Jabberwocky

by Daniel Coleman

  Tjaden couldn’t resist. “I don’t know which surprises me more, you being speechless or you crying. I haven’t seen you cry since you fell out of that grapefruit tree, how long ago was it? Two weeks?”

  Ollie kept his eyes on the bow. “Muzzle it! This is the best bow I’ve ever seen, and easily the finest in Shey’s Orchard. And it’s been six years since I fell out of that tree.”

  His father didn’t intervene. Ollie could take a little of what he had dished out for so many years.

  “Thank you,” Ollie said as he embraced the closest person he had to a father. “I don’t even know what to say.”

  “Wow, at a loss for words for the second time tonight,” Tjaden said. “That bow has changed you already.”

  Tjaden was shocked that his father had given Ollie the exceptional bow; they were both convinced it was destined to be Tjaden’s. But the bow was the perfect gift for Ollie. Tjaden should’ve known all along it was intended for his friend.

  Before Ollie could retort, his father spoke up. “We’ll see how detached you act after you see this.”

  He walked across the small dining area, reached behind the hutch, and withdrew a four foot long object wrapped in burlap. He handed it to Tjaden, who solemnly accepted the gift.

  Please be a sword!

  His optimism was confirmed. The sword he unwrapped was one-handed, although the hilt was long enough to provide a counter balance and could be grasped with two hands if desired. Wrapping his fingers around the hilt, he slowly withdrew it from the hard leather sheath.

  It was not just any sword; it was a masterpiece. Tjaden could only stare, mouth agape.

  “Who’s speechless now?” said Ollie wryly.

  Tjaden barely heard him. “Where did you get this? I’ve never seen a finer sword in my life!”

  The blade was not straight, rather it had wave-shaped edges, giving it the appearance of a dangerous, meandering river. The steel itself was folded, a time intensive method of crafting in which layer upon layer of thin steel was pounded flat, adding strength that a solid cast blade lacked.

  “I ordered it from Palassiren. It’s a sword worthy of an Elite. What do you think of the hilt?”

  Tjaden flexed his fingers and extended the sword in front of him. Unlike other swords, this one was an exact fit in his large hand. “It fits perfectly! It’s unlike anything I’ve ever held.”

  “I had them forge the hilt from a mold of my hand. The blade’s lighter than a straight sword of the same width, but it’s reach is half a hand longer.”

  Tjaden continued to marvel at the excellent craftsmanship. Like a newborn foal testing its legs, he cautiously swung the sword. The close quarters forced him to be content with examining the weapon. He felt the edge with his thumb. “Sharp, but not too sharp. Perfect for penetrating armor or bone, but the edge won’t fold the first time I strike steel.”

  He longed to spend hours trying the blade, getting accustomed to the length and forging the metal into an extension of his right arm. But night had fallen and the Elites would be waiting for them at sunrise.

  After another lingering look at the sword, Tjaden replaced it in the sheath which was etched with flames. The sheath alone would have thrilled him. After leaning it carefully by the front door next to his father’s bow and quiver, he thanked his father as profusely as he knew how.

  Ollie carried his bow into the small bedroom they shared. Tjaden’s bed covered nearly half the room, and on the days Ollie slept there they slid the trundle bed out from under Tjaden’s, leaving only two small walkways along the walls.

  “You know that would fit better in the front room,” Tjaden said when he entered.

  Holding the bow protectively, Ollie replied, “If I’m not mistaken, your dad’s habit of carrying his bow saved your life. Besides,” he added candidly, “I’ve never had anything nice or new. I plan on keeping this close.”

  Bracing one end of the bow with his foot, Ollie removed the string to preserve the bow’s strength.

  Tjaden was convinced this would be another one of Ollie’s fleeting interests but didn’t admit it. “Tough to argue with that,” he said and blew out the lamp.

  Sleep was elusive, but eventually came. Tjaden, his father, and Ollie awoke before sunrise. His mother packed a breakfast of boiled eggs and salted pork. The food for the rest of the three day trip to Palassiren would be provided by the soldiers’ cook. Tjaden and Ollie each carried a small pack that contained all they would need at the Academy.

  With his sheathed sword belted around his waist and Ollie’s unstrung bow firmly in hand, Tjaden felt like the two of them could take on an army.

  Embracing Tjaden, his mother looked into his eyes and said, “The next time I see you, you’ll be a man. Become the man we both know you have in you.” He hugged her again, wiped a tear from her cheek and promised that he would.

  Then Tjaden the boy walked out of his house for the last time. The next time he entered he would be wearing the Circle and the Sword.

  *****

  As Elora approached the meeting place with her father, she didn’t know if the chills she felt came from the cool morning or anticipation of the journey to Palassiren. Tjaden, Ollie, and Mikel were already waiting, but the soldiers, who had arrived in the town the night before, were still arranging provisions for the trip. After greeting one another, the fathers talked about crops and mirrors and work and days away from work.

  Elora, Tjaden, and Ollie broke off into their own conversation, speculating on what the capital was like, how hard training would be, and how little each had slept the night before. As long as Tjaden had a topic, he chatted naturally, albeit a little to-the-point. But when a lull arose in the conversation or a topic was exhausted Elora could practically hear Tjaden’s mind spinning as he tried to think up something else to talk about. While she didn’t relish his unease, she did take it as a compliment that he put so much effort into engaging her in conversation, without bragging or talking extensively about things that didn’t matter. He was a genuine person who cared about the things he did, and did the things that were important to him.

  The Elites arrived shortly, along with another recruit named Rodin who lived in Peridia, eight days south of Shey’s Orchard. He was accompanied by his father and an older brother, whom he had chosen as Fellow. As soon as they started on the road out of Shey’s Orchard, Rodin sought out Tjaden and proceeded to explain why he had been chosen for the Academy, with strong undertones of why he was the greatest fighter in the land.

  Elora heard every word Rodin said to Tjaden. She was sure everyone in the group heard his greatly embellished stories.

  Any other boy would brag about fighting a bandersnatch, she thought. But not Tjaden.

  After establishing himself as the most skilled warrior in the kingdom, Rodin spared a glance for the rest of the party. He barely noticed Elora’s father or Mikel as they discussed the merits of corn as a crop. He didn’t greet Ollie. In fact, he didn’t even seem to notice Ollie. But the unstrung bow at Ollie’s back did gain his attention and he scrutinized it from tip to tip. Shifting his gaze to Elora, he gave her a similar inspection. She was glad Tjaden hadn’t seen.

  Rodin was handsome enough, but a pair of strong arms and a nice smile didn’t make up for his arrogance. Elora avoided rash judgments, but it was obvious Rodin and Tjaden were on opposite ends of the spectrum of soldiers and she made it a point to ride as far from Rodin as possible.

  The morning sun cast long shadows as the group turned their horses onto the main road, the Telavir Spoke. The road traversed the kingdom, starting at Palassiren, near the center of Maravilla, and laid out a straight path to Telavir, a large shipping city on the coast far to the southwest. The Telavir Spoke was the southwestern leg of the highway system. The capital formed the hub of a large wheel with the major roads spread out in eight directions, known as Spokes. Only the Northern Spoke, which had one sharp bend through a mountain pass, was not a straight route to the outskirts of the kingdom.


  The first day of travel passed uneventfully. No towns were by when nightfall arrived, so they slept out. Tjaden and the rest of the group made sure Elora, as the only female, was well taken care of. Everyone except Rodin, she noticed, who recited bromides about the inappropriateness of requiring a lady to sleep without bed or cot.

  Elora was given extra mats for her bedding, and her tent was set up in the middle of camp, away from the perimeter. While she was self-reliant enough to take care of herself, she was also enough of a lady to allow the men to fulfill their responsibilities as gentlemen.

  As soon as camp was set, Elora saw Ollie rush to target practice to take advantage of the little daylight that remained. The horses’ feed wagon had caught up to the group and Ollie used the hay as a backdrop for the target he’d carved out of bark. He shot ten arrows at a time, then replaced the target. Eight out of ten hit the hand-width circle, with the other two lodging in the hay.

  Tjaden approached, getting accustomed to his new sword. He stopped when he noticed Elora, and sat next to her to watch Ollie practice.

  Elora spoke first. “He really loves that bow, doesn’t he?”

  “He does. And he’s not a bad shot. I just wonder whether he’ll stick with it long enough to become great.”

  “I guess you know him better than anyone.”

  “Well enough to know that the real reason all of the arrows are at least finding the hay is because he’s too lazy to miss and have to chase them down.”

  Elbowing him in the side, she said, “I wouldn’t be too hard on him. Your Fellow’s bow could very well save your life someday.”

  Over the week of travel, conversation became more natural for Tjaden. He beamed whenever she asked about the Elites, and knew a surprising amount of information about them. Each Elite served ten years based out of the capital, spending months on end in one deployment after another. At the end of ten years as an Elite, he entered the regular army as a Sergeant or above, still maintaining Elite status and being stationed as near his hometown as possible with a regiment of soldiers.

  Listening to him talk about his future made Elora feel comfortable. Eventually Tjaden was able to ride in silence for a mile or more without acting anxious. In the week of travel, they’d spent more time together than in almost sixteen years of their lives. There had always been a mutual attraction, but until now it was shallow. Not only did she discover who he was under the composed demeanor, she bared her own personality as they chatted, joked, and bantered.

  Sharing the most harrowing experience of their lives had created a bond, but the opportunity to pass hours together in relaxed travel was exactly what they needed. And Elora wasn’t disappointed in the slightest by what she learned.

  Whenever Rodin approached, Tjaden grew quiet and they were bombarded with boasts and self-acclaim. Even the questions Rodin asked were merely transitions to new topic on which he was an expert. Stories and claims continued until Elora found an excuse to withdraw. She expected Rodin to pick up on her cues, but day after day he attempted to charm her, and day after day she found a new reason to ride somewhere else.

  Midway through the seventh and final day of traveling, Elora pulled Tjaden out of earshot of the rest of the party. As their horses sauntered along, she said, “I know you’ll grow and mature with your training and I truly believe it will be for the best. You are the type of young man that turns into a great man. I promise that when you finish in fourteen months I will be waiting. Not that I am obligating either of us, but I will be there so we can find out how we feel. I’ll do all I can to become a woman worthy of an Elite.”

  His shyness had given her a chance to deliver her prepared thoughts.

  “I promise I’ll be here too,” he said. “I mean, I’ll be there. In Shey’s Orchard. You know what I mean.”

  He flushed, she grinned, and they rejoined the group.

  *****

  Tjaden was positively beamish as they caught up with the group. The send-off from Elora was better than he could have wished for. Though he had no idea how he could compete with Rodin’s looks and confidence, apparently Elora wasn’t impressed by swagger.

  Over the last week he found himself wishing the trip was seven months instead of seven days. For years he’d invented occasions to catch glimpses of Elora, and he finally had all the time he wanted. Even more exciting, she was as attractive on the inside as she was on the outside. It wasn’t surprising—just pleasing. For only the second time in his life he wasn’t in a hurry to begin training.

  Everything he knew about Elora said she would keep her word. Fulfilling his dream of being an Elite wouldn’t cost him the chance for a life with her. When he returned from training in fourteen months, many girls her age would be betrothed or married. But not Elora.

  The sun hung high as Palassiren came into view. From that distance neither the capital nor the mountain behind it looked very impressive. The immensity of the city did not sink in until they neared the gates half a day later.

  Tjaden had imagined cities, had heard descriptions and stories, but Palassiren was an entire world crammed into four walls. As if he’d never seen an animal larger than a mouse, and was suddenly shown an elephant. Even with a proper description it had been impossible to imagine. There was no space between the buildings. No fields, no orchards. It seethed like an anthill laid out in perpendicular lanes of travel.

  Night had fallen by the time the party reached the towering walls and entered the gates, but people still swarmed the lantern-lined streets on their way home, to market, or on other pressing errands. They rushed along without stopping to chat or even greeting each other.

  Citizens parted as the soldiers and their companions passed, but ignored them just as they did the cobbled streets, or stars in the sky. Not even the wide-eyed newcomers drew the attention of most of the busy people.

  Some shops were closed, but many vendors still lined the streets hoping to bring in a few more coins before closing for the night. The sheer diversity of shops astounded Tjaden and the other Shey’s Orchard folk. They passed cheese shops, butchers, candle makers, leather vendors who sold only saddles, and fruitstands with dozens of varieties of produce. Tjaden noticed his father’s gaze linger on such shops. He hoped his father would have some time the next day to explore the city before being escorted back home.

  One shop sold an assortment of animals. Displayed in front were two Jubjub birds in adjacent cages. He had never seen one alive, but it was impossible to mistake the red color, substantial size, and the intensity with which they attempted to break through their respective cages to be together. He’d heard they lived in state of perpetual passion and now saw it was true.

  Though it was a straight course from the city gate to their destination, it took nearly an hour for the horses to carry them there. The Academy was located in the Military District within the inner city. Not as thick and tall as the outer walls, the inner walls kept the populace out of the palaces and away from the military grounds.

  Built to accommodate hundreds of soldiers, the training ground was immense. In the foreground of the training area a smaller section was cordoned off and accented with deep blue. The Elite training area was palatial compared to the austere grounds of the enlisted soldiers-in-training.

  Before separating, the party was given a short time for farewells. But Tjaden already had his moment with his father and Elora, and didn’t feel the need for more long goodbyes. He hugged Elora, who had tears in her eyes but also wore an excited expression, and struck hands with his father and Aker.

  Tjaden and Ollie were given a brief tour of the building and led to their quarters. Each Elite recruit shared a private room with his Fellow. The quarters were simple, but Tjaden and Ollie were both glad to have enough space to walk across the room without having to scoot around a trundle bed.

  The stone walls of the Academy couldn’t be more unlike the friendly groves and small home he was accustomed to, but after a lifetime of imagining himself as a recruit, the walls were perfectly
fitting.

  After placing their few belongings in their quarters, Tjaden and Ollie retraced the path to the dining hall. Despite the late hour, dozens of soldiers were spread throughout the large room. A group of ten tables near the front of the chamber stood out from the rest. The tables were round, and made of an ornate polished wood with natural streaks of blue. The other tables in the room were sanded pine. Chairs surrounded the tables at the front of the room, as opposed to the benches which paralleled the pine tables. Spread out around three of the finer tables were about twenty men and boys without uniforms, sitting in pairs and talking in the animated manner of children before their first Swap and Spar. Tjaden immediately recognized his fellow recruits.

  A heated debate was underway as Tjaden and Ollie sat with their food at one of the Elite tables. One boy, a year or two younger than Tjaden, interrupted the debate to make introductions. He started by telling them his name was Brin-Dar. They went around the table in turn, each saying their name and where they were from. A few recruits were younger than Tjaden, but most were a few years older. Two men were in their mid-twenties and one man with long, unkempt hair looked old enough to be Tjaden’s father.

  The dispute began again quickly. A few of the recruits tried to convince the others that the best soldiers came from large cities. Others made the point that small towns produced better soldiers. The younger boys only listened for the most part.

  “We have access to the best teachers, private lessons, and battalions of soldiers to observe,” stated a pale young man with blond hair.

  A well-tanned, wiry youth spoke up. “Boys in cities grow up soft, selling trinkets in Daddy’s shop or living in mansions with servants to do the real work. Try turning a copse of trees into a home for eight people. Takes four months, but makes you into a man overnight.”

  A few in the group chuckled. Ollie, never the timid type, jumped right in. “Let me ask a question—Where did Captain Darieus come from?”