by David Ekrut
“Escort Elwin to the guest chambers in our wing.” Then, she turned to Elwin and said, “As soon as you enter the shadow realm, meet in this lecture hall. Do not tarry. Now that I have confidence in your ability to release, we need to begin your hand-to-hand training. There is much you still need to know.”
Elwin rose from the desk and stood on shaky legs.
Prophecies and four Elements? Tethering and hand-to-hand combat? Elementalists saved people in the stories. They didn’t kill people by accident. Why didn’t any of his books warn him about this? He had a few words to say to Asalla next time he saw the book merchant. If he ever saw the book merchant.
“I am sorry.” Jasmine gave him a thin smile. “I have worked you hard this last tenday. I assure you, I only do as I must. I will give you and Zarah both some time off soon. I promise.”
“I …,” Elwin began but closed his mouth.
I don’t belong here, he wanted to say. Zarah was right. I’m just a simple farmer. I should be resting, so I can rise early to help feed the chickens and milk the goats. Who will help Father with the plow?
“What is it?” she asked.
He shook his head. “What if I can’t fall asleep right away?”
“You can,” she said reassuringly. “Just remember the trick I showed you. You’ve been doing very well.”
What if I don’t want to fall asleep ever again? What if I don’t want to be part of some prophecy? What if I just want to go back to the farm near the forest of redwoods?
Instead of voicing his thoughts, he nodded.
“This way,” Zarah said in a softer voice than she had used before. But her eyes studied him with pursed lips as if trying to solve a puzzle.
“I’m ready,” he said.
Spots of color appeared on her cheeks. “Right. This way.”
She turned from the room and moved through the darkened corridors. She walked much slower than she had before, keeping pace with him instead of making him keep up with her.
After leading him down several winding corridors and up a few flights of stairs she said, “I am sorry, Elwin. Truly. I misspoke before.”
He started to thank her, but stopped when he felt the tears in his eyes for fear his voice would crack. Elwin nodded in hopes that it would suffice for acceptance of her apology. He rubbed at his eyes as if wiping away sleep, but the tears didn’t seem to want to stop.
He gritted his teeth. This was no time to cry. He had wanted to be an elementalist. Well, now he would be. There was no sense in asking the Lifebringer for something and being upset when he gave it to you.
“Zarah?” he said once he had regained control of his tears.
“Yes?”
“Will you tell me about the prophecy?”
For several corridors, the only sound was their boots on the stone floors.
“Zarah?”
“I am sorry, Elwin,” Zarah said in a voice of resignation. “I will let Mother tell you.”
“But what does it have to do with me?” Elwin asked. “Does it mean I am really Bain’s son?”
“I do not know,” she said in a tight voice. “Look. Mother is right. You need to be trained. What does anything else matter? We do not really know anything about the prophecies anyway. No one can agree on what they mean. Maybe taming four Elements does not mean anything.” The last sounded as if she spoke more to herself than to Elwin.
“If it doesn’t mean anything,” Elwin said. “Why don’t you just tell me?” He was quite pleased with his own retort. It made him miss Feffer. His friend would have been proud of Elwin’s infallible response.
“Nice try,” Zarah said. “But I’m not going to tell you. Mother will tell you when she’s ready.”
Well, maybe not so infallible then. Elwin had taken a few steps before realizing she had stopped.
“This is you,” she said, opening a door.
They had stopped in a wide hallway that came to an end with large, glass doors. It stretched out to a round terrace with lacquered furniture. Beyond, he could see the lights of the lamp poles and houses in the distance.
“That one is me.” Zarah pointed to the room at the end on the right. “After entering the shadow realm, I will join you in the hallway.”
“She said to meet in that room,” Elwin said. “Won’t it be too far from our bodies? We must have walked ten miles to get here.”
Zarah laughed and hit him on the arm with the back of her hand. “Do not be silly. We went up more than we moved away from the lecture hall. Besides, as we grow in our powers, our Sanctuary grows as well. Presently, I can travel more than a mile from my body. You can probably travel half that.” Her chin rose as she made the last proclamation.
“Oh,” Elwin said.
“Aright,” she said. “Off to bed. I do not want another lecture for being late.”
Without further discourse, she left him by the door and entered her room without a backward glance.
Now that he was alone, the dim corridor seemed even darker. He could feel a draft in the hallway. The desire to draw Air into his essence was always there. It beckoned him, but he ignored it. He knew how to not draw it in now, which seemed almost as important as being able to release it, once held. He could almost hear Jasmine’s voice lecturing him through the process.
His eyes lulled, and he almost fell over. He shook his head. How long had been standing in the hallway alone?
Elwin took a deep breath and stepped into the dark room. He left the door open for the light of the hallway as he fumbled at the ever-candle just inside the door. The fire inside the glass burst into life as he clicked the lever on the side. Focusing on the flame, he could feel heat shift from the surroundings to fuel the fire. It gave him a chill as he sensed the draft created as the heat around him vanished into the ever-candle.
“Hmm,” he said as he looked at the candle, feeling a spike of curiosity.
Somehow the heat and flow of Air were related. He would have to ask Jasmine about it.
He closed the door and took a look around. The ever-candle lit the entirety of the antechamber as long and wide as the porch on his farmhouse. Pillowed chairs made of redwood were on either side, and a rack with pegs for cloaks hung on the wall by the doorway leading to the inner chamber.
The door to the inside had been propped open. Elwin walked into the room and lit another ever-candle. His breath caught as his eyes drank in his surroundings.
A room larger than the common room of the Scented Rose Inn opened to a balcony across from him. Double glass doors opened up to the city. Every few seconds the lights in the windows of the houses below began to darken.
To the right, several rich furnishings surrounded a fireplace with a bookshelf to either side. And on each shelf rested books. Hundreds of books. A part of him wanted to run over and begin to look over the bindings. A different and much larger part of him wanted to curl up on the throw rug by the cold fireplace and fall asleep. His eyes continued searching out a bed. Surely this monstrosity had a bed to sleep in.
Another door to the left was open. The light from the ever-candle stretched far enough inside for him to see a canopied bed on the far wall. He walked into the bedroom and clicked on another ever-candle just inside.
His farmhouse could have fit in the space. To his left, a doorway opened to the privy, where he could see a massive bathtub. Just inside and across from the bath was a high-seated mompot similar to the one at his Poppe’s inn. A redwood cabinet cornered the wall beside the privy and stretched almost to the bed. To his right, another set of glass doors opened onto the balcony. The breeze flowed into the room flirting with the drapes around the canopy.
Once more he realized he stood in the doorway, staring like a small-town farmboy. He shook himself off and looked at the bed. He felt a smile spread across his lips.
He ran the half-dozen paces to the bed and dove
toward the mattress. The curtains parted as he bounced on feathers and rolled several paces. Paces!
“Five families could sleep on this thing,” he laughed. “Wait until Feffer sees all of this!”
He climbed beneath the blanket and hugged the soft pillows. Several moments passed of him lying there in stunned silence before he remembered why he was there at all, which reminded him that Jasmine and Zarah would be waiting for him.
His mind briefly considered climbing out from beneath the comfort of the blankets to douse the ever-candles. Before he could even fully reject the thought, his eyes lulled shut.
Chapter 7
A New Life
Feffer tongued the tasteless porridge. It was the same gook that he had eaten on the road for breakfast. He wanted to ask for some fruit to put in it, but he knew better than doing anything to stand out. They seemed to look for excuses to make him run or do press-ups. He chewed each bite until it was small enough to swallow and washed it down with a drink of water.
Wilton sat on the bench next to him. He didn’t seem to mind the meal. In fact, nothing seemed to phase his older brother. One day he would have to ask him how he did it. At least Feffer knew why Wilton had not been excited about becoming a member of the White Hand. Somehow, his brother had known.
This was what it meant to be a soldier.
Looking around the room, he felt like cattle jammed into a barn. Two windows, each on opposing walls, gave little light into the room. Not that Feffer saw any friendly faces. All the boys from Benedict avoided him. They acted like he would get them into trouble. He was done with making trouble. That had been the old Feffer. He was going to be a soldier now. He’d show them.
Someone walked by and bumped him none too gently, making him drop his spoonful of porridge. He wanted to bark a curse at the boy, but he had already shoved down the line. Not that he could blame the guy with so little room to move about.
The chow room had filled to the breaking point with people from all over Justice. Those who hadn’t arrived early enough stood by the walls, shoveling white slop into their mouths with wooden spoons. Conditions weren’t much better in the barracks. No one had an individual room. Everyone had been herded into a large room with hundreds of bunks and assigned a bed. If he could even call it that. Each bunk had a thin mattress that did little to cushion the wood beneath. Worst of all, Feffer had to share chests for his belongings with his bunk mates.
Feffer had shoved his purse at the bottom of his pack, but he didn’t feel comfortable leaving it unattended. He did though. Marching with the pack for a tenday was painful enough. He did not want to run or do press-ups with any extra weight. And that was what they meant when they said “training” would begin after breakfast. Running and press-ups didn’t seem much like training. When were they going to give him a sword?
The first morning of being a soldier. Thus far, it was nothing like he had expected. They had arrived late the night before and had been escorted straight to the barracks for sleep. Then, he got woken up in the night to do press-ups. And, he had to do more press-ups for being slow to rise that morning. Pfft. Morning. If it could be called that. The sun hadn’t even come up yet.
Now, he was eating porridge, and every piece of him still felt sore for marching a tenday.
A loud bang resounded from behind him, causing him to drop his spoonful of porridge a second time. This time it fell onto his lap.
“Curse it all!”
The sound of wood hitting stone silenced the movement in the chow hall. Feffer turned his head toward the man in white garb, who walked through the open doorway. Feffer didn’t think he would ever feel the same about the White Hand again. They all appeared to be bullies by his accounts. Just big thick-headed bullies with swords.
The man staring at them was almost as large as Lord Lifesong. He had dark hair and a beard that was split at the chin by a scar. Most of the soldiers he had seen wore the red tunic with a white hand. This man, like Lord Lifesong, wore a white tunic with a red hand at the center. He hadn’t needed to ask what it meant. This man would order him to do something he didn’t want to do.
“Alright, worms. Eat up and get to the yard.”
Feffer swallowed his last few bites in a couple of large gulps. He stood and wiped the bite that had gotten away off his shirt and onto the floor. Then he followed the others toward the door.
The boys in front of him placed their bowls in the wooden bin opposite the door on their way into the hallway. Feffer dropped his in behind Wilton and continued to follow.
The long hall led past the barracks to a large door, which opened to an expansive yard area surrounded by a tall fence. Rows of wooden practice weapons rested on racks alongside the wooden fence posts. Several devices sat unmoving in the yard. Feffer could only guess as to their purpose. One stood out amongst the rest. Rows of large, vertical walls stretched into the air with minimal hand and footholds. Between the walls, troughs were filled with muddy water.
He noticed that several of the other recruits had gathered into lines, facing the barracks. Wilton nudged him toward the back of the line. “Remember what Father said. We don’t need to be heroes. The less notice we draw the better. Just do as you are told.”
Feffer followed his brother to the back row.
“Alright,” the man said. “Those of you in squads already know your drills. The rest of you, press-ups. Now.”
Feffer watched several of the others leave the lines and form groups. Some of the groups began to run toward one of the devices, while others sprinted toward weapon racks.
“Get down, Feffer,” Wilton whispered, loudly, about a moment too late.
Feffer hadn’t noticed the white clad man’s approach, until a fist hit his midsection. He dropped to the ground, trying to find his breath.
“When I tell you to do press-ups, the only thing that should stop you is a severed limb. Do you have a severed limb, worm?”
A sarcastic remark made its way to his lips, but he found himself unable to speak without breath. Had the words come out, the man would have heard Feffer say, “Worms don’t have arms, you thumping bastard.” Instead, it came out like wordless grunts.
“I asked you a question.” Feffer felt a heavy boot push on his back. “What’s your name, worm?”
When his breath returned, Feffer forced his full name through his teeth.
“Well, Feffer Hanck Madrowl, are you a trouble maker?”
He glanced over at Wilton, who was still doing press-ups. His brother glanced at him, eyes squinted with anger. He could almost hear his brother’s voice say, I told you not to get noticed.
“No, sir. I don’t make troubles.” His breath came easier than it had.
“I don’t see you doing any press-ups. I told you to do press-ups.”
The boot was still on his backside. He gritted his teeth and did his first press-up. The boot held a steady pressure on his back.
“You are all pathetic. Not one of you knows how to do a press-up. On the next press-up, hold at the top. And you hold until I tell you to drop down.”
Feffer did another one with the man’s foot on his back and held it.
“That’s one. Everyone has done one press-up. You are finished doing press-ups when I count to ten. When I say down. You drop to the ground, come back up and hold. If anyone fails to complete this task, we start over.”
“Down.”
Feffer did another press-up with the man’s boot pressing on his back. His arms shook and tried to rebel against his mind’s requests.
“Two.”
“I am Sir Gibbins. You will address me as Sir Gibbins.”
“Down … Three.”
Feffer wasn’t sure, but it felt like Sir Gibbins was pressing harder with each press-up.
“Down … That’s four.”
The pressure increased, until he saw Gibbin’s other foot leave t
he ground. Feffer’s arms shook for a few seconds before he collapsed into the dirt. The impact forced the air from his lungs.
“I didn’t say down, Feffer. Because of you, we get to start over. Let that be a lesson to you, worms. An army is only as strong as his weakest soldier. You will continue to eat dirt until you are strong enough to do anything else.”
Weakest soldier? Thumping son of a dragon stood on his back. Gibbins stepped off of Feffer’s back and began to walk through the ranks.
“Down … One.”
Feffer clenched his teeth and forced his arms to do another press-up. He had never heard of anyone being killed while training to be a soldier. He found himself wondering if he would be the first.
Morning light spilled in from the balcony, causing Elwin to squint as he opened his eyes. He grabbed a pillow and held it over his face.
He wanted to scream into it, but restrained himself. Jasmine had not answered any of his questions. Worse, Elwin hadn’t even really begun to learn hand-to-hand combat. He had spent his entire night in the shadow realm stumbling around and crouching in odd stances, trying to be like water. It was all so ridiculous.
He threw the pillow and rolled out of the bed. That was when he realized someone had peeled back the canopies of the bed and tied them to the posts. He jumped when he saw a man standing in the doorway. Short and plump, the man wore a liveried coat of white and red. His bald head seemed to reflect the light as if polished.
“Good morning, young sir,” he said with a slight accent, foreign to Elwin. “I trust you slept well?”
“Who,” his voice cracked. “Ahem. Who are you?”
“My name is Harkin of Trenivar,” he said. “If it would please you, call me Harkin.”
“Harkin,” Elwin said. “Right. Why are you here?”
Harkin’s eyes widened and his voice might have explained that water was wet. “I have been assigned by His Grace to see to your needs, young sir. If it would please you, the Lady Zarah has requested your audience. She waits for you in the corridor.”