Voraciously I consume the books of war, always war. Half of mankind's history is written with red. Such volumes of carnage and logistics taught me that on parchment all plans are good; but as soon as the battle starts, throw all your planning into the fire. You will get some warmth that way, at the very least.
Regardless, this truth I know; were my soldiery in need of food and water they would perish. My retribution the same.
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Year four
The first half of the day is often reserved for tempering the body. Sandy courtyard enveloped by a marble peristyle, this gymnasium is located on top of a small mesa—the rock formation strangely reminds me of home. Maybe because of its shape. Can't say, really.
My back is turned to the gargantuan warm reddish facade: the awe-inducing carved triquetra; the triangular tympanum and its vortex of countless naked human forms emerging from nothingness; the long frieze, with its savage scenes of war; the mighty pillars, forming a monumental portico; the two blackest banners of nanilu and the bursting violet and iron gray phoenix emblazoned upon them, always gently flapping in the high winds. The face of the Academy is now effortlessly summoned by my mind's eye.
I throw a glance to my right. Northward is the faint red dot of Sol. So close and so far. Scores of craklers noisily fly away from this rocky sea, going skyward, and then who knows where.
The girl I'm to wrestle with is strong. We had a small competition, and Tomoe and I came on top. Other eleven girl students sit in the sand around us. The boys, occupying the other side of the gymnasium, didn't earn their break yet, but many steal risky glances at our incoming little bout.
Like the rest of the students up here, Tomoe and I are dressed in the fine, blue, strong, double-stitched woolen tunics that end above the knees and are a nice graspable surface for when you want to throw someone across the sands of a gymnasium.
As the Grandmaster of Physical Education signals the start, our bodies grapple. Grandmaster Maximon doesn't comment during the matches themselves, but after they end he always has a copious amount of criticism.
Grandmaster Vidar is in charge of early years students. Can't say I miss the brown-bearded bastard. A few more years with him and I'd have the legs of a horse. Hmmm...maybe not a bad thing. Could I outrun one?
Ah, yes. Pulling hair, a punch between legs, or throwing sand in the eyes will get you to lose immediately—with the possible addition of sleeping in the dungeon for a few nights.
She is overly aggressive and without pause. She tries to trip me by placing her leg behind my left knee.
Tomoe is incredible but it is pointless. Or it would be, were I to choose so.
I make it a close match.
After a short span(about the time it takes me to read three pages of a book) of continuous strain, she is near collapse; and I make a deliberate effort to slouch and breathe deeply through my mouth.
In some stories my mother used to read to me, what now seems half a century ago, the hero would fight for days before showing the slightest signs of exertion. I might not understand what is wrong with me(You know...I'm using the word very, very loosely, mind you—nothing wrong with being strong and fast), but overall, those stories are a complete nonsense. A necessary exaggeration. I know I'm no hero or some such. Which is good, their tales often being tragic and all. Because in the end, a hero is loved and accepted by the people. Again, nonsense. People will always be afraid of what they don't understand, such is life. The unknown is the dark; the unknown is something to be feared. Were I to reveal myself I would be chained or killed. And mother and father? What would happen to them? Parents of a demon daughter. Isolated. Eviscerated from all people. Thrown to beg for bread somewhere. Can't have that.
Suddenly I relax all my muscles, and that was all she needed. With some of her last bursts of strength, Tomoe throws me down and feeds me sand.
My right arm becomes twisted with her on top.
''I yield.'' I spit sand as my sand-filled eye burns with tears.
Tomoe gets up slowly and offers her hand. ''Well fought, Red.'' Her stance seems shaky.
I firmly grab her wrist and let her half lift me up. ''Thank you.''
''You know, you are much heavier than you look,'' Tomoe states quietly.
I raise my left eyebrow at that.
A while back, soon after my mother told me I was ''spindly'' and how I needed to eat more, I asked Hebe about it and she told me I am sinewy of body. What's more, in the shower cavern, we wash each other's backs, and more than once Hebe pointed out how mine are well-defined and as if made of smooth stone. So...I guess I am...skinny, lithe, and portly?
The rest of the girls seem to be in quiet contemplation. I expected them to jeer or make some comments but they are strangely quiet instead. A few of the boys paused in their exertions and clapped to Tomoe's victory. Their overseer gives them a clap of his own; his thin stonewood stick hard at work, all the while throwing colorful curses involving the students' family members.
One tall boy with blue eyes is looking at me for a few heartbeats, almost unfazed by the blows falling across his back and by the impressive profanities.
I move to a nearby barrel and scoop some water with my palm, removing the sand out of my flaming eye.
''Now, can any of you tell me which mistakes you spotted?'' Grandmaster Maximon regards the class, all the girls standing now.
''Tomoe spent most of her energy at the beginning and was too aggressive, while Anaya hesitated too much,'' Lana says. She has bright yellow hair and pale brown eyes and a void for a heart. She might have my mother's name but sadly that is all they share.
''Not bad, Furia. If you applied some of that sharp mind during your matches perhaps you wouldn't be commenting now.'' Some girls suppress a chuckle at that. He then turns his gaze on Tomoe. ''You must learn to use your strength patiently and strategically.''
Grandmaster Maximon redirects his gaze somewhere into the distance and behind the group of students. ''Sadly I firmly believe not even the Supreme Goddess could teach young people the value of patience. How does water carve through rock?'' he asks. I assume himself. ''Drop by drop.'' I assumed correctly. ''Patience is worth one's weight in bloodsteel. Of course, youths will always lack it.''
Her arms crossed, Janna Erdene, the pale and quiet girl that fainted during our second year, simply rolls her eyes. A few other girls do the same.
He then turns to face me. For a blink or two, he leers quite south from where my eyes are. ''Hesitation is the mother of failure. As they say. Bolormaa you keep reaching the edge of glory but it always slips out of your embrace. You need to garner more confidence.''
I nod in acknowledgment. ''Yes, Grandmaster.''
''Tomoe Hanabira,'' the old man looks at her again, ''a piglet will be sent to your family. Good work.'' And then to the rest of us, ''That is all for today. Dismissed.''
There were days when we would be lectured more than sculpting our bodies. Gymnasiums are also a place where we would listen to endless preachings of the grandmasters and were often encouraged to question or even debate their words. The most mundane topics would be discussed. It was unusual to talk about art and philosophy in a place meant for physical strain.
Soon is our time to go back inside the cliff and wash with the cold kisses of the shower cavern, and then off to other classes deep inside.
''Why not win?'' Gabriel, that dark-blue-eyed boy that stared, approaches me.
Gabriel is one year older than me, and despite him being tall I'm almost the same height. And even though him being recently clean-shaven his cheeks are already bewhiskered, forming a dense stubble. I focus my eyes away from his cheeks and onto his close-cropped hair, blacker than the forgottenmost of corners the Great Library has. I know he mostly prefers it longer.
''Ah yes, just win. If only I could've thought of that.'' My wry expression seems to have left him annoyingly unfazed. I wipe some more sand from my neck.
''You hold back. Many girls and even some boys look up to you, some even try to copy your movement, but you don't seem to notice or care. Don't hold back.''
''You don't know what you are talking about.''
''Your breathing became perfectly normal once everyone stopped paying attention to you. Only now it's slightly faster because of me.''
I scoff at his arrogance. ''You think too highly of yourself.''
Gabriel's unbroken gaze is creating freezing tingles throughout my guts. His eyes remind me of my first day at the Academy. The same deep blue I saw on the ceiling frescoes of the large entrance corridor Aleera and I walked through. The blue some stories claim the sky once was made of. ''What I mean is, you pretend to be exhausted. Goddess, there is not even a little sweat on you, only a bit of water.''
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''Perhaps you should mind your own troubles and not bother me.'' I keep my voice low as my hard stare spears through him.
''I meant no offense.'' His smile is sad and somehow charming. As he moves to leave there are slight cracks in his confidence. ''In the end, I only wanted an excuse to talk to you, that is all.''
After a few strides Gabriel throws one last dark-Cobalt glance and is met with my slightly confused glare.
Walking away, he says, ''Don't forget to continue with the heavy-breathing act, by the by.''
''Wh---'' words are difficult to grasp, and I find none. Not a heartbeat passes, and Gabriel is gone.
To the Void with you, Horatius.
***
This is bad. I wish she said anything. Scream at me! Anything but this silence. Her russet eyes blaze through the back of my skull and I keep looking to the side. Miserably, I keep trying to calm my breathing. Her large rectangular office, which now feels minute, has not many decorations but the books on both long sides. Flanking me on either side, their countless spines form a giant vise whose robust leathery jaws compress my body. A vividly painted marble bust of Teshub Lartia, the Academy's first chairman, in one corner.
Her office is plenty spacious and yet, at this very moment, suffocating. Outlining the longer sides of it are floor-to-ceiling high bookcases that have their shelves stacked with books and red and black cylindrical containers that encase the many scrolls.
About its corner, her desk has one half-an-arm-high stack of parchment. Three thinly-wrought shafts made of bone are in the middle of the desk, with a half-full, small, closed red jar for ink next to them—the jar is entirely made of carved Crimson. Her leather chair is probably far more comfortable than my straw bed.
Tattoos cover her skin. Strange lines, Genesis symbols, triangles, squares, circles, and the like, all cover her body, even most of her neck is enveloped by them.
''Tell me. If a boy were caught sneaking away from near the girls' dormitory chamber, what would be done to him?'' Finally, after an oblivion of time had passed, she speaks.
''Expulsion.'' I swallow hard, briefly meeting Chairwoman Zaria's regard. I wipe my sweaty palms over my breeches, which somehow makes it worse. My bespoke, pleated, dark-green, linen breeches presently feel incomplete; I'm without my boots or even sandals—they were too loud so I left them behind. To add to my trouble, her dogs took my red woolen cloak and the bronze, ring-shaped fibula I'm very fond of.
''No. First, he would be whipped. Then, dressed in full white, the boy would march between all the Academy and his family out the door, forbidden to ever step foot in here on pain of death.'' Her tone is cold and precise. I find it hard to imagine her ever losing that annoying intangible grace of someone who is in full control over everything.
The purest black night that envelops her upper body, the Chairwoman's high collar coat reminds me of the luxurious silk that embraces many of the Great Library's books. But it is not silk. It is the enduring cloth the Academy's banners are made of, the cloth worn by Breakers themselves. Nanilu. I have not seen or heard of anyone other than her possessing a garment quite like it.
I focus my eyes. The ruler of this wretched place wears an intricate pendant crafted in the shape of the Academy's phoenix. The pendant, its chain also, is masterfully smithed of metal I do not recognize—pale gray and with striking wavy lines of purple-gray and shadowy-black. Like the sandstone's considerable layers, these lines also possess hues of infinite variety. My eyes find no flaw; the pendant is immaculate.
I stare at her stonewood desk and notice the gorgeous white-yellowish maple wood inlay. My mind wishes to escape this room and most of all her gaze.
''So, why should you be treated any differently?''
Because you desperately need Breakers. Because not so long ago classes had forty or more students on average. I believe if I uttered those words Chairwoman would start whipping me right now in this room. ''I...I will have no leftover subjects to transfer. Never had any. I was always exemplary---''
'''Was.' That is the key word right now.'' With sleek precise movements, she pulls out a small brown vial from the bottom of her desk. Slowly, she gets up and walks toward me.
My mind becomes a blank wax tablet. I wish to speak but words elude.
''Made by Grandmaster Meadowsweet herself. Hopefully the potency is still good,'' she mutters the last part almost to herself. ''Drink it all half an hour before.'' She then outstretches her arm. Instinctively I raise my hand and take the vial, not fully understanding. Before I can ask her meaning she starts to shout, ''Guards!''
Two brutes, each armed with a spear, enter the room.
Chairwoman Zaria chains my eyes to hers ironclad-strong, holding them tightly and with as much emotion an eagle might have for a dormouse. ''Student Bolormaa is to be flogged sixteen times. Her entire class is obliged to be in attendance. No grandmasters. I want the main chamber to be empty and ready by the first light tomorrow. Do not take any of her possessions.'' Unmoved in any way, she simply nods toward the door. ''Go.''
''Yes, ma'am.'' The bearded brute on her left utters like a good dog and soon they grab me on both sides.
''Or,'' she lifts her arm, stopping the guards, ''if you tell me the name of the boy you were meeting we can reduce it to eight strikes.''
At first, I do not speak for a few long breaths and simply stare at her. ''I got lost in the night,'' I break the silence with a numb voice.
''Take her.'' There is voidice around the edges of the Chairwoman's voice. One of the first times I've noticed even a flicker of emotions from her.
I could easily run. They stand no chance of stopping me. But she mentioned no expulsion. Dazed I get up, allowing her minions to guide me away—presumably to some pit in the deepest parts of the Academy.
One last time I turn to look at her. There is not a flicker of emotion in those dark eyes. My grip threatens to crush the vial.
***
The pale blue light of Cobalts wrestles with the flickering light coming from the scores of torches. All the light amplified by the neverending fat ring of polished bronze at the base of the oversized dome, and brightened further by the immense shining blue crystal at the dome's apex. The largest chamber of the Academy mostly features torches during times of festivals or for some special occasion. Well, I feel honored indeed.
The space of the Great Chamber overflows into nine half-domes of golden mosaics and vast resplendent frescoes. Despite being beholden to the main dome, the nine stewards are each an empyreal realm unto itself.
The faces of my classmates appear bloodless. Some of them look as if they might be next. I stare them all in the eye as if I were a grandmaster about to give some useless lecture. Hebe seems about to cry and Michael is not that far off. My eyes don't linger on them nearly as much as on the rest of the audience; all the while I give an impression that all this is just like a walk through the Secret Garden, though the truth couldn't be more opposite. I am scared.
My strength never protected me from pain. Early on I knew I could see and hear far better than any person I know. Sadly, like with everything in life, there is always a price. A little bit of pleasure costs a Void of pain.
Food would often have too intense flavor and I would sometimes eat one meal a day—if I was even hungry. And even water sometimes had an unpleasant taste. A tiny bit of salt overpowers the entire dish for me. My nose was always more than grateful for the Academy's adherence to cleanliness. Not so much so during hours in a gymnasium or while running through the bustling city full of sweaty people. If familiars could shit I'd probably run away from Lodestar to live with Wraiths.
And of course, there is touch. My father had a special tool in his workshop. The tool had a sturdy stonewood handle and a pretty, needle-like tip made entirely out of Cobalt. When I was eight I played with it, and to make it even more pretty I left the thing in the daylight to charge. I don't remember how the shiny blue tip ended up on top of my middle finger. There was barely any blood, barely anything as it pierced through my skin. An insect could probably survive such a pathetic excuse for a wound. My screams were heard by many of our neighbors. At first, Mom thought I was dying while I was squirming in her arms, resembling a crystalborn that became feral after the loss of its master. It didn't last long, but that initial misery, those first fractions of time, was one of the worst moments of pain I've ever felt in my life; other small injuries, although rare, are unavoidable but none came close. After that Father always locked his workroom.
A few years back, during our gymnasium spear fight when Zuri slammed my fingers again and again, that really did hurt. My fingers and lips can be very sensitive; and overall, my body handles hurt poorly. I heal fast but the pain; I'm fairly certain most people do not taste pain the way I do.
Nevertheless, an intensified sense of touch can have its special little pleasures.
I drank Chairwoman's vial of mercy. It tasted bitter; that's how you know something is good medicine when it tastes like trash.
Only two guards are present. In the distance above, a cloaked figure is standing on one of the many balconies. I focus my eyes. His stance and long white beard give him away. Archmaster Pinarius. The cavern queen's devoted advisor. When the Chairwoman is reporting to the Senate or visiting one of the temporary outposts in the Wastes, Pinarius takes the reins.
I'm slightly surprised at how quickly the Academy erected my little stage. That is what this all is: a performance to serve as an example. I did not choose to be here, I did not choose to be forced from home and raised in these grimeworthy caves.
My chest is wrapped in cloth strips of white linen, and my hair is split in two.
Exposing my nape, the wavy strands are tied and falling over my shoulders in front of me, and making two heavy and wide red cascades whose ends caress the hip level. I must look ridiculous.
I turn around. As my arms are lifted and naked ankles chained, I look at the frozen face of Acrona—the black stone and its weakly-glowing blue lines, uncaring and cold.
''Every generation has its troublemakers,'' Amina Zaria's voice dominates this area of the Great Chamber. In her right hand there is a thick rod of stonewood. ''This is only done as a last resort. It is the most primitive way for the Academy to educate you. Nonetheless, it will be a valuable lesson.
''Anneal your bones. Those that insist on looking away will join Student Bolormaa.''
It's so nice to know I am still a student. One must find little comforts in life during times such as these.
One. The sound her stonewood rod makes is a revolting thud and I inhale quickly as my body contorts. I wish to escape my body. Two. My legs tremble. Three.
Smack. Smack. Smack.
Acrona's cunt!
She is not holding back. The pauses she makes between each swing threaten to become worse than the pain itself.
There is a disgusting crunch in my mouth. Only after a few short breaths, I realize sickeningly: a tiny piece of my back tooth just chipped off. Like a bug had just flown in my mouth I spit it out.
''It is my fault, I forced her to come.'' Shut up! Gabriel steps out, his voice sounding strange, sickly almost.
''Get back in line, Horatius.'' The Chairwoman's voice is as cold as ever. Guards move towards Gabriel. I turn sideways to see him and shake my head. My hair obstructs most of my vision. I can only hope he noticed. I breathe a small shaky sigh of relief as the guards move back to the sides of the podium.
Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack.
I will not scream. That stick will break before my body does. She can do no permanent damage to me—at least that is what I convince myself as my vision becomes blurry and I inanely start to wonder if perhaps that bitter vial was another form of punishment.
As I am to embrace the blessed Void there are sounds of a scuffle breaking the beginnings of my slumber. Someone is being beaten up.
''To the Guts with him!'' commands my tormentor, hints of rage in her voice. I couldn't remember when was the last time, if ever, I heard her shout quite like that.
''Stupid boy,'' she utters it like a curse.
''...The boy has lost his damned mind. Broke my nose...''
''...Leave the helmet. Can't say I blame the bastard. Have you not seen that unblemished red fig...''
''...I've seen better...''
''...Heard the bitch got plowed by half her class...''
''...Unblemished no more, then...''
Only after a deep breath or five does my mind wake up a little. Gabriel is being taken to the deepest cells the Academy has.
Without thinking, my face turns bestial and I start to pull at my chains; the stonewood beam above groans its protest in tandem with my growl. Chains holding my ankles are being taught, close to breaking.
I hear whispers from my classmates.
''The whore is strong,'' Lana Furia hisses.
My mother's terrified face invades the mind. I just let go and pretend that that was the last bit of my strength. There wasn't really too much need for pretending as I am now mostly being held upright by my shackled wrists.
Where am I? Another blow lands. Eruption of pain reverberates through me as the feeling of dull fire spreads under my skin. I get a ghastly image of my back as tenderized meat.
STOP HITTING ME!
The remorseless sound of the clubbing abrades the mind. The rest of the smashes were spent with me dazing in and out of wakefulness.
Moments after someone unbinds my arms, I collapse onto the floor. And as the two large oxen-like guards lift me up by the shoulders, the tiniest of smiles that no one will ever see emerges on my face. Ignited by the sweet memory of the taste of him.
His lips were worth it.