Summoned Chaos by Joshua Roots Page B

wince like before. The bruising under his left eye was a pale yellow rather than the deep purple normally associated with getting your ass kicked by a paranormal thug. I knew for a fact that Mick was the only Healer still around, but he’d been so busy with the other injured—including me—that he couldn’t have tended to the Elder.
    The old man had fixed his own wounds and done so like a pro. It made me only slightly nervous to be in the presence of someone so powerful they had mastered both the Healing and Summoning branches of training.
    And those were just the ones I knew about.
    “Thank you for seeing me, Marcus,” Devon said with a polite smile. “Especially considering the kind of day you’ve had.”
    I shrugged, fighting the exhaustion that threatened to lull me to sleep right there. “I’ve had worse.”
    Devon’s beard twitched slightly. “So I’ve heard.”
    Lacking the energy to do much else, I simply stared at him. The pain thumping in my head didn’t help.
    The Elder leaned forward. “Cutting to the chase, you’ve placed me in a very interesting predicament. On the one hand, you and your rift team are all on probation.”
    I swallowed, fighting the anger that was slowly building in my belly. “A bad order is still a bad order, no matter who issues it.”
    Devon nodded. “I agree wholeheartedly.”
    “What?” I asked, unable to mask my surprise.
    “Warlock Arbent’s willingness to act against Elder Rancin’s order ensured the safety of our reality.”
    My shock slowly spooled into confusion. “Then why were we punished?”
    Devon blinked, obviously unaccustomed to being questioned. “Because you defied an Elder. Before you get angry,” he added, cutting me off, “consider it from our perspective... You and your team were issued orders from the highest level of the Council and you disobeyed them. Yes, it was the right call, but the Elders have to prove to everyone that kind of decision is not without consequence. If we didn’t, what would prevent the next person from ignoring us?”
    I bristled, anger beginning to pump renewed energy into me. “Punishing us only sends the message that you don’t trust your leaders to make tough decisions. What happens if someone needs to challenge a bad order in the future? A lot more people tend to die from lack of action than they do from wrong actions.”
    Devon seemed unfazed by my accusation. “I’m willing to play the odds that most situations won’t wind up like yours did this morning. But that is not the issue at hand,” he added quickly. “You present a unique problem because of who you are. In addition to your probation, you are well-known for the... issues of your past.”
    I clenched my jaw to keep from snapping at the old man. No one needed to point out how cocky I was as a kid or that my overconfidence had convinced me I could handle a professional Summoning Spell.
    The scar on my neck, not to mention the nightmares that haunted me, were more than enough.
    Nor did anyone need to remind me of my cowardice when I’d walked away from the Skilled community entirely. The powers of the Skilled were like any muscle in the human body. The more you worked out, the stronger you became. But stop using that muscle and it atrophies. When I’d quit my training out of shame for my actions, I’d locked my Skill behind an emotional door. I’d refused all things magical, opting instead to simply let that part of me die. When I then ultimately decided it was time to stop running and return to the Skilled world, I had been weaker than a newborn pup. I’d struggled with training, compensating for my lack of powers by mastering Normal weapons.
    Running away from my problems was easy at fourteen. Admitting I’d never escape them unless I confronted them was harder at twenty.
    Reinserting myself back into the Skilled world after so much time away had been exhausting, both physically and emotionally. I’d stumbled while kids much younger than me