by Clark Bolton
“Was it this bad?” he asked Rish as he looked at the stained gray brick walls and floors.
“I don’t think it’s changed at all,” Rish replied. “We slept right here,” he declared as he ran his hand slowly down a crack in the wall.
Ich-Mek could remember now the times he had led the boys in singing the endless number of school mantras. He had been the best at it, he knew. Both their master and the various odd-boys had relied on him whenever there was a need to calm or to motivate the others. He wished, now, his parents could have seen him then.
“I’m not sad we left,” Rish said when he noticed a tear in Ich-Mek’s eye. “Master Fla was mean! And all those odd-boys hated me.” Rish then turned away saying, “But they liked you…and you kept them away.”
“I don’t remember that part,” Ich-Mek replied with a chuckle.
“You did, though.”
“How could I, Rish? Wed-Low was a huge odd-boy.”
Rish smiled back sadly at him. “They hated the look on your face when they beat me, I think. No one could get everyone to sing like you.”
“Thanks, I guess.” Ich-Mek then thought for a moment before asking, “Do you want me to have Master Fla beaten?”
Rish’s eye lit up at the prospect, then he became very sad. “No! I…don’t want that. Let’s just forget him.”
Ich-Mek nodded his head in agreement. “Now…what were they wearing?” he asked as he stepped up to the paintings.
The two portraits on either side of the door were so filthy he couldn’t tell for sure what color the robes had once been. It was then that he noticed for the first time that both men were displaying their rings. He never recalled anyone thinking they were Owesek-rings. Glancing at his own he then began comparing them.
“These are Owesek-rings,” he said aloud. “I can see the silver pointing out on this one, and this other one has the gold edge pointing out.”
“That’s Fu-Si Nan,” Rish said as he came to stand beside him. “Don’t remember the other one’s name.”
“We used to call him Fu-Si Not, remember?” Ich-Mek laughed.
Neither of them could make out the tiny writing on the painting, and so assumed the name had been made up for lack of a better one. With sadness, they left to go find other portraits.
__________________________
It was quiet enough for Ich-Mek to hear the second bell ring. It was a gong, actually, and it signaled the end of breakfast. This meant the time for his visitor was approaching. He had sent a message to the administrators late the previous day, asking for a senior person to come chat with him about robes. The appointment was for after the second bell, and he was already impatient.
“Should I chastise him for being late?” Ich-Mek asked his friend in a half-serious tone. Rish had come earlier to join him for breakfast.
“You don’t even know who it is,” Rish replied in consternation. “What if it’s the Regent?”
Ich-Mek scoffed at the chances of that happening. “Then I shall chastise him.”
They both stifled laughs before looking down the dark corridor with concern. They didn’t think Ont was likely to mention such statements to the Regent, but didn’t really want to take that chance.
The man who then did show up was named Ren. He was the very man who had interrogated Ich-Mek, when he had stolen a peek at the record books. Ich-Mek couldn’t help but feel a little pity for the man, who kept bowing endlessly. After sharing a grin with Rish, he motioned for the man to stop.
“You are the head administrator, Master Ren?”
“Master of Records, Fu-Si,” Ren replied with yet another bow.
“Oh, I only asked for someone with knowledge about the proper robes to be worn by a Fu-Si.”
“Allow me to assist, Fu-Si,” Ren said proudly.
Ich-Mek then explained his problem concerning the proper color for him to wear. Rish just stood silently by as the man began explaining the colors and ranks of the capital. He seemed to know what he was talking about, but when it came to colors for Ich-Mek, the man seemed indecisive.
“What colors does the Regent wear?” Ich-Mek eventually asked, if for no other reason than to get the man to come to some kind of decision.
“Silver, Fu-Si,” Ren said with some concern on his face, “with cuffs of gold and a hem of red. But these would not suit you well, Fu-Si…I think.”
“No, they wouldn’t,” he replied in a serious tone.
The silver that the Regent wore was nothing like the gray of the senior students. The Regent’s robes were a complex weave of silks, which glistened like polished silver. He wondered now if he could perhaps get a hold of the same cloth.
“Silk cloth – do you have any?”
“No, Fu-Si,” Ren said with another bow. “Not the quality you deserve. That comes from the capital…but we can request it.”
Ich-Mek let out a sigh to let the man know he wasn’t happy. “I shall consider it,” he told the man before dismissing him with a wave.
Rish waited for a good minute after the man had left before warning, “You should not treat him so, Ich-Mek. The Regent will be angry.”
Ich-Mek could see real concern in his friend’s eyes, and would have dismissed it if he hadn’t thought about the possible repercussions for his friend. There was nothing between Rish and the Regent’s wrath but himself. Being called to the palace wasn’t something necessarily good for those around him.
“I’ll color my own robes,” Ich-Mek then declared. “I can do that, can’t I?
“You can, Fu-Si!” Rish replied with a grin. “If you remember the re-color cantrip.”
Ich-Mek’s robes didn’t glisten as he walked with Rish toward the dormitories of the girls, but they were the right colors, he felt. They were red, with wide silver cuffs, and a hem trimmed in gold. He wasn’t quite sure if the Master of Records had mentioned such a color scheme, but if not, he should have.
At first he was quite proud of himself as they stormed across the upper square and over the hill to then stop and gaze down at what had been forbidden to them. But then he began to think what he was doing now was hollow in some way. He had never even seen this quarter of Key-Tar-Om School before briefly staying in the Regent’s palace. Why bother, he asked himself before turning to look toward the north gate.
“I wonder why I’m here,” he then mused aloud to his friend.
“Thought we wanted to find Lipa,” Rish replied in confusion.
“Yes…I’m sorry. Was just wondering about something else.”
He looked at Ont, who was standing a respectable distance away with two other guards. Ont never displayed much emotion, but whenever Ich-Mek asked him to take him down into the village, the man would fret a little; even more so if it was getting near dark.
“A good day to go to the village?” Ich-Mek asked the man.
“No, Fu-Si,” the man replied.
“Why am I not allowed to go there, Ont? Do you think I will run away? I mean, it’s not dark yet.”
Ont looked up at the sky for a moment in response, then said, “Not the only reason, Fu-Si.”
A shiver ran up Ich-Mek’s spine at the motion. He was almost positive now that both Ont and the Regent thought the dragon-cloud an obstacle to him; one that would be his undoing, and so possibly theirs.
“Well…to Lipa, then!” he said after a deep sigh. “Now, where does she stay?”
Rish looked at him like he was crazy. “I don’t know!”
With a soft smile, Ich-Mek then led them down the hill. When they came upon a woman instructor sitting with two female students, he paused as they stood to bow to him. He was sure the woman was teaching the girls, which was odd, he thought.
“May I ask what you’re teaching, mistress?”
The woman bowed quickly again before saying, “How to instruct younger girls, Fu-Si.” She looked very worried now, as if she had been caught doing something she shouldn’t.
“Why? There are no young girls here, are there?”
“No, Fu-Si. The next cycle is when they must know how to teach.”
He looked at Rish in confusion. “But that could be many years away. Do you start so early?”
“Yes, Fu-Si. These are odd-girls, and have been asked to stay.”
Ich-Mek then recalled something Tang had told him. Odd-boys were the only ones asked by the school to stay and teach in the next cycle, though no one yet knew when that would be. The start of a new cycle was something it was said the Emperor himself would declare, and traditionally it would be between one and seven years after the last cycle. It was considered a great privilege to be part of a cycle, and so rarely was the offer refused.
The Regent had hinted that Ich-Mek could be a valuable instructor for the school. But he couldn’t believe he would be expected to stay and wait for up to seven more years.
“Thank you,” Ich-Mek said absently before asking where they might find a girl named Lipa.
The three weren’t familiar with her, so Ich-Mek led on toward the dormitories, the whole time thinking this was becoming a waste of his time. He could have simply ordered the girl brought to this cell, but had enjoyed his display of importance at the laundry the previous day. This he wanted to do again, here with the girls. He found it oddly exciting.
“Find her, would you, Ont?” he told the man as he decided to find a place to sit and think.
“Is something wrong, Ich?” Rish asked as they both watched a rather stoic-looking Ont apparently considering Ich-Mek’s request.
“Yes!” Ich-Mek replied as he extended his little finger with the Owesek-ring on it. “This is beginning to seem unimportant.”
“Mek!” Rish quickly hissed in a whisper. “You’re nearly as important as the Regent! You shouldn’t say such things.”
“I know,” he replied with a narrow smile. “Stay here until Lipa comes…take care of her.”
He then began marching back up the hill, leaving a worried friend behind him.
Chapter 10 – Yi-La
Mage-Chancellor Pesnu-Jok gave out a disarming grin as he proclaimed, “You are a compassionate girl, I see. This will endear you well with the Seechen, I’m sure.”
Yi-La looked down in shame before the man as she glanced sideways at the door that now concealed her master from her. She had just been informed, in no uncertain terms by Master Gang, that she had violated the code of conduct between the Seechen and dragon-mages.
The Chancellor took slow steps toward her as he continued to speak. “Decorum is not your subject, Apprentice La, so let those with years of standing and knowledge be a guide to you. We will see these uncomfortable events avoided this way. Yes?”
She had been reverent up to now, and even impeccably respectful toward the Chancellor since arriving in the capital, but was now getting the feeling he was undeserving of it. He certainly wasn’t at all the friend he pretended to be. But there was no way of avoiding him, it seemed, particularly since her masters relied on him so completely to run the mage-quarter here in the inner-city. Every waking hour for the staff, as well as her own time, seemed under the scheduling authority of this man.
“Yes, my lord,” Yi-La replied as she bowed to him.
“Please…” the Chancellor said as he placed a hand on her shoulder, “…call me Chancellor. It does not follow decorum fully, but I want you to.”
Before she could say anything else he was ushering her down a side corridor and through a familiar doorway. He slid the door shut after encouraging her to walk down the steps. Alone now, she collapsed on the steps and thought very much about weeping.
“Why must I wait?” Yi-La asked herself aloud after a time. Again, the crushing weight of her isolation pushed her toward despair.
The Seechen of the mage-quarter, of which the Chancellor was one, had locked her in here frequently from the start. Despite the vastness of this suite of chambers it still felt like a punishment. Oddly, her jailers were all sworn to obey the dragon-mages of Ibu-Jek, but for some reason hadn’t yet accepted her as one. What’s more, all the Seechen were graduates of the sixth-path of Key-Tar-Om, which had made them seem like brothers and sisters to her at first. This was despite the half-veiled faces they all presented from under their black hoods.
Fortunately, this time it wasn’t long before the large sliding door above her was opened again. A Seechen girl about her age was admitted, and then the door was shut and locked again.
“You shouldn’t sit so, Fu-Sa,” Narween scolded gently as she helped Yi-La to her feet.
The two of them walked down the short steps and into the first chamber, which was furnished with several tables and benches. These all looked fabulously expensive to Yi-La, who had been born into a very modest family of shopkeepers. The dark-stained wood of the tables was polished, and, though worn in places, was clearly lovingly maintained.
“Did Chancellor Pesnu-Jok send you again, Narween?” Yi-La asked absently as she leaned over a table to rest on her elbows.
Narween smiled before saying, “The Mage-Counselor commands all Seechen, Fu-Sa.”
“He doesn’t call me that,” Yi-La dared to say softly, and noted that Narween seemed to wince a little at this fact. “Why is he the only one that calls me Apprentice La?”
She did really want to know, despite the fact Narween was always apprehensive about saying anything that might be construed as critical toward the Seechen, or at least her master. Admirable devotion, Yi-La decided as she waved away the question to put Narween at ease.
Changing the subject, Yi-La asked, “When will my master have time for me, do you think?”
Narween squirmed a little before offering up her usual response. “Fu-Si Gang is a dragon-mage, Fu-Sa. He is very busy.”
“I’m a dragon-mage,” Yi-La dared to say as she watched Narween’s half-veiled face closely to see if the girl agreed with that fact.
“Yes, Fu-Sa,” Narween said with a polite nod, and a clear glance at Yi-La’s Owesek-ring.
“But that doesn’t mean anything here!” Yi-La exclaimed in frustration.
“It does, Fu-Sa,” Narween insisted. “You must be patient with the dragon-mages.”
Yi-La gave Narween a pouting look as she fiddled with her ring. No one, not even Narween, seemed to understand her dilemma. She had been whisked away to the top of Apa-Ton, the Mountain of the Mage, by the dragon-mages Gang and Sey-Laht without explanation, then teleported here and left to wait. She still hadn’t gotten her head around the fact her betrothed, Ich-Mek, had placed the Owesek-ring on her finger.
“It’s because I’m a girl, isn’t it?” Yi-La said in a near whisper.
Narween’s eyes widened for an instant before the girl got ahold of herself and said unconvincingly, “No, Fu-Sa.”
They both knew that Yi-La was the first female dragon-mage in perhaps a thousand years. Her coming to the inner-city had thrown the mage-quarter into chaos, which was just now subsiding. It had been unexpected that a new dragon-mage had been selected, and incomprehensible to all that it was a girl of fifteen.
“Then it’s because what Ich-Mek did!”
Narween quickly put a finger to her mouth to daringly shush Yi-La, and pleaded, “Fu-Sa, you must never speak of this! The dragon-mages have forbidden it…and Chancellor Pesnu-Jok will beat—”
Yi-La shook her head in disapproval as Narween cut her comments short. Yi-La had just learned the hard way that the ring shielded her some from Pesnu-Jok, but not so Narween. The poor girl had been beaten harshly by her master, and had the still-fading welts across her face as proof. It hadn’t been for talking about Ich-Mek though, but rather for allowing Yi-La to teach her forbidden knowledge. Master Gang’s heated scolding for this still rang in her ears.
“Sorry…” Yi-La told her friend and servant, “…I know he hurts you sometimes.”
Narween was quiet for a few moments before saying, “It is to protect me, Fu-Sa. My master knows that if I learn too much, I will be taken.”
“By the Scarm?” Yi-La said skeptically. “Why were
we not taught this at Key-Tar-Om? Maybe Chancellor Pesnu-Jok is just trying to scare you into obeying him.”
There had been nothing about the Scarm in their studies at Key-Tar-Om, and Narween had all but admitted this when pressed. Yi-La had seen Narween on occasion at Key-Tar-Om School before being selected as a dragon-girl, though in truth she hadn’t known her by name; only her face. Narween had graduated without ceremony from the sixth-path the year before, and so was sent here to the capital to fill an opening in the ranks of the Seechen. It was rare for a girl to be sent, and now that a female dragon-mage had shown up it had been taken as an unrecognized prophecy.
“I should never have told you,” Yi-La declared apologetically.
She had desperately needed someone to talk to in this overwhelming place, and the Seechen had provided Narween. Yi-La felt endless gratitude at having Narween by her side, but knew now that it was not so much a choice, but rather a way for Pesnu-Jok to keep watch on her; his gloating behavior minutes ago had proven that.
Fortunately, Narween had not spoken of how Ich-Mek had anointed Yi-La personally by putting the ring on her finger in the selection chamber; at least not as far as Yi-La knew. She knew, however, that Master Gang would be even more furious than he already was if Narween ever told anyone.
“Perhaps, Fu-Sa, when you are recognized by His Imperial Majesty and source-of-golden-light as a new dragon-mage,” Narween volunteered. “Then Fu-Si Gang will be your true master, and teach you to be a truly great mage.”
Yi-La stared at Narween for a few moments as she thought about that possibility. Master Gang had told her during one of the few meetings they had had that she would be called before the Emperor one day. But what she understood was that this could be many moons away, even a year. Master Gang had said himself that he hadn’t been recognized by the previous Emperor for some time after first coming to the inner-city.