Chapter 8
“All Juror members to the hangar. Repeat, all available Juror members to the hangar.”
Desmond and Mariah both dropped the books they were holding. The building announcement system rarely got used, if ever. And if it was used, it was usually for an all-building event that had been preplanned.
They had never, in all of Desmond's time, used it for an emergency broadcast. They were witches, able to predict and premeditate almost anything.
He grabbed her hand, feeling her panic as they came out of the rare books' section and tore down the hall. Desmond could see other Juror members taking up the call as well. The red warning lights flashed, indicating that they should follow them to the area of trouble.
“What's happening?” he asked Thomas, who was soon in step beside them. Mariah was keeping pace well, but he was worried that one misstep would send her flying. There were Tiros standing all around in shock as the Jurors ran, and Maestros not on the Jurors trying to figure out what they should be doing.
“I don't know,” Thomas said. Desmond usually resented his part-time position with the Jurors. He thought that he and Mariah received it simply by default because they were Maestros of a certain age, and it was expected.
Now, he was glad not to be left out of this chaos.
They had to put their hand prints into the scanner by the hangar – which was on lockdown – to gain access. The warning lights were flashing, and the alarm had begun to sound.
Desmond could only imagine what kind of threat was awaiting them inside. The school had never been attacked on a mass level; witches were always respected for their role in the galaxy. There had been a few rebels here and there, but nothing that couldn't be handled by one or two Maestros. In all his years, he had never seen the hangar locked down.
Inside, he couldn't believe his eyes. Sitting in the middle of the hangar, looking beat up but solid, was the Ronan.
Nearly twenty-two years ago, the Ronan had been involved in one of the biggest quests the Academy had ever taken on. Loaded with fourteen teams of Tiros and their Maestros, they had taken off for an entire solar system that was on the verge of destruction. A massive shift in atmosphere had meant the entire system was due to explode, and they were to gather as many survivors as they could.
The ship had made it only a few miles inside the perimeter when the solar system collapsed in on itself. The entire solar system had no survivors. Pieces of the Ronan had been found floating for years, verifying that those on board were gone. It had been the biggest tragedy to hit the Academy in centuries.
Desmond had felt the loss more than the others because his Maestro, Dorian, had been on board. Even fifteen years removed from him, he remembered the moment he knew his Maestro was dead.
He had been in the library with Mariah, just as he was today. It felt like a black hole had opened up in his heart that day, bringing him to his knees.
The feelings came rushing back as he stopped dead, staring at it.
“Desmond?” Mariah asked, confused. Without saying a word, he projected the image into her mind. Her jaw dropped. “How is that possible? Are you sure?”
“I doubt my own eyes,” he said as the witch in charge of the hangar approached. Taylor was barely a Maestro himself, and his Tiro beside him was a child. They looked shocked, indicating the sight in front of them.
“What happened?” Thomas demanded. “How is this here?”
“Maestro,” Taylor said, bowing his head, “I don't know. Vevo and I had our backs to the door, marking a parcel for delivery, and when we turned back, it was suddenly there.”
“It flew in without you hearing it?” Thomas asked in disbelief.
“No,” Taylor said. “The doors were closed. We only had our backs turned for one moment, nothing more. There is no way any ship, especially one that size, could suddenly appear. This is impossible.”
“Is it real?” Mariah asked. Desmond scanned the ship as thoroughly as he could. After Dorian had died, he had studied the Ronan extensively. He had learned every detail, every spec that he could, in the hope of finding some way that they could still be alive. Maybe there had been a small escape hatch, a transporter that could have been left intact – something. But the deeper he looked, the more dead-ends he found.
He had come to terms with the fact that his Maestro had been killed and he didn't get a chance to say goodbye.
“It's real,” he said, his voice shaking. “At least, from what I can see. No one could imitate that well.”
“Forget imitation,” Thomas said. “How is it possible that a ship could just appear like this? Doors closed, no one noticed?”
“Sir,” Taylor said, his voice suddenly shaking, “the doors are opening.”
There wasn't a Maestro in the room who didn't know what happened to the Ronan. They had all mourned the loss of so many souls on board who had left them in a blink of an eye. The tragedy had left everyone shaking, and it seemed that they all had a personal connection to the grief that was felt. So many had been promising leaders and pillars of the community. So many of the Tiros had been destined for greatness.
Of course, witches weren't immortal. They had lengthened lifespans, but they did pass away eventually. Becoming one with Nature, death was peaceful – a send-off into the magic that flooded their bodies. However, a life cut short and so unexpected was tragic – so much unrealized potential just gone.
“No one move!” Thomas cried out to the room, standing there in shock. “We don't know what we are dealing with! Arm up!”
The witches flicked their hands, gathering their magic as the door hit the ground. They stood in a defensive position, their knees bent and their shoulders flexed. They were ready for whatever was about to walk down the plank.
“Be on your guard! Be ready with the medical supplies! Just get them onto the ship!” came a voice from the Ronan.
Desmond heard the familiar voice, and his head nearly stopped. His knees went weak, and he dropped Mariah's arm as he took a step forward.
The footsteps coming down the platform took far too long. He stood, memorized, as first the white pants came into view, the black boots shining, and the black shirt, indicating a Maestro of high rank emerged.
And there, standing at the top of the platform, was Dorian.
“Maestro?” Desmond said, his voice quiet.
Dorian's brow furrowed. “Desmond?” he asked, looking around in confusion. “How are we…Aren't we…?”
The others rushed in behind him, ready to save lives. In uniforms that were years out of date, looking just as alive as the day they left, was the team that had left with such promise. The team that had died on the edge of the solar system with no chance at surviving.
“How is this possible?” Dorian asked, taking another step down. “Desmond?”
“I don't know,” Desmond answered, taking a step forward.
“You look…older…much older. Where am I?” Dorian's voice faltered, but Desmond didn't care.
He rushed forward, taking his old Maestro in a hug. “You're at the Academy. You're safe. You're alive. Although, you shouldn't be.” Desmond answered. Dorian looked incredibly confused.
“We were about to land, and then there was an explosion – a blackness. I thought we had made it. Are we…did we survive?”
“No,” Desmond answered, pulling back. “You did not survive the explosion. No one did.”
“Then…” Dorian would have thought they were playing a joke on him had it not been for the fact that Desmond looked many years older. “How am I here?”
“I don't know,” Desmond answered truthfully. “Please, come down, and we will find out together. Come down.”
Dorian said nothing, allowing Desmond to lead him by the arm down the platform to the hangar. They were surrounded by shocked faces, unable to comprehend what they were seeing.
“Mariah?” Dorian asked, reaching out. “Your eyes…”
“A long time ago, Maestro,” Mariah answered as she put out her hands. He took them, looking over her scars with a sad look on his face.
“I get the feeling that I've missed so much.”
“It's all right, Maestro,” Mariah answered. “We will figure it out. Come with us.”
Desmond moved forward only by sheer willpower. He heard the young, confused voices slowly coming down as they looked around.
They had died. There was no question about it. There was no conspiracy theory and no way around it. The ship's pieces had occasionally been accompanied by body parts and blood.
They were gone.
And now they were here.
“Get them to the med bay,” Thomas cried, trying to take control. “I want this hangar locked down and quarantined. No one comes in or out of here without proper authorization, is that clear? No one inspects this ship without the go ahead of the most senior Jurors. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Maestro,” came the chorus of confused voices. They started moving again, taking the hands of the recently returned, trying to explain.
Except no one could explain.
“I don't feel the med bay is necessary,” Dorian said, accompanied by Mariah and Desmond. “I feel fine; I really do. I'm just…oh my…”
The Academy had undergone significant changes over the year he had been away, and he recognized that it wasn't the same building that he left. Walls were different colors and whole wings had been built. None of this could be done in the three days he thought it had been.
“I don't know how this is possible,” Dorian turned to Desmond. “Have you discovered something to explain it?”
“No,” Desmond answered, “we have not. In case you haven't noticed, Maestro, we're all just as baffled as you are. This way.”
He guided him into the med bay ahead of the others. The doors swooshed open, and Tara turned around. When she saw Desmond, she rolled her eyes.
“Are you coming to explain why your Tiro missed an appointment?” she asked. “Because I don't have the time to make it up.”
“What?” Desmond asked in shock.
“She was supposed to come in this evening,” Tara said. “I told both you and Nathaniel that, so why…” Suddenly, her eyes fell on Dorian, and her mouth hung open. “Maestro Dorian.”
“Have we met?” Dorian asked, squinting at her. “You look familiar, .”
“We…” Tara swallowed. “We saw each other around. I was little more than a child when you…um…died.”
“Did I die?” he asked, confused.
“That's why we are here,” Desmond said softly. “Tara is the most advanced healer this facility has. If anyone can figure it out, it's her.”
“How is this possible?” Tara asked, shattering everyone's confidence in her. “I'm a healer, not a resurrecter. Don't look at me; I can't come up with an explanation. When did you get here?”
“A few moments ago?” Dorian asked.
Desmond took a deep breath. “Tara, there will be a large number of people here in a moment or so for you to access, so I suggest you get started,” he said. “Perhaps by taking vitals?”
“Right,” Tara snapped into medic mode, taking Dorian by the arm. Suddenly, what she said a few moments ago hit Desmond.
“What do you mean Sienna missed an appointment?”
“Exactly what I said,” Tara replied. “Did you forget?”
“Nathaniel is on duty,” Desmond said, glancing at the clock. “Damn it.”
“Well, I suggest you find her,” Tara answered. “You know what can happen if she misses a dose.”
“Desmond?” Dorian asked, and Desmond put a hand on his shoulder.
“Stay here, old friend,” he said. “Since you have left me, I have gained responsibility that I never thought I'd have. I'll explain everything when I get back.”
He was starting to feel overwhelmed by the tasks he had to do at the moment. Even explaining to Dorian what had happened to Reynolds and how Nathaniel and he had come to train Sienna seemed impossible. He wasn't even sure which door he wanted to exit the med bay.
“I'm coming with you,” Mariah said, taking Desmond's arm. “We'll figure all of this out together.”
He wanted to kiss her at the moment. He had never been so grateful for her companionship as in that moment.