Shaden felt something numb slapping his cheek.
His head was ringing, and his vision was bursting into gold and glitters and pepper bombs even when his eyes were closed. His body felt as if it had been dunked in anesthesia—the worst sleep paralysis he’d ever had. He wanted to throw up.
Which he did, on the side of the bed.
He hadn’t eaten much, but the feeling of gastric juice and rabbit mixed with sour berries filled his face, making him heave even more.
“.......throwing up! Lift him, lift him!”
“Fetch a bucket of water……”
Shaden groaned weakly when someone dunked his head into the water, causing him to choke. They pulled him out after a second, but in the midst of all of the confusion, he panicked. The habit he’d continuously honed with Lytha, though he’d been relaxed ever since he’d left her, was still inside of his consciousness—and he circulated.
Slowly but sure, the clarity began to return, though the fact that his senses were also heightened didn’t help. The putrid taste in his mouth tripled, and his body ached all over—but there weren’t any serious injuries, aside from some nasty bruises.
“What—happened?” he coughed, still supported by the two men who held him. His body felt weak all over, and his limbs shook subtly.
The men didn’t reply but instead placed him on the bed.
“Easy, drink some water,” a man said. Something solid was placed on his mouth, and he tried to swallow—but the man was rougher than he’d expected. The water overwhelmed him, and he choked, coughing.
“Goodness, you’re a mess,” the man muttered. His voice was gentle, and Shaden wished his actions had been too.
“I’ll go tell the General,” the other man said, heading out of the door.
Shaden cast healing magic on himself, and relief overcame his whole body. The spots in his vision began to fade away, as well as the various bruises on his skin.
“It’s a miracle that you survived,” said the remaining man, sitting down on the chair. “I saw the fall.”
“Huh,” Shaden muttered.
When the other man had headed out, it had allowed some air from the outside to enter the room.
Shaden recognized that smell.
He got up from the bed, and the soldier got up to stop him.
“You have to stay here,” he warned. “General’s orders.”
“I need to go outside,” Shaden said.
“No.”
Something boiled inside of him. Turning himself invisible, he passed the startled man and pushed through the door.
It was still snowing, and the subtle sound of celebrating could be heard. Laughing and talking. Shaden followed the noise, his bare feet crunching against the thin layer of snow that had formed on the ground.
There was a large fire at the center of it all, and drinks were being passed around. And on the fire, chunks of meat were being roasted, their juices dripping on the floor. A little ways from the fire, Grak’s beheaded corpse had been hung on a pulley, his body already skinned, revealing the red muscle and flesh underneath. The wyvern’s blood had created a puddle below it, soaking the white into crimson. Parts of the carcass had already been butchered—large, generous slabs skillfully cut out from the bone.
Shaden felt something go taut in his head.
“A toast for the coming winter!” someone cheered, raising his cup. “The spirits have sent us meat and early snow.”
The others around him cheered, though not loudly. Shaden felt like throwing up. A queasy feeling permeated his stomach, but he couldn’t tear his eyes off from Grak’s corpse.
He’d killed and skinned plenty of animals before, even helped with butchering back in the desert. But this—this was something different. His heart began to race, hammering away at his ribcage, and Shaden undid his invisibility, displaying himself to the world.
He’d wanted to be subtle about his abilities, and he still didn’t think otherwise. The clearness of his head reminded him to be calm, but his throat wanted to burst out from his mouth.
“Hey!” he screamed. “Hey! What are you doing!”
A good number of people turned to him, though they didn’t stop eating or drinking. Shaden hated that.
“Stop!”
Clenching his fists, he began to stomp towards them. Some watched him with amusement, others didn’t seem to care. Did they not know who he was?
“Who’s kid is that?” someone spoke. “Any one of you been hiding a kid?”
“He’s got black hair, so he must be one of Kan’s.”
“Hell, I haven’t touched a woman in years!”
Some of them roared with laughter, and Shaden wanted to bash their heads in.
“Come over here, we won’t bite!” one man yelled, causing them to all chuckle.
Shaden gritted his teeth. But before he could decide between destroying the fire or leaving, there was a commotion behind him. When he turned around, he saw a tall, middle-aged man a head above the rest approaching, accompanied by a tall, beautiful woman. They both had brown hair, though the woman’s hair seemed to bleed into dark red under the sun.
He didn’t recognize either of them, but everyone else around got up, lowering their heads. No one spoke as they neared—no one dared to utter a word. The men, who’d been rowdy with drinks, had all become as silent as skeletons.
The two seemed familiar, but Shaden didn’t recognize them.
“Could you be Shaden?” the man asked in a low voice so that no one else could hear. The woman looked dissatisfied—angry? Nervous? Shaden couldn’t tell.
“Yes,” Shaden answered. “And your people are eating my wyvern.”
The man’s expression darkened. “Do you have proof of your heritage?”
“Proof?” Shaden said, taken aback. Angrily, he extruded his hand out and created a ball of moving shadows in it. “Is this proof enough?”
“I am sorry,” the man apologized, placing a hand on his chest. His hard eyes softened. “I am Benavon, eldest son of Pevel Nieut, and this is my sister, Nicar. The Commander hasn’t returned yet, so I am the overseer of this fort at the moment. Please, would you join us inside?”
“You want me to ignore what happened to my wyvern?!” Shaden spat, jutting his finger at the fire. “He was my friend. And your men are eating him!”
The man’s face turned as cold and hard as steel.
“Soldiers! In line!” Benavon barked, and the men dropped everything in their hands, scrambling to assemble. Beavon walked up to them, and his eyes were like an eagle’s, glancing over every fault and nook and cranny.
“Who gave you the order to say damn all and throw a barbarian’s feast?” Benavon snarled. The men’s eyes faced down, still as statues. When no one answered within five seconds, Benavon kicked the leftmost man in the stomach, causing him to crumple on the floor. “Well!” he roared.
“T-the Captain, sir!” the next man in line answered.
“Were you born without intelligence? Name the captain,” Benavon growled.
“Y-your sister, Captain Nicar, sir,” the man said.
Benavon twisted his neck to his sister, who had lowered her eyes. She didn’t look afraid. Her expression was blank, though her eyebrows had come together in dissatisfaction.
“Captain Nicar,” Benavon commanded, “before me.”
She walked up to him formally and stood before him with her hands behind her back, her head still facing down.
“Take the men. Fifty laps around the fortress, three songs per lap,” Benavon ordered.
“Yes, sir. On me, men!”
Upon Nicar’s shouting, the men all began to sprint after her, who led them towards the gates Shaden could spot some distance away. The fortress was large enough to fit a small village within. Shaden heard the grating of chains as the gates were pulled open, and Nicar and the group of men ran out—the gates were closed soon after.
“I know this won’t be enough to satisfy you,” Benavon said, “but please, join me inside.”
Shaden’s face was still hot from rage, but his mind was still under his control. There was nothing more he could do at the moment. Taking in a deep breath, he nodded.
He followed the man into a large building some distance away—the fanciest looking one in the area. Judging by the two guards positioned at the doors and the inside adorned with expensive-looking furs and animal trophies and ornately crafted furniture, he could tell that this was the living quarters of the Nieuts or at least a part of it. Within, there was no one, and the silence was looming until Benavon motioned to him to sit on the couch while he brought him something to drink. Shaden was surprised that the man had prepared the drinks himself.
“Honey water is a delicacy up here,” the large man explained, taking a sip from his cup. “I am sorry about your wyvern. We had not known that you had company.”
Shaden looked down at his cup.
“Where is everyone else?” Shaden asked weakly.
“My father is at Zentoth to attend a meeting,” Benavon said. It was intimidating just being in his presence; the man towered over Shaden, and his eyes had a confident intensity to them. Shaden had been wronged, but he didn’t think that the man felt sympathetic at all that his wyvern had been slain. Nor did he want to argue about it.
When the man had shouted at the soldiers, Shaden had momentarily stiffened. It didn’t help that the man looked much older than him, likely older than his father.
“One of my brothers has gone with him while the other is on a scouting mission,” Benavon continued. “We did not expect you to arrive so early. Nor did we expect you to arrive on a wyvern.”
A few seconds passed, neither of them speaking a word.
“As my sister and I have not had the opportunity to meet you in person until now, the result was within reason. I hope you understand that we do not take kindly to the presence of hostile, flying creatures.”
“I understand.” Shaden balled his fists tightly.
“I’m glad that you are as remarkable as I’ve heard you to be.”
“What I don’t understand is why my belongings were taken from me,” Shaden uttered, meeting the man’s immovable eyes. “My cloak, my ring, my bracelet, my pouch, and my flute. They were gifts from the families, and they are missing now.”
“I had not been informed on that,” Benavon said, touching his mouth and chin. His eyes deepened, and a peculiar look spread across his face. Amusement? Anger? The man was difficult to read. “I will return your belongings to you at short notice.”
“Thank you.”
“Though it fascinates me how you were able to make your way here alone,” Benavon said with a faint smile. “Or did anyone accompany you?”
“I came alone,” Shaden replied, finally taking a sip from his cup. He felt awful and wanted to scream and kick everything, but his mind was under his control. “It was easy with Grak.”
“Grak? I suppose you mean the wyvern.”
“Yes.”
“I have heard that they are voracious creatures,” Benavon noted.
“He ate a lot. Around a small deer a day,” Shaden answered.
“Perhaps it was fortunate that it departed as food is not as plentiful here as it is in the south.”
Shaden looked at the man; a few wordless seconds passed.
“I would have found animals for him to eat.”
“That is possible. Though this year, the cold winter comes. Animals will be scarcer as it approaches, and food will be strictly distributed.”
“That’s why the men were eating my wyvern?”
“The fault lies with my sister. I hope you forgive her inability to see the broader scope of things. The men follow orders. They are less at fault.”
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“Your sister.”
Only then did Benavon shift in his seat, though ever so slightly. “She was the one who struck you. She meant no harm.”
It took Shaden a few seconds to fully grasp the meaning of the sentence.
“It was...her?” Shaden said, frowning.
The silence lingered, and Benavon softly drank from his cup.
“What will you do?” Benavon said.
“I—I don’t know,” Shaden muttered. “In the end, Grak was just an animal.”
“You are a sensible person,” Benavon nodded. “I admire that. Tell me, is it true that you can conjure wings of darkness?”
“I can.”
“Do they enable you to fly?”
“I never tried.”
“Perhaps you will find an opportunity here.”
The conversation had shifted, though Shaden still couldn’t forget about the sick feeling in his stomach.
“What will I learn?” Shaden asked, shoving his thoughts aside. “I remember it being the gift of focus.”
“And that would be correct,” Benavon nodded once. “There is a reason why we are known for our marksmanship. Our shots never miss.”
“Never sounds like a stretch.”
“You will see.”
“So, when will I receive the book?”
The tugging sensation was at its strongest now, and beyond the room under the earth, he could feel it pulling him towards it.
“When my father arrives,” Benavon said.
“I think I know where it might be,” Shaden observed, glancing around the area.
“It would be unwise. My father would often hang us by our feet if we entered his room without permission. We were around your age.”
“And when does he arrive?”
“Within the week.”
All of the effort he had made to get to the place earlier, and now he had to wait while Grak hung dead, used as a barbeque. He’d been robbed, shot down, had almost been killed, and now he was being refused to do the only thing he was there for.
“Can’t you enter it?” Shaden asked. “You’re the heir, right?”
“Heir or not, I am not the Commander,” Benavon stated. “Here, orders are absolute. Even you will not be exempt from them.”
Shaden prevented himself from furrowing his eyebrows too much. “How exactly will I be treated?”
“Oh, just the way you want to be treated,” Benavon said quietly, clasping his hands together. “If you wish to learn, you will have to adhere to the rules. Of course, you will, must learn. That is our responsibility. But there is more to learn than our gift of focus. There is the growth of discipline, the honing of willpower, and the opportunity to push oneself to the limit, which is endurance. All of these, we can give you. And I have heard from him that you are more than capable enough to digest the nature of this fortress.”
That didn’t sound like good news. “Which means?”
“Become a trainee at Fort Avagal. We will teach you things no other family will be able to teach.”
“And if I refuse?”
“We will still teach you. But you will learn at Zentoth, where my children live. A child’s education, if you will. I cannot guarantee much experience there.”
When Shaden didn’t speak, the man continued, waving his hand.
“Take the time until my father arrives to think about it. I am sure you will hear the same from him.”
“I will.”
Shaden missed the carefree atmosphere of the desert already. It was suffocating here, and Benavon didn’t make it easier. This was supposed to be a fortress, and if he remained, he’d have no chance of seeing anyone close to his age.
“If I do decide to stay here, how long will it last?” Shaden asked.
“Through the winter past spring into summer,” Benavon replied. “Before your next birthday comes, we will take you to the city to meet our families. It will not last a year.”
“How difficult will it be?”
“Moderate. There will be days of rest, and the weekends will be yours to enjoy. However, when there is training, there will be times when you will have to spend days, even weeks outside. Those will be difficult, though for you—not as much. How comfortable are you with the cold?”
“Pretty comfortable,” Shaden said. “I think I like cold better than heat.”
“Good. It will be a cold winter when it arrives.”
“So...what now?”
“Would you like to take a walk around the fortress?” Benavon offered.
Shaden nodded, and they both got up to exit the building. The guards saluted the tall general when they stepped outside, and he shortly saluted them back before continuing forward.
“It is seen as good luck when it snows early,” the tall man said as they strolled through the area. “More snow now means less snow later. Though sometimes the opposite is true.”
“How bad is the winter?”
“Freezing in other years, bone-chilling during cold years. I find it surprising that you came to us this year.”
“It was decided by—Skotos?” Shaden said, not knowing what to call that mysterious presence.
“My father often calls it the beautiful yet terrible presence,” Benavon recalled. “If I have the opportunity, I would like to visit someday.”
“Why didn’t you come last time?”
“It was a long journey, and someone has to take care of the fort.”
“Ah.”
They reached a flight of stone stairs that led up the wall of the fort. In the distance, the sound of shouting could be heard, and it grew clearer as they approached the top.
“There they are,” Benavon observed. Shaden hoisted himself up on the wall because he was too short to see clearly.
Nicar and the soldiers were shouting at the top of their lungs as they jogged in unison around the wall—though it was more of a run.
“I suspect the robber is among them,” Benavon said. Invisible mana rose from his body and condensed around his head and eyes, and Shaden guessed that it had something to do with the gift of focus. “There were likely two or three who were sent to retrieve you and the wyvern. My sister should know who they are.”
“It would be better if I got my belongings as soon as possible.”
“I understand. Captain Nicar!”
His voice boomed into the air, and his sister looked up, not pausing the run.
“Bring the men inside at once,” Benavon instructed, and with a nod, she began to make her way towards the gate. Shaden’s right ear stung from hearing the man from up close, and he made a mental note to stay further away when he was commanding the soldiers. Benavon began heading down the stairs again, and Shaden followed him towards the gate, which was now being hoisted open.
Nicar and the soldiers passed through, and they continued to run until they were before them and Nicar shouted, “In place!” after which they stopped in unison, making two satisfying thuds as their feet stomped on the floor.
Shaden could see some of them tense when Benavon put his hands behind his back, looking over the men.
“Among you is a robber or many robbers,” he spoke firmly, his stern voice echoing across the crowd. “The boy here has lost some items. Whoever stole them shall return them at once. There will be no excuses.”
No one dared to open their lips, and after a few seconds, Benavon opened his mouth.
“Captain Nicar. Who were the men that went to retrieve the boy and the wyvern?”
“Besin and Hamov, sir.”
“Bring them out.”
Upon Nicar’s orders, two men stepped out, and they were exactly the people Shaden imagined them to be. One was large and bulky, though his stomach was that of a drinker. His expression was a mix of fear and sweat, though the grumpiness hadn’t been erased from his eyes. The second was tall, and though not boney, skinnier than most, and he had long, shaggy hair that was the color of mud mixed with milk. Maybe it was because his patience was running low, but the two of them looked like the worst people in the world for him at that moment.
“Soldiers. Did you take any belongings that were on the boy?” Benavon asked again, his voice quieter this time.
The sweat was rolling down the men’s cheeks from running—and, Shaden guessed, anxiety. It was the taller man who spoke first.
“Y-yes, sir,” the man answered, then swallowed. “We did take some items.”
“Bring them to me.”
The taller man dashed off at once, and Shaden saw the fatter man nervously blink, trying to get the sweat away from his eyes. Shaden tried not to glare too much.
“And you, soldier.”
“Sir! I took one ring and a flute from him, sir.”
“Bring them.”
The man dashed off, and after the taller man arrived within a minute, the second quickly joined him with Shaden’s belongings in their hands. Everything was there—the wyvern cloak, the ring, the bracelet, the pouch with the library card and spare money, and his beloved flute. Shaden relaxed when he saw that none of them had been damaged.
“Take what is yours,” Benavon told him, and Shaden did so. He put the ring on his finger and the bracelet on his wrist, and the rest of the items he wrapped inside of his cloak to organize later. Now he felt calmer.
But the ordeal had not yet ended.
“Why did you not answer the first time?” Benavon growled, the creases on his face multiplying a hundredfold. It was a terrible expression, enough to make Shaden unconsciously look away in fear of making eye contact.
“My greatest mistake, sir!” both of them shouted at the same time at the top of their lungs.
“You did not answer the question, soldiers.”
The soldiers failed to reply again, and Shaden felt the air thicken into lead. Even him, who wasn’t being punished, felt fidgety simply by being in the situation.
“The soldiers of Fort Avagal, failing to respond, taking property without a single report. Have I been too easy on you, men?”
“Never, sir!” cried all of the soldiers, including Nicar, in unison.
“Then what is this?”
Even though he wasn’t familiar with the customs of the fortress, Shaden knew that the two men before him had majorly fucked up. Just the silence itself was enough to tell. An endless moment passed while the wind blew through the leaves—the only comforting sound that soothed the deafening quiet.
“Captain Nicar, with me,” Benavon finally spoke. “The rest of you, dispose of the drinks and take the rest of the wyvern—including the skin—to prepare for a proper burial. You have half an hour to dig a grave to the east of the Commander’s Abode, a short distance south of the fruit tree. Besin and Hamov, you will continue to run until the sun sets and rises again. Shall you stop to rest, you will be sent back. Remember that I can track your movements. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir!” they all screamed, and immediately, they scattered. Nicar stepped forward to meet her brother and Shaden, who tensely wondered how he could possibly befriend anyone here.
“Nicar. Though you slew the Heir’s wyvern, I will hold no charge against you,” Benavon stated. “I would have done the same. But if you are still displeased,” he went on, turning to Shaden, “tell us what you desire.”
“Me? You want me to decide?”
“I would like to hear your opinion,” Benavon said.
Shaden stared at Nicar, and like her brother, her expression was impeccable—though there was something frightening about her dark eyes. It was uncannily similar to her brother’s. Unmoving, unbending.
“Self-defense…I can see why,” Shaden said, remembering the time Grak had been attacked. “But we didn’t do anything. Why did you shoot?”
“If a wyvern passes by, it does not matter. If it passes by then decides to return, I will shoot it,” Nicar replied. “More so if it is a breed I have never seen.”
“For sport?” Shaden felt the blood rush to his cheeks. “For safety? We were so far away.”
“There are creatures that can spit fire and poison from a distance. I did what I must.”
Shaden shut his mouth and took in a deep breath, slowly through his nose.
“I’m satisfied,” he decided, holding onto his cloak. “You said you would give Grak a burial.”
“Yes. It would be better than letting it rot.”
For a second, Shaden wondered if it would be better to let them just have the corpse since meat was scarce in the north. But his selfishness won over, and grief filled his mind once more.
“That would make me happier,” he said weakly.
The burial was short and eventless, and Shaden watched as Grak’s remains slowly faded from his sight, being covered in dirt. A small mound was created, and when a makeshift post was set before the grave, Shaden was finally led to his room within the Commander’s Abode—a fancy guest room with a large bed and ornate furniture.
The furs all around were soft and comforting, and Shaden buried his face into the pillows after tossing his shoes off. He felt tired and terrible, and he knew that if he stopped circulating, everything would be too difficult to bear.
His only companion in a land of strangers—dead and underneath the earth. At least the Jakhar Kishaks had been warm and welcoming, and their animals great to socialize with. Not so with the Nieuts. The rest of them had yet to arrive, but the two he had met were like cold statues without the slightest hint of warmth to them. Capable, no doubt, but distant. Loud only when necessary, adept at controlling their emotions—but it was scarier than being with the Jakhar Kishaks.
It wasn’t long before he was called to dinner. And it was Nicar who’d come to fetch him, motioning him to follow. The table had already been set, and he sat down next to Benavon, and Nicar sat down next to her brother. The seat at the end was untaken, so Shaden faced the two while they ate.
“This is good,” Shaden commented, trying to break the ice. After being in the desert for a year, the silence was unbearable to him.
“She made it,” Benavon said. “And I baked the bread.”
“You don’t have servants?”
“It would be an additional mouth to feed.”
And silence again. To be truthful, the food wasn’t very tasty. It was a little above plain at best. There were no spices, no aromatic ingredients to enhance the meal. At least the cheese and smoked meat were good. The rest were...meager at best. Especially the fish. He disliked how the fish had been prepared.
Nicar didn’t seem to care. She ate her food in a repeated motion—stabbing, positioning, chewing, swallowing. Though once in a while, her face lit up in the slightest.
Shaden still wondered why she’d shot him down. What if he had died? Was the gift of focus incapable of spotting a boy on top of a wyvern? He was sure his white cloak would have stood out against Grak’s dark scales.
“It’s your turn to do the dishes,” Nicar said, and the sudden informality caught Shaden off guard.
“I know,” Benavon sighed, “but I would appreciate it if you helped.”
“Of course.”
At that moment, Shaden thought he’d sensed some normality under the gloom of the dim lights, though it was gone before he knew it. After the dishes were moved (Shaden helped out as well), Benavon began to wash them, and Shaden spotted the man conjuring water with a few mutters before pouring it over the plates and bowls.
Shaden returned to his room and gently held his flute in his hands after sitting down on the bed. He’d have to wash himself soon, but before that, he had to make sure his flute was still fine.
He blew into it, and it made a beautiful sound—just as he imagined it. He turned the notes into a soft melody, quiet enough so that it would not leak outside of the building. Quiet, so quiet. A small act in remembrance for Grak, the wyvern whom he’d bonded with closer than any other animal. If he knew this would have happened, he would have left him at the desert in Keyga’s hands.
As the sound weakened, so did his circulation. He slowed it, letting go until it slowly came to a halt. But where one thing stopped, another burst forward.
Tears fell from his eyes like rain droplets. He’d thought that he wouldn’t cry, since the last time he’d cried was when he was a child. Getting his lungs cooked had been far worse, yet he hadn’t wept like this.
Animals never did anything wrong. And Grak was following his commands, as tired as he had been. Had he focused more, been more alert—his bond would be alive now.
He gritted his teeth, both in rage against himself and the one who had shot him. He knew he was being unreasonable, but just for now, he wanted to drown himself in his emotions, to be uncontrolled. If he didn’t, there would be no one else to grieve for Grak. Not a single person.
The sun had already set when he opened his eyes, and he immediately began to circulate. Remembering that he hadn’t taken a shower yet, he made himself invisible, went outside through the window, then climbed to the top of the wall to scout for a place where he could wash himself. And while he was searching, he spotted figures in the darkness—two men, not running side-by-side, but rather huffing and puffing in their own pathetic paces.
The fatter man seemed to be having a harder time, though the taller one wasn’t that much better. Shaden watched them, feeling amused for some reason. Benavon was right—robbers should be sent back. And if they managed to make it until morning, then he was willing to forgive them.
They were by no means slow. Not yet, at least. Had his other body been sprinting with them, he would have had a hard time keeping up after the first hour. And they had been running for the past couple of hours.
“Fort Avagal…” Shaden muttered. He wondered what kind of place it was. If he decided to stay, what would it be like? Or would it be better to go to the city and live leisurely?
He hadn’t decided yet. Once the head of the Nieuts arrived, he’d make his decision.
After taking a quick shower and laundering his clothes with magic, he entered the fort again past the guards at the wall and into the abode. Despite the Nieuts being all about focus, he guessed that they weren’t able to sense him when his stealth magic was surrounding him.
It would be convenient for him in case he wanted to stay. As strict as he was on himself as Demund, he’d never been a fan of subservience. As Shaden, he wanted to be free.
But he also wanted to see what Fort Avagal had to offer since it was an adventure in itself.
He sighed, wiggling into the blanket.
At least he would have fun at the Junior’s Advancement soon.