“Moira,” answered Gram. Giving her name reminded him of his confusion and worry when he had first awakened after her treatment. He still wasn’t happy about her bedside manner, but he couldn’t fault her results. He hoped he never had to ask her for healing again, though. The paralysis had been a terrifying experience.
The knight grunted, then spoke, “Not bad—the girl has come a long way. She did a much better job than her brother, at least.”
“It wasn’t his fault,” argued Gram, suddenly angry. He didn’t like it when people made judgments about his closest friend.
“He’s the one who gave you the bond though, isn’t he?” countered Cyhan.
“I don’t have a bond,” said Gram.
“You’re handling it better today, but you still show the signs,” said the veteran knight.
Gram shook his head, “No, really, he was only testing me, and Moira thinks I just got overloaded with magic… or something.” He knew she had said ‘aythar’, but he wasn’t sure if that was a term for energy, or magic, or both, so he stuck with ‘magic’.
Cyhan gave him a look that seemed to pierce straight through him. In some ways it reminded him of his mother’s gaze, for he could tell the warrior knew much more about him than would ordinarily be assumed from just a short glance, yet it felt different. His mother’s eyes dissected the world, and though he knew she loved him, there was always something disconcerting about the knowledge she gleaned. Cyhan’s eyes held something different; a quiet stillness, and a deep knowledge that coexisted with an overwhelming sense of confident masculinity.
Just a look, and Gram knew that the other man understood him, not because of any clever deductions, but rather because the old warrior knew men, he knew soldiers, and he had trained countless young men to be warriors. Cyhan had been a boy on the cusp of manhood once, and even more important, he had been much like Gram.
“I don’t know much about magic,” said Cyhan, “but I can help you.”
“They said this was just temporary,” explained Gram. “It probably won’t last more than a day or two.”
The big man gave an almost inaudible grunt.
“So, it would probably be a waste of your time,” continued the teen.
Cyhan raised one eyebrow, silently challenging Gram’s statement.
He knew then—Cyhan was offering something far greater than just a bit of advice. The realization washed over him like a cool wave, calming his spirit. The frustration that had burned within him for so long bubbled up for a moment, threatening to overwhelm him and making his eyes water, and then it passed. “Are you offering to train me?” The question felt stupid for some reason, but he had to be sure.
“Yeah—I suppose I am,” said the older man, with no hint of a smile.
“What about my mother?”
“I’m not offering to train her,” said Cyhan flatly.
“She’s made it clear to everyone that she doesn’t want me trained as a knight,” clarified Gram.
Cyhan chuffed, “I’ve sworn no oath to your mother.”
“What about the Count?”
“He’s given me leave to use my own judgment, and he’s never given any command where you’re concerned anyway. You should be more worried about what the training will be like,” said the older man.
Gram hesitated a second, but only to formulate his response, his resolve was already set, “Can we start now?”
Too young to know fear, thought Cyhan. “Follow me. From now on, while you are training, you will only speak when I give you permission or in response to a direct question. You will call me ‘Zaihair’ or ‘Sir’. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir,” responded Gram immediately.
They walked a short distance, heading toward the outer wall of Washbrook. Gram assumed it was because Cyhan intended to lead him back to the woods outside the small town. After a time, he posed a question to his new teacher, “What does the term Zaihair mea…”
He never finished the question. Cyhan’s eyes flashed a warning that rendered him mute.
“I’m not your friend any longer, boy,” said the big man with a warning growl. “You speak only when I permit it, forget again and I’ll reinforce the message with pain.” He stopped there, watching the younger man.
Gram almost answered, instinctively feeling the need to say ‘yes sir’, but he held himself back, sensing the warning in Cyhan’s eyes.
The older man waited, and then smiled faintly, “Good. You aren’t stupid enough to mistake a pause for a question. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir.”
They walked on until they had left the town far behind. They stopped short of the forest itself as Cyhan indicated a smooth grassy area in the clearing that served as a border between a farmer’s field and the start of the woods. “Sit,” he commanded.
Gram did so, and Cyhan began to circle him, stopping when he was behind the young man, just out of his peripheral vision.
Time passed and he said nothing. Gram began to itch. Sweat was slowly beading on his skin in the hot afternoon sun, and small flies were swarming about him. They weren’t biting flies, but they did land on him occasionally, walking about on his skin before taking off again. He swatted at them.
“Be still,” ordered the man standing behind him.
The words carried a warning, and Gram ceased his movements. The itching grew in intensity, made far more unbearable by the knowledge that he wasn’t supposed to move. Gritting his teeth, he held himself motionless. This is a test, he told himself. I can handle this.
An hour passed, and then perhaps another. It was difficult to be sure, only the movement of the sun gave him any indication of how long he had been sitting there. His legs hurt and his butt had gone numb. Gram was regretting his choice of sitting positions already, but he kept himself still. He itched everywhere, and his eyes searched the grass before him desperately for anything that might allow him some distraction.
Even his hair began to bother him. Faint breezes would shift it at times; and while that was normally a pleasant experience, now it maddened him. The movement tickled his ears and neck, which he knew he must not scratch. Over time his itching seemed to move, being most intense in one area and then later moving to another, but it never disappeared or relented.
It was the longest afternoon of his short life, stretching out before and behind him like the road to eternity. He began to fear it would never end. Time has stopped. It should be nightfall by now, he thought. Maybe he intends to keep me here even then.
And then he heard a voice, “Stand up. It’s time to go in.”
His body twitched, eager to do just that, but his mind hesitated. Maybe I imagined it? It took him a moment to decide the command had been real. He stood and almost fell when he tried to take to his feet. Pain, followed by tingling and numbness, engulfed his lower body. A low groan escaped his lips, but Cyhan ignored the sound.
His teacher watched him for a minute before beginning to walk. Gram stumbled along in his wake. As they passed through the gate into the castle yard, Cyhan spoke again, “Zaihair is a word from my home. The simplest translation would be ‘teacher’ or ‘master’, but the most precise, is ‘life-holder’.”
Gram made no reply.
“When we pass through the door, your training is over for the day and you may behave as you normally would, but you will not ask me about today. Tomorrow you will meet me again after the noon meal, and your training will begin again.”
Gram said nothing then, but once they had passed through the main door he finally spoke, “Thank you, sir.”
***
“Your arm looks better,” said Grace the next day. She was addressing him from a table in one of the side corridors that led away from the main hall. He had just finished breakfast.
“Thanks,” said Gram, pausing since it was obvious that she intended to come with him. He lifted her when she got closer. Just a year or two previously, he might have been too self-conscious to be seen in public with a stuffe
d animal, but he wasn’t worried about such things as much anymore.
She cast an appraising eye on the fading bruises. “She did a good job,” she noted with a certain pride.
“She did,” he agreed. Inwardly he winced whenever he remembered the paralysis she had inflicted on him before rendering him unconscious.
“She gave her brother a bad time about not having paid enough attention when the Count was teaching them the basics of healing, but I don’t think he paid her much heed,” commented the small bear. “He’s been very involved in some new project. He’s hardly been eating.” She watched the young man’s face as she spoke.
Gram was familiar with the technique, for his mother was a master of it. “Please don’t,” he told her.
“Don’t what?” she asked innocently.
“Feed me information just so you can watch me for clues. I may not be as clever as some, but it gets really old, especially when your mother is like mine,” he answered somewhat bitterly.
“Sorry,” said Grace honestly.
“I just wish people would say what they mean, nothing more and nothing less,” he continued. “Mother is probably the world’s greatest adept at the art of conversation. She truly enjoys it, but it just makes me tired.”
She waited a moment before replying, “You’re right. I didn’t consider your feelings.”
Gram felt bad for making such a fuss over it then, “I shouldn’t be so touchy.”
“I like to talk,” she said sincerely, “but I will try to be more straightforward with you.”
“It’s alright,” he told her. “Just ask me what you want to know.”
“What’s Matthew working on?”
“Are you asking, or are you asking for Moira?”
“For myself,” she said promptly. “I’m just curious. I won’t betray your confidence.”
He gave her a long stare. “It’s something private, and it’s important to me.”
“Fair enough.”
“I have a question for you, though,” he said then.
Grace perked up, “Certainly.”
“Why are you so interested in me?”
A dozen replies ran through the magical construct’s mind, but she discarded them all. They were facetious stories, artful lies. She knew he wouldn’t accept them. If she was going to continue talking to him, she would have to be forthright, even if it was painful. “Loneliness,” she said simply. “Not many people are kind enough to talk to me, or take me seriously.”
Gram started to interject, but she rushed to finish, “No, wait. I’m not speaking ill of anyone, but Moira only has so many hours in the day. She spends a lot of time with me, but the rest of the time I really have no one to converse with. People tend to ignore me, or avoid me when they think I may be spying on my mistress’ behalf.”
He mulled her words over for a minute, “You don’t have any friends.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Just Moira,” she answered.
“How about me?” he asked.
Her button eyes were incapable of tears, but emotion swept over her nonetheless. Gently she hugged his neck. “Thank you,” she said. “That’s two then; you, and Moira.”
She dropped from his shoulder and left him at the next doorway, waving a simple good-bye.
The rest of his day was uneventful, though he looked forward to seeing Cyhan that afternoon. Unfortunately, his ‘training’ consisted of more of the same treatment as the day before. Sit, be still, don’t talk. He felt certain he would go mad before they were done.
Chapter 7
Gram sat in his customary place at the high table for dinner that evening, which was beside Matthew and Conall at the right end of the table. The high table itself was quite long, over twenty feet, and Rose Thornbear sat near the center beside the Countess, Penelope Illeniel. Consequently, he didn’t have to worry about making conversation with his mother.
“Have you thought about my plan?” asked Matthew in a conspiratorial tone.
“No.”
Matthew sighed, “I’m almost finished with the diagramming, but I can’t start on the actual work until we get it.”
“Mother isn’t really happy with me right now, Matt,” began Gram. “This isn’t a good time to piss her off even more.”
“There’s never going to be a good time,” said the young wizard. “Besides, she won’t even know.”
“Can’t you just make a new sword?”
Matthew blinked, surprised at the suggestion. “I could, but that’s not the point.”
“What sword?” whispered Conall, enthusiastically leaning toward Gram.
Gram looked at the younger boy, unsure what to say, “Uhh…”
Matthew leaned in front of him, “Mind your own business, turd-burglar. It’s one of my projects, so dust off.”
Conall made a face before answering in a high pitched voice, “It’s one of my projects!”
Gram was still reviewing the previous remarks, “Turd-burglar?”
“He’s always stealing my stuff,” said Matthew, by way of explanation.
“What project?” asked Moira innocently, leaning in from across the table.
“None of yours,” warned Matthew. “I was just telling the turd-burglar to stay out of my things.”
“You better stop calling me that!” growled Conall.
“Turd-burglar,” said Gram again, talking to himself. “That doesn’t make much sense.”
Matthew glared at his brother, “Or what? You’ll tell Mom? You’re such a little snitch.”
“Stop it, Matt!” said Moira, raising her voice. “You don’t have to be so mean.”
Gram had an epiphany just as Moira was threatening her brother, “Oh, I see, turd-burglar, you mean because he’s always stealing your shit!” He said it with a half laugh and some emphasis on the last word. Unfortunately, everyone had fallen silent as Moira finished her admonishment.
The entire table glanced at Gram as he gleefully pronounced the word ‘shit’.
Rose watched as her son turned crimson, but Gram refused to meet her eyes.
***
She was waiting for him when he returned to the family apartment that evening. “Gram.”
His mother’s voice startled him. He had been expecting it, but he had somehow hoped that she would let the conversation go for a few more days before she forced it.
“Yes, Mother,” he answered dutifully, standing a bit straighter. He kept himself stiff, almost as though he were a soldier standing at attention.
“Please, Son, I need to tell you a few things. Don’t be so…” she didn’t quite finish with ‘formal’ before he interrupted.
“I’m sorry, Mother. Please forgive me,” interjected her son. He didn’t meet her eyes, but he couldn’t help noticing that she seemed tired, perhaps even worn. It wasn’t something he expected to see.
She shook her head, “No, Gram, that isn’t what I wanted…”
“I know I was wrong, Mother. I apologize,” he responded curtly. He was angry again, though he couldn’t name the reason. He hoped that by capitulating immediately she would keep the lecture short and let him take his rest.
Rose sighed. He’s so impatient and so angry, she thought. Have I been so cruel to my son? “I’m leaving for the capital,” she said, moving to the heart of the matter before he could rush the conversation further.
That brought her son up short. Gram stared at her, questions in his eyes.
“The Queen needs me, and there are matters that I have put aside for too long. I will be gone for an extended period,” she told him.
“How long?” he asked.
“Six months at least,” she responded, “but thanks to the World Road I will be able to visit regularly without too much trouble. The question is whether you wish to come with me or stay here.”
He found himself studying the stones beneath his feet, in the rare spots where they weren’t covered by soft rugs. “What about Carissa?” His sister was nine now and already in b
ed, but she was the first thing to spring to mind.
“I considered leaving her here, under the Countess’ care, but I dislike the thought of being separated from her for so long,” admitted Rose. “I will take her with me, but you’re of an age to decide for yourself. What would you rather do?”
Something in her eyes made him hesitate. Her voice was calm, but he could see a hidden sadness in her features. She hoped he would choose to go with them, but there was nothing he wanted less. He also wanted to see where Cyhan’s training would lead.
“My friends are here…”
She nodded, dipping her head, as if in acquiescence of some defeat. “I understand, Gram.”
“I’ve been before,” he added, struggling with a feeling of guilt.
She rose and stepped closer, “It’s alright, Son. I really do understand. I was young once, hard as it may be to believe. There are things for you to learn in Albamarl, but there may be more important priorities for you here.”
He stiffened for a second. Did she know about his training with Cyhan?
Rose put her arms around her son.
He hugged her back, feeling his anger drain away, to be replaced with an unnamed sadness. She felt small, fragile. Though she was tall for a woman, she now had to tilt her head to hug him. For most of his life she had towered over him, powerful, strong, and infallible. He had seen respect, admiration, and sometimes fear in everyone she interacted with, but now he saw her in a new light. For a moment she was just a small, frail, human being.
The revelation shook the foundation of his being. For the first time, he knew the deeper existential fear that every person gains as they begin to face adulthood. “I’m sorry, Momma,” he told her, wishing then that he could give up his new knowledge. He didn’t want to grow up. Not if it meant he had to live in a world where she was mortal, fallible… vulnerable.
“What’s wrong?”
It was Carissa’s voice. She stood in the doorway, watching them with worried eyes.
“Come here,” said Rose, opening her arms to welcome her daughter to join them. She held both her children for a while, and then she explained to Carissa that her brother would be staying in Cameron without them.
Thornbear (Book 1) Page 6