Taming the Elements: Elwin Escari Chronicles: Volume 1

by David Ekrut

  Feet scrambled up wood as the boys got back into their beds. The creaking of wooden bunks echoed through the silence of the sleeping room.

  The shadowy figures on the other beds began to move as well. Feffer laid back down and got under his thin blanket, despite the heat. He made his best attempt to appear to be in a sleeping state. One hundred beds, filled three high, shifted in the silence. It sounded as if a giant lumberjack was making his way through a forest of dried timber.

  A voice from the other end called, “What was that?”

  “Shut it.”

  “You worms get us drills and your dead.”

  “Shh. You idiots.”

  The moments were few before the outer door slammed open. As one, all the other boys returned to a sleeping position. Feffer squeezed his eyes shut and froze every muscle.

  “What in the abyss is going on in here?” It was Gibbins’ voice.

  He heard several large men walking through the rows of bunks. The torch light became more intense as the sounds of the heavy feet grew closer.

  “Someone tell me what the commotion—What in the abyss?”

  Feffer remained motionless, but the sun might as well have been out for the intensity of light around his bunk.

  “What are you doing out of bed soldier?”

  Feffer’s heart was pounding, but he did not move.

  “He’s been knocked out cold,” said Gibbins.

  Sweat began to cover him. He wanted to peak over the side of the bunk to see if the torches had set his bunk afire.

  Gibbins shouted, “What happened here?”

  His bunk shook, as if struck, “By the grace of the Lifebringer, if someone doesn’t speak up by the time I count—Feffer is that you at the top of this tier?”

  He felt his bunk shake again under a blow. “Feffer Hanck Madrowl. I see that ginger-stain poking out the top of your bunk. Down. Now.”

  Curse it all, Feffer thought.

  “Get down here, worm!”

  Feffer swung down from the bunk, careful not to land on Gurndol. Feffer could see the other boy’s unconscious face. He tried to feel some sympathy for him, but it was not an easy task.

  Gibbins stood in his small clothes. He had several scars of various shapes and angles scratched into his torso and arms. His muscles were not overly large, but they were honed from use. He stood only a hand taller than Feffer, but that did nothing for Feffer’s confidence. He felt a slight itch where Gibbins had cracked his skull open.

  Feffer could taste Gibbins’ breath. “Back less than an hour and already causing troubles? What happened here, Feffer?”

  If Feffer gave up Gurndol and his other squad members, then he would never survive when Gurndol became squad leader. If he didn’t give up Gurndol and the others, then he might not survive the night. He scratched the itch at his skull and met Gibbins’ gaze ready to toss the other boy to the wolves, but he stopped as Gurndol began to rouse.

  The other boy brought a hand to his head and groaned. His eyes squinted against the light for a moment. Gurndol’s head came up first, then the rest of him. He opened his eyes the rest of the way, then froze when they settled on Gibbins and Feffer.

  Gibbins spoke through his teeth. “I am going to ask this one last time … what happened here?”

  “Uh …,” Gurndol said. “Um …”

  “He was walking in his sleep,” Feffer blurted, “and he tripped and bumped his head.”

  Gibbins leaned within an inch of Feffer, staring into his soul for several moments. He did not flinch at the heat and stink of Gibbins’ breath. Feffer had been scolded by many adults in his day and had learned the most important aspect to selling a ruse. Do not blink, do not look away, and do NOT swallow.

  “Is that the right of it, Gurndol?”

  With obvious confusion in his voice, Gurndol said, “Uh … I don’t quite remember. I was in bed one moment and then waking up here the next. It must be as Feffer said. I have been known to walk about in my sleep.”

  Feffer didn’t want to admit it, but once the confusion worked clear of his voice, Gurndol sounded sincere.

  Gibbins stood straight and raised his voice for the room to hear. “Alright worms, it appears that we are giving you too much sleep. We need to work you hard enough that you don’t have the energy to walk about in the night. Squad leaders, start your scheduled routines. The rest of you worms are with me.”

  “But,” Gurndol said, “it is only an hour past sundown.”

  “Everyone do ten press-ups,” Gibbins shouted. “You can thank Gurndol for speaking out of turn.”

  Gibbins walked between the rows of bunks as everyone dropped in position for press-ups. “Anyone else want to complain?” He paused. After no one offered complaint, Gibbons counted out the press-ups.

  Though he had rested for near a tenday, Feffer’s arms felt shaky with each press-up. He wanted to glare at Gurndol, but couldn’t find the strength to look up from his press-ups.

  “Alright then,” Gibbons said after reaching ten, “meet in the yard in ten minutes. I expect everyone to run their routines until sundown on the morrow.”

  When the torchlight moved away from Feffer, he sat up. Gurndol sat next to him.

  Feffer whispered, “How’s your head?” It sounded more sympathetic than he had intended.

  “I will be alright.” He still sounded groggy. “I will not forget what you did for me tonight. You are a better man than I.”

  Feffer flinched as if slapped. Then he felt himself grin. He almost laughed. He had kicked Gurndol senseless, and he had actually thanked him. Feffer vowed to remember that tactic for future disagreements with the noble prat.

  His smile faded when he stood on wobbly legs. Drills for a full day with no sleep would be rough. He might find himself back in the Temple long before the sky turned pink. His smile returned even deeper as he thought of the healer’s bosom looming over him again.

  The sunlight faded in the west as shouts of men echoed through the field as a single cacophonous voice. Rising above their cries came the sounds of wood cracking against wood in rapid succession. Stripped down to their leggings, a circle of men surrounded two combatants. The smaller of the two danced around wide swings and countered with quick strikes toward limbs, but the other man was nimble for his size and struck back with powerful swings.

  After several minutes of quick exchanges, Wilton Madrowl struggled to keep a hold of his weapon. He moved through forms and evaded his opponent’s skull-splitting swings, but he could feel his muscles wearing down.

  To buy himself a reprieve, he feinted a lunge and jumped wide of the counter. He would only have seconds to gather himself, but in a duel, seconds were like minutes. Wilton studied his opponent.

  The man’s name was Horac of some minor house, but everyone called him Bender. Before the war and against his family’s wishes, Bender had joined the city’s watch with aspirations to move up the ranks. A large scar ran down the right side of Bender’s face where a dagger had sliced his cheek. He had gotten the scar breaking up his first tavern brawl and had refused healing because he wanted the scar. The absence of the scar would not have improved the look of his thick face much, but having the scar made him look more intimidating.

  The wooden sword looked small in his giant hand, but Bender’s shaven head had sweat beading on it. So Wilton had at least worn him down as well.

  Wilton squared up to Bender in rock form. Unlike water form, the stances of rock made an opponent match strength against strength. Against Bender, Wilton might as well have been a child challenging his father by matching muscle for muscle.

  Bender took the bait. He attacked high in an overhead strike. The moment Bender’s sword struck his Wilton, dropped the sword and pivoted around the larger man. A lack of resistance propelled Bender forward, making him overstep and stumble forward.

  Wilton kick
ed the back of Bender’s knee, causing him to fall forward and stumble past the dropped sword. Without hesitation, Wilton retrieved his fallen sword and pounced on Bender’s back, touching his sword tip to the nape of his opponent’s neck.

  Bender said something into the dirt, but the cheers of their comrades muffled whatever he had said. Curses no doubt. Wilton got off the large man and offered him his hand.

  Bender clasped Wilton’s hand and stood. “Not bad for such a scrawny feller.” His voice was deeper than any Wilton had heard.

  Wilton laughed, “Good thing you’re large enough to mount like a horse.”

  “I always knew you were too pretty to be a man, but you just forget any ideas of mounting me.”

  Laughter filled the field.

  “Alright men,” Zaak’s voice cut a hole in the soldiers’ circle, and he stepped through.

  “Well done, Wilton. Everyone gets a furlough tonight. But be rested and ready tomorrow. Training in the trees.”

  The soldiers cheered as one. “The Seeker fear the mighty White Hand. May the abyss rise to meet us, we will stay and fight. The Seeker fear the mighty White Hand …”

  Wilton turned to follow, but Zaak grabbed his arm. “Not you soldier.”

  “Sir?”

  “You have exceeded your training and have become the first amongst your peers in just a few short months. The Lifebringer has a greater calling for you than a simple soldier. You have a quickness in your step that others do not have. You will be trained as a thief-catcher.”

  “Thank you sir. But, permission to speak?”

  “What’s on your mind, son?”

  “How is my brother faring?”

  Zaak smiled. “He’s like you, the first amongst his peers. He could be here beside you if not for his age. The king has instructed that all men under the age of sixteen years receive a full year’s training before seeing battle. To be honest, I wish that year had come. We will need more thief-catchers before this year ends.”

  “What do thief-catchers have to do with war?” Wilton asked. Don’t they prowl the streets for criminals?”

  “In times of peace, thief-catchers keep our streets clean. But, in times of war, they are the difference between victory and defeat.” Zaak clasped his shoulder. “You’ll be trained for reconnaissance with a handful of others. Do you see the man behind you?”

  Wilton looked over his shoulder. The field beside the castle was empty, save for the soldiers retreating to their furlough. “There is no one there, sir.”

  A vice took hold of Wilton’s hair and bared his neck with a sharp yank of his hair. Cold metal touched the edge of his throat.

  “Meet Tharu, Wilton Madrowl.”

  Wilton craned his head back, stretching his eyes as far as they could go without disturbing the blade. The grip released Wilton’s hair, and he turned around. Tharu wore nothing more than a loin cloth and shoes crafted from animal skins. His tanned body was not large, but it was chiseled and honed. The man carried two short blades that curved back toward his elbows.

  Wilton rubbed his neck, sure he would find blood. When he saw there was none he said, “Pleased to meet you, sir.”

  Tharu’s emerald eyes sparkled like that of a hunting beast. “The winds of our Lady Nature have carried you to me, Wilton Madrowl. The time has come for your training to begin.”

  Wilton blinked. Training? What in the abyss did they call what he had been doing for the last few months?

  Wilton suppressed a sigh. He knew the answer, but he had to ask. “I guess that means no furlough?”

  Tharu showed Wilton his teeth in what might pass as the man’s smile. It looked more like a wolf baring his teeth to another wolf. Well … a wolf pup.

  “Come,” Tharu said, then turned to walk west toward the forest by the river.

  For a moment, Wilton watched him go. Not for the first time since being recruited, Wilton wished he had deserted. He couldn’t now. It was too late. They knew his name. Besides, he needed to keep his promise to his father. If he deserted, there would be no one to look after Feffer.

  A year. The kid still had another year until he saw any real fighting. Pray the Lifebringer made it so. First among his peers?

  Wilton almost laughed. First to get to mess, first to find trouble, and first to get himself killed acting the fool. Feffer probably still saw training as a game. The kid couldn’t see two steps in front of him, let alone what the training meant.

  How could he keep his promise to his father with a brother like Feffer?

  He would find a way. Being first amongst his peers felt like a good start. He ran to catch up to Tharu.

  Chapter 11

  Mind’s Eye

  “Concentrate.”

  Zarah’s voice shattered Elwin’s focus.

  He opened his eyes. Zarah sat cross-legged next to the fountain. Water flowed from a top tier to four lower tiers before coming to a rest in a small pool at the base. It was the largest of many fountains in the castle garden. The wide clearing around the fountain made it an ideal place to train with swords and the Elements. So he had been told.

  Thus far, he had trained with neither. Though he had played with wooden sticks and tried to move his essence aplenty.

  “I was trying to,” he said through his teeth. “I can’t do it if you’re talking to me.”

  Her look held no sympathy for him. “You cannot do it because you will not stop thinking about the Inquisition.”

  “Of course I can’t,” Elwin said. “Did you see Biron’s family?”

  “You cannot dwell on things outside of your control,” she said in a patronizing tone. “Right now, you need to train. ”

  “You keep saying that,” Elwin wagged his finger in her face. She raised an eyebrow, but he ignored her disapproving stare. “But train for what? No one will tell me.”

  “You know I cannot speak on the prophecies.”

  “You can. You choose not to.”

  “Because she is obedient,” Jasmine’s voice said from behind him.

  She strode through the rows of redwood trees. Her white dress was much more ornate than those he had grown accustomed to her wearing, which meant this one could have sold for enough coin to buy three or four farms instead of just one. An amber pendant hung from the end of silver links woven through Jasmine’s hair and rested on her forehead. He forced his jaw to close before Jasmine reached the fountain.

  Her gaze settled on Zarah. “How far has he gotten through the forms?”

  “The third stanza.”

  Elwin studied his feet to avoid Jasmine’s grimace.

  She remained silent until he looked at her. He had expected her gaze to set him ablaze, so he flinched when his eyes met a look of compassion.

  “You are important in a way you cannot imagine,” she said. “Come. Let us walk.”

  Elwin bounced to his feet. “Important how?”

  “First, let me explain why I hesitate to speak of the prophecies,” Jasmine said as she turned to walk toward the hedges.

  “Mother,” Zarah said, “why are you wearing a Verande gown?”

  Elwin felt an intense desire to push Zarah into the fountain. How long had he been waiting to hear about the prophecies? Three months since he had left home. Now that Jasmine was prepared to tell him the purpose for all of this, she asked about a dress? He had be debating on whether or not to act on his urges when Jasmine spoke.

  “I had a meeting with an emissary from Alcoa,” Jasmine said as if discussing her favorite tea.

  Zarah nudged Elwin roughly as she stepped between Jasmine and him. “An emissary! What did he want?”

  “That is not your concern. When I want you to know, I will tell you.” Jasmine said. “Now, let us walk.”

  Jasmine turned toward a northern path. Elwin had to take a couple of quick steps to catch her. He did not turn to se
e if Zarah followed.

  “The prophecies were born during the Shadow Wars.” Jasmine paused. “You remember what the Shadow Wars were?”

  “Yes,” Elwin said.

  When she did not continue, he added quickly, “After Abaddon and the dragons disappeared, all of Arinth was left in turmoil. Death bound emerged and attempted to seize power in all nations and tried to turn souls to Abaddon. The wars that followed pushed the Death bound into hiding and were called the Shadow Wars because they were said to fight their battles from the shadows.”

  She sighed. “Close enough for our purposes, but you will need to reread the ‘War of the Shadows’ by Niccol Machiavel and write a report due before next Lifeday. Also, you should cross reference his first book, ‘The Princeps.’ It discusses the city-states during and after the wars and gives philosophical accounts of rule. I will expect excerpts quoted.”

  “I will,” he said, trying to sound enthusiastic. “I promise.”

  The path forked and Jasmine took the right side, continuing as if she had never detoured the discussion with a new assignment. “After the Great Slumber, people feared the return of the dragonkin, but fear of Abaddon, the Seeker of Souls, was even greater. People became wary of all who accepted his Dark Gift. In time, that fear began to include all Elemental power. As mistrust grew, farmers and merchants became assassins of their neighbors. People fled cities to hide with the dwarves in their caves or sought seclusion in the mountains.

  “The Guardians of Life arose from this conflict and began to alleviate the fears of the ungifted by bringing order and law to elementalists. The priests of Life began to remind the people of their purpose. Once more, they had a symbol to trust. And probably most important of all, disobedience of the law incurred swift and precise penalties.”

  Elwin felt a chill at the mention of the Guardians. To think, they had actually saved elementalists. He found it difficult to see them as anything other than the Inquisition. “But I know all of this,” he said. “What does this have to do with the prophecies?”