I stare outside, at the mountain that rises over the horizon, one side of the stone cut away to form a cliff, another trailing down like a tail. "It looks like a dragon," I say. "Is that how it got its name?"
"Yes and no," Kaden says. "Legend has it that it is a dragon. One of the Elder Dragons whose bones became stone as he died. They say the land is sacred, touched by dragonfire.”
As we ride closer, I see a shape take form at the top of the mountain. A castle that spans the entire cliffside, carved from the very earth. Nine thick, round towers rise from its vast walls, and only one winding path leads to the massive steel gate. Catapults and small battlements line the walls. Plane windows shine in the moonlight. While the Palace of Storms showed off its opulence, Dragoncliff is a rougher creature. More rugged in its purpose, yet no less impressive. In some ways, it is even more menacing, for it has no time for luxuries and games. It is a fortress built for war. A place built for death.
The carriage halts before the gates, and Kaden opens the door and helps me out. The driver nods her head to us and tugs on the reins, pulling the horses around. "I'll get your horses tucked in at the Cliff's stables, then I'd best be getting back before the sun sets all the way. Kaden, you'll be coming down for a tankard of mead soon?"
“You know I will, Jules,” he says with a wave.
She winks as she leaves, and Kaden ushers me across the drawbridge and into the main courtyard of the castle. There are benches scattered throughout, and evergreen pines and thick shrubbery surround the stone paths winding through the fortress. I see a few people in the distance practicing with swords on a field of snow. They don’t seem to notice us as Kaden guides me past them and to the many buildings that line the courtyard. "You'll get a proper tour when training begins. For now, I'll give you the basics. If you follow that path," he says, pointing to a cobbled walkway that leads to the right, "you'll find a large arena used for combat and weapons training. You'll be spending a lot of time in there."
I nod and keep pace with him.
"To the left is the dormitory wing, where all Ashlords have their private rooms, as well as a shared common area. You are not permitted inside, unless invited by an Ashlord, of course," he says.
Snow crunches under my feet and I breathe in the chill of the early evening air as I notice a group of men and women running laps in the distance, half naked, their breath fogging. A man cloaked in furs yells orders at them, as well as a slew of curses. “Early training,” explains Kaden, as he continues. "Further down is the northern wing. The forge is there. The armory, as well as the Infirmary, which you'll likely need a fair amount in your first year."
He takes us to the northern wing and into a large room lit by torches and lined with every kind of weapon imaginable: swords, clubs, spears, bows. In the center, a tall, muscular woman performs a hand stand with only one hand, her crimson hair falling to the cold black floor. Her feet are bare, her leggings covered in black leather, her chest wrapped in a dark binder. Her eyes are closed, face calm, and in her free palm she holds a coiled whip.
Three men surround her. They are all armed with swords and shields and clad in chainmail. And yet for some reason, they are the ones who look nervous.
"Attack!" yells the woman.
The men lunge forward. But before they can even reach her, she snaps her whip through the air in a circle, tripping them all, sending them crashing into the floor. Before they can stand, she pushes off the ground with one arm, leaping and spinning through the air. As she lands, her whip curls around one of the men’s blades, and she yanks it away, catching the blade for herself. As the men jump to their feet, she is upon them, blade flashing through the air. She lunges at the man closest to her, and feigns slashing his throat. "You're dead, Brodsky."
The second man tries to strike her from behind.
She spins, dropping as she does, and kicks him at the knees. He falls, and she swings the blade at his throat. “Dead.”
Then she leaps at the third man, knocking his blade away with one swift movement and landing on his shoulder, legs around his head. She twists her body, bringing them both to the ground, her sword pointed at his heart. “Dead.”
She jumps off him, landing on her feet, as the three men stand, groaning and panting. “Dead. Dead. Dead,” she says, shaking her head disapprovingly and grabbing a glass of water from a nearby table. She sips on it slowly, her breath calm. Then she turns suddenly, cracking her whip against the floor, bringing the three men back to attention. "What were your mistakes?"
Kaden laughs and walks over to her. "Their first mistake was fighting you at all."
The woman grins at Kaden, and they hug affectionately, then her smile fades. "I'm sorry I couldn't accompany you. Did all go well?"
"As well as could be expected,” he says wearily. “I’ll tell you about it later. But right now, I must introduce you to our newest recruit.” He turns to me, ushering me forward. "Sky, this is Phoenix, my partner. Phoenix, this is Sky Knightly.”
Her eyes fall on me, and I can see she's sizing me up, and I realize I want this woman to like me, or at least respect me, because I want the skills she possesses. I do not yet know the gender norms of Nirandel, but it never hurts to have another woman at your back. Especially one like her.
“A pleasure to meet you,” I say, raising my hand.
She ignores it, wrinkling her nose at my words. “You’re an Earthling,” she says, picking up my accent. “You'll be lost amongst those who were raised here. But… ", she cocks her head, as if trying to dig deeper into me, "train hard, and you may just survive.”
I swallow at those mildly encouraging words. “Are you… are you the best here?” I ask, remembering her impressive display moments earlier.
She laughs. "One of them. Kaden here isn't bad himself."
I gesture at the three men still waiting at attention. "What about them? Where do they rank?"
She side-eyes them, clearly still disappointed in their performance. "In a fight against most, they are skilled, strong and competent. But they are not the best, and likely never will be at this rate."
I can't tell if she means those last words, or if she's just saying them to piss the men off and get them to work harder. But I suspect it's the former.
"What do you think?" Phoenix asks, wrapping her arm around me and leading me to the men. "Do you think they have what it takes to rise in the ranks?"
I know she's testing me, but I'm not sure what answer she wants. I consider her question and recall their technique and skill. "No, I don't," I say finally.
"Why is that?" she asks.
"As you said, they are strong and skilled. They are soldiers who could follow orders and maybe even lead a small group under a more skilled commander. But they lack creativity. They can't visualize possibilities in their opponent and therefore can't foresee the unexpected. Without that talent, which is hard—if not impossible—to learn, they will always be stuck at this level, no matter how much they practice." I force myself to maintain eye contact with her, despite the intensity of her stare.
"And how do you know these things? Are you a warrior?" she asks skeptically.
"No," I say. "I know very little about wars and armies and combat techniques. I don't know how to fight people, but I know how to fight fires, and my training and experience has taught me a lot about how people think and how they view the world. Some firefighters can predict the fire's course, because they learn to become the fire. It requires creativity. It requires a way of thinking that isn't always linear. Those who approached the job like these men approach fighting couldn't do that. They could apply the necessary techniques to put out a fire, but they couldn't take charge and beat a strong blaze that lacked predictability."
I wait for her response, and after a very long moment she smiles and places a hand on my shoulder. "I like this one, Kaden," she says. "I think she just might have a place here." She releases me and looks to her friend. "I've got to get back to training, but bring her around again sometime.
"
As we leave the room, I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "Is she always that intense?"
He shrugs. "Mostly, yes. But you get used to it. After a few years.” He grins playfully, then takes my hand. “It’s time I showed you your quarters.”
He guides me back outside into the biting wind, but the closeness of his body and the feel of his hand in mind lends some warmth to the frigid walk. We pass a round stone building, white and plain, and set at some distance from the others. It is different from the rest of the fortress, and it takes me a moment to realize why. It has no windows.
“What is that place?” I ask.
Kaden follows my gaze, then frowns, his hand tightening around mine. “The Asylum. When a Twin Spirit pushes themselves too far before they are ready, their Spirit can become Corrupted. It takes over their will, turns their eyes red, and makes them little more than the Fenrial we fought in the woods. When that happens, the Corrupted Twin Spirit is sent to the Asylum, where they are cared for and kept safe while a… cure… is developed for the condition.” His words sound bitter. “When I first began my training, I lost many friends to Corruption. You will probably face the same.”
I don’t ask him anything more, hesitant to bring up more of his pain, as we pass a stone statue of a woman clad in armor, a veil upon her face. But Kaden notices my gaze, and speaks anyway. “That is Illian, the first Ashlord. They say she slayed over a thousand dragons and gave her life to protect the Wall of Light.”
I nudge him with my elbow. “I’ve heard you’re making quiet the legend for yourself as well, Darkflame.”
“I am nothing like Illian,” he says quickly.
I seem to have offended him, though I don’t understand why. I’m about to ask him about it, when he gestures at a simple, three story stone building in front of us. “Here are the Training Quarters. It is where you and the rest of the Ashlings will stay.” He guides me inside and up a set of stairs, then stops in front of a door. “This is where we must part ways,” he says, facing me, his hand still clutching mine. “We will not see each other again for a while. I will be busy with my duties, you with your training.” He looks like he wants to say more, but doesn’t.
I step forward, placing my free hand on his chest. “Thank you. For teaching me. For guiding me here.”
“It was my duty,” he says plainly. Then adds more cheerfully. “But as Albert Einstein once said, ‘Love is a better teacher than duty’.”
He leans in and his lips gently graze mine before he steps back, letting my hand fall. “I hope to see you again, Sky Knightly. Perhaps then, we will be freer persons, ready to give each other so much more.” Then he turns around and walks into the darkness, red scarf dancing behind him though there is no wind.
Twenty
Ashlings
My lips still burn with the heat of Kaden's kiss as I walk into a large stone room filled with beds lining the north and south walls. Eight in total, each with a trunk at the foot, a small bookshelf by the head, and furs for blankets. There are seven others already present, so it would seem I'm the last to arrive.
No one speaks. In fact most don't even look up from what they're doing. A man and woman sitting on a bed in the corner together sneer at me as I walk by.
I say hi to the quiet room, but everyone ignores me, so I shuffle in and pick a bed that looks unused, towards the back of the room. A neatly folded pile of gray clothing is stacked on the pillow—presumably meant as a change of clothes and something to sleep in. In the bed next to me sits a young girl, no more than twelve or thirteen, with straight black hair, pale skin and dark eyes. She's petite, quiet, and sits in silence sharpening a knife.
I look around, trying to get my bearings, already missing my time with Kaden on the road, though my backside is relieved to be done with that carriage.
The room is large and drafty. There's a large window but curtains are drawn over it. The only lighting comes from two fireplaces, one on each side of the room, and a handful of candles that sit on the bookshelves by the beds. The stone walls are covered with dark tapestries, presumably to keep the draft to a minimum. Underfoot is a large rug that covers the span of the room, but still the cold chill of stone in winter seeps through the attempts at warmth. I sit on the bed and it's as hard and uncomfortable as it looks.
Across from me a young man with narrow eyes and long, slim fingers sits in bed reading a huge tome of a book with a cracked brown leather cover. Next to him an Ashling sits cross-legged eating an apple. They have black straight hair cut at an asymmetrical angle and sharp features that belie their gender. A giant beast of a man with a pale bald head covered in tribal tattoos sits across from them, staring quietly into space, and an older man, maybe 40-something with skin the color of twilight, sits to the other side and browses through the books in his bookcase. The last two look the most comfortable here. He is the blond, tan, ultimate pretty boy, while she looks like an untamed lion with her wild red hair and green eyes. They scoffed at me with the same looks when I first walked in, as if they were better than me and everyone else here. They are sitting in the same bed, whispering to each other.
I turn to the quiet girl next to me. "Do you mind if I take this bed?"
She shrugs without looking up. "Don't care."
The sound of stone against steel fills the space between us as she continues to sharpen what already looks like an incredibly lethal blade. "I'm Sky," I say. "Sky Knightly."
"Raven," she says, maintaining eye contact with her knife.
"Hi, Raven." I calm my voice, as if talking to a feral animal that might dart away or attack at any moment. "You seem so much… younger than everyone else here," I say, hoping to draw her in to conversation.
She finally looks up with eyes nearly as black as her hair. "You don't choose when you become a Broken One," she says. "And I didn't want to be part of the Ashmites."
"Ashmites?"
She nods. "They're still technically Ashlings, but everyone calls the little kids Ashmites. The Spirits take all ages. You can't very well place adults with three year olds for training, can you? They have their own section of the castle, away from everyone else. But you'll likely see them from time to time."
"Why did you want to be with the adults?" I'm trying to imagine what it must be like for those young children, taken from their families, their lives, thrust into this life of training. How horrid. And then my mind turns to Kara, and I fight away a grief that is still so raw and fresh it nearly chokes me. I shake my head, as if by doing so I can shake out the memories. I will never survive this life if I think of her every minute.
The girl before me pauses before answering, returning her gaze to the knife. "I find little children annoying. They talk too much." She looks around, narrowing her eyes at the two huddled together whispering. "But I'm finding adults can be worse."
The blond pretty boy looks up, though she hadn't spoken loudly. "Do you have a problem with us, Ashmite?"
"I have a problem with everyone," she says, without any variation in her tone or expression. "Goodnight, now." She blows out her candle and crawls under the furs on her bed, closing her eyes.
The red-head yawns. "We should all get some rest now. We'll need it for training tomorrow."
Both her and pretty boy have a similar accent. An intersection of western European and something else I can't quite place, though hers sounds more rehearsed than his. They definitely sound upper class.
"You know," says the one with an apple, "statistically speaking only forty percent of us will graduate. So, the weaker ones shouldn't bother trying, really." Their alto voice sounds bored, and has a noticeably different inflection from the red-head and blond. Less staccato. More fluid.
"Who are the weaker ones?" I ask.
They don't answer for a while, all their focus on the apple. Then finally… "You. The little one, and the book worm. You three might as well give up."
The book worm snaps his tome shut. "This juvenile dialogue bores me," he says with
a very formal dialect, each word clipped and proper. "I need to find somewhere quiet."
"Are you making fun of us?" pretty boy asks, his face hardening from the perceived threat to his ego.
"No, just stating the obvious. And you, with the apple, you're wrong. The forty perfect graduation rate applies to the whole regiment, not a single squad. All any of us has to do is perform above average, and we can all take the Ash. Simple as that. Now, if you don't mind, I am done with this form of communication."
"This form of… What did he just say?" Pretty boy asks the girl next to him.
The older man speaks, and I'm surprised to hear he has a very French accent. "He said this bickering is pointless, and it's time we all had some sleep. I, for one, agree. Oui?"
The French man situates himself in bed, but as he moves to lay down, he catches my eyes and gestures for me to sit. So I do, facing him.
"I am Enzo. We are from the same world, Oui?"
I thought perhaps that was true, but wasn't sure. I smile at the confirmation. "Oui," I say, wishing I'd paid more attention in high school French.
"The big man there, he is Bix. He is from the Frozen Mountains, high in the north. They have very different customs, from what I understand. The boy with the book, he is Zev. He is from the Sunstar Isles of the east. The one with an apple is Naoki. As far as I can tell, they're from the west. That's all I've gleaned thus far."
"They?" I ask, curiously.
Enzo shrugs. "Their gender is unknown, they are, how you say? Like water?"
"Gender fluid?" I ask.
"Yes, in our world, that is what I think. Here everyone calls Naoki 'they' instead of he or she."
"One of our volunteer firefighters is the same," I say.
Enzo nods, and then continues. "The blond is Landon. He's from a wealthy family in Al'Kalesh, down south. His family is somehow connected to the Emperor, or so they say. And the woman, she's Mabel. She says she's from a high born house, but something doesn't ring true in her story," he says.
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