by Narro, B. T.
Dust and sweat had caked together on his forehead, so he wiped it with his shirt. He shuffled toward Steffen’s room, stopping in the doorway. There were dozens of plants fighting for space and more potions and books than Cleve had ever seen in one place, all organized neatly. Cleve liked to keep his room tidy as well but never had to deal with sorting more than his clothes and a few weapons.
He couldn’t have possibly read half of those books. Cleve walked into the room to investigate Steffen’s reading material. Most of these aren’t even recipe books for potions. History, math…and books about languages I’ve never heard of. Could he really like this stuff? Cleve tried, and failed, to find a book he recognized. Soon he found himself just looking for a storybook, anything fictional, yet again he couldn’t find one. What kind of person has this many books but doesn’t read any fiction?
He sneaked into Effie’s room next. Her black staff rested on her bed beside a pile of clothes. Among the pile, a garish blue cloth stood out. It looked soft and inviting but disgustingly showy. Expecting it to be an extravagant mage’s robe, he pulled it from the other clothes, curious about how it looked in its entirety. Shocked, he found himself holding the lower half of Effie’s undergarments, so petite they were seemingly inadequate. He dropped them onto the other clothes, poking at them until the pile appeared as he’d found it and leaving as soon as the job was done.
Reela’s room was similar to Cleve’s—neat without a lot to see. There were no clothes in sight. They’re all folded neatly or hung in her wardrobe, I imagine. Instead of weapons, as in his room, Cleve found a number of books: fiction, history, biography, and many about psyche as well. One looked more like a journal. The cover was worn and without a title. Although tempted, he resisted opening it.
The room had a fragrance unlike any other he’d experienced. It reminded him of Raywhite Forest after a downpour, when the sun pierced through the wet trees. It was mixed with something sweet, though, maybe honey. He sniffed around the room, curious about its origin. There were no plants or candles in sight. Could she have left this scent?
Cleve opened her wardrobe and breathed in deeply. The fragrance was found, and it permeated through him. He let out a soft sigh.
She likes light colors. He thumbed through the dresses in front of him. I hope I get to see her wear some of these. His heart jumped. What am I doing? He closed the wooden door to her wardrobe and returned to his room.
His earlier decision to skip his workout suddenly was overturned. It was time to get out of the house. Cleve wanted his bow but settled on his sword. He sheathed the blade securely into the leather casing attached to his belt and made his way to Warrior’s Field—a stretch of lush grass half a mile long and wide. Terren had explained to him years ago that if he was to attend a class as a warrior, it would be on that field, not sitting in a classroom.
His routine started with stretches, followed by technique and form, and ended with muscle strengthening. Later, he would meditate to regain some of the lost Bastial Energy. He wasn’t surprised to find a few other warriors scattered across the field, training as well.
By the time Cleve got to push-ups, the sun had almost set. He heard his name being called in the distance. It appeared to be Reela and the others. At the sight of her, he felt his heart nervously rattle around in his chest as if she somehow knew he’d looked through her room. She and the others stood on the edge of the field, just before the grass began, like touching Warrior’s Field would send them to the dungeons. Steffen motioned for him to meet them where they stood, and Cleve jogged over reluctantly.
“Show them that flip you did in the forest,” Steffen said.
“What flip?” Cleve pretended not to know while he thought of some way out of the request without being rude.
“That flip! You spun and flipped at the same time. Then you slammed down your quarterstaff in front of the bear to scare him off.” Steffen gestured with his hands to demonstrate. “I was just telling them about it.”
“I think that was you,” Cleve joked, keeping his tone serious. There was something about Steffen that made Cleve want to tease him. He hadn’t figured out what yet. There was nothing particularly jarring about Steffen’s appearance. He was like many other chemists, generally smaller in stature. His nose was neither small nor large, his lips were thin, and his eyes were wide. His hair was brown, lighter than Effie’s but still far darker than Reela’s. It was short and always appeared kempt, like his clothes. Cleve assumed the urge to make fun had to do with Steffen’s personality. He seemed unreasonably stubborn yet overly nice, if that combination was even possible.
“Me? I can’t do that.” Steffen looked to be authentically concerned that Cleve wouldn’t remember correctly.
“Cleve,” Reela interrupted, her puffy lips curved into her usual smile. “We met someone who’s hosting a party. We’re stopping at our house briefly, then we’re going there. Come with us.”
“It’s a good chance for us to get to know you better,” Effie added. “Or you can watch my sister, who’ll be staying at our place and going to sleep early so she can leave for Oakshen at sunrise.”
“I told you,” Gabby squeaked, “I’m coming to this party, and I’m leaving sometime tomorrow, not in the morning.”
Effie sighed. “I’ll let you come if you promise to leave early tomorrow.”
“Fine.”
“And you can’t tell Father about the party.”
“Fine.”
“Or Mom.”
“Stop.”
The sisters looked at each other and appeared to carry on the conversation through silent expressions that were lost on Cleve. He couldn’t help but notice the two of them looked alike, although they sounded completely different.
“I’ll go,” Cleve concluded, unable to invent an excuse of why he couldn’t.
They talked of their pasts and childhoods on the walk back to their house. Being the only one with an unknown history to the rest, Cleve was the subject of each question.
He wouldn’t speak of the first half of his life before his parents died because then he would be forced to remember it. The last half was a boring tale, destitute of anything remarkable besides winning the weapon demonstrations he entered, but Steffen knew of that and probably already had told the others. Cleve was tempted to make up a story or two, if he was able, but knew he didn’t have the ability. Instead, his answers were dull, putting a lid on any excitement in the questions that led to them.
When Steffen asked what he did for fun, his answer was, “Train.”
The rest of them followed with, “That’s it?” and, “You can’t train all day.”
Effie made a joke. “I guess after five thousand push-ups, there isn’t time for much more before the sun sets.” She referred to his big frame, Cleve knew. Many women, usually older, liked to make comments about him being big and strong. He enjoyed a compliment as much as anyone else would, but usually it wasn’t phrased as such. Instead, it was the kind of tone someone would use to tell a little girl how pretty she looked if she wore an extravagant dress.
He didn’t have much practice speaking about himself and it showed, but eventually Reela asked him a question that it actually felt good to answer.
“What do you like about training, Cleve?”
“Honing your skills is both simple and complicated,” he said confidently, “but the good kind of complicated, the fun kind, like learning a new spell.” He motioned to Effie. “Or a new potion.” He looked at Steffen. But when his eyes fell on Reela, no words came to mind. It served to remind him how little he knew of psychics.
“Don’t worry,” Effie said, saving him. “Nobody knows what Reela does to practice. She won’t tell me, probably because it’s cruelty to animals.”
One corner of Reela’s smile faded, leaving her mouth twisted. “It’s not nearly as cruel as what I’d do to you if you spread that nasty rumor.”
Steffen added, “I understand the sense of triumph in learning something new or perfectin
g something old, but what about the physical toll? If I woke each morning knowing I had to work my body until sweat dripped down my brow, I would stay in bed.”
“When my body is at work, my mind is at rest,” Cleve answered. I don’t need to think of the past, he almost said aloud. “All my flaws are reduced to numbers—inches and feet, and those can be corrected.” His eyes darted to Reela as he spoke. He had trouble keeping them off her and felt like the only reason to look anywhere else was to prevent her from realizing it.
“Steffen,” Effie said, “I’m surprised you get out of bed at all when you can break a sweat turning the page of a book.”
“He doesn’t,” Reela added. “Usually he reads lying down.”
Gabby’s mouth gaped. “That’s right, he does!”
“I read a lot. It gets tiring!”
“Luck is on your side that you’ll never have to carry a sword,” Cleve told him. “It’s far heavier than a book.”
Later in their house, Cleve was staring at his wardrobe and regretting his decision to attend the party. Why don’t I own any nice shirts? The answer came quickly: because I don’t do “nice” things. The best choice he found was a casual, short-sleeved shirt that was too dark to see how dirty it was. He tested it against his body. It felt strange to think of wearing it to any social event because it was just an everyday shirt, like all the other clothes in his wardrobe.
He sighed as he let it drape over his wrist. Do people usually worry about what they’re going to wear? He couldn’t even answer that.
“Need help?” It was Reela from his doorway. She wore a light gray, modest dress that brightened her green eyes yet mostly hid her womanly figure. It was buttoned up to her collar and fell to her shins. For just a breath, her face was forgetfully calming.
“No, I’ll be ready soon,” he lied.
“Effie!” Reela called. “Help Cleve pick a shirt.”
Effie stomped in wearing a thin flannel jacket atop a matching skirt. The jacket seemed strange to Cleve, like it might have been a men’s jacket. If it was before, it’s not now, he thought. The sleeves had been shortened and the top buttons removed so that a tease of cleavage was visible.
“That one is fine.” Effie pointed to the black shirt hanging in front of him after no more than a quick glance. “But change your pants, something darker to hide the grass stains.”
These pants have grass stains? There were none on the front. He poked his head around his shoulder and found a brown stain covering his right butt cheek. “How long has that been there?” He didn’t mean to ask it aloud. Only Reela remained when he turned back. She looked as if she was holding in a laugh.
“It looks as old as those pants. We’ll be waiting in the kitchen.”
Cleve changed into the cleanest, darkest pants he could find and then joined his roommates, who were standing around the table.
“Grab a glass,” Steffen said.
Confused, Cleve removed his metal mug from a nearby shelf and took a spot between Steffen and Reela. He’d found nothing to drink in the kitchen earlier, so he couldn’t imagine what they were having unless someone had brought back water from the faucet outside the bathhouse. His tall mug was met with sadistic smiles that made him even more uneasy.
He investigated the mug closer. “Is it dirty?” He found a few particles of dirt on the outside that he brushed off.
“Are you sure you want to use that?” Steffen asked.
“It seems fine.” They really care about a little dirt?
“I think you should use one of these.” Steffen handed him one of the small glasses he held.
“I’ll just use my mug.” Each of their glasses was unmarked and identical. They were large enough only for a single gulp and Cleve was thirsty. “What are we having?”
Effie placed a jug of dark liquid on the table and danced her hands around as if she was selling it.
“All the way from the fine streets of Oakshen and with the coin from my own pocket, I have brought this here, to the Academy, for us to enjoy. With an exquisite beverage like this, the table rules are applied. Whatever is poured into your glass…or giant mug,” Effie extended a hand gracefully toward Cleve, “must be consumed by the holder of that glass…or giant mug.” Again her hand extended to Cleve. “Respect the pour. Respect the drink. I’m sure we’re all aware of the rest of the table rules, so let the pouring begin!”
They all banged their glasses against the table twice, except for Cleve. This is an Oakshen custom, I guess. He wondered whether he should express his confusion but decided the jug of juice looked too harmless and refreshing to cause any concern.
Effie tiptoed around the table filling the tiny glass in front of each person. When their glass was full, they shushed Effie with one finger held in front of their mouth. Not a word was spoken, not even a breath could be heard, just the soothing sound of the juice falling into each glass, followed by a soft shushing sound.
When it was Cleve’s turn, Effie gracefully poured the juice into his mug, slowly yet carefully. It made a deep and messy noise as the liquid crashed against the metal interior. The contrast between his mug and the other glasses was amusing at first, but the novelty immediately wore off when her pouring speed did not quicken from a painfully slow stream. She eyed him nervously as she went, her face growing more and more incredulous.
Cleve grew impatient and held up a hand when his mug was filled halfway. She stopped at his command, and he shushed her as the others had done. It was met with tightly pressed grins from Reela and the others. Gabby stopped a giggle with a hand over her mouth.
Did I shush wrong? He wasn’t an experienced shusher, if such a thing existed, but he thought it sounded just like the others.
Finally Effie filled her own glass and held it in front of her, waiting for everyone to join her before speaking.
“Bastial to us: the strongest psychic, smartest chemist, biggest warrior, most talented mage, and my fourteen-year-old sister who may be something worth mentioning one day and who’s leaving in the morning. Bastial.”
“Bastial,” they all repeated, except for Cleve. They each began to drink.
Finally, what a ridiculous ceremony. Cleve raised his mug to his face as he heard the sound of others slamming their empty glass on the table. The liquid poured from his mug into his dry mouth, his throat encouraging it with loud gulps. Only…after the first gulp, he realized something was wrong.
This is not juice! It was too late for the second gulp, though; it was already in his stomach. Half of the third squeezed down his throat, and the other half spurted back the way it came, causing him to spit out the remaining liquid from his mouth onto the table. He coughed and wheezed wildly, his chest burning. They were all laughing hysterically. The burning spread to his cheeks as hot shame came over him.
“What is that?” he managed to force out between coughs.
Gabby pointed at the mess he’d made. “Rule foul!” she shouted, still laughing.
“What did you think it was?” Reela asked, covering half her face to hide her smile.
Unsure what else he could say, he gave the truth. “It looked like juice…” Cleve’s voice trailed off.
“It’s sakal,” Effie replied. “Expensive sakal! And you’re going to finish it.”
“I will not. It’s disgusting.”
Effie and her sister gasped dramatically. “Rule foul!” they shouted in unison.
Steffen quickly explained, “You have to follow the table rules. You can’t speak ill of the drink that was offered, you can’t spill or spit it out, and you absolutely have to finish what was poured for you.” He pulled a rag from the counter to wipe up the mixture of spit and sakal on the table.
“I’ve never played this before.” “Played” doesn’t feel like the right word, but I don’t know what else to call it. He pointed at his mug as he held down a painful belch. “Never had alcohol.”
“Never? This is your first time?” Gabby shouted. “How is that possible?”
; Reela held up her hands. “Finish what’s in your mug, and we won’t punish you for the rules you broke.”
“Agreed,” Effie said, standing beside Reela and hooking her arm around her.
Cleve sighed deeply, clearing his throat as he exhaled. Far easier just to do it than to argue, he thought. He felt their gazes as they waited. He suddenly couldn’t help but think of it as a test, but for what? Is this to see if I can fit in with them, or is it to prove that I can’t?
A thought came that he should refuse—not only the drink, but the party as well. He didn’t need to get along with his roommates. It might even be easier if they just avoided him. But then he glanced at Reela and noticed the concerned scrunch of her nose as she and the others waited for him. Effie’s head tilted to rest against Reela’s shoulder as they each stared.
You can’t give up that easily, he told himself, hearing some of Terren’s voice in it. Without another thought, Cleve lifted the mug, said “Bastial,” closed his eyes, and tried his best to imagine he was drinking sweet juice, which he still craved. He emptied his mug into his mouth and slammed it on the table. Hot pain gripped his throat and burned within his chest, but at least he was done.
They cheered, albeit somewhat sarcastically.
Chapter 9: The Party
EFFIE
Effie was eager to get inside when they found the right house. Darkness had come over the Academy, but the noise from the party seemed to illuminate the atmosphere even more so than the mages behind the house who were blasting light into the sky.
“Cleve.” Effie pointed at the bursts of light ahead. “Don’t be a DDW.”
“DDW?” he asked. She noticed his pronunciation was slightly slurred.