They entered the small bedroom. Quinn stayed near the door. The moonlight illuminated Sarah through the open window. She unhooked the straps of her dress and let the silk fall from her naked body. Quinn stared, aroused but unsure what to do next. “I like you, Quinn,” she told him.
Quinn cleared his throat. “I like you, too. Really.” He shifted his weight.
Sarah sighed. “I have wanted you for a long time, and this is your last night in the city. Don’t make me beg.”
Quinn stared at the beautiful blonde in front of him. He was a long way from his old-fashioned village and their shameful concepts of sin. Tomorrow, he left Teleah for his apprenticeship. It was time he acted like he had lived in the capital. Sarah was attractive and pleasant. He downed the rest of his ale in large gulp and threw the mug aside. “Why the hell not?” he said. And he crossed the room and pulled her into bed.
Chapter Four
The sun hit Quinn’s face as if someone had dropped bricks on him. He groaned and turned to look at the clock, but it was not next to his nightstand. As he gathered his senses, he realized he was in a bed in Bucky’s Tavern, and Sarah lay next him. He groaned again as he sat up to find the clock. His head pounded like the drummers from the square had taken up residence behind his eyes. He searched the dated room with its warped wood-paneled walls for the time.
Five minutes till seven. “FUCK!” he exclaimed. Sarah bolted upright, sleep and confusion mixing on her face. “I have to go. I’m being picked up from the dorms at half-past eight.” He fumbled for his clothes, trying to ignore the pain in his skull. He kept the bedsheet wrapped around his waist, his normal inhibitions returning.
Sarah sat, clutching the faded quilt to her chest. She stared at him, hurt that he seemed to pay her no mind. This was not the morning she had imagined for the last four years. Nor was last night what she had imagined. She watched him pull the tunic over his head. Once dressed, he finally seemed to notice her. “I’m sorry,” he told her. “I need to go back and change and get my trunk downstairs.” She only nodded. Quinn smiled a bit, but using the muscles in his face hurt. “Last night was…I mean, was last night--?”
“Yeah,” she replied, with a contrived nonchalance. “It was all right, but you know, we were both drunk…”
“Well, good. I need to go. I’ll write to you.” Sarah forced a halfhearted smile at Quinn, who turned and walked out the door.
He fumbled down the stairs, head aching and stomach churning from a night of overindulgence. The sun blinded him as he opened the door onto the cobblestone street. He turned and vomited into a bush next to the tavern’s red door before rushing back to the school. He felt like shit, and he was supposed to meet the Sage today.
He walked as fast as his hangover would allow him. Thankfully, Bucky’s Tavern was just a few blocks from the Academy. As he approached, he tried to appreciate the beauty of the ancient stone buildings that comprised the headquarters for all Scholars. He would not be returning for some time, and he would never again call the school his home. He tried, but he felt too sick to care.
The air was still today, and warmer than it had been the last few weeks. Winters in Elandria were mild, and snow never fell in this region. In fact, Quinn had never once seen snow. He loved the cold, and he always imagined he would enjoy seeing fluffy white ice falling on mountains. A few birds chirped, appreciative of the higher temperatures, and Quinn wished they would not make so much noise. He had to pull himself together, and he hoped he would see Jack this morning for his famous hangover cure.
Quinn crossed under the large stone arch that marked the threshold of the campus and made a quick right to his dormitory, one of the “new” buildings built five hundred years ago, when the Academy had expanded. A few other students who had not slept in their own beds made their way to various dorm buildings; otherwise, the campus was quiet. Except for those damn birds who had no respect for hungover student Scholars. He pushed open the heavy, wooden door of his building and willed himself to climb the six flights of stairs to his room. A petite girl he recognized as a second-year left Quinn’s dorm as he approached. She grinned at him and flounced down the staircase.
“He returns!” Rafe proclaimed proudly as Quinn entered the drafty room. Jack grumbled from Quinn’s bed; apparently, he never made it to his own room down the hall last night. “Jack, wake up,” Rafe pressed. “Our boy has returned a man.”
“Please be quiet,” Quinn pleaded, rubbing his head.
Rafe laughed. “Rough night? I’ve never seen you so drunk. You look disgusting. Go, bathe. I’ll wake Jack up to brew us some of his tea.” He threw a fresh pair of clothes at Quinn. Somehow, Rafe could drink copious amounts and never feel the least bit sick the next day. And he was so damn chipper upon waking; it was always annoying, but Quinn thought he might in fact miss his friend’s bright demeanor in the mornings.
Quinn climbed back down the stairs, eager for a cold bath. He entered the open, tiled room with baths fed by aqueduct. He did not have long to linger, but he would enjoy what he could. The baths were empty of other students. Most people used the public baths, which were larger with more variety in temperature and fragrances, but Quinn had always used the baths in the dormitory. Back in his farming village, bathing was done privately with a pitcher of hot water. Quinn smiled as he remembered the first time Rafe and some others struck up a conversation with him as he had quickly lathered himself with soap. Elandria’s city-folk loved both hygiene and recreation, and baths were a perfect combination of the two.
He plunged his whole body into the cold pool, shocking himself back into sobriety. The cool water lapped over his skin, washing away the smell of alcohol and smoke from the tavern’s hearth. His head broke the surface, and he selected a chunk of sandalwood soap from the side of the pool. He scrubbed himself head to toe, until his pale skin turned pink. His head still throbbed, but he felt far more human than he had before.
He stood near the fireplace as he dried himself, then dressed into the typical linen attire of short tunic and breeches that Scholars wore, before returning upstairs to his room. Jack shoved a cup of his hangover tea into Quinn’s hand, and Rafe handed him a piece of flaky bread with jam. Jack’s tea tasted warm and delicious, an herbaceous blend that Quinn could not identify. With a gift for herbs and medicine from the start, Jack had spent two years perfecting his brew. It treated headaches and sour stomachs, while also removing the sleepiness that follows from a night of heavy drinking. He refused to give anyone the recipe and sold it to other students for extra money. Only Rafe and Quinn were lucky enough to have a free supply, but even they were not privy to Jack’s secret brew.
Quinn leaned back in his rickety desk chair, and his friends studied him eagerly as he downed the tea. The second he finished, the pain in his head already easing, Rafe broke the silence. “Well, kid, you finally did it. How was it?” At last sober enough to think, Quinn tried to piece together last night’s foggy events. He remembered Sarah’s face this morning and felt a twinge of regret.
“Fine.” He chewed a bite of bread. He hoped they would not press the matter.
His friends groaned. “Fine? We’ve been waiting four years for you to lose your virginity, and all we get is fine?!?” Rafe chided.
“There’s not much to tell. And Sarah wasn’t my first.”
Jack groaned. “Oh, yes. The mystical farm girl of your youth. Well, considering you have lived the last four years as a celibate, last night was important to us.” Rafe chortled.
Quinn’s mind wandered back the farm girl he had loved. Elaine. He had known her his whole life, the only girl who never treated him differently because of his Gift. She was kind, with pale blue eyes and sun-streaked hair. She was mild-mannered, and friendly, though not very bright. She would simply nod as Quinn rambled on about the things he read, the life he wanted to live as a Scholar. She never challenged his views, never reprimanded him for questioning the status quo of the village. She loved him despite his rejection of the local religion an
d his refusal to accept things the way they were. As they grew older, they courted. Their parents approved; Quinn’s mother desperately hoped a good marriage would make her strange son more normal. He tried so hard to convince Elaine to come to the capital with him. She remained noncommittal, hoping, he knew, that he would decide to stay with her instead.
The night before Harvest Day, the young couple had once again sneaked away to a small wooded area to kiss, far from watchful, prudish eyes. With the whole town preparing for the largest feast of the year, they had more time than usual to spend together. Their kisses grew more heated, and Elaine had led his hand to the buttons of her stiff, cotton dress. They made love in the trees, and to Quinn it was perfect. He knew Elaine would accept a ring and a marriage proposal for her Harvest Day gift the next day, and then she would come with him to Teleah, where she would keep house while he studied to become a Scholar.
The next morning, at the village’s Harvest Day worship service, Quinn was all smiles. He did not even mind the ridiculous prayers of thanks to their imaginary gods. His smile vanished as Elaine walked, shaking, to the front of the church. There, in front of the entire village, she confessed her sin of sexual impurity. She did not name Quinn, but there was no need. Everyone turned to face him. He sat on the wooden bench, shocked and betrayed. It was only then that he realized his love for her could not overcome the fact that he did not belong. If he needed further proof that he was an outcast, his anger resulted in a ferocious rumbling of the ground, a wild magic earthquake. The walls of the church shook and people cried out in fear. He forced himself to stifle his emotions as he walked out of the building.
His parents would not speak to him at the village picnic. Elaine avoided him. He overheard an elder tell his mother that Quinn’s rebellious nature was not her fault. His mother only smiled sadly. The shopkeeper who employed Quinn was the only person, besides his twelve-year-old brother, who spoke to Quinn that day. He informed Quinn he would no longer be employed after the weeklong Harvest Holiday’s celebrations ended.
That night, Quinn packed a bag quietly with the money he had saved, his books, and a few clothes. He whispered goodbye to his sleeping brother and left. He did not belong there, and he would not curse his family with his continued presence. He was miles away by the time the sun rose. No businesses were open and he could not hire a ride to the capital until the week of Harvest Holiday celebrations were over. He slept on the side of the road until he found a merchant willing to take him along to Teleah. Once there, he had three weeks to live on his own before the new term began at the Academy. He found a friendly tavern near the school, with a jolly barkeep name Bucky. Quinn traded Elaine’s engagement ring for lodging. Then the day after the Feast of Fire, he began his new life as a student Scholar.
He suppressed the wave of emotion, his best talent, and returned his thoughts to his friends. They were used to Quinn getting lost in his own head. He forced a smile. “Yes, it was fine,” he told them again.
“How was Sarah this morning?” Rafe inquired.
Quinn averted his eyes in shame. “I don’t really know. I had to rush back here. I overslept.” He focused on chewing the rest of his food, willing his friends to drop the issue. But Rafe never dropped the issue.
“Did you at least kiss her goodbye?” Quinn stared blankly. His friends exclaimed at his stupidity and rudeness, but Rafe stopped when he noticed Quinn’s face full of shame. “It’s all right, Quinn. Sarah’s used to one-night lovers. Come on, let’s get your stuff downstairs. The carriage will be here soon.”
His friends helped him carry his trunk down the six flights of narrow stairs and out to the front of the school. They waited with him by the stone arch that marked the entrance to the Academy. Jack presented him with a large supply of hangover tea, “for all the parties at the Villa,” he told him. He gave Quinn a friendly hug.
Rafe presented his friend with a leather-bound journal. On the front, in gold lettering, he had had Quinn’s name embossed. On the first page, Rafe’s scrawling handwriting read, “For all the things you learn and the stories you have to tell. The world needs to hear the voice of Quinn Atwell.” Quinn was speechless at the thoughtful gift. He swallowed hard, and wrapped his best friend in a warm embrace. He would miss the Academy, the city, and his friends. But he would miss Rafe most of all.
The trio chatted until the carriage arrived, the Scholar’s symbol painted on the side. They helped him load his trunk and said their farewells once more. Quinn climbed inside the carriage and waved, then settled in for the six-hour ride to the Sage’s Villa to begin his apprenticeship.
Chapter Five
The carriage passed through the city gates, taking Quinn out of Teleah for the first time in four years. Through the open carriage window, the amalgamation of city odors shifted to a light scent of pure, open country. He watched as the scenery changed from modest houses near their neighbors to wide swaths of harvested farmland. The capital was nestled in a valley, surrounded by some of the largest farms in the country. To the west ran the River Nyva, the source of the capital’s massive aqueduct network. The region was bounded on the south by the start of the southern moorlands and to the east, the Scholars’ Forest. But this carriage traveled north, to the low mountain range overlooking the valley.
The Sage Mountains had been home to every Sage for a thousand years. Legend said the heart of the earth lay in the soft green slopes of these mountains. A thousand years ago, the Gift of the Earth was far more prevalent than it was today, with most of the population able to control the elements to a degree. Before there were large cities and massive trade networks, the people here lived as one with the earth. Over time, however, tension between the settlers in the valley and the Deyoni tribes escalated into large-scale violence. The most powerful of the settlers, Brigitte, used her power to help run off the Deyoni.
After the war, Brigitte refused the offer of leadership. She wished to live out her days in peace with the earth, racked with guilt for using the Gift for nonpeaceful ends. Leadership passed by unanimous agreement to the greatest of the war heroes, Torith, establishing the royal bloodline. Torith loved Brigitte and asked for her hand in marriage. Though she loved him, she refused again, retreating to the nearby mountains. As Torith began building the city of Teleah, he also built her a grand residence. He sought her council through the rest of his reign, setting the precedent for the role of Sage as the royal family’s closest advisor. She counseled him to be a peaceful ruler and to listen to his people. When Torith’s daughter became Queen after his death, Brigitte helped her establish the Royal Parliament, the first ever popularly-elected body of leadership the world had ever seen. She died, passing on the title of Sage to a powerful woman, Magda, who established the Academy for Scholars.
Quinn mused on this history as he studied the camps of Deyoni set up along the side of the road. Attacks on the Deyoni had increased, as if the first slaughter was somehow permission for rural villagers to act on their bigotry. How ironic, he thought, that they return to the valley for protection when they had been forced out a millennium before. Their tents made of skins and bright, summer-colored silks contrasted with the autumn shades of the landscape. The smell of roasting meat from their fires mingled in the cool breeze. Many stood watching the carriages that passed on the busy Royal Road, their dark eyes touched with a note of fear.
The hours passed, and the camps of Deyoni tribes transitioned into more open farmland filled with herds of sheep and cattle out to graze. Quinn dozed on and off, exhausted from the night before. How he wished he had returned for a night of decent sleep in his own bed. How he wished he had not left Sarah with a look of hurt on her face. Perhaps he should write her a letter of apology. Or perhaps it was best that she remained angry with him, so he did not give her false hope of a future he did not want.
Around midday, the carriage stopped alongside a small, babbling creek at the foot of the Sage Mountains. The driver offered Quinn some of his roast chicken, and they ate on the banks of th
e creek while the chestnut horse drank and rested. “Just a couple hours now,” the driver informed Quinn. “Have you met the Sage before?” Quinn shook his head no. “Nice lady,” the driver offered. “And the prettiest lady I’ve ever seen; just don’t tell my wife.”
Quinn laughed politely. He wondered if the driver understood the immense power that this Sage had. The history books had always described Brigitte as having abilities no other with the Gift could possess. From her first year at the Academy, Amarice had been described by the professors as far more powerful than Brigitte had been. Some said she could control the weather and reroute whole rivers. And she was far more involved in politics than her ancient predecessor. Amarice worked tirelessly for increased rights for the Deyoni. Rumors abounded. Some said Amarice was a descendant of Brigitte’s, though Amarice had never confirmed this. Among the common people, many believed that the current Sage was Brigitte, returned to make amends for her acts against the Deyoni. In the rural outskirts of Elandria, the Sage was always viewed with a sense of fear, and the word “sorceress” regularly passed the lips of those that clung to dated religions.
After their brief lunch, the carriage began its ascent up the mountain road. The air grew warmer, despite the change in elevation. Here, the grass was still a pale green and only half the trees had changed to red and gold, as if winter had barely touched the land on these mountains. Their pace slowed, and they passed no other carriages or riders for the remainder of the journey. Quinn embraced the peace; for all his love of the capital, he had been born in quiet countryside and reveled in the stillness that can come only outside of densely-populated towns and cities.
The carriage trotted up the mountain for another few hours. Quinn had grown so accustomed to the relaxing pace with the sweet mountain air blowing through the window that he was quite shocked by carriage’s abrupt stop. He looked out the window and could see only a lush garden overlooked by the higher mountain peaks in the distance. The driver came around and opened the door. “We’ve arrived, sir.”
The Sage's Consort (The Scholars of Elandria Book 1) Page 4