Purveyors and Acquirers (The Phosfire Journeys Book 1)

by Unknown

  She strode along the thick pole, sliding one foot forward at a time, till she was above Fronc. She knelt and lowered the rope until it hung within his reach.

  “Take the rope, Fronc,” she instructed.

  Fronc quietly cried out to her. “I can’t. I’m scared.”

  Tulip gasped as Fronc lost his grip with one hand. He hung for few heartbeats before he was able to reach up and grasp the cornice again with both hands.

  Tulip looked over her shoulder at Zeal. “Is the rope anchored?”

  Zeal nodded. “Yes, I have tied it off.”

  “You better have your knots straight.” Tulip wound the rope around the pole then sat on it. She leaned back and used her legs to hold herself on the shaft, wrapped the rope around her torso, then slid herself down head first.

  Tulip used her legs to grip the rope to control her descent. With her hands freed, she loosened the loop then retied it around Fronc’s waist. Tulip let go of the lifeline with her legs, flipped around, and climbed hand over hand back up onto the flagstaff. She regained her stance on the pole and returned to the other side of the waist wall.

  She told Zeal, “Let’s get Fronc back up here.” She and Zeal pulled on the rope till she could feel they were supporting Fronc’s weight. When Fronc was within reach of the flagpole, Tulip instructed him, “Climb up onto the flagstaff. Then, when you are ready, come to us.”

  They gave the rope enough slack to enable Fronc to attain his perch on the thick rod and then move across to them. Tulip gave him a long tight hug when he was safely over the waist wall.

  “Thank you, Tulip. Thank you,” Fronc whispered in her ear.

  Tulip had a deep, peaceful sleep that night and dreamed of flying. The next morn, she remembered she had forgotten to ask Zeal and Fronc how Fronc had gotten into such a knotty position. She also noticed that Zeal’s limp was miraculously missing as they walked to training.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Seasons move like the stars at night. A life, no matter how small, sheds a light.

  —Book of Seasons by T. A. Feneas

  THE WINTER MORN was slowly warming as the apprentices followed a somber Kaid into the warehouse. Zeal was surprised to see the building’s inside stripped of the wire and materials used in their training. The mats had been removed, the stone floor exposed. In the center of the space, Master Slag stood on the opposite side of a table, upon which objects had been placed but hidden from view, the table draped with a cloth. Two braziers burned with very little smoke but gave off both heat and light. Zeal counted twelve people standing behind Master Slag. All but one had their faces covered. Bell was positioned on Master Slag’s right; her naked features exposed her serious demeanor. Master Turk, on Slag’s left, wore his usual half mask.

  Kaid stopped them three paces from the front of the table and arranged them in an orderly fashion. Mehrle lined up first. Next to her, Zeal then Tulip, Nester, Liddea, and, lastly, Fronc. Kaid then moved to stand alongside Bell.

  As they waited in silence, Zeal tried to think of anything he had done for which he was about to be held accountable.

  Slag, with a measured step, drew near. He stopped in front of each of them as he spoke. “Today you must decide if you wish to continue to apprentice in the Trade. Anyone who declines will no longer be welcome amongst us. Those who want to proceed must take a pledge and undergo an initiation witnessed by the Trade representatives present. This promise is made to me, the Trade Master of Arlanda, to the fellow members of the Trade, and to yourself for as long as you live. The one who breaks this oath will be cast out with hands, feet, and tongue removed.”

  Zeal knew he wanted to stay, but Master Slag scared him. He looked to Mehrle, who stood silent, eyes straight ahead. When he turned to Tulip, her intense gaze was fixated on Master Slag. Nester had his head up, eyes tightly closed, body still. Liddea held her trousers with her hands at thigh level, as if to hold herself in place. It was when he saw Fronc smile and wink at him that Zeal relaxed and continued to listen.

  “Once you are formally accepted, you will be qualified to learn the mysteries of the Trade and acquire skills known only by its members.” Slag paused. The witnesses spoke behind him.

  “The Trade is as a body. Will you vow to clothe, nourish, and sustain our form? Guard the secrets that shelter us from harm? Seek out knowledge so we will be strong? Our Trade Master guides and protects our person and therefore should be heard, respected, given allegiance, yet questioned. Will you help be the conscience of all?”

  Slag allowed the silence to speak for many heartbeats then continued. “If you want to choose this path, take one step forward.”

  Zeal thought over the time he’d spent learning, preparing for this life. He had been one of the few chosen to have this opportunity and didn’t know if he was ready or able to live to the standard the adults before him expected. He was just a little boy who wanted to belong, to be loved and become a part of something meaningful. If he declined, he would again be alone. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and strode forward. When he opened them, he was pleased to see the others had moved up with him.

  “I had hoped you would all decide to stay.” Slag smiled briefly. “Do you swear to uphold to the principles that will be taught to you?”

  Zeal answered in chorus with his fellow apprentices. “Yes, Trade Master.”

  Slag returned to his position on the other side of the table and removed the cloth covering. A poniard lay between a small, white, ceramic bowl and vial of clear liquid; there was a small chest to the right of the bowl and a hollow glass rod with one tapered end in front of it.

  Slag gestured toward the dagger. “Master Turk, would you please do the honors?”

  “Yes, Trade Master.”

  The hair on the back of Zeal’s neck rose as Turk lovingly picked up the weapon. One by one, starting with Bell, the witnesses walked up to Turk and allowed him to prick a thumb with the poniard’s tip. One drop of blood from each of them fell into the bowl. Lastly, Turk added his own blood.

  Zeal reminded himself that he was a champion of Iris. Without being asked, he found himself standing across the table from Master Turk, holding his hand over the bowl. His thumb was firmly grasped, preventing him from pulling away, even if he wanted to. Light reflected off the blade, which glowed red in Turk’s hand. Zeal did not feel the sharp point pierce his flesh. Quickly, the deed was done. Tulip took his place when he returned to stand beside Mehrle. Surprisingly, Liddea stepped up behind Tulip. Nester, followed by Fronc then Mehrle, lined up last.

  Slag picked up the vial of liquid, removed the seal, and poured it into the bowl. The liquid began to swirl as it turned pink. Slag held his hand out to Turk, his thumb was pierced, and a last red droplet was swallowed by the miniature whirlpool. The contents turned black, and all motion ceased.

  Zeal took his thumb out of his mouth. He had been so intent on watching that he had not realized he had been sucking on his cut. The metallic taste of blood on his tongue helped him focus.

  Turk placed the blade down and stepped back. Bell moved up and unlocked the chest with a key from around her neck. She removed a cage that contained six small, white rodents. She took one out by the tail, cupped it in her gloved hand, and held the creature toward Slag.

  Zeal watched closely as Slag removed a portion of the bowl’s contents with the glass pipette. The liquid flowed into the tube on its own accord. Slag fed the fluid to the finely furred animal. The red eyes of the creature blackened as it consumed the liquid.

  Bell carried the rodent to the front of the table. She searched the faces of the initiates. Zeal, unbidden, held out his hands. Bell smiled at him and placed the shivering mouse in his hands. “Be gentle with it, if you can.”

  Zeal, puzzled, started to ask Bell what she meant. The sharp pain he felt when he was bitten by the animal interrupted him. He fought the urge to squeeze, kill, and throw the tiny form from him. It took him several heartbeats before the impulse passed and he was able to focus on the creature
he held.

  It took one last breath as he watched. “Why is it dead? I tried not to hurt it.” A tear ran down his cheek.

  Bell took the body from Zeal. “You were very brave and caused no harm.” She placed the remains into a brazier, where it blazed into flames and burned rapidly to a fine ash.

  Oddly, without knowing why, Zeal felt comforted by the fire. The web of flesh between his thumb and finger burned. The veins on the back of his hand momentarily blacked, turning the color of hot coals, and then assumed a normal blue appearance. His head ached with each beat of his heart. There was no wound left behind. No telling mark left to be seen. Zeal rubbed to soothe the area. He had questions but knew now was not the time to ask them.

  The process was repeated five more times. Zeal understood each of his companions had to choose and then suffer through the experience alone. Silently, he sent supportive thoughts to them.

  As the brazier flared for the last time, Slag spoke in Trade tongue to the initiates for the first time. “Talis a Trozhien.” His words were repeated by the witnesses.

  Zeal, ever curious asked, “What does Talis a Trozhien mean?”

  Slag smiled. “You are Trade.”

  Nester turned to his companions. “I think our family just got a lot bigger.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Seasons pass over like clouds in the sky. Sometimes the hand is quicker than the eye.

  —Book of Seasons by T. A. Feneas

  ZEAL DECIDED he preferred to practice on live people, not dummies. He was tired of the telltale tinkle the bells sewn on the practice clothes made, announcing to everyone present his failures. Zeal had been matched with Nester today. On recent mornings, they had reviewed the laws of the land that conflicted with Trade business. Most afternoons were spent learning Acquiring skills, unless they were training with Master Turk.

  “I am ready, Nester.” Zeal closed his eyes and focused. He listened for footsteps, clothes rustling, or other sounds of a person’s movement. He breathed deeply to catch any body odors and tried to feel the slightest touch in an effort detect to Nester’s attempt to pinch his pouch.

  “Nester, I said you can try now.” Zeal opened his eyes and turned to face Nester, who stood smiling, coin in hand.

  “I tell you this is too easy. I don’t know why some of you are having problems.” Nester handed Zeal the coin.

  Bell interrupted them. Zeal was embarrassed for failing to hear her walk up. Their mentors had tasked the apprentices to be aware of when the mentors approached at all times. “Nester, you will find that not everything you learn will feel natural for you. I admit you have a knack, but even you wouldn’t succeed with a true mark.”

  Nester stood a little taller. “I can do it. Give me a chance.”

  “If you can repeat what you just said in tongue, I will give you that opportunity.”

  Zeal waited to see if Nester would accept Bell’s challenge. Ever since the initiation, six moons ago, they were being taught the language of the Trade.

  “Ta cur I. Yar charin ma,” Nester attempted.

  “Ya chavin ma,” Bell corrected. “That was close enough.” She shouted across room, “Kaid, it is time for an outing! We go to the market.”

  Kaid gestured toward himself. “Everyone gather. Let’s find out what Bell has planned.”

  She sat on the floor. “I want you to sit and listen. We are going to the farmers market. Once there, we will purchase fruit from one of the carts then relocate just within the area. While you enjoy your treat, I will select a mark. If anything goes wrong with Nester’s attempt, the rest of you stay with Kaid while I deal with Nester’s problem. Ask any questions now. There will not be time later.”

  Zeal was surprised. For once, no one raised their hand. He wondered if Nester would successfully complete the challenge.

  Bell stood. “Follow me. I will lead, and Kaid will bring up the rear. Stay together.”

  Zeal placed himself in the back of the pack. He wasn’t sure how he felt about leaving their safe haven and taking their training to the streets of Arlanda. If Nester failed, what could Bell do to help him? Zeal was sensitive to the looks they received from the people they passed as they traveled to the market. What did they think of him and his companions? They received a few smiles and nods, but most just stared. For some reason, he felt guilty, and Nester hadn’t done anything yet.

  Sooner than expected, Zeal stood in front of a stall with the others while Kaid purchased dried stone fruit. Bell guided them to a tree that offered a view of the nearby vendors. Kaid passed the food around and engaged them in discourse. “The consumption of this particular fruit helps to move the bowels.” Anyone nearby who took an interest in them would just observe a small group of students out with an instructor.

  Bell knelt in front of Nester. “See the tall, thin gentleman with the purple band on his cap?”

  Nester gave a slight nod.

  Bell continued speaking in a soft voice. “He is your mark.” Bell stood and walked away.

  Kaid continued to exhort his audience regarding the virtues of stone fruit. Zeal pretended to give Kaid his rapt attention but took intermittent furtive glances to observe Nester, without turning his head.

  ***

  Nester counted to thirty then took his leave. He meandered aimlessly into the crowd and used the people and stalls as cover while keeping an eye on the mark. Bell soon stood near the target, and he overheard her begin to haggle with the merchant over the price of produce.

  He circled and approached the mark from behind. The handle of a small knife showed above the top of the man’s right boot. Nester closed in. Casually, he knelt and picked up a small bunch of carrots that had dropped to the ground. At the same time, he eased the knife from the boot.

  “What are you about?”

  Nester stood and held out the carrots. “I was just picking these up. I saw them fall. Are they yours? I am sorry. Here you are.” He stepped close and gave the bunch to the gentleman.

  “I don’t want these. They are not even mine. Now back off.” The mark threw the carrots on the stall then turned to leave.

  Nester meekly spoke. “Excuse me, master.”

  “Don’t you master me. I know you’re up to something. What is it now?”

  “Well, sir, when I picked up the carrots, I found this beside them.” Nester held the knife out to the stranger.

  “Well I never. I thank you, lad, for your honesty. You could have held on to that blade. I don’t know how I lost it.” The gentleman took the weapon and hurried off.

  Nester heard Bell say quietly to him alone, “Return to the study hall.”

  She was moving away when he looked in her direction. Kaid and the others were nowhere to be seen.

  Nester, as he had been told prior, took an indirect route back to the hall. He found Kaid and his fellow apprentices waiting for him. Bell entered moments behind him.

  Kaid had everyone sit on the floor in a line, with Nester at the center. “Any of you want to tell me what you observed?”

  Liddea raised her hand and was acknowledged. “Nester approached the mark, knelt beside him, stood, and handed him the knife he had taken from him. Nester, I thought you were supposed to get his pouch.”

  Kaid leaned forward. “Liddea has a good question. Do you have a good explanation, Nester?”

  Nester looked at the questioning faces of his companions. He then reached inside his shirt. “I needed the knife to get this.” He showed them the mark’s pouch. “It was tied on to his belt. I used the blade to cut the ties.”

  He sat back and enjoyed the accolades he received from his surprised peers, bowing several times at the waist, and then held the purse up for everyone to see. His praise was short-lived, interrupted by the hand that reached down from behind him and took the pouch.

  A voice spoke. “I will take that back.”

  Nester yelped loudly and jerked around. He had not sensed anyone in back of him. Behind him was the mark!

  Bell broke Nester’s
surprised silence. “Let me introduce Master Yewel. He will critique Nester’s performance. Please tell us what he could have done better, from your perspective, thereby preventing his detection and probable arrest.”

  Master Yewel bowed toward Bell then joined her to address the apprentices. “Spot your mark then change your visual focus. Nester, even though he did not directly approach me, kept his eyes on me the whole time. Staring at your target will alert them or someone else to your intent.”

  Nester sat quietly, listening. He vowed to learn, to be the best.

  Yewel continued. “The use of the knife was ill-conceived. Unless the owner is dead, removal of a blade is easily felt. A sheath cannot feel, but flesh can. The weapon was held snuggly in place by the fit of my boot.”

  “Avoid drawing attention to yourself, and keep your face turned away. Once someone takes note of your appearance, they can identify you later.

  Yewel showed the ties on the pouch. “You made your cut on the wrong side of the knot. Always cut so that the knot isn’t pulled back toward the skin, where its movement can be felt and inform the wearer that something is amiss. Tell me, young master. What does the pouch contain? You never looked inside, but you did handle it.”

  Nester looked up, surprised. “How do you know I never opened it?”

  Yewel smiled. “Bell and I watched you endeavor to make sure you were not followed back here. Of course, you and the rest have a lot to learn regarding that skill, as well. Now, what is inside?”

  Nester looked down at his hands. “I don’t know.”

  Yewel slapped his thigh several times. “Good answer. Over time, you will be able to estimate by shape, weight, sound, and smell the contents of a pouch, sack, or bag.”

  Zeal spoke up. “But Nester did succeed. He took your pouch.”

  Nester answered. “No, Zeal, Master Yewel let me take it. It is obvious to me that I would have been caught in the act.”