Into the Fold

by Chase Blackwood

  “Thank you master,” Kallon said smoothly, picking up his quill and rotating his sheet of vellum to resume notetaking.

  “Perhaps,” Master Glass continued, “an example to better illustrate may exemplify the need for the proper mind within the field of the arkein. I find analogies can be useful to the ignorant and for those blinded by thought,” again his eyes paused on Aeden.

  Aeden looked around and then met the master’s unwavering gaze. Was there anger there? Interest? A challenge?

  Confusion gave way to the slow bubble of acrimony that resided deep within Aeden’s heart.

  “This is a story of a Gwhelt boy and the nature of folly,” Master Glass said, a smile spreading across his lips, as he pulled his eyes from Aeden and once more addressed the small group as a whole.

  Any difficulty Aeden had paying attention, slipped away like pollen in the wind.

  “This boy was raised by a tribe of warriors. A group who dedicated their lives to the arts of fighting and violence. They knew little about greater Verold, for they were cast in the shadows of the mountain peaks. Peaks that surrounded them, drowning them in the nescience of seclusion.

  “They trained, not in reading, writing, arithmetic, or higher learning, but instead in the baser elements of humanity…”

  Aeden felt his face slowly turn red as he realized that Master Glass was talking about the Thane.

  “…they knew little about much of anything, and that ignorance made them feel safe, comforted them in their knowledge of the Thirteen, it was their blanket from the wider world…”

  Not only was the master talking about his people with derision in his tone, but he was talking about a group who had already passed. A group that had been Aeden’s family, his home.

  “Enough!” Aeden shouted, cutting off Master Glass, his voice echoing across the classroom.

  Suddenly the room fell silent. Aeden looked up and Master Glass was staring intently upon him. The master’s eyes were narrowed, shrewd, as if weighing Aeden’s soul.

  No one dared move, as if the very act of breathing would disrupt the silence that permeated the air and settled upon their skin in a sticky morass.

  Master Glass raised an eyebrow, “Have I said something that has offended you?”

  Aeden struggled to swallow back the rising tide of ire that reddened his face and thrashed against his ears. The guilty mantle that hung about his neck had been transformed into one of anger. Something that was far more familiar, far more comfortable.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about…” Aeden stammered out slowly, deliberately.

  The other students drew in a slow breath and held it as if waiting for the classroom to explode about them.

  “Are all Agathonia so gifted they needn’t study the underlying concepts of the arkein?” Master Glass mused aloud.

  The slow boil of anger that resided just beneath Aeden’s skin pricked delicately at his mind. He swallowed back a retort and thought briefly of Odilo. Aeden remembered his scarred face as it folded into a partial smile, serene as a still pond.

  “I am here to learn,” Aeden replied, barely choking out each word.

  “Master,” Glass finished for him.

  “Not yet,” Aeden replied with a dark smirk.

  All eyes turned to look at him. Thea shook her head, as a combination of pity and surprise rolled across her face. Aeden realized he had made a mistake, but he didn’t care. Maybe Aeden’s act was one of self-sabotage for the pain he’d caused Thea. Perhaps it was his pride.

  Aeden was the last member of the Thane Sagan. He had earned his name. He had killed. He had become a warrior and a man. He wasn’t about to sit back idly as insults were hurled at his people.

  Master Glass’ eyes narrowed as he continued to study Aeden. Was there a hint of sadness there?

  The room grew uncomfortably quiet. It was the long, gentle breath before the storm. Aeden’s skin prickled at the feeling and his mind came fully awake. Whatever daydreams he had, fell away and were replaced with the cold, hard reality of atori.

  Master Glass turned away as if to write something upon the board and continue class. The hair on Aeden’s neck stood on end. His sword seemed to hum slightly within its scabbard. A strange sensation came over him.

  Master Glass turned and hurled a shout at Aeden. Although, shout wouldn’t do the word justice. To call it a shout would be to call a lion a cat. It was an intransmutable force that shaped the air and gave it weight, texture, power. It was a careful manipulation of frequencies honed with vigorous intent.

  Aeden had shouted back, before he realized what he was doing. It was an instinct. It came as naturally as parring a sword, blocking a punch, side-stepping a kick.

  There was an echoing thunderclap of colliding energies. Janto had fallen out of his seat. Thea was covering her ears. Kallon had spilled his jar of ink.

  The energy of Master Glass’ bellow dissipated, and Aeden simply sat there, returning the Master’s unyielding glare.

  Slowly the spell was broken and Master Glass turned to look at the rest of the class. He smoothed out his goatee and in a calm voice requested everyone leave the classroom and head to the library.

  Everyone that is, except for Aeden.

  The normal clamor of exiting students was replaced with quiet and rapid efficiency. Within a moment the classroom was empty. The last thing Aeden saw was the departing glance of Thea at the threshold. Her look was part concerned, part exasperated, and part in awe.

  At least she was no longer angry at him, was the passing thought that strayed across Aeden’s mind before he returned his attention to Master Glass.

  Chapter 21

  “Movement is but the seed of fate, true deeds mark one for destiny.” Book of Muses – Library of Galdor

  Silence echoed grandly off the fine stonework, touching the highest arches of a vaulted ceiling, playing with the pillars framing the windows, before finally becoming lost in the open-mouthed fireplace that rested opposite Master Glass’ desk.

  Aeden shifted in his seat as annoyance grew into discomfort. Yet the master said nothing. He simply sat at the edge of his desk and studied Aeden as if he were a curiosity from the deepest parts of the Chimera Forest.

  Time stretched before them, wider than the Black Sea and deeper than the Chasm of Dimutia. It ate slowly at Aeden’s anger and temporarily abated his feelings of guilt as it permeated every aspect of the space between them. It formed into a blanket of security, until finally Aeden felt his anger and shame dissipate.

  Therefore, it was a shock when Master Glass broke it. It was like the concussive jolt of a smith’s hammer.

  “You have an interesting lineage,” Master Glass began, “One that will either mark you for greatness or for terrible acts of villainy. I wonder,” he paused, “which path you’re destined for.”

  Master Glass took in a slow breath. His piercing eyes gathered in Aeden like wood before a Vintas storm.

  Aeden remained silent. He didn’t know how to respond. The question had felt rhetorical. He certainly didn’t feel like he had been marked for either greatness or villainy. Although if he had to pick one, he would guess villainy. Who else could commit such atrocities and not atone for them?

  “Who taught you defensive harmonics?” Glass asked, changing the direction of the conversation.

  “Defensive harmonics?” Aeden questioned, not sure what Master Glass was referring to.

  The master’s eyes narrowed a bit, “the practical application of vibrational harmonics and defensive modulations…”

  Aeden’s face remained passive, marked subtly by confusion.

  “You countered my shout without hesitation and with near-perfect pitch. How?”

  Understanding fell upon Aeden in a heap. Master Glass had assumed Aeden had been trained in some form of the arkein. Aeden knew he had not. His thoughts spiraled down a rabbit hole.

  How had he done it?

  For him it had been an instinctual response. Aeden had trained in defens
e since birth. He had learned to read the subtle cues of a man ready to attack: the dilation of the pupils, the small shift in body weight, the balling of the fist, the blading of the body, the small bob of the Adam’s apple, the target glancing of the eyes. Perhaps he had cued in on any one of these pre-incident indicators.

  “I don’t know,” Aeden answered honestly.

  Master Glass nodded his head and scratched at his goatee. He then turned slightly and looked out the window as if for answers. The light filtered through the stained glass and created a prism of hues across the master’s face.

  “I think you have a gift,” Master Glass resumed, “so did Headmaster Sund…”

  Aeden looked up at mention of the University of Galdor’s now deceased headmaster. The headmaster’s final moments reeled through his mind. It tore at the soft fabric of his reality and pulled at the thick thread of guilt that lay waiting and available for any who could see.

  “I was there,” Aeden whispered.

  Aeden’s words stayed Master Glass’ tongue, instead, the master listened.

  The colored light from the stained-glass windows reached across the room and fell before Aeden’s feet. It reminded him of the impossible complexity of the world. It spoke softly of the changing paradigm of Verold.

  “I watched as the Headmaster hurled a shout at three Inquisitors, and it did little more than nudge them back…” Aeden rubbed at his forehead as memory coupled with feeling and threatened to overwhelm him.

  “I wanted to stay,” Aeden continued, remembering every vivid detail. The shape of the sky, the weight of the early morning air, the feel of the road under his feet… “But Headmaster Sund sent me away. He told me to shut the portal, to protect the remaining students of Galdor.”

  Aeden’s voice cracked and he stopped. It was what he didn’t say that was most telling. How the Inquisition had been there for him. How he had stoked their anger at the Monastery of the Holy Order of Sancire, Bodig. How he had provoked Master of Arms, Captain Tirrell in the courtyard of Archduchess Alina Cynesige. How he had maintained a feud with Caine during his tenure at the University that led to Caine’s cousin, Captain Tirrell, tipping the Inquisition off to Aeden’s location.

  It was Aeden’s fault the University of Galdor burned. It was Aeden’s fault so many had died. It was Aeden’s fault that Headmaster Sund had sacrificed his life for him. It was Aeden’s fault that Thea’s father had died. It was Aeden’s anger, his weakness, his folly that had led to disaster, to so much death.

  Yet, Master Glass didn’t seem to fully comprehend the wreath of shame that weighed Aeden down. He mistook it for grief at the passing of the headmaster. He strode across the room and placed a hand on Aeden’s shoulder. It was a moment of compassion, but of misunderstanding.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Master Glass said quietly, gently even, “The Inquisitors are a powerful group, their armor is of a unique and complex design, confounding to even the best of arkeinists.”

  Aeden hardly heard him. His mind was overcome with the weight of the past. It was stuck within the quagmire that he had created.

  “Clear your head of it,” Master Glass stated more strongly, “for a clouded heart and muddied brain cannot fully harness the power of the arkein.”

  At the mention of power and the arkein, Aeden looked up. It was as if his father reached down from purgatory and slapped him. It was the reminder that Aeden still had a village to avenge.

  “As I had said,” Glass continued, “you have a gift. One that needs harnessing, one that needs tutoring. One that could lead to great power…” Master Glass paused as if contemplating his own words, before finally continuing, “One that I would like to help you develop.”

  Aeden didn’t look up. He didn’t need to. It was as if some hidden hand was manipulating his life and he was merely along for the ride. He didn’t care. He would take whatever help was freely offered. Perhaps Master Glass had some answers.

  “Thank you,” Aeden said, his voice regaining its strength as he shed a sliver of his mantle of malefaction.

  Master Glass nodded and looked up.

  “One last thing,” the master said.

  Aeden turned to look at him.

  “Don’t lose your temper with Master Zabel.”

  Aeden nodded once, smiled and walked out of the room.

  Chapter 22

  “The face is a mask we wear to confound others.” Canton of Sawol

  Aeden had enjoyed a moment of respite as he departed Master Glass’ classroom. The stone walls of the Tower of the Arkein were still. The corridor was quiet. The tall windows were like paintings, reflecting the hush of the Fold. The placidity formed a counterpoint to Aeden’s mental wanderings, for his mind focused on Master Glass’ words.

  Had the master offered to tutor him? Was he offering him the keys to greater power and a window into the murky depths of the arkein?

  Aeden had nearly forgotten about Thea and his prior transgression. His disaffection had been shoved aside like an unwanted child and now hovered about him in a nebulous cloud of dissatisfaction. It spurned him to try harder, to exert himself in an effort to redeem himself before Thea, before the fallen Thane, before the very gods themselves.

  He silently vowed to study harder. He vowed to dedicate himself to the arkein. He vowed to fulfill his promise of revenge.

  The sounds of students intermingled with the silence. Their voices competed with his thoughts as he approached the open doorway to his next class. A small sense of excitement claimed him, for he knew he’d learn more about the arkein.

  Aeden stepped into the classroom, the atmosphere of frenzied gossip swallowed him whole.

  A giddy energy permeated the space and clung to the walls. It dripped from the ceiling as an echoed shadow of reflected thought. Voices clamored to be heard as a half-dozen conversations struggled to compete with one another.

  Aeden waded through the room like a bear through a fish-filled river. He managed two steps before conversations ebbed and fell away. Eyes turned to track his movement. The mood of the room had turned to a muddy color of a questionable hue.

  He saw the faces of his friends, Adel, Thea, Laurent and Dan. They were like flowers in a field. He saw Garit and Kallon and Muriel. He frowned as he saw Caine standing near the twins, Janto and Faro. Caine was the looming storm, a dark cloud of unknown destruction.

  In the corner, watching everything was the avauncen student, Rafe. An enigma of tranquility.

  Aeden’s friends approached with curiosity and excitement.

  Aeden hardly took another step before he was bombarded with questions.

  “What happened?” Thea asked.

  Her face was fraught with concern. Her eyes were large with interest.

  “I heard you fought with Master Glass, is it true?” Laurent exclaimed, his words cutting into Thea’s.

  “Is everything okay?” Adel questioned, a hand upon Aeden’s shoulder.

  It was overwhelming. Aeden’s mind was already consumed with the ideas of power, with the possibility of wielding the arkein. He barely heard the questions. They were like the distant droning of insects in some faraway space.

  Adding to his distraction was Caine. He was a wolf, masked behind the smirk and charm of one born to self-importance. Aeden’s attention was inextricably drawn away from his friends and to the shadow that marked Caine’s corner of the room.

  “It had happened so suddenly…” Janto said, just loud enough for his voice to carry, as Caine nodded encouragingly.

  “Feel free to answer one of our questions,” Laurent cut in.

  Thea’s brow was now furrowed. Adel glanced at Thea. Dan simply stared at Aeden.

  “I’m sorry,” Aeden replied, “What was the question?”

  Janto carried on in the background, “…one moment I’m taking notes, and the next Aeden shouts unlike anything I’ve ever heard…”

  “Are you expelled,” Dan asked, as Laurent waved a hand in front of Aeden’s face.

  Aeden s
topped eavesdropping and focused on his friends.

  “I don’t think so.”

  It wasn’t something he’d even considered. His mind traveled down a new path. What if he were expelled? What would he do? Wander the Fold in search of answers? Steal whatever books he could and privately study the arkein in the forest like a hermit?

  “Five drams he’s expelled,” Laurent whispered to Dan.

  “He’s not expelled,” Thea cut in defensively.

  She took a step closer to Aeden. Her posture changed. It had become defiant, protective. Aeden smiled. Thea was right. He wouldn’t be expelled. Master Glass hadn’t appeared angry. He had seemed curious, interested, almost fatherly in his tone.

  “Okay,” Laurent said, hands up in defeat, “but I still bet five drams.”

  The last was hardly a whisper.

  “What?” Thea asked.

  Dan jumped in, “Deal,” he said looking from Laurent to Thea, “we won’t bother Aeden with thoughts of expulsion. I’m sure it was a mistake.”

  Aeden glanced around, wondering when Master Zabel would arrive. As much as he enjoyed the attention, he wanted a moment to think. A moment to arrange his thoughts and settle his mind.

  Looking up, Aeden caught sight of Kallon with his hand drooped over Muriel’s shoulder. Aeden looked away and caught sight of Caine glaring angrily at him. Janto and Faro continued to talk, but their voices had faded to a muted whisper. It was Caine’s glare that had ensnared his sleeping mind. It stirred at the latent anger that resided deep within his belly.

  Aeden studied Caine’s expression, chin thrust mildly forward, head titled back, his eyes slightly narrowed. It was disgusting.

  He tore his eyes from Caine and looked elsewhere. He focused on Kallon and Muriel who had taken up residence near a window on the far side of the room. Just as Muriel was leaning into Kallon, Rafe spoke up.

  “Class,” Rafe’s voice was oddly resonant. “Please, take your seats.”

  Aeden watched with interest as most everyone immediately complied. Conversations fell away like discarded refuse. The twins and Caine took seats near the front. Garit sat close to Sakhira. Kallon and Muriel, however, remained distracted with each other. They continued to whisper and giggle, entrapped by young love.