Where Foundlings Hide

by KL Mitchelson

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I rise wearily, my head heavy from dreams of dark figures that drag me away into the night.

  Caleb is still asleep, his cheeks pink and his dark hair tousled. I try not to wake him, but the mattress dips when I shift up on to my elbows and Caleb stirs.

  “Morning, Princess.” He says, peering up at me through one eye.

  “Don’t call me that.” I say. I press my fingers to my throat and find that the skin is still a little painful. “Is it bad?”

  “There’s not a mark on you.” He smiles uneasily and shifts out of bed, snatching up his shirt from the floor.

  “That’s good isn’t it? I mean, it’s still a little sore, but I was expecting big red marks around my neck this morning. It was so painful last night; it didn’t seem to be healing.”

  “The Khuulsu’s hold can drain you of your powers,” he explains. “So you probably didn’t heal as quickly as you normally would.” He leans over and kisses me lightly on the forehead. “I’ve got to go; I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  I watch him leave with a heavy feeling. My feelings towards Caleb have shifted since I got here and now, making him stay the night feels like selfish act.

  When I hear the door close behind him, I shift out of bed and dress in the first items I find in the closet – black trousers and a creamy cotton top, before pulling on a pair of lace-up boots.

  I find breakfast laid out in the lounge, I force down a few spoons of oatmeal and a mouthful of orange juice before rushing out of the room, almost colliding with Haydn whose hand flies to the hilt of his sword.

  “Um, sorry,” I say, smoothing my hair off my face. “I, um…”

  “Everyone’s waiting for you downstairs.” He looks determinedly away from me, his mouth set in a tight line.

  I realise that he must have seen Caleb leaving my room and my face flushes. I feel a sudden urge to tell him that nothing happened, to explain to him that Caleb was only here because I was afraid, but before I can say anything, he sets off along the corridor without another word.

  I hurry to catch up and we continue in silence, our hands an inch apart. I hazard a glance at him; his face is a mask of calm and I long to touch him, to feel what he is feeling.

  Downstairs, he leads me along an unfamiliar corridor, windowless and less grand than the rest of the building. He stops outside of a set of tall doors. He heads inside holding the door open for me, and I feel the warmth radiating from his body as I pass.

  Roma and Caleb wait in the centre of a room the size of a basketball court, along with Nicholas, Galen and Meghan. They rush towards me, wanting to know all about the Khuulsu attack, and offering words of kindness.

  Galen presses a hand to my forehead and announces to the room that I appear to be unaffected by the Khuulsu’s attack. This seems to appease them all.

  “I hope you’ve had some rest, Acacia,” Nicholas says. “I know you’ve had a tough night, but we can’t wait any longer. Your training starts now.”

  Roma confirms his words with a nod of her head.

  “In here?” I ask, looking around the vast space.

  One wall is all glass and another is made from jagged rock. There are large, wooden boxes strewn across the stone floor, one of which is filled with weapons.

  “Yes, you’ll train in here every day,” Roma says. “Each of us has something we can share with you, so we’re all going to help. Niall is busy looking for the Wanderers you encountered in the woods yesterday, and we both agree that teleportation may be dangerous this early in your training.”

  I nod, feeling relieved that I won’t have to practice disappearing into thin air. “So what is this place?”

  “This is where young Vedmak’s harness their skills,” Caleb says. “It has everything you need.”

  “Except for these.” Nicholas picks up two swords from a crate at his feet, along with some sort of fabric that he hands to me. “I brought this from my Household, it’s armour.”

  It’s a tunic - light and cool; I turn it over in my hands, feeling the wire-wool texture. “It’s so delicate.”

  Nicholas smiles. “It’s made from a rare, Displacian steel that is spun like silk; it’s stronger than it looks.”

  I pull the tunic over my head and it falls to just below my hips.

  “Perfect. Now for something a little heavier.” Nicholas hands me one of the swords. “I understand you already know how to use one of these.”

  I turn the heavy sword over in my hand. “I practiced fencing back home, but my sabre is much lighter.”

  “It’s just a training sword,” Nicholas says. “See how it’s rounded at the tip?” He runs a gloved finger over the blunt edge of the sword. “You’ll need an opponent of course.” He beckons Haydn forward and presses the other sword into his hand.

  Haydn turns it over with a flick of his wrist and rests the blade at his shoulder.

  I mirror his stance, my feet shoulder-width apart, my right foot a step ahead of my left. I look him directly in the eyes, trying to not let myself be distracted by their burning darkness. When I move forward, I’m much clumsier than normal, maybe from the weight of the sword. Haydn sidesteps me easily and strikes me between the shoulder blades, his face passive, bored even.

  “At least give her a chance.” Caleb complains.

  I scowl at Caleb as Haydn’s hurried footstep approach, and I duck just in time as his sword swipes at my head. I strike at his side, but he blocks my advance, our blades clashing together.

  “Stop dancing around each other.” Nicholas laughs.

  Haydn moves side to side so quickly it’s like there’s two of him. He runs at the wall and plants his feet against the rock, before pushing off in a perfect arch. He lands lightly behind me and swipes my feet out from underneath me. I hit the hard, stone floor with a thud and he holds his sword to my throat. I bat it away irritably.

  I hear Roma groan and when I turn to look at her, I see that she has her hands over her eyes.

  Nicholas, however, appears unconcerned about my lack of skills. “I can see your natural ability resurfacing, Acacia, but you still need a lot of training,” he steps around Haydn and pulls me effortlessly to my feet. “Haydn, I want you to train Acacia every day until she picks up the basics. You can hand your security duties over to one of your soldiers.”

  “Can’t someone else train her?” He says, not looking at me.

  “No Haydn, I want you to train her,” Nicholas says. “You should be honoured; you’re going to train one of the last remaining Foundlings.”

  “That doesn’t matter to me.” Haydn says, pink spots appearing on his cheeks.

  “This isn’t up for debate, Haydn. I’ve given you an order.” Nicholas says, evenly.

  Haydn gives me a look of loathing, then he turns on his heel and stalks out of the room, his footsteps echoing in the silence.

  “Don’t mind Haydn,” Nicholas says. “He’s one of my best soldiers, you’ll learn a lot from him.”

  “He doesn’t want to train me.” I say, watching the door swing shut behind him.

  “No, but he will. We all have to do things we don’t want to sometimes. Haydn needs to learn that. Now, I believe Meghan has something she wants to show you.”

  I am distracted, then, by the Dryad leader, who extracts a small box from inside the folds of the thin fabric draped around her body. “We don’t make these in Displacia,” she says. “We have no need for them really, but they come in handy sometimes.”

  I look closer at the item in her outstretched hand. “A matchbox?”

  She smiles and flips her long, dark hair over her shoulder. “We import them from Earth.”

  “But you’re a Dryad, don’t you make fire?”

  “We are impervious to fire,” Meghan corrects, extracting a match from the box. “We look for visions in the flames, it’s called Fire Divination.” Meghan strikes the match and it fizzes to life. “In the Dryad forest,” she continues. “There is an anc
ient tree called the Fire Oak, and instead of leaves, flames grow from its branches. The Fire Oak never burns out, so whenever we want to consult the flames, we just lift a handful of fire from the low hanging branches and we hold it over our eyes. You will see the Fire Oak someday, but for now, this will do just as well.” Meghan passes her long fingers over the matchstick until they are ablaze, then she circles her wrist so that the flames wrap around her entire forearm like a snake.

  “Hold out your hand.” She says.

  I see the flicker of the matchstick reflecting in Meghan’s dark eyes and I am suddenly afraid.

  “It’s OK,” she says. “It can’t hurt you, you’re a Foundling. You’re impervious to flames, just like me.”

  I swallow convulsively. I wait for Roma to step in, to make up some excuse for why I shouldn’t take part in this particular test, but she just watches, her eyes wide, her whole body rigid.

  I have no other choice. I hold out my hand, hoping that if I burn, I’ll at least heal quickly.

  Meghan smiles eagerly. She clamps her hand around my forearm and a scream escapes my lips.