Steve sat at his desk, dipping his fountain pen in and out of the ink well. "Dearest Mother," his letter started. "It has been a long time since I last wrote you, and many things have happened since then."
That was where it ended. He did not want her coming and pulling him out of the army because he scraped by death to many times, for she was a woman who would do so, but he did not want her looking down upon him for not doing his share in the military.
In and out, his pen went as he thought. No words came into his mind to describe the last raid. No words came to his mind to describe the last flurry of activity. No words came to his mind to describe any event since that last letter.
Someone knocked on his door, irritating Steve greatly. Part of the reason he had not gotten past that sentence was because so many people had decided today was a good day for a visit. Four already had dropped by, chattering about one thing or another. He would nod politely for a minute or so before throwing them out of the room.
"Steve, do you have a spare moment?" He slammed the pen into the ink well, making little blotches splatter all over the place. He growled slightly, but turned his chair. No way in heaven would he ignore an officer, especially when it was his captain.
"Yes, sir," he said, refusing to rise from his chair into a stately salute. At this point, Captain Clark took a step into the room. Under normal circum stances, the ranking officer would have written Steve up for insubordinate behavior ten times a day, but the relationship between the captain and the private was not strictly professional.
Five years ago, when the captain was still a corporal, they had shared a tent together because of shortages. Clark had thought it the worst disgrace, and between that and the overload of work, he had been furious. The only consolation then was that most privates were three or four people to a two-person tent. The first few months were horrendous. The number of arguments between them and the number of pillows torn to shreds were ridiculous. In the end, General Pascal forced a peace treaty—an actual official treaty—between the two. Now, Steve felt as if he almost had the right to call himself Thomas's friend.
"You know that new recruit, Jeremy?" Captain Clark said, ignoring the private's obvious annoyance at the intrusion.
"I think I've seen him around. That scrawny kid with red hair, right?" Steve smiled when he saw that his comment elicited a slight frown from the captain. Those that knew Steve also knew that Steve was tactless. Moreover, he knew exactly what he could get away with when it came to Captain Clark. Many, including Thomas, said that his blunt nature was what held him back from advancing into the higher ranks. He worked hard and was very talented, but he made enemies where he could have made powerful friends. "It is, isn't it? You want to pull him out of training already? Bad idea, Thomas. It'll give the poor kid ideas."
"I know. I don't want to either, but we have a special case here. Can you take on a personal project?" From the way Thomas stood, Steve understood this was official business, but Steve did not feel like playing the compliant private. He hardly had time for himself, and trying to train another person would take away all his free time.
"No," he said, turning around. He picked up his pen again and plunged it repeatedly into the ink well, still not coming up with any new words to write down.
The captain uttered an exasperated sigh, causing Steve to grind his teeth. He hated that sound simply because it meant someone thought his or her situation was worse off than everyone else's was. "Have you seen him work?"
"No." There was no reason for Steve to watch trainees working. He had no official say in whether people moved on or not, so he never spared time for them. If he needed to know something, he would ask, and when asking failed, he might ask for a sparring contest. Besides, many other people watched trainees, which meant the area tended to be overrun with people. Steve was slightly demophobic; he avoided crowds when he could.
"You should."
Steve grumbled. Thomas was easy to talk to, but Captain Clark was the most stubborn person Steve had ever met. "What do you want me to do about it?"
The captain smiled and pulled up a seat. Steve rolled his eyes, realizing this would bite into his free time, but caught himself and flipped his chair around again.
"You know the Swift?"
Steve snorted, and whipped out the customary rumors associated with the Swift, "The legendary group? Works covert operations; no one believes they exist? For some reason has been helping us? Who doesn't know them?" He waited for no response, but he dropped his voice down a level, for he had no idea who might be listening. "I don't believe in them. They're propaganda if I ever heard any."
Thomas barked a laugher, which took Steve aback. "I remember when I still trained the new recruits. In particular, I remember coming up to a young lad of seventeen. 'Do you want to join the Swift?' I asked him. He answered, 'Yes sir,' with eyes big from admiration."
Steve fought back a bittersweet smile. "That was then, Captain. I am no longer seventeen."
"I went up to Jeremy and asked the same question. He answered, 'No, sir. They don't exist.'" The captain leaned in and lowered his voice, "He is wrong, and what you think now is wrong. They exist, and the reason they exist is that we created it."
"You want me to take him to the Swift." Steve said, obviously not believing the captain's words.
Captain Clark, however, continued to speak in a hushed voice, "The Swift only accepts people in pairs. I've been trying to get you in ever since General Pascal forced us to not kill each other. Before that, I tried with half the effort I put in now. You were an arrogant bastard in your early years. It took a whole year to realize you deserve to be one."
Steve grinned. He had a right to be arrogant, words straight from a ranking officer, but the amusement on his face died out when he saw only seriousness in the captain's face. "Why didn't you tell me you were trying?" Despite his denial of the Swift's existence, Steve still showed interest on the topic. "I could have found someone. Ben—"
"Not Ben," Clark interrupted, "He's arrogant, but, unlike you, he doesn't deserve to be."
Steve scoffed. "Yah, right," he said sarcastically, "I know it's something else completely. Anyways, when do I get to meet the kid?"
"When would you like to?"
"Not now. Busy. I'll meet him in the mess hall."
"I'll find you at dinner, then." Captain Clark excused himself, and Steve turned back to his pumping his pen in and out of the well. However, after this last interruption, Steve barely had the heart to continue his letter. He would have to, he promised his mother he would send a letter at least ever month, but he now had too many things to think about.
---
Steve slid into the empty bench at the corner of the mess hall. Ever since he graduated from the training center, he sat with the same group of people, but these people were notorious for arriving late and making the clean up process after dinner much longer than it needed to be by delaying as long as possible. After the first few months, Steve started arriving early, when dinner was actually warm, and eating before the Late Corner Crew came. It ensured that he would have some time afterwards to spend alone, and he cherished his time alone in this hectic place.
With his fork, he shoved his carrots around the plate, not hungry enough to eat any of the multicolored piles of mush. Someone cleared his throat, and Steve looked up to see none other than Captain Clark with a redhead.
"Steve, this is Jeremy Larkin. Jeremy, this is Steve Kelly."
"Please to meet you, Steve." Jeremy held out a hand to shake.
He shook it, saying, "And you too. Please sit."
"First time I've heard you say that word in a year," Thomas muttered. Steve snorted; he rarely bothered with courtesies when it came to friends, he generally remembered his manners when around stranger, with the exception of Corporal Clark. Steve had no reason to be nice to those who were downright rude to him.
"So," he said, putting down his fork and turning his attention to the new recruit, "I suppose Thomas told you about his pet plan?"
"If it involves the Swift, yes. Do I believe it? No." The corner of his mouth curved into a slight smile.
"I like this kid," Steve told the captain before turning his attention back to Jeremy. "Why don't you believe in the Swift? It's every young man's dream to join them."
Jeremy rolled his eyes. "If it's every young man's dream to join them, and we have so many young men who believe they have the stealth to join the Swift, why isn't that organization swelling with people? Why would such an organization take orders from us? And if you can answer all that, why haven't the Swift won this war for us?"
"Yah, I like a lot," Steve told the captain. "Not fond of working with little kids, though." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jeremy flare slightly. "How are you going to make him believe?"
"Just bring him there," Thomas shrugged as if there was nothing to believing but seeing. Steve shook his head, showing he did not believe life was just that simple.
"And when's that going to be?"
"Now, if you two are done with dinner." Steve peeked at the captain's dinner and found that the older man had eaten even less than he had. He looked at Jeremy and found something, possibly excitement, lurking just beyond the edges of his eyes. Maybe Jeremy was just like him, wanting to believe in the Swift despite everything that would mark it a rumor.
"Whenever Jeremy's ready," Steve concluded. The redhead nodded, standing up as he did so. Steve and Thomas followed suit, but before Thomas could slip out, Steve held an arm out, blocking the other's way out. "But before we go, I have to know. Is this sanctioned by General What's-His-Face?"
"Pascal, Steve," Thomas replied in tired voice, "and yes. Apparently, the shortage wasn't the only reason he assigned you to my tent." Steve raised an eyebrow. "He knew you worked hard, even if you stepped out of line often." Steve dropped his hand and slipped out, grabbing his tray as he went.
The trio passed by the counter for the dirty dishes and left their nearly untouched food there. The people on washing duty were not particularly happy with this and made their resentment clear. Steve looked up and found none other than the Late Corner Crew working.
"You've made my life hard when I was in your shoes, or maybe I should say apron," he said with a shrug. He pulled out a wrinkled tissue from his pocket and tossed it onto the pile of dirty trays. "You can throw that away, too." The person behind the counter emitted a growl, which only made Steve want to laugh. He quickened his pace slightly toward the doors he was certain the other two had gone through. The other two, as it were, were waiting for him outside.
"Sorry, shall we go?"
"If you have no more errands to make, yes." Steve cracked a smile, but the darkness of the winter evening hid it.
"Lead the way, Captain."
---
It did not take long to get to where they were going. The captain led the privates to a building most privates never entered. It was a stately place; the floors shined with cleanliness and none of the lights flickered. The wonder of the place awed Jeremy.
"Wait here," Captain Clark commanded. Jeremy looked at Steve, who shrugged in return.
"All right," he took a seat and saw Steve did as well in a seat across the coffee table. These were noticeably more comfortable than the mess hall benches or any of the seats in their barracks.
Steve, apparently not willing to strike up conversation, had picked up a magazine. Jeremy rolled his eyes, halfway hoping that they would be rejected simply because he did not think he could put up with such silence. The other half of him hoped that the Swift was very much real.
A few minutes later, the person at the front desk hung up the phone and said, "Colonel Lerch will now see the privates Steve Kelly and Jeremy Larkin. Please follow the flashing lights."
Jeremy stood, looking around for the flashing lights. Apparently, Steve could not find them either, "Um, where?"
"On the ground, gentlemen."
Jeremy looked at the ground and found a flashing red arrow at the start of one of the branching corridors. "Thank you," he muttered. "Well, let's go then." Steve did not say anything. Instead, he nodded, starting after the flashing arrow.
Without the arrows, Jeremy was certain he would have been lost after the first turn. He lost count of the number of right turns and left turns after the first dozen, and he would never have figured out which flight of stairs to go up. At least the torture only lasted five minutes.
At the end of the flashing arrows was, as expected, a door. Beside it was a small gold plate that said, "Colonel Katrina Lerch." Jeremy stared at it for a moment and could have almost sworn it flashed "Commodore Katrina Lerch" for a second.
Steve knocked on the door, but Jeremy hunched over, trying to puzzle out the gold plate. It took a strong elbow, which drew out a surprised, "Ow!" for him to straighten himself up.
"Who is it?" came a female voice from the other side.
"Private Steve Kelly and Jeremy Larkin," Steve responded. Jeremy was almost thankful. He would have made a fool of himself if he had to answer. Steve gave him a look that spoke volumes. Jeremy straightened out his uniform under that gaze. The least he could do was garner Steve's respect.
"Come in." Once again, Steve initiated the action, opening the door. Behind the desk sat Colonel Lerch. Captain Clark stood behind her.
"Welcome gents," Captain Clark said. "Kelly, Larkin, this is Colonel Lerch, but while we're here on Swift business, she is Commodore Katrina. Commodore, these are the two I told you about."
Jeremy nearly jumped at that. First, no one in the army would call themselves by the title of a navy officer and second, she used her first name. But after the initial surprise, his mind wandered back to that plate. Commodore. He looked at his fellow private and found Steve still had a look of astonishment in his eyes. Steve must have missed that slight transformation.
He was the first to pop out of surprise this time, and he nodded his greeting. He nudged Steve slightly, who sent him a look between annoyance and gratefulness, and Steve nodded as well. It was only when he actually looked at the woman that he realized she had been examining them both the entire time.
"I've heard a great deal about you, Steve." Steve dipped his head in acknowledgement, and Jeremy mentally shrunk back, though physically he kept his ground. "I've watched you fight and strategize. I've been watching you since you sat at the back of my class mapping the real situations and not the hypothetical ones I came up with. You might even recognize the pattern we followed on the fifteenth of May last year." This shocked both privates. Jeremy stole an awed glance at Steve, and Steve nodded numbly. "You could have made a good officer, sadly, no one would like you and for that, you would spend half your time writing up various individuals." Smiles crept into the corner of everyone's face, including the stoic Commodore Katrina.
She shifted her attention to Jeremy, making him feel slightly uneasy "And you, young man. I cannot say I know much about you, but I guess you will be the deciding factor. Thomas, Steve, if you will step outside for a minute." The two addressed left, leaving Jeremy alone with the commodore.
"Commodore," he said in the same voice a person might use with an inferior person when testing him or her, "What an interesting title."
"Yet not surprised?" she replied in the same voice.
"The gold plate outside says so. I suppose that's not a mistake. What's the name of your ship?"
The commodore did not respond in words, but instead, by conjuring a miniature dragon with green-blue scales. Jeremy bit back his lip. It was what he had expected, but still, it surprised him slightly to know another knew of such things. It flapped a few times before disappearing again. "And you?"
"A wayward fisherman, I suppose. I never had any formal training."
"Your ship—or perhaps, boat, then?"
He smiled slightly, "Oh, no boat. I have but a paddle." And from his pocket, he pulled out a red-orange feather. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and then, for a second, the feather flared with a bright flame. When the fire diminished again, there were no ashes.
"A phoenix?" she asked, obviously puzzled as to how fire could consume a feather yet leave it unharmed. If it were a phoenix feather, a regular one, it would have burned to a crisp and rebuilt itself in an instant, but even then, it would have left ashes.
The bond he had was a rare one. "Not a phoenix, but a gryphon. Not of air, though she had wings. Have you heard of the gryphires?"
The commodore's eyes widened with interest, "Only in stories. The fire gryphons, right? But still, a gryphon, and not a pirate, too?"
Jeremy bit his lower lip, shaking his head. The term pirate meant one who stole other's power in order to build his or her own power. He despised them, but understood why those who shared the gryphon's might do so. Gryphons were hidden creatures with hidden powers. In fact, were it not for the obvious flame, Jeremy doubted he would have found how to wield his own power.
"How long ago did you make the pact with the gryphon?"
"Ten years, but the magic only came three years ago." Once again, he caught the look of interest in her eyes, but only for a second.
"Only three? Either you are extraordinarily skilled, or dear Thomas was impatient."
"Captain Thomas. Did he make the bond?"
"Oh no. Not a single drop of his blood is magical. He knows now, though, about the water on land, the forces of magic. He knows how, through the blood of the mythical, we can manipulate the currents in the water, the air, and the water on land. He can't do anything, but he knows it exists. He was my partner. A mage to every warrior; a warrior to every mage."
"Why not two mages? Or two warriors?" Jeremy questioned, and he thought it was a good question. Two mages meant twice the magic; two warriors could probably get along better and match one another than a mage and a warrior ever could hope. Warriors were open about their skill while mages had to be quiet.
"Kind sir, let me ask," Commodore Katrina finally got out of her chair and stepped around the table, "Does magic exist?"
Jeremy stared into her eyes, trying to find which answer she wanted. To mages, of course! But to the rest of the world? No. To speech of magic was insanity. Unable to take the intensity of her gaze any longer, he looked down to his boots.
"No, it doesn't," the commodore continued. "We? We don't exist. You cannot let it be known that you know magic, not even to Steve, at least, not until you are certain he won't turn against you."
"How...?"
"How many teams fell apart over the matter? None, but some mages never tell. Thomas and I felt it safest to part ways. Once he knew of my magic, he, well, he tried to take advantage of it, and he knew it. You understand the dangers, don't you?"
"Yes, perfectly."
Commodore Katrina smiled. "A team it is. Let's go tell the others." Jeremy nodded, a little too bewildered to enjoy the fact he was now a part of the Swift, and followed her out. The second the door opened, Thomas and Steve broke from their own conversation, awaiting the final decision. Jeremy could tell the other two were anxious to find out.
"It is settled then," the commodore announced. Thomas jumped, his face showing more trill than Steve's did. Jeremy and Steve shared a smile, wondering how two strangers would become a team. "Colonel, if you will please lead these gentlemen to their new barracks. Your first assignment begins tomorrow."
---
Three years passed since Jeremy and Steve first met. Steve remembered the first missions very well, the fumbles, the oaths, and the blatant disregard for rules as they tried to best one another. It brought a smile to his face. Three years, and they were on their eighth major mission. Most pairs had maybe one major mission a year, possibly two, but Jeremy had made some powerful friends where Steve's bluntness would have brought him enemies.
"So here we are, or at least, will be for the night," Jeremy announced in a whisper. Steve nodded glumly. It was not a great place. The morning light would reveal them, though due to the bushes, they would be able to keep a small fire, and the ground was sagging under their weight.
"Almost makes me wish I was at home, bored out of my mind," Steve said with a voice that bordered sarcasm.
He felt the glare Jeremy shot him, but the lack of light prevented him from actually seeing the glare, which was just as well. "Keep your voice down, will you?" Although they were not in enemy territory yet, they had to avoid everything. Granted, if their own army caught them, they would keep their lives, but precious hours would waste away.
"Fine," he whispered back, letting his backpack drop into the ground, which absorbed the shock well, but left a ditch in the ground.
"Well," Jeremy looked over, a hand on Steve's shoulder. "You can use that to start the fire." Steve muttered something. He did not want to be the one to start the fire. No wood around here would be dry, and the half-muddy ground would swallow the fire if he ever did get it going.
"Thanks," he said, this time with decisive sarcasm. Jeremy patted him on the shoulder before he left to find some dead wood that might be the tiniest bit dry. It only took a few minutes to find wood, but the driest pieces he found were still damp. By this time, Jeremy had already set up the sleeping mats arranged in the most hidden fashion as possible.
"Could I get some matches?" Steve whispered once he had formed his wood into a teepee. Instead of answering, Jeremy tossed the box at Steve's head. "Ow. Thanks." He groped around for the matches and found the box shortly afterward. He took one out and struck it; light danced around for a second, but the moment he put it to the finest, driest tinder, it went out.
He tried again, lighting another match and holding it to the wood. Once again, it went out. That meant two wasted matches, leaving them with only five in this box. At this rate, they would run out of matches before they got to their destination.
He growled, causing Jeremy to come over. "What? I saw the light. It's not like the match won't light." Jeremy chuckled slightly. Steve often had a problem with matches not lighting, but Jeremy never seemed to have a problem. It drove him insane.
"The wood not lighting isn't helpful either."
"Here, let me, but if I light it, you cook."
Steve rolled his eyes. "Fine. Just light it." Jeremy struck a match and held it to the wood. It looked like it would dim, but a gentle blow set it ablaze. He shook his head in wonder; Jeremy shrugged. "I still don't see why you always get your way with fire and I don't."
"At least you don't burn food." Steve smiled, pulling the pot and a can of beans out.
"So remind me again, why am I always defaulted to fire and you to cooking?"
Jeremy shrugged, "You don't like cooking, and I don't like fire. Well, I like fire, just not having to start it." Steve snorted.
He flipped out his pocketknife and stabbed the can, levering the top off. "Still doesn't make much sense." Steve gave the knife another flick, and then shoved it back in his pocket. He poured the beans into the pot as Jeremy started cozying into his bedroll.
"Mm, ah." Steve could just imagine the look of satisfaction on Jeremy's face. There his partner was, snuggled into his bedroll next to a fire while he cooked the food.
"You could try not rubbing it in all the time," Steve grumbled.
"Sorry," Jeremy said, though it was obvious he didn't mean it. Steve settled himself on his bedroll, sitting on the edge so that he could hold the pot over the fire.
"Forget that. Just shut up." From the other bedroll came a miffed sound, but nothing more than that. Steve shared a smile with himself. He always won such arguments.
---
Already, two years since Jeremy last saw his home and his own bed. The pair had just was nearly a month away from finishing their biggest assignment. Jeremy, after those many months, felt as if he deserved a rest, but he knew neither he nor Steve dared take a break while they were so far from home.
He cuddled into his bedroll, trying to find sleep, but he knew that so many sleep-deprived days would only lead to more. Insomniacs, he believed, were not born that way; they became insomniacs by refusing to sleep.
"Jeremy," Steve suddenly said.
"Mmph?" he said, turning around to look at his partner.
"Something's going on."
"What do you mean?" The moon was behind Steve, which meant shadows completely covered his face, hiding any expression.
"There's something about you that..." the words trailed off. A fear rushed in and out of Jeremy. Could Steve possibly talking about his magic? Impossible. He had been careful.
"Like at the beginning of this assignment, you started that fire with still wet wood."
Dread started creeping up through him, and Jeremy was glad the night hid the physical expressions; otherwise, Steve would have called him out by now. He shifted onto his back. "What are you talking about?"
"You are, I don't know, you're strange. You do the impossible with effortless ease. Well, I see why the captain decided to find you a place in Swift."
Jeremy squirmed, not liking the direction the conversation hinted at. "I'm just skilled," he responded, "Maybe bordering the line of lucky."
"What about that time you made tasteless beans taste like something, and that time we seemed to be in light in the middle of night, yet no one noticed? What about the time you found water in the unforgiving desert? Don't tell me that's nothing. What is it? Do you have guides? Sneak off to ask someone else? Maybe you have an earpiece they won't give me, telling you what to do."
He winced. The accusation cut too close, and he could feel Steve's brown eyes boring down on him. He would not be able to slither his way out of this, but truthfully, this was the first time Steve ever tried to cut the truth from him. Both of them knew secrets would be revealed in due time, but apparently this was too far out there to hide much longer.
Jeremy was silent; he figured the best way was to not answer anything. Unfortunately, Steve wanted answers. "What is it, Jeremy?" He put his hands behind his head, trying to buy himself more time to find a way out of this trap.
A few more minutes passed. "Come on, Jere." He lifted his feet up and his head as well, as if questioning his toes what was the right path from here. And once he received an answer, he let himself relax again.
"I guess you have a right to know," he began. "I'm," and there he stopped. How was he supposed to tell a nonbeliever what magic really was? "I was..." He sighed and looked to Steve. Jeremy could find no definite expression in the night, but he would willingly bet Steve would wait the whole night for an answer.
Finally, he looked back to the stars. "You wouldn't believe me."
"Try me," Steve challenged, making Jeremy wince. He would have won that bet.
"You know Colonel Lerch, how she makes us call her Commodore Katrina while on Swift business?"
"Yah, I will never forget that. It's too peculiar." Peculiar. Steve was not ready to know, he would think the whole business peculiar, but now that Jeremy had started, he knew Steve would not give up until he knew the whole story.
"There's a reason for that."
"That has to do with this?"
"Swift titles are all navy titles, so far as I can tell. It is because half of Swift can see the water on land, not just lakes, rivers and tap water, but oceans and oceans. If we open our eyes, we find ourselves walking through an ocean."
"I don't," Steve interrupted.
"Only half of Swift; one person in every partnership," he replied slightly annoyed.
"You?" Jeremy rolled his eyes, was it not obvious?
"Yah, me. And others. Commodore Katrina, for example. It's because—" He stopped again, trying to figure out what to say next.
"Go on," Steve encouraged. It only frustrated Jeremy further.
"I can't. I don't think you're ready for the truth."
"What do you mean I can't handle the truth?" Jeremy felt the tone of accusation, but more than that, he felt the look of accusation. He heaved a sigh, which resulted in Steve uttering a strangled monosyllabic sound.
"All right," Jeremy never won, but wished he sometimes did. "I'll tell you." He turned his head to look at Steve, "But promise me that you'll stay here."
He shrugged noncommittally, "Fine."
"We, the ones who can see the ocean on land, have the blood of a mythical creature running through us. I share the blood of a gryphon. We, the gryphon and I, made a special pact. It allows me limited magic."
"Magic," Steve repeated; Jeremy winced again. Steve snorted, clearly not taking his words seriously. "Eating flames, mind tricks, conjuring rabbits out of hats," Steve said derisively. "Really. What is it?"
"Conjuring flames." He shifted so that his hand was outside the bedroll and he lit a little flame in his palm. Speaking thoughts, he sent, and wished he could see the expression on Steve's face. "And controlling rabbits." Suddenly, despite the fact they were in the open and nowhere near where a rabbit would life, a rabbit hopped into view. It came close enough so that Jeremy's flame showed the rabbit was brown. He stole a glace to Steve before he put out the flame and found his partner's eyes were wide with surprise.
"We shift the water on earth; we shape the earth to our will." A crack in the ground formed and water started spilling out. "Do you believe me?"
Steve pulled a hand out of his bedroll and touched the forming puddle. The two sought to match the other's gaze, both looking for familiarity and comfort. Steve looked away first. "I don't believe you. Magic doesn't exist."
"Magic," Jeremy said forcefully, trying to get Steve to believe, "Magic is what the Swift is. Mages, hundreds, maybe, no one knows for certain but the Fleet Admiral, whoever that is. It's the reason the captain couldn't get you in alone. You are a great fighter, but you lacked the magic." Jeremy placed a hand on top of Steve's hand. "You see now, why I didn't tell you?"
Steve jerked his hand back roughly, and pushed his way out of the roll.
"You can't just go!" Jeremy called out, sitting up.
"I'm finding Thomas, Captain Clark. I'm out. I'm out. I can't—" Steve stood, and backed up a few steps before turning.
"Steve, you can't leave." Jeremy shoved his own roll off him and started after his partner, which only caused Steve to speed up. "Come on, just listen to me. You can't go. We're miles from everything. You won't survive."
"Without magic?" Steve shot back, suddenly turning around. A sudden pain gripped Jeremy's heart, refusing to let go. "I can't survive because I don't have magic," Steve spat, "I can't make it back because I'm just human?"
"Steve," he pleaded. He could not let Steve go off like that.
"Jeremy. I can't stay."
"Steve."
"It would turn my world, all my values, upside down. Let me ask you, did Thomas know?" Jeremy heard the tone in Steve's voice as well. Neither wanted to accept, but neither wanted to give everything up either.
"He suspected. He knew when Commodore Katrina accepted us."
Steve bit back an oath, "I'm leaving." Jeremy uttered the very oath Steve held back. "And don't you dare follow me."
"At least take—"
"I'm not taking anything contaminated by your magic."
Jeremy flinched. The sudden contempt shocked him and hurt beyond everything he had every known. His blue eyes, however, soon shielded over, leaving no trace of emotion. "Fine, leave. I'll still be around if you change your mind," he said in a voice heavy with sadness.
Steve scoffed at the thought and turned away. "You think I'll need your help?" Jeremy just stared. "I don't think you understand. I am leaving. I'm not coming back."
"It's considered treason," Jeremy muttered at Steve's retreating back, but he knew such words meant nothing coming from someone who believed in magic. He gritted his teeth and his hands formed into fists. "I messed up," he said angrily, though did not know exactly who to direct his anger to.
Jeremy slipped back into his bedroll, but it felt strange without the steady sound of Steve's snoring. That night, he dreamt of Steve returning magnificently on the back of the very red and orange plumed gryphon he shared blood with, but in the morning, when he woke, he was utterly alone. There was no gryphon; there was no Steve.
"I guess this is good bye," he whispered at the empty bedroll.
When he started to pack up, he found a note in Steve's bedroll, pinned to the pillow by a red-orange feather. It read, "I found your gryphon, and I have slain it."
---
Once he crossed the border, Steve banged on the door of the first house he saw. No one opened it. Sighing, he looked around for someone.
"Hey sir, do you have a cell phone?"
The stranger nodded, pulling one out of his pocket.
"Thanks." Steve punched in the numbers. The phone rang four times.
"Hi. This is Thomas Clark. Please leave a message after the tone. Beep!"
"God dammit, Thomas, pick up. It's Steve. Pick up!"
Steve heard a grunt on the other end, followed by, "What Steve? You shouldn't be calling."
"I want you here. Right now."
"What? What happened? Jeremy?"
"I don't care what happened. Just get me out of here. I want out."
There was a pause. "You for real?"
"Yah, I'm for real."
"Then just tell me this. Is Jeremy all right?"
"Doesn't matter. I don't care."
"I can't leave. We're in the middle of a campaign."
"Yah. I know. You nearly killed me."
"Sorry. I can't leave."
"Fine, bye." Steve hung up and handed it back. "Thanks." He shoved his hands into his pockets and started off.
"You need to get somewhere?"
Steve turned, head up, "Yah. Can you get me to Kingston ?"
The man shook his head, "But I can get you to Fairfield . You can take a bus from there."
"That'd be great. Thanks so much." The man nodded.
"My car is over there."
The ride was filled with lies. Steve described a quiet life in a busy city and how he got lost on vacation. Thomas was his brother, who had, as a joke, left him for a few days. Steve had wandered around and just wanted to get home now. It did not begin to explain the real situation, though he told the man his name. The stranger had thought he was a football star.
---
Jeremy sat staring at the empty bedroll for some time. Maybe an hour passed before it reality set in. Steve was not coming back, and he was alone. Moreover, alone in the wilderness.
Steve wasn't there, but he still had to continue on. He would, he promised himself, finish the mission. Their assignment was to find out where a particular battalion was headed and mark it with a tracker.
Or, at least, that's what Steve thought. Jeremy knew that it was also a device to manipulate magic from afar more easily. He sighed, knowing that even if he got his hands on the parts, he would be unable to assemble the device. Steve was the technician. To him, the parts would be a puzzle that would take weeks to solve. To Steve, they were the missing pieces to a half solved riddle.
Slowly, he got up, and then he cleaned the site as he always did. He banked the fire, rolled up the beds, and stuffed everything into the two packs. Then, he realized that he could not possibly shoulder two packs.
He groaned, realizing repacking would take at least another hour. When he finished, he only hat the essentials to survive on his own. The life he and Steve had known would become a memory of luxury.
Off he stepped, careful to cover his tracks because the site was impossible to hid with a large pack sitting there. He had a mission to finish, and magic would not get him to the end.
"Damn you, Steve," he muttered at his shoe. "I should have listened to the Commodore." His eyes searched around, doubly wary. Everything, he soon found, took twice as long, and everything was twice as tedious.
---
Steve stormed the officers' barracks. "Corporal Lerch! I want—" Someone grabbed him by the arm, cutting him short. It was Thomas.
"Stop it, Private Kelly," he hissed. Then he lowered his voice even more, "Come with me." Steve took a breath and followed the captain to his office. The captain closed the door, sliding the bolt into place.
"Do you want to blow everything? Do you want to throwyears of secrecy out the window?" Thomas flared, and Steve shed his personal life and became a stoic soldier. "Where's Jeremy?"
"I left him, sir."
"You left him. You could be dead. He could be dead. You left him. Brightest idea you've ever had."
"Sir, if you—"
"Did I ask you to speak?" Steve hung his head. "You disobeyed the orders. You blatantly went against your commands. You—"
The phone rang. Glaring at Steve, Thomas picked it up. "Yes, he is here, sir." The door opened, making Steve jump and become well aware of the fact magic did exist. In came Corporal Lerch, or rather, Commodore Katrina.
"Steve, I am disappointed." Thomas stepped into the background. "I contacted Jeremy. He didn't abandon post." Steve opened his mouth, but the commodore continued. Instead, of saying anything, he took a step away from the officer. "You had an assignment. Did you finish?" Steve took another step back, shaking his head. Commodore Katrina grabbed his arm, and Steve visibly flinched, but was unable to get away. He suspected magic.
"You will go back, and you will finish your mission." She shoved him down into the chair. "You will find Jeremy, and when you return, you better have Jeremy by your side."
"The gryphon," Steve gasped, "Magic."
Commodore Katrina glared at Steve. "The idiot. I told him… Still. You, having been with him for how long?"
"But," he argued weakly.
"Katrina, let me speak with him." She nodded, and Steve sighed gratefully. Anything to get rid of magic, but that left Thomas. Yet he figured Thomas had no magic. After that many years of knowing each other. Steve looked away. He should have been that close with Jeremy; he should have trusted Jeremy. But still, the magic.
"Steve," Thomas continued, "Listen to me." He nodded numbly in return. "Jeremy isn't a bad person. Simply different. We all have our separate gifts."
"Did you know?"
"Yes."
"He's a freak."
Thomas shook his head. "I know. It's hard to accept. The fact that everything is as it doesn't appear to be, but even magic exists within the bounds of rules."
"You don't understand. He—"
"I do. I went through the same thing when she first told me. I flipped out; she tied me up, making me promise I wouldn't run away."
"Must have been terrifying." Thomas nodded.
"I accepted it in the end, and nearly abused her skill. Will you go back?"
Steve stared at his shoelaces. "Yes." He paused. "No." And again, "Yes."
"Thank you."
"But, after this, I want out."
"We'll see," Thomas said, "Go sleep. I'll drive you to the border tomorrow."
Steve stood, nodded, and excused himself, slipping past Katrina without looking at her.
---
The next day, Captain Clark drove Steve out to the edges of society. It took another three days to find his way back to where he had left Jeremy, it was much easier to find home than a simple campsite. When he saw the lone pack, it took everything to stop from crying.
He was stupid for leaving Jeremy. He should have trusted. He felt like an utter wreck, but he understood that he had to find his partner, and apologize, and finish the mission.
Jeremy had been careful, though, and Steve had no idea where to start looking. He shouldered the pack, which was filled with mostly useless things. If he were lucky, he would find Jeremy soon, but chances were, Jeremy would go on before him. Steve had to cover his own tracks as well as look for the faint traces of Jeremy.
Or it would have been so were it not for the commodore. Grudgingly, Steve took out a pair of sunglasses and put them on. Suddenly, it looked like he was wading in water. He tried touching the surface of the water, but it felt like nothing. Yet he saw on the surface that his fingers had left small ditches.
Steve pulled his hand away, wiping it on his shirt. He looked out, and saw the faint trail of something crystal blue. It reminded him of Jeremy for some reason, and if the commodore was right, it was the path Jeremy had left.
For days, he followed, trying to catch up with his partner. For days, he survived on the barest bits of half molded food. But he became encouraged as the thin trail he saw grew thicker and thicker. Finally, after a week had passed, the line was an inch thick, and it made a small indent in the "water on land."
Looking out, he saw a campfire. He removed the glasses and examined the place. There was a fire, and there, right behind it, was Jeremy. Steve resisted the urge to rush off, exclaiming his apology. Instead, he whistled his coming as he always did when he approached the campsite.
Jeremy stood, awed, and Steve continued his whistle and his approach. And when at last, only a fire stood between the two, Jeremy looked away.
"Jeremy," Steve started. "I'm sorry." When Jeremy looked up again, Steve only found accusation in the eyes.
"I was prepared to forgive you a week ago. But this," Jeremy held out a paper and a feather, "settled in. I can't believe you."
Steve took the paper and the feather, confused. He read the paper and then, with innocence, he looked back at Jeremy. "I don't understand. I didn't write this."
Astonished, Jeremy stepped back. "Well then?" Steve shrugged. "I thought it was a mistake at first, but when you didn't come back, I thought, maybe, it was true." Steve shook his head.
"I should have trusted you, Jere. I'm sorry." He set down his pack. "And I'm not sure I can—"
"—I understand. You want food?" Jeremy held a bowl. Steve took it and greedily finished it.
"I forgive you," Jeremy said after an hour. He had been playing with small bouncy ball he had conjured the entire time. "If the gryphon lay dead, I would have very little magic. Not enough to do this. I think I was just—"
Steve shook his head. "Whatever. Just, please, I can't deal with it."
That night, and the rest of the mission, passed by awkwardly. Jeremy went back to hiding his magic ability, but using it when necessary. Still, it was strange. Steve knew what happened when Jeremy tried the impossible and succeeded. But still, they were partners.