Chapter 2

“He was Lonan Salt,” the guard said.

Mato sat beside his father, holding the old man’s hand. The life had left it quite some time ago, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go yet.

“He was a gambler, robber, and liked to beat the whores he frequented.”

“Then why was he free?” Mother asked. Her voice was soft, in the way Mato knew terrible things would happen if a good answer was not forthcoming.

“I cannot say,” the guard replied. Mato flinched. That was the sort of answer that Mother took personally. “I am very sorry he came to your home. Obviously, there will be no further investigation into this matter.”

Mato knew what he meant. He was trying to reassure them that there would be no reprisals for killing the man. Despite that, it sounded like they had a body, and a means of death. Nothing further would be done.

“I see,” Mother said. Mato’s ass cheeks clenched. Not good.

To Mato’s surprise, the guard left without a thrashing. Some of his lower-ranking comrades came in and took Father’s body. It would be burned in the city’s sun oven, and the ashes returned to them.

* * *

Mato was all cried out, at least for a while. He lifted his head, wondering what to do.

The bead curtain that served as a door parted, and Mother entered. She had a box in her hands, made of wood. That was unusual. Wood was precious. No one would cut down a bearing tree in Abo.

She sat on the side of Mato’s bed, and he pushed himself up to sit beside her.

“Your father once saved a princess from drowning.”

Mato turned and studied her. She seemed serious.

“She fell into the well?”

“No, Mato. He jumped into a river.”

That was unexpected. Traveling beyond the salts was rare. Generally reserved for traders and warriors.

“Father left Abo?”

“Yes.” Mother slid the lid from the box. Inside was a sword, slightly curved. It looked like ice frozen from pure water, slightly blue, without a sign of bubbles. “The princess’ betrothed gifted him with this blade. He was trained as a merchant, and always thought himself a coward for trading and farming, instead of going to the academy.”

“A coward?”

“Yes. I told him otherwise a thousand times. I was the life force of our business, and he was the brains. I would choose a direction, and he would figure out how to make it work. Other times, he would choose a direction, and I would supply the fortitude. We were a perfect match, and someone took him from me. I am not willing to accept that this was simply a robbery gone awry. You must learn more.”

She held the box out to Mato.

“I do not know how to fight. How do I know what to do, and how to do it?”

“Take it to the academy. They will train you, in exchange for four years of military service. When you are finished, return to me.”

“I cannot leave you.”

She stroked his head. “This was your father’s. Now it is yours. He kept it, always thinking he should have used it. Please do not make his mistake. Either use the blade, or sell it.”

* * *

It wasn’t just four years. Academy training varied. If you were exceptional, it might take two years. Commonly it took three. Those who could not complete the training in four years were expelled.

Payment was in years of service. Two years per year in the academy. Clearly Mother expected him to graduate early.

Mato went to a few veterans. They advised him to take the training. Pack light, and pay close attention to every word from the training staff.

He went home that evening and helped Mother make the evening meal. Then they cried together and ate very little.

All night he thought about going to the academy, adventures, and learning to fight. If he had known how to fight, Father would still be here…

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He woke as the sun struck the edges of his skylight. He’d slept little, and went through his chores stopping every now and then to remind himself what he was doing. And to check for mistakes.

Mother fed him. This morning it was cubed squash, diced cavi, and quail eggs. He ate mechanically, afraid to taste the food, because it was good. How could he enjoy something when Father was dead?

“I want to go to the academy.”

She smiled, and he saw a tremble in her lip. “That is good, Mato.”

“How can I leave you?”

She patted his arm. “You will visit. Your cousins will visit. Your father made us a good life. I will hire a worker or two. It will work out.”

He got up and went to her, pulled her chair out, and then sat in her lap. He didn’t fit. He hadn’t done this for years.

She put her arms around him and he buried his face in her neck, and they cried. After a while she told him to get up.

“You’re too big for this. My legs have tingles.”

“I will grow strong, and I will come back,” Mato said.

She took his head in her hands and pressed her forehead to his. “I know you will. I am very proud of you.”

Most of Abo was dug in, so that people didn’t die of heat exhaustion. The academy was one of the few institutions built above ground level. Mato took the sword, packed a couple of sets of unders and a tooth stick in a bag, then climbed into the sunlight.

He went into the heat of the day often, but never stayed long. The surprise wasn’t the brilliance of the light, or the heat. It was how much they affected him. The academy was on the far side of the city, and he had chosen to take the shortest route--on the surface.

Below there were public water barrels every hundred paces or so. Below shade was the norm, not an aberration.

Mato sweated and wished he had thought to bring a water skin. At least the city could be crossed in a day.

He’d expected a warm welcome when he presented his blade. Instead the guard at the gatehouse asked how he’d come to hold it.

“It was my father’s. My mother gave it to me.”

The guard’s eyebrow went up. “Your mother?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me exactly what happened.”

Mato repeated the story.

“Your mother killed the thief?”

“Yes.”

“Then she gave you this sword?”

“Yes.”

“We do not often train those with unearned blades. Certainly not those who needed their mother to win a fight.”

Mato couldn’t figure out what to say. The guard’s basic argument was that the academy only trained the brave, and Mato had been gifted a sword by his mother. They went back and forth for a while, but it was soon clear the guard would not budge.

That was frustrating, but not insurmountable. He would wait. Someone of higher rank would pass through.

The day ground by, and the heat became extreme. Mato crouched in the shade of the gate, and eventually a teacher came to the gates.

“Mato?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I have heard the story of your father’s death. I grieve with you.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Your mother killed the invader?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“She gave you this sword?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Your mother may have a claim--a weak claim--to enter this school. Why would we accept you, a boy who was gifted a sword by his mommy?”

Mato paused and tried to think of a way to spin the story in a better light.

“I did not run. I stayed and fought.”

“We do not train the unworthy, Mato Stone Foot.”

Mato considered. He had watched Mother, waited for his moment, and when the time had come, he had acted.

“I am worthy, Honorable One.”

“Go home, merchant,” she said.

They exchanged a few more arguments, but she would not budge.

Mato sat and thought. He’d expected the academy to take him in, simply because he had a sword. Everyone knew the normal way to get a sword was through the trials, but there were a few blank swords on the market. People received them for acts of bravery or as gifts.

He turned toward home, wondering how his mother would take the news.

“Excuse me?”

Mato glanced across the surfaceway. A tall, slender man waved to him, so he turned and walked that direction.

“How can I help?” Mato asked as he approached the man.

“I see you are an adventurer. Perhaps I could hire you? The pay is very good.”

It was the kind of line you might expect from a con artist, and Mato sized the man up. He was dressed in cavi leather and linen. A sun hat made from woven twigs sat on his head. Not the picture of wealth, but he did have a sword on his belt. He decided to take the man seriously for a bit.

“I am a farmer,” Mato said. He drew his blade and showed the stranger the two blank sides. “I might be willing to take a job, but you should know I have no experience.”

The man nodded and stroked his chin. “Are you brave?”

Mato shrugged. “I do not know yet, but I intend to be.”

“Surely you have been in a few fights?”

“No. I get along with most people. A man tried to rob us, and killed my father. My mother and I killed him. She delivered the final blow. That is all of my experience.”

He nodded. “When did this happen?”

“Yesterday.”

The nodding grew stronger. “I see. Go home to your mother. Grieve. In three days I will meet you here. Early in the morning.”