DESTINY CALLS
Reno, NV - August 1980
The meeting with John Kavanaugh happened as planned. The band showed up on time, eager to hear what the man had in mind. John immediately laid out what he was interested in doing for them. He was looking to manage them, to help them successfully navigate the industry, and to ensure that they received the pay and compensation their talent deserved.
"You boys have talent," he told them, "Incredible talent that I really feel will take you very far. You need someone who can help you to achieve your goals as a band. I would like to be a part of the rise of Battle Cry, and I really think I can help you rise to the level you are wanting. But of course, the choice is yours."
It was an easy decision. John laid out his plans cleanly and with genuine respect to each band member. It was a solid management deal that was proposed, and all five of them certainly knew there was no way they'd be able to manage themselves well. It only took a simple look and the nodding of heads to confirm their decision.
"Where do we sign?" Connor asked with a smile.
John smiled widely at them and said, "I'll have Linda bring in the paperwork for you to look over and sign. Thank you for trusting me to manage you boys. I'm excited for the opportunity to help you."
Talks of upcoming shows in Southern Nevada and California, as well as the kind of venues dominated conversations with their new manager, but so did transportation of the band to these gigs. John felt it would be helpful for them to have a tour bus, and he knew a guy that had one and would gladly work for them as their driver. It was an exciting new development, and one that made them all feel a little bit more professional.
The bus smelled like diesel, coffee, and the wonderful stench of old vinyl warmed by the sun. A converted 1950's coach with cracked seats, rattling panels, and an engine that didn't so much start as agree to move. Dave Gipsen called it reliable. Dave also believed duct tape had feelings.
Jace liked it, and Dave, immediately.
Things seemed to move fast after this.
July 1981
Months of solid touring in Nevada and California made them into a band that commanded attention, which led to bigger venues, more fans, more money, more visibility, and more requests for their own original music. A loyal following of fans began to follow Battle Cry from gig to gig, some just fans of the music, others much more devoted and hands on, which Connor was more than enthused by.
At a show in Sacramento, it was determined that Connor needed his own dressing room, separate from the rest of the band. It was mostly because his vocal exercises were incredibly annoying, and made Ricky complain too much. Connor was fine with this arrangement, using it as intended... and also not as intended. One specific woman, who had been taunting Connor from the front row by flashing her breasts at him frequently during previous gigs, found a way to get backstage, where she happened to find Connor alone in his dressing room, walked in, closed the door and locked it. For the next hour, the noises coming from behind Connor's door had nothing to do with vocal exercises.
It took Jace pounding on Connor's dressing room door to break up the personal orgy.
"Connor... save some for tomorrow, dude. Dave says we leave in an hour!"
He wasn't sure, but he thought he'd heard Connor moan, "Okay!"
Most of the band loaded onto the bus under a midnight sky, heading south for the next show. Santa Monica. Another room. Another test.
Connor stood outside the bus, bags stowed, locked in a lingering kiss with the same woman who’d cornered him in the dressing room, entirely unhurried. He was blatantly making a show of his amorous talents and allowing her hands to travel all over him as he fondled her right back. It was an impressively disgusting display of perversion.
Inside the bus, Ricky whispered loudly, "Do we have water?"
"Yes," Erik said.
"Rubber bands?"
"We have bungee cords somewhere," Erik replied, "Dave threatened to use them to strap you to the top of the bus when you farted in the cab, remember?"
"Oh...yeah," Ricky recalled fondly, moving on to the next item required in his list.
"Balloons?"
"We have a box of condoms in the bathroom," Jace calmly suggested.
Nathan didn't look up. "Jace...don't help them..."
Too late.
Ricky darted to the bus bathroom to retrieve the condoms while Erik almost gleefully fished out bungee cords.
"Why must you always encourage the boys, June?" Nathan joked sarcastically.
Jace only snickered and replied, "Because you've been too hard on the Beaver, Ward."
Nathan groaned and threw a couple wadded up pieces of paper and an empty coffee cup at him in response. Jace ducked and batted them back, laughing and swatting Nathan with a throw pillow.
Erik and Ricky rigged the bungee sling between an open bus window, filled a condom from the water jug, and stretched it back as far as they could without risking it hitting inside of the window.
Dave leaned out the cab into the aisle. "Whatever you boys are about to do, do it fast. We gotta go!"
Jace and Nathan watched out another window at the crowd of partiers and their own lecherous young lead singer with his conquest. Connor kissed her again, deliberately slow and hot. It was almost embarrassing to watch, but it was about to cease being that way. Nathan quietly counted down.
"Counting down to "Operation Soak The Persian Slut" in 3...2...1..."
"Now!" Jace hissed.
The water condom smacked into Connor's upper back and exploded. The groupie shrieked and hopped backwards with laughter as Connor just stood there, soaked, shaking himself off, turning to look back at the tour bus with a smirk.
From inside the bus came pandemonium. All four of them cheered loudly and cackled with absolute joy at their successful attack, pumping their fists and high fiving in total triumph. It was enough to make anyone within earshot sink to their knees in laughter. But Ricky wasn't finished.
"CONNOR YOU IGNORANT SLUT!" Ricky yelled, committing fully to the cadence.
"GET YER ASS ON THE BUS, BRAYDEE!!" Erik bellowed.
Groans. Cheers. Applause. Connor bowed theatrically to the party goers, kissed his tight-shirted sexual companion once more for emphasis, then jogged aboard, dripping and triumphant.
Dave shut the door after he scrambled aboard.
"That's the last free shower you're gettin' today, son," he said, pulling the bus into gear.
The rooms had changed after that. Men in jackets near the back, pretending not to care. Promoters asking questions that weren't about set length or drink tickets.
September 1981
John and Linda didn't announce any of it. They didn't dramatize it. They worked the phones the way people did when they knew momentum was fragile and timing mattered more than excitement.
When John finally sat them down, it wasn't in an office.
It was on the bus, parked and quiet, engine off, the late-afternoon sun warming the windows.
"Two offers," John said simply.
That got everyone's attention.
He laid it out carefully. A major label with a proven metal roster, serious money, distribution, radio, and tour support. The kind of deal that could turn a band into a name before they fully understood what had happened.
And then the other.
Smaller. Independent. Built around hard rock and metal. Less money up front. More patience. More say.
"Both are real," John said. "Both want you. And both will ask something in return."
Connor leaned forward, excitement flashing. "The big one gets us there faster, but the small one gives us more creative freedom."
"Faster isn't the same as better," Nathan said quietly, "and I don't like the idea of a label editing our music."
Ricky chewed on that. Erik sat back, arms crossed, thoughtful. Jace listened, hands folded, saying nothing.
Linda spoke. "You don't have to decide today. But you should decide knowing who you are, not who they want you to be."
John allowed them to discuss privately. They discussed it in the lounge for a few minutes and then John joined them to hear their thoughts.
"So," he said. "What do you think?"
Connor spoke first. "The big label gets us there fast, the small gives us control over the music. Both good offers...but I wish we could have both. Fast and control."
Ricky frowned. "No middle ground. We could go fast, but then what?"
Erik rubbed his hands together. "I don't want to lose creative freedom for a slingshot to the top."
Nathan nodded. "Longevity matters, too. If we burn fast, we'll disappear fast."
They looked to Jace. In his gut, he felt choosing the fast track would cheapen them and the music they wanted to make. He could tell the rest of the band were hungry to grow and progress, but to him how they did it, and the pace they took to do it, really mattered.
"We need to smolder before we burn," Jace said plainly, looking up at his bandmates, "The blaze grows hottest when it's allowed to smolder and become a fire."
That was enough. They chose the independent label. Not because it was smaller. Because it would let them stay who they were long enough to matter.
John smiled once. "Good. Then we move."
"What does that mean?" Ricky asked.
"Recording," Linda said. "More touring. Quickly."
"But quietly," John added. "No wasted motion."
They didn't know it yet. But the last purely human decision of their lives was behind them.
More shows, with most of the planning for the first recording being done on the road. Occasional breaks brought quality rehearsal and studio time to create demos, but soon they had a plan for both the discussed EP, and another full album. The plan was to hit the studios they could book in between tour dates to begin putting both of them together. It seemed to fit in with the theme of staying in constant motion on the road, and everything they worked on kept the momentum going.
June 17, 1982
Life was rolling on smoothly, until John received a phone call from Jace's family regarding his mother, Katherine. She had been sick for a few months, having chemotherapy to combat breast cancer. Jace went back to the reservation as often as possible to be with her and take care of her, helping his brother, Tobin, for as long as he was able to be there. Katherine was weak, but determined to be strong for her boys, which Jace kept telling her she didn't have to be.
"Let Tobin and I be the strong ones, Mom," Jace told her, holding her hand in both of his, "You don't have to worry about anything, okay?"
Katherine looked at Jace, her warm smile fading a little at this.
"Jason," She said quietly, "There is something I need to talk to you about. It's important."
"What is it?"
Katherine shook her head gently, fighting fatigue and replied, "I can't tell you now. I'm so tired and I need to rest. When will you be back to the tour?"
"In a couple of days. We're doing 10 shows and then another break. I'll come back home after that...like I did this time."
Katherine smiled at her son and cupped his face in her hands, telling him, "Then we talk tomorrow. After you and Tobin get back from the job site you're working on."
"You sure you want to be in the same room with your sweaty sons?" Jace asked with a grin, "Seriously, Mom, Tobin smells like a fart, and I smell like a sweat sock. It's heinous."
Katherine emitted a sharp laugh and shook her head, chuckling now.
"You are so much like your father," she said, "You and Tobin both are. That sense of humor of his...you both have it, but I dare say you got a larger dose of it!"
"Maybe," Jace said, "But if I remember correctly from Dad, you were no slouch. Especially with practical jokes. When you put a jar of spiders under the seat of his truck and almost all of Washoe county heard him scream when he found them?"
Katherine snickered. Jace squinted at her.
"Mean, Mom..."
"I'm not a mean mom!" Katherine protested weakly, "He put a garden snake in the glove compartment. I went to get the tire gage and it zoomed out! It made me fall back on my butt and get my new white shorts dirty. Your father was not going to get away with that."
"Hence the spiders..." Jace sighed, shivering a little.
"Hence the spiders, yes..." Katherine replied with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
"Poor Dad..."
"You and your father share many things, Jason," Katherine told him, "One of those things is a rabid fear of spiders. Even the tiny ones!"
"Oh, don't you start," Jace admonished, "Besides, if you're too tired to tell me this secret you have, then you're too tired to torture me with stories about spiders."
"Fine," Katherine said, "We talk tomorrow, son. No more spider talk."
Jace chuckled and kissed her on the forehead just under the floral bandana that covered her head. Her once beautiful dark auburn tresses had been one of the first casualties of the cancer.
"I love you, Jace," Katherine told him, "My little drummer boy, who's definitely not so little anymore. There is a power in you that no one else in this world has. We'll talk tomorrow."
Jace nodded and told her to sleep. Katherine closed her eyes, and as Jace started to leave the room, he heard her say, "I bet you check your motorcycle seat for spiders now."
Jace froze and slowly turned to look at her.
"No wonder Dad said you had an evil side!"
Katherine giggled, making Jace shake his head as he left the room. He later checked the motorcycle from the front to the back for spiders.
Tomorrow came, the laughter left. Jace heard a knock on the bedroom door around 6am. He groggily told whoever it was to come in. It was Tobin. Instantly, Jace could see something was wrong.
"Tobin? What is it?" Jace asked.
Tobin stepped into the room as Jace turned on his bedside light. The moment the light came on, he saw the tears streaming down Tobin's face. He heard sobbing coming from downstairs and went cold.
"Mom..." Tobin said emotionally, "She's gone, Jace. She went home to God...to see Dad."
Jace scrambled out of bed and ran past Tobin, running down the stairs. Tobin tried to stop him, but before he could, Jace ran into his mother's bedroom. The nurses were disengaging the equipment and instantly stopped the moment they saw Jace in the doorway.
"We're so sorry, Jason," One of them said, "She went peacefully. No pain."
Jace nodded, walking up to his mother and slowly taking her hand. Her hand was cold, the skin becoming pale. Jace looked at her face, seeing the calm expression on it. She was never afraid to die. She had a very deep faith in God that never wavered. Jace knew where her spirit really was now, but it didn't soften the blow of realizing whatever it was that she had wanted to tell him would remain a secret. Jace bowed his head down and placed his forehead against her hand, "Goodbye, Mom...I love you."
Tobin walked in now, moving carefully to Jace and setting a hand on his little brother's head. Jace stood back up and turned around to hug his brother, and the two men cried together for a while.
Jace called John Kavanaugh right away, to let him know what had happened. John told him not to sweat the tour, that they would postpone the shows and reschedule. Jace called Nathan next, telling him about his mother's passing. When the rest of the band heard, they each called to give condolences and ask how he was faring. Jace told them he would be fine. A little bit of a lie, since he didn't know how he felt now being without the woman who taught him and his brother how to be gentle and kind, yet strong and resilient. Now both parents were gone.
"We're orphans now," Tobin told him as they arranged the funeral and burial, "We only have each other now."
"We have the tribe, too," Jace reminded him.
"True. And you have Battle Cry."
Jace nodded at this. The band was like a family of its own in many ways. They attended the funeral service, giving comfort to both Jace and Tobin. A week after laying his mother to rest, Jace hugged his brother and sister-in-law, Christina, and went back on the road with the band. Working on the road, playing shows, and just being with his band was a good balm to his grief.
Jace threw himself into his drumming, drank a little more than he needed to sometimes, flirted a little more than usual, and managed an occasional dalliance with willing women. He was working it out in his own way. But still, the secret his mother kept to her death bothered him. Not knowing what it was she needed to tell him bit at him, but he pushed it away, trying to stay focused on the music.
August 1982
They recorded their first EP, Battle Cry, the way people did when they knew they might not get another chance. Fast. Focused. Honest.
Jace noticed the difference immediately. The studio didn't feel like a place to impress anyone. It felt like work. Good work. The kind where everyone listened harder than they spoke. Takes were tight. Arguments were brief. When something wasn't right, they fixed it instead of dressing it up.
One day, Jace was taking time from recording and attending to his newest purchase made with money earned from the tour. His 1980 Harley-Davidson FXE Super Glide motorcycle. He took the bike out for rides daily, allowing the wind to tousle his long waves behind him as he rode, enjoying the air on his skin, the thrum of the engine in his ears, and the freedom of the highway before him.
The motorcycle needed a bath now, and Jace was not about to allow it to look dingy and unkept. So, he carefully washed it on a hot day, shirtless, in black bike shorts and running shoes, singing along with the radio. He was feeling good and happy, and singing is something he loved to do when feeling that way. Judas Priest came on and true to his nature, Jace sang along with Rob Halford. Loud and proud. Not thinking anyone really was listening.
After the song had gotten halfway finished, Jace happened to look up to see Connor standing there staring at him with wide eyes and his mouth open. Jace cocked his head to one side, curiously and asked, "Connor? You okay, man?"
"I'm not sure yet," Connor admitted, "Why didn't you tell us you could sing?"
Jace grinned and replied, "None of you asked."
Connor rolled his eyes and said, "Dude...you can really sing!"
"Ya think so?" Jace asked, unsure of why this was suddenly important.
"I've been standing here for the last two minutes listening to you keep up with guys like Rob Halford and Bruce Dickinson... and more! Your voice is incredible, Jace!"
Jace shrugged. He hadn't really thought about his singing voice much at all. He liked to sing, but not to be like a frontman.
"I guess I could help out with backing vocals," he said.
Connor laughed, almost a little too hard at this.
"Dude, I have a song that needs your voice," Connor told him, "I was going to ask Ricky to help me with it since he can sing lower, but you...you're a baritone. From what I can tell, you have a huge vocal range."
"How can you tell?" Jace asked.
"I have ears, man," Connor replied, "Trust me, Jace. You need to sing, too. Can you play drums and sing at the same time?"
"I don't know yet. I've never tried."
Connor smiled and chuckled with excitement, "Then it's time to try it and find out!"
The EP came together faster than anyone expected.
When it dropped, it didn't explode.
It caught.
Radio stations picked it up in pockets, catching onto "Shake Up the Night." Reviews were cautious but impressed. Then the single slipped onto a national chart. Enough to change everything.
Somewhere in the middle of the chaos, Jace met Celia. It wasn't dramatic, just someone connected to the tour who talked to him like he wasn't carrying four other lives on his shoulders. The relationship moved fast, faster than he would have normally allowed.
By the time full planned album called Silent Fire began to take shape in various studios, Celia was wearing a ring, and Jace believed, truly believed, that he had finally built something that could hold everything.
February 1983
Silent Fire nearly caused trouble due to creative disputes over the title track’s music video. Connor wanted it hotter. Visually and sonically. MTV balked the first time the video was screened. Too much skin. Too much implication. Too little restraint.
Jace just watched the discussion about reshooting parts of the video. Connor was annoyed at this, because he felt the video was perfect as it was. MTV begged to differ. So, they cut it differently.
They broke it up with performance footage, the five of them playing, hot lights overhead, shirts long gone. The camera found Erik first, then Jace, and stayed on both longer than was strictly necessary. Ricky made it easy for video editors. The camera treated him as an invitation and he didn't argue. Connor moved the way he always moved onstage, deliberate and magnetic.
And then there was Nathan, who appeared shirtless in the final cut with the expression of a man who had been outvoted and intended to remember it. Battle Cry was not a homely group of men by any means. The song charted higher than the first. It was hard to say if it was the song itself or the video that boosted sales. Connor preferred to say it was both.
Silent Fire hit the charts like an all-out sensual assault, which helped the title single rise slowly into the Hot 100. Battle Cry was no longer just the little garage band from Reno. They’d become a commodity that was growing hotter with each show they played. By mid-April, they were booking second shows at venues to cover the demand.
May 22, 1983 --- San Diego, California
The air behind the venue still smelled like sweat, asphalt, and hot amplifiers.
Jace leaned his shoulder against the cool brick and lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly. Just one cigarette. His one after-show vice. His ears were still ringing with the last chorus, the echo of the crowd chanting their name.
Battle Cry. Not bad for a bunch of kids from Reno formerly called Garage Disaster. He took another drag and tipped his head back.
"You played well tonight, lad."
The voice came from behind him, close.
Jace jumped, spun around, cigarette nearly slipping from his fingers. An old man stood there at the mouth of the alley. Late seventies, maybe even pushing eighty. His hair was white but thick, swept back from a lined face. His eyes, though, were sharp and bright, sizing up Jace with a kind of quiet approval.
"Sorry," the man said, lifting his hands. "Didn't mean to scare you, son. My name is Seamus Greene."
Jace's heart slowed. He took a drag off the smoke and flicked ash aside.
"It's okay," he said, a little hoarse from the set. "Thanks. Crowd was pretty into it tonight."
"They were," Seamus agreed. "You handled them well. Good rhythm. Strong heart."
That was a weird way to say it, but Jace shrugged it off.
"Appreciate it," he said. "You, uh... come to the show?"
"I did. And I've been watching you a long time, Jason."
Something about the way he said his name made Jace straighten up.
"Look," Jace said lightly, "if you're with the label or management, you're supposed to talk to John, not me. I'm just the drummer."
"Oh, I'm not with a label," Seamus said. "I'm here for something else." He paused, then added gently, "If it's all right with you, lad... I have a gift I'd like to give."
Jace furrowed his brows and asked tentatively, "A gift?"
Seamus nodded and stepped closer, his motions unhurried. In his hands was a wooden box.
It was the most beautiful box Jace had ever seen. Dark, polished wood, carved all over with fine knotwork and symbols he didn't recognize. Silver inlay traced along the lid and sides, catching the alley light in soft gleams. A small silver latch held it closed.
Seamus held it out.
"This is for your band," he said. "For all of you."
Jace looked down at it, then back up at the man. "That's...wow," he said honestly. "You sure? This looks like it belongs in a museum."
"In a manner of speaking, it does," Seamus murmured. "Take it. Please."
Jace took the box carefully. It had weight to it, solid and real in his hands. His fingertips brushed the carved patterns and he felt a strange, almost electric little tug in his chest.
"Thank you," he said, a little thrown. "Really. The guys will...they'll think this is pretty amazing."
Seamus nodded, satisfied. "There's more," he said quietly. "What's meant for you...I kept aside. If it's all right with you, Jason, I'd like to give you mine personally."
Jace eyed him curiously, "Yours?"
Seamus didn't reach into a pocket. Instead, he slipped his fingers beneath the collar of his shirt and drew out a silver chain, loosening it from around his own neck. The pendant that emerged was oval, framed in antique silver, with a milky opal at its center, alive with hidden flashes of silver, green, blue, and red.
Seamus unclasped it from himself and held it gently in both hands. Jace stared.
"You...you were wearing that?"
"For a long time," Seamus told him quietly. "But it's not mine anymore."
He stepped closer, asking, "May I?"
Jace lifted his long hair and his chokers without knowing why and Seamus placed the chain around his neck, fastening the clasp.
The moment it clicked shut, the world exploded. White light swallowed everything. The alley, the brick wall, the old man, all gone. Jace's breath vanished in his throat. He dropped to his knees, the wooden box still clutched in both hands as scenes roared through him in a rush. World War II battlefields stained with smoke and fire. Ships crossing angry seas. Emotions pounded through him: fear, courage, grief, fierce loyalty, love so overwhelming it squeezed his chest. He heard a voice, not out loud but thunder-soft in his bones.
"You...are the Guardian of Aelin."
For a split second he saw himself from outside: eyes blazing white, a storm swirling around him, four other figures at his side.
Another thread of that same deep voice thrummed into his mind: "My son will come."
The light collapsed inward, sucked straight into the stone at his throat. Jace's vision snapped back into the alley. Cold ground under his knees. Brick. Darkness. His lungs dragged in a harsh breath. The wooden box was still in his hands.
Seamus was gone. Not walking away or stepping out of sight. Just gone.
"What the hell..." Jace whispered.
His hands were shaking. He pushed himself up, swayed slightly, and looked frantically up and down the alley. Nothing.
He glanced down at the amulet. The opal now lay quiet, a stone again.
The back door banged open. Mongo's head poked out.
"Yo, Jace!" he called, "We gotta go, man. Everybody's in the van already."
Mongo stepped onto the concrete, then stopped when he saw Jace just getting to his feet.
"You, okay?" Mongo asked. "You look like you ate the catering."
"I'm fine," Jace lied. "I just...need a minute."
Mongo's gaze flicked to the box. "What's that? That's fancy as hell."
"A fan gave it to me," Jace said flatly.
Mongo studied him, then replied, "C'mon. They're gonna leave without ya if ya don't move."
Mongo clapped him on the shoulder and ushered him toward the parking lot.
Ricky was already sprawled across the back seat when Jace climbed in beside him, the wooden box balanced on his knees.
Ricky looked at it like it owed him money.
"What's with the box?" he asked. "You look like it's gonna grow teeth and bite."
Jace snorted tiredly. "Relax. Fan gave it to me."
"Oh," Ricky said, instantly less interested. "Cool."
The ride to the hotel blurred.
Jace set the wooden box on the coffee table in their suite hotel and sank onto the couch.
Ricky hovered immediately.
"So, what's with the box?" he pressed again.
Nathan wandered closer, toweling his hair. Erik perched on the couch's arm, Connor on the opposite end.
Nathan whistled softly. "That's not from a gift shop."
"Yeah," Connor agreed. "That's old. Real old."
Everyone nodded.
Jace rubbed the back of his neck, the amulet cool and strange against his skin.
"After the show," he said, "I went out back to smoke. This old guy, Seamus Greene, comes up, says he liked the show, gives me this box. And... uh... he put this on me."
He pointed to the white opal pendant he now wore along with his usual tribal jewelry.
The opal glowed faintly in the lamplight.
All four men stared.
"...You let some old dude put jewelry on you?" Ricky said. "Bro..."
"I know," Jace sighed. "I don't know why. I just... did."
Connor leaned closer. "That stone looks alive."
Nathan nodded. "That's not costume jewelry."
"You gonna open the box or make me die wondering?" Ricky interjected, already unlatching it.
"Careful..." Nathan warned.
Too late. The lid opened.
Inside lay four amulets: sapphire, onyx, emerald, and garnet. Each on a silver chain.
The moment the lid rose, a pull went through the room, gentle but undeniable. Erik reached first, hand closing around the deep blue sapphire. Ricky snatched up the onyx, grinning. Connor's fingers slid to the emerald without hesitation. Nathan lifted the garnet with a quiet, reverent breath.
Jace watched them, uneasy. Then Nathan found the parchment. It was old. Brittle. Written in a script none of them recognized.
"What's it say?" Ricky asked.
Nathan frowned, "I don't know. I've never seen anything like it."
"If Nathan doesn't know, then I don't know," Erik muttered.
Jace took it when Nathan offered it. The symbols tugged at something in the back of his mind.
"It's...familiar," he murmured. "But I don't know."
They slipped the parchment back in the box. Jace began telling them about Seamus, and that was when everything began to change.
A seizure struck him. Sudden, violent, and terrifying. Jace thrashed off the couch, limbs jerking, eyes rolled back. Nathan cleared space instinctively. Connor cried out, calling out Jace's name in terror. Ricky froze, also crying out. All Erik could do was hover over Jace helplessly, his breath heaving from him in frightened bursts.
Then almost as suddenly as it began, the seizure stopped. Jace lay still. Too still. Nathan checked. No breath. No pulse. His eyes open and lifeless now. Jace was dead.
"No... no, no!" Nathan gasped, starting compressions, tears springing to his eyes. "Stay with me, Jace! Don't do this!"
"What's happening to him?!" Connor screamed.
Ricky stood shaking, his body suddenly going ice cold with fear.
"No, Jace...please no!" he whispered, tears springing into his eyes.
Erik backed away from the scene, his pulse slamming so hard it felt like it would carve its way out through his skin. They needed help now and he knew it. Erik ran to the door and grabbed the door handle to open it, tearing the entire metal hotel door off its hinges. He stood there, staring, clutching a solid metal door in one hand like it weighed nothing.
"Oh, shit!" he whispered.
And that was when Jace's amulet ignited.
Light exploded outward, startling everyone and making them fall to the floor, watching in awe as Jace lifted from the floor, elevating slowly, his limbs hanging down as he rose in the air. His eyes open, glowing white. The room flooded with brilliance, shifting and alive rather than clean white, the way an opal shifts when light moves across it. Silver. Green. Blue. Red. Colors that had no business existing in a hotel room in San Diego.
Connor reached toward him instinctively, choking out his name. Tears bathed his face as he tried to understand what he was seeing.
Jace hung at shoulder height, suspended in a column of living light. The opal blazed at his throat like a captive star, throwing color across the walls, across the ceiling, across the stunned faces of his bandmates. For one terrible, beautiful second Jace looked like something not quite human at all.
Then the light snapped back into the stone, as if sucked down a drain. Jace dropped, hitting the carpet flat on his back with a heavy thud. For a heartbeat, nothing. Suddenly, Jace's back arched and he sucked in a ragged, desperate gasp.
"Jace!" Nathan shouted, back at his side in an instant, fingers at his neck. "Okay, okay, he's back! Steady pulse. He's breathing. He's...he's there!"
Jace opened his eyes slowly, disoriented, color gradually seeping back into his face.
"What..." His voice was a raw whisper. "What just... happened?"
No one had an answer. No one could answer.
Because in the same instant, everything started going wrong for all of them.
Connor flinched. It started as a whisper at the edge of his awareness. A hint of sound that didn't belong. Then they began to multiply. Fragments of thoughts, conversations, arguments, laughter: men, women, children, staff in the hotel kitchen, maids in the hallway, guests upstairs fighting over a TV remote. All of it crashing into his mind at once like a wave. Connor clapped his hands over his ears.
"Make it stop," he breathed, his eyes tightly closed in pain.
The voices swelled, overlapping, louder, louder.
"So many, too many...too loud..."
He stumbled backward, hit the wall, slid down into the corner and curled in on himself, rocking, tears now relentlessly spilling over his cheeks. His breath heaved from his chest painfully.
"Make it stop!" he pleaded, "Make it stop...make it stop, please! It's too much!"
"Connor?" Ricky said, turning, panic jumping a notch. "What's..."
His vision rippled. For half a second the room smeared like oil on water, and then Ricky was on the other side of it, slammed against the far wall, breath knocked out of him.
He stared, wide-eyed.
"I was just..." He pointed at the space near the couch where he'd been standing. "I was just over there."
Ricky's hands shook. His fingers... shifted. For a blink, they weren't fingers at all but short, furred paws tipped with sharp claws. Then skin again. Then claws. Then skin.
"What the hell," Ricky whispered, and then he yelled, "WHAT THE HELL?!"
Nathan, meanwhile, felt like someone had cranked a furnace inside his bones.
Heat roared through him, under his skin, in his veins. Sweat broke out instantly, but it didn't help. The air felt thick and scorching, each breath like inhaling flame.
"Why is it so hot in here?" he croaked. "Did somebody turn..."
He broke off. Even his hair felt hot.
He staggered away from the others, straight into the bathroom, and yanked the shower on full-cold. Then he dove in, clothes and all. Steam billowed out almost immediately, rolling past the half-open door in heavy waves. Nathan's voice cried out angrily, "What the fuck!?"
Out in the main room, Erik, still shaking from the door, moved toward the table.
"We should put that thing away," he muttered, meaning the box. "Whatever's in there, maybe it's..."
He put a hand on the edge of the coffee table to steady himself. The wood splintered under his touch. The table cracked clean in two and collapsed to the carpet. Erik fell away and rolled slightly.
"No, no, no," he breathed incredulously. "Everything I touch..."
He looked around, breathing hard, as if the walls might fall apart next.
Jace carefully pushed himself up onto his elbows, his vision clearing more now. The room was a disaster. The door lay on the floor, one hinge twisted. The table was broken. He caught sight of the wooden box amid the wreckage. The parchment.
Lurching forward, he scooped it up, fingers tossing broken wood until he held the folded piece of old paper in his hands. He opened it. The writing that had just looked strange before now snapped into focus.
Erik watched him and shook his head, "We already looked at that, man. None of us could..."
Jace started reading.
"Ná bíodh eagla ort. Tiocfaidh traeálaí chun cabhrú leat go han-luath. Caithfidh tú fanacht lena theacht le misneach."
(Do not be afraid. A trainer will arrive to help you very soon. You must await his arrival with bravery.)
The syllables rolled off his tongue as if they'd been waiting there all along, carrying an accent he didn't know he had. He finished, pulse racing, and looked up at the others' stunned faces.
"Well?" Ricky demanded, voice a little too high. "What did you just say to us, Tolkien?"
Jace swallowed hard, saying, "It says... it says we're not to be afraid. That someone will be sent to train us. And that he'll be here soon. We're supposed to be brave and wait for him."
There was a beat of silence. Ricky was the first to break it.
"Ya know...you could have led with that before we put these things on," he said weakly, lifting his black stone off his chest and letting it fall with a thump.
"I didn't know," Jace shot back, more sharply than he meant. His nerves were shredded. "I... I couldn't read it before."
Connor sobbed in the corner, voice raw. "I can't... I can't wait that long," he choked. "I can't... there's too many... too many voices... I can't take it... it hurts!"
Jace's anger died instantly. He exhaled, got unsteadily to his feet, and crossed the room to Connor.
Connor was folded up on himself, back in the corner, knees to his chest, hands clamped over his ears like he could physically hold the sound out. His shoulders shook with each ragged breath.
"Connor," Jace said quietly. "Hey...hey, look at me."
Connor shook his head, eyes squeezed shut. "So many voices, Jace," he choked out in near sobs, "So many!"
Guilt stabbed Jace so hard it almost took his breath away. He crouched in front of Connor and gently laid his hands over Connor's, his palms closing over Connor's ears with his fingers tangled around Connor's fingers.
"It's okay," he said, though he had no idea if that was true. "Just... breathe. Breathe with me."
Warmth surged up through his arms.
His amulet flared, white light licking along the silver. The emerald at Connor's throat flickered in answer, a muted green flash. Connor's muscles loosened. His head lolled forward, the tension draining from his face all at once as if someone had flipped a switch. His hands slipped from his ears, landing in his lap. He went completely limp.
"Whoa," Ricky said. "What did you just do to him?"
Erik took a step forward.
"Is he okay?"
Jace swallowed, feeling the fading echo of... something. Like having reached out into a storm and gently dialed the volume down.
"He's breathing," Jace said, checking quickly. "Heart's steady. I think he's just... asleep. I think I knocked him out."
Nathan's voice drifted from the bathroom doorway, where he stood wrapped in a towel, clothes dripping, steam streaming off him in curls. His hair was literally steaming.
"If you can do that on command," Nathan said dryly, "put me next. I'd like to be unconscious until this stops."
Jace let out a shaky breath and sat back on his heels.
"I don't know what all I can do," he admitted. "I don't think any of us do."
Nathan sighed and stepped out, leaving wet footprints. "Well," he said, running a hand through his steaming hair, "Whoever this 'trainer' is, he'd better show up quick."
Erik dragged a pillow off one of the beds and dropped it on the floor.
"I'm not touching any furniture," he said flatly. "If I break one more thing, the hotel's gonna charge us, like, five grand."
Ricky flopped onto one of the beds, then yelped a moment later when he popped, literally popped, into existence on the couch instead. With an exasperated groan, he complained, "What the hell?! If I pick the bed I STAY in the bed, damn it!"
Nathan ended up stretched in a damp sprawl across part of the couch, shivering and then overheating by turns. Erik lay on the carpet. Connor slept where he'd fallen in the corner. Ricky kept trying to sleep and kept teleporting a foot or two left, a foot or two right, cursing bitterly every time.
Jace didn't sleep at all. He checked on each of them, over and over. Watched the rise and fall of Connor's chest. He robbed beds of blankets and covered Connor and Erik respectively, giving Ricky one before he involuntarily teleported away. Nathan was shivering and woke up enough to take a blanket from Jace and ask him if he was okay.
"For now," Jace whispered to him, "Try to get some sleep."
Nathan didn't argue, dropping off to sleep quickly.
Jace stepped out onto the small balcony just off the suite's living room.
The night air was cooler up here. The city stretched out below in neon and headlights. The opal at his throat caught a sliver of hotel light and shimmered faintly.
Behind him, in various forms of distress, his brothers tried to rest.
Whoever was supposed to come and train them... they'd better come soon.
Until then, he'd sit there, eyes flicking back to the shadows of his sleeping band through the glass, keeping watch.
Guardian of Aelin. Guardian of them. Whether he felt ready for it or not.