Jillian adjusted her pants for the twelfth time in the passed minute. They were profoundly uncomfortable, she didn’t know whether to feel good or bad about the fact that the clothes was not fitting her well. She was a woman after all. She needed womanly clothes and James’ clothes was far from womanly. But there was another problem. James, he was a slender man, it was not that the clothes were too loose, it was that they were too tight. One time she swore she saw him eying her waist with a look of disapproval. It infuriated her, him acting all high and mighty.
If Jack was here he would give old four eyes a piece of his… Jack… She didn’t think she’d ever forget today. James said it had happened only a few hours ago. She didn’t believe him — on account of the fact that she blacked out.
Her green eyes rested on the back of a man with wavy black hair, who was bartering with a shopkeeper. Haggling about a penny here and a penny there.
James is such a nag. I just want to go home… home… what is home?
She didn’t want to be up and about. She didn’t want to be shopping. She wanted Jack’s body… James said that was impossible. Some witches had escaped from Da Shan’s purge and they took his body with them.
Pricking creeps! What do you want with a dead body. HE’S MINE!
Anger worked its way up her throat, threatening to explode in a scream. But anger gave way to frustration, frustration to disappointment and disappointment to tears. Pretty soon she was bawling on the streetway, kneeling down in the dirt like a beggar. Unable to control herself, gut-wrenching sobs escaping from her lips and bubbles of snot from her nose. She just wanted to go home.
I just want to go home…
She didn’t know when or how but a large warm hand rested on her shoulders. A gentle warmth was suffused into her body. She felt lighter, the clouds started clearing. Within seconds she was well enough to glare at people who were ogling her like a spectacle. She felt another hand. Not so gentle. Not so warm and not so large. Tugging at her. Someone was hoisting her up.
It was James. His voice sounded in her ear.
“Now, now girl. I know it’s hard, but it is best to keep your mind off of what has happened for as long as possible. We need to get as much done as possible before McCarthy sends me back to the forest.”
“Why the forest? Why do we have to go back there, the witches are there!”
Hushed cries and looks of panic flashed in the townspeople’s eyes. James’ eyes narrowed at her behind his spectacles.
“Keep your mouth shut.” Came the forceful whisper.
“No James! No! I will not! I will not keep my mouth shut! I —”
“What is your name?”
A third voice broke her tirade. She knew this voice, she had heard it recently. She turned her head and was startled to see a large man. He had a scraggly beard and greasy black hair, dull brown eyes and a heavy build. A katana hung at his waist, its simple scabbard complimenting his dirty black kimono well.
At this point Jillian was floored. This idiot knew her name! She had bumped into him so many times, she wanted to clobber him on the side of the head. But then she remembered how he was always there. When she thought all hope was lost, he showed up, his brown eyes and smiling face. He had rescued her. She bit back a snarky reply and decided to answer with her full name.
“Jillian, it’s Jillian J. LaPucelle, of the 27th Space Infantry Brigade, Captain,” she saluted him sharply, her body taunt and erect, auburn hair bouncing as she moved.
Da Shan smiled at her.
Out of the corner of her eye Jillian saw James’ mouth hang open. That damned four-eyed freak! At this rate I’m going to become a prejudiced prick!
“What is it James? Are you amazed that I’m a Captain?”
James gulped, “No… Jillian… it’s that… Da Shan smiled… he bloody smiled.”
Da Shan cocked a quizzical eyebrow, “I always smile.”
“Damn fish-eyes no you don’t!”
Now it was Jillian’s turn to be taken aback. The James. The ever lady-like tea sipping scone munching, prim and proper James was raising his voice with spittle flying everywhere? Now she’d seen everything.
Da Shan seemed a little insulted though, James’ remark seemed to have struck a cord. He waved his hand dismissively, “Fish-eyes… bah! That’s what all the students at the Academy call me, Deacon Fish-eyes. My eyes are beautiful! They’re beautiful eyes. Jillian, please!”
“They’re okay,” she managed to hold back a chuckle as Da Shan spread apart his eyes showing the whites and all their “veinyness”.
Da Shan seemed rebuffed, but then his expression sharpened, “Ah, you guys are just in time, I am giving a lecture in the hall soon! Why don’t you come join me? Listen in on my wisdom.”
If seeing Da Shan smile had surprised James, hearing that Da Shan was about to give a lecture contorted his face to look like someone who had eaten a very sour candy.
After recovering, James sniffed daintily, “Be lectured by you… I don’t —”
“We’re going.” Jillian’s firm response startled both men. “I need to see something… something to take my mind off of everything.”
Da Shan nodded solemnly as if he understood exactly what she was talking about. She felt a bit of warmth in her heart. Maybe it wasn’t so bad to be alive after all.
As they fell in line with one another, Da Shan leaned over and whispered to her, “You said your name was Jillian J. LaPucelle?”
“Need help remembering it, old man?”
Da Shan huffed indignantly, the very picture of an offended senior, “Old man… bah! Old man… people would kill to have my life experience and you dare denigrate me?”
This time she shouldn’t hold back her chuckle.
Da Shan’s face turned red in response and he started muttering to himself about the “youth of today” and “women”. That last one had really made her smirk.
She poked him on the arm.
He looked aghast, as if she had violated a great taboo. Her mirthful green eyes twinkled at him, “It stands for Joan. My middle name is Joan.”
The look of horror on Da Shan’s face switched to one of pensive receptiveness, as if he had thought that was the answer all along. He kept nodding to himself and repeating her name under his breath, as if trying to commit it to memory.
James leaned over, “Not only does he have the eyes of a fish, he has the memory of one.”
*****
Room 101. An epitaph famous to all. It was after school hours today, and the school would usually be mostly empty, except of course for the occasional students participating in their clubs or helping out with errands. But tonight, the school was hustling and bustling, girls in blue and green kilts with white uniform shirts and boys with green blazers and grey pants flooded the hallways. Their chatter loud and lively. Every month there was special lecture given on cultivation and wizardry. All the students wanted to (or were forced to) cultivate or train in the arts of magic. For the first four years however, their exposure to these fantastical things was minimal. They had to learn algebra, philosophy, history, repeat McCarthy’s Manifesto every morning while bowing to an image of him in each class and swearing fealty to his undying cause— the usual school things. Probably the harshest part of Academy life was the no dating policy and the separate classes for boys and girls. It was at nights like this, once a month, were the boys and girls could meet in the open.
There was excitement in the air, a confession here, a rejection there — and an angry Deacon trying to put a stop to the wildness. One girl with radiant blonde hair hung was approached by multiple boys, her cheerful and enchanting smile sucking them in like moths to a flame. One moth got brave enough, he asked the flame to be his! He flew in at full speed, the heat singeing his feelers, his fellow moths were screaming at him to abort — but it was too late. A pillar of fire erupted from the little flame and incinerated his wings, sending him careening to the ground in a smouldering heap!
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The rejection of love. How painful. How cruel. How sad.
His fellow moths looked on with pity and kept their distance from the flame.
Apart from romance and the bubbliness of youth, there was another reason the students were thronging to this Lecture Hall. The person who was supposed to be giving the Lecture tonight was a bit of a celebrity. Cindy Loo was out on a mission today, a promotional mission. She would be advancing from a lowly Deacon to a full-blown Elder. It was not uncommon, but it was still a spectacular feat. There were about one thousand new Deacons every year, only about two hundred remained by the end of the year. Those two hundred were typically promoted or stayed on for the next year. She was one of the best, one of the elites and it didn’t hurt that she was incredibly beautiful.
So, you can imagine everyone’s surprise when three adults walked into the room. A tall slender man with glasses, a curvy red-haired woman and a dirty man with a stained kimono all walked in the room and made their way to the front.
It was a little odd to have adults show up at these events, but not unheard of. But when only two of them sat down, glasses and ginger. The surprise in the room grew and tension fluttered in the air. When the unkempt man in the black kimono took the stage, the tension frothed over into murmurs and complaints.
“Eh? What’s going on?”
“Where’s Cindy Loo?”
“What’s… he… doing here?”
“Isn’t that Elder Mediocrity.”
Da Shan winced at the nickname, a lesser man might hunt down the person who said that. He might remember that it was a male voice, that he had sandy brown hair and was sitting in the 9th row, five seats on from the aisle. A lesser man might pay attention to all that. But Da Shan was not a lesser man. In some ways he was more famous than Cindy Loo, he was a fixture at the Academy as long as anyone could remember, he had been there. Somehow managing to scrap by every year at the bottom of the totem pole. As the murmurings grew a little more insipid and a tad more frequent Da Shan sighed to himself.
As their instructor I suppose it is my duty to teach them the hard realities of life. Being a good educator is such a burden. Da Shan, congratulating himself on his magnanimity and cleared his throat with a grunt that caused the auditorium to shake and echoed in all their brains. Even Jillian seemed surprised at his power, it made him wonder what she thought of him, he tore his eyes off of her and filed that thought away for later.
“When did the Elder of Mediocrity have such power?”
“He seems kind of scary!”
Da Shan basked in the adoration of the male students, and with an expectant expression he sharpened his already acute hearing to catch the whispers of the students.
“He is so not hot.”
Da Shan felt a small part of him die on the inside, he remembered his youth. He was a mortal at that time, just a regular boy in a regular village school. The flashback was quick. It was brief. It was painful. How many girls had he asked out? All of them. Who said yes? None of them. Spring never comes to a winterful soul like him. His heart clenched in pain at the memories. He buried the past where it belonged and focused on the present, his usual neutral expression panning over his face. He looked at the kids, he noticed their innocence, their naivety. Their optimism. It disgusted him.
“Ahem.” Da Shan let out a muffled cough that silenced everyone, he then spoke, “It is with a perverse pleasure that I dash your dreams tonight.”
The students looked around in confusion. Some with open looks of hostility.
“Unfortunately,” Da Shan continued stoically and with an air of importance, “Cindy Loo is dead and I have been asked to fill in for her.”
“…”
If there was hostility and confusion before, now there was just a void. Emptiness. Blankness. Pure shock. Cindy dead? What insanity was this!
“It must be hard for you all to be confronted with a man of such status as myself, but I assure you, I will do my best to dumb down what I know to a format that is suitable for you.”
Deloris, who was tucked away in the back of the audience wore a distinctly vicious frown. Is he just pricking around?
Students didn’t know how to react, none of them were very close to Cindy, but the shock of losing someone you saw almost every day — who had such a bright future and who was an icon to all — floored them. They didn’t know how to react. A soft sob started. As the tears fell a chorus of cries almost rang out until Da Shan seemed to ripple with energy and with a mighty shout he silenced them, “There will be no crying today!”
Soft sniffles and sobs still sounded out in the auditorium.
Da Shan's voice went hard and cold, the tone he used when he sliced and diced the witches, the tone he used when he threatened Deloris, a tone that was soaked in blood, "Put your tears away."
The students stopped.
“Billy Arnold, I believe that is the name of the top student this year. Billy, would you stand up.”
A muscular boy with fire red hair and freckles stood at the front of the room. Da Shan heard James whisper to Jillian, “Your brother?” Her face turned positively beet red. The undulations of energy that reverberated from him revealed a strength far above his fellow students. He was an exceptional genius, thought to be at the Major Grade just above Da Shan’s grade. To say Billy Arnold was a genius would be an understatement, he was a one-of-a-kind prodigy. Most students graduated at the Ensign Grade a small number of elites graduated with an Understudy Grade and one or two people every fifty years or so reached Lieutenant Grade. Only one student, ever, in the history of the Sect — and in most of the world — had ever reached Major Grade before 18. It was unheard of, and most people even doubted the sects who claimed to have such geniuses, many times, these claims were fraudulent and embellished. The Chancellor himself had his eyes on Billy Arnold... he intended to make Billy his direct pupil. So, none of the students (or Elders) questioned his strength or authority and in general, Billy was a respectful (but arrogant) lad and was in turn respected. But at this moment, his expression was of deep animosity and it was directed to Da Shan.
Billy stood up, he regarded his fellow students with a cursory glance and turned to glare at Da Shan, his deep and unusually masculine voice sounded out, "Yes Deacon?"
The students winced, you were supposed to refer to all the Elders as Elders, only the Elders referred to one another by their rank in the Eldership. Da Shan, appearing exceptionally forgiving (or exceptionally weak) let it pass.
“Billy, who do you think is stronger, me or Cindy Loo?”
“Cindy Loo.”
“Ah, you don’t want to think about that one?”
“I don’t think I have anything to learn from you.”
A gasp went out from the student body, a direct challenge to a teacher’s authority rarely happened. But Billy had another identity apart from top student and Mr. Perfect. Da Shan regarded the bristling student calmly and complacently. If he recalled correctly from the many conversations he had with Cindy, this boy, Billy Arnold, was obsessed with her. He would be the perfect target for the valuable lesson he had prepared for them tonight.
“Billy… come up on the stage.”
Billy came on the stage in the view of all the students, his back slouched with the typical posture of teenage angst, but his rippling muscles making him nearly twice the size of Da Shan in every way.
“Billy, who is stronger, me or Cindy Loo and please explain your answer.”
Billy straightened and folded his hands behind his back, his answer was precise and devoid of any respect, “Cindy Loo is stronger for two reasons. One she is stronger than you in the present, she is of the Captain Grade while you are a Lieutenant. Two, she will be stronger than you in the future —
“‘Would’ Billy… you’re speaking in a hypothetical so use proper grammar, I mean, she is no longer with us.”
Billy gritted his teeth, anger evident in his eyes, but he complied. “She would be stronger than you in the future, because her potential was projected to be Admiral Grade.”
“Indeed, a true genius. So Billy, by your logic, if her and I were on the same mission and she died… I would probably be dead too.”
“Ha! If you were even worthy of being on the same mission. But, yes, you said it best Deacon. I doubt you’d survive if she didn’t. Unless you didn’t fight.”
“Good good. Now, fun fact. Cindy actually died on a mission I was on… we were on a mission together with sixteen other Deacons, everyone died except for me.”
Billy replied without hesitation, “It’s bad to lie… Deacon.”
Da Shan’s dead eyes revealed no expression, his tone was flat. “Billy, I’m merciful, so I’ll let this one slide. Deloris, is what I said true?”
The eyes of the student body turned to the elderly woman at the back. Deloris looked on begrudgingly and seemed to debate within herself for a moment and then replied, “Yes.”
Everyone gasped. Billy’s expression didn’t change, he calmly said, "I assume you hid in the back."
“Billy, your logic is flawed and because it is flawed you would never predict this outcome. Snide remarks won't change the universe, facts do. Here's a fact, I am stronger than Cindy, because I am alive. The dead cannot be strong."
"Fancy rhetoric sir I —"
"But even before she died I was stronger than her… your strength is not in what a machine tells you. Your strength is in reality. In whether you live or die.”
“Deacon I —”
“Let me point out another flaw in your reasoning Billy. By your logic, you would be stronger than me."
Billy allowed a small smirk to creep on his face. As if to say, “You’re just figuring that out now old man?” But Da Shan continued unperturbed, ignoring the smirk.
"Your grade is higher than mine and your future grade is no doubt higher than mine. But, without a doubt, you are weaker than me."
Billy snarled and opened his mouth as if to protest, but Da Shan cut him off again.
"Are you a swordsman Billy?”
“Yes I am Deacon!” Billy spat out the last word with hatred and clenched his fists till his palms bled. He looked like a rabid dog hankering for flesh to sink his teeth in, his breathing was rapid, and his muscular body quaked with fury.
Da Shan sneered, “No you’re not, you’re just a weak pathetic little boy who was unable to protect the woman he loved.”
Both Jillian and James wore strange expressions, this was not the Da Shan they knew. James was especially surprised, he of all people knew how Da Shan had suffered from personal loss. Even the student body was appalled at the Deacon’s words.
Billy simply smouldered on the stage. His anger had reached new heights, he desperately wanted blood. This boy had never killed anyone, but he wanted to. For the first time in his life he wanted to kill a man with his bare hands.
“I challenge you to a duel.”
Billy blinked. Was this stupid Elder of Mediocrity giving him a chance to kill him? He could hardly contain himself when he cried out, “I accept —”
Before Billy could react, draw a sword — or armour himself — a thin blade was pressed against his throat and sweat went down his back. Fast! The blade was too fast for him to see and a small drop of blood trickled down from where it was pressed to his neck. It was an ordinary steel katana; the blade was not fancy or enchanted in anyway — but because of Da Shan’s fast draw, the blade seemed ineffable.
“That’s not fair!” Billy choked out the words as he tried to stop himself from crying. He had never seen blood, he had never seen death and he had never been this close to wanting to crap himself in his life. He felt like his world was coming down as he looked at that plain face and greasy hair, that unassuming face that looked like a drawn sword thirsting for blood... his blood.
“Those were her last words.”