Isyd didn’t waste time. The last thing he wanted was to lose his chance to qualify for the Tourney at the final moment.
He was following a well-trodden dirt path, an indication that he was approaching the edge between the Forest and the Fields. The boundary between the two was not abrupt; instead, it felt more like the woodland creeping back in, reclaiming lost land inch by inch.
Isyd stopped suddenly when he felt a familiar presence.
Kazian of the Winds – or rather Kazian Zenovbia as he had yet to gain that title – was strolling a bit further ahead of the path. Isyd noticed him first, but didn’t make any move to hide his presence.
The old man finally noticed him standing there. His posture was outwardly nonchalant, but by hearing the Song of the Grace emanating from him, Isyd could guess that the man was far from defenseless.
“You can be proud of yourself, Young One,” Kazian drawled. “You have lasted longer than people expected.”
“Collecting all those tokens took me longer than I expected,” Isyd retorted.
A spark of confusion traversed Kazian’s eyes. “You didn’t walk out of the forest to surrender?”
“No.”
“You have 18 points?”
“I do. Isn’t that what was agreed to qualify?”
Kazian said nothing.
“I assume that you are surprised…” Isyd drawled.
In front of his continued silence, Isyd considered walking past the old Artyst, but then hesitated. There was something about the way Kazian stood purposefully across the trodden path that demanded one to stop.
“I still don’t understand why you have not joined the traditional Paramount Rings,” Kazian finally said.
This again? “I wasn’t interested,” Isyd said.
“So, I was told… May I ask you where you from?”
“I am from a small village south from here, near Hojny.”
“And you lived all your life in the Commonwealth, I assume. Well, let me present you with a different perspective. To be an Artyst like me is to have the ears of the Crimson Ones; I have advised the Voivodes of Lubarnia and Kuyawsko, dined with Pan Drago and even represented the Artem at the Capital in front of the King. That’s for the Commonwealth alone, but I have also travelled Ziemia. In the east, I have crossed the Gates of Uuraldur and wandered the Wild Steppes of Matizna. In the west, I have fought the hordes of barbarians from the Scerns and the Isles next to the army of His Holiness and journeyed to the court of the Duke of Khruss himself. I do not tell you all of this brag, but to instill in you a realization.”
“That you are well travelled?”
“That I am well-connected! The life an Artyst can be long and arduous. You must realize then that your time spent here the in the Academy, though important, must not overshadow what may come next. Do you understand what I am saying?”
“I understand, Tutor.”
“Good, you’re smarter than you first look. Are you familiar with House Drago? Your Senior, Jonn Drago, is the heir to the Podkarpia Voivodeship. They have historically been close to the Academy since it exists inside their territory. The Crimson Gold represents a pet project of theirs, a way to nurture Pupils they find promising and interesting so that they are loyal to them the moment they step out of the Academy. You should have paid better attention to this when you refused their offer to join them. Some would argue that House Drago is the most powerful of the Northern Houses and—”
“Is that why you let Jonn Drago qualify?” Isyd cut in.
Kazian froze, and his eyes narrowed on him. “How bold… I had heard that Pupils of this Academy did not fear speaking their mind… ‘Vigor’, they called it. I will still ask you to watch your tongue, Young One. I am not one to let baseless accusations go unanswered!”
“If they are baseless, then I sincerely apologize, Tutor.”
Isyd could clearly imagine Naeht’s mortified expression in front of his less-than-subtle hostility, but the night had been long, and it was old man Kazian we were talking about…
“I see…” Kazian said under his breath. “Well, in the end, pewter may shine, but it will never be silver… Fine, you may leave! I have decided to let you go for now, Wybrany,” Kazian said.
“How kind of you…”
“Do not besmirch this kindness. And take to heart my words of advice. The growth you demonstrated in the Academy has been prodigious and reached even outside those walls. There are those that may be displeased by such development. Can you guess why?”
Isyd didn’t bother answering – Kazian didn’t let him anyway and continued.
“Things are the way they are often for a reason. Everything and everyone to their due place. Thus, we have order in the world, in the Commonwealth and in our lives. Cursed is the one that wants to upset it all!”
“Then I believe that this order is just an illusion, the phantasm of a static reality that has and will never exist. Things must change, I thought you would agree as a Tutor. Mustn’t the acorn grow into a tree, the tree into a forest?”
“No, not every acorn is destined to. Less the light, the water, the soil grows too thin… Some must accept to remain mere saplings for the strong sycamore to grow tall.”
“Who is to decide that?”
“I am.”
Isyd didn’t bother hiding it anymore; he eyed the man with all the contempt he held for him. This talks in metaphors and allusions had run its course and he was now waiting for what Kazian would do. Isyd had already decided that he wouldn’t yield to him, and damned were the consequences of Pupils trading blows with a Tutor. The air between them was so tense, it could be felt on the skin.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Suddenly, Kazian stepped aside. “I have said my piece. You can go ahead, Young Wybrany.”
Isyd didn’t move immediately and didn’t relax his grip on his tokens, but eventually he did walk on, leaving Kazian behind for now.
He crossed the Fields with ease, keeping his Lightsphere turned on in front of him despite not needing it. Up ahead was the crowd of Pupils and Tutors he’d left earlier this evening. The crowd had thinned out, which wasn’t surprising since the 1st Hour Bell would ring soon.
Isyd arrived in front of the committee of Tutors. Hidrss, visibly bored out of his mind, fidgeted with one of his toys – a coil of copper spring fitting his finger size like a glove. Upon seeing him, his face lit up, and he snickered when Isyd presented his intact Blysht and his tokens to the Doyen. Murmurs traversed the crowd of onlookers.
“With his Ingraced Blysht, and his four tokens, Isyd Wybrany qualifies himself and the Tears to the Tourney! Congratulations, Young One!”
The crowd erupted into applause and cheers. Tutor Milwyk raised his staff and released his [Flare]. It arched high in the sky where it bloomed into an explosion. There it remained, lighting the starry night sky next to the first one.
After a respectful bow to his Tutors, Isyd headed towards Oliwer and Jadwia who were waiting for him apart from the crowd. The former was literally trembling with excitement and almost jumped on Isyd once he had finally reached them.
“You did it! I knew you would! I told Klare so, but her friend kept laughing at me! That will show them! They were so certain that Senior Gwemb would walk out of the forest first. But then Senior Drago did and then…”
Jadwia put one hand on Oliwer’s shoulders and pulled him back to calm him.
Oliwer startled then realized and offered an awkward smile. “Sorry…”
“So, how was it?” Jadwia asked Isyd.
She seemed genuinely curious and didn’t display the same surprise as the other Pupils. She had been a bit worried after learning that he’d face off against the Paramount Ringleaders, but by now, Jadwia had learned not to be shocked when Isyd achieved what others deemed to be impossible.
“It was…” Isyd trailed off, thinking on what to say, before finally settling on one word. “Fun.”
Naeht, who had appeared over Jadwia’s shoulder, threw a surprised look at him.
“That’s it? Simply ‘fun’?” Jadwia said.
“We will have the occasion to discuss more on what I learned, but yes it was mainly ‘fun’.”
“I see… Well, I guess that is enough for now. To be entirely honest with you, it hasn’t entirely settled in that we are now participating in the Tourney. I’ll probably fully accept it by tomorrow though…”
“We must go see my sister!” Oliwer exclaimed. “Just to rub it in her face. That’ll teach her and her friends!”
“I’m sorry, Oliwer, but I think I will pass on that…” Isyd said.
“But…” Oliwer began.
Jadwia put her hand on his shoulder once more, catching the hint. “I think Isyd is quite tired after tonight’s ordeal and a crowd may be too much… Come on, let’s go share the news with Kewin – he’s still waiting at the Gate. If you want, we can still drop by your sister’s group.”
Isyd offered a discrete, thankful not to Jadwia and offered the two of them a goodbye and goodnight as they headed toward the group of the Cerulean Feathers Pupils still awaiting the return of Arron Gwemb.
Isyd also moved away from the crowd, heading toward the Academy. He didn’t leave the Fields, however, and instead sat down at the foot of a weeping willow tree, a few paces off from the path. His gaze was still directed at the forest, waiting like everyone else to see who will be the last Ringleader to qualify.
Naeht appeared and sat next to him. “So, it was fun, eh…” she drawled with a smile.
“Yes, it was. Don’t be that surprised. After all, it was just a friendly competition between Pupils.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong; I’m not surprised that the competition was fun. I’m surprised you found it so… When was the last time you stopped brooding and took the time to enjoy something fun?”
Isyd threw her a glare. “I’m not here to have fun, Naeht.”
“My point exactly!”
Isyd shook his head but couldn’t stop an amused smile appearing on the corner of his lips. Naeht grinned, satisfied. Isyd let out a sigh and settled more comfortably against the trunk. They both remained silent, both lost in thought and enjoying this moment of complicity between them.
It took another hour after Isyd sat down for the final Ringleader to qualify.
Söyem Nifritovna walked out of the woodland with a limp. In one hand, she still held the hilt of her sword that had been broken by Kazian, while in the other, she held her tokens that she presented to the Doyen.
“With her 6 tokens, Söyem Nifritovna qualifies herself and the Faded Jade, to the Tourney! Congratulations Young One!”
The crowd erupted with applause, cheers and whistling and a final [Flare] bloomed in the night sky to warn the remaining Ringleaders that the competition was over.
The Crimson Gold, the Faded Jade and the Tears were the three Rings selected to represent the Academy of Holy Vigour to the Tourney.
The gathered Pupils were split between joy for the winners and disappointment for the losers but the former, though fewer in numbers, were more definitely more clamorous. The night was still young and the Crimson Gold and the Faded Jade intended to celebrate their victory.
The Tutors retreated towards the Academy, and the crowd scattered quickly. As the procession of her Ringmembers passed near where Isyd was seated, Söyem noticed him. Their eyes met, and she visibly hesitated, then raised the hilt of her broken sword and gave him a nod. Isyd nodded back respectfully in response, and she and her friends resumed their walk back to the Academy.
Isyd didn’t move from his spot. He watched the forest as one by one, Henryk Pwom, Prinse Krovtur, Arron Gwemb and finally Marzena Tchepwa walked out of the woods. Each were greeted with accolades and applause by their respective Ringmembers.
“I know brooding is a thing you like doing,” Naeht said. “But since you had fun in this little contest, can you tell me why you are so somber?”
Isyd took his time to answer. He finally pointed at the retreating figure of Prinse Krovtur. “They are without a doubt the best of the Academy. All the attention, all the resources are diverted in their direction, and it shows in their skills that exceed by far those of the other Pupils. Those 6 are the best, strongest brightest of the Academy!”
Naeht rose in the air, hands on her hips and a satisfied smile on her face. “Yes, and we suspected so, didn’t we? That’s why you said you wanted to test their skills to see what they were truly capable of! Contrary to you, I never doubted they were great! I thought—”
“It’s not enough!” Isyd cut her.
Naeht froze. Her smile turned into a grimace and her whole figure shimmered briefly, a sign of distress.
“You mean…”
“It won’t be enough for the War! None of them will survive it, not even the first year. The Obcys will kill them all and rise them again, and they’ll be powerless to stop it! And they are the best of the Academy, what does that mean for the rest of the Pupils? I can’t even think about it…”
Isyd clenched his fist and felt his skin itch under his bandages.
“They all represent the future of the Arts in the Commonwealth,” he continued softly. “How bleak… I can’t even hope it is different for the two other Academies…”
He closed his eyes and let out a tired sigh. Naeht said nothing, just watching him with a worried look on her face. There were times when Isyd’s mood worsened past the usual brooding, when his thoughts turned dark, and he withdrew within. It was his “old bad habits” as he called them. In those times, Naeht wished she knew to say to lift his spirit.
She wished she could help him so much more than she could do now.
Naeht startled when Isyd suddenly got up. He was flexing his gloved fingers then dusting himself off.
“Isyd…” Naeht muttered tentatively.
She was afraid he had withdrawn within his own mind, but when she met his eyes, she saw a determination cold and hard like freshly quenched steel.
“It needs not to be this way, Naeht,” Isyd said. “None of us are condemned to our fate. I guess that’s why we went back, right? We will change things. We will make sure to be ready for what is to come. And it will all begin with our own Ring!”