Gathering Storm (38 page)

“You would also
not have ended up sitting out the battle in a freezing kennel with
no air
while the women and
children
WERE BUSY DOING YOUR
JOB, WHICH WAS TO DEFEND THIS BLACK SWAN UNIT!”

The badass members of Z Team
visibly winced at that and had enough sensibility left to look
appropriately embarrassed.

“
Are you able to
follow all that?”

Gunnar, Torn, and
Raif were wearing expressions that looked more
thoughtful than belligerent. Storm took the fact
that the smirks were gone from their faces as a sign that there
might be something worth saving in there.

Finngarick
, who was the
actual de facto leader of Z Team, looked at his teammates, cleared
his throat. Quietly and respectfully, he said, “Aye, Sir Storm. We
are followin’.”

“Good.
I’ll
plan to see you at the
funeral and the honors ceremony, dressed like knights and not
riffraff. You’re dismissed.”

The three looked shaken as they
left the Chamber which Storm took as somewhat encouraging.

With The Order’s maintenance and
construction crews working round the clock, the facility was
miraculously put back to rights in time for the funeral.

Farnsworth
walked into Operations looking like hell, but insisting that no one
else could possibly handle all the details of making the
arrangements and gearing up for a horde of guests to descend on
Jefferson Unit, all expecting to be fed and quartered. No one could
argue with that because she was right. She alerted Simon to the
fact that J.U. would need some of its support staff temporarily
returned to accommodate

There was a
Veterans Memorial Cemetery at Fort Dixon and Farnsworth wanted him
to be buried there. She said it was fitting because of the way he
felt about Jefferson Unit and the way he loved his job. Since he
didn’t have family
that he was
close to, there was no one to disagree. Simon made arrangements
with a few well-placed phone calls.

While it can’t be
denied that sadness and loss are part of funereal rites, it is also
a celebration of a person and the life they led, a statement of how
they mattered and to whom.
Baka
and Simon flew in along with dozens of knights, who had been under
Sol’s command at some time or another, representing nearly every
Black Swan unit in the world. The rising bustle in Jefferson Unit
encouraged an optimistic sense of continuity.

Knights who had
trained together as teenagers or served together as knights were
reunited with whoops and hugs
,
chest bumps, or punishing slaps on the back. The cause for coming
together was somber. Nonetheless, laughter often rang out and
echoed throughout the renovated Hub that still smelled like paint
and new lumber . The Mess was lively and crowded and reminded Elora
of the first time she’d seen it, when there were so many people
stationed at Jefferson Unit that they had to eat in
shifts.

The day of the
funeral was cloudy and cool. Elora thought that was somehow
fitting. Rain would make emotions hard to control. Sun would feel
like mourners were being mocked with the fact that life does go on
without the one being laid to rest.

Except for
Hawking and
Finngarick, the
knights all wore dark suits. The two elves wore tribal dress kilts,
Ram in Blackwatch Tartan, Torn in McElvoy hunting plaid. The entire
ceremony took place at graveside. Simon and Storm stood on either
side of Farnsworth looking every bit as grim as the lover who was
left behind.

Ram held Helm,
who never made a sound as if he understood the solemnity
of the occasion. Careful to make sure
that Ram and Helm were on the side of the uninjured shoulder, Elora
reached out, took Helm’s hand, and kissed his little fingers. She’d
missed holding him so much, but injured shoulders don’t heal fast
in close proximity to hooligan baby boys.

When Elora
looked back at the service in progress, she noted that the dates on
the head stone indicated Sol had been fifty-three. He kept himself
in such good shape she would have guessed younger. She was sure
there were a treasure trove of stories that had died with him and
she felt a rush of sorrow about that. She wished those stories had
been recorded somewhere so they hadn’t been lost.

No one knew who
was going to take over the Sovereign office at Jefferson, or even
whether Jefferson needed a Sovereign since
it was no longer an active hunter unit. Glen had
declined. Storm said something along the lines of “not for all the
tea in China”. But that was a worry for another day.

The honors
ceremony Elora had planned was scheduled for the following night
after dinner. Knights were expected to wear their dress uniforms,
which consisted of black sileather pants, black combat boots, black
tees either sleeveless or long sleeved and sashes that identified
them as belonging to a particular team. Those that had medals or
ribbons wore them pinned to the sashes. They were an incredibly
handsome gathering that the mundane world would never know about,
much less see, and the air buzzed with the combined energy of
powerful second sons.

Normally only
knights and
, occasionally,
knights-to-be were invited to such ceremonies, but two guests were
included. One was Baka, whose service to The Order, as vampire and
man, was unquestioned. As Storm had often said, “He may not be a
knight, but he should have been.” He sat on the first tier with B
Team. The other was Blackie, who had once been intended to be the
Black Swan mascot. He wore a kerchief in Blackwatch tartan, looked
magnificent, and made Elora proud enough to bust buttons with his
beauty and impeccable behavior. Like Baka, he sat on the first tier
with B Team, but on the other side because the ex-vamp’s presence
rubbed his ruff the wrong way.

The mood at
Jefferson was particularly chaotic
, partly because the trainees had been invited to attend and
couldn’t completely contain either their giddiness or their
immaturity.

At the appointed
hour the knights filed in.
The
gas torches were lit to complement the ambient lighting and remind
those present that the modern organization had roots in past times.
The first thing everyone noticed was the huge Black Swan banner
hung high on the wall opposite the main entrance. Eyes drifted up,
took it in and knew that The Chamber was a special
place.

The trainees,
wide eyed, but trying to hide it with a show of nonchalance, were
shown to a section that had been roped off for them. The only ones
not sitting with the group were Glen, because he was Acting
Sovereign, Barrock, who was assisting Elora, and Link, who had been
assigned to push Sir Fennimore’s wheelchair.

Fenn
was far from recovered, but given the
extent of his injuries, it was astonishing that he’d been released
from the hospital so soon. It was either a testament to great
conditioning and nutrition or to youth and stubbornness. Still, the
prognosis indicated a lot of painful physical therapy in his
future. Fortunately, he knew a nurse who was willing to make the
effort, both constant and personal. Whether or not he would be able
to return to active duty was yet to be seen.

When everyone
was inside, Elora came forward. She was wearing the dress uniform
with a long sleeved tee. Her sash had been refashioned as a sling
to keep her shoulder immobile. The side of her face was still
bandaged, but no one there thought she was less beautiful because
of it.

She stood still
waiting for everyone to settle and qu
iet before she spoke. The acoustics of the Chamber had been
designed so beautifully that voice amplification wasn’t
needed.

“Undoubtedly
there are those here who knew Sol better than I. There are knights
here who served under him. There is at least one
knight who served with him.” At that,
some of those who were close to Sol turned to look at Simon for his
reaction. “Still, he had a powerful impact on my introduction to
this world. In fact, the first time I encountered him was in this
very room.” Storm, Ram, and Kay glanced at each other in a shared
moment of camaraderie as the memory flitted by.

“
I’m sure you’ve
all noticed the veiled frame. This is part of Sol’s
memorial.”

She nodded to
Barrock.
He pulled the edge of
the cream silk that covered the rectangle hanging on the east wall.
The tarp floated downward to the sound of collective gasps and
murmurs. Those who had never been to the Hall of Heroes couldn’t
know that the portrait matched those in the hallowed vault in
Edinburgh, which meant that it was a full length portrait, about
eight feet tall. Larger than life as was befitting one of the Black
Swan heroes. Elora had prevailed on Simon to have the current
artist in service to The Order do a portrait of Sol quickly enough
to present at the event.

The subject was
set against a dark background, black with swaths of brown,
reminiscent of Dutch masters. The artist had been given a photo of
a young Sol in a brown leather bomber jacket and faded jeans
looking supremely capable and ready for anything. It was arresting
partly because of Sol’s youthful beauty and stark masculinity, but
also because some of the force of his personality had been captured
on the canvas. The painting was nothing less than a masterpiece and
Elora could hardly wait until the ceremony was over so that she
could bring Farnsworth in to see it.

The silence
brought on by the stunning recreation was replaced with
polite applause.

When the room
quieted, Elora said, “The second part of tonight’s ceremony is
about honors.”

Apparently that
was a cue because
Link unlocked
Sir Fennimore’s wheelchair and pushed it around Elora to the rear
before he brought it to a stop with Fenn facing the
congregation.

“You’ve probably
heard that Jefferson Unit was attacked with only two active
knights, Sir Fennimore and myself, defending against twenty
assailants.” She looked at Z Team as she said that. They lowered
their eyes or looked away.

Elora
looked
pointedly at the section
where the trainees sat.

“
I need Rolfe Wakenmann and Kristoph Falcon to come down
here and stand with me.”

A grin quickly
replaced surprise on
Wakey’s
face. Kris paled, looking like a severe case of stage fright, but
with urging, he managed to stand and follow Wakey. When they
reached Elora, she beamed at them before continuing to address the
gathering.

“First let me
say that, during the attack on Jefferson Unit, all of the trainees
responded to the crisis like the knights they will be someday. But
I’ve been given permission to honor two of my students, Rolfe
Wakenmann and Kristoph Falcon, who demonstrated exceptional courage
under fire. Since they saved my life, repeatedly, and survived,
I’ve decided to waive disciplinary action for disobeying my
orders.”

There was a brief eruption of
muted laughter.

“
The story
doesn’t end there. In an effort to emulate Sol’s style of creating
punishments for trainees that befit the crimes, Acting Sovereign
Catch assigned these two the task of learning to fly Whisters in
their off time as penalty for stowing away.

“On the night of
the attack, our only casualties were the two Whister pilots on
duty. When the conflict was over, all believed that Sir Fennimore
was mortally wounded. These two, however, flew the Whister that
took him to emergency surgery and saved his life as well. That is
why he has the honor of bestowing these commendations.

“At the
direction of The Council, for the first time in Black Swan history,
two trainees are being cited for bravery and the medal they are
receiving is the Solomon Nemamiah Medal of Honor.”

Barrock came
forward w
ith two medallions
attached to large loops of wide green and black striped satin
ribbon. He handed them to Sir Fennimore.

“Rolfe
Wakenmann.” He looked at Elora. She motioned him toward Fenn. Wakey
bent down so that Fennimore could loop the medal over his head.
Wakey said thank you, immediately grasping the medal to look at it
as he stood. “Do you have anything to say to the assembly of
knights?”

Still holding
his medal, Wakey looked the crowd over. He grinned, looking a
little goofy, and said, “Cool,” which prompted a round of
good-natured laughter.

“Kristoph
Falcon.” For a moment it looked like
Kris was glued to the flagstone floor. Elora leaned over and
whispered, “Kris. Go get your medal from Sir Fennimore.”

The hazy look in
Kris’s eyes cleared a little. He walked toward Fenn woodenly and
bent down to accept his medal. Like Wakey, he was compelled to grip
the precious round seal and hold it so that he could look at it up
close.

“
Kris, would you
like to say something to the assembly of knights?”

Kris
did want to say something memorable. He
would have loved it. At that moment he would have sold his soul for
spontaneous eloquence.