The Ghost of Vermil-Chapter 35: Marco XIX

Marco was in Power Strengthening when a tiny little bird made of holy energy fluttered through the door and floated over to him. It circled above his head and pecked at his ear as though it could siphon nectar from him.

Professor Mallory, he thought.

"May I excuse myself, Professor?"

Turington cast him a dismissive look. He knew from whom the Beaconing Spirit came from; after all, the spirit's form was unique to an individual. "You may."

I hope this isn't one of her japes. Marco followed the golden spirit out of the auditoriums. But it did not lead him to the professor's chamber. When he realized where he was headed, he felt an ominous feeling pit in his stomach. Not again.

It seemed like one of his worst fears had come true the second he saw him lying in the infirmary. His ocean-blue eyes stared heavenward. Unseeing. Unfeeling. His breaths came in gasps as if anytime they would utterly leave him to die.

A noble lad he remembered to be Apple's friend was by his side, answering Sister Lily's questions. Seeing him up close, he recognized him from somewhere else. He met him before but not inside Demach.

"Lord Vermilon," the Sister acknowledged him, eyeing the hummingbird that hovered above the stock-still figure of Lucas, "How may I be of help?"

"I've come for him. May I ask what happened?"

The noble regarded him curiously. He said, "He was undergoing the Energy Perception Test in the House of Rules. His team failed. We found him unresponsive just as he is now."

Did Diana make a move again? Inside Demach? He would not dismiss the possibility of it yet.

Marco bowed to him in gratitude, "I believe it was you who brought him. Thank you for taking care of him thus far. I shall take it from here. If it is not too much to ask, can you leave us for a moment?"

As the door closed behind them, Marco simply stared down at his brother, at a loss of what he was supposed to do. Whenever Lucas entered a daze, he usually snapped back by himself. The last time it happened, they were in the Ashwood Forest. Lucas's carriage was ambushed. Fear or panic must have been the trigger. He could be extremely calm most of the time but when his wall of placidity broke, he would gaze lifelessly in the air. Marco wondered if it was his way of dealing with his dilemmas. A way of escape.

He remembered Lucas responded to his touch then. So, in that quiet infirmary hall, he tapped him awake, mouthing, "Lucas..."

His brother blinked with a sudden gasp. Then he clutched his chest as he sat up, retching dryly.

"Lucas, it's me."

His brother turned to him, tears lining his eyes. When they were children, Lucas used to weep every day, never getting his way in anything. But when the incident opened a rift between them, Marco had not seen him cry often. In fact, he had not seen him often at all. Even now, he seldom cried, putting on a stoic front. So, Marco found it strange to see him in tears. What could have happened to him? Where did his soul wander off to?

"You were in a trance," Marco uttered softly.

He kept sobbing, breathing between hiccups as he wiped his tears with the back of his unbandaged hand.

"What happened in the Test? You lost consciousness."

His brother simply wagged his head, unable to form words amidst the spell of hiccups that wracked him. Marco poured water into a glass from a pitcher the Sister had left, but his brother refused it.

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He pulled a chair close and sat there quietly instead, until Lucas's fit had subsided. He looked so fragile, he thought. With his back bent over as he was consumed by his emotions — fear, sorrow, whatever they were — Marco could not help wondering how his brother could be so capable of hurting others. The Ghost of Vermil, they called him. If he were a ghost, he would not have been a fearsome one. Not when he was unable to stop himself from bawling like a child.

It took a while before Lucas's tearful spasm quieted down. He inhaled deeply, burying his face into the linen sheet.

Is he embarrassed? Marco brought up his question once more, "Lucas, please tell me what happened in the Test? Did someone try to hurt you again?"

He rocked his head. Marco could not tell if it meant no, or he simply refused to speak.

"I want to help you. This is not the first time you entered a daze, Lucas. What kind of room was it?"

He sniffled. "I want to rest."

Marco clenched his fist on his lap. He doesn't trust me. I cannot blame him, yet still... "Lucas, I want to help you? One day you might enter a trance and not wake from it. Please, let me know how I can help."

Lucas shifted, pulling the blanket over him and lying on his side to face away from him.

In less than a moon's turn, Lucas had fallen into a handful of grave predicaments, all of them out of Marco's influence. I can't always be by your side. What happens if you are harmed beyond cure? What if you hurt them in unforgivable ways?

There were still many unresolved mysteries hounding Lucas. And now Marco thought that so long as they remained in the dark, there was no reprieve from dread, for him or his brother. Tomorrow and the days after, Marco's fears would linger, and Lucas's innocence or guilt would continue to hang on his reputation and the strangers' perception of him. Tomorrow, the Ruperts might act and Marco, no matter how powerful he was, might be powerless to stop them. Sometimes, he grew weary of his apprehensions. Yet he steeled himself for it was ultimately his own decision to drag Lucas out into the world.

Exhaustion pulled Marco's shoulder into a droop. He was tired of Lucas's unrelentless evasion of the truth. So many things about him warranted scrutiny.

The shadow in his room.

His unknown companion.

And his blatant distrust toward him.

"Why do you hide things from me, brother? I brought you here. You know that I only want to help you. So, talk to me. Please!"

Lucas pulled the blanket tighter and muttered, "I'm tired. I want to sleep."

Something snapped inside Marco. He took a deep breath and let his words flow out, "No. This time, I want you to tell me what exactly happened to you. Do you have any inkling how shocking it is to find you lying unconscious in here? A few days ago, you were in the Delta when I clearly asked you to stay in Demach. And I did not dig further into it because it's not my desire to aggravate your pain. The Ruperts wanted retribution for a crime they accused you of doing. They almost succeeded, if not for Catherine. Now, you fainted while undergoing a Test. But you do not want to tell me what in god's name happened in there. Am I supposed to rest at ease knowing you could've died? Every time... every time I ask you, you turn away. You say you're tired. You want to rest. I can't accept it anymore. Even a simple word, one simple honest truth would satisfy me, Lucas. Tell me about the burdens you carry, so that you can share some of its weight with me. I know I was too distant for the better part of your childhood, that is why I direly aim to make up for it. I know you don't trust me for you know I have been distrustful of you too. I brought you before three inspectors from the Force. I know you've hurt me. In my imprudence, I've hurt you too..." His voice cracked.

"All these years, Gallagher has regarded you in a bad light. They don't spit it in your face, but they call you an abomination, Lucas. Mother does. The Earl does. The whole of Gallagher knows you as the Ghost of Vermil. They don't even know your name. They regard you a menace, and even worse, a demon. And I do not believe them, I don't. But lately, your silence and dishonesty has sown doubts in my head, brother. Doubts that I brush off every time, because it is only I who have known you the longest. I have known you the deepest. I know how anger twists your face, I know how kindness softens it. Yet, you cannot trust me, even for just a bit. I sent my friend to watch over you and in doing so, she nearly got hurt. In the Ashwood Forest, soldiers of House Vermilon had died for you, Lucas. Conveniently, you can't remember. I do. Do their absurd claims about you have any grain of truth to them at all? Is Mother right about you? Face me even just for a second, Lucas. Just out of your love for me, face me and dispel my doubts."

Marco caught his own breath, panting. He realized he was trembling. To his frustration, Lucas kept his silence, stirring under the sheets in discomfort but continued to face the wall. Like a child.

"You have not grown," Marco told him in outright candidness, "In your reclusion, inside that miserable granary room you made a home of, you have stayed a child. I am perfectly aware it's not solely your fault. Perhaps it's too late but I apologize in Grandfather's stead. Forgive him, Lucas. Forgive our House. He had good reason, but it was unfair to a little boy like you. What you needed was care and discipline but you were afforded banishment and more rejection. And I, I drifted away." And so easily, he thought. I've abandoned you so easily.

"You disappeared, Lucas. After you've left your mark, after you've let out your rage on me, you vanished. I could not even tell what place you escaped to." I did not look for you then. At that time, I was inclined to believing Mother's words.

"Were you scared of being severely punished for it? But you ought to know, that although you've left a wound on me, I never meant you harm. You were my little brother, and now even as you turn your back on me, you still are. I have to be honest, I detested you for a while. The wound hurt, Lucas. And even more hurtful than that was the fact you brandished a blade at me. I was in shock. Nevertheless, all that is in the past now. All that are left are scars and a family that seeks justice for their own little boy. I want to shield you from them. All I want to know is if their accusation has truth to it. As the future Earl of Gallagher, their liege, I ought to pay their grievances some respect. But before that, I am your brother, and your sole ally. It falls upon me to look after you. And I, I swear it upon my life, I would not let them take you. But Lucas..., I cannot deny them reconciliation altogether, and I'm not always there to protect you. I need you to make peace with them Lucas..."

His brother made no effort to show that he was listening. All of Marco's outpouring entreaty might have instead lulled him to sleep rather than spurring him to make up for his past.

"I will not give up on you so easily, brother. You may hate me for it, but I'll keep on pestering you until you grow tired of me and spill out all that troubles you. Rest for now, then."

Marco slumped on his chair, heart heavy with resolve. Yet, he felt lighter somehow. He opened a book that he tried to read but his gaze drifted back to Lucas's figure.

* * * * *

Apple had visited, but she left while Lucas was still sleeping.

If Apple already knew, then it's only a matter of time before the whole Academy learns of his reputation.

Marco harboured little confidence in Apple but the last thing he wanted was worse images forming in her head. He wanted to ask what else Lady Rupert had told her but he did not want to unnecessarily stir up her curiosity on more of Lucas's infamous atrocities in Gallagher. If she got wind of their accusation of Lucas as Father Pietro's murderer, she would instantly regard him a demon or a heretic worshipping one.

He told her about Lucas's relationship with Rupert, though, for as his first friend in the Capital, she deserved to be cautioned. If she walked away, then it would all be for the better, for her and Lucas both. If she stayed, then she ought to face the ugly side of him as well.

Sister Lily came in, carrying dinner for Lucas. "Shall I leave this here?"

"Thank you, Sister Lily. May I entrust him in your care for a moment, I would have my dinner at the Concord."

"Well, it is my pleasure. But may I ask, my lord, what your relationship is to him?"

He regarded Lucas's pale complexion that nearly mirrored his own face, and the stark golden hair that outbrightened his. "I am his only family."

The Concord filled with the mouth-watering smell of meat pies and the raucous chattering of Ordination scholars. Despite feeling hungry, he steered away from the direction of the banquet where they gathered and scanned the room, searching for a fourth-year student who bore the number 2 on the badge on his chest.

It was easy to spot him for his boisterous laughter rang in one corner. Eritch Corlissen — the fifth heir to the viscounty of Ochre Pass that bordered Torinto along the Darkseed Mountains. Marco had only one particular need from him.

It belonged to the Corlissens — the artifact called Quill of Melancholy and Longing. I need to know if that person is alive or dead.