Year: 3045 AGD
Day of New Beginnings
Serenity Valley
Institute of Learning
“You have really never been to school before?” Verrian asked.
“I never really needed it before. I never even thought I would have much need to read or write until I met Victor.” Shawnrik sat on the edge of his bed, telling himself to be patient with his new roommate.
“Who is Victor? Is he a new student here too?” Verrian sounded excited at the prospect.
“No, Victor is a very good friend that I met in Safeharbor, he...” Shawnrik sighed, “... has other duties.”
“Duties,” Verrian said, his disdain for the word obvious. “My dad is always talking about duty, but the way you say it almost makes it sound like we are at war.”
“We are at war, Verrian, of that there can be no doubt. We will be at war for as long as the Blood Mages and the Dracair continue to send unprovoked attacks against the Protectorate.” Shawnrik spoke with a passion that he had not known that he possessed before that moment, but as each word came forth his voice became firmer and more confident with each syllable.
“The Dracair?” Verrian squirmed a little on his bed, obviously skeptical, but still curious. “I thought those were just monsters from bedtime stories that parents use to scare their children." They sat for a moment staring at each other, and Shawnrik realized that he must have been scowling when Verrian lost some of his skepticism and said, “You mean they aren't?”
“No,” Shawnrik's tone matched his mood, and it was clear that that he wasn't happy. “They are not a myth, or a bedtime story. For all I know, they are killing my friends right now as I sit here having this conversation. Is this the kind of thing that they teach at this school?!”
Verrian looked towards the door, obviously considering if it might be safer to be on the other side of it. “I don't know. I mean, I don't think so, but I've never really heard anyone ask about it. They may teach about it in some of the higher classes, especially history, but I am sorry to say that the history courses have never been very popular here at the Institute. The instructors make sure that you select a wide range of studies to begin with, but as long as you have a language or two, and math, science, or philosophy, they don't really bother you with other choices.”
Shawnrik sighed again, before mumbling, “Is this what all of these people have been doing for three thousand years, while the men and women of the Protectorate fight and die?”
“What was that?” Verrian asked, leaning towards his new roommate, trying to hear what had been said.
“I was just wondering how I could have gone from a place to where even a street rat knows about the Dracair, to here.”
“I really couldn't tell you, Shawnrik, but I would also like to know the answer to that question.”
Looking into his roommate's face, Shawnrik knew that the young man was speaking the truth; he might have just found an ally in this foreign place. Letting out a final sigh, Shawnrik picked up his course list and began to delve into it with renewed vigor. Well, if they aren't going to teach people about the Dracair, I will.
“Shawnrik?” Verrian whispered.
“Hmm?” Shawnrik replied without looking up from the list.
“Are the Dracair as bad as the stories say they are?” There was something about Verrian's tone that made Shawnrik look up from his list.
The boy he saw sitting across the room no longer looked inquisitive, he looked afraid. Good, you should be afraid. I know I am. “I'm not sure, Verrian. I don't know what the stories here say about the Dracair. I would venture a guess as to say that they are probably worse than the stories though, and if they aren't...” he shrugged, “the reality is bad enough for me.”
The boys sat in their room for the rest of the afternoon in a modicum of silence, only talking when Shawnrik had a question about one of the courses. Verrian answered all of Shawnrik's questions to the best of his ability, but it was clear that his thoughts were elsewhere. Their silence was finally interrupted when a steady hum coursed through the room. Verrian leapt to his feet eagerly, explaining that it was time for the welcoming ceremony.
Shawnrik followed Verrian out of their room, joining the throng of students that were now making their way through the halls. During that steady commute, Shawnrik once again saw a variety of races that astounded him, but his astonishment was soured by one thought. Are they all blissfully unaware? He found that he was larger than most of the crowd in height, if not in sheer bulk, but there were also adolescent Giant-kin who dwarfed him nearly as much as he did everyone else.
At first the procession seemed like utter chaos to Shawnrik, but he also noticed a surprising lack of jostling going on throughout the crowd, with everyone traveling at the same speed, in no specific hurry to get to their destination. Eventually, the mass of people ended up outside, and Shawnrik noticed two other lines the same size as the one he was in heading towards the large stone gates ahead of them.
There must be thousands of us, maybe tens of thousands.
As they walked through the large stone gates, which bore symbols that he had never seen before, they were handed a packet that contained bread, meat, and cheese. He noticed several of the people around him reaching into the bottom of the bag, pulling out what appeared to be chocolate. The only time that he had ever had chocolate was one night at Nim's when Megan had brought him a piece before bed. Thinking about that beautiful young woman who was no longer alive made him want to save the chocolate and savor it even more.
The dull roar of conversation became a steady cacophony as the crowd emerged into a giant, bowl-like amphitheater. After finding a seat, Shawnrik began to look around the crowd. He had been right, he quickly realized; there were thousands upon thousands of people inside the semicircular bowl, with more coming in every second. Another thing he noticed was that at least half of the students were female. This was the first time he realized that he might have classes with the opposite sex, and once again he was nervous. Gazing around the room, he found his eyes lingering on one spot or another for a little longer than needed.
Light, how am I going to be able to concentrate through class at this rate?
Shawnrik had always taken on new challenges with a single-minded determination, studiously taking on whatever it was he was tasked with. He had never had to deal with girls while doing so, however, especially not any around his age, and he found his body was reacting strangely to the concept, in ways that it never had before.
As the stream of people entering the amphitheater became a trickle, he noticed that the first few rows were occupied by older people; Shawnrik decided that they must be the instructors and other people who worked at the school. Several other people also sat in chairs upon the stage. Shawnrik recognized one of them as the Headmistress, but he did not know the others.
Shawnrik only had a few bites left of his meat and cheese when he felt a vibration course through the gathering, much like the one that had been used to summon them here. He hadn't been expecting the kind of event that would have him on the edge of his seat, so he wasn't terribly disappointed when the welcoming dragged on from one speaker to the next.
The first to address the throng of students was Headmistress Blackbriar, but she was only there long enough to say a few words of welcome and to announce the first official speaker of the evening. Harolinde Swiftfoot was apparently, as he liked to remind the gathering every few minutes, Dean of Students. Dean Swiftfoot was also one of the first true Elves that Shawnrik had ever seen, although he was pleased to note that the man wasn't one of the High Elves, like those that live in Eske'Taure.
The High Elves possessed a rather inflated opinion of themselves, and they had made it their mission to remove anyone with Elven blood who was tainted from the world. Always at the top of that list was anyone who possessed Elven blood who was not a full Elf. Once, long ago, all of the Elves had lived together. As the sect that sought the purification of the Elven race grew to power, the various factions split apart during a time that came to be referred to as The Cleansing.
Shawnrik's attention had been riveted on the Dean as he began speaking, part of him hoping that the man would say something that would reaffirm Shawnrik's faith in this place. But as Dean Swiftfoot's oration wore on, he found his attention wandering. The man certainly had a lot to say, but it was mostly about rules and etiquette.
Shawnrik's gaze fell upon a small group of girls around his age who had their heads together in quiet, yet animated conversation. The intensity with which they whispered made Shawnrik grin—or maybe that was because most of the girls were rather pretty. He only realized that he had been staring when Verrian poked him in the ribs and told him to focus.
Shawnrik had to wonder if it was a coincidence that Dean Swiftfoot was broaching the topic of fraternization at the same moment that his new roommate had poked him. He had no idea what fraternization was until he had listened to the Dean use it over and over again. From the context of the Dean’s speech, the meaning of the word became readily apparent. Irrationally, Shawnrik felt as if he were being singled out at that moment and couldn't help the blush that radiated across his face. The Dean talked for five of the longest minutes that Shawnrik thought he had ever lived through before giving the podium over to the next speaker.
It turned out that the next speaker was a Half-Ogre by the name of Mr. Witherton. From the short speech that the large, balding man gave, Shawnrik learned that the man was the head of campus security. Mr. Witherton's speech gave Shawnrik the impression that campus security was there to keep the students in line more than they were there to keep them safe from outside aggressors. His sentences were short and clipped, as if he were talking to people who had already made the decision to break the rules, which maybe experience had taught him they were. Mr. Witherton finished by announcing a kindly looking Cloud Giant woman who was nearing her middle years—which meant that she was more than likely around one hundred and fifty to two hundred years old—by the name of Silvianna Stonebank.
Shawnrik quickly realized that Silvianna was a healer that worked for the Institute, but he couldn't figure out if she was a Cleric or a Priest from her short speech. A large portion of her speech was taken up by her giving directions to her office from the mess hall, and if Shawnrik knew where that was he was sure that he would have found the advice helpful. When Silvianna Stonebank finished her speech, she announced the Headmistress as Torva Blackbriar.
Shawnrik was surprised by the reception that the Headmistress received from the assembled audience. It became obvious that the woman was greatly respected by the students and her peers, who were clapping just as enthusiastically as the kids, although with quite a bit more aplomb. She started her speech talking about how much the students and the faculty would get to know each other better over the coming months. Shawnrik had never heard the word faculty before, but he guessed from the way that the Headmistress was using it that it meant the Instructors at the Institute. Her next topic was classes that had been newly added to the course list, and ones that were no longer available, each announcement was met with applause or loud booing respectively.
It was sometime during the long list of course changes that Shawnrik felt his attention once again beginning to wane. He had just begun stretching his neck muscles when something the Headmistress was saying caught his ear.
“I am also happy to announce that for the first time since the Institute's inception over two and a half millennia ago, we will have our first student joining us who was born and raised in Safeharbor.” Her announcement was met by a wave of conversations throughout the amphitheater, and Shawnrik groaned when he looked over and saw Verrian gawking at him. Before Shawnrik could catch his bearings, however, the Headmistress continued speaking.
“As many of you are aware, this Institute has very strict rules for who is allowed to attend, and the secrecy with which its existence must be kept. Because of this, only a child whose parents both attended the Institute may themselves attend. Those who marry outside of the Institute are kept to a strict confidence that pertains to even their immediate family. I assure you that this person meets all of these requirements.”
She knows who my parents are? As if to answer his unasked question, the Headmistress continued.
“Some of you may have heard of his mother, Lilly Lightfeather, daughter of Pedrial Lightfeather, but more still will know his father's name, Aerick Heartstone.”
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
As the Headmistress said his mother's name, a small wave of recognition surged throughout the crowd, but as she said his father's name the crowd once again erupted into thousands of conversations. Shawnrik looked towards his new roommate for support, but Verrian looked like he was choking, his face was so pale.
The names themselves had meant nothing to Shawnrik, who had recognized neither of them. The fact that Pedrial was his grandfather explained a lot, and Shawnrik was beginning to think of a million questions for the old smith. One thought stuck out amongst all the others though: if his mother's last name was Lightfeather and his father's last name was Heartstone, where did the name Larston come from? Once again, the Headmistress was ahead of him.
“When Aerick left his tribe,” a fresh wave of something Shawnrik couldn't recognize came forth from several sections of the crowd, but the Headmistress talked over them, “Lilly went with him, and since Aerick was no longer willing to accept the name Heartstone, he changed his last name to Larston when he and Lilly married. The ceremony took place in the Church of Cypheria in the heart of Safeharbor, and a year later they had a son.”
At this point, the conversation in the crowd hit a climax, and several of the boys seemed to notice the look that Verrian was giving him, correctly interpreted its meaning, and began nudging their neighbors. Suppressing a groan, Shawnrik tried not to look at anyone around him, but as he began to lower his head, he caught a glimpse of one of the girls below him. She was part of the group that he had been watching earlier, her head had been facing front of the amphitheater, so all he could see was her hair, but as she began scanning the crowd he couldn't help but feel that there was something familiar about her. Sweeping her gaze around the crowd, it didn't take long for Shawnrik to see her face, and when he did, his mouth dropped open in shock.
Olivia? It was the gypsy girl from the Blood Orc camp where they had all been held prisoner a year and a half before. How the... his thoughts were cut short as the crowd once again reached a quiet hum under the steady gaze of their Headmistress.
“Their story, however, was not to be a happy one for long. Nearly two years after their son was born, Lilly and Aerick were the victims of what the authorities deemed as a 'random act of violence.' According to the report, the pair died as their home was torn to pieces by these so called robbers.”
A new wave of conversation arose, but this one seemed steeped in a healthy dose of disbelief. Shawnrik too was in disbelief. He had just learned the names of his parents, and now he was learning that they had been murdered by a gang of thugs. The emotions that were at war within him were as confusing as the cacophony of sound coming from the students around him.
“Somehow, their son managed to escape this attack, most likely aided by the dying breaths of his parents, and he became an orphan on the streets of the largest city in the world. These circumstances never allowed him the benefit of a formal education.”
Once again, the students began to talk amongst themselves, this time the emotions behind the sentiment varied greatly: there was awe, sympathy, and more than a few snide comments about an ignorant street rat being let into the Institute. Shawnrik's jaw began to clench. He wasn’t sure which he liked less, the sympathy or the snide comments, but it wouldn’t have been long before he started tossing people around were it not for the Headmistress's next words.
“Some of you will no doubt misconstrue this fact, and think that because of his circumstances, he is an ignorant street urchin; it is for this reason that I even broach the topic at all. With no resources and no one to turn to for help, this boy survived on the streets of Safeharbor alone for nearly eight years, a feat that many adults would find daunting. Around the age of ten, he joined up with other children who were in the same situation as he was, and they survived in the only way available to them—by doing whatever was necessary to make it through the day. During this time, this young man learned several harsh lessons that I hope most of you will never have the opportunity to learn. Think about everything that this young man has gone through and his lack of resources, and know that during this time he still managed to learn to read and write.”
Shawnrik wondered why the Headmistress had neglected to mention that it was Victor who had taught him to read and write. He knew that she must have looked over the papers that Instructor Daymarr had written on earlier that day, so the omission must have been on purpose. Part of him was mad at this woman for knowing so much more about his history than he himself knew, but another part was glad that she had not mentioned his friend's name publicly.
“He left Safeharbor in the company of a pair of notable individuals before his fourteenth birthday. After a trying series of events, he came to the attention of Elder Lightfeather, who happened to be leading a scouting party in the area at the time. He has since been accepted by the village of Tranquility Mist. To quell a multitude of rumors, I would like to now introduce you to this young man. Please give him time to adjust and treat him with the respect you would give to any of your peers.”
Shawnrik didn't think that it was possible for an area this full of people to be so quiet. Every conversation had stopped, and everyone seemed to be holding their breath.
“Shawnrik, would you please stand,” the Headmistress said, eyes scanning the crowd.
Shawnrik watched Olivia sit down quickly when every eye in the bowl began to search for the standing person, but she continued the search along with everyone else. Verrian began to poke him in the ribs, and Shawnrik felt like he would rather go back to being a prisoner of the Dracair than be here in this moment. He thought that maybe if he remained still, he could ignore it, and pretend like he had missed the welcoming ceremony, but just as the thought crossed his mind the Headmistress's gaze locked onto him.
Shawnrik had never felt so defeated, and as he rose he began to release some of the tension on his muscles that he hadn't realized had been building during the last few minutes. He heard and felt it as every head in the amphitheater locked onto his form. Not knowing what to do, he stood as straight as he could and nodded to the Headmistress, resisting the urge to give the crowd a timid little wave.
A second after he stood, Olivia jumped up and started waving furiously. When his gaze dropped towards her, she shouted, “Hi Shawnrik!”
“Hey Olivia,” he replied. The smile that he slid into place was made all the easier to maintain because of her excitement when she realized he remembered her. She looked at him and clapped her hands in unrestrained mirth. It would be difficult for any man to remain stone-faced when confronted with that kind of attention from a pretty young woman. Shawnrik realized that he was indeed no exception to that rule before he remembered where he was, and he felt his face begin to heat up.
The murmur of voices began to crescendo to new heights before becoming a dull roar. Embarrassed beyond a point that he had thought possible, Shawnrik shrank back, and plopped down into his seat.
“You know Olivia?” Verrian asked, a stupid grin plastered across his face.
“It's not like that...” Shawnrik began to say, but he chose that moment to look down towards the group of girls who now sat around Olivia in animated conversation. He had barely gotten halfway through his denial when Olivia, still staring at him while sitting amongst all of those girls, winked at him playfully.
“Sure,” Verrian said, that stupid grin spreading even further.
Shawnrik decided to make a special point of studying the palms of his hands for the next few minutes. Glancing down at the stage to see what the Headmistress was doing, he noticed that she had not moved a muscle, allowing the conversation to run its course. He couldn't be sure, but he thought that there was a smirk on that hideous face of hers.
Women! The thought came unbidden, but after a moment's consideration, he decided that he agreed with the sentiment wholeheartedly. Shawnrik knew what the talk in the dorms would be tonight and for the next few nights, and it was all because of those damn women. Why did either of them have to do that? A dozen reasons flitted through his mind for each woman, and he didn't like any of them. A moment later, he thought of a different reason for Olivia's actions. The thought made him pause, but he vowed not to show that he might be excited about that prospect.
Once the sound had dropped to a low buzz, the Headmistress continued talking once again, and Shawnrik was glad that it was no longer about him. He tried to tune out all of the noise around him, but he kept hearing his name mentioned. He ignored what accompanied it.
Shawnrik noticed that Verrian had begun to adopt his somber mood, his new roommate coming to the realization of what Shawnrik was going through. “I know a shortcut back to the Dorms. When we get released, we can get lost in the crowd and escape,” Verrian whispered conspiratorially.
“That would be great,” Shawnrik sighed. He had been dreading the walk back to his room.
True to his word, Verrian was up and moving through the crowd with Shawnrik in tow as soon as the Headmistress dismissed the students back to their dorms. Shawnrik hunched his body, attempting to imitate what he had seen Ashur do to make his body look smaller. If anyone had recognized him on their way through the crowd, it had been too late for them to impede their progress forward.
They turned off into a small corridor, quickly changing from a walk to a run, and they arrived at their dorm room at the same time as they began to hear the sound of the outer doors opening on the other end of the hall. Footsteps echoed throughout the hall as Shawnrik closed the door to their room.
“We shouldn't be bothered tonight,” Verrian said as he dropped onto his bed and removed his shoes.
Shawnrik felt emotionally exhausted, but he realized that he hadn't done any of his drills today. Needing something familiar to calm his thoughts, Shawnrik looked around the room trying to decide what he would need to do to make enough room for his forms. The first thing he did was place his chest on top of the table and move the table towards the other corner of the room below Verrian's bed. After that he took the two chairs and placed them on top of Verrian's chest. Lastly, he moved his bed so that it was flush with the door, and just like that he had a practice space.
Verrian had silently watched him move everything, obviously curious. When Shawnrik pulled his axe out of his chest, Verrian's eyes lit up in understanding, and Shawnrik knew that he had his roommate’s full attention. When he began to go through his routines, Verrian moved to the far corner of his bed, as far away from the weapon as possible, his eyes riveted on its movements.
“You didn't learn to do that on the streets, did you?" Verrian asked after some time had passed. His tone was thoughtful, and it had been a statement as well as a question.
“No,” Shawnrik replied, not missing a beat. “I'll tell you...” Shawnrik sighed, “... just not tonight.” He finished the statement a little more firmly than he had meant to, and he stopped to apologize, but Verrian was already waving him off.
“Don't worry about it, I know I'm nosy. You just had most of your life story laid out for public scrutiny, and here I am trying to dig out more tasty tidbits, like a vulture working on a corpse. We are going to be roommates all year—we may as well take our time getting to know each other.
Shawnrik nodded. He found that he liked his roommate a little more as he got to know the small man. The Half-Elf's curiosity reminded Shawnrik of Victor's, and while he knew that Verrian could never take Victor's place, it was still good to have someone around that he thought he could consider a friend. He switched to his sword and began to run through several routines that Ashur had taught him. The sword had been intended for use with two hands when Ashur had gifted him with it, but now Shawnrik was easily able to handle it in one.
He stood, holding the last move in place as he finished the final routine as the events of the day played out in his mind. One thing had kept coming back to him throughout his exercise, and that had been the way the students had reacted to his parents' names.
“Verrian.” Shawnrik said as he stowed the axe.
“Yeah?” Verrian replied.
“When Headmistress Blackbriar said my parents' names, it seemed like everyone knew who they were and had varying opinions on them. Do you know anything about them?”
“Not much,” Verrian said as he stood to help Shawnrik move the furniture back into place. “Everyone has heard of Aerick Heartstone, of course. They say he was one of the best warriors to come out of the Stroml’Dier in generations, not only because he was built like a warrior, but also because he had a way of reading his opponents and knowing exactly what they planned on doing. I heard my father once say that the tribe leaders were idiots for doing what they did, but I have no idea what it was that they did.”
“I see.”
“Your mother, though, she was in line to be an Instructor here before she ran off with your dad. They say she was already pregnant with you before they left. I think everyone remembers them because it seems like one of those story book tales that are so popular, of a love that could never be. But it was real, and that makes it even more interesting.”
“Yeah, well I guess everyone was right, those types of stories don’t end well, and I know it didn’t for my parents.” Shawnrik stretched out on his bed.
“Yeah,” was all Verrian said as he did something that made the light in the room fade into nothingness.
Shawnrik wasn't sure where the light had been coming from before it had faded away but decided he would look when he woke up in the morning. He hadn't noticed any balls of light or fire—the light had simply been there one moment and gone the next. With all that had happened today, it took a while for his mind to settle enough for him to fall asleep, and when he finally managed it, he fell into a deep slumber filled with dreams of people that he didn't know.
Waking with a start, he resisted the urge to bolt upright. He had seen what happens to anyone who showed weakness in the cells, and he was only staying out of trouble so far because he was an unknown. At the first sign of weakness he knew that someone would try to hurt him, so he did everything in his power to look as dangerous as a dirty kid trapped in a cell full of goblins could look.
Yet another dream had come to him in the night, sending him voices and faces that he was sure that he had never seen nor heard before yet were eerily familiar, as if they were a part of him. He had been having the dreams more frequently, and they seemed to be getting longer and more detailed with each intrusion of his sleep. It wasn't that he didn't like having them, but he wished that they would come without him feeling one type of pain or another.
The pains varied greatly and would be anything from the cramping of his muscles to headaches, even a hollow feeling deep in his chest. Today's pain was a burning pain on his wrists, right where the manacles were clasped. Having previously moved the manacles a few inches one way or the other in order to get at an itch, he reached down with his right hand to see if moving it would lessen the pain. As soon as his hand touched the cold metal he clenched his muscles, attempting to control his body as it began to recoil away from the thing attached to his wrist.
Hatred and death seethed forth from the thing, and he couldn't stop the tear that rolled down his cheek. His first thought was that it was simply his imagination because of the pain that he was feeling, but as he placed his hand upon his left manacle again, the same feelings radiated outward. Someone had created these things for one purpose: to hurt and kill.
As he placed his hand on the chain that connected the manacles, he realized that it was for show. The links were poorly made, and could easily be snapped with the right pressure. Knowing that if he ever needed to he could remove the chains gave the boy a small amount of hope. However, he also knew that even if he were to somehow get out of these mines, he would still be a prisoner, as the manacles suppressed something fundamentally different than his movement. His thoughts continued to gnaw away at him until he heard his fellow prisoners begin to stir. Another day working the mine lay before him, but he found that his body wasn't as weary as it had been since that first day waking up inside these caves.
Something had changed.