No ripples marred the surface of the crystalline blue waters that filled the caldera. The corals that named the Sect covered the lake's bottom. White fluffy clouds painted on the tranquil liquid. Schools of fish could be seen darting with no particular pattern.
Viper descended the flying boat along with Skandar. They both sauntered on the stone dock. The cool morning air turned the long trek into a pleasant stroll.
Her thoughts drifted as they walked towards the Zenith Tower. She remembered the bright smile of her handsome master while sharing the many secrets of the Sect upon arrival. So much on his young shoulders. I need to work harder and grow stronger.
Tall wooden golems cared for the gardens that bordered the wide cobblestone avenues. A sight they were both now accustomed to. The automatons not only cared for the Sect but were formidable fighters, evidenced by the beating she had received from them in the practice ring. She would never admit it, but she had been just as astonished as the boy at the wonders in this place when they first arrived.
The portal, the flying boats, Sect Master’s Island, the library, the alchemy and Ether Shaping halls. It was incredibly overwhelming. The speculations circulated among the Ebon didn’t come close to the reality of this place.
“Are you ready, junior brother?” She asked the nonsensical question to break the silence.
“Yes, oh wise, senior sister.”
They had now become sworn disciples of the Echelon of the Cerulean Coral and had started this form of address - mostly she had; the boy was still a boy. The first two disciples in Renier’s quest to rebuild the Sect.
The building that housed the tower - which was more of a pit - was just ahead. Today, Skandar would conquer level three, signaling that his body was ready for the transformation. Each of the nine subterranean levels increased the pull of gravity and Mu energy pressure, preparing the disciple's body. Lower levels would prepare the body for the increasing Sangami Stages.
To their surprise, Renier waited for them at the entrance. Viper’s eyes widened, and a girlish mooning grin drew on her face. Then, she caught herself and composed her demeanor. I hope he didn’t see me.
“Greetings, Sect Master!” They said in unison while bowing.
“It’s good to see you both. Are you ready?” He asked Skandar.
“Yes, Sect Master!” The typically frivolous teenager answered formally.
“What have you decided?” This time, he faced Viper.
“Skandar turns fourteen in a few days. He will go through the transformation, and when he’s ready, we will both enter Aymbria.” Her chin jutted out, and her shoulders squared in defiance. Just because no one my age has entered Aymbria and returned doesn’t mean I can’t.
“If you are sure…” concern showing on his face. His gaze pulled to the upper right, contemplating. His hand moved to his face, thumb and forefinger clasping his chin. Then, as if resigned to the decision, “I’ll contact the keeper that you will both be entering. We’ll take every precaution.”
His eyes slightly watered, and after a brief pause, in a subdued tone, he added, “Thank you, Viper,” and bowed to her.
Then, with a broad smile, he commented, “I’ll leave for Constantinople once Skandar’s transformation is complete. May your training be fruitful!”
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
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Aymbria was a pain! How could he have allowed the old man to con him into coming here? All day, every day, that devil incarnate pushed him, prodded, and pulled him in every direction. Exercise, practice, lectures, exams, more practice, more exercise. That was his life now. He longed for the lazy days at the estate with Mistress Dalia tutoring and Captain Ferid’s instructions.
And they had lied! He had clearly been told that it would be a year. Curiously, no one had thought it important to mention that a year outside was equal to ten years in Aymbria. Ten years! He would be an old man by the time this finished.
That traitorous senior sister was no help, either. She sided with the Keeper! There was no escape!
Skandar fumed while he drank the cool, clear water seated on a bench, watching the huge golem that was the Keeper instruct Viper on the use of a spear. They had explained it to him, but he didn’t quite understand it. The Keeper was a golem, but in reality, it was a person or had been a person or something.
The two figures practiced a stone-lined ring in the middle of the practice arena. The array carved on the floor protected against severe injury, allowing for more realistic sparring.
It had started easily enough but quickly turned into grueling daily work. Three months in this hell, and he was looking for a way out. At least he had made progress with his weaves and dagraha.
Also, just like it had been with Mistress Dalia, he failed to understand why he needed all these other lessons. He just wanted to fight. And unlike the beautiful Dalia, the Keeper was the most frightening, ugliest-looking golem he had ever seen.
“Skandar, grab a spear and spar with your senior sister!” The golem ordered.
Skandar reluctantly stood and picked up his spear, “Yes, Keeper. Ready to become senior sister’s pin cushion!”
“Try weaving kinedisc as you spar!”
Not helpful, devil! If I could do that, I wouldn’t be a pin cushion. As much as Skandar tried, he couldn’t instaweave kinedisc, yet.
Skandar entered hi dragaha, and everything slowed down. But it was to no avail. Viper was just much faster than him. He tried blocking and parrying her thrusts but was only partially successful. Fortunately, his senior sister took pity on him and only pricked his skin.
After thirty minutes of bleeding, they left the circular ring to change and eat, then the nap-inducing lecture on logic in the afternoon. Alas, how he longed to see Mistress Dalia’s pretty face.
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Damianos Kyriakides stood on the prow of the galley as it crossed the Bosphorus straight toward the main Constantinople dock. The sounds of the bustling city to his left could be heard across the water. The morning sunlight glistened off the crest of the small waves the light breeze made.
This confounded trip would finally end. Perhaps because his first sailing experience had been fraught with perils, he hated ships and the sea.
He contemplated the scenery. The forefinger and thumb of his right hand cupped his chin. Red tiled roof buildings dotted the city, making a patchwork of color in the otherwise drab grey.
For the fourth time that morning, he checked that the letters he carried were still safely tucked in his breast. I’ll establish myself with these and then look for Gustav Menart.
Selling the silk shipment to Menart Trading was critical to his other plans, even if it was at a loss. Liquidity was needed for the next part of his plan.
“How long will you stay in port?” He asked the Captain. He knew the answer, but it was better to confirm.
With a bit of frustration, the Captain answered, “We return to Cyprus in three days!” I must conclude the sale or find a place for the cargo by then.
He disembarked to make his way to the guild. The pungent waft of fish permeated the air. The multitude of people and the many puddles that dotted the wharf slowed his passage. But after a few minutes, he reached the comparatively empty main avenue that led into the city proper.
Although the street was relatively clean, the fish smell was replaced by the more common stench of sewage.
The guild building was an imposing structure. An impressive arched entrance led to a blue-tiled corridor. The clerk seated behind a table blocking passage ignored Damianos as he approached.
As he entered, a richly dressed young lady with flowing red hair flanked by two guards exited the building. Her face was covered by a silk veil, but their stares were briefly locked as if in recognition.
“I’m Damianos Kyriakides, and I’m here to see the guildmaster! Hurry up and tell him!” He said in a boisterous, commanding tone, making the clerk jump.
“Yes sir, wait here, please,” the clerk said, bowing to the imposing tall man and motioning to a bench nearby.
A few minutes later, the clerk returned and ushered him in. He led him through the corridor to a nearby study, every few steps looking back as if making sure that the figure was still there.
The guildmaster was a short, round gentleman in his mid-forties. He had a short, greying beard and wore a rich but worn cloak with an azure tablion over his dalmatic.
After the pleasantries, Damianos handed him the letters of introduction.
“With these, we can grant you membership in the guild, and you’ll be able to trade within the empire.” Said the guildmaster.
“I have a shipment of silk that I would like to offer. I heard the biggest trading house in Constantinople is Menart Trading. Could you introduce me?”
“You’re in luck. We have a guild event this evening. Perhaps you could join? It would only cost five hundred gold.” The guildmaster said with a wide grin.
Without hesitation, he handed over the amount. As expected, he thought, forming his own grin.