Stavius

by Gregory Cholmondeley

  “How long have you been coming here?” asked Mark.

  “I’m fifty-three years old, and this is my eleventh year visiting here since we only conjoin in our primes,” answered Urtish.

  “You keep mentioning being fully conjoined. What do you mean by that?” asked Mark and Staven.

  “There will be plenty of time to explain all that,” answered Urtish. “You should eat your lunch. It’s getting cold, and you’ve hardly touched anything.”

  “OK but one more question. Why isn’t Janus sitting here?” asked Mark and Staven.

  “This is the heroes’ table, and while Janus is called many things, he is not a hero,” answered Urtish, “It’s best to let him sit alone. This table is reserved for the heroes in training and their guests. The rest of the staff sits at the long table.”

  “Who are the rest of the staff?” asked Mark and Staven.

  “We are the hero trainers,” answered Urtish. “Several of us are past heroes sharing our experience, while others have been brought here by the Soul Reapers for the sole purpose of training heroes. Every one of us is an expert in our field. My, that was an especially delicious lunch.”

  Mark looked out over the faces seated at the long table. Most appeared to be in their twenties or, thirties. All seemed to be healthy and fit. It was an impressive collection of educators who were all primed and ready to focus on their one, current student. “So, when do we start?”

  Urtish laughed and replied, “Oh, we aren’t going to train you. What would be the point?” There was a murmur of agreement and a ripple of laughter among the other trainers who had overheard Urtish’s remark.

  “What do you mean, you aren’t going to train us?” Mark and Staven asked in disbelief. “Didn’t you just say that was your job?”

  “Well, yes and no,” answered Urtish. “You see, we already trained your three counterparts and sent them off to fulfill the prophecy. There is no way we could bring you up to a useful level before they either succeed or, fail. Besides, you don’t have the qualifications.”

  “Wait a minute,” growled Mark and Staven. The two boys might be different in many ways, but both had a common dislike for unfairness, and both had quick tempers. “Didn’t the Soul Reapers select us for this role?”

  “Yes,” admitted Urtish, as he stuffed some more corn in his mouth. “But they sometimes make mistakes. Not only have you arrived far too late in the year, you are different ages. Also, Staven is far too old and is both physically and magically underqualified. Heroes must be top notch magicians.”

  “I may not be some mighty warlock, but you can train me” argued Staven. “And, I am far more physically qualified than some thirteen-year-old!”

  “I’m sorry, but while we can hone magical abilities, we’re not in the business of remedial magic training,” said Urtish. “And, while you might be larger than a thirteen-year-old, we’ve heard about your fighting prowess with that chigon. I’d hardly say that you’ve proven yourself to be a warrior.”

  The entire table of people laughed while the two mentally-joined boys grew flushed with anger. Staven quickly stood up and addressed the long table.

  “Let me get this straight. You are deciding not to do your duty because you feel we are unworthy. And correct me if I’m wrong, you are nothing but a bunch of hero wannabes or, ex-heroes who have failed in your attempts at fulfilling this prophecy. We wouldn’t even be here if you had ever succeeded in training any heroes to fulfill the prophecy.

  “So please explain to me what gives a bunch of losers the right to determine, no, make that the very ability to even recognize, potential hero greatness? I really want to know.”

  All conversation had stopped when Staven said ex-heroes and no one had moved since. Even Urtish had stopped eating and was now glaring at Staven and Mark.

  “That was incredibly rude, insensitive and downright mean, Stavius,” he whispered. “You should not have said it.”

  Both Mark and Staven knew he was right, but neither could control his anger, and Mark answered, “Maybe it was insensitive, but you know that it’s all true. Just do your job and train us.” Then Staven sat down.

  “No, it is not true, Stavius but we will train you if you wish,” Urtish softly said with a decided edge to his voice. He looked deeply offended and almost shook with rage. “I promise you that it will be intense and after your little outburst, I doubt you will find it at all enjoyable. I’ll meet you in the cave at three o’clock for your first history lesson. I suggest you find a way to get some perspective before then. Also, you shall henceforth be dining alone at the heroes’ table.”

  Urtish and the rest of the trainers then rose and left the dining area without a word. Staven sighed and thought, “What have we done, Mark?” He stood to go and felt a tap on his shoulder.

  One of the villagers was standing close and said, “Stavius, I’m one of your fighting instructors, and I just wanted to introduce myself.” He then threw a right hook without warning. Mark saw it coming but couldn’t get Staven to put up a block and the man’s fist connected with Staven’s jaw knocking him to the ground.

  “That’s enough, Craan,” came a deep voice from a few yards away. “We’ll begin his physical training tomorrow. Be on the tournament field at nine tomorrow morning Stavius. And I advise you to learn how to duck a punch.”

  Staven sat up and rubbed his jaw. His head was spinning, his face hurt, and he tasted blood. But he didn’t think there was any permanent damage.

  “Let me help you up,” said a soft, feminine voice with an extended hand. “You could use a lesson in perspective before you go any further.”

  Mark saw a pretty young woman, who was perhaps eighteen or, nineteen years old smile at them. Staven was still groggy, so Mark said, “OK. What do you mean by perspective?”

  She said, “My name is Mayre, and the first thing you should know is that your opinion of the people here is completely wrong.” She then led him to sit under a small stand, of trees overhanging the river on the far side of the village.

  “Very few trainers are ex-heroes because very few heroes survive. In fact, I can only think of three who have ever returned from their attempts. The rest of us were never selected to be heroes but have, instead, dedicated our lives to trying to help you succeed.”

  “So, we pretty much insulted the only people who can help us,” groaned Mark and Staven.

  “Yes, and it is unforgivable,” added Mayre. “Everyone here will go through the motions of training you, but no one will truly put their heart into it. You have hurt us more than you can imagine. What you said was untrue, yet it is our greatest, unspoken fear. No hero has ever succeeded, even though they are all hand-selected by the Soul Reapers. We fear that their failures were due to us being deficient in our roles. To hear that accusation shouted out loud by a hero trainee is beyond heartbreaking.”

  “Oh crap,” said Mark and Staven. “We had no idea. We were just both so mad at not being given a chance.”

  “Well now you’re getting one,” said Mayre. “The second thing you need to do is to join completely. You’ll never be any good to anyone as long as you are separate.”

  Mark and Staven gave a perplexed look, so Mayre continued.

  “It is clear that you are still not fully conjoined, boys,” she began. “For example, what’s your name?”

  “Um, Mark and Staven and we’re calling ourselves Stavius when we’re together,” Mark replied in a way which was more of a question than an answer.

  “Exactly,” Mayre agreed. “You’re both sharing Staven’s brain and body, but you both still have your own unique identities. I bet that Mark is pretty much hanging back and watching while Staven is in charge.”

  “Not as much as he should,” muttered Staven.

  “You see, you’re both in there,” continued Mayre, as she jabbed at Staven’s head, “but you haven’t combined your minds into a single consciousness. You haven’t yet lost the independent Mark and Staven identities to truly create Stavius. Yo
u won’t realize your true capabilities until you do.”

  “Hey, I don’t like the sound of losing my identity, and I bet Mark doesn’t either,” complained Staven.

  “Perhaps but it’s what you need to do,” Mayre assured them. “As scary as combining your identities sounds, it is far worse when you separate. Staven, you’re going to be combined with Mark, nonstop, until whosever birthday is next. Then, you’ll separate after a year together, and you’ll feel alone and empty until you’re both in your primes again. You will have experienced a whole different world through Mark’s memories and have had his abilities as part of your own. Then, one day it will all be gone in an instant.”

  “What about me?” asked Mark.

  “You will have a different challenge, Mark. You’ll separate from Staven and go on living a life in your world completely oblivious to what happens here. As you already know, this is all just a dream that is forgotten when you wake up. However, you’ll need to adjust to being Stavius every time you return. In some ways, it is easier for you because you won’t remember any of this, but that also makes it sad and depressing. All I can say is that the experience of being conjoined is unlike anything you can imagine and is completely worth it.”

  “OK, so what do we need to do?” asked Mark. Staven still wasn’t entirely convinced.

  “You’ll need to figure that out for yourself,” answered Mayre. “It requires complete trust and commitment, so most people start by sharing their deepest secrets. You have to accept that your combined entity will know everything each of you knows once you completely merge. There can be no secrets.”

  Mayre sat with an expectant look on her face.

  “Are you conjoined?” asked Mark.

  “Not this year,” admitted Mayre, “which is why I’m not officially an instructor. You’re only allowed to be an instructor in your prime, although you can certainly be an assistant.”

  “So why are you instructing us then?” asked Staven.

  “Because you need it because no one else wants to help you and because it beats washing dishes,” laughed Mayre. “OK. So, let’s hear your deepest, darkest secrets. It’s the first step to becoming fully conjoined, and you are going to need your wits about you before tomorrow’s fighting class.”

  “Um, I’m still struggling about sharing my secrets with Mark,” said Staven. “I’m pretty sure I’m not ready to share them with you too.”

  “Fair enough,” said Mayre, as she stood and brushed the leaves off her skirt. “I’ll leave you two alone to share amongst yourselves. Don’t hold back. Then try doing things together. For example, try seeing the world as Mark sees it, or, as Staven sees it. You’ll discover that you have different points of view and will find that everything changes when you combine them. I wish I could describe it better, but you’ll know when it starts to happen. Good luck!”

  With that remark, she promptly turned and strode off in a swish of skirts.

  The two boys sat back down under the tree for several minutes. They argued for a while about who should go first, with each claiming that neither had any significant secrets. Finally, Staven asked, “Mark, do you want to do this or, not?”

  Mark admitted that, while he was pretty scared about completely mind melding with Staven, he couldn’t imagine quitting now and Staven agreed. They silently sat for a few more minutes until Mark finally gave up and went first.

  “I like Nancy Wellington, the team captain of the Pink Strikers,” Mark said with embarrassment. He had never said that out loud, not even to his best friend, Malik.

  Staven was confused and asked, “Why is liking someone a secret?”

  “Because I don’t just like her, Staven. I mean I LIKE her.”

  “Oh, you mean that you love her,” answered Staven.

  “No,” Mark replied with panic. “I mean, I don’t think I love her but I like her more than in a friendly sort of way, and I’ve never told her.”

  Staven rolled his eyes and said, “Mark, I don’t care a bit about thirteen-year-old crushes. Get real.”

  “OK, then share one of your secrets, Staven,” Mark angrily replied.

  “Fine. Do you remember the house I had to leave after the chigon incident?” asked Staven. “Well, the reason that was my home is that my family considered me to be such an embarrassment that they sent me to live there, along with some money and instructions to never be seen by them or, any of their friends ever again.”

  “Wow, what did you do to deserve that?” asked Mark.

  “It’s not what I did. It’s more what I didn’t or, couldn’t do,” answered Staven. Mark could feel his pain and anger even though their minds weren’t fully merged. “Everyone in my family is a powerful magician, and I’m not. They disowned me because I suck at magic.”

  Mark wasn’t sure how to respond. Staven was right; this was a lot more serious than his crush on Nancy Wellington, and Mark felt stupid for sharing such a lame secret.

  He finally decided to ask, “When did this happen?”

  “About eight years ago,” said Staven with a sniffle.

  “Wait! Your parents kicked you out when you were nine years old!? What kind of sick people would do that?” screamed Mark. Suddenly all the problems he had with his parents and sister seemed trivial by comparison.

  “A family who relies on their reputations as being some of the most powerful wizards around,” answered Staven.

  By this time both of them were desperately trying to decide how to change the subject when they felt a sort of shift. It was as though the whole world had just gone slightly out of focus and shaken for a second. Every part of their body, inside and out, seemed to have moved, for the briefest of moments and then settled back into place.

  “I think it’s working,” said Staven. “Your turn.”

  Mark still wasn’t sure what to share and said, “Well, it’s not a secret on my world, but it’s a secret from you. You see, I’m pretty much a geek.”

  “What’s a geek?” asked Staven.

  “Let’s just say that I’m shy, I’m not good looking, not popular and the few friends I have are not popular either,” said Mark. “I’m pretty embarrassed about what you’ll think of me if our minds completely meld and you find out everything about me.”

  “Well that’s a pretty lame secret,” complained Staven. “You have to do better than that.”

  “Hey, who are you to judge?” asked Mark. “It’s a pretty big deal to me!”

  “Yeah, well did you feel a shift after admitting it?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Me neither,” grumbled Staven, before going silent in a huff.

  A minute later Staven sighed and said, “OK. Here’s the big one. It’s the whopper I keep hidden at all costs and that not even my family knows. You see, I can’t do magic.”

  “I already know you can’t do magic very well,” said Mark. “What’s the secret there?”

  “No, you don’t get it,” said Staven. “I can’t do ANY magic at all.” Even his mental voice sounded as though it faltered. “I’ve never told that to anyone in my life.”

  “But I thought that everyone here could do magic,” said Mark in disbelief.

  “Yeah, well that’s what everyone says. Even newborn babies can do simple illusions. It’s almost reflexive but not me.”

  “What do you mean by illusions?” asked Mark.

  Staven sighed again and explained that there were various types of magic here such as illusion, transformation, enhancement, and scaling. He was sure they were going to be trained on them all in the coming weeks, and he was dreading it. The simplest and most common form involves creating illusions which look real but have no substance.

  He said, “You could, for example, create an illusion of a flower. It might look solid but it’s not physically there, and you could pass your hand, right through it. Basic illusions are the most fundamental forms of magic although tremendous skill is required to get movement and shadows to appear realistic. It’s also the most commonl
y used form of magic and the people of Mearth even use the verb, illude, to mean the act of creating an illusion.

  “Illusion is used everywhere. People wear rags and illude them to be gorgeous gowns. They illude fancy hairstyles rather than combing their hair. They illude themselves to be young and beautiful when, in truth, they’re old and disgusting. They illude their houses to be pristine when they’re a mess. The thing is that everyone creates illusions all the time and no one can tell.

  Mark suddenly realized that Mearth might not be as perfect and beautiful as it appeared.

  “So, you can’t even do an illusion?” he asked with disbelief. He was feeling cheated that he had been drawn into a world with fantastic magic only to be paired with the only non-magical person in existence. He then immediately felt guilty at that thought.

  “No, I can’t do illusions, just like animals can’t do illusions,” sighed Staven.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, that animals can’t do illusions and illusions don’t even work on them,” answered Staven. “It’s something to do with the human mind. Animals don’t seem to see them.”

  Mark paused before daring his next question, “But you can see them, right?”

  “No,” Staven glumly answered. “I don’t see illusions because I seem to have the brain of an animal.”

  “Hey, that’s not true!” said Mark. “I don’t have to be fully conjoined with you to see that you’re a smart guy.”

  “Thanks, but what other explanation is there?” muttered Staven. “My nickname was Animal when I was a kid and perhaps they were right. My family thought so which was why they sent me away.”

  “And, then you were tapped to be a hero destined to save the world,” offered Mark. “Who cares whether you can see fake images. You’re strong, good-looking and smart. I’d give anything to be like you.”

  “You’re a sweet kid, Mark but you don’t get it,” said Staven. “Who needs to exercise and stay in shape in a world where anyone can make themselves appear beautiful with just a wish?”

  “Wow, this is one sick place, dude,” said Mark in amazement.