by Brian Keller
Chapter 6
Cooper’s schedule continued without interruption, for the most part, over the next several days. Each day Birt relayed, as well as he knew them, the latest news regarding Guild dealings along with much about the conditions and situations of the world outside the walls. Cooper often wondered how Birt stayed so well-informed but wasn’t interested enough to ask. Considering his ongoing restriction from leaving the Guild, Cooper was glad to hear any news of the outside world, but the main subject he always listened for was anything regarding the cordon of soldiers around the Guild. From what Birt had said, the pressure hadn’t lessened but the soldiers were being less obtrusive. Either that, or the public had just become used to the fact that they were there. Trade continued unabated. If anything, the troops contributed to the economy in the Trade Quarter since they now darkened the doorways of local vendors, taverns and restaurants with increased frequency.
Clients still entered the Scribe’s storefront unimpeded and Couriers came and went, delivering the messages. Any other business of the Guild required members to utilize other entrances and exits, and any of these might be compromised at any time. Several Adepts, both thieves and assassins would often take up temporary residence in the former treasury house in the Grid, which now stood vacant. If someone wished to engage them, the client would simply enter the Scribe’s storefront and send a message with details along with a time and place to meet to discuss terms. This created an increased risk, since it was more difficult to screen potential clients. Assassins would commonly arrive early for their meetings, sometimes a day early, to thoroughly check out the assigned meeting place and then keep watchful eyes on the surroundings before the meeting took place. Lately, more often than not, the meetings were a trap rather than genuine employment. It was a delicate set of conditions and all Guild members had to take extra care to avoid making any direct connection between themselves and the storefront.
According to Birt, there were also hints that the Guild might be considering relocation. Cooper wondered how that might be accomplished, considering the Guild’s treasury had been almost entirely embezzled. Even though most of the Enforcers were now dispersed amongst the Houses in the Dregs and Batter’s Field, he guessed the “hints” that Birt was referring to probably came from Adepts whispering amongst themselves and likely had no basis in fact.
*****
Since the day she Manifested, she could “Feel”. Or at least that’s what she called it then. Since arriving at the University, her teachers referred to her Talent as “detecting”. Though, truth be told, her teachers resembled masters more than instructors. To further round out that impression, the University had actually bought her. She could remember her parents initially being excited when her Talent first Manifested, then excitement turned to apprehension, which later became aggravation and then devolved into outright resentment. Her parents seemed only too ready to be rid of her when the University scholars came to visit their house in Miller’s Flats to test her. Less than an hour later as they took her away, she was surprised to see money change hands, but there it was. The University bought her.
“Iona! Concentrate!” The sharp remonstration snapped her out of her reverie. There were a few of her peers on the other side of a curtain. At any given moment, one of them would be called upon to access their Talent. She “cast her net” beyond the curtain and replied in a bored tone, “It’s ‘Lemma. She’s using Air, but trying to blend in Fire… and failing.” There was a pause. Presumably, while her instructor got verification from Polemma. “Good”, her teacher replied. “Now let us continue, but with a bit more attentiveness.”
“This is now my life”, thought Iona, “serving as a bloodhound for the University.” Whenever anyone nearby accessed their Talent, she could feel it, even if she didn’t want to. Even though she often tried not to. If someone had sufficient power and affinity, and expended all their power in a burst, she didn’t even need to be nearby to feel it. In fact, it felt almost like an intangible slap to the face. No one really knew why some people seemed to have more power than others, or at least if anyone at the University knew, no one was telling her. What she did know, and few others seemed to understand, was that everyone accessed their Talents in a method unique to them. Over the last year or so, Iona could close her eyes and not only tell you what elements a person was using, but if she knew the person and had sensed them before, she could even tell you who was doing it and how much effort was being put into it.
Officially, her job with the University was to discover people with unknown and untapped potential. The reality of her position was that she was tasked with finding and tracking anyone with a Gift and then reporting her findings. The truly boring part of her life was the fact that there didn’t seem to be any Gifted people around. On rare occasions she’d feel “something” but it was so faint and distant that before she could focus on it, it had vanished.
One of the professors had been studying Talent theory for years. A couple of months ago the professor had learned of her and her ability. He had her brought to his lab to conduct a few studies. That was when she learned that if someone, or something, was exposed to sufficient power, it would leave a residue. The professor called it an “imprint”, but she felt this was a poor name for it. She thought of it more as a residue, since it faded over time. The word “imprint” implied a certain degree of permanence. She mentioned this to the professor but was instructed to “hold her tongue” unless she was asked a direct question. Through a series of trials, she reported that if enough power was “imprinted”, and it was recent, she could tell what it was and perhaps even who had done it. The stronger, or “deeper” the imprint, the longer it would be readable and the more detail she could glean from it. Any residues left by individuals of barely significant Talent could not be distinguished one from another, except for the elemental force used.
Later that evening, Iona lay on top of her bed. She was still dressed in her smock, standard attire for University students. She knew by this time of the evening, most of her peers had changed clothes and were joining their friends as they walked around the University grounds or out into the southern Trade Quarter, but she preferred the solitude. The more people that surrounded her, the more “clutter” she had to sift through. People using their various Talents, whether functionally for any nature of daily tasks or as a meaningless display, she felt it all. She wished one of her teachers could show her how to block it out, if only for a few minutes at a time, but their only interests were in further amplifying her Talent. The closest thing she felt to relief, was when she focused on detecting an imprint. That task actually took some concentration, and helped block out the clutter. She could at least take some solace in that. As she stared at the ceiling she could feel dampness on her palms. She pulled heat from her hands and caused the dampness to turn to frost. She smiled as she worked her fingers, causing the thin layer of ice to flake off and noiselessly fall to the floor. The University scholars knew she could manipulate heat and cold, but they expressed no interest in helping her develop that part of her Talent.
As she sat up, she caught a glimpse of herself in her mirror. She shrugged as she realized that was yet another reason she embraced solitude. The most tactful way she’d ever been described was “non-descript”. She’d been old enough to understand that as being another term for “plain”. She was average height and of average build. Her hips were narrower than her shoulders but only slightly. She wasn’t sure whether she had her mother to thank for that. Her mother would be described as ‘petite’. She’d also heard of the colors auburn and chestnut, but accepted the fact that her hair was simply brown. Her chin formed a slight point, breaking up the otherwise oval shape of her face. Her eyes were also brown. Not dark, but certainly not light enough to be called hazel. Her nose was not wide or narrow, not long or short. She had come to terms with the fact that she’d never be considered pretty, but neither was she ugly. She was simply… non-descript.
Her Talent was extrem
ely rare, but it wasn’t unique. She wasn’t the only person at the University who could detect others using their Talent but from what she’d heard from the professor, those tested prior to her hadn’t been so successful at reading imprints. She’d asked to meet others like her, but her requests were either ignored, or abruptly refused. She couldn’t help but feel confused, “What harm could it cause?” she wondered. She had hoped to meet a few of them. Perhaps they’d found ways to block it out, or at least found ways to more easily cope. Several months ago, a few of the other Adepts thought it would be funny to expend their energy near her room when they came back from a night out in town. Thankfully, only a few of them could muster enough power to wake her from sleep, and those immediately discovered the dangers of expending all their power to disturb someone with her affinity for heat and cold. Subsequently, she’d learned quickly that she might be punished for causing blisters or frostbite on a fellow scholar. It also proved to be almost no deterrent at all since most professors lacked the imagination to devise a punishment other than ‘Restriction to Quarters’.
This morning during breakfast, her primary teacher informed her that he’d be taking her outside the University today. Whenever she wasn’t restricted, she could leave the University grounds whenever she wanted, but being taken somewhere by a professor had never happened before. She wasn’t sure whether she should feel excited or apprehensive. After she’d finished eating and they’d begun walking she asked, “Professor, where are we going?” “Miller’s Flats.” was his terse reply. She collected the determination to ask another question, “Why are we going to Miller’s Flats, sir?” He stopped and turned to stare at her, “One of our healers, Emmit, has reported that someone may have information about the existence of a Gifted person. We’re going to investigate. That is what you’ve been trained for, after all.”
The exterior of the house where they stopped was as anonymous as any other on the street; if the wide path of packed earth could be called a street, that is. The outside appearance of the house did nothing to prepare her for what she saw once she stepped beyond the entryway. To describe the décor as “lavish” might be an overstatement, but “luxurious” certainly seemed apt. Just inside the foyer was a room that had been divided by some tall folding screens each with intricate diagrams depicting several stages of turning grapes into wine. The part of the room she was standing in had been furnished as a “receiving room”. She could feel a residual aura in the room. Nature and Earth elements hung in the air as if they were smoke from sandalwood incense. A man was reclining on a divan while Emmit was wrapping muslin around one of the man’s upper thighs and hips. The man had a sheet drawn over him to preserve his modesty, assuming he had any, and his hair and beard were trimmed in the fashion of a rakish young nobleman though he was of an age that he should consider a more mature style. Iona presumed that this man was not yet ready to let go of a younger man’s illusions. As Emmit finished his work, he looked up and gave her professor a deferential nod. The patient wrapped the sheet around himself in the manner of a toga as he rose to greet them. As Iona drew closer she realized that this man might not be as old as her first impressions led her to believe. He was slightly pale beneath an olive complexion, this gave him a slightly sickly, slightly aged appearance.
As he rose to greet them, Jarell gestured towards a set of chairs as he raised an eyebrow, “Wine? Tea? Have you eaten?” To Iona this seemed uncharacteristically gracious, but she could also detect that this man was simply acting as a host would be expected to act. Her teacher answered for both of them, “Thank you. We have eaten. Some tea, perhaps.” Jarell turned and gave his attendant a nod and then addressed Emmit, “Thank you. When should I expect you again?” The dark-skinned healer replied in a strong baritone, “In three days, I think, sir. I have left enough material for you to change out your own bandages, and enough salve to last until you’re healed.” Jarell nodded, “Shall I see you out? Or can you find your own way?” His smile attempted to be pleasant. It failed. Emmit stiffened but bowed his head, “You have guests. I can see myself out. Thank you.”
Once they were seated and the tea had been poured, Iona’s teacher broke the silence, “Emmit informed us that you might know of someone with unusual qualities. If this is true, it could be of particular interest to us.” Jarell took a sip of his tea and then dabbed at his mouth with a corner of a napkin. To Iona, everything about this man felt contrived in some way. The healer’s presence had completely saturated the space, but now that he had gone, she was able to sift through the sensations in the room. She’d felt the emanations from her teacher for so long that she could easily recognize them, and since he wasn’t actively accessing his Talent, they didn’t fill the room as the healer’s had. She had “cast her net” around this man only to discover that he was actively trying to conceal his Talent. She didn’t have to exert any effort to detect a powerful Air affinity and at least a fair affinity for Earth, or perhaps Nature. Many times Nature could be mistaken for Earth, depending on how the Talent had Manifested. She might be able to tell what his abilities might be, but until he released his hold on them there was really no way for her to tell.
Jarell smiled. This time the smile actually looked genuine. “Yes. There is a young man here in the city. He is the reason I must have a healer come to visit me. This boy is too young to have Manifested, yet displayed incredible speed. I am a trained swordsman and my Talent with air grants me increased speed. That is all you need know about me, but this boy was able to move quickly enough to injure me severely. If I had been even a hairsbreadth slower, he might have killed me. I understand that abominations such as these fall within a certain, shall we say, purview of the University?”
The professor stroked his beard while Jarell spoke and when Jarell had finished he replied, “Of course, anyone displaying abilities that depart from the norm are of interest to us, even if only ‘academically’. Might we know the name and location of this boy?” Jarell took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This was the tricky part. How to divulge the location without revealing how he actually knew it. He’d been considering solutions for this for a couple of days when he’d realized that the solution was obvious. The boy himself had provided it. As he fought him, he had noticed the copper tube in his pocket and the gold sash looped through his belt. “Well, when I saw him… before he attacked me… he’d been wearing a gold sash. There’s only one place I know of that puts gold sashes on children. As for his name? His name is Cooper, and he has the darkest eyes you’ve ever seen.”
Iona noticed that her teacher had been listening intently, just as she was; but at Jarell’s last statement she noticed he stopped stroking his beard and had actually leaned forward slightly.
Chapter 7
In Specialized Combat class, Cooper was seated on the floor pulling himself forward, stretching before practice when he heard a soft footfall behind him. Cooper rolled himself to one side and turned as he rose into a crouch, only to see Loryn standing in the spot that was once behind him. She had a practice blade in each hand, and she was smiling, “Most of the kids in my class couldn’t fight their way out of a rice paper room. Care for a match?” Cooper stood and grinned, “Good to see you, Loryn. Sorry I haven’t been around. It’s been a busy time.” She shrugged while she nodded. He figured she’d heard the same rumors that Birt had mentioned earlier. Cooper gestured at her hands, “Have you gotten any better with those?” She turned her hands towards him, “Good enough that Mister Skran has given me two of them, and then he stands to one side and watches me try and spar with classmates who can’t think beyond left-right-left.” Cooper flexed his fingers, “I’ve been working on learning the sword for a few weeks now. Some knife practice would be great… until Mister Skran stops us, of course.” He took a half step back and waved her forward. She crouched, then pulled her eyebrows together, “Arm yourself.” Her voice had an edge of impatience. Cooper rolled his shoulders, “I will.” Loryn’s mouth went tight as she surged forward. Cooper dropped in
to a fighting crouch and his hands flashed back returning with a blade in each, and met her charge. Her movements were smooth and quick but lacked any sense of commitment. He pushed forward to capture control of the inside lines. Loryn’s response was sudden and almost savage. She adjusted her left hand to a reversed grip and slashed across the space between them. Despite the fact that her blades were blunted, they could still do injury so he needed to quickly change his tactic, which put him on the defensive as Loryn’s right hand thrust forward. Cooper stepped forward and twisted to his right, which restricted her options with her left hand while he avoided her thrust. Loryn immediately assessed how she’d been maneuvered and quickly stepped back to adjust her position. He followed and continued to press. She adopted several strike-block combinations designed for tight quarter fighting, which surprised him. He’d only learned those techniques from Utsef, but obviously Mister Skran taught those techniques as well. Cooper joined her within her routine but Utsef had also demonstrated several ways to break through and exploit the patterns. He let it play out for about twenty seconds. He didn’t understand why, but he felt proud that she could so effectively apply what she’d been taught. There were several points where he could interrupt the routine but a few of them were particularly dramatic. According to the routine, he’d need to strike with his right blade to her upper chest, neck or face. Without this strike to pull her blade upward to block, he’d be left vulnerable to a counter attack. As she raised her left hand to block he quickly sidestepped to his right and dragged his left blade across her midsection. He then stepped back and let his hands drop to his sides. As soon as Loryn felt the blade cross her ribs, she’d stepped back as well. Off to the side, they could hear a light clapping. They turned to face the sound and saw that Mister Skran had been about ten feet away, observing them. He let his hands drop, “Very good. I felt tempted to interrupt you, but you were both doing so well and I wanted to see how things turned out.” Loryn turned to face him, “Any observations, sir?” Cooper was thinking how good it was that she’d appeared to have fully emerged from her cocoon. Mister Skran replied, “My opinion? If we hadn’t already merged the classes, I’d have to consider advancing you, young lady. As it stands now, I’ll be more aware of who I partner you with in the future. Mister Cooper, should I assume that you are losing interest in swordplay?” Cooper shook his head, “Not at all, sir. But in order to spar with Loryn, it seemed only sporting that we use the same weapons; for the present time, at least.” Cooper couldn’t tell for sure but he thought Mister Skran was teasing him when he said, “From what I’ve heard, you have firsthand experience fighting with daggers against a sword. Obviously you lived.” Cooper looked at the floor, “Yes, sir…but it could’ve easily gone the other way. I got cut quite a few times. I just protected my vital areas, like you taught us.” Mister Skran appeared to scrutinize him for a few seconds before turning back to the center of the room. “Archery class, line up on your targets. Sparring students, pair up.” Cooper and Loryn exchanged glances. He gave her a nod and she replied with a slight grin.