes
moved downward to the gold plaque.

In honor of

Solomon Neuhm Nemamiah

Jefferson Unit Sovereign

Knight of The Order of the Black
Swan

Farnsworth turned to Elora. “Thank
you. It’s perfect.”

Elora just nodded. “He was one of
a kind.”

Farnsworth
laughed quietly. “Oh yes. Indeed.”

The following
morning, Elora was cooing, exchanging gurgles and baby talk with
Helm as he sat in a ray of sunshine that seemed to seek him out.
Nanny had come early to bathe, dress, and feed him. Helm had just
learned to sit up and was enjoying showing off his new trick. He
got excited about his mother’s rapt attention, waved his arms fast
like he was trying to fly, lost his balance, and tumbled over onto
his side. It didn’t hurt him in any way, but his face crumpled at
Elora’s laughter and he cried.

Ram came striding
out of the bedroom at that moment. “Ram. Thank the gods. You’re
just in time. I hurt Helm’s feelings and can’t pick him up to
comfort him
and say I’m
sorry.”

Ram went straight for the baby.
“Sensitive are ye? Just like the ole man.”

Elora snorted at that.

Ram picked Helm
up, groaning. “Ack. Monq is right little one. You
do
weigh a ton.” He cuddled the baby into his chest and rocked
him a little. “Now tell your da about the trouble. Is mum bein’
mean to you again?”

Helm rubbed his
nose into Ram’s chest, grabbed one perfectly pointed ear with his
little fingers, and looked over at Elora as if to confirm that,
yes, indeed she was being mean to him.

“
I’m sorry,
Helm,” she began, “I truly didn’t realize that you can’t take
teasing.”

Ram smiled at Elora over their
son’s head.

Meeting his
eyes,
she said, “So what are the
plans for today? Nanny tells me she’s on duty the rest of the
day.”

The smile left Ram’s face just as
Elora heard commotion outside in the Courtpark four floors down.
“What’s going on out there?”

She opened the
French doors and stepped out onto the balcony. The portable
bleachers had been hauled out of storage and were stacked along the
rugby field sideline where they were being set up by trainees. She
wheeled around on Ram and narrowed her eyes.

“’
Tis a
memorial. You know Sol always loved the annual game.”

She gaped.
“You’re really going to play
that
card, Ram? You have no
shame at all.” Helm’s head jerked at his mother’s tone. Ram
shrugged, bouncing Helm, and did his best to look innocent. “How
did you manage to hide this from me?”

“
You’ve been
busy.”

“
Ugh!”

“About the
plans for the day…”

“
What
time?”

“
One.”

Elora gave Ram a dirty look before
storming into their bedroom and slamming the door. Ram felt Helm
jump a little in his arms when the door slammed.

The baby
leaned out to get a look at his dad’s
face to gauge whether or not he should be alarmed. Ram kissed
Helm’s head and said, “No cause for bein’ concerned. Your mum’s a
wee bit on the temperamental side. And this snit is no’ exactly a
surprise, is it?”

Elora called Litha from the
bedroom. “Did you know about this?”

“
Just found
out.”

“So what are we
gonna do about it?”

“
Show up and
cheer?”

Elora barked out a laugh. “Yeah.
We’re too easy.”

“
We
are.”

“
Come early for
lunch. Just us. If they’re going to play, they shouldn’t eat
first.”

“
Okay. I’ll drop
Storm off at your place and we can grab something in the
solarium.”

“
We should make
them watch us eat something they love and make yummy noises the
whole time.”

Litha laughed and
disconnected.

Ram was right about one thing. Sol
did love the annual celebration of masculine strength and
stupidity. Testosterone at its finest.

With all knights
playing, except for
Fenn and
Elora, they were three short of the forty four players needed,
twenty two on a team, fifteen on the field at a time with seven
replacements. In order to come up with the right number, they had
to press Baka into service along with the recently retired Glyphs
and the newly active Glen.

Everyone in Jefferson showed up.
The bleachers filled with cooks, meds, clericals, researchers,
trainees, maintenance, instructors. Everyone.

Simon was tapped
to coach one team and Fenn got the other. They were playing old
school, which meant no referees. Captains decided on rules and the
knights would honor them, on their honor. The first order of
business was a coin toss for which team would be shirts and which
would be skins.

The knights who
weren’t American would have been fine with short shorts and knee
socks, but the Americans refused to wear the traditional “sissy
garb”. So most played in jeans. It wasn’t a practical approach to
ease of movement. But it looked good.

Just before the
game started, a couple of the trainees raced out carrying a card
table and folding chair. They had just finished setting it up when
another showed up with a portable P.A. Spaz walked in front of the
bleachers waving his microphone in an exaggerated farce of a
victory lap. Elora’s groan was voiced, but not heard above the
crowd’s cheer.

When she’d told Kay exactly what
she thought of the results of his series of trainee lectures on
disco, he had just laughed and walked off.

Spaz
plugged in. “Testing. Testing. And it’s
a fine day for a game at Jefferson. Let’s strike a match and get
this game started, gentlemen!”

No one on B Team
was surprised that Storm was chosen to captain his side. He faced
off the other captain, a Frenchman named Sinoret, and called
head
s. It was tails, which meant
that Sinoret was privileged to choose shirts.

Elora’s lips
pressed together.
To her chagrin, that
meant Rammel would be shirtless, which in turn meant that it would
be another year of overhearing women use her mate’s name in the
same sentence with phrases like “wet panties”.

A rain the day before had
left the grass vulnerable to punishment. Within half an hour they
had torn up the field so that it was beyond repair and would have
to be re-sodded. They’d also torn each other up so that, with
players covered in mud, sweat, and blood, it looked more like war
than sport. The boys seemed to take perverse pleasure in bashing
the opposition until the end, when they were so exhausted they
could barely reward each other for a game well-fought with stomach
bumps and beer spray.

Most of the women were
appalled and fascinated at the same time.

Spaz was clearly biased
toward B Team’s side and announced the game accordingly, but nobody
seemed to mind.