Hather (Hather Series Book 1)

by Prince Edan

  The stables were constructed from cedar wood and housed twenty horses that were reserved for extremely rich students or teachers. Roland wrinkled his nose as the pervading odor of manure enveloped him.

  “Good afternoon, Keith,” Roland spoke quietly so no one would overhear. “Which horses are available?”

  The boy shook his head. He would often allow Roland to borrow a horse for a small price. Roland’s favorite was a black Friesian stallion called Flakey. Though it had powerful muscles, it was friendly and liked to show off in front of a crowd by jumping around, regardless of the rider’s wishes.

  “Sorry, I can’t give you one right now. They’re being used by some members of the Order to patrol the city. Defense against the resistance, you know?”

  Disappointed, Roland turned around. He had wanted to ride to the lake and take a moment to calm his mind before he headed off to work. His thoughts were becoming a jumbled mess. He wanted to figure out his feelings for Cassandra.

  “Wait,” Keith called, “I wanna show you something.”

  Roland glanced around. The horse stalls were empty and the saddles removed from the walls. Hay was strewn over the floor. Keith led him into a small gray room with a window that overlooked the horses’ stalls. There was a chair behind a black desk covered with papers.

  “Those are forms for handling new horses,” Keith explained. “The boss is planning to expand the stable, and the school gave him permission. We gon’ need a few more helpers though.”

  There was a bicycle in the corner, its metal frame painted black. Though the metal had rusted a bit, its handle bars were still intact.

  “Holy shit,” Roland breathed as he crossed over to it with quick strides. “These are extremely rare.”

  “I reckon the majority of them were destroyed during the war, but this one survived. Found it in a cave when I went exploring in the forest last weekend. I could barely make out the remains of a skeleton beside it. But the dead don’ need something like this. It cost me an arm an’ a leg to get a pump for the tires in the underground market.”

  The thought of disturbing the resting place of those that died had always bothered him. He worried that their spirits would haunt him until he followed them to Hell.

  “Stay out of the forest,” Roland warned.

  “Why?” Keith questioned skeptically.

  “The resistance attacked me while I was there yesterday.”

  Keith’s face fell.

  “I’m fine but it’s dangerous, all right?”

  Keith nodded.

  “Did you try riding the bicycle?” Roland asked.

  “No. I’ve never seen anyone use it.”

  “It couldn’t be that hard,” Roland reasoned.

  A bicycle was a treasure from the past, reminding them of what things were like before the class situation had taken a turn for the worse. The boys took the bike outside and planted it firmly on the grass.

  Keith watched while Roland steadied himself on the seat, planting his feet firmly on the ground on either side of the bicycle. He gripped the handlebars. Hopefully the dead owner would turn a blind eye to his folly.

  “Go!” Roland yelled, yanking the handlebars like it was a horse’s bridle.

  Silence.

  “You’re doing it wrong, I think. You gotta kick your feet off the ground and hold them up,” Keith said, positioning himself behind Roland. “Ready?”

  Roland kicked, and Keith pushed his back. Roland traveled for a few feet before he lost his balance. He flailed his arms and legs, the bike tipped to the side, and he landed on the grass with a thump. Keith stifled a laugh and Roland shot him a threatening glare.

  “Sorry. It’s always funny to watch tall people fall,” Keith snickered.

  “How does someone deal with this impossible device?” Roland wondered aloud. His left leg was pinned beneath the frame and he struggled to untangle his limbs from the machine.

  “You’ve been pretty quiet,” Keith noted. “You got somethin’ you wanna talk about?”

  Roland realized he only replied to Keith when he felt it was necessary. He decided to ask the kid the question that had plagued him since lunch. “What does it feel like to be in love?”

  When Roland was with Cassandra, he got this strange feeling that he couldn’t quite describe. It made him uncomfortable, hesitant. The unease that possessed his body whenever she was around unsettled him.

  Keith stared at him, a puzzled expression crossing his features. “Don’t know. In the twelve years I been struggling on this damn plant, I’ve only loved a horse. Animals don’ judge you by how much money your parents make or where ‘em live, or the clothes you wear. They like you for you. Humans are different.”

  Roland shrugged. “I like you.”

  “That’s different. You’re an orphan. You know what it’s like to work hard to achieve your goals. To work your way up from the bottom with bloodied, gnarled fingers. Everyone else gets what they want on a silver platter. I hate ‘em.”

  “The majority of them have an easy life, though some work hard.” Roland thought of Clark. He once caught the boy running laps around the school in the night to build his stamina and sword training on his own.

  “Maybe.”

  “If you met a girl who you liked, how would it feel?”

  Keith narrowed his eyes as he studied Roland. “You like someone, bro?”

  Roland heaved a sigh, recognizing that the kid probably knew less about love than he did. “Forget it. I need to go to work.”

  “You gon’ stop by tomorrow?” Keith stared at the grass. “Lately, you haven’t been coming ‘ere and I don’t have anyone else to talk to, you know?”

  Roland’s heart sank when he noticed the sad expression on Keith’s face. The kid was like a little brother to him, and he hated letting him down. “I’ve had to work my ass off lately, but I’ll make some time for you.” Roland held out his fist and the kid punched it.

  “You promise?” Keith asked hopefully.

  “Yeah.”

  Roland excused himself and said goodbye. He left the school and arrived at La Bora a few minutes before his shift started. True to his promise, Mr. Carter gave him a black tuxedo to replace Roland’s hideous suit. He examined his reflection in the changing room’s mirror. He didn’t look like the poor, dirt covered child with sunken cheeks the director had brought into Hather.

  His body had filled out over time. He imagined he might even be taller than his father. Had he abandoned family for a better life? Probably. He was a child when he left, he didn’t know better. No one could blame him for that, right? His wild red hair was the only thing that tied him to his relatives. It was the same blazing red that his mother displayed proudly. Roland ran his hand over the high end material. The black tuxedo fit him well, it had a neat metallic trim along the sides, and a narrow gold tie hung around his neck. For the first time, he looked handsome in his own eyes. He smiled.

  Walking past the rows of lockers, he pushed the door open. The audience hushed when someone announced his name on stage. He was relieved that he hadn’t been late. His conversation with Keith had been longer than he presumed. He could still feel the excitement of riding the bicycle.

  All eyes were focused on him as he walked along the column of tables filled with elegantly dressed folks. He straightened his back as he went up the stairs. The piano was right before him, the ebony and ivory keys calling to him, beckoning him to give an amazing concert. He sat down, his eyes scanning the audience. It took him a moment to realize he was looking for Cassandra.

  Mr. Carter flashed him a thumbs up from the back corner of the room. Cassandra wasn’t there. He exhaled slowly and placed his hands on the keys. Taking a breath, he expelled the anxiety that was swelling within him. He started the piece quickly but the notes were smoothly connected. The chords came naturally, practiced.

  “I’m your number one fan,” Cassandra’s voice echoed in the hollows of his mind.

  His playing had switched to match the mental
image of Cassandra that he created. When she smiled, the piece was cheerful, light. When she cried, it was soft, weeping silently, the pace slowed and the sound diminished to almost nothing. He had created it for no one in particular, but it was now her song. He had changed the name to “El Día Que Te Conocí.” “The Day I Met You.” He briefly closed his eyes and joined her in his imagination.

  They were in the forest. The cop left her side to chase after the members of the resistance. The wind caressed his body as he stood beside her.

  “You idiot,” she said, tears streaming down her face.

  “I know,” he murmured against her ear and wrapped his arms around her, feeling her body tremble beneath him, absorbing her warmth. “I know.”

  Shit.

  He had fallen for her, hard.

  Chapter VII

  Roland joined the crowd of people trying to exit through La Bora’s glass doors. A tug on his hand made him stop in his tracks. He spun around and saw an elderly lady clasping her hands around his. She looked up in awe, her dark blue eyes dancing.

  “Can I help you?” Roland was itching to get back to the academy. After all, it was his duty to patrol the campus ground for two hours alongside Clark at sunset.

  “That was a lovely selection you played, young man.”

  “Thank you, Miss.” Roland started toward the door, but the woman pulled him back. “I really must be going,” he explained with a strained smile.

  Her long, bony fingers and the hooked nose on her aged face made the woman resemble a witch. “Could you show an old woman to the washroom?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Roland led the woman away from the bustling crowd into a narrow corridor lined with artificial plants and paintings. The woman stopped by a portrait of King Albert that was surrounded by an elegant gold frame. He had a few white strands in his gold beard, and a black crown sat atop his bald head. Dressed in royal attire—a navy blue suit with gold shoulder pads, and a white slash slung over his right shoulder—he seemed to glare at the artist. His narrowed brown eyes emitted a source of authority and control.

  “I met him once,” the woman bragged. “He is a wonderful man.”

  “I’m sure he is,” Roland replied dryly.

  Time was running short and the woman was not in a hurry. Roland drummed his fingers against his thigh impatiently.

  “They say he’s sending a few of his children to King’s Academy.” Her eyes were bright with pride as she spoke, “It is well known that the school has produced talented students year after year and it has one highest grade averages in Canada. My granddaughter goes there.”

  Roland nodded. Though he tried to feign interest, it was becoming harder with each passing second. He strode toward the white door marked “women,” pointed to it, and she mumbled her gratitude, asking him to wait a few seconds. Roland folded his arms and leaned against the wall opposite the closed door. He had a few minutes to spare, and he could not bring himself to abandon an elderly woman. She reminded him of someone, although he was not sure who. There was something familiar about the way she carried herself; her straight posture, the excited manner in which she spoke, and the way she dragged him around as if he were an extension of her arm.

  He heard the hushed whisper of female voices, the creaking of the door as it opened, and his body tensed. The old lady stepped outside, Cassandra following in her footsteps. Cassandra was exquisitely beautiful. Her long hair had been arranged into a neat bun, and a slit in her red dress showed off her tanned legs. His eyes examined her body, following each curve. She watched him too.

  “This is the gentleman I was referring to,” the woman said as she walked over to him. She squeezed his arm. “Nice biceps, broad shoulders, nice face. What do you think, hon? He would make a good side.”

  “You came?” Roland asked, brushing the woman’s comments aside. He was sure he had done something to upset Cassandra and she would not have shown up at all.

  “Well, I am your number one fan, even if you are an idiot who wouldn’t know how to treat his girlfriend properly if someone gave you an instruction manual.”

  “Why mention my non-existent girlfriend? Is it possible that you are jealous?” he teased.

  Her cheeks turned red and she hurriedly said, “Of course not.”

  Roland raked his hand through his hair. “My apologies, Miss. I assumed you were.”

  “Shut up.” Fuming, she delivered a strong kick to his leg.

  He swallowed the pain, his leg throbbing, and displayed a shaky smile. “Lovely kick, Miss. Quite painful.” He hopped away on one leg to get out of her reach. “Your father must be proud.”

  “Ah,” the older woman interrupted, “since you two already know each other, I saw another guy that would suit you perfectly, Cassandra. He had lovely blue eyes and fair skin. Let’s catch him before he leaves.”

  “Granny,” Cassandra seethed, “I told you I don’t need anyone right now.”

  Her grandmother frowned. “Your looks won’t last forever, Cassandra. One day your skin will start sagging and you’ll be covered in wrinkles. You must find someone while you’re still young.”

  Cassandra heaved a sigh. “You can’t introduce me to every young guy you meet.”

  The grandmother looked stunned, as if Cassandra was giving her a completely outlandish suggestion. “Why not?”

  The two walked away, arguing amongst themselves. Roland’s heart squeezed as he watched Cassandra’s back vanishing around the corner. Something told him that he would have to make a move before it was too late. He didn’t want to lose her to some asshole with a lot of money.

  He chased after Cassandra and grabbed her arm. She whirled on him. “What do you want?”

  “Uh,” Roland’s voice faltered as he met her gaze, “there was this place, and you and I, this—”

  Cassandra drew a circle on his suit above his heart and clucked her tongue. “Are you asking me out?”

  The elderly woman rubbed her hands together gleefully.

  “May I?” he questioned hesitantly, toying with his sleeve. He loosened his tie around his neck. It was becoming harder to breathe with each passing second.

  She shrugged. “If you want to.”

  “Are you seeing anyone?”

  “If I was dating someone, I wouldn’t have bothered trying to get close to you.”

  “Good point. The Order is holding an initiation tournament this Saturday, people who pass become official members. I like having you around, so if you showed for moral support, and we went to go grab a bite when it was done, I would be grateful.”

  “I’ll think about it.” Cassandra pulled her arm from his grasp, leading her grandmother toward the exit.

  Roland’s finger curled into a tight fist. He knew this would happen. She had always been out of his reach; rich, beautiful, and charismatic. She could have any guy she wanted.

  “Don’t be late,” she called over her shoulder. “And don’t forget my roses, I like the blue ones.”

  “Okay, Miss,” Roland agreed, a grin widening his lips.

  “It’s Cassandra,” she chided as she walked away with her grandmother. “Just Cassandra.”

  “Right.”

  Once she was out of earshot, Roland punched the air excitedly. “Damn,” he breathed, “I actually did it.” He’d stumbled and made a fool of himself but it was worth it.

  Now Kio and Clark would have to admit that he was not as hopeless as they previously thought.

  ***

  Roland had sprinted back to academy, but he had arrived late. He met Mr. Bramen at the front gate and was directed to run around the school for half an hour before he could meet with Clark. Roland jogged around the school’s outer fence, his feet pounding against the paved road that circled the school. The trees and buildings blurred as he ran, and all he could see was the path in front of him. When he finished, the sun hung low in the horizon, streaks of orange, violet, and red painting the sky. He placed his hands on his knees and panted. His uniform was
soaked with sweat, and he briefly took off the blazer to cool down before putting it back on.

  He strode back to the gate and Mr. Bramen let him in.

  “Don’t be late next time or I’ll have you run for an hour,” Mr. Bramen warned.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Roland started toward the path he was designated to patrol. The task was an extension of the classes held by the Order. He would be graded by how well he handled any situations that arose.

  His hand rested on the saber at his side. It comforted him. He walked up to Clark on the well worn path between the school’s main building and the boys’ dormitory. On his left was a clump of mature oak trees. To his right, the school’s main building stood proudly in all its age and glory. It resembled an old Victorian manor with patchwork gray and black bricks, four paneled windows, and a slate roof, crawling vines creeping over the sides. It was large, housing five hundred students on a daily basis.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” Clark remarked.

  Roland shrugged. He was exhausted. Although threatening situations rarely occurred, the director insisted on keeping the campus secure. Roland did not blame him. If they let their guard down for a second, the Rouge Resistance would invade their safe haven and create chaos. Roland glanced down the dirt pathway and examined the dormitory. It was a miniature version of the main building. Lights illuminated the curtains drawn over the windows. It was quiet. Everyone seemed to be inside the dorms.

  “Are you ready for the tournament?” Clark asked.

  Roland remained silent.

  “Truth be told, I’ve been training non-stop but fighting with you today made me realize something. We may be at the top of our class, but there are many people out there that can do the same attacks we can, they may even execute them better than we were ever able to. What if I lose?” Clark’s fist shook and he stopped walking. “I don’t want to lose.”