"Bring It On"

At long last, I present to you the end of The Secret’s Captive!
****************
It was really late at night when they finished the meeting. The healer came back around midnight and shoved them out of Hillard’s room, tisking that the coronal needed his rest. Jonathan smirked as the coronal groaned. One thing Hillard was not known for was his willingness to do as the healers said.

The night was clear, though not quiet. There were a lot of moans coming from the barracks. Jon noted that Martin flinched as he glanced at the temporary hospital. He briefly wondered just how much Martin could feel of the people. Was he feeling their pain?

“Fred,” Martin suddenly said before they left the fort. “Could we talk? Privately?”

“Of course,” Jon said, a bit surprised by the request. He nodded toward the wall walk and they climbed the steps up to it. There were no sentries posted, since the danger was gone. Jon decided to walk for the east wall so they wouldn’t be looking over the new lava flow or the sudden town of tents on the north and west sides. They reached the middle of the wall when he stopped.

“No one should hear us here,” he said. “Now, what is it you’d like to talk about?”

Martin took a moment to answer, leaning against the wall and staring out over the town. Jon just waited, knowing that his son would soon tell him what was bothering him. Martin wasn’t one to beat a conversation around once he decided to have it.

“Terk told me why he kidnapped me.”

The king blinked, a bit surprised. He had been expecting Martin to voice his concerns about the volcano he just blew. “When?”

“Shortly after he killed Luke,” Martin said softly. “He said that Santers were magically connected to all the land, not just Aeterna. He said that no one should have that much power. He invaded Aeterna that first time just to get to me and block my powers.”

Jon blinked again. No one had really known the true reason why the Mad General had first invaded, the second was when one of the Aeternan ambassadors insulted the Venter King and he in turn ordered Terk to invade, though most people just thought that Terk wanted to make Aeterna pay for the last war he lost.

How would Terk know about Martin though, Jon wondered, thinking about it. He felt his stomach drop when he remembered an odd friendship his father had.

“Did Bert tell him about the Renewal Spell?”

Martin nodded. Jon quietly cursed his father. Although he loved Bert dearly, his father was known as a peacekeeper and hated confrontation. The old king believed in open communication between nations. Jon could only agree to a certain extent. He only needed to look at his son and what he had lived through to know that some things were better kept a secret.

“Terk said that no one should be able to affect the land like how Bert and I can,” Martin went on softly, his mask breaking to show fear underneath. He glanced briefly to the south, where some of the lava flow was still cooling. “I… I think he’s right.”

“No!” Jon snapped immediately. “He’s wrong! He should have never messed with Aeternan politics!”

“But,” Martin started to say when Jon cut him short with a wave of his hand.

“No, Martin,” he said sternly. “Terk is wrong. If he had studied more, he would have learned that the Seven Founders realized what potential they gave the Santers that they gave the Santers a way to control those powers.”

Martin frowned. “The Connections?”

Jon nodded. “You kept it with you, didn’t you?” His son flinched. “I guess not.”

“Why would the Connection help me?” Martin asked. “I’ve been able to do a lot of things without it.”

“Oh?” the king asked, raising an eyebrow. “Did you know that if you wear your Connection, you could keep the land from reacting when you get hurt?”

The prince blinked. “Really?”

“Yes,” Jon said. “As I understand it, the potential energy the land has once you’re hurt, if you wear your Connection, will be turned away from the land and help you heal.”

“So the Connections,” Martin said slowly.

“The Connections were created to help focus that power and to keep it in line,” the king finished for him. “That’s why I told you to keep it with you. You’re stumbling around with your powers. The Connection will keep you and the land safe as you learn.”

“But…” his son stumbled to say, “Terk told me that my grandfather visited him before I was born. He said that Bert sneezed and his mansion shook.”

Jon snorted. “Bert didn’t like his Connection. It was war medal and Bert hated anything that portrayed him as war-like. He wanted to be a peacekeeper. Usually his Connection was found in his closet in Nacre. If he had it, then that incidence wouldn’t have happened.”

“Are you sure?” Martin asked, doubtful.

“Martin,” Jon sighed, getting a bit frustrated. His son was so used to working hard that to have a simple solution seemed impossible. “You are the fourth Santer to have the Renewal Spell. And if we exclude your grandfather, then Aeterna has already survived two Renewal Spells. I’m sure we can survive you.”

Martin blinked at his harsh tone and didn’t answer. Instead he looked out over the town again, though his eyes didn’t focus on it. “You really think I can do this, Fred?” he asked softly. “Just because Aeterna has survived two…”

“I know you can do this,” the king said firmly, grabbing Martin’s shoulder and squeezing it. “I’ve never known you to not rise to a challenge.”

That finally got his son to smile. Chuckling softly, he bowed his head. “I’ve still got a long way to go before I’m really a prince, don’t I?”

“Yes,” Jon agreed, grinning. “But I’m going to push you until you are.”
**************
Art wanted to hound Marty with questions as soon as he came back, but he and the other Ghosts were fast asleep when the prince returned to their tent. The young Suit had a plan on waking up early and waking the Alex for answers. However, when he finally did wake up, Martin was already dressed for the day. If his uniform wasn’t clean, Art would have sworn that Martin hadn’t changed at all.

“So,” Art yawned, swinging his feet out of his bed and grinning at his father’s former apprentice. “A prince, huh? How’s that feel?” The other Ghosts were already awake. Why was it that he was always the last one up?

“Annoying so far,” Martin mumbled, feeling his chin. “I need to shave.” He gave Art a flat stare. “Would you please wait to tease me until after I shave?”

“Ah,” Art moaned dramatically. “I suppose I should…” He grinned again. “Is that an order, your highness?”

“Yes, if you keep this up,” Martin grumbled. Shaking his head, he searched for something in his pack and pulled a mirror, soap, and a razor out. Propping the mirror up on a box that was serving as their washtub, he started to lather the soap and rubbing it on his whiskers.

While he shaved, Art quickly changed from his smelly uniform into something that at least smelled fresher. Dixon, with no surprise, was already dressed for the day. He sat on his cot, absently shuffling his deck of cards, watching the prince shave. Art noticed the large Ghost’s hostile posture and cold stare. He knew exactly what was making Dixon tick. The black man hated those who jumped positions. Martin was only made a Ghost a week ago and he was to be their new leader when Dixon was the next one in line for promotion.

Dixon also hated nobles.

This is going to get interesting.

“You sure love your reflection, don’t you?” Dixon sneered after a while. Art glanced over, a bit surprised that Martin had taken his time shaving. “Sure takes you long enough to shave.”

Martin paused and turned to him, his expression unreadable. Suddenly he waved the Ghost over. “Come here.” When Dixon didn’t move, Martin waved again. “Just come here. I want you to see something.”

Rolling his eyes, Dixon stood up and grumbled as he walked over to the prince. “What?” he asked harshly. Oh, yes, things were going to heat up. Did Chief know about Dixon’s opinions of nobles?

Without saying a word, Martin turned the mirror to the large man, so he could see both of them in the mirror. Dixon gasped in surprise, his eyes widening as he took a step back. Martin snorted softly.

“I’d like to see how you would fair without a reflection,” he said, putting the mirror back and finished the last few strokes.

“What?” Art exclaimed, rushing over to the washtub. He had to elbow a space for himself between Clary and Irvin who also came to see what Martin meant. Sure enough, they saw the towel the prince was using to clean off his face, but not the prince himself.

“By the Seven Founders,” Art whispered, shocked. “How… when…”

Martin humped, putting the mirror down. “I lost my reflection when I didn’t believe I was the prince. That was about a year ago when I lost it.” He sighed, sitting on the edge of the box. “I had hoped that once I admitted I was the prince that I’d get it back, but I haven’t. I don’t know how I’m supposed to go about getting it back.”

“You lost your reflection?”

They turned to the tent door, General Chief standing there holding the canvas out of his way. He gave Martin a confused look. “Why didn’t you tell me you lost it?”

Martin shrugged. “I had other things on my mind.”

Chief thought about that answer then nodded slowly, stepping into their tent and letting the canvas fall back into place. “I suppose you have.”

“What can we do for you, Great Ghost Commander General?” Clary asked, grinning and shooting glances at the prince. “We to start his training?”

Chief raised an eyebrow. “All of you agree to help him then?”

Dixon sighed. “Yes,” he grumbled. “We decided last night that we would.” Art remembered that conversation. No one was going to back out to help their prince, not even Dixon though he hated nobles.

“Good,” Chief said, not looking surprised that all of them agreed. As he shouldn’t; a Ghost never shied away from their duty. “Martin. I want you to tell me what the weather is going to be.”

Even Martin looked confused at the request. “You want me to tell you the weather?” the prince asked.

“Yes,” the general huffed. “You’ve done enough with the weather. I seem to recall that you were so depressed after Luke’s death that it was overcast for a while.”

“Wait,” Art cut in, spinning around to the flinching prince. “You mean to say that Marty made it overcast all that time?” The prince stared down at his feet, looking ashamed.

“It also rains when he’s poisoned with Nightmare Dust,” Chief added dryly. “So, as I said, you’ve done enough tampering with the weather. Surely you can tell me what it is going to be like.”

Sighing, Martin closed his eyes. Art supposed he was searching for something; the prince had done the same thing when he made that vein of lava burst up.

“You’re forgetting your Connection,” Chief interrupted. Martin opened his eyes and glared at the general. But he walked to his cot, searched in his pack again, pulled out a glove, and put it on.

“Whoa,” Clary said, rubbing his chest. “Did anyone else feel that?”

Art too was rubbing his chest, as well as Irvin and Dixon. “Yeah,” he said, frowning. It felt like something had clicked into place when Martin put that glove on.

“It’s another aspect of the Connections,” Chief explained. “Only a Santer can have Connections. When he wears it, no one can dispute that he’s a Santer.”

“That’s good to know,” Martin grumbled. “Then when I do go to Nacre, I won’t have to fight to tell people that I’m not lying.”

“A benefit in your direction,” Chief agreed. “The weather?”

Martin didn’t close his eyes this time, looking a bit perplexed. “It’s going to be an early winter,” he said slowly after a minute. “Not harsh, but early.”

“Good,” Chief said, grinning. “I want all of you to pack your bags and we’ll move out after lunch.” He started to leave.

“Move out where?” Irvin asked.

The general paused, turned back to them, and grinned. “An isolated place where we’re going to teach our prince.”
*************
There was already a half foot of snow on the ground when they finally reached their destination. Martin gazed up the wall of the old castle as snow fell on his face, wondering how Fred even knew it was there.

“When was the last time this was used?” he asked, glancing over at the general. Fred was busy digging enough snow out of the way so they could open the front gate.

“At least three decades,” Fred grunted, handing the shove to Irvin who had been helping him. He tugged on the door until it opened wide enough for a horse and his rider could squeeze through. “It used to be King Bert’s favorite retreat during the summer, back before his wife died.” The general grabbed the reigns of his horse and lead it inside, followed by Irvin and his horse. Martin turned to the others, holding in a groan as the three Ghosts grinned at him and motioned that he should go in first.

Clicking his Rowan into motion, Martin rode into the old castle. Brushing snow off his shoulder, he did a quick sweep glance of the interior. They were in the stable, as much as he could tell, though it was covered in dirt and cobwebs.

“We’ll only be using the ground floor,” Fred was saying, closing the door after Art led in the pack animals. They had traveled through another small town to get to the old castle and Fred bought supplies to last for a few weeks, assuring them that he would get more when they needed it.

“Looks homey,” Clary yawned, dismounting. “I hope there aren’t any animals living here.” He eyed Martin expectantly. The prince sighed and quickly opened his mind to the castle.

“A family of raccoons in the attic,” he said. “I think we’ll be safe as long as we stay down here.”

“That’s what I said,” Fred humped. “Now, we have all got to work together to get this place inhabitable. Dixon and Clary, I want you two stable the horses and take our supplies in. Irvin, I would like you to search around for some wood. If you don’t find any, you’ll need to go out and chop some.”

“Great,” Irvin said, slumping off to his task. “Just what I always wanted to do as a Ghost. Wood gatherer.”

“It’s better than the job I’m going to give Art and Martin,” Fred said grinning.

“And we are doing what?” Art asked, frowning.

“Cleaning,” Fred chuckled. “We’ll stay in the servant’s quarters here, so we’ll need rooms swept out, the kitchen washed, and a common room for us to gather. Got that?”

“And what will you be doing?” Dixon asked, already unloading the pack animals of their burden.

“I’m going to get the fire started in the kitchen as soon as Irvin finds some wood,” Fred said. “And cook something to eat. We’ll take turns cooking during our stay. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Good,” Fred snorted. “Now, off to your jobs!”

Martin and Art went in search of brooms and rags. They found the cleaning closet outside the kitchen.

“Look at this,” Art said distastefully as he carefully picked out a broom from the cobwebs. “We’d be better off cleaning with our old clothes.”

“Then let’s use our old clothes to clean these,” Martin suggested. With another trip to the stable, they borrowed an old shirt from Clary and cleaned off the brooms before sweeping out the rooms. They decided that there were enough rooms for everyone to have their own. They were half way done sweeping when Art started complaining.

“I forgot how much hard work it is to sweep,” he groaned, rubbing the sweat from his forehead. “And the cobwebs aren’t making it easier.”

“Fred did say he wanted to train me in isolation,” Martin said, though he did agree with Art. It was hard work. He looked around the hall where their rooms were to be. The rooms were close to the kitchen and a large room with chairs also nearby. Martin supposed the room used to be a dinning room for servants, though the broken chairs and tables were beyond use now.

Art quickly glanced around the hall then leaned in close. “Do you suppose… You know… Use your powers to do our cleaning for us?”

“I don’t think I should use my powers that way,” Martin pointed out. He hesitated as he glanced into the next room to be cleaned, flinching a bit at the debris that was in it.

“I know you want to,” Art singed.

“Not a word?” he asked the Ghost.

Art grinned. “Not a word! Let’s see how much cleaning you can get done.”

Martin glanced again down the hall where the kitchen was, noting the soft glow coming from it. Apparently Irvin found some firewood and Fred was cooking a late lunch. Clary and Dixon were still in the stables. Taking a deep breath, he focused on the next room.

I’ve made a volcano go off, surely I can clean a simple room.

WHOOSH!

Martin and Art were thrown back as the wall of dirt and debris hit them and crashed into the wall. He was busy rubbing the dirt from his face when he heard hard soled boots as the others ran to see what had happened.

Great. I’m in trouble.

“What happened?” Irvin asked, helping him to his feet.

“Well,” Art coughed, Dixon helping him up, “I…”

“You suggested that Martin use his powers to clean the rooms?” Fred accurately guessed, his tone a bit too soft to be amused. Martin looked down at his feet, feeling a bit foolish and ashamed.

The general sighed. “Wash up, we’ll eat, and then we’ll start your training.” He turned to go back to the kitchen when he paused and faced them again. “Oh, and no more experimenting like that, alright? We don’t need any more to clean up.”

The late lunch was quiet as they ate, though the snickering that was coming from the other Ghosts made Martin feel more ashamed. He really shouldn’t have tried to use his powers to clean.

“You’re right,” whispered the Spirit, also sounding amused. “You shouldn’t use it to clean.” It paused and Martin got the impression of a grin. “It was funny to watch though.”

Thanks.

Once they put their dishes away, Fred directed them outside. In the time they spent in the old castle it had snowed another couple of inches. Martin stomped on the snow, creating a flat space to stand. For some reason, the general wanted him to stay standing here for whatever this lesson was.

“Alright,” Fred said, positioning the other Ghosts in a circle around him. “This is how it is going to work. Martin will stand in the middle and the rest of you….”

Martin was busy blowing on his fingers to keep them warm …

Splat!

Whipping around, he saw Fred grinning. “What was that?” Martin demanded to know as he quickly brushed the snow off the back of his neck, shivering as a bit of snow melted down his back.

“The rest of you,” Fred finished, grinning wickedly, “will throw snowballs at Martin.”

“What?” the prince started to ask, shocked, when another snowball hit him from behind. Yelping, he spun around to see Clary also grinning.

“Let me get this straight,” Art was saying, slowly smirking. “We have permission to hit our prince with snowballs?”

“Yes,” Fred chuckled. “And I don’t mean just for this exercise. Unless he’s asleep, you can throw as many snowballs as you want at him. Meal times, chores, other lessons, anytime. In fact, I want you to sneak as many snowballs at him as possible.”

“Why?” Martin asked, ducking as Irvin threw his snowball. “What’s the point of this?”

“You need to learn control and precision,” Fred explained. “Just because you are powerful doesn’t mean you should use all of it at once. Sometimes a gentle nudge is all you need. The point of this exercise is for you to be mindful of your surroundings at all times and then react in a proper manner. Such as directing the snowballs to miss you. Once you get better you can try to send the snowball back to its owner.”

Martin wanted to curse the exercise but he was too busy dodging the snowballs the Ghosts were throwing at him. They showed no mercy, a good half of the snowballs hitting him even as he tried to get away.

“So what will it be, Martin Santer?” Fred asked loudly, his tone mocking and challenging. “Are you going to sit back and let yourself be taken advantage of?” Martin brought his hands up just in time to protect his face from an incoming snowball.

“Are you going to let mere snowballs hit you?” He tried to focus his power on the snowballs but there were too many.

“Are you going to be a prince or a mere puppet of one?” He finally managed to stop one only to have another hit him on the side of his head.

“Or are you going to take charge of your life?” A snowball hit him on his lower leg, the snow sliding down into his boot.

“Are you going to show everyone that you are not someone to be pushed around?” Another snowball hit him on the back of his head.

“Well, Martin Santer? What is it going to be?”

Martin had enough. He threw his arms out, the power painfully leaving his fingers, freezing the Ghosts in place and the snowballs in midair. He glanced up, seeing Fred’s smug expression and meeting his proud gaze. Martin finally returned the grin.

“I accept your challenge,” he said, determined to beat this. “Bring it on.”

The End of The Secret’s Captive
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Next week, the beginning of the last book of Martin’s story. Aeterna’s Heir. Until then, enjoy the journey!