With one brow hiked and my lips silent, I shake my head. Is she as crazy as Chief Graytu?
“I must sound like Graytu again.” She winks. “When you’ve been around as long as I have, you learn a thing or two, and it would be shameful not to pass along the knowledge. Sorry, but I am old. And with age inherently comes the role of teacher. Unless you are a selfish bastard, of course.”
I scratch at the stubble growing wild beneath my chin. “So why does your celebration of life have death as its centerpiece?”
“Ah, of course, of course. A logical question. Death awaits us all. It is no reason to fear living your life. It is no reason to remain seated and never rise up.” She nudges me. “It is a reminder for us all to celebrate what we have. What we have been given. What we can accomplish with death awaiting us.” She pauses a moment then smirks. “That, and we like to think we can dance circles around death.”
“You certainly can dance circles around death. You’re a generous and exhausting village. I’ll give you that.”
We sit quietly for a moment. “About Coloss. I would have never imagined he’d chase me as far as he did. And then to have Helios act as my champion? It all happened so fast.”
“Indeed, it did. If you’ve learned something from the matter, then it was a fruitful experience.” She places her thin hand on my shoulder. “There are many villagers growing impatient with your presence. But don’t fret. Impatience is their own problem. Let us find you some fruit to pluck, regardless. And don’t give it all to the damned ape this time. Keep some for yourself.”
“Fairview?” I take a long pause.
She nods. “Go on. Before I die.”
“I’m not sure how to ask without sounding crazy.”
“Look at the people of our village.” She waves her hand about the chaotic crowd. “You’ll fit right in.”
“Yeah. Except Zoie. She’s the only normal one.”
“But is she?” She glowers at me.
“Yes. She eats red meat. That makes her normal.” Fairview chuckles and places another comforting hand on my back.
“Be willing to sound crazy. Death is always awaiting us.” She gestures toward the monstrous flames directly in front of us.
“Have you ever seen an animal speak?” I send it her way like a flying arrow.
“No. I haven’t. Maybe you are going crazy.” She smiles and pats my back. She looks me in the eye, and I in return. I shrug my shoulders.
“Animals don’t speak, Goose of House Greyson,” she continues, but her lips don’t move.
It gives me the same sensation I felt when I was with Coloss. I shuffle away from her. My leg burns with pain, but I manage to scoot to the end of the bench.
“What was that?”
“Your key to the Redcliffe Guardian. The beasts do not speak, but if you use your Instincts, they can communicate. But don’t ask me how. It is not anything I can explain.”
“What? Why? If it is the key to get across the ravine and you can’t teach it to anybody, then how does anybody ever get across the ravine?”
“Exactly. Only the worthy, Goose of House Greyson. Oh, my apologies. There I go again, sounding like the crazy old coot.”
“I suppose that is logical. ‘The Worthy’. How do I become one of the worthy?”
“You already are. You just have to find it.”
“So many mind-fucking riddles in this village.” I tense. “Err… I didn’t mean…”
Fairview chuckles. “Your language doesn’t offend me. I’ve heard it all. It is merely emotion escaping verbally. If you keep it in, that emotion will find other routes to escape, and language is the least offensive. Sticks and stones.”
“What?”
“Never mind…an age-old saying.”
“So, if you have no advice on how to get to Greybark, can you advise me on how to kill the Taoiseach?” I ask bluntly. Fairview observes me for a moment, pondering. Her expression shifts to something fierce.
“I will not give you advice to kill a man… But I will advise you how to protect your family. Goose the Great. It sounds nice. It fits you. But it’s lacking. What makes you great, Goose? Is it your achievements? Your passion? Your fine tracking skills? Maybe they all play a part, but what are they without the people around you who care? When death has taken you…” She waves a hand at the flames. “…there may be some who sing about Goose the Great because of his grand achievements, because he gallantly rescued a princess from the Cryptid King. Such gallant stories give inspiration, sure, but does it make you great? I suppose that’s debatable, but what I’m getting at is those around you will decide for you. You have no say in it, so stop trying to accomplish ‘great’ things and do what it takes to save your family. Forget about how others perceive you. Forget about being great.” She pats my leg. “And heal up or you’ll be stuck here forever.” She smiles. “Now…I have a dance with death awaiting me.” She rises and thumps her feet and bounces and sways to the rhythm of the drums. She’s as aged as the forest but as youthful as a tiger cub.
Unable to partake or even flee the celebration, I am a hostage to the festivities. So, I sit and ponder her words amongst death. The evening hours have brought a chill to the air, and I appreciate his blaze in front of me.
Chippie suddenly hops onto the bench next to me and starts chirping. I try to shoo him. He scampers to the edge of the bench but won’t retreat any farther. “What do you want?” Great, I’m talking to a squirrel.
“Company,” a voice sounds out.
I look around, and there is nobody looking at me. Nobody wanting to sit next to me. I look down to the squirrel. I attempt to speak in return but am unsure how. This is crazy!
Chippie scurries closer and hops onto my lap. My arms fly in the air, and my initial reaction is to stand and send him flying, but I can’t. He circles a few times on my lap and curls up into a ball. The orange glow of the fire beams off his silvery-grey fir. He doesn’t have a tail to wrap around himself, so he’s probably seeking the heat of the fire. I gently pat his soft scruff.
My fallacies have morphed into more than intended. The Hybreed was born a creator of the seasons. Now, he is the creator of life itself. Creator of life, yes. Creator of mankind, no. My longings have led to undeniable challenges.
33 Stone
M y anger rises. Sweat drips from my forehead as I circle in place, lost in the quickness of the battle and fatigued from the midday sun. The Master of Combat taunts me further, moving all around me with speed and precise attacks intended to aggravate me further. I cannot match Master Stormwood’s speed, and instead of revealing the skill the Master is seeking, I only shed light on my ineptitude and lack of confidence.
I cannot comprehend how he moves so fast. Seasons upon seasons of training shouldn’t make a man move so fast, let alone the few fortnights of schooling I’ve endured. I continue to turn in place as the Master dances around me. A quick jab in my ribs, then at the back of the knee forcing me to drop, and then the Master is immediately in front of me and slaps me in the larynx. I gag and wish for the humility to stop. The other classmates are looking on. They wouldn’t dare taunt me because the disciplinary measures to follow are not worth it. But I know they’re all laughing inside. The Master is making me look like an imbecile.
“Break!” Master Stormwood calls out.
“Sir?” I reply curtly, followed by relentless wheezing. This sparring thing takes a toll on the body. It doesn’t help that we’re in the midday sun without the slightest bit of shade cover. The sparring circle is located between several of the halls out in the open. I would think a demand for shade would be null with the amount of massive redwoods scattered throughout campus, but there isn’t a drop of shade that touches this arena until the Ceruleans take hold of the sun. Of all places, why would they pick this spot for combat?
“What is wrong with you? Are you weak?” he asks genuinely.
Most men would ask the question mockingly, but the Master seems truly concerned. His compassion is un
fitting for both his role and his eccentric appearance. And it only makes me look weaker in front of my peers.
“No, sir,” I reply, reluctant to let my guard down. “I’d rather not chat while we’re sparring, sir.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Does it make you angry?”
“No, sir, I simply prefer not to talk while in combat. It seems to be common sense to me that sparring and talking don’t go hand in hand.”
“Ah, common sense…it is just that. Common. It is the common way of doing or thinking and often results in man not thinking at all. Common sense is an excuse for not communicating. Common sense is an excuse for poor assumption. I am above that. We are above that.” His arm swings out to his entire class. “Nothing makes me irater than a man trying to mock me by saying ‘it’s common sense’ because common sense is for the mindless. If you want to achieve anything better than average in this world, common sense is not the way to get you there. Now, what about this?” He slaps me in the face and knocks me forward with a roundhouse kick to my back. I stumble to the ground. There are a few muffled snickers from the fence line, most of which are coming from the younger novice students. The older students know to keep their opinions to themselves while Master Stormwood is present. I don’t give any of the offenders the pleasure of letting them know I can hear it. Instead, I bounce to my feet and face the Master of Combat once again.
I cannot gauge what his intentions are. Why he taunts me like this. He knows me a tenderfoot in the art of hand-to-hand combat. If only I had Life Bringer with me right now. A sword is a weapon I know and am capable of dancing with. I have no confidence with my fists. I’m ready for this to end.
I have a half-dozen other courses today I must prepare for. Some of them, such as Aeronautics, are way beyond me, and I need any spare time I can find. And besides that, I’m positive, regardless of what I learn in those other courses, they would be far more productive than being taunted and humiliated. I’m beginning to resent this instructor Astor praises so highly.
He attacks again, this time with a decoy jab to the right, which I fall victim to, followed by another jab into my ribs with his left. I know he’s not testing my tolerance for pain because none of his attacks are going to leave as much as a bruise. His sole purpose is to humiliate me today, and I don’t know why. Master Stormwood is going to continue to jab and poke at me until I break. That seems to be his goal, but I won’t let it happen. I need to manipulate the situation somehow. I need to fall.
Master Stormwood bounces from left to right a few paces in front of me, keeping his feet moving. I rush him with the intention of faking an injury. The Master takes one step to his left just as I’m about to wrap him up and tackle him, which leaves me delighted because I don’t want to engage into a wrestling match with this man. However, his quick movements alarm me, causing me to trip over my own feet. As I try to control my balance, I ultimately fail and plummet headfirst into the thornwood barrier. So much for faking an injury.
I push myself away from the prickly fence and feel warm liquid running down my cheeks and into my ears.
“Elder!” His gruff voice exclaims while I lie on the ground with my eyes closed. “Are you weak?”
“No, sir.” As much as I want this sparring session to end, I don’t have it in me to admit I’m done. That I am weak. I wipe the blood from my face with my glistening forearms, one after the other. Each pulls away with a dark red smear. I know my face must look the same, but the pain is gone thanks to my rapid healing. “I’m ready.”
“That may be so, but you are finished for today. You can heal it, no?”
“Err…yeah.” He knows. Is that why he wanted to talk several weeks ago when I made an unforgettable first impression? Because he knows I’m a freak that can mend his own wounds.
“I know what you are, Elder.” He speaks quietly so only I can hear. “Your secret is safe. But you must learn to control it. You must not let anyone else know, or it will be your end. Do you understand?”
I nod. Thankfully, he’s not blackmailing me like Captain Crowbill intended to.
“C’mon,” he speaks louder. “Healing or no healing, let’s get your face cleaned up before people start spreading rumors I have my students engaging in cat fights. I can’t have my reputation impaired like that.” Master Stormwood points in the direction of Grimry Perzkeeler and Jareth Boreskin, the two fellows the master had me fight before I was enrolled in his course. “You two. Make sure he gets to the infirmary. Madam Platina will take it from there, so get your asses back here immediately. No detours.”
“Yes, sir,” both students reply in unison.
The infirmary is a short distance from the combat arena. About midway between the flight chamber and the combat arena more precisely—the two facilities most likely to incur damage on the students. A long enough walk to suffer two of the Academy’s most intolerable personalities.
And it begins as soon as we’re out of Master Stormwood’s earshot.
“So, Elder…” Grimry speaks up first. “…how’re the daily ass whoopings coming along? The Master has taken a liking to you.”
“Yeah, a liking as a combat dummy,” Jareth adds.
I just shake my head and keep my head down.
“You’re a Healer, so he probably has it in him to test your limits. He drew blood today. I’d wager he removes a limb tomorrow. Can you regrow a limb, Healer?” Grimry steps in front of me and jabs a finger into my chest. “Huh, can you?”
I keep my lips locked tight and let him run his mouth. Aside from my regretful laughter during our first encounter, I haven’t done anything to this asshole to deserve this. But I know it won’t do me any good to feed whatever grudge he’s holding on to. I drop my vision to my feet and push past him, bumping his shoulder ever so slightly.
“What’s your problem?”
“He’s an arrogant asshole from a hoity-toity family,” Jareth interjects. “That’s what his problem is. I heard he’s got some connection to The First Four. And he thinks he’s above this.”
Grimry wrinkles his brow at Jareth then looks me up and down. “If that’s so, you’ve got it wrong, Elder. High connections get you into this place, sure. But we all have to endure the same education.”
“And what education is that?” I raise my voice at him. “Are you going to pummel me? Make me feel at home with a good beating? Get on with it then. I’ve endured worse.” I push away from the asshole when he doesn’t say anything and walk in a different direction than the infirmary. Without a destination in mind.
“Hey!” he calls after me.
Next thing I know, I’m falling forward to the cobblestone path. The pain sweeps away before I recognize it. With Master Stormwood’s training—pummeling, who am I kidding—the pain is becoming more and more extraneous.
Grimry looms over me and shoves my face into the stone. All his weight is on top of me. And he has a lot of it. He leans in, his hot breath warming my ear. “I know what you are, Elder. I felt it when you tried to kill me in the arena. You went straight for my throat. As soon as I can prove it, you’re as good as dead. The Taoiseach will have you hanging from the rafters in the Crimson Plaza. Grafts don’t belong in our society. They don’t belong in the Academy.”
He grabs my hair, jerks my head up, and slams it into the stone. Again. And again. Then he spits in my face. But it’s hardly detectable amidst the warm blood blanketing it. Then a sharp pain strikes at my lower leg. Grimry has stomped on it.
“Get up. Looks like you’re in need of the infirmary.”
He pulls me to my feet, but I’m unable to put weight on my leg. Jareth catches me and holds me upright. Grimry takes the other half of my weight by draping my arm over his shoulders. There’s not much I can do with the state they’ve put me in, so I don’t resist.
Why did he call me a Graft? I’m not a Graft. I’m a Lahyf—a Healer. I thought he took offense to me snickering at him that first day. And that’s what this was a
ll about. A Graft? That’s nonsense.
Both peers keep the japes flowing the entire way to the infirmary, just as I suspected they would. I don’t think anything would please me more at this moment then to knock out all their teeth. But my leg is broken. My face is a bloody mess. There’s nothing I can do about it.
Instead, I admire a group of students playing a casual game of Ironball off in the distance. Without a Game Master, the rules are limiting, and play is a touch more friendly, but intense all the same. Only those trained in the Seasonal Sciences can play, as the primary focus is to utilize your talents to keep the ironball away from the other team. It’s brutal at the expert level. There was a day when I dreamed of being part of that. I remember when my father would bring me to matches when we visited the capital. Not anymore. I’d rather be as far away from this place as I can. What am I doing here? How did I let Astor talk me into this? I should be out searching for Jay.
Grimry and Jareth carry me into the infirmary and drop me on the waiting room floor. Jareth rings the bell hanging above the front desk.
“There’ll be a day we settle our differences,” I mutter through swollen lips.
Grimry bends over me. “Yes. There will.” He gives me a mocking smile. Then he casually slaps me across the cheek and rises, and the two strut out of the infirmary.
“How can I assist you?” a hoarse voice startles me from behind as I stare at the swinging door, pondering my loathing for them.
“Huh?” I look back to see Madam Platina, the Academy Healer. Her silvery-grey hair is up in a bun on top of her head with horn-rimmed spectacles magnifying her brilliant blue-grey eyes. Today, they appear greyer as if storm clouds are brewing from within.
“Again? I have other patients I can be tending to that appear to be in much more duress than you. And why are you on the floor?”
Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) Page 41