Chapter 31

Crowning Day

I have too much time to think. This day of ‘relaxation’ that I would have fought so hard to win if it had been presented to me as an option is turning into a weird sort of prison. Not only is my body taking this chance to make me extra aware of just how little it appreciates my recent training regime. But without something to occupy me my mind enters a state of near open rebellion.

It kind of just washed over me at the time, swept aside by everything going on at the party. Now left to my own devices the thought that has been jabbing at me like a splinter I can’t dig out since I spoke to the BlackMist girl is dominating my thoughts.

She had been quite sure that I was full to the brim with Forspoken stone. I don’t know much about magic but I absolutely saw her summon a shadow monster which while not exactly proof she knows what she is talking about is about as close to it as I’m going to get.

What had she called me? A gelem or something to that effect, but then had said that was wrong and that I was like a general who defended the city of warlocks. A man who had been injured countless times and the healers of Mordrun had used the Forspoken stone to heal him.

I’ve always been told Forspoken stone can only replace bone, but what if that isn’t true? What would it mean for me if Viscarra is right and the times I have been healed magically wasn't healing at all, but a replacement of the damaged parts of me with shiny black pearls? If the Forspoken stone transforms into flesh the same way it does bone I would never be able to tell which parts of me were real and which had been replaced.

‘Are you even a person anymore?’ That's what she had asked me, blurting it out before considering how I might react to such a question. At the time I’d been offended reasonably assuming she was referring to my state as a cursed. Now the idea that she was right is digging a black little hole in my stomach. It’s a feeling I struggle to describe. Dread, but somehow different, emptier, slower, but longer lasting.

Making my way to the railing near the training pit I try to recall every time I’ve been healed with magic. It’s a struggle as there have just been so many. I know for sure when my right ear was mangled it had been mended with magic, and more recently my left shoulder when I’d fought the boys backing up Kalon for his challenge.

Where Resh stabbed me maybe? The time half of me was burned by a demi-hydra? Definitely. Every time I went into the tower I might have had a part of me taken out and replaced with mystic rock. It could be any of dozens of injuries over the years.

‘Are you even a person anymore?’

I shudder and try to focus on the boys below me in the training pit. It's ‘free time’ so there are only four slaves down there. Two off on their own drilling with weapons or techniques they are less familiar with. I ignore them, my eyes drawn to the center of the put where a boy from my own hall is squaring up with a boy from hall one. I don’t know the nature of their dispute, but it doesn’t take long for the hall-three boy to demand a challenge.

The pair of boys are both armed with pit-swords and they battle back and forth fairly evenly. Neither of them is particularly good with the half-bladed weapons and it creates an amusing stalemate as the pair of boys flail back and forth, too good defensively to get hit, yet so awful on the attack they can’t land anything. I shouldn't be too critical. I'm not exactly a savant with the stupid fake swords either.

The wind changes and a medley of scents hits my nostrils, each smell as familiar as it is out of place near the training pit. First and most potent is the scent of rotting flesh, the next is sharp and reminiscent of pine trees, and underlying the other two is the sour tang of dry alcohol.

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More curious than worried I turn my attention from the fight below me to the road that leads here from the center of the compound. I knew who I was going to see but it still makes me raise both eyebrows. Muraab leads a group towards me consisting of Laren and Tarnen, Xael, and lurking in the back is Gori.

I’m not sure what is stranger. The fact that they aren’t heading to me and not the pit entrance, or that they are a group at all. Turning fully away from the pit I take a few steps in the group’s direction and greet them with the eloquence for which I am so well known.

“What?” I say projecting a lot more suspicion than I feel.

Muraab shoots a knowing look up at the pair of ettin heads.

“I told you he was going to be an ingrate.”

‘Ingrate?’

“Doesn’t matter” rumbles back Larnen. “We paid for it, so we can do what we want with it.”

I glance to Gori and then Xael for some sort of help or explanation. All I get back are friendly smiles. While I trust these people and even if I didn’t I’m protected by the houselord until after this tournament ends. Still, I would really like to know what is going on here.

“Yeah, yeah” mutters Muraab. But he looks at me and offers a kind smile.

“Happy Crowning Day boy.” My mouth hangs open as the rest of the group repeat the words of the old Pitter.

“It’s my Crowning Day?” I ask still stunned.

“More or less” replies Muraab. “We don’t know exactly when you were born, but this is pretty close to when you first arrived here.”

I’m not really sure how to feel about that. I’m fairly confident I was four when they bought me, which means I have been here for about twelve years. Twelve long bloody years. That thought makes me frown for a moment but I’m quick to force my expression into a happy one. This is obviously meant to be something nice, the least I can do in return is not act like I hate everyone for a little while.

Laren and Tarnen step forward, covering the distance between us with surprising speed. The two-headed monster might be a little bit lumbering in its movements but their long limbs more than make up for it. Speaking of long limbs the ettin thrusts an arm towards my face. They are holding a fancy leather belt with a circular metal buckle and an attached loin cloth.

“Happy Crowning Day Anklebiter.” Tarnen all but shouts down at me. “ This is for you.”

The accessory is thick and wide enough to cover my hips and some of the important bits in my lower back. It might not be much, but it's a piece of genuine armor and it's mine. I remember celebrating my Crowning day a few times as a young boy, just not enough times to have learned when it is.

Even back then I was always a slave so I was never given a gift. A feeling that is both pleasantly warm and acridly painful wells up inside me. I bite my lip and manage to force back the tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

“Thank you” I manage to squeak out, my voice cracking with emotions I don’t know the name of.

“Thank you so much, and whoever’s idea this was I owe you a beating.” This time I manage to force out a laugh at my own joke. Weirdly it quickly becomes more and more genuine. The strange feeling building in my chest doesn’t go away, but with each laugh, I feel it leaning more toward the pleasant side. The group of them offer what I can only assume are polite chuckles before grouping around me.

I have never liked being surrounded. Even here and now in my home compound with people, I have no reason not to trust. It makes my fur stand on end and my palms start to sweat. My instincts are wrong of course, all that happens is a series of hugs and quick congratulations for turning sixteen.

I manage to get through it without saying or doing anything embarrassing even if my movements are a little stiff. This leads to Gori calling for me to put the belt on, and the others agreeing. For once this is a demand I’m more than happy to meet.