Alfort Academy
In the crisp, late winter air, a groan pierced the air. It came from the small but well-appointed house a few hundred feet on the outskirts of Kinsmouth Township, from the open window on the second story. Gathered around the house, men and boys waited. Some fidgeted whenever sounds came from the house. Some stood, faces blank, stoic. Others busied themselves with chores around the house: cleaning the stables at the back, feeding the small number of chickens and pigs in the sty beside the stables, drawing water and cutting firewood, and some sweeping out the brick and stone building standing prominently between the house and town, an anvil and forge in the center of the circular building. These men worked under the direction of a young teen.
The teen was no older than 15, still a gangly youth. His large hands and feet, calloused and worn despite his age, led to strong wrists and well-muscled arms that were too long for his frame. His brown eyes were wide and guileless; his face still resolutely holding on to the last vestiges of baby fat. The only feature he was proud of, his hair, was a shaggy mass of blond streaked brown, kept clear of his face in a short queue at the back of his head. He was, despite his age, directing the older men in their activities. He darted about the shop, correcting and directing the men in the cleaning, ordering, and placement of tools and supplies. His clear voice, still breaking with his coming manhood, was shrill with excitement.
“Mr. Teely, be careful with the files, please! Mr. Connors, those irons need to go outside, to the south side! Mr. Pytor! That coal needs to be covered completely! Please make sure to strap down those ties!”
The men working in the shop took his direction without complaint. This was a well-known business for them, a habit born from the camaraderie between tradesmen in the township. After all, taking care of a fellow tradesman’s shop before the birth of a child was something they had all done in the past.
Another groan split the air, this one significantly longer and edging up into a scream at the end. The teen's movement stalled, his head turning toward the house for a fraction of a second before returning to work. He knew what the other women had said. At 37, his mother was “getting too old to have more children, even if they need them” and the pregnancy was “her last chance, really.”
It just didn’t make sense in the boy’s mind. He was strong, coming up on his naming day, and had no intentions of leaving for greener pastures when he was already well on the way to finishing an apprenticeship under his father. He would become a journeyman for the required two years and then be back at home to help his father with the business. Now, though? Now he had to stay, if only to help take care of chores while his mother raised the new sibling.
A final cry sounded, high and clear, freezing everyone in place. Then, in the silence following, came the cry, the hiccupping, wailing sound ushering in a new soul. The yard erupted in cheers. The boy turned from the forge and sprinted to the house, eager to see his newly expanded family. Around him, the town folk walked toward the tables waiting to be set up, in the hope that they would be needed to celebrate a successful birth. Women started cookfires and men brought out hanks of venison and beef, eager to start the party, a celebration of a new life.
Pounding into the house and up the stairs, the lad hurried toward the bedrooms. As he came to the hallway, another vicious scream ripped the air, clashing with the sound of a babe’s crying. He froze, heart leaping into his mouth. He heard Miss Angelica, the midwife, cooing to his mother, voice too low for him to make out words. Another scream, the longest yet, ending in a high, keening wail.
A small wail, faint but not lacking strength, reached the boy’s ears with crystal clarity. Not the first babe, whose lusty cries filled the air, and not his mother’s, whose panting was broken as she spoke in a whisper to Miss Angelica. Not even his father’s deep voice, which reached his ears for the first time all day. No, this was a baby's discomfort.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The lad stepped carefully up to the door, his large feet placed gently to avoid unnecessary noise. Peering in, he caught a sight that would remain with him for the rest of his life. His father, leaning over his mother, a look of such tenderness on his hard, weathered face that it shocked the boy. His mother, sweatstained and weary, but glowing with joy and contentment, gazing down at the bundle in her arms. The two bundles, with two small faces, with the smushed, unfinished look of newborns. One, with matted blonde hair, squalling and fighting against the swaddling cloth, and the other, peering about the room with large, liquid eyes, peering about the room with a look of befuddled amazement. Those eyes, a startling clear silver, almost glowing, landed on the boy and locked.
The lad’s mother looked up and caught sight of the gangly youth.
“Mack! Come and meet your sister and brother, Adriana and Enin!”
***
Miles and thousands of gold, jewels, and titles away, in a large castle devoid of activity, a groan pierced the calm air. Another set of twins, identical boys of 5, peered into a bed chamber. With matching grins, they looked in at a vision of swirling colors and light gliding through the air with ease. The midwife, a sharp-eyed older woman with the silver pin of a full Witch, was assisted by a journeyman witch fresh from the academy, bearing a bronze pin. Both sang, the low sound soothing. It eased the passage of the babe, gently delivering it, her, into the world. There was no gathering of peers, no help needed to maintain a lively hood or even the simple comfort of friends coming. No party would be happening today. No, no. That would wait until the baby’s 10th birthday, at her introduction to court, when a grand party would be thrown. For now, though, all she got was the cheer of her father, the comfort of her mother, and the attention of her twin cousins.
As the babe was lifted into the waiting arms of her father sometime later, after checkups and more spells from the witches and being fed by her mother, she settled for the first time, easing gently into sleep. Her mother, watching from the bed, sighed out a tired laugh.
“I see she is going to be your trouble to deal with, dear husband. Look at how she slips to sleep in an instant in your arms when she would barely deign to even feed in mine? She must be your heir, what with that attitude.”
Her husband, his weary but unlined face creasing into a gentle grin, shook his head slowly. “She must get that attitude from you, my dear. Ask anyone and they shall tell you that you are the firebrand and saucy one in this household. But yes. She is the heir, our heir. Lady Cressida Lucile Thornwell, someday Duchess of Thornwell.”
The baby’s eyes opened a sliver, revealing a vivid fractured green to pair with the red fuzz atop her head. She smiled in her doze, the sound of her name still ringing in the air of the bed chamber.
***
On this same day, what would later be dated 5 BID or 5 years before Industry, posters went up in every town in the country of Cantor—on every town bulletin board, sent to every city crier and chanter. Sent to the lords and ladies, read to the merchants and tradesmen, and even chanted to the poorest people sleeping on the streets of city slums.
By Order of His Royal Majesty, King Henric Cantor,
And the Houses of the Royal Congress
Decreed on this day, the 21st day of Firstmonth, in the 233rd year after founding, all children of the realm shall receive schooling equivalent to the first level of knowledge of the scholars from accredited professors under the employ of the Crown and people for the benefit of the citizenry. Children aged 5 to 15 shall complete this schooling and shall be given a test during their 1st, 5th, and 10th year of schooling. Those with exemplary scores shall be offered the opportunity to attend the Alfort Royal Military Academy at no cost for 5 years after their 20th name day.
This momentous turning point in the history of a notoriously backward and underdeveloped nation was, in the eyes of the greater world, merely a footnote in history, a pat on the back for progress. If only they knew that without it, the world as they knew it would have come crumbling down upon them in fiery anguish.