The enemy seems to have developed into a civilization; ruling this world like some king of old. The rare reports I have been getting speak of cities and structures that defy reason. If I fight with honor I will lose. I know this. It must be quick. It must be brutal; I cannot win a prolonged war.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Year five
We are flying eastward from the Academy. In general, I think the Wastes live up to their name—few days outside the canyon limits and I'm worldly as fuck. Our city, much of the canyon even, and the high purple pasturelands outlining it all, are more lush than most of the lands I have seen so far; far below. I don't know...trees, although sometimes taller than the tallest of buildings, were often farther apart, plains often seemed patchy, and, I don't know...it's just not very dense, I guess. Well...up until now.
Days ago, the ventifact-dotted scenery we saw in the early stages of our journey was followed by a lacustrine one, where thousands of lakes looked like giant mirrors. Soon afterwhich we spent two nights at an outpost—ringed by a high-walled stockade and well-manned by Lodestar soldiers—for us and the beasties to rest, and for our expedition to restock on some water and food—our saddlebags now fat with hard cheese and salted meat—and for our scouts to meet us, debriefing about their work.
Hours ago, the vista was that of purple and dark-red moorlands, with their rare gullies and ravines.
Now, rolling hills and rocky narrow ridges cut through the landscape, separating valleys whose gorgeous gowns are made of neverending rows and patches of purple and red and black wildflowers. The colors often seem somehow new to my eyes, the shades different from anything back in our canyon home.
My winged mount has a nice comfy saddle that secures me with thick belts made of full-grain leather. Wrapped around my waist, the leather belt embraces multiple straps that join the saddle. Of course, this reduces the risk of me seriously testing how strong my bones really are. Falling from this height? I'd be just a small red splatter lost in the landscape, of that I have no doubt.
The front part of the saddle also has a horn and two handgrips at the sides. Couple that with all the straps, and there is an option for doing some fancy aerial maneuvers. I'm not testing that either.
My mount is a giant hare with large, white, dove-like wings and a long fluffy tail. His name is Thumper. I'm loving the name!
The hare itself is pure white like the clouds of a rainless day.
The Breaker who creates a familiar has mind power over their creation. Nevertheless, a winged or ground crystalborn mount can be trained—with the supervision of the Breaker that made it—so that it can be used by other people; the familiar obeying some simple commands—you pull on the reins once to stop, hold the reins taut to descend, pull left to go left, patting with both heels makes you move forward, and so on. These are taught over a short period with familiar trainers together with the creator of the crystalborn. A familiar can even be imprinted by its creator to execute a task repeatedly or to listen to another human loyally.
I look down and my heart quickens.
Over the last few years, my eyesight has become better and better, and my headaches more scarce and less intense. From this height, almost halfway to the clouds themselves, I'm sometimes able to spot rat-sized wildlife. Can't discern any insects, though. Should practice more.
The ground overall was surprisingly sort of even. I have expected to see an Alldora of indentations pockmarking the landscape, you know, from rock rain hammering...well...everything.
I lift my chin against the wind, the corners of my lips tugging upward. Is this how eagles feel? This air is wonderful. There is a bit less of it than on ground level, though.
The feeling of the pale sun will always be welcome to my skin. Even more than Sol, the sun always gives a nice invigorating feeling, warm beneath my skin, warm all through me.
Like the rest of the soaring aloft students, I wear knee-high, reddish-brown, leather boots and tight-fitting breeches paired with, of course, long-sleeved shirt of good stock wool(my pointy triquetra pendant underneath), and a long, dark-red, linen coat emblazoned with phoenix insignia at its sides. Five exquisitely-embroidered fiery feathers around each phoenix insignia denote my academy year. The special issue coats are supposed to help with camouflage, but I just think it's a welcome change from those boring dark-green ones we always wear. And although my thighs would disagree, my current garments are more comfy than gymnasium tunic and the accompanying cord belt that often cuts into my bowels.
Five Black Breakers are assigned to protect us, with no less than seven winged warbeasts, scattered all about—many of them having talons and fangs and all. It is rare for a Black Breaker to have all three of their familiars be the Winged type.
Fifth-year students cutting through the air with me are Katerina Marius, the always-laughing one; Janna Erdene, the quiet one; and Melina Maximus, the leader of the group.
And Hebe Idunn, the my-best-friend one.
The five of us are flying in a tight formation on docile-looking, Grey Breaker-made, avian crystalborn—the grandmaster of the wild, Glindor Cheshire, leading the formation, riding a beautiful, winged horse. Its wings ink-black like the rest of it.
Four of the warbeasts guarding us are widely spread further to the front and the remaining three are further behind, all three with black-clothed riders on. In addition, there are nine small but fast-flying familiars mounted by spear-armed Academy soldiers that serve as scouts. They disappeared from the horizon some while back, but since they approximately know our speed and destination they can locate us easily. Some of them probably already landed, waiting for us.
The Wastes, the lands forming Eastern Equiya—the term often favored by the cartography and bearing grandmaster—are huge. The chances of some random Wraith crossing our path are almost nothing. I guess the keyword here is almost. I've tried explaining that to Father, the last time I saw him, but he just kept cursing the Academy and cursing the Chairwoman's leadership. Mom was silent, too silent. She didn't mention it, but she knows. I saw it in her eyes, I saw it in the way she looked at me, she knows about my...flogging; and from his voice and his moderate-level of curses, I knew Father doesn't. She didn't speak of it to Father—something for which I'm grateful to her very much. Ah yes, Leyla, my parents' sausage-dog, is now mostly inside their home. Looking chunky as if...as if, well, as if I was feeding her, visiting each and every day. Allmother, I wish that were true.
I did not envy the Academy quartermaster's job. He handled all the supplies for this expedition. Tent gear, dried meats, as well as other tasty goodies, wound dressings, barrels of salt and of ale, spare clothing, some stationery items, some Cobalts for illumination, various potions(that can make your mind sharper or blissfully dull), linseed oil, additional arrows and spears, a lot of fat ropes, and suchlike.
That logistical stuff is already at our destination. Flown there in advance by over three dozen transport familiars.
Speaking of which, our destination is in sight: an ancient forest.
Skywald.
Ahead of us, the spectacular image takes my breath away. Redwoods are looming in their thousands—their special stony bark is still many weeks from starting to develop.
We land within a glade, setting up camp.
''Reeeeeeeee!''
Not long after I left him to make my tent, Thumper screams for me. I move toward him and the cluster of other crystalborn mounts nearby, petting his side and calming him when I arrive. ''Calm now. Calm.''
''He really likes you,'' Hebe says after arriving to stand next to me.
''Yeah...'' I say affirmingly. ''Sometimes he does that.''
''Get back to work,'' one of the Academy's guards barks in our direction.
Hebe snickers and turns away.
Before long we're back at helping with making our new glade settlement.
As I'm finishing pitching my tent, Katerina, Janna, and Melina begin giggling about something, diverting their gaze away from me the moment I look at them. What's that about?
Ah!
A high-pitched sound lances my ears, Grandmaster Cheshire whistling. ''Fifth-years!'' He waves for us to join him, and then as we do so beckons us to sit around the empty fire pit smack in the center of the camp.
Following the burial of my ears, he puts a bit of tinder near a small notch of a flat piece of dry wood in front of him and a spindle stick thing on top—all the while speaking of patience, how to do it properly, and rubbing his hands to rotate the spindle. From time to time, he spits on his palms, continuing to spin the spindle. It takes a thousand years, but a small bit of smoke appears as ember forms, which he then carefully puts on a tinder bundle. He blows at the bottom, giving more life to the fire.
Grandmaster Cheshire nestles the flame onto the ground, looking at his five students. ''Put only the smallest of pieces gently on top. Good. Now we will just slowly keep adding the bigger sticks, and that is that.
''Now, when on Harvesting, or hunting near an outpost, if it happens that you get separated from your group and lost, do not panic. You will not be abandoned. Most important thing is that you do not start randomly flying all over the place on your Winged. Do so, and you will never be found.
''You will make smoke. A lot of it. Burn sage, mugwort, dry leaves and grass, thyme, whatever will give you smoke, a lot of it.
''I will not do so now, the bugs might leave us alone, but then so would this fine air.'' He spreads his arms at the camp.
Creepy-crawlies never bothered me. I don't even remember when was the last time I got bitten or stung.
Next, the grandmaster rummages through his sack. ''Where did I leave the damn thing?'' He stands up and makes a tsk sound. ''Stay nearby, I'll join you shortly.'' He then moves toward our camp's storage area.
''Ann, we need...to talk about something.'' Hebe nods to the side, slowly leading me a bit away from the camp.
Yellow gem among a pile of coal, Hebe's hair often made her stand out from the usually dark-haired crowd. At eighteen, her womanly features, now evident, were never missed by any of the boys and men alike. Framed by long thin eyebrows, her almond, always-seem-to-be-smiling, dark-green eyes contrasted her pale skin quite pleasingly. Her straight nose and bottom-heavy lips both looked as though crafted by some master sculptor, further adding to her seraphic face. More than once have I overheard boy students from our class proclaiming her to be the most...beautiful of all our classmates. The actual crude expressions they've often used to express this sentiment were anything but beautiful and often made me blush.
''Yes?'' I ask after we moved an outside-of-earshot distance from the camp.
''This is not easy to say.'' Her body language is strange and she has difficulty holding my gaze.
''Hebe you know you can tell me anything,'' I assure, the tiny smile I give her: real.
''I know, I know.'' She pauses as if to gather her courage. ''Ann...at night, you can be...loud.''
''Are you saying I snore?'' This is a little embarrassing, yes, but Hebe's reaction is a bit much.
''No, you don't. It's just that...'' She makes another long pause.
She is annoyingly hesitant. I've lost patience. ''Just say it how you mean it, Hebe. What?''
She lowers her voice even further, ''At night, back in the dorm you gasp and moan...sometimes very loudly.'' She raises her tawny eyebrows for a moment.
It takes me a quick heartbeat or two before I fully understand. No...I was...no. Allmother, I wish for the ground to swallow me at right this moment. Fuck!Shit!Fuck!
For some time I don't know what to say to her. I clear my throat and try not to scream from embarrassment. ''Thank you for telling me.'' I turn to leave.
She moves her arm toward me. ''Ann, wait. It's really nothing. Most girls do it too; although...more quietly.''
''I know. I just wish to be alone now.'' And find a cliff to jump off.
My precious moments of solitude are eviscerated by a loud noise that cuts my ears, the grandmaster's whistling grabbing my attention.
He waves for the students to join him—not that far from the fresh fire he made.
As we stand clustered around him, gigantic trees walling us all from the world, Cheshire explains the sunstone, how to use it.
The grandmaster of the wild is young, especially when compared to most of the other grandmasters. His hair is long and shaggy with wispy bangs falling over his brown eyes. In a gymnasium a few days ago, he taught all fifth-years some bow. Said I should focus on spear. I'm decently proficient with bow...
''Find the sun, Mistress Bolormaa.'' He hands me the sunstone.
The special transparent crystal is devoid of any light within it. It looks like a slanted brick with charcoal mark on top. I point the thing at the brightest part of the horizon.
Looking up through the bottom, I see two dots. I then move the navigational tool along the horizon until the two dots appear equal in brightness, making the front of the crystal point toward the hidden sun.
The grandmaster nods. ''Good, Mistress Bolormaa. Pass it along to your classmates.''
''She's really good at that,'' Janna says, and Kat and Mel laugh.
Long before the dropped sunstone even touches the ground, and before I can stop myself, my fist hammers once into the corner of her mouth. She falls to the ground like a felled tree.
NO!
Janna screams and wails, spitting blood and bits of teeth, clutching her face. ''She broke my theeth! She broke my theeth!''
Her two friends first stand like statues and then crouch and huddle around her.
The grandmaster yanks me away to the side. ''Leave for your tent and stay there,'' his voice a command.
Without saying a word, I comply, the previous red haze clearing from my mind.
He then goes to Janna. Soon he and a guard begin helping her to her tent. I can't help myself and keep throwing my eyes behind every few steps. Hands shake, can't breathe. I could've killed her...
Hebe joins me, following me to my tent. ''It's her fault,'' she whispers. ''She's often quiet, but knows heavy words.''
''I...punched her too hard,'' I say, my voice weak, falling apart. ''I could've killed her, Hebe.''
There is no fear in Hebe's eyes, only understanding, only compassion. Shouldn't she be afraid of me? They should all be afraid of me. I'm sick! ''She's not made of parchment, Ann. Grandmaster Cheshire will fix her.'' She is silent for a moment. ''And if you did nothing she or other girls would keep making such comments.''
''They will always make such comments.'' I stop walking, my body shaking, and then I hug her tightly, tears rolling down my cheeks. ''What is wrong with me? I'm sick. I'm evil. I could've killed her.''
She holds me tight, her chin on my shoulder. ''Ann, what are you saying? Doesn't matter,''—she shakes her head—''I've known you for years. You're good, Ann. You're good. You're the best.''
Two hours later, having abandoned the glade, our group moves through Skywald itself, redwoods looming wherever I look.
A few voices wanted to send me home, but the grandmaster argued we all stick together. Almost all my rations were given to Janna, which is no punishment at all, but I obviously couldn't say that no matter how much I wanted. I could've killed her.
A big area around the corner of her lips is so purple...She got some potions for the pain and swelling. They've helped, and she even smiled a few times since taking them.
Walking slowly through the forest, our formation is elongated, Janna and her two friends are ahead, avoiding me, keeping their distance.
The grandmaster stops, beckoning us to the side. He really likes to talk with his hands. Our group of five students, as well as a few mostly female soldiers shadowing us, stops for a moment, soon following the young and unkempt form of Grandmaster Cheshire to a charming brook.
Shit. I'm slightly startled by a purple frog the size of my head that just stares at me while I refill my only-partly-empty waterskin.
I focus my hearing about me. I can hear the birds, I can hear the insects—scores of species. They sing quietly. Chirping, trilling, and warbling; squeaking, buzzing, and whirring. We are in a primeval city of feral chattings and gargantuan wooden buildings.
Upon the trunks of many redwoods, my eyes see the smooth, larva-made holes—frass around them.
Some of the unfortunate trees have hundreds of these holes.
I did a bit of reading before coming here. Supposedly, insect larvae are very nutritious, but I really, really hope the grandmaster won't go that far with our teachings. Gorging on stonewood for weeks can hardly make you delicious. And on the nature book's illustrations they looked so ugh.
Cheshire makes a clicking sound, pushes his open hand in a forward gesture, continuing our death-quiet forest trek.
Despite the day still being youngish, the world around us has a twilight glow. Far, far above, the forest canopy is purple, the clouds a recent dream.
I inhale the crisp air slowly, the forest's aroma wonderful. The scents are of wet earth, fresh rain, and of sweet resin—all the scents honeyed with hidden wildflowers.
We pass mud smears that stain the bottom of a nearby redwood.
Grandmaster stops. Points down. His voice a faint wind. ''Big hoof prints, long stride. A while ago we passed trunks with savage gouges near the ground. The forest speaks a volume, listen with your eyes. What do you hear?'' he asks the five students.
Melina crouches down. ''The animal was running, the tracks are fresh.''
I move my fingers through blades of tall, purple grass, firm and flexible. Ow! You little shit. A dark-purple praying mantis struck my finger for no reason.
The grandmaster nods, seemingly content with her answer. Then he leads us onward again.
Rubbing my finger, I lift my chin and focus my hearing upward. The ground level is silent, for the winds seem to like dwelling within the canopy kingdom best. All these rustling whispers are unlike anything I've heard back home—the winds' mumblings are calming and a tinge unnerving at the same time.
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In the distance, I hear one feather-shaped leaf falling. Its flight a distant sigh, its gentle landing a whisper only I can hear.
Spring or no spring, my eyes see the fallen black-purple and reddish-brown leaves. They are sort of feather-shaped; lost among the violet ferns that often carpet the forest.
I drown my fingers in this velvety sea, my sweeping touch disturbing the violet fronds. Almost like touching mist.
Startled, we hasten toward a screeching, distant sound that makes my bones weep.
Ahead, the grandmaster of the wild waves his hand slowly, up and down. ''Slow your haste. Patient hunter doesn't starve. Watch your step.''
Eventually our group breaks into a clearing up ahead, and the scene quickens my heart, my breath.
Fuck me. A dire boar.
Its crimson eyes: dread-inducing, its white-gray fur: magnificent, its tusks: death.
The boar's screams infect the forest, bouncing off tree trunks whose width is often greater than the entire width of my parents' house.
The dreadful screeching subsides as I reduce my hearing.
The wild animal is formidable.
More than a dozen five-foot-long arrows are lodged deep inside the screeching dire boar's flesh, the animal's formerly white sides now stained with dark red. The boar's stridulous screams are claws that rend my ears. They are without pause.
My heart aches.
The white boar with crimson eyes, the beast that we hunted is now trapped, held by fat ropes attached to five powerful warbeast Winged—their claws tearing the earth, wings furled, muscles tensed. All five crystalborn have Black Breakers for riders and no reins but the will of their nanilu-clad masters.
The everpresent red-cloaked Academy soldiers armed with spears significantly taller than them are nearby. I might not see their helmet-covered faces but they are tense. The way they hold their spears, the way their shoulders are set, the way they breathe; their unease is palpable.
Janna Erdene is chosen to slit the boar's throat.
The weapon given to her is a large knife of cold steel, single-edged, curved, the blade's cruel face wider at the top half. My eyes see the recent-sharpening scratches along the blade's edge. The blade is sharp indeed, can make it quick, end the beast's suffering, but Janna's eyes and body are dread-chained.
Her hand is shaking, she won't make it quick.
''I can'th. I can'th. I can'th,'' Janna pleads.
''Stop embarrassing yourself, girl!'' one of the guards yells at Janna. ''The grandmaster does you a great honor. Be done with it!''
Honor... All I see is an animal in agony and a friend scared, a classmate whom I bruised—maimed—so heavily.
''It would show no mercy to you or your classmates. Do what has to be done,'' the young grandmaster pressures, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.
''Just do it, Jay!'' one of her close friends, Melina, standing well behind, yells at Janna.
Janna's watery eyes turn toward Melina. ''I don't wanth to. Please...'' A defeated look overtakes her face. She sniffles once and looks back at the screeching boar.
Janna's trembling hand rises, about to try and slit the restrained animal's throat.
Barely does a blink pass when I move in, taking the big knife from her.
I grab one of its tusks with my left hand, wrenching the boar's head a bit upward and to the side, exposing its large throat more, and I slash—my hand strong, my slit true. Rich arterial blood erupts all over my face and chest.
Moments later, the smell of shit spreads everywhere and it takes all I am not to dry-heave.
The screaming is no more.
I spit blood to the side and then look at the grandmaster. ''Before Academy I've helped Mom with slaughtering chickens in our courtyard.'' I look Janna in the eye, all the color from most of her face long gone. ''I'm used to blood.'' This felt different, though. Much more blood. So much more...
I look at the great beast.
We will use everything. The boar's hide for leathers; the meat will be dried, smoked, and cured; tusks will become handles for knives and awls or shaped into daggers and spear tips; bones will become strigils and cutters and needles and hairpins. Everything except the blood that drenches the soil. The blood is lost.
***
We are outside, standing in front of the Blade Grandmaster Cariocecus. The burning clouds of pale yellow warm my body.
Oval-shaped structure in a landscape of sandstone rock, the Academy's arena is all white limestone. Stone gleaming, structure remarkable.
The arena's white facade has three levels of arches and statues.
Inside, rising concentric rings form the seating area, and below us is a small realm of underground chambers and corridors.
The small arena can hold about thirty thousand spectators. Nemea's Track, the stadium of Lodestar, can hold about seven times that.
My hair is a thick braid with heavy bangs and two long, red tendrils that frame my face. Today, Hebe, Tomoe, Zuri, and most other girls have it tied behind.
''In the beginning many of you were hesitant and clumsy and weak, but now...less so.'' Cariocecus blinks once and then smiles. ''Some, I dare say, have turned their favorite weapons into almost a third hand, an extension of your very bodies.'' The always-smiling fuck looks at Zuri for a moment and then...at...me.
His face becomes a bit more serious. ''You are each required to pick one weapon, a weapon of choice to master even more than any other. Archery will always be a required curriculum for all of you, and thus the weapon you pick must be a hand-to-hand one. Many of you have, in a way, already done so but this makes it official and it will heavily impact your final grade.''
Those students who graduate with the best overall grades will receive the biggest chambers, better food, as well as other perks, and are sometimes even able to choose their posting to be within the Valley itself or, if they are crazy or unlucky, they can choose the Wastes and the temporary outpost they are sent to there, and some can become grandmasters themselves or work for the Academy as instructors. Not the worst life.
''I know,'' he continues, ''my praises were often scarce, but my words were always true. And so I shall speak now.
''You are training to become warriors but it is more than that. Since you are so very precious you will fight monsters from a distance using bow and arrow and your familiars—obviously I'm talking here about those who have an affinity toward the Black. And obviously, Gray Breakers also have their place.
''Mastery of a blade will give all of your minds focus and discipline. Some of you will end up commanding warbeasts with a mere thought, but how can you do that if you cannot even control yourselves? Often, if the body is weak, mind is weak.
''So, each of you is to choose a weapon to specialize in. If you're lucky and get clad in black, that weapon will be a big part of your battle kit that you bring with you for Harvesting. Each of you has at least some elementary knowledge of the spear, sword, and bow,'' he looks at me for a moment and smiles almost mockingly.
You accidentally break one slightly expensive bow and apparently that's the end of the fucking---
''Among other things of blade,'' the grandmaster of smiling and all things blade continues. ''But it takes a lifetime to truly master even one weapon.''
He points to the weapon racks. ''Do I need to tell you a third time? Go!'' The grandmaster's hands wave in our direction as though slapping at some annoying specks of dust that just invaded his space.
There are ten rich weapon racks lining the side of the arena. I move toward the one around the middle.
Within the Eastern Cliff's red depths is the Armory. A place where the Academy has large stockpiles of weapons for students to practice with, for the Breakers to carry, for the soldiers to use—enough blades for Theia herself to salivate over. The small profanation slightly tugs the corners of my lips upward. And although richly stacked, these racks are just a small taste of that opulence.
Hebe picked daggers, Michael a longsword, Gabriel a spear, thick-shafted. The long shaft is stonewood, the spearhead gleaming hepatizon. Wonder if the spear matches his spear.
Most of our classmates chose swords and spears—steel sharp, alamarium striking, hepatizon powerful.
Double-bladed polearm is my weapon of choice. Blades are gray alamarium, shaft is greenish-brown stonewood. There is a halberd blade at each end of the shaft whose height is about that of my own. The weapon screams attack. Nevertheless, you can use the long shaft for blocking.
For years this particular weapon type has been the one I've practiced with the most.
''Ruptura!'' Cariocecus roars.
A group of over a hundred people enters the arena, scattering across the seating areas. Many are old men and women, soldiers, grandmasters, some are scarred, or without limb.
''Triumph of cripples,'' Lana Furia whispers.
I look at her. She notices me and is unable to hold my eyes for long. She's afraid of me...I don't want anyone to fear me, but it can, I admit, sometimes, feel real good.
The grandmaster's eyes are laced with respect as he regards the arena's newest arrivals.
He turns to us. ''Students! Raise your blades high and hold. Your chosen weapon's master will join you soon.''
We comply, our arms rising for the sky.
''Testudo!'' he yells, his voice heard by the entire arena.
From all over the arena, about a quarter of that initial group which entered advances toward the twenty-five of us—our soon-to-be instructors.
You gotta be fucking kidding me.
''Holy ancestors, Red. I see you're still drowning in your ridiculously long hair.''—It's tied!—''Or should I call you Boar Slayer, Teeth Smasher...Ironback Ann...hmmm. We'll stick with Red,'' Grandmaster Vidar says.
''Double-bladed polearm is your main weapon,'' I say dumbly.
His brows jump. ''I always knew you had a sharp mind, Red.''
Vidar scratches his beard—the thing has more twists and turns than the Ariadne Garden. I notice more than several long silver lines among mostly brown strands. ''I approve your weapon of choice, Red. Everything else...'' He looks me up and down, sighing with clear disapproval, his eyes soaked with mocking pity. ''Well, we have a lot of work.''
I openly stare at the scars carving his left hand, but he doesn't seem to notice.
Vidar crosses his arms. ''Heard you ripped a boar's tusk out and shoved it right into his eye,'' he says jovially.
''That's not---''
He cuts me off. ''You know, when you were five, seven times shorter, you always looked at me like you wanna kill me. Always knew you were a killer. You're fucked up, Red.''
''Grandmaster---''
He points a finger at me. ''And we're gonna use that barbaric rage you have to mold you into a...slightly more civilized barbarian.''
I think he is talking with himself at this point.
He seems all thoughtful for a moment. ''Will begin with running, of course. Footwork first. You move rigidly like a rock, or like an unusually fast turtle made of rock...or a...well, you lack flow. Honestly, I'd prefer to have gotten stuck teaching your man, now there's a warrior,'' he looks toward Gabriel. ''Unlike you he wins all his wrestling matches. All. Of. Them.'' he whispers mockingly. ''But, such is life.
''It's bladecraft time, Red.''
***
Classroom: deep inside a cliff, subject: semiotics, me: bored.
The classroom has a semicircular seating arrangement, with students scattered up and down its ample space. The pale blue light of the many crystals shines generously, bringing a slice of day into this big den.
My long legs are heavy and sore from the past few weeks of running the Academy's main courtyard and the rocky landscape in front of the facade that the sick bearded bastard is making me do. On top of that, sometimes he makes me wear a special tunic whose pouches are filled with wet sand—makes running so much more fun. Apart from that first day in the arena, so far he didn't teach me on how to swing my chosen blade even once. What the fuck?
I release a long, long sigh.
Sometimes it feels as though our entire fifth year is going to be wasted on writing these arcane symbols on sheets of papyrus and wax tablets. Michael said—during those rare times we talk—that they will never teach us all the Genesis symbols. Supposedly those secrets are known to only a few and are covetously guarded.
Wrist-painfully, twenty-five of us are writing today's most popular Genesis symbol: a small circle with an arrow moving away from it, downward—diagonally to the left. The symbol means night.
In the past half an hour, I already wrote that one, one simple shape many times, across several sheets of papyrus, again and again.
I release another deep sigh. This is some mind-numbing shit. Why do I need to know this? Genesis symbols are already carved in the stone floor of the Creation Chamber, also known as Telesterion. I accidentally overheard some fully-fledged Breakers talk about it.
Since many things regarding that room are shrouded in secrecy, I couldn't really talk about what I overheard to anyone. Not even Hebe. It would get her in trouble.
Grandmaster of semiotics strides through the classroom. ''Lower your styluses and quills we're done with symbols for today.''
Thank the Allmother and her daughters.
Grandmaster Bellas takes time to look each of us in the eye. ''What we speak of today stays in this classroom, else you will be expelled and your parents left destitute. Are my words clear?''
We all nod and utter our affirmations.
''You can ask anything regarding Genesis, or things relating to it. I will not hold back and will answer to the best of my abilities.'' He is very old, over seventy my guess, has a short beard, hair and beard are Thumper-white, his fingers: roots of an ancient tree.
The quiet that takes the classroom is otherworldly, not one student speaks.
The grandmaster raises his brows. ''Well, do not all break the silence simultaneously.'' He smiles. ''Speak, children.''
''What is Genesis, really?'' Zuri asks. She sits closer to the lecture floor, lower and to the left of me. ''All the sources are vague.''
I'm surprised she would ask such a thing. One year older than me, Zuri is shrewder than almost anyone I know, and also stronger than most other girls in our class. Blade Grandmaster Cariocecus would often task her with helping her fellow students, instructing them spear, sword, and bow in particular.
Grandmaster's smile is genuine as he regards Zuri. ''Genesis spreads everywhere, through and around the world. Forever an unseen and untouched thing, but there it is nonetheless. Those that are blessed with it can channel it, harness its awesome might to bring life upon the world.''
The previously clear and unlined brown skin of Zuri's forehead furrows, her long fingers drumming across her closed wax tablet. She doesn't seem very happy with that answer.
Michael twiddles his golden stylus between his nimble fingers. ''What would happen to someone standing inside a creation circle during Genesis?''
''Their flesh would become torn apart,'' the grandmaster answers.
Never stand in a creation circle. Got it.
''Cute rhymes, cute rhymes, cute rhymes,'' Hebe whispers toward Michael, leaning in his direction. She sometimes says that when Michael gets or says something gloomy.
His dark brown eyes just narrow at her in response. At sixteen, Michael is among the youngest of boy students in our class and yet he wins most of his wrestling bouts. From time to time, a girl student from one of the lower years would randomly approach me to ask about him, often wearing the most witless of smiles while doing so. And Tomoe often looks in his direction. She thinks no one noticed.
''Will we be able to influence the shape or form of the resulting crystalborn?'' The girl with ravishing midnight-black hair is Ariana Cassian, one of the tallest girls among all the fifth-years, her limbs long and elegant like the four neverending waterways of Lodestar; Lana Furia sits by her side.
''No,'' Grandmaster Bellas answers. ''There was no Breaker ever who could do such a thing.''
''Was the Blue Demon able to do it?'' Peter, the biggest student in our class, asks. Peter is the type that likes to get under your skin, but is not cruel, annoying more than anything else really. He sits some distance to the right of me and next to Gabriel.
The grandmaster is silent for a while. ''The Blue Demon was an abomination. Not a Breaker. And no. Chronicles say that even he was unable to do such a thing.''
''What does the word paterniel mean?'' I ask. The legends I've read rarely used the words like blue demon when referring to this Lord of Ultimate Evil.
The old grandmaster stares at me for some time, a cobweb's pattern of wrinkles spreading across his face. ''It is an old word from a dead tongue. It means father of all.''
I smile sweetly. ''Is it true he could create human-like creatures? And...also creatures capable of reason.''
I get a few chuckles for that. Gabriel, sitting far to my right, smiles in my direction. I smile back, focusing my eyes on his perfect lips, on his---
''Hilarious, Mistress Bolormaa. I see you have been reading many things outside the required curriculum.'' He clears his throat. ''Now, some chronicles do claim such things. Others...'' He pauses for some time, regarding the entire class. ''That mankind created him.''
Disbelieving murmurs consume the class.
Those words could get him in trouble. Everyone knows Allmother created the Blue Demon from Void's foul essence to punish mankind.
''Quiet! Quiet,'' he calms the class and then looks at me coldly. ''Unless one wishes to call Guts their new home or worse, upset the clergy, they should abstain from looking into such tall tales.''
The Senate has made the burning of books a capital offense. Most of the ones in the Great Library have the status of something like holy relics. Nevertheless, certain topics are indeed avoided by most, and I know some books are hidden from the students, hidden from everyone except the Academy leadership.
Imagine what concealed tall tales this old man has read.
Peter points at me, then at Gabriel, his palm humping his left hand.
''Eat my ass!'' I yell in his direction.
''I would but then Gabe would kill me.'' He gives me a wry smile. ''Wonder how many tongues already tasted such delectable treat.'' He says that last part quietly, but easily heard by all; more than a few of my classmates snickering in my direction.
I rise, my face is fire. ''Say that again, cunt!''
''Enough!'' grandmaster yells. ''Sit down, Bolormaa.''
Peter stands up slowly, his huge frame rising—well over seven feet of him. Peter is a head taller than me, his shoulders much wider, his upper arms almost the thickness of my thighs, and yet my mind sees only a tiny nuisance. No threat at all. A corner of his mouth rises. ''Anytime, Red.''
I see nothing but his disgusting smile, hear nothing but my rampaging heart—the previous snickering of my classmates still fresh, still echoing.
I take a step toward Peter when Hebe grabs my arm, stopping me.
She squeezes my wrist tightly. ''Ann, what the fuck?''
I pause. Her voice and eyes soon bind me to my seat again.
Gabriel does something similar to Peter, his hand on Peter's shoulder, his calm blue eyes focused on that huge bag of rocks. It is not long until Peter too sits down.
Peter looks at the grandmaster. ''We were only playing around.'' He smiles sheepishly, but his eyes are wolf.
''You are to be adults soon, some of you already are. Sadly, I see now this is but in number only. Guards! Guards!''
No more than ten heartbeats pass when a tall red-cloaked figure enters the classroom. A sinewy woman holding just a spear and wearing the light thorax armor. ''Yes?''
''Student Bolormaa volunteered to work at the pigsty for the next two days.'' The grandmaster points at me.
Seriously?
''That is not right, she didn't do anything,'' Hebe says in my defense, the grandmaster ignoring her.
The woman looks toward me, bronze helmet obscuring most of her face.
She ends up standing next to my sitting form. ''You can come with me, upright, or on your back. Either way, you're coming with me,'' the guard says, her voice cold and neutral.
As I get up, about to leave, I look at Hebe. ''Please take care of my stuff.''
She throws me a sweet, sad smile. ''You know it, Ann.'' Her fingers brush mine as I move toward the exit.
''Peter challenged her first,'' Zuri says to the grandmaster.
''Oh, for him I have a far worse punishment.'' He turns to look at Peter whose eyes throw daggers at Zuri. ''You are to write ten pages of blood phoenix symbol. Its flowing lines will entertain you for a bit.''
Walking outside the classroom, I make an effort to not look at Peter. Knowing if I do so, I will be slightly tempted to snap his neck.
His disgruntled groans prompt a smirk from my face.
***
This is not so bad. His office is smaller than the Chairwoman's, but it has all the trappings his position brings. Placed at its end, facing the door, is a large, well-made, stonewood desk with a carved protome of a phoenix jumping out toward you as you sit in front of the desk's occupant. It doesn't feel as cold as her office, it almost feels...homey. A plush woolen rug spreads across most of the room, its colors rich reds and dark greens, and there is golden braiding at the edges. Embroidered dark-blue cushions are scattered across upholstered furniture. Decorating the space are tapestries that depict rich purple fields with people in strange clothing standing within this purple lushness.
''I know you are very perceptive. But also very stubborn, irascible, and imprudent,'' the Archmaster says. ''Despite the shame you have brought upon yourself by going to the boys' dormitory, many in your class continue looking up to you. True is true, you are not lazy. You spend a lot of time doing bladecraft in gymnasiums and studying in the Great Library. However, you are inclined to anger and are not very sociable.''
I'm starting to think that some of the guards and caretakers do a lot more than just guarding and caretaking. He probably knows when was the last time I went to take a shit. It was twenty days ago. Well, he wouldn't know that, though. Four days ago I pretended to take a shit—it was just a long pissing session really.
I'm taller than most girls in my class. Couple that with long red hair, and it is easy to track my comings and goings.
Speaking of shit, yesterday evening I finished with my pigsty punishment. Showered three times since then, spent entire hyacinth-scented soap rubbing myself all over. The stench of my unjust punishment is carved into my sensitive, little nose for all time.
My hair received so much vigorous scrubbing I thought I'd lose a thousand strands, but strangely I saw not one fall out.
He releases a long sigh. ''I have read of a certain moth, large-winged and pretty, that is irresistibly drawn to honey. It flies towards a bee's nest, seeing no danger. It lands on the nest and begins gorging itself with honey. As he is being stung to death the moth continues to feed on the sweetness until it finally drops onto the ground like a leaf.
''The Horatius boy. Stay away from him. Lest he be stung. Since his seed is barren and he is obviously unable to produce sons, his parents essentially disowned him. Were you to be expelled, you have parents of good means. Yes, you would live in dishonor, but would not starve. In the very end, he has nothing but the Academy.''
They're reading students' letters! Gabriel told no one about his cruel family, no one but me. He doesn't like to talk about it. Sometimes he writes home, only rarely is there a reply. And this old man knows.
This fucking place.
I lean back into my chair. ''I see.'' I create a small, hopefully reassuring, smile.
''Listen to me carefully, girl,'' he whispers, his voice anger. ''That day Gabriel tried to save you from the righteous punishment of Amina's...Chairwoman's hand, he didn't move to strike at the guards, he tried to attack the Chairwoman herself. Only barely had I managed to convince her his focus was the Crimson Guard—bad enough in itself.
''Gabriel is an excellent-grade student, through and through.
''Unlike you, he is calm, calculated, charismatic. All the boys see him as their natural leader, expelling him would be disastrous for the morale of many students and might even birth disorder and reason for more punishments. What I say to you next: it is not a threat, it is a fact. Were he to ever repeat any of the sort, I will whip him myself to the bone, girl. Foolishness of youth can only be tolerated so much. Your body, your gift, all belong to the state and the Faith. Stay away from him.''
No, old man. My body is my own. I don't give a fuck about my Genesis gift. And Gabriel? He is mine.
What's more, Gabriel paid too much already. On my flogging day, it took two large guards, armed and armored, to knock him out. He had spent seven days in a dungeon where the guards hit him, showing no mercy even early on that first day while he was unconscious. I assume the wretches had their pride wounded and they've made it show all over his body. Around the time he was about to be released, I volunteered to work at the Healing Hall for a month, gave a fat sack of hex to the praefectus medicus to get myself assigned there. More than once have I changed Gabriel's bandages and emptied his chamber pot; gave him a massage or two or three—the slow kneading of his many muscles was necessary for hastening the healing process, of course. What were we talking about?
Ah, yes...
I give him a sad, tiny smile. ''Of course, Archmaster.'' I look down and to the side, all defeated-like. ''I know it is probably for the best.''
He narrows his eyes for a moment or two, acquiescence settling onto his face. ''Now, in a different vein, you will inform your classmates, there will be no lectures held over the next few days. The Academy is declaring three days of mourning.
''Senator Icarus Sextus died. Fell out of a window.''
''Fell out of a window?'' I ask.
''Yes. It seems he got drunk one night and fell out of his villa's highest window.''
''I've never heard of him.''
Archmaster Pinarius strokes his long white beard, his old eyes neutral. ''He was said to be a great orator. Senator Sextus was a prominent proponent of the spreading faction.''
''Spreading faction?'' I instinctively focus my hearing on him. This will slightly increase the sound of his voice. Sometimes I can't control it, especially when reading. Very annoying thing when I'm in the Great Library and there are people nearby.
His fat silver-gray brows furrow. ''Perhaps if you spent less time ogling Gabriel or reading about unsavory topics, you'd know such basic things. They believe we need to have at least one permanent outpost in the Wastes.''
That sounds ridiculous. I pause for a bit, moving my head a little up and to the side, unsure if I should give words to my thoughts. ''That sounds ridiculous. A permanent one?''
He narrows his eyes. Probably debating with himself how much to tell me. ''Well, it...has been an idea growing in popularity within the Senate. Especially in recent decades.''
He is probably telling me all that is common knowledge. Well, not to me. Politics never really interested me. I know little. I remember Father sometimes commenting on who are the newly elected consuls. And another such political memory that hits my mind now is of him talking about books and how they are protected. I was eight or nine, so those memories are a bit hazy.
I lean forward, intrigued. ''How would the outpost be protected from rock rain? And the soil outside the canyon is often not that fertile. Would the outpost always need supplies to be sent from here?'' I look to the side at the purple tapestry adorning the wall. ''Maybe a squad of Violet Breakers could help with self-reliance. Preferably, such an outpost should be located within a cave system and near a river.'' My eyes jump back to his. ''Wouldn't a single, powerful-enough Wraith, destroy it completely, though? Like it always happened during previous centuries when such an idea was implemented.'' I look up for a moment. ''Hmmm...it can be done. What is the Senate's opinion on maximum capacity the canyon can handle?''
He blinks. ''Those are not issues that should concern a student's mind, and especially not the mind of a girl of common birth. Heed my earlier words greatly, and what's more, try not to assault the other half of your class. You can leave now.''