Volithur sat across from the Sergeant as he explained the deal he had made.
“A tea powder elixir is more than worth your time. I will clear your absence with the Marshal. I’m certain he will be more than happy to let the Head Scribe fund part of your cultivation cost. The real question is whether you have a chance to win an hour in a cosmic chamber.” The Sergeant shook his head. “I can’t let you go there without at least trying to teach you aura cultivation. You said the trip happens in five days? That would be plenty of time for most students…”
Left unsaid was that, unlike most students, Volithur appeared to be terrible at every aspect of cultivation. His mental cultivation was so inefficient it knocked him unconscious every time he tried it without bringing in more than a sliver of energy. His bodily cultivation did nothing unless he was stuffed full of power with elixirs, and then he wasted most of the energy.
Still, he couldn’t be terrible at everything, could he? Maybe aura cultivation would be the thing he was good at. The Sergeant began using his aura to awaken Volithur’s, which felt a lot like being suffocated beneath a lead blanket.
Nothing awoke in Volithur that day. Nor the next. Though he was asked to stay after class to work one on one with the Head Scribe. They spent an entire hour going over ‘variable calculations’, during which time he learned the idiosyncrasies of the mathematical notation used by the Xian and convinced the Head Scribe that he was ready for the competition.
Two days later, the Marshal came to see Volithur with the tea powder elixir he was to receive the following week brought in advance. The hope was that he would either attune his soul or become familiar enough with cosmic energy to utilize his aura. After an intense session of bodily cultivation where he drew out every bit of the energy that he could, everyone resigned themselves to disappointment.
“There is a chance you won’t win the chance to use the cosmic chamber, so this isn’t a big deal,” the Sergeant said.
“I don’t know why I’m so bad at this,” Volithur muttered.
The Sergeant patted him on the arm. “Everyone is born with some degree of talent in these things, Ward Harridan. Yours is less than most. That is unfortunate for you, but it is not a moral failing. You will simply have to work harder to make up for what you lack.”
Volithur nodded agreeably to hide his frustration. Just work harder. Of course. None of his efforts had gained any traction so far, but maybe if he tried more it would all magically fall into place.
He received the next tea powder elixir from the Head Scribe the day before he left, then cultivated it intensely that evening after dinner, straining to the utmost in hopes that he would attune his soul. His efforts proved ineffective once more. He found himself thinking that he wouldn’t blame the household if they decided not to waste any more resources on him. He was clearly a bad investment.
The dour mood stayed with him through the night, then Volithur suppressed it as much as possible when he reported to the library after a quick breakfast. Already there were the Head Scribe, three of his fellow students, and an older man everyone stood in deference to. Using the lessons from the society module of his classes, Volithur identified the proper place to insert himself into the group as the member with least standing. He could have issued an apology for being late – even though he actually wasn’t – but the leader seemed interested in a small pamphlet in his hands and interrupting the silence may prove the larger breach of etiquette.
Finally, the older man spoke. “Khana, you should definitely consider the poem by Astrinski. It possesses a delightful ambiguity.”
“Yes, uncle,” the girl said.
“Excellent advice, Master Rowan,” the Head Scribe said with a bow.
The man was obviously a member of the family, but Volithur didn’t have enough clues to piece together how prominent ‘Master Rowan’ was within the hierarchy. It truly didn’t matter. Volithur couldn’t afford to displease anyone, so he had to respond to every member of the family with simpering obedience.
Master Rowan glanced about the group. “We seem to all be here, Scribe.”
“All are here now, Master Rowan.”
“Excellent.” Master Rowan reached into a satchel at his side and pulled out several vials. “I requested elixirs from the Castellan to celebrate our departure.”
Master Rowan distributed vials of brown liquid to Khana, Ulysses, the Head Scribe, and himself – vials Volithur recognized as tea powder elixir. Then Master Rowan placed two vials of clear liquid – moon water elixir – into the Head Scribe’s hand to be handed over to Volithur and Hazen. “May our outing bring honor to the household,” Master Rowan said as he raised his vial and downed it.
Everyone else followed his example, then everyone began discarding their empty vials on the library table. They then made their way outside to board a waiting transport. A pilot greeted their group cheerfully, held the door and closed it once they were settled, and then entered the front area with a promise of a smooth and quick trip.
Master Rowan closed his eyes. “Take advantage of the elixirs during the ride.”
Volithur had seated himself in the seat furthest from the front, beside Hazen. The two of them obediently folded their hands in their laps and closed their eyes. Volithur went to work at the task of bodily cultivating the cosmic energy in his system, but there wasn’t much work to do. Moon water elixir was a joke. Volithur understood the gesture of being included in the odd pre-flight toast had been a generous one by the standards of Xian culture. He had been nominally allowed to join a ritual with his betters, which was not at all the standard.
Their flight only lasted half an hour, then they were touching down at the Evergreen Institute. When they emerged from the transport, Volithur split his attention between ensuring he obeyed the convoluted rules of Xian decorum and studying the Institute. Based on the name, he had expected pine-needled trees. Instead, he saw large, severe buildings constructed of a gray-green stone. There were also trellises with ivy woven through them to create covered walks. No trees, though.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Armies of laborers were engaged in upkeep of the grounds and other groups of visitors could be seen walking towards an open-air amphitheater. Master Rowan led them in the same direction, occasionally announcing his observations to his niece Khana or the Head Scribe as if receiving his thoughts was a great honor. The recipients of said observations reinforced his opinion with feigned interest. Volithur found himself impressed at their acting, particularly Khana.
Volithur had never given the girl much consideration due to the fact that any time he had the opportunity to observe Khana he also had the far superior option of staring at the intensely beautiful Rolanda. Now, though, Khana benefited from being the only girl in the group. She was a short thing, curvy in the right ways, with features that were more cute than beautiful. Though there was a certain vivacity about her that Volithur enjoyed. Her face was exceedingly expressive, mouth and brows and eyes constantly in motion as she reacted to everything she heard.
Khana’s pants, shirt, and jacket had also obviously been tailored to be more suggestive without revealing more flesh than would be appropriate. It occurred to him that his habit of intensely studying noble girls probably had the potential to get him in a lot of trouble. Still. Khana was an acceptable substitute in Rolanda’s absence.
The nobles of their group sat on thick cushions placed on the stone while Hazen and Volithur stood in the back with the other commoners. The Head Scribe knelt beside Master Rowan, among the nobles but not partaking of their comforts. Damn status obsessed Xian, Volithur thought, finding himself angry on the Head Scribe’s behalf. While he himself might be an untalented waste of resources, the Head Scribe was a valuable employee of the household.
Hazen leaned close to him to speak private words. “Resources will be unofficially withheld from the two of us if our team does poorly this year.”
Volithur sighed. “Are Ulysses and Khana any good at their events?”
“Ulysses is quite studious and Khana is charming.”
“Can Ulysses debate? Can Khana recite poetry?”
Hazen made eye contact and said nothing, which could be translated from servant speech to mean ‘those two are useless hacks dragging our team performance down’. Volithur nodded to indicate he had understood the silent communique. “So we are either the unsung heroes or the publicly shamed incompetents.”
“I have some skill in spelling. Last year I came in second place. My father has had me drilling relentlessly these past months in preparation to repeat that performance. If you can achieve a top five ranking, our team’s overall ranking would satisfy the pride of the family.”
“The Scribe seems to think I will do better than fifth place.”
“I would welcome such an outcome,” Hazen said. “But you have to understand that the Shaocheth family does not prioritize academic pursuits. Though you may not see much proof of it in the fifth household, the family’s primary business is war. The sobriquet of our master is, after all, the Lord General.”
Sobriquet? Volithur filed that question away for later.
“Are the competing teams also representing lords?”
“While most teams are comprised of nobles, only a few of the teams come from a Lord’s household. The petty nobles around here are descended from deceased Lords or have been disinherited in cost cutting moves. The Evergreen Institute trains petty nobles to be scribes and clerks. It’s considered mildly scandalous for a noble to enter into service, but the alternative is taking up a trade. Working with the mind is preferable to working with the hands if you have to work.”
On the stage at the center of the amphitheater, a tall woman began to levitate high enough to draw everyone’s attention. “Welcome, noble guests, to the Evergreen Institute’s annual Academic Tournament. I, Stella Ilvar, am honored to be your host once more. We invited thirty-two of our friends to participate in our traditional festivities. The games are not only a chance for your students to win prizes, but for the Evergreen Institute to demonstrate the quality of our educational services.
“Beyond the academic competition itself, there are a number of social functions planned for your enjoyment. It is truly my hope that each of you remember our event with great fondness. Each day we have a morning tea, full lunch, banquet dinner, and evening snack prepared. This morning and afternoon we will hold qualifying examinations to eliminate half of the teams. Then the first night, which is tonight, we have planned a formal dance.”
Beside him, Hazen cursed. “Merciless fate!”
“The second night, following the initial two rounds of the tournament, students of the Institute will put on a show for all of you. There is to be a performance of the play Celestial Vengeance, followed by a choral performance, after which a duel of wits shall be held between two of our esteemed instructors. The third day the final four teams will compete against one another in a round robin format, which will determine the final placing. Members of the top three teams will receive an hour in our cosmic chamber. The third place team will receive a trophy and a teaspoon of sea salt from Tian. The second place team will receive a trophy, a teaspoon of Tian sea salt, and a cultivation pebble. The first place team will receive a trophy, teaspoon of salt, and a silver plasma elixir.”
The crowd clapped for that. As curious as Volithur was about the silver plasma elixir, he didn’t think his team had a chance of receiving it. The more immediate concern was Hazen’s reaction to the formal dance news. “Hazen, are we expected to serve food at the dance?”
Hazen shook his head. “Worse, Harridan. We are expected to attend as guests. Once we are noticed, the two of us will be dancing all night with every noble girl too ugly to pair up with a peer. And do not for a moment think you can refuse them, not to eat, not to use the facilities, not even to ease the bruises from clumsy feet.”
Volithur paled. “I don’t know how to dance.”
Hazen groaned. “So now the Scribe will make me practice dancing with you.”
The woman on stage went on to mention the sponsor of each of the thirty-two teams in attendance, then gave a short blurb about the many educational programs offered by the Evergreen Institute, before giving instructions on how to find their assigned guest housing.
They waited for the rest of their group to exit, whereupon they fell into formation at the back. The ‘quaint cottage’ set aside for their exclusive use had six separate bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a large lounge. It also came with a dedicated servant, who introduced himself and promised to run errands on their behalf at any time of day or night.
It was at this point that Hazen approached and bowed deeply to Master Rowan. The man gestured graciously. “Speak, child.”
“Thank you, Master Rowan. The news of the dance was most unexpected and I do not believe Ward Harridan is familiar with the etiquette of the situation.”
Master Rowan exchanged a dumbfounded glance with the Head Scribe. “Suggestions?”
The Head Scribe winced. “We could leave Ward Harridan at the cottage. Surely no one would notice.”
Master Rowan pursed his lips. “That would be rather uncharitable of us. There are not many commoners in attendance at these functions and noble boys can be overly discerning in their selection of partner. The Ward should attend. Find some time to instruct him on the basics of ballroom etiquette. And thank you, Hazen, for bringing this to our attention in a timely manner. I will remember to compliment you to your father.”
The Head Scribe bowed smartly. “As you say, Master Rowan.”