by Wayne Meyers
I had already walked away from the class, though I could see them resuming practice. Babette’s back was to me. How I cursed myself! Had I only remembered to put this on before joining class I would have not been interrupted and Babette would have agreed before we switched partners again.
Agreed to what I could not have told you, but I meant what I had said to her. She had to know the truth before I exploded. Once I had her consent, we’d figure out the rest together.
Chapter Twenty-Two—An Errand in Solace
After a month no bark remained on the tree. I had gone through three cruses of whatever foul-smelling medicinal paste kept me from losing my sanity to the searing, burning pain that afflicted my hands when the sap of the apacia tree wore off. It felt like my hands were covered with fire ants and nothing I did short of applying the medicine did anything to alleviate the agony that throbbed from fingertips to scalp.
Master Voralius was very pleased. “Excellent work, Apprentice. I must admit I had my doubts at the High-Master’s accelerated training program, but your achievements underscore his certainty.”
I bowed, my face flushing. I was proud of myself, for although it had been difficult at first, I persevered, and the bare tree stood testament to my achievement. Scraps of bark littered the ground around the protruding roots that encircled the tree. The older ones bore a reddish-brown tinge.
“You’ve made an excellent start at mastering the Tree Claw technique. As a reward, you may go into Solace and perform an errand for me today. Tomorrow, we shall continue your instruction.”
I straightened. “Start?”
“Yes, and a great start, too. Well done.”
I glanced over at the bare tree. “But what more is there to do?”
Master Voralius gave me a look. “The tree is still there, Apprentice.”
“Yes, Master.” I waited.
He shook his head, then walked over to the barkless tree. With an exhalation, he sunk his four extended fingers pressed tightly together like a spearhead deep into the spongy trunk, then tore away a chunk exposing the next trunk layer beneath. He tossed the chunk over to me.
I squeezed it in my hands, noticing although it did have a spongy appearance, it was quite solid when compressed. I frowned and looked up at him.
“The numbing agent is produced in this layer, so that will help.” He shot me an amused smirk. “But just wait until you reach the heartwood underneath.”
I shook my head, relieved there was a day before I had to try my luck with this next phase. “You mentioned an errand, Master Voralius?”
He placed an arm about my shoulder and guided me away from the apacia tree. “Yes. Are you familiar with Market Street, then?”
I nodded.
“Excellent.” He patted my back. “There is a dagger I’m particularly fond of, upon which I unfortunately nicked the edge.”
My ears perked up. “How, Master?”
A low chuckle. “That is irrelevant, Apprentice. Pay attention. More ears, less tongue.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Suffice to say, when bone and steel meet, there is an equal chance of damage to both. So, there is a shop on Market and Vineyard called “The Cutting Edge.” The proprietor is a retired peacekeeper, once a senior journeyman who trained with me for many years. A good friend. His name is Alabio Acculla. He handles all my weaponry needs and has restored my dagger to its former pristine form. I need you to retrieve it for me.”
A surge of excitement coursed through me. A chance to be alone with Babette! “May I take anyone with me, Master?”
Master Voralius shook his head. “Not this time, I’m afraid. Your cohorts are busy with other things at the moment, and I’d like my dagger back before lunch.”
“Very well, Master.” I smiled to mask my disappointment and headed out alone.
Alabio Acculla was a tall, thin man, with a shock of salt and pepper hair and a short, trim beard. Once I introduced myself and my purpose he became extremely friendly, hastening to show me around the dim, cluttered shop. I inhaled oil and leather as he pointed to various long-pole arms hanging from hooks on every available wall space, and the fine silver daggers and hatchets nestled on plush cushions beneath the glass countertops. Everything metallic gleamed, and the scabbards and sheaths glistened. I expressed my admiration for the quality of each item.
“Thank you, thank you, young man,” he replied, beaming. “I take great pains to produce only the best for my customers. There are other weapons makers in better locations that must pay higher rent, and therefore sell cheaper goods for more money. I’d rather lose money than put my initials on anything less than superb.”
“Oh?” This was news to me. In fact, I had not realized there were any shops that sold weapons at all. “Are they also retired peacekeepers?”
Alabio Acculla lifted his head. “No, only I. The others are retired blacksmiths who make inferior products.”
“But who do you sell to?”
He held out his hands. “If you make it, someone will buy it. Blacksmiths know how to smelt metal at their bloomeries to a peacekeeper’s specifications, but only a peacekeeper high-journeyman has learned how to shape that metal to craft the perfect weapon suitable for a peacekeeper. I supply the guild in Solace, and sometimes in other cities as well. Even the Grand-Master has purchased my goods, and dare I brag an ornamental spear hangs on King Lormud’s wall in the Corallius palace.”
“The other shops don’t sell to peacekeepers, then?” I asked.
Alabio made a derogatory sound. “No. They sell to tourists and collectors who hang them on walls and brag to their friends. I would only trust my craft to a peacekeeper to handle, not some bureaucratic puppet who would pretend they wouldn’t cut off their own head with a true weapon.”
Behind one of the counters I noticed a long, gently curved sword sitting upon a wooden worktable. The handle, long enough to fit two hands pressed together, was wrapped in glossy leather strips, and the edge was on the outward part of the curve, leaving a blunt end on the opposite side. It looked large and heavy but seemed solid and durable. My eyes lit up as I imagined it in my hands.
Alabio noticed my mesmerized stare and laughed. “Ah, my latest work of art. This is a saber, and I doubt you could find its equal anywhere else.” He slipped behind the counter to pick it up, admiring its blade as he handed it over to me above the glass. “Go on, try it out for feel.”
My hand trembled as I took it from him. It almost slipped from my sweaty palms as the heavy weight transferred to my grip. I had not expected it to weigh this much, but after a few tentative swipes at the air, my arms adjusted. Certainly, the weights from buoyancy training helped me in this regard, otherwise I doubt I could have hefted it at all. My hand fit nicely about the grip, which clung to my palms and would not slip during a strike. It was large and clumsy for me, but I fell in love with it and was loathe to return it to Alabio’s waiting hand. “I am overwhelmed, sir.”
He nodded and stepped around the counter again. “Let me show you something.”
I let him take the saber from me, curiosity outweighing my adoration.
He held the handle with one hand but placed his other hand upon the inside dull edge. Then he spun about with a series of practiced motions, the sharp edge always front and center as his body twisted in graceful circles. “This is a saber and not a sword. You chop and cut, you do not poke. I’m sure in a few years you will achieve journeymanship and begin your weapons training in earnest and so will hear all of this again, but it can’t hurt to learn a few things in advance.”
“That is amazing, sir.” My mouth dropped open as he performed.
He stopped and straightened, a huge grin across his face. He peered at me closely. “This is a beautiful piece, one of my favorites. It has taken many months to craft. You are too small just yet but growing nicely. I think it will suit you perfectly when you’re ready.”
I chuckled, but my voice cracked. “I wish I could afford such a treasure, sir, but d
oubt I ever could, even had I a lifetime of wages to draw upon.”
Alabio shook his head and clucked his tongue as he carefully placed the saber back on his worktable. “I do not charge my friends. I shall place this aside once I’ve finished the sharpening and the scabbard, and so it shall sit until you are ready.”
My tongue would not work, and I stood there openmouthed, staring at him like a fish. Finally, I managed to squeak something out. “Sir, that is too much. I could never—”
“It is done.” His voice brooked no argument. He handed me a velvet pouch from which protruded the jeweled handle of a dagger. “Take this back to Master Voralius and tell him he has chosen well.”
“Yes, sir.” I admired the polished, silver pommel as I slipped it beneath my belt. I had held a dagger before then, a practice weapon left carelessly about in a guild courtyard, but the balance and weight of this one surpassed it. I turned before I left, wishing to depart with a compliment. “You are right. Master Voralius selected a fine dagger.”
Alabio Acculla stroked his beard and bowed his head to me, which I returned. But as I passed through his shop doors and back onto the street, I heard his confusing reply, spoken as though he were talking to himself and not me. “I was not referring to the dagger.”
As I hurried back to the guild, I discounted what the weapon maker had said about gifting me the saber as being overly courteous. There was no possible way someone would decide to bequeath such a treasure to someone they had only just met, and more so, someone as young and undeserving as me. Still, it had been a pleasant visit, and I hoped to return someday soon, and perhaps have a chance to hold the saber again. Maybe I could even coerce him to show me how to wield it as he had performed.
So deep in thought was I that I took a wrong turn somewhere and found myself slightly lost. After walking aimlessly down several narrow side roads with unfamiliar buildings and people all around me, I cursed my lack of familiarity with the streets of Solace.
Suddenly, I heard several people calling for help. Hurrying around the nearest corner I saw a small crowd standing in a circle before a row of apartment buildings that were at least six stories high. Someone was sobbing and someone else breathed heavily. There came the sound of flesh striking flesh, not once, but three times, and the sobbing increased.
I pushed my way past the outer throng until I could see within the circle of gawking people. A large, unshaven man was slapping around a hysterical woman. As I watched he struck her across the face again with his open palm. A few members of the crowd cried out for him to stop, while others yelled for help. The rest remained mute, but none of them—neither silent watchers nor agitated screamers—did anything to stop him.
Memories surfaced of my mother and Horse, my abusive stepfather. A red fog swam across my eyes like when I had caught Artelus and Gumper destroy Spaldeer’s possessions when he’d first come to the guild and the background faded from my perception. As though from a great distance I felt myself elbowing people from my path until I stood in front of the crowd.
“You cheated on me! Admit it.” His voice was slurred and his movements clumsy, but she made no attempt to avoid the next blow that struck her across an already burning cheek.
She staggered and spat blood as tears poured in torrents down her face. “It is not true. I swear it!”
The fog consumed me at that point, but not before I noticed from the periphery of my vision that Journeyman Orison stood idly by watching with an excited grin upon his face. His arm was about the shoulders of a woman who was staring at him in frustration, as though impatient for him to do something he clearly had no intention of doing.
I tucked this away in my mind as the drunken man lifted his arm to strike the woman again.
Everything became blurry at this point. Once it was over and people were profusely thanking me, I managed to extract the details from their excited recount.
“Thank you, young man, young peacekeeper apprentice.”
An older woman hugged me while others tended to the wailing woman. The man was sprawled upon the sidewalk, and I became concerned until I noticed his chest still moved.
“I’ve never seen anyone move so fast,” the woman gushed. “And you jumped right over his head, as easy as skipping a rope.”
A chubby man bearing the baker’s cream-colored robes pumped my hand. “That kick to his head while you passed over him—a thing of marvel.”
A bit of memory returned to me then, even as I realized my knuckles throbbed. I had stepped between the two of them, this brawny man three times my size, and caught his blow upon my arm to protect the woman. The man had roared and reached for me like a bear, but I had jumped over him and kicked his head, twisting about as I landed to face him. As he groggily turned, I attacked before he could rush me again and managed to put him out with a series of punches. Thankfully I had not applied what I could from the tree claw technique, though a part of me wished I had, and still desired to do so.
As the crowd dispersed, I looked for Journeyman Orison but found no sign of him.
Two journeymen peacekeepers raced down the street, stopping short when they saw me standing there over the fallen body. I could not recall their names but had seen them around the guild. Their eyes widened as they exchanged glances between themselves, the man, and me, and then they laughed.
“Well done, Apprentice. It seems you were born for our guild.”
“Good lad. A proper job of things, I must say.”
I bowed, pleased by the compliments. A part of me had wondered if I would now be in trouble, and I exhaled with relief this did not seem to be the case. “Thank you, Journeymen.”
The first knelt and slapped the man on the face to rouse him. He looked up at me. “You carry on now. We’ll take him down to the city dungeons once we get a cart and horse, but you’ll be needed later to testify, hear?”
“I understand, Journeyman.” I bowed and turned away to head back to the guild, pleased this man would be brought to justice. The dungeon would hold him until the case was taken up by the bureaucracy guild, where barrister journeymen would argue both sides until a master of the bureaucracy guild decided what to do with him.
“Young man, please wait.”
Halfway down the block, the woman who had been with Journeyman Orison hurried over to me from a nearby doorway. I stopped and waited for her to reach me.
She seemed hesitant to look me in the eyes and kept her head lowered while playing with her fingers. “I want to thank you. That woman—the one he was beating—she’s my sister.”
I bowed slightly and gave her a smile. I looked back to where her sister was being attended to by a journeyman healer. “It was nothing.”
She bit her lip, seeming concerned about something else. “You are a peacekeeper?”
“I am an apprentice peacekeeper, yes.”
She spat on the floor, and looked away, speaking to the air. “That bastard is a journeyman, yet he would do nothing because he is too afraid to be seen with me in public by other peacekeepers. But he’s not too afraid to share my bed whenever he feels like it.”
“Journeyman Orison,” I said.
To my surprise, her demeanor changed from fury to fear.
“You did see him there? He left quickly when he recognized you. I had hoped you had not noticed him.”
I frowned. “Yes, I saw him. He was willing to let that man beat your sister and do nothing about it. His lack of action is a disgrace to the guild.”
“He—he didn’t want to be found out,” the woman said. “He told me he would be in trouble.”
Like a flash of light struck me, I realized from the desperation in her voice that she was in love with him. My brows creased as I wondered if I should tell her Orison had lied. While peacekeeper journeymen could not be married and have children, there were no rules against relationships provided they did not influence one against the Scriptures and were not blatantly flaunted. And, of course, were not between two peacekeepers.
She clu
tched the sleeve of my robe. “He was supposed to be on patrol, but said he missed me too much to stay away. I’m sure he would have helped if it meant he wouldn’t have gotten in trouble. Please, will you say nothing about it?”
I shook my head. “Journeyman Orison has failed us for selfish reasons. It is my duty to report this to the masters.”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “Please. He is good to me, if nothing else. Do not get him into trouble.” She put her hand on my chest and caressed me in a familiar way I did not care for. “I would do anything for your silence. Anything at all.”
I gently but firmly pushed her hand from me. “Very well, then. If it upsets you so, I will not tell the masters about this incident.” I stepped around her and continued on my way, saddened, though not certain why.
I had promised not to tell the masters of Journeyman Orison’s role in this tragic happenstance, or lack of such thereof, but I hadn’t promised her I wouldn’t tell a journeyman. I had not intended to be deceitful but could not discard my duty to the guild simply to please a strange woman with misguided affections. I had only meant to calm her down. Yet, in giving my word, was it implied to include everyone?
I scratched irritably at my chest where she had touched me, feeling defiled. Journeyman Orison had once tripped me into the cereal pot, and this would be an ideal way to repay him. But was that the right reason to do so?
Perhaps that is the reason I ended up saying nothing about it after all. Journeyman Krellus was still away, and I didn’t want to appear spiteful against Journeyman Orison for that past incident in the cafeteria. Also, did I know for certain he would have continued to do nothing had I not intercepted first? Perhaps he had meant to step in right before I did. There was no way for me to know for sure, and he would simply tell the masters that was the truth of it and thank me for reacting faster than he had.