Chapter 6

The runes and glyphs class was one of the most confusing events in Mato’s life. The room had a sandy floor, and they sat around the edges. Wisdom Ice Foot used a stick to draw examples of the runes and glyphs in the sand as he spoke.

Religion in Abo centered on the gifts of the Great Spirit and the spirits who worked alongside him. There were songs to sing at funerals, and prayers for various things. Mostly it was a bit of tradition layered over daily life.

Their teacher was a short man with a pockmarked face and fierce eyes. He spoke in a near shout, unless he grew angry. Then it was just screaming.

“There are three sacred numbers. Three is the number of guiding stars. Four is the number of the gates into Abo. Seven is the number of Sotsona’s wives.” He kissed his fingertips and pressed them to his forehead when he said the king’s name.

“Numbers created by combinations of the sacred numbers have more power than others.

“Fourteen, which is three plus four plus seven, is the number of trail masters, who keep the knowledge of travel and the outside lands. Twenty-one, which is three sevens, is the number of Sotsona’s priests.” He kissed his fingertips and pressed them to his forehead. “And twenty-eight, or four sevens, is the number of sacred glyphs.”

“There are many runes. This shows that the Great Spirit is wise and orderly--he has given us a perfect set of twenty-eight glyphs. The profusion of runes from the anathema shows the chaos of the Deep Spirit. He sows the world with confusion, breaking order, and bringing doubt to all things.

“When you kill the monsters, the anathema, you build up energy in your spirit swords. When that energy is enough it will coalesce into a rune at the base of your blade. This gives the sword power, but it also pushes it out of balance. The more unbalanced your blade, the more dangerous it is to you. Unbalanced swords can numb your hand, forcing you to drop them. They can fight you, making you cut yourself when you try to use them. They can draw anathema to your camp as you sleep.”

Mato made a mental note of that. It seemed like the most practical thing Ice Foot had said so far.

“For each rune there is a corresponding glyph. We cannot know all of the runes, but we know all of the glyphs. Never experiment with runes and glyphs. Some of the strange pairings work, but some are very dangerous. The worst can destroy you or your blade.”

A hand went up four students to Mato’s right. The wisdom pointed the stick at the boy.

“Wisdom, my father’s sword has a glyph that is not one of the twenty-eight.”

“Is that so?” Ice Foot’s voice dropped.

“Yes, Wisdom?”

“And what do you make of that?”

“I do not know what to make of it, Wisdom.”

Ice Foot turned in a slow circle, glaring at each student in turn. “The Deep Spirit seeks to pervert our knowledge of the sacred glyphs. Sotsona,” he said as he kissed his fingertips, “has spoken to the Great Spirit on our behalf. The twenty-eight are exactly what we need in Abo. Other cities have good glyphs of their own, but there are also evil glyphs offered to us by followers of the Deep Spirit.”

“How do we know if foreign glyphs are good or evil, Wisdom?”

Mato couldn’t believe the kid was still talking. It was clear that Ice Foot was ready to administer a thrashing.

“That is precisely the problem. Sotsona knows which foreign glyphs are good and which are evil, but the rest of us do not. I will ask the king to inspect your father’s sword. We would not want an errant glyph to poison your household.”

Mato swallowed. That sounded dire. The king was seldom seen outside the palace. He appeared on some holidays, and at random times he would visit commoners and grant them boons. But it wasn’t always good to see the king. He also exacted judgment. Mato’s father said Sotsona was wise and mighty, and it was a wise man who stayed out from under the feet of giants. Thus, Mato had never seen the king.

The rest of class was Ice Foot drawing runes and glyphs in the sand, then asking the students to identify them, or to recommend a pairing. If you said you did not know, Ice Foot would strike you with his stick. If you answered incorrectly, he would strike you and scream the correct answer at you.

Mato went home with six welts. He wondered if seven would have been more auspicious.

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When Mato arrived, Ezhno looked up from his scroll. “I see Ice Foot is teaching your class.”

Mato sat at the table and handed Ezhno a package of stuffed plantain leaves. The leaves were steamed and filled with fish, rice, olives, and nuts.

“How can you tell?” Mato asked with a grin.

“Some people are given positions of power and respect because they earn them,” Ezhno said. “Others simply learn to suck the right cock.”

Mato tried to contain his burst of laughter, and chunks of rice and fish came out of his nose. He coughed and pounded his hand on the table.

“You understand that we have just committed treason?”

Mato nodded. “I would feel bad about it, but Ice Foot is a petty man, and a horrible teacher. One of the students asked about a glyph on his father’s sword that isn’t found in the twenty-eight. Ice Foot said he would ask Sotsona to inspect it.”

Ezhno winced. “I expect he will not be in class again. This is why I ordered you to pay attention and to speak as little as possible. People’s lives ride on your words now.”

Mato looked at the tabletop and ate some of his dinner, but his high spirits for completing the day had vanished.

* * *

The next day was worse. Two students were missing, and Ice Foot did not seem to notice.

“Where is Tevi?” asked the boy next to Mato.

How could he do that? What a stupid thing to say, and to say it after sitting next to Mato.

Ice Foot struck like a snake, striking the boy about the head and shoulders with his stick. When the boy began to cry, he turned the beating on Mato.

“You will not speak without my permission. You will not question the will of Abo. You will respect the rule of Sotsona, and the priests he has placed over you.”

Mato hunched and silently thanked Ezhno for the lessons in pain tolerance. Without the constant practice, the march around the city, and the ambushes when sleeping, he would have broken down and cried too.

Ice Foot spent the rest of the morning berating them, and beating those who failed to answer in whatever way his whims demanded.

Three more students failed to return after lunch. Ice Foot traded his stick in for a heavy wooden staff.

When Mato went home he had a bump on his head the size of an egg. His wrist was broken, and he had wrapped it with cloth and splinted it with sticks. The side of his shin had an ugly bump even larger than the egg on his head.

“What happened?” Ezhno asked.

Mato related the day’s events while they ate plantains with avocado and diced cavi.

“I am impressed,” Ezhno said. “You could have cried, run, fought back, or sold me out in exchange for mercy. You simply completed your lesson for the day. That is exactly what a trail master must be--steadfast in the face of adversity.

“Let me help you.”

He got up and retrieved his sword. He put out a tea cup, then held the tip of his blade over it. After a few seconds clear liquid began to drip down the blade. Mato watched, entranced by the display. It took him a minute to realize that one of the runes was glowing faintly.

“Is the glyph on the other side glowing too?”

Ezhno nodded, then shook the blade off and put it away. “That was the water rune and the life glyph.” He slid the cup to Mato. “Drink this. Normally I would give you more, but I do not want Ice Foot to know I am healing you. He would take offense.”

“I understand.” Mato sipped at the liquid. It tasted like water. “Is this special?”

“Yes. It is like the water from the Abo well, but more powerful. A cup of that will stop minor illnesses in their tracks. For a broken wrist, I would recommend six cups tonight, and probably eight tomorrow, then six, four, two, and you would be all better.”

Mato felt his eyebrows go up. “It will heal a break in five days?”

“Three, if you are willing to tolerate some pain in the bones. It is quite uncomfortable, but it seems to work.”

“That is incredible.” Mato gulped the rest of the cup.

“Excellent,” Ezhno said. “Now we will train.”

“Now?”

“Of course now. You must be able to fight with a broken arm. What better time to learn how?”

Mato sighed and pushed himself to his feet. “Alright.”

* * *

Of the twenty-eight young men who had started the class, only nine finished.

Mato answered every question correctly on the final day, and received two lashes with Ice Foot’s stick for his pride. No one else received a perfect score.

“I should not pass you,” Ice Foot said.

Mato dipped his head. “You are too fine a teacher for me to fail, Wisdom.”

Ice Foot’s eyes narrowed, but Mato met his eyes calmly.

“You may yet make a name for yourself, Mato Stone Foot.”

“Thank you, Wisdom.”

He started to walk away, but a soft pssst sound caught his attention. He changed direction and walked north away from the classroom, instead of east. Ezhno appeared beside him as soon as he was out of Ice Foot’s line of sight.

“Well, done, Mato. Not only did you pass, you managed to insult him in the process. You know I would have beaten you for that. ‘You are too fine a teacher for me to fail.’ That level of sarcasm is not often achieved.”

Mato chuckled. “You wouldn’t beat me for that. You would fall over laughing.”

Ezhno elbowed him gently. “I almost did. Come on, let’s go pick up your new boots.”