AKI:

The rest of the day was uneventful. Since all the theory classes were complete and the academy specialized in providing fodder for the Institute for War, the only subjects we were taught for the remainder of our enrollment were basic combat and soul manipulation, each taking half of each day. The soul manipulation class was a mix of good and bad. Good in that I finally had enough sensus to practice, bad in that I needed more practice than the class could provide. I muddled through, frustrated at every turn by my lack of control. While my previous, more modest pool had given me an intricate control none of my fellow students could match, allowing me to create minuscule but meticulous matrixes, my new pool was a flood of sensus, the glowing, translucent power rushing out like an uncaged, wild beast.

Leahne was there. Her gaze lingered on me when I entered the room and drifted back every so often, always at moments of failure, always with that unnerving smile of hers. I was glad when the bell finally rang and I could escape her ridicule.

The headmaster’s aide waited by the door for me at the end of class, his expression stern. He was a bland Root with dark hair, nondescript facial features, average height, and a slight build, all of which culminated into a rather forgettable man. I’d not remember him if not for how drunk the man was on the paltry power his role afforded him.

“Come,” he ordered.

We walked the breadth of the academy and reached the conclusion of the central hallway where Pakur’s office was situated. The aide knocked, waited, and, upon hearing the headmaster’s permission to enter, opened the door and shoved me in. The odor floating about the room was horrendous, like an invasion of my senses, the smell so strong I could taste it, so thick I could feel it crawl on my skin and clamber up my nose. I nearly gagged right there and then. Surprisingly, the office appeared clean—cluttered with pompous affectations but otherwise spotless.

Pakur pointed to one side of his desk. “Stand,” he instructed.

I complied, resisting the urge to cover my nose, and instead busied myself with studying the room. I spotted what had to be Froxil’s mother. She sat in one of the two chairs opposite the head assessor, placing her to my left and Pakur to my right. Knots of muscles pushed against her tight, warrior leather, partly illustrating where Froxil had inherited his build. A small girl no older than twelve stood across the room and in the corner, standing as though she was just another fixture of the room.

“Why have you brought the boy?” Froxil’s mother asked, her deep tone matching her hulking frame.

Pakur smiled, elbows on the table, fingers laced together. “Because…”

The woman stood, cutting an impressive figure. She had all the curves a woman wanted to have, and some most couldn’t. “Do not test my patience, Pakur.”

Pakur’s eyes narrowed. “Or what? What will you do? What can you do? You have grown reckless, little Sofilia. Life in The Branches, stashed in the Yabiskus manor and away from any real conflict, has withered away your restraint. And now you come here, into my office, and throw weightless threats at me? Me?”

“What of you? You’ve wilted behind the doors of this academy for half a century in the company of children, deluding yourself into thinking you are still as formidable as you once were. When was the last time you faced a true challenge?”

“Do not try to detract from my point,” Pakur said. The way he spoke, sat, and watched the overbearing woman without concern told of a man more remarkable than the one I knew. “We both know I could kill you with but a thought. Do not mistake the protection of your husband's reputation as your own strength, little Sofilia. Instead, remember what happened when last you earned my displeasure.”

Sofilia’s fist struck the wood of the table. “Do not speak of long distant—”

I did not see nor hear his blow connect. Whatever he did, Sofilia crashed back into her seat, blood seeping from a broken nose and running down parted lips.

“Be thankful,” Pakur said. “Years spent educating children has instilled in me a degree of patience I did not have when you attended this academy. But…” He snapped his fingers. The wall behind him rumbled and began to slide away, revealing the source of the rancid stench haunting the room. “If you wish to join those reckless fools who ignored my warning, you are welcome to do so.”

The room was well-lit. I wished it wasn’t. Half a dozen naked bodies tied with thick ropes hung from hooks, blood, urine, and feces running down their legs. Some still dripped fresh with the fetid juices of their bodies. Some were emaciated and groaning for death, the horrid mixture hard and flaky on their skin. One man had his legs cut off mid-thigh, his wounds festering a decaying rot of an unnatural, glistening green.

I retched. The half-digested remnants of my midday meal pushed past my fingers and down my forearm as I turned away from the gristly sight.

Pakur ignored me, speaking to Froxil’s mother in a relaxed tone that belied the situation. “I did not bring the boy for any purposes that pertain to your futile objections, Sofilia.”

I swallowed what I could and used my new tunic to wipe at my mouth. When I turned back, Sofilia, a wife to the Yabiskus branch patriarch, sat with her hands clenched to her chair's armrests, her face flushed by a wave of anger that set the veins on her temples and neck throbbing.

“What is my name?” Pakur asked.

“Pakur,” Sofilia forced out. She hissed and clutched at her upper arm. Blood ran a track down to her elbow.

“What is my name?” Pakur asked again.

“Pakur Razorstring,” she said through gritted teeth. “Are you sure you have the standing to treat me this way?”

Pakur smiled and snapped his fingers again. With a creak, the door behind him began to close. “Though I am one of the Named, no, I do not have the standing.” Sofilia leaned forward, ready to throw him a violent rebuke. Pakur raised a finger before she could. “Permission would be a more apt description.”

The tall woman shifted back into her seat, swallowing her words. “And regarding my… ‘objections,’ as you say?”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Pakur turned to me. “Young Aki, what led to Froxil’s injury?”

“A duel, Master,” I answered.

“Of which, who won?”

“I did, Master.”

“And of which, who first broke the rule of no sensus?”

“Froxil, Master.”

Pakur turned back to Sofilia. “As you’ve heard, and with unanimous corroboration from other witnesses if so required, whatever objections you have are based solely on the grace of your husband’s standing. Such reasoning, by the standards set forth by the late King himself, goes against the very nature of our fair Evergreen, all it stands for, and all it was built upon.”

A snicker came from the young girl standing in the corner of the room. Pakur and Sofilia ignored her like she was invisible, like she made no sound at all. I didn’t, and when I glanced her way, she winked at me.

Sofilia stood, slow and stiff. “Yabiskus will hear of this. If this so-called ‘permission’ of yours is a ruse, you will come to know regret. Intimately. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Leave,” Pakur said. “Before I am forced to keep my promise,”—he jutted a thumb over his shoulder—“and you're forced to keep them company.”

Sofilia marched from the room, slamming the door shut behind her.

Pakur trained his eyes on me. “Sit.”

I complied, noticing the girl remained in the corner. I’d taken her for Sofilia’s servant. Then…?

Pakur glanced at the floor, frowning at my vomit. “I thought life in The Muds rids one of a sensitive nose. A little whiff of death, and you spoil my floor?”

A little?

I peeled my gaze from the curly-haired girl and looked at Pakur. “Apologies, Master. My studies have always kept me from the more gruesome aspects of The Muds. I don’t have the stomach for it yet.”

“No matter.” He waved the topic away. “So, I hear you’ve had quite the night, is that right?”

“Yes, Master,” I said. There was no need to answer any unasked questions, implied or otherwise.

“Starting with an altercation by the academy entrance if I’m to believe the reports. What can you tell me of the incident?”

“Whatever I can remember, Master.”

Pakur smiled. “You were always a quick-witted one. And what can you remember?”

“Most if not all, Master.”

He laughed. The sound did not have even a hint of humor in it. “I didn’t ask how much you remembered; I asked what remembered,” he said, a smile on his lips and danger in his eyes. “Do that again, and I will hurt you, boy. I take it you are clear on my meaning?”

I nodded.

“Then answer my question.”

“Gundar, a Branch student of the academy, was injured trying to convince Merkus au Farian to apologize to Corine kin Jentra. For what, I cannot say.”

Pakur took a clay mug and a bottle of dark liquor from a drawer. I welcomed and detested its overpowering scent, thankful for the attention it took from the smell of decaying flesh. Yet deeper still was a part of me flustered by the memories it invoked, by memories of violence and abuse. Pakur poured until the dark liquid threatened to spill over the brim, picked up the mug, and stretched his neck forward to sip from the rim.

“And why were you in The Bark so late?” he asked.

“Because I’d found my father half beaten to death and didn’t want to be found by his assailant.”

Pakur’s initial sip had turned into large, successive mouthfuls, and he placed a finished mug back on the table. “You did not see the person who attacked your father?”

“No, Master.”

“Very well. Tell me of your sponsorship.”

I pulled the wooden mark from beneath my wrinkled tunic. “Farian, the reeve.”

“How exactly did that come about?”

“Merkus’ mother, Adjudicator Adeenas, decided her son's prospects were better in Partum. Being a friend, Merkus convinced his father to sponsor me after they’d left the capital.”

“I see. Well, as the head of the preparatory academy, I find no reason to pursue any further action.”

I tried to stand. Pakur's eyes bore me back into my seat.

“However,” he said, “there are still some issues you must resolve before you can resume your attendance.”

“Issues?”

He ignored me and struggled out of his chair, grunting with the effort. He faced the corner of the room and bowed as deep as his bulging stomach allowed. “Will you require anything else, Your Grace? Anything whatsoever?”

A hand stroked my unruly hair. I jumped—or tried to. The hand remained where it was, unmoving, clamping me to my seat.

“You may leave.” It was a child’s voice, lively and innocent and wicked all at once. I turned to its source.

The girl stood beside me. Of course, I thought, Lorail. I should have guessed earlier. It didn’t help that she looked little more than ten cycles. This child, this ancient god, appeared younger than I. Knite had told me not to believe all the statues, portraits, murals, and other forms of reverent art depicting her as a tall, long-haired goddess of uncanny beauty. He had described her as ‘small.’ I wondered if he’d been imprecise on purpose. If Merkus were Knite, which he somehow was and wasn’t, I’d say he never did anything without a reason.

“You had me worried,” the young girl said.

My expression was blank. “And who do I have the pleasure of caring for my wellbeing?”

Lorail smiled. It might’ve looked charming on most anyone else. She backed into the desk and hopped up to sit on its edge, then looked me over like a butcher looked over a slab of meat. “You really are the best of them.”

“The best?”

“No, I am not a recruiter. And no, I am not from the academy council nor any other such arm of the administration institute.”

I feigned panic. Some of it was real. When someone is reading your thoughts, some is expected.

Lorail waved her small hand in the air without the slightest hint of grace, joints all loose and careless. Like a child’s, I thought. “Do not worry about the rendition you gave the headmaster. It’s as accurate as he needs it to be.”

“Who are you?”

“I must, however, insist you answer my questions truthfully. Try your best to avoid excluding details I might consider pertinent.”

I swallowed. “How—”

“Try your best, and I will know.” She leaned forward, taking my eyes hostage with her own. “What happened to Rowan?”

I answered almost immediately. “Merkus killed her. Would you like to know how and where, or can you see the answers as quickly as I can think of them?”

“Son, if I so chose, I could see everything, even those thoughts you're trying so hard to hide from me.”

My panic grew. Knite had told me she could pluck thoughts from my aura and read them like a flow of consciousness, but as long as she didn't breach me with her sensus, anything I kept from my active mind was beyond her grasp. I held onto that hope without reaching for it. My heart thumped. I forced my panic to avoid sensitive information, which is harder said than done and harder still when thought. Bile rose and knocked against the base of my throat. I stopped its advance by inviting that cold indifference I’d spent so many years befriending. It answered my call. I welcomed it like an old friend instead of the treacherous bastard I thought it to be.

Lorail laughed, a playfully sinister sound. “As I said, you are the best of them. I would love to know what you are so competently keeping from me. Alas, I’m not one to burn my children with a scrying. Not unless they’ve done something to merit it.”

I was cold. Apathetic. Unmoving. I was as I used to be. “If you sought to make me afraid, I’m not.”

She smiled in satisfaction. “Good. You are quickly showing yourself to be a progeny I can proudly admit to.” She turned serious then—an odd look on a child, one easily misread as anger. “Yes, I see you aren't afraid. However, you are not ready to go without fear. Fear is a valuable tool. You must carry it with you, subdued but present until such a time when it becomes useless. The time when you can discard it is not nigh. It is far from now, far into an impossible future where I am not on this plane, and you are too powerful to fear another.”

“I did not say I cannot be afraid, merely that I am not.”

She slapped me. Hard. It stung my cheek with a blaze of heat. It did worse to my mind, for my own hand had done the deed. Anger tried to creep from the cold shell I’d erected. It took all of me to beat it back down, to calm its heat with cold logic.

“Clever boy,” she said. “That will serve you well for what you must survive.” She waited for me to ask for clarification. I stayed silent. “Yes, very clever indeed. Never question power. I intended to take you with me, but…”

And just like that, she was gone. It was not as if she blinked away or was there one moment and not the next. It was as if she’d not been there at all.