“We will offer you the same basic training we offer everyone else,” Tegan said, ignoring his reproachful look. “You will be expected to excel despite the broken arm. Everyone in the Guild must be able to adapt to any situation that may arise. But you will be given a few days to rest, eat, and get your strength back.”
Tegan rose and left before Kieran could verbalize his acceptance. He had felt a subtle shift in their rapport during the conversation, something more akin to teacher and pupil. He assumed Tegan had felt it as well since she didn’t ask whether he wanted to join or not.
This still seemed too good to be true, but anything was better than dying on the street. Kieran settled down, the comfort of the bed still amazing to him. He was fast asleep a minute later.
It had been hard for Kieran at first. But he adjusted to stealing with a broken arm, and it only got easier as it healed. More often than not, there was a simple solution. He would either play up his injury or make it look like he only had one arm. He practiced every day, becoming a master of picking locks and pockets one-handed.
Tegan treated Kieran well after he showed he was more than up to the challenges set before him. On days he tried to do something new over and over without success, he would often shut himself in his room. He would stifle his frustrated sobs and furious yells in his pillow. He never heard her enter, but he sensed when she was there. She would rest a comforting if calloused hand lightly on his back. More often than not, he would throw himself into her arms, and she would hold him, whispering words of encouragement.
On the other hand, Tegan always seemed to know when Kieran was coasting and not putting forth his full effort. And she would make him pay for it. Food was withheld. Another time the sheets were removed from his bed in the middle of winter, and a frigid draft whistled into his room. And another time, his bed was removed entirely from his room, and he was forced to sleep on the unyielding wooden floor.
It was infuriating but, despite the little seeds of resentment that cropped up, Kieran came to realize the consequences were an important part of his training. He learned to give his all to every assignment, regardless of whether it was easy or difficult. Anything less would have been a disservice to himself and, therefore, the Guild.
By the time his arm healed, Kieran was just as proficient using the hand that hadn’t been broken. He’d routinely bring in loot worth two to three times as much coin as the others in his Winnowing class. Though he was already a skilled thief, it still took three years to graduate to the second level, which focused more on combat and stealth kills.
Soon after his ascension, Tegan stopped comforting him after his painful failures. He began to miss the evenings they would sit and talk over a cup of tea. All closeness seemed to have evaporated the moment Kieran turned twelve and graduated to the second level of his training.
Kieran and the others in his class were ushered into an area of the compound they hadn’t been able to visit before. They huddled together, talking in hushed tones as they surveyed their surroundings. Racks of weapons lined the walls. Bows and quivers hung from pegs. Target dummies stood against a far wall with red targets painted in the middle of their chests. Along the right-hand side of the room were adult-sized, full mannequins with lifelike appendages and heads attached. Splotches of red and yellow paint covered the bodies of the mannequins.
Near the center of the room stood Tegan and three of her lieutenants: Aldous Patric, Ziba Bayo, and Cray Valtres. Aldous and Ziba had trained Kieran’s class in the art of thievery. Cray would be taking over their training in the more advanced martial arts.
Though Cray was older, Kieran still would have thought twice about fighting or trying to steal from him. His stocky frame was all corded muscle and prominent veins. His brow was furrowed in a perpetual scowl, making his appearance all the more fierce. Kieran huddled near the others, intimidated by this imposing figure before the man ever spoke.
“Not all of you will make it through this portion of your training,” Tegan began by way of welcome. “You will be pushed harder, your limits tested, reached, and then crossed. We built you up when we taught you to steal. We now need to break you down and rebuild you all over again.”
Cray picked up the speech with barely a pause, his voice gruff and gravelly.
“Some of you will shatter beyond our ability to put back together. This will be your one chance. Those who choose to stay with Al and Zee will remain thieves. If you stay here, you will be reforged into a living weapon. Or you’ll be out in the street.
“No one will think less of you if you choose not to move forward. There is honor in doing what you can for our Guild. There is also honor in knowing your limits and what you are and aren’t capable of.”
Kieran saw a few classmates whispering urgently to one another. He did his best to repress a snigger as more than a few of the kids took tentative steps towards Aldous and Ziba.
They’re taking this speech seriously?
Their steps became more confident at encouraging nods from Ziba, and the small group was escorted from the room with a few nervous glances back at those who remained.
“Now that we’ve separated the wheat from the chaff,” Kieran said with a cocky arch to his eyebrow, “what are we learning first?”
The silence that followed was absolute. A sharp intake of breath came from two classmates standing next to him. They withdrew a few steps from him. They needn’t have worried that they would be mistaken for the one that had spoken. Kieran stood tall, an impudent grin on his face.
Have to show them I’m not afraid.
Cray and Tegan merely stared at him from the front of the room, faces blank and eyes unblinking. Kieran’s smile never faltered, not even as Cray’s face drew down into the most vicious, violent scowls Kieran had ever seen. Cray started forward, but stopped hard in his tracks at the slightest touch of Tegan’s hand on his shoulder. Kieran’s smile remained even as Tegan stalked slowly forward, her eyes promising humiliating, painful retribution.
It wasn’t until Tegan was three steps from Kieran, and his classmates had pulled even further away, that his smile faded. Tegan regarded Kieran for a few moments, her eyes traveling up and down his body, assessing. The grin began to come back to his face when it happened.
Tegan lashed out with an open hand, her palm colliding with Kieran’s face. An audible smack reverberated around the training room. He collapsed to the floor, his ears ringing. A hot flush erupted all over Kieran’s face, and he fought in vain to hold back tears.
It was only a joke. I just wanted to show that I’m ready, that I’m not afraid.
He wanted to say these things. But a rising tide of fear, shame, and indignation overcame him. She hadn’t spoken to him for weeks, and now this?
“Respect is given to every member of the Guild, regardless of their station within it,” Tegan informed Kieran in an even tone. “If you do not have respect for your fellow members, there is no room for you in the Guild.
“Kieran is to have no contact with any of you over the next week,” Tegan said, looking around at Kieran’s cowering classmates. “If any of you are caught interacting with him in any way, you will suffer the same as him twice over.” Tegan looked back down at a trembling Kieran.
“On your feet, chaff.” Tegan threw the insult back in Kieran’s face in a dispassionate tone. Kieran stood on unsteady legs, all cocky bravado gone. He tried glaring at her through his tears, but a quivering lower lip betrayed him.
“Defend yourself,” she ordered. Kieran stood there, unnerved, arms at his side. Tegan punched Kieran, striking faster than a snake. His head snapped back, blood leaking from his nose.
This isn’t normal. What in the Abyss did my mouth just get me into?
“Defend yourself,” she repeated, gesturing to the rack of weapons closest to them.
Kieran looked warily from Tegan to the rack of weapons, and back. She smiled. There was no hope for Kieran in that smile. Only the promise of a humiliating, agonizing lesson. He kept his e
yes on Tegan as he made his way to the rack.
“Take your time,” Tegan said in a casual voice, “and choose well.”
I’m not afraid.
Maybe if he repeated those words enough, he would believe them. As it was, he was having difficulty keeping his knees from knocking together. Kieran forced himself to turn his back on Tegan as he regarded the weapons. There were staves, swords, and all manner of knives, as well as a few throwing axes and daggers.
One knife is as good as another, right?
He picked a random knife from the rack.
I am not afraid.
He turned to face Tegan.
I am not afraid.
He fought to keep his hand from trembling.
I. Am. Not. Afraid.
Tegan’s stony face reinforced that this was serious.
Attack her, damn you, attack!
His feet wouldn’t cooperate. He moved like a man that had too much to drink. When Kieran’s limbs decided to obey him, he staggered towards Tegan, his slashes awkward and wild. Tegan dodged them all, looking bored as she gracefully twisted and snaked around the attacks.
Tegan spun to the side, kicking her leg out. With a heavy thud, her shin connected with his ribs. All of the air rushed from Kieran’s body in a great whoosh, and Kieran dropped to his knees. He wrapped his arms protectively around his midsection, his knife falling from his hand to clatter onto the floor. No sound came out as he opened and closed his mouth in a fruitless attempt to pull air back into his lungs.
Tegan approached Kieran. She looked over his crumpled body with a disappointed frown. She reached down and grabbed him by the collar of his tunic.
Gritting his teeth through the pain, Kieran’s hand darted down to the floor and grabbed the knife. He rose as quickly as his ribs allowed, slashing diagonally up at Tegan. Tegan dodged backwards and then closed in behind the knife slash. She swung her fist, the blow connecting with a solid thwack. Kieran collapsed to the ground in a senseless heap, dropping the knife again.
Kieran shook his head and rolled to his knees, once again grabbing the knife. He rose and Tegan, looking bored, dropped him again with an almost casual backhand. She stood over him and stepped firmly onto the wrist of the hand holding the knife.
“Let go of the knife.” Tegan ground down on his wrist with her foot, causing Kieran to moan. Kieran held fast to the blade.
“Let go of the knife, Little Dark One,” she repeated, this time in the same taunting, sing-song tone she’d used when Kieran was nine. Kieran released the knife with wheezy sobs. Tegan kicked the knife away after taking her foot from his wrist. She stepped over him and made her way to stand in front of Kieran’s wide-eyed classmates.
“I will give each of you one last chance to reconsider,” Tegan told them. “Training will be quite similar to what just transpired between myself and your rude classmate. This room will be your life. You will train in various forms of combat here. You will learn about poisons, tinctures, and many other useful things.
“You must know how to blend in with any and all of the diverse groups populating our city. Go now and you will not have to endure this. Stay, and you either graduate or get expelled.”
The tension in the room rose as Kieran felt the eyes of every classmate rest on him. His chest hurt with every gulp of air and he felt his confidence whither. He was unsure for the first time in his life. Would he be able to endure? The sounds of a few other classmates opting to stay with Aldous and Ziba reached his ears.
Should I join them?
Tegan stalked his way.
I need to make a choice.
Stifling a whimper, Kieran rose to his feet. He was unable to hide a wince of pain or the fact that he couldn’t stand straight. With one arm placed protectively over his stomach, he turned to face Tegan.
“What is your decision, chaff?” Tegan asked. Kieran felt his face go hot as his own insult was thrown back at him again. “Going with the thieves or staying here?”
“I’m staying,” Kieran growled between gritted teeth. At the front of the room, Cray smirked. Kieran dreaded taking on the man with his stocky frame and corded muscles, but he knew he wouldn’t be content as “just a thief” for his whole life.
“Then my order stands,” Tegan declared, turning her back on Kieran and addressing his fellows again. “Kieran is to be a pariah for the next week. As you all support one another through your forthcoming struggles, he is to struggle alone. He will learn that, while he is skilled, this does not put him above anyone else here in the Guild. You will suffer worse than he, should you ignore my words.”
And they’ll all act like I’m not here, the cowards.
“Go with Cray,” Tegan instructed the others, while placing a staying hand on Kieran’s shoulder. “The rude one’s training for the day will be conducted by me.”
The others shuffled over to Cray with hesitant steps. He gestured them in close around a rack, offering a brief explanation of each weapon housed there. Kieran’s mouth drew down and he began to sulk as he watched Cray teach them the basics of the variety of blades, clubs, and staves arrayed before them.
“Come,” Tegan ordered, clapping Kieran on the shoulder, “and bring that knife.” She led him away from the others to a sparring circle on the other side of the room. Kieran followed, fighting to conceal his agony with every step.
“Hold your knife up.” Tegan gestured at him to raise the knife. “Now follow my hands if you can. This is how you disarm someone if they are holding a knife.”
Kieran’s eyes caught the blurs of motion that were Tegan’s hands. She reached out, clamped down, twisted, and pulled. In the span of a single breath, Tegan had Kieran’s knife against his throat.
“Now,” she continued, backing up and pointing the knife at Kieran, “disarm me. If you can.”
It went about as well as the first time Kieran tried to pick Tegan’s pocket. She stood there, solid and unmovable as a tree while he pulled and yanked futilely at the knife. When he failed, she would nick him with the blade. By the time Cray called a halt to the day’s session, Kieran had tiny wounds over half of his upper body.
The students were ushered back to their common room after the training session. A few moments of pretending he didn’t exist was all Kieran could tolerate. He limped his way back to his room as the others chattered excitedly about their first day of weapons training.
The rest of the week went by in much the same fashion. The others would revel in everything they were learning and comfort one another if there had been a particularly hard lesson. Most lessons seemed to qualify, as far as Kieran was concerned.
After the week was over, Kieran apologized to his classmates and those who had chosen to remain as thieves and then rejoined his peers. Once his ribs healed, Kieran began to excel as he had during his thievery classes.
At night though, as he waited for sleep to overtake him, Kieran would lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling as he contemplated the enigma that was Tegan. She had been so warm and comforting until these latest classes. Now another mask was on, and it reminded him of the dangerous predator he had met on the streets three years ago. He fought back a growing resentment, but it was always there, lurking like a petulant beast.
Kieran graduated at the top of the class, despite his ever-increasing anger towards a woman he thought had cared for him. His emotions were a confusing, conflicting jumble. What happened to the stern, yet comforting mother-like figure he’d known? When he looked at her now, he didn’t know what to feel.
“What are you willing to do for the Guild?”
These memories and the mantra bounced around in Kieran’s skull as he studied the two people facing him. One was Lieutenant Aldous, his frame just as gaunt, his hair just as lank and greasy looking as always. The other was Lieutenant Ziba. Now that Kieran was a step away from graduating, he had to get into the habit of calling his superiors by their title as well as name. He still thought of them as Al and Zee, and would have to be careful he didn’t address t
hem that way out loud.
Al and Zee had been members for longer than anyone save one or two other lieutenants—and Guild Master Tegan, of course. The two of them had cornered Kieran in the front hallway, ushering him into a shadowy corridor as he was on his way back to his room.
“What do you mean by that?” Kieran asked. He’d play this stupid. He wanted to leave as little room as possible for claims of misinterpretation on their end.
Not suspicious at all.
“We feel that Tegan hasn’t had the best interests of the Guild in mind with many of her recent decisions,” Al explained in a hushed tone.
This doesn’t feel quite right.
“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” Kieran asked, failing to keep the incredulity out of his voice. It was a fair question. He had just turned sixteen, and was the youngest potential graduate of the most recent Winnowing class. He hadn’t earned an actual place as a member of the Guild yet. Real members had a code name, and Little Dark One didn’t count.
So why are they pretending to care what I think?
“Oh, cmon, Kieran,” Al scoffed. “You’re Tegan’s Little Dark One.”
Dammit, why did she have to call me that in front of everyone?
“Her protégé.”
Kieran could sense the undercurrents of jealousy in Al’s tone and in the way Zee nodded her agreement.
“Fair point,” Kieran admitted, though his opinion on that point wavered from one day to the next. Tegan had seemed to take special care with Kieran’s training, but that all seemed to change as soon as he’d reached the second level of the Winnowing. Kieran sighed.
“What do you want, exactly?”
“What would you do for your guild?” Al asked again, eyes darting between Zee and Kieran.
“You asked that already,” Kieran pointed out. What in the soul-sucking Abyss was going on here?
“Your impertinence is showing again, acolyte,” Al said, eyes narrowing. “When a lieutenant asks you a question, you answer.”
The First Stain Page 12
