Into the Fold

by Chase Blackwood

  Xuban grunted and brought out an apple, which looked rather small in the large master’s hands. He placed it with great care at the center of the wooden table, before retreating back into the shadows.

  For a moment it felt like Master Xuban’s eyes were on him, studying him, weighing his awareness. Aeden realized he’d been thinking too much. His lessons on releasing tension, allowing every detail of the moment to consume him, of opening his mind so that thoughts drifted with the ease of a gentle wind, settled within. The thoughts were sticky and circular. He knew Master Xuban would disapprove.

  “Aeden,” Master Glass stated, “choose your weapon.”

  Aeden nodded and stepped to the weapon rack.

  He looked over the swords as memory settled upon him. He was briefly reminded of the armory in his father’s house. He had been tasked with choosing a sword. Aeden, shook the memory aside and lifted one of the weapons, swinging it lightly. The weight was off. He tried another and felt the blade to be too heavy.

  The third sword had a blue streak running the length of the fuller. The weight was balanced. The grip felt sure in his hands. Aeden had settled upon a Gemynd weapon.

  He twirled the blade with a flourish, warming his wrists, and showing off his skill with the weapon.

  Without hesitation, Aeden stepped forward, judging the proper distance from the table. With a quick and clean cut, he sliced through the apple and pulled the sword back and up, avoiding the wood of the table.

  Master Glass smiled. Sakhira merely nodded. Rafe’s eyes narrowed.

  “Well done,” Master Glass whispered to Aeden as Sakhira stepped forward.

  Master Xuban brought out a new apple as Glass cleaned up the old one, taking a moment to admire the clean edges of the cut along each half of the fruit.

  It was once again Sakhira’s turn. The taciturn student took a moment longer than before. After a moment’s silence, he swung. He cut through the fruit, just missing the table’s surface. A bead of sweat lingered on his brow as he showed a rare smile.

  Sakhira let out a breath as he stepped to the side, handing the unknown make of sword to Rafe.

  Rafe took a moment to set up and swing. His movements were smooth and efficient. Aeden noted Rafe’s proficiency, realizing Rafe had clearly used a sword before. Within the blink of an eye, the apple was cleaved in two.

  There was little time to contemplate Rafe’s actions. There was little time for Aeden to mentally prepare or guess at the third and final item.

  “Master Xuban,” Glass exclaimed, “Let’s give them the final challenge.”

  Xuban, as silent as ever, brought out a single pea from a pod. He placed it delicately on the table over a sheet of vellum. He smiled as he did so, before retreating from the light, as though the amber tones would burn him.

  “The final challenge for the Third Trial of Ansuz,” Master Glass announced heavily. “We will begin with you,” Glass said, pointing to Sakhira.

  Sakhira took in a breath. His features remained neutral, yet his eyes spoke volumes. There was cunning, anticipation, and pride expressed within. Sakhira stretched and swung the blade several more times, as if reacquainting himself with the weight of the sword. He stepped up to the table, then took a half step back, before shuffling forward an inch.

  Satisfied, Sakhira raised the sword. Master Glass nodded and began counting the distant drum beats.

  Sakhira carefully lowered the blade and began to saw at the pea. He hadn’t swung it down quickly. Instead, Sakhira had tried a different approach. He had set the edge of the blade upon the pea gingerly, like a lover’s kiss. The pea slipped to the side and the sword fell upon the vellum.

  “Time,” Master Glass called out.

  Aeden winced slightly, not realizing how invested he had become in Sakhira’s effort. He had thought of a similar strategy.

  “May I watch the final two?” Sakhira asked.

  Master Glass smiled and nodded, “Of course.”

  Sakhira moved to the side of the tent and waited.

  “Rafe,” Glass waved Rafe to the table as Master Xuban placed a fresh pea onto the vellum.

  Rafe didn’t look at Aeden this time. His casual confidence was replaced with a moment’s hesitation.

  It was in this moment that Aeden imagined Rafe slicing straight into the table. He imagined Rafe walking out, head down, as Aeden stepped out, triumphant. Thea was there, watching, smiling, proud. She rushed past Rafe and into Aeden’s arms. Fantasy fled before the present.

  Rafe hefted the sword.

  Aeden’s heart slowed. Even the throbbing pain of his headache seemed to diminish before the weight of the moment. Fanciful thoughts of victory vanished. The sword arched through the air.

  Rafe swung the weapon deftly.

  Aeden leaned forward as Rafe pulled the weapon back, letting the point drop to his side.

  The pea fell apart before Aeden’s very eyes. Rafe had cut cleanly through it.

  Master Xuban stepped forward to examine Rafe’s work.

  “You’ve some skill,” Glass exclaimed, also stepping closer to examine the pea and vellum.

  There was a mark upon the vellum, but Rafe hadn’t cut through it. Master Xuban held it up so that the light shone partially through it. Sakhira, Aeden, and Rafe lay witness to Rafe’s success.

  Master Xuban nodded once.

  “You pass,” Master Glass stated, in partial shock, his eyes turning to Aeden. “It’s your turn.”

  Aeden nodded to Master Glass, but couldn’t help catch Master Xuban’s eye, for he had been staring at Aeden.

  Xuban’s gaze was familiar. It was the same look he wore a dozen times during Aeden’s private lessons, tucked away within the small office within the great library of the Tower of the Arkein. The look said, ‘I’m watching, do your best, and we’ll discuss your failure afterward.’

  Aeden smiled briefly. It was a strained smile, like dried leather pulled over the lip of a drum. Aeden’s hands grew sweaty as his imagination gripped him.

  The prior images of him winning were swept away and replaced with a victorious Rafe. Aeden stood in the background, forgotten, as Thea ran into another man’s arms. It was almost too much to bear.

  Aeden’s hands tightened in anticipation. He was oddly reminded of an afternoon in Bodig, where he displayed the acrobatic forms of the gevecht before a giddy archduchess. The memory turned at the thought of Rory Tirrell, walking in and ruining their fun. The thought lingered as Aeden grabbed the Gemynd sword and walked to the table.

  For some reason the weapon no longer felt comfortable in his hand. He ached to used his Templas sword. It called to him. It whispered a sweet, sad serenade. Aeden ignored it.

  He simply stood there for a moment, staring at the pea as if it were a mortal threat to his life. His headache intensified in a short stab of pain.

  Rafe watched carefully, with interest. Sakhira held his breath.

  Aeden struggled to find atori. He cast a quick glance into the shadows, meeting Master Xuban’s dark eyes for a moment. They were highlighted by the flickering of the firelight.

  Memories faded.

  With one last calming breath, Aeden swung the sword. The weight of it felt wrong. The balance was off. The blade itself wasn’t as sharp as he’d like.

  Thoughts slipped away like pollen in the wind.

  The blade whistled and slowed. It cut through the shell and body of the tiny, green pea. Aeden shifted his weight. He pulled back the sword and lifted the tip. The weapon momentarily felt like an extension of his arm. He could feel the fearful presence of the vellum before the sharpness of the blade.

  Aeden stepped back carefully, fearful he would mistakenly drop the sword’s edge onto the table.

  Master Xuban stepped out from the shadows.

  “That’s a first,” Master Xuban stated in gruff surprise, “Two students in one night.”

  His meaning, however, was like a beacon for Aeden. It was a subtle and secret hint of approval. Aeden felt a trickle of pride as he
imagined his father watching over him in approval.

  Master Glass examined the vellum.

  “Not a mark,” he said, openly smiling.

  Aeden hardly heard Master Glass’ next words.

  Aeden resumed breathing, not realizing he’d been holding his breath. He was still in the competition. There was still one more trial. He could still win.

  Sakhira took a step toward Aeden. With a near expressionless face, he shook Aeden’s hand, before he walked out.

  Rafe, however, wore a fixed expression. It was one of surprise and anger.

  “You will fail,” Rafe whispered, holding the tent flap back, in mock courtesy.

  Aeden looked him in the eye. The burning sensation to smash Rafe’s face surged through his body. He resisted and the moment passed.

  Once again Aeden found himself outside. He stood before the final tent in the string of tents that formed the Trials of Ansuz. It was much larger than the last.

  He glanced about and saw Dan and Laurent nearby. Laurent had his arm wrapped in a sling, but otherwise seemed unconcerned.

  Adel stood near Dan and Laurent. He waved to Aeden, smiling. The gesture cut through Aeden’s malaise and warmed him.

  Aeden scanned the gathered crowd until he saw Thea. She was talking to Tilly Steck, the dark-haired, close-set-eyed avauncen student from Sawol. Tilly didn’t look at Aeden, for she seemed to only have eyes for Thea. Thea, however, seemed to have felt Aeden’s gaze. She glanced at him and made eye contact. Her expression was unreadable. Her features were stern, yet beautiful.

  For Aeden, the moment lasted an eternity. Her dark eyes reflected the distant firelight. Her lips were pressed together in an expression of forced composure. His mind swam with thought.

  Had she noticed him? Did she still care?

  There was no time for thought. The next trial was upon him. It had arrived with a sense of tension, finality, and relief.

  “Please,” the mysterious Master of Acquisitions and Ancient Uses of the Arkein Instructor intoned, gesturing for Rafe and Aeden to enter.

  Rafe placed his hand out, palm up, indicating Aeden should go first. His eyes were cold, hard, despite his body language appearing kind.

  Aeden purposefully looked elsewhere, pretending to not have seen Rafe’s gesture. It was childish. Rafe’s eyes simmered as he released the tent flap and stepped in. It was a small victory. Yet, as the Thane used to say, ‘every little cut bleeds the enemy faster.’

  Aeden glanced about once more, hoping to catch Thea’s eye. He didn’t, she was engaged in conversation with Tilly Steck.

  Aeden tore his gaze from Thea and stepped into the tent.

  Thoughts of Thea slipped away as his attention turned to the final trial.

  Master Claire Ashdown, the medical instructor from the University of Galdor, stood at one end of the tent. She had her medical kit beside her. She remained silent, watching Rafe and Aeden enter. Her face was grim, as if she disapproved of Hearvest Eve.

  Behind her were tiered stands, set upon either side of the tent. They were currently unoccupied. At the heart of the tent was a single, square table with two chairs opposing each other. The table top was encircled by a glass tank, filled with water.

  Aeden tore his gaze from the center of the tent and watched as Master Sigerica Meidl approached. Her face was expressionless as she assessed the two men before her. She wore the black master’s robes, with one addition. A sword hung lightly at her hip. Her hair was tied back, accentuating a scar that ran over her right brow.

  “You’ve made it thus far,” Master Sigerica started, a smile forming at the corners of her eyes, “That shows dedication. It shows some skill. You will need to…” Sigerica paused as she looked more carefully at Aeden. Her eyes narrowed, “I will need your sword,” she stated strangely.

  At first Aeden didn’t understand what she had meant. His Templas sword had become a part of him. Separating from his sword felt like separating from a part of himself. A sense of pain stabbed at him as he unbuckled the strap and handed the sheathed weapon to her.

  Master Meidl carefully grabbed the sheathed part of the Templas sword before turning to Rafe.

  “And your knife,” the Master said, turning to Rafe.

  Rafe’s eyes registered a hint of surprise. Aeden’s brow furrowed. Master Meidl continued.

  “The final Trial of Ansuz will mimic the drugged state of Ansuz as the Syrinx moved to capture him. A simple task will be required of you,” she paused, letting her words sink in, “This task will take on new levels of difficulty as your mind struggles with the effects of the herbal mixture I’ll provide,” Sigerica looked across the room, “but before I begin, Master Ashdown will ask you some questions. Remember,” she paused, “you can quit at any time.”

  There was a curious look on Master Sigerica’s face as she watched Aeden from the corner of her eye.

  Aeden nodded his understanding, his expression remained stony and resolute. He was already looking to Master Ashdown. His mind, however, was elsewhere. He would not quit. He could not quit. He didn’t care if the damned trial killed him. He couldn’t let Rafe win.

  “Aeden, Rafe,” Master Ashdown said in greeting, “I have a few questions before we begin.” Her tone was light, but her features were stern. “First, are either one of you currently sick or experiencing shortness of breath?”

  Aeden shook his head. Rafe said no.

  “Have either of you ever been under the influence of a powerful hallucinogenic agent,” her eyes looked carefully at Rafe and Aeden, “an agent like ayahuasca, diviner’s sage, or wizard’s root?”

  Memories of Aeden’s second coming-of-age trial flared to mind. He recalled fragmented pieces of the Medicine Man, the forests of S’Velt Valley, the scattered smells and colors. The shattered images faded almost as quickly as they had arrived.

  “No,” Aeden lied.

  Master Ashdown looked to Rafe.

  “I keep this body clean,” he stated.

  “Good,” Claire responded, “this is important. If you begin to feel shortness of breath and start seeing red in your vision, let me or Master Sigerica know immediately.”

  Aeden nodded, as did Rafe.

  Sigerica Meidl was standing behind them, watching them.

  “Are you ready?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Aeden replied, feeling a wave of apprehension claim his stomach.

  “Always,” Rafe stated smoothly.

  “Take this cup and drink it in its entirety.”

  Aeden watched as Master Meidl handed Rafe the cup. Rafe looked at Aeden as he quickly tipped it down his gullet. Aeden grabbed for the second cup and without further thought, he followed suit. It tasted of cloves, earth, and peppermint.

  “Listen carefully,” Sigerica said, grabbing their attention, “before the herbs take effect and the noises of an admitted crowd distract you. You will both take a seat at the table,” She pointed at the centrally positioned table for emphasis, “It’ll become hard to distinguish sights and sounds. They will bleed together like running paint upon a canvas. You must focus through it. You have one goal, one objective. Catch a blue dragon, without being stung.”

  Aeden’s mind already began to feel heavy and his tongue felt thick in his mouth. He fumbled for his words.

  “How do you know if we’ve been stung,” he questioned, feeling the odd texture of his teeth.

  Sigerica looked at him, her eyes narrowing for a moment, “it’s extremely painful, it’ll be obvious if you’ve been stung.”

  Aeden nodded dumbly. He glanced at Rafe, who appeared to be studying his own hands for a moment. Aeden shook his head. He needed to focus. He needed to win.

  What had Sigerica said?

  “Come, I’ll lead you to your seats,” Master Sigerica stated, guiding Rafe and Aeden. “Remember, catch a blue dragon without being stung. Please don’t hurt my animals and remain in your seats.”

  On the other end of the tent Master Ashdown was letting in the crowd. A wave of villagers and stu
dents poured in and soon began to fill the stands. The excited tones quickly filled the space with another texture.

  Aeden hardly noticed. Already his mind seemed to slow to a glacial pace. He had difficulty remembering what he had to do, let alone track the rapid movements of the incoming mass. With his mind as unwieldy as a ten-foot leaden sword, Aeden concentrated on taking his seat and watching Sigerica.

  She addressed the crowd. Her words slurred into an incoherent soupy vexation. His mind was focused on the task. He was focused on beating Rafe.

  After an indescribable length of time, Aeden watched the master approach. Why was she moving so quickly? She held a cup in her hand. In a blur of movement, Master Meidl poured the contents into the glass tank before the two competitors.

  Within the tank were the two most beautiful blue and white sea creatures Aeden had ever seen. They were like angels with three sets of wings, gliding through the water.

  How hard could this be? He thought, as his mind worked through the growing fog that threatened to obscure all that he was.

  Chapter 36

  “Knowledge is but a treasure, locked within the chest, forever waiting to be opened.” Lost Verses of the Book of Khein

  Aeden awoke slowly and painfully.

  He peeled an eye open. It was an attempt to uncover his whereabouts. A blurry scene of light and color accosted him. A sharp stabbing spasm rewarded his effort. Reluctantly Aeden closed his eyes and waited for the wave of discomfort to subside.

  Fear danced at the edges of pain, whispering enticingly. It begged him to listen. It urged him to succumb to the possibility he’d gone blind, that he’d failed, that his quest for revenge and atonement had been forsaken.

  But what of his friends? What of Adel? What of Thea?

  The ebbing tide of agony died to a tolerable level and Aeden tried again. Hues of red and orange coalesced into a soupy mess, followed by yellows and greens. The torment within his head resumed, but this time he ignored it. He focused on allowing it to work through his system and fade away.

  A moment passed before the dizzying array of light and color sharpened into detail. A shape moved toward him. He instinctively brought up his hands, one of which was wrapped in bandages.