The Ghost of Vermil-Chapter 46: Marco XXIII

Marco stood at the foot of the stone statue of the six-winged Seraphim, where a halo of candles burned behind it, wax dripping onto the brick floor.

In the middle of the night, only a handful of devotees remained in the Altare grounds to pray. A vagrant splayed next to a bed of white roses at the foot of the Ophanim — the order of angels farthest in appearance to a human, depicted as enormous interconnected wheels with eyes all over them, a crimson flame flickering from a thick candle inside. In front of the four-faced Cherubim knelt a pair dressed in stained tunics, their boots soggy and coated in mud. They must have made the long trek out of the swamps that had become the better part of the Delta after just a few weeks of rain. Tonight at least, the moon was out, the sky clear, albeit it had rained the day and the night before.

It was under the shadow of the Hashmalim — a four-armed angel holding a sword and a shield, a sceptre and a flaming orb — that Marco spotted the familiar tall and thin figure of Philip the Exorcist. Under the moonlight, his skin looked more pallid, his eyes more sunken than Marco remembered. What has he gone through in so short a time? Marco was about to ask but kept it to himself. Philip's matters were his own. He only needed to provide Marco with information.

"How fares the night?" Marco said, stepping behind the Hashmalim statue to join him.

"Better than usual, my lord," replied the exorcist. "My friends at the Altare said you were looking for me."

Marco had rushed to the Altare right after using the Quill of Melancholy and Longing, hoping Philip would be here. But they told him he would send word when he could. There was no definite day nor time. The only certainty was that Philip would come to meet him. Indeed after a few days, Marco happened upon a letter beneath his door, telling him to meet at the day of worship of the Cherubim, at the deepest of night, in front of the Altare Angelorum.

The pair soon stood up and other devotees had also resigned, leaving but the two of them and a sleeping vagrant alone in the presence of the seven hierarchies of angels. A cold salt wind blew, stirring the flames on the Seraphim's halo, the Hashmalim's orb and the candle at the core of the Ophanim that glint with a hundred eyes. The plaza smelled of roses and beeswax, of sea and Gallenport's grime.

"I believe you have answer for me, future Earl of Gallagher," Philip demanded.

"There is a cottage where they meet. I am yet to know where it is," he divulged.

"That isn't so helpful. The threads of time and space attached to that spell will soon untangle, unrecognizable. We don't have time."

"I shall go with you."

"When?" The exorcist seemed desperate now. For what exactly, Marco had no idea. He was usually calm, composed, steering the conversation with his calculating attitude.

"As soon as I know where it is," Marco answered. Lucas will take me there. I shall find an opportunity to leave Demach with him.

"You shall hurry, young lord. We are fighting against time. And my colleague from Handilen will not be in this small continent forever."

"I know. I will decide on a time on the soonest. But I need your expertise. Do you have a way of finding a person?"

"A living one?"

"I believe so."

Philip scrunched his brows together. "Who is it?"

"Alice the maid. She was Lucas's escort, but she disappeared."

He peered at him. "Are you sure she's alive?"

If the Quill were to be believed. "Yes. Beyond doubt."

"I might have a way. Where has she been last seen?"

A sudden thought sprung in Marco's mind. They'll be able to see what happened in the Forest that one stormy night. "The Pilgrim Road in the Ashwood Forest. We were close to the town of Incador when Lucas's carriage was ambushed. Perhaps, you can also take a look."

The mystery of Ser Harol's mutilation would soon be uncovered. Those long gashes that opened his body were unsettlingly similar to the scratches at Lucas's abode of a storeroom.

Light seemed to have returned to Philip's complexion. "Aye, we shall look into it." The exorcist soon disappeared inside the Altare Angelorum, leaving Marco under the watchful gazes of the stone statues.

Before he started his way back, he looked the beastly ox face of the Cherubim in the eye, imploring it with a hopeful prayer. "I fear that all I'm doing will hurt my brother in the end. I just wish it would not ruin him, nor me. I hope I don't hurt him too much." They have wounded each other enough.

Turning away, he stopped to drop a silver coin on the vagrant's side.

* * * * *

The whispers started small.

"He's still number eleven. He won't take challengers." Marco heard a group of seniors talking in the corridor.

"He's a weakling and a coward. The boy looked like he couldn't even hurt a fly. Demach's hero, huh," he spat, "A Craven of Vermil, that's what he is."

"You might have to be more careful when calling him that. I heard from someone who knew Lucas of Vermil. Do you know the things he apparently d..."

Marco was not able to hear the rest of it for they had wandered far then.

In the cafeteria, words started to spread much faster.

Kelvin spoke up, "Have you heard about the eleventh ranker?"

Marco glanced at Catherine's direction. It seemed she was also aware. "What are they saying?" He asked.

"Angels damn him, he had done some pretty nasty things."

Oliver butted in, unceremoniously slamming his meal tray, "He's killed some people. Boy, you could not even tell from his innocent face."

"It's ridiculous. Why would you believe such rumours?" Asked Marco.

It was akin to a house of cards falling apart.

That was how Marco felt when the fragile wall that he and Lucas had painstakingly built suddenly collapsed, exposing Lucas's reputation to the whole of Demach. And given Lucas's sudden popularity, rumours about him spread like wildfire.

Not a tall one but only the simple dream of starting over — now shattered.

A heavy hand came to lie on his shoulder. Eritch's deep voice said, "Hey, Lord Vermilon. Is it true Lucas is your brother?"

Catherine's eyes visibly rounded before she choked on her fruits, coughing. "Where did you even hear that?"

Marco felt as though the cafeteria was shrinking as Eritch's question hung in the air. Kelvin and Oliver regarded Marco with disbelief.

"Looking at you now," the young lord from Ochre Pass mumbled, "You too look alike."

His house of cards got blown away by his words. Indeed, Marco knew it was never meant to last. In the end, Lucas had to atone for his past, make up for his reputation. Only now, he could not deal with it in silence or confidentiality.

Marco nodded, "He is my brother."

Eritch chuckled, "No wonder he was with you previously. But, is it also true that he gave you that scar?"

That was when Marco's world froze. He felt the urge to jab Eritch on the stomach but at the same time he also wanted to run. Indecisive, he did neither and instead remained sitting there in silence. Eritch took his silence as a confirmation, huffing, "Huh, now I can't underestimate the Craven of Vermil anymore."

Oliver and Kelvin were left with jaws wide open. Catherine scooted closer and placed her hand on top of his. "Marco, it must have been Rupert."

He shook his head. It made no matter now that the word was out, the fire had been lit, and it was eating up Lucas's chances at a new life in an unquenchable conflagration. "The die is cast, Catherine. All Lucas can do now is survive it." Just like he had always done.

Oliver asked, "Catherine, did you know?"

"I live in Gallagher, you idiot," she snapped at him.

He needed to find his brother. He was equally afraid of what they might to do to him and what he might do in return.

Leaving his salad untouched, Marco crossed the cafeteria in strides. He noticed that Cat had followed him. "You should stay here. We have classes later."

"As you should. I'm smarter than you, my lord, I must remind," she replied cockily.

"Agh, suit yourself."

"You and your brother are both too fast. Can you slow down a bit? I have short legs."

"He must be in distress."

"All these scholars are strangers to him. He had lived like a ghost in your palace. I don't think he would be so worried. It's just Vermil all over again."

"Exactly. But worse. He had made friends here. And some of them admired him when he was pronounced a hero. I know they called him Craven but at least a handful should have held him with regard. He was not a ghost here in Demach, Cat. He's not."

But now that his reputation had finally caught up to him, he might come back to his complete solitude again. Stuck in a room, walking under shadows, never making a sound. Marco had pulled him out of there. He ought to make sure he would not crawl back to it.

Lucas was not in the auditoriums. Marco entered the freshmen's room and walked up to Apple. They all fell silent. He asked her, "Apple, if I can have a moment? Did he come in this morning?"

She shook her head. "I have not seen him."

"He did," said Diana Rupert. The Light of Truth told Marco she wasn't lying. "But he fled with tail between his legs, like the coward he is." She met his stare without backing down.

"Thank you." Marco gave them a curt bow and left. He had no time for quarrels.

"He must be in his chamber," suggested Catherine.

He was not. Nobody answered Marco's knocks so he had to invoke INVIOLABLE EDICT to unlock the latch. He found books scattered open on the desk, a few leaves of papers scribbled with uncomely penmanship. Yet Lucas was nowhere. So was his trusty little gas lamp. He's planning to stay out the night.

"Where do you plan to look next?" Catherine asked as he exited the boys' dormitories.

"He could be in the house."

The two of them rode the Academy's own carriage to their small abode outside of Demach. Felix greeted them with a surprised look. "What brings you here so early, my lord?"

"Did my brother drop by?"

"I have not seen him, my lord. Did something happen?"

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"I'll check his room." It was empty, the bedsheets neatly folded on the bed, a training sword lying on top of a table next to a stack of texts. "Where could he be?"

Catherine stood at the threshold. "Perhaps, Professor Hilbury knows. Lucas always comes to him, doesn't he?"

Their search in vain, Marco and Catherine made their way back to the Academy empty-handed. As soon as they entered the gate, the guard told him, "The Director wants to speak with you."

As if on cue, his badge started to glow blue.

"Could it be because of the rumours?" Catherine said. "Will that be cause for expulsion?"

"Not until it's proven, Cat. The director had just recently pronounced him a hero. He would not be swayed by rumours alone."

Director Garren was not alone. Professor James Hilbury stood next to the table, along with Professor Mallory and another student.

"It's nice to see you, Marco," spoke the Lady Annise Rothspiel — a noble of a House without a territory, having lost it to the growing hive in East Bismuth. Marco had seldom talked to her. She was two years older, and one rank above him in the Academy standing. She was the top student of Demach, the best and one Marco was yet to duel. And if he did, he was confident he would win.

The crimson sunset spilled an eerie light onto the director's office chamber, his face barely discernible in the shadow of his high chair. Professor Mallory looked to him with concern while Professor Hilbury stood sullen.

"A great afternoon, Annise, professors, director," he greeted them.

"Marco," the director began in a heavy tone, "Do you deny your blood relation to Lucas of Vermil?"

His sudden question astounded him. "I do not, Director. But why do you ask?"

"The rumours about him being your brother seem to be true. Is there any truth to the claims about him being a murderer as well?"

Marco breathed a deep sigh. "I honestly don't know, Professor. I myself am in search of the truth. Until then, I can only tell you that these are mere speculations."

"I see," he bobbed his head. "Then perhaps, James will be able to shed some light on the mystery."

James spoke, voice grave and low, "Wilcan claims that he saw Lucas releasing the cursed beasts during the accident at the Atelier. We thought it was the Weeper's cry, but it seems Lucas also had a part in the breakout."

The director inched forward in his seat, clasping his hands in front of him. He was known for his kind tone and the gentleness of his countenance but this time he wore a dark expression with no room for forgiveness, words stern and uncompromising. "I believe you've been looking for him. I have sent Annise and Professor Mallory to restrain him. Protocol dictates that the holy officers of the crown should be involved, given the degree of the disaster he is suspected to have caused. If you have objections, I will understand. But I must advise you to stand down, Marco Vermilon. I have also summoned Diana Rupert. In a while, she should be here. For the meantime, I would like you to tell me what kind of power your brother is hiding."