by McCoy, RS
“I’m going to go look for her. Do you want to come?” Of course, Micha wanted to stay with the horses; he felt better there. “Never mind, you should stay,” I added when I sensed his answer.
“You sure?”
“Yea, I’ll see you around. Let me know how it goes with Edmon.”
“I will.”
I glanced around the open area that surrounded the stables before I left. She was possibly the smallest person at the school, which reminded me of Mother’s old idiom about needles and haystacks, though I wasn’t sure what it meant exactly. Either way, I knew I had my work cut out for me. I walked the grounds, always keeping track of how to get back to my room since each corridor looked much like all the others.
At one point, I came upon a large open area where several students engaged in combat training. Some were as young as nine or ten summers. They wrestled in pairs, some even going so far as to tumble on the ground like angry siblings. Older kids fought each other with knives or swords and, for all intents and purposes, seemed ready to kill each other. They wore no protective gear, and their blades seemed sharp enough to cause serious damage if one of them made even a single mistake.
Past another set of corridors, I found an open lake, densely surrounded by trees on three sides. I moved the other direction; it was all I could do to avoid my urge to run back to the woods. The next few hours passed slowly, and I found just about everything except for Khea. Myxini was far more vast than I could ever have imagined, filled with botanical gardens, libraries, an archery range, and countless other rooms meant for study or training. I didn’t see Khea anywhere.
I managed to make my way back to my room by dusk, though I’d failed to find the girls’ quarters. Without the daylight, there was little more I could do. I was starved, so I hoped, of all places, I’d find her in the dining hall. I dreaded the thought of going back, but I had to eat sooner or later.
I was relieved to find the dining hall far less crowded than it was at lunch. There was a considerable amount of mental chatter, but it was a vast improvement. Micha didn’t appear to be anywhere, let alone Khea, so I went through the process and sat alone with a plate piled with roast duck and steamed cabbage. I tried not to think of Khea, or Avis, which just pushed me toward Edmon and how I wished I had a mentor like him. Instead of an instructor that wanted to teach me to control my Spark, I managed to be assigned to one that apparently wanted to kill me. I hardly wanted to think about what awaited me in the morning, but once I thought of it, I couldn’t think of anything else.
~~~~~~~~~~
A strong arm pulled me straight from bed and dropped me to the floor. Pain shot through my shoulder and rattled my fogged brain. “You have twenty minutes to get dressed and fed. Meet me at Latinia’s Library. Don’t be late.” I’d barely gathered my wits by the time Avis casually walked out into the hallway and disappeared.
My first night was rougher than I imagined it would be. A feather mattress and half a dozen comfortable pillows seemed like the recipe for a good night’s sleep, but I hadn’t anticipated the other students. There were rules against sneaking out after dark, or so I’d learned from the numerous boys who snuck out for one reason or another. Many of them were exhilarated just to break the rules, so their thoughts were loud in my head. It was even worse than Lagodon.
I had no choice but to slip into my coverings as fast as I could, pull on my boots, and run to the dining hall. It was packed full, as luck would have it. Apparently breakfast was a busy time, and the intensity of the thoughts made it hard to even walk. I winced, grabbed a plateful of food, and quickly darted back to my room.
I shoveled eggs down so fast I could hardly taste them; I promised myself I’d return the plate later. I didn’t want to risk Avis’s wrath if I showed up late, nor did I want to learn what the punishment for that would be. My face was still swollen from the last time.
The smaller library, Latinia’s, was located in the far northeast corner of the campus. It had the largest collection of books I’d ever seen aside from larger one, Latimeria’s Library, on the western side. I entered, out of breath, and found Avis near a table piled high with books.
“Round One requires you to master the geography and history of Madurai. You will read these texts and study the maps.” He pointed to a second pile of rolled papers as he spoke. “When you think you are ready, I’ll let you know that you’re not.”
“But–”
He was already headed out. He left me alone behind a carved wood chair with a mountain of books before me. But I can’t read.
Somehow I didn’t think he would have cared. Maybe that was his plan. Maybe he knew I couldn’t read, so he wanted to throw me into history without any help as a way to get me to quit. I’d have to teach myself, or go home, and there was no chance of that.
It took me multiple trips to get all the maps and books to my room, no easy feat since Latinia’s was all the way across campus. I bet he did that on purpose just to spite me. With that thought in mind, and my study materials secured, I took a moment to return the dishes to the dining hall. It surprised me to notice how few people occupied the room, and I made a mental note to arrive at breakfast late every day if possible. I jogged back to the boys’ dorms with one small thing on my mind: Where’s the red fabric?
He said it couldn’t be missed, but perhaps he meant if I’d already known where it was. I ran up and down the hallway three times before I found it; even then it wasn’t as obvious as he’d made it seem. I knocked quietly, unsure whether he’d even answer the door. He’d said to come back in a few days, and there I was the next day at his door, helpless under the weight of the assignment that had been given to me. He appeared in the doorway with an expression that said he wasn’t all that surprised to see me, “That didn’t take long.”
“I need your help.” He was curious about what kind of help I would need less than an hour into my first day.
“Come on in.” Jhoma only wore his brown pants, and his hair was still tousled from sleep. He slid a green shirt over his head as he asked, “What’s Avis done this time?”
“I have to read a lot of books.”
“Right–geography and history. You’re just going to have to suck it up and get it done. There’s no way around it.” He assumed I didn’t want to read the books because the pile was intimidating. It didn’t even occur to him that someone wouldn’t know how to read.
“It’s not–” I began, then realized I had no idea how to phrase what I needed to say, so I just outright spoke my mind. “I need to learn how to read.”
Jhoma broke out into a steady stream of hearty laughter, which would have sent me to my room if I hadn’t been able to tell why he laughed. He thought it was a joke. In his village, all children were required to learn, as all the villages of the Calloway required. To him, it was impossible that a person of my age wouldn’t know how.
“Can you teach me?” I asked, and he stopped his laughter to consider me. He doesn’t sound like he’s lying, he thought, and he had a solution in mind before he’d fully accepted the possibility that I could actually be illiterate.
“Uh, well, you’ll need some paper and ink. They’re both in the study rooms, usually by the window. Bring me at least two sheets and I’ll give you enough to get started.” I wasn’t gone more than three minutes. “I’m going to have to leave for a few days before the snows hit, but I’m going to write down each of the Madurian glyphs for you, and the sounds they make. Study them while I’m gone, then come see me. We can put them into words then, but I have to warn you: this is a slow process.
“There are ten glyphs in Madurian writing, and the written language is completely different from our spoken language,” Jhoma said as he filled a sheet with complex symbols paired with descriptions of their sounds and their uses. He also included intricate explanations of their relationships. There were dozens of combinations, it seemed, and the worst part was that there was no set way to tell what combination was meant to
be used–or when. Overall, I was beyond thankful that I could hear Jhoma’s thoughts; without the two years of experience I could access in his mind, I would have been in over my head.
An hour, or maybe longer, passed by, and Jhoma began worry about being late for a lesson. I felt guilty that I’d kept him from it, and even worse that I hadn’t noticed his worry over it earlier. I also knew he wouldn’t say anything because he was kind and really, truly wanted to help me to learn. I made my excuses and left.
Back in my room, I grabbed the first book from the stack. There was no structure to the assignment, and I had no better way to begin than to simply jump right into it. I laid the book next to the sheets Jhoma gave me, and another blank one beneath them, then began the arduous process of translation. Within ten minutes, I had it narrowed down to reveal the title ‘Hurgada’s Fall’. It was hardly a surprise; it made perfect sense that the study of Madurian history would include our single proudest moment.
My heart welled when I realized that I’d read my first words. I was the first in generations to have done so, and yet the accomplishment seemed so small when compared to the large pile of books I had yet to decipher. With a sigh, I opened up to the first page and was grateful that the author’s handwriting was neat and careful, unlike the cramped segments of Jhoma’s notes. Besides that, I was daunted by the first sentence. It was one thing to work through two words, but a whole string of them would be a separate beast entirely. This is going to take a while.
It took me nearly half an hour to break it down into a version I could understand. ‘Kumo, the last king of Hurgada, lost his kingdom after the Madurian Invasion.’ I recognized the glyphs for Hurgada from the cover, which helped, but the rest was just as complex as before. Once I translated the glyphs, I wasn’t surprised with what I found. Hurgada possessed iron, a precious resource for countries like Madurai that could only mine copper. It was funny how no one liked to mention how quickly Madurai fell when attacked by Takla Maya a few years later.
With nothing else to do, I continued my gruelingly-slow translation of the book, which thankfully was one of the shorter ones and had been scribed by someone with neat, large handwriting. By lunch time, I had managed to get through a few pages that described the structure of Hurgada’s sea power and large number of ships that they used in an attempt to take over Madurai.
I learned the soil in Hurgada could not support much plant life and the people struggled to survive. Even the seas had been overfished to try to feed the large population. They attacked Madurai after we rejected a deal to offer them food in exchange for iron. So far, I couldn’t figure out why the Madurian king declined to negotiate until a pact could be reached, but I could understand why Hurgada would be so aggressive. Starving people will do almost anything to survive. I should know.
I didn’t have to read the rest of the book to know what it would say. My father had told the story of the Third Wars a few times, and I remembered it well. The Hurgadan Navy attacked several villages on the coast along the Eastes Sea, but once they landed on the Madurian soil, their malnourished soldiers were no match for us. The story took on a different meaning once I learned about the starvation in Hurgada. No wonder their soldiers couldn’t defeat the Madurians.
Crossing the Creekmont and seeing villages such as Cycus, I understood how frustrating it could be to watch others eat as you starved. Once Madurai assumed control over Hurgada, we fed the people while taking whatever iron we needed. It only lasted a few years until Takla Maya came in and took it all.
My stomach growled loudly by the time I thought the dining hall would be empty enough to grab some food, and sure enough, I managed to snag a quail leg and carrots without any trouble. I had to congratulate myself on making some serious progress in Hurgada’s Fall. When I woke up, I hadn’t known a single glyph, and by the end of the day, I’d have read several chapters of a book; I almost couldn’t hold back my excitement.
It took me nearly a month to read the eleven books Avis had assigned to me. Several of them–such as Ritual Sacrifices of the Nakbe Islands–seemed more like my mentor’s attempt to waste my time than to actually teach me anything. The snow began to fall for a day or two at a time, and I was thankful to have a warm place to stay during the winter, even if it was holed up in my room with a pile of books.
The most interesting one, A Brief History of Sparks, described the myriad of Sparks and attempted to explain them as an extension of the soul. It even broke them into three categories they called ‘divisions’. Each ability was called a rate and placed in one of the three categories– called divisions. The Elemental division–the Strikers, Drifters, Puffers or Shakers–was comprised by those who could control one of the four elements, fire, water, wind, and earth.
The Natural division dealt with animals or the environment in some way. Trackers belonged to that category, as well as Riders, and Fellers who were skilled with trees and woodworking. Some of these rates were only useful for life in a village, such as the Fishers or Builders, and others were more valuable, such as the ones that dealt with dangerous animals, like Micha.
The third division, the Spirituals, included rates that dealt with the mind–a curse, according to the authors. Speakers were gifted with language. Readers could read your thoughts. Seers could know the future. There was even one–called The Majestic–that had some abilities from each of the divisions.
I found it quite fascinating that there should be so much information about Sparks even though I had never heard of them before a few weeks ago. They had been known and studied for a millennium, and still mostly kept secret.
Reading books turned out to be much easier than reading people. Words were rather straightforward in a way that humans could never be. Emotions were complex and often clouded each other or blurred a thought, but books were clear and simple. The hardest part about reading a book turned out to be the students who walked by my room at random intervals. Their loud thoughts about being hungry, worried about a test, or excited about an accomplishment would blow the words right out of my head, leaving me scrambling to find my place to keep going.
Once I finished each of the eleven books assigned, I moved on to the pile of maps. I studied each for at least an hour, without a clue as to what was important on them. There was one map for each of the four nations showing the major features and towns. The map of Madurai showed Hubli at the center, surrounded by the Creekmont that extended far to the southwest, the Calloway in the southern point, the Highlands and the Frost Pass to the northwest, and the northern hook known as Andover. The Greenwood Road transected north to south, all the way from the Andover to the Calloway, running right past Hubli.
My father had drawn a simple map in the dirt once while we ate lunch on a hunting trip and I recognized some of the structures; now that I could read the labels on the maps, however, I knew I had a much greater understanding. I felt more comfortable reading Madurian but was sure I was quite slow. It still took me a few days to read a book–and sometimes more.
Once I finished with the books and maps, I was faced with a new problem: how to find Avis. He said he wanted to test my knowledge, but there had been no sign of him since Latinia’s Library. I hadn’t met anyone at Myxini aside from Micha, Jhoma and Khea–and I still didn’t know where she was. I avoided eating in the dining hall during the rush, which cost me getting to know the other students. Unfortunately, I didn’t have much of a choice; the cacophonous rumble in my mind didn’t leave me sufficient room to keep up much of a conversation.
After I asked Jhoma, to no avail, I had no choice but to wander the grounds until I found my mentor, a process that took three days. I found him in the gardens, sitting on a bench with a book in hand. To the unbiased observer, he probably looked like he was in a wonderful mood.
“I’m ready to answer your questions.”
“Oh, is that right? Well, then, let’s get started.” He placed a worn piece of fabric between the pages of his book and closed it. A glance at the tit
le got me the gist of it, Strategies of a Seer, which hardly seemed recreational.
Avis began with a series of routine questions about the major regions of Madurai, the cultures of Takla Maya and the Nakbe Islands, and the First and Second Wars. Each answer I gave him was direct from the information I’d read, though several of them I could have answered long before I even went to Jhoma for help. Things got more interesting, though, when he asked about the Third Wars.
“Why couldn’t the Hurgadans defeat us?” he asked with a strange look in his eye that set me on edge.
I ignored it–or tried to–and replied, “They had a far superior naval power, but they were starved. They didn’t stand a chance once they stepped off their boats.” Avis pursed his lips at my answer. Was I wrong?
“Then what traits are necessary,” he asked, thoughtfully, as if he hadn’t known what he wanted to ask when he started, “to successfully fight back an enemy army?”
That wasn’t covered in the texts, and I could tell by the expression on his face that he didn’t expect me to get it right, so I thought long and hard about it. I dragged back memories of things Father had taught me, and I thought of the successful and failed wars.
I was pretty sure Avis would count my answer wrong no matter what I said, but finally I came up with something I could defend. “A country needs to have an educated, well fed, and armed population that believes in the goals that its leaders provide. If they don’t agree with the reasons for the conflict, they won’t fight for it.”
Avis glared at me distastefully, which worried me even more than his smile. He didn’t like my answer. I’m going to have to start over at the beginning. I almost clenched my fist in irritation before I saw him reach into his pocket and pull out a black strip of fabric. Without a word, he handed it to me and walked away. I turned it over in my palm a few times before I really understood what happened. My Round One stripe. I couldn’t keep the smile off my face.