Hero Reincarnate Ch.1

Chapter 1: The Initiation

Flashes.

I gripped my head, mind reeling in pain.

More flashes, sudden moments of pitch darkness, as if going through a tunnel.

I knew I was moving, but I had no idea where to. It felt like I was tumbling in open air, feeling no firm surface around me. I attempted to open my eyes, but found a burst of iridescent colors spiraling before me. They burned, and I quickly shut my eyes. I started moving faster, and I felt a sudden twisting in my gut, as if I was on the tip of a roller coaster ride. I groaned in nausea, bile slowly seeping from my tight-lipped mouth. I shook myself, trying to remember how this all happened.

Ah, yes. The library.

I hoisted my backpack over my shoulder as I entered Vista Park Community Library. The serene calmness that usually accompanied a library contrasted greatly from the busy streets outside the building. The Checkout desks were near the doorway, and I smiled as an old man sitting there waved at me. I was a usual visitor, so I knew half of the staff there.

“How’s it goin’, Mr. Woods?” I greeted politely.

“Ah, the usual! Sitting down for hours in the peace and quiet. Best part of the job.” He then turned away to assist someone.

I walked up a long, carpeted stairwell and entered the Adult Section. This part of the library was even quieter, and I found the still atmosphere pleasing. I walked to the Reference desk, and a small, Asian woman turned to greet me.

“Herro, Misser Wilhelm! How are you?” she asked.

I bit back a smile, not wanting to indirectly insult her for her Chinese accent. I cleared my throat.

“I’m doing well, Mrs. Wong. I’ve got a book I want to read, and I was hoping that you could find it for me,” I inquired. I added hastily, “If it’s not too much to ask, that is.”

She nodded, and waved a thin, pale hand in my direction as she went to the computer.

“Not at all, not at all, Misser Wilhelm. What is the name of this book?” she replied.

“Err,” I looked up at the ceiling, straining to remember. I finally got it. “The Coming of Arthur, by Alfred, Lord Tennyson.”

She quickly typed the name. After it loaded, she looked up the location and wrote it on a sticky note. She got up from her chair and motioned to me.

“Here, forrow me.”

Although Mrs. Wong was a short, stocky woman, I had to struggle to catch up with her as we strolled down the bookshelves. We finally came to the corner of the room, and she bent down to locate the book. She stopped, seeing it at the end of a long row of thick paperbacks. She took the book from the shelves and handed it to me. I thanked her, and she left me alone in the corner to attend to some shelving. I sat down on the floor and opened the book.

Leodogran, the King of Cameliard,

Had one fair daughter, and none other child;

And she was fairest of all flesh on Earth,

Guinevere, and in her his one delight

For many a petty king ere Arthur came…

I was drawn into the epic, turning page after page of dazzling imagery and plot. I was so immersed that I did not notice that outside the window, the sky had grown dark, and the wind howled with so much fury that the trees trembled violently. One by one, the people inside the library left, until only the staff, a few stoic studiers, and I were left. I turned another page to a dark picture where Arthur and his soldiers were fighting on top of a hill. There was a flash of light before me. I gasped, and almost fell back in surprise. My vision darkened, and I was taken to another place and time.

I raised my golden sword, rallying my troops behind me.

“Ho! They yield!” I yelled in triumph.

The battlefield was silent, and the only sound was the victory cry of my knights.

The field was covered with the bodies of the dead, and the foul smell soon rose to engulf my nostrils…

I dropped the book, and I clutched my head. My blonde hair whipped back and forth, as I struggled to erase the pain. I felt my backpack leave my shoulders, and I was forced into a tunnel of light and darkness.

I felt the pain in my head stop, and inhaled deeply. Fresh air filled my lungs. I sighed gratefully and sat up. I was in a chair, placed at the front of a long, ornate wooden table. A feast was laid out in front of me. A freshly cooked, great-smelling pig lay in the center, and chicken, fruit, and a various assortment of other delicious delicacies surrounded it. I looked down , and found a silver plate, complete with shiny utensils. I looked around me. I was in a huge room, and a golden chandelier hung from the cream-colored ceiling. Purple banners decorated the walls, each with a unique decoration. I didn’t have time to distinguish all of them, because I found out that I wasn’t alone. To my right were three other boys, sitting next to each other in a row. They all wore the same confused expression on their faces. Mine wasn’t very different. The first was a short, muscular boy, with a tattoo down his right arm. He had blond hair, but it was cut short to a buzz cut. He had sharp, intense features, like someone who had been fighting for a long time. He even had a scar on his right cheek to prove it. The boy had on a white tank top and shorts. Seems he just came from the gym, I mused. To his left was a tall, Asian kid, with small, brown, almond eyes. His limbs were long and limber, like a tree. He wore his pajamas. To his left was another boy, who had long brown hair down to his shoulders. He had deep, blue eyes that darted around the room, taking in his surroundings. When he met mine, I saw that he probably had the same personality as the blonde kid (not me, of course, the short one), intense, tough, and didn’t take no for an answer. There was only one person to my right. He sat calmly, different from the rest of us. He had long, black hair, and he was muscular, fit, and wore a UFC Tap-Out T-shirt, and black jeans. After a while, I noticed that we were all around the same age. Fifteen, sixteen, or maybe younger. I attempted to strike up a conversation.

“So, you guys like roasted pig-”

Before I could continue, a large, carved wooden door on the back wall opened behind us. We whirled around to see an odd sight. A wizened old man stood before us, leaning on a twisted, oak staff. A trimmed, white beard descended down to his chest, and a bushy mustache covered most of his mouth. He had a wrinkled, pockmarked face, but the most disturbing thing about him was his eyes. They were a pure, storm cloud grey, with no pupils. His blue robe swished at his feet as he walked around us. He stopped until he faced us all. He was tall, and I mean tall. He easily towered over us, even the Asian boy, who was the tallest of us five. Right now he was clutching the front of his red pajamas, face pale with fright. The old man cleared his throat and began to speak.

“Honored Heroes,” he spoke with a majestic voice, a deep voice that echoed across the room, “We are gathered here today to start the long awaited Initiation-” He stopped talking when the tattooed guy stood up.

“Wait a second! What the heck am I doing here? One minute I’m reading a book at the rec center, and the next I’m sitting here! What the hell is going on here?” he yelled. He had a thick, Boston accent. The brown-haired kid stood up with him.

“I’d like to know the answer to that also, old man.” I couldn’t place the accent. European, maybe? I saw the Asian kid (Chinese, I think) cringe.

“I just want to go home!” he cried. Surprisingly, the boy had a vague Western accent, like from Texas. The black-haired one beside me rose and crossed his arms.

“I third that motion.” His voice was light, but menacing in tone. His accent was also kind of European. I quickly rose, not wanting to be left out.

“Y-Yeah! What’s going on?” I added.

The old man was silent. His head was bowed, beard trailing down his length. Suddenly, his chest started heaving. We hesitated for a moment, bravado faltering.

“Hey, dude! Are you crying?” the Bostonian questioned, face twisted in awkward confusion. The old man brought his head up, and big, booming laughter arose from his throat. He had a wide smile on his face as he leveled his head met ours.

“Ah, I expected much. Is it true that none of you know of your arrival at this hallowed hall?”

We nodded slowly. Even the Chinese boy bobbed his head in agreement. The old man shook his head like a disapproving father.

“Even of you did not know why you came here at the beginning, surely you must have guessed? Well, it seems that I must tell you now,” He sighed sadly, “Kids these days. The mind is not fed as much as they were in the Old Days.”

He looked at each one of us.

“Think about it. What were you all doing at the time of the Pull?”

We paused for a second. I realized something in my head.

“We were all reading something.” I concluded.

“Quick thinking, Mr. Wilhelm. I applaud you.” His eyes seemed to twinkle, which seemed impossible since he had no pupils.

“What were you reading?” he asked.

“I was reading The Coming of Arthur.” I said.

“The Iliad, by Homer.”

“The Chinese story Journey to the West.”

“I was reading a textbook. The class was supposed to annotate some weird poem, The Song of Roland.”

“Beowulf.”

The man nodded

“I shall clear it all up for you.” He said with finality.

He walked towards the table, and placed his index finger on the chest of the brown-haired guy.

“Angelus Svalbard, you are Beowulf.” He said.

The boy’s face looked confused for a moment, then lit up as if realizing something important.

The man walked down the line, executing the same process he had done with Angelus.

“Nathan Li, you are Sun Wukong, the Monkey King.”

“Tommy Ballard, you are Achilles.”

He skipped me, leaving me in an even further state of confusion.

“Benjamin Fitzroy, you are Roland.”

He walked back to me, and he smiled. Light blocked my vision, and I remembered sitting in a peaceful, forest glade, looking up at the same face that stood in front of me now. Realization dawned on me, and my knees started shaking.

“M-Merlin?” I asked, voice quivering with emotion.

“What is your name, boy?” Although he asked, I sensed that he already knew the answer.

“A-Arty Wilhelm.” I replied.

Merlin shook his head, and he placed his hand on my head.

“No, my friend. You are King Arthur Pendragon, Conqueror of Britain, and Lord of Camelot.”