by Earl, Collin
In the midst of the disorder, an odd-looking man rushed to their side, catching them all off-guard. He was skinny to the point of bony with long fingers, high cheekbones, and thin eyebrows. He also had a kind of austere manner that spoke of an unwavering strictness. Despite this, he looked at them with kind eyes that were brown with hints of green.
"Ah, Brian," said Mr. Gatt, putting his hand forward. "I was wondering where you scampered off to."
"Markin," Brian said, extending his own hand and shaking Mr. Gatt's vigorously. "It has taken you a great deal longer than I expected. I thought you might be in the Comfort Room with the other students and parents. So I went to investigate."
"What did you find?"
Brian shrugged elegantly. "The usual pretentious people, of course."
"Well, allow me to alleviate that burden," Mr. Gatt replied, letting out a slight chuckle. "Let me introduce you to the new Horum Vir, Monson Grey."
"Hero," Brian said, giving Monson a slight bow. "I am very glad to make your acquaintance."
"Hero?" Monson said, confused by the greeting. "Why are you calling me Hero?"
Brian looked slightly shocked. "Hero—have you not been told what 'Horum Vir' means?"
"No, I don't think so." Monson replied.
"Horum Vir is Latin for hero. Well, actually, the Hero."
Monson raised an eyebrow. "So, I get to walk around with everyone calling me Hero? Nice. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'm going to throw myself off a balcony."
"I see this one has a quick wit," Brian noted.
"And a sharp tongue. I think you're going to have your hands full with him, my old friend."
"Indeed."
Monson glared at the two men. "On behalf of all teenagers, I just wanted to let you know that we love it when you talk about us as if we aren't here. We think it's awesome."
Mr. Gatt put up a hand. "Peace, Monson, we're on your side, I assure you."
Brian bowed. "Please allow me to show you to your quarters. You’re in for quite the treat."
"You two, please follow me," Mr. Gatt said to Casey and Artorius. "I’ll show you where you’ll be staying."
"You got it!" Casey said buoyantly to Mr. Gatt, as he finished gathering his scattered possessions. "We'll hook up with you later . . . Hero." He looked highly amused.
Chapter 4 – Dreams
Brian gathered up Monson’s things, and then led him down another highly ornate hallway. Covered in murals, the length of the passage displayed an assortment of Roman military ventures, some historical and others obviously fictional. The murals showed remarkable artistic skill. The soldiers and their commanders remained locked in eternal combat with hordes of barbarians and charlatans, as the fury of the Roman war machine devastated lines of blurred figures in the background. The illustrations suited this hall well. It felt like a culmination of ideas that described the school, and the attitudes of a long-forgotten people suddenly reborn in the modern. This mural was Coren and Rome personified in an epic artistic rendition.
"I have never liked these paintings," Brian said, looking at the murals with distaste.
"Really?" asked Monson with some surprise, "Why is that?"
"Actually, to be completely honest with you, I’ve never liked the whole Roman concept," Brian replied. "Granted, it’s not like it originated with their society; there has always been such. Probably always will be. The Romans aren't anything special in that particular regard."
"I'm not quite sure I understand."
"My dear young Hero," Brian said patiently. "What—"
He paused, considering his words. "Let me answer you in the form of a question. Were the Romans great, and, if that be the case, for what reason?"
Monson scrutinized Brian, trying to discern his possible meaning. He knew there was a specific answer that Brian was looking for, but had no idea what it was.
"Yes," Monson answered, acting more confident than he felt, but also thinking he had an indisputable fact that proved their greatness.
Brian's face reflected a polite interest that plainly told Monson to go on. Monson obliged, "I think you need to look at all the different things they were responsible for. I mean, if you think about it, there is hardly an area of science, philosophy or religion that the Romans didn't have at least some influence over."
"Yes, that is true," Brian said with a wry smile. "But how were they able to accomplish all of those great things?"
Monson paused for a moment, unsure of the question's meaning. Brian gave him an understanding smile, "Let me ask you this: Do you think the people the Romans conquered thought they were great?"
The answer was obvious.
"Probably not," Monson answered tentatively.
"Exactly." Brian looked amused. "Yes, we have many great things from the Romans. Their accomplishments were far-reaching, even everlasting, but their crimes were just as, if not more, far-reaching and everlasting. Always remember, winners are the ones who write the history. There are two sides to every story, but more often than not, we are only party to one side."
"I guess I never really thought about it," Monson commented, taken aback.
"It certainly does make you think, does it not? History is supposed to be about the truth and facts. One should not be illustrating any particular action in any particular light, but instead relaying events and analyzing observable facts." Brian gestured toward the wall. "Now answer me this, young Master Grey: What if the artist had been able to immortalize the innocent people who died in both battle and siege? The women and children who lost fathers, husbands and brothers in the fury of pointless conflict, or the pain suffered by those who had lost all hope, faith and the will to live because of a cause they neither knew nor understood? Now that would be a picture worthy of admiration.”
"Brian," Monson said, again puzzled, "what exactly do you do here?"
"Oh, I apologize, where are my manners?!" Brian chuckled. "I started to ramble." He adopted a slightly more formal tone, one that sounded a great deal like Mr. Gatt. "My dear Hero, I am thy manservant."
Monson thought he heard wrong. "I'm sorry. You're my what?"
"Thy manservant."
"And what the bloody hell is that?" Monson said, exasperated. Why did it seem that everyone at this school was reluctant to give him a straight answer?
"As Horum Vir, you are given certain privileges and responsibilities." Brian adjusted the bags he was carrying for Monson and smoothly pulled out a small envelope, removed a blue key card, and stopped in front of a great oak door.
"I am at the same time a privilege and responsibility. I am here to make sure that you fulfill your responsibilities and that you take full advantage of your privileges."
"Responsibilities?" Monson grimaced. "That sounds awfully unpleasant."
"Yes, responsibilities can be unpleasant.” Brian winked at him. "Then again, privileges can more than make up for this."
In one fluid motion, the door opened without a sound.
"Whoa," was all Monson said as Brian slid through and stepped aside. Monson followed. He was instantly impressed.
Monson walked into a handsome sitting area where oversized leather sitting chairs and a sofa were carefully arranged around a sturdy oak coffee table. Sizable floor lamps stood on either side of the chairs, dousing the area with mounds of soft light. Adjacent to the sitting area was a large wooden entertainment center, completely self-contained behind wooden shutters. On the other side of the room, a double window covered by a handsome shade of horizontal slats sat between two sets of double doors.
"Welcome to your quarters." Brian set the bags down and walked over to the window. He opened it to reveal a breathtaking view of the grounds and national forest at the edge of Coren's property. "This is where you'll be staying during your time here. Feel free to explore."
Monson was happy to oblige.
He moved freely, stopping periodically when he found something of interest. He noticed that besides the sitting area, which could easily be used fo
r entertaining, there was a wet bar, complete with a refrigerator and an assortment of laborsaving appliances. Upon closer inspection, he realized the wet bar was more akin to a small kitchen, and although it wasn't large, it appeared to be fairly well equipped. He also noticed a control panel with commands such as "lights," “music” and “movies.” Monson suspected this was a sort of voice-activated feature, as there weren’t any buttons, just a large speaker located in the middle of the panel. It was all very cool.
"Brian, what can you tell me about this position that I have?" Monson walked to one of the plush leather chairs and sat down, looking at Brian intently. "In one day I’ve gone from being the winner of a scholarship, to attending a school—a good school–but a school nonetheless, to being a rock star. You spoke of the responsibilities; what exactly are they expecting me to do?"
"Master Grey," Brian bowed slightly, "I would be happy to enlighten you, but not right now. You still have many a thing to do. You need to eat something and rest."
He turned back to Monson. "Though I am curious, why did you not read the information packet you received after you won the Knowledge Bowl?"
Monson flushed. He really didn't want to talk about that.
"It's a long story."
Brian did not pursue the subject, but rather beckoned Monson to follow him. He walked to the left side of the room to one set of double oak doors, and with a flick of his wrist, opened them to reveal Monson's bedroom. And what a bedroom it was.
It was spacious, but not ostentatiously so. A massive four-poster bed carved of redwood, complete with silk hangings, dominated the center of the room. A nightstand and dresser to either side of the marvelous bed completed the picture. A half-opened doorway directly to Monson's left revealed a huge bathroom. To the right was a large bay window. Monson looked around the room in awe. What kind of lives were these people living that they could offer such opulence to one such as he?
Brian was next to the bed parting the curtains.
One look at a fluffy comforter and mountains of pillows, and Monson lost his self-control. He ran and jumped, spinning in mid-air to land on his back in the center of the bed. He kicked off his shoes as he sunk into the mattress.
Brian gave a smile and an appreciative chuckle. "You and I are going to get along just fine, lad. I’ll get you something to eat, and then you should get a bit of rest."
"Rest?" asked Monson, surprised. "Like sleep? Now? Aren't there other things I should be attending, like meeting teachers or something?"
"Most of the other students are getting to know their roommates right now," Brian replied, his voice calm and reassuring. "About an hour is allocated to this portion of the orientation. You can go and introduce yourself to the various Floor Captains, if you wish."
"No, that's all right," Monson said, ignoring the fact that he had no idea what a Floor Captain was.
"You look quite tired. Relax for a moment and I’ll bring you something to eat."
Monson relented, acknowledging Brian with a nod.
Brian gave another slight bow and left, closing the great double doors behind him.
What a nice…weirdo, Monson thought to himself. Between Brian and Mr. Gatt, Monson wasn't going to run out of adults to annoy.
Adults. Monson found that he suddenly missed Molly. He indulged in a back-cracking stretch and thought he would take Brian's advice and rest for a while. He was tired from the excitement of the day; a short snooze would do him some good. He slowly moved to the top of the bed to pull down the covers, which were tucked far under the headboard. As he pulled back the blankets and sheets, his thoughts wandered to Kylie Coremack and her little speech. He wondered if that type of behavior was normal for girls. He really hoped not. A verbal lashing like that was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and not one he would readily repeat. The situation didn't make sense to him. Her change in attitude and demeanor—it was so sudden and felt forced, though that didn't really make sense. Why put on a show like that?
Monson looked at the uncovered bed. Suddenly, he didn't want to sleep, but thought he would instead check out the rest of his apartment.
Monson went directly for the only door that remained unopened, crossing the entire apartment to get there. The door revealed a handsome office, complete with an oak computer desk. More of the plush furniture—an L-shaped couch and armchair—sat to either side of an expansive bookshelf that reached from floor to ceiling.
Monson went to a chair sitting in front of the desk. He reclined briefly before he noticed a rippled cover that hid most of the desk's surface. Monson searched and found a small button under the lip of the desktop. He pushed it and the cover retracted with a slight clink. To Monson's delight, an expensive-looking computer complete with a flat, high-definition screen, a scanner, and a printer sat on the desktop. Monson smiled appreciatively as he slid the shade back into place.
Getting up, his attention wandered to the large shelf of books along the wall. Before the attack, Monson read—a lot. This was one of the things that his grandfather had encouraged. Never stop learning, he would say. It was odd that this, of all things, he remembered, but he did remember, with surprising clarity. Words are power, his grandfather had said, and reading along with developing skills of reason is the key to unlocking that power. In his current state, Monson couldn't recall why that was so important to his grandfather, just that it was.
Many details like this had come back to him slowly. Learning about one’s past might seem scary at first, but as freakish as it sounded, the fact that he couldn't remember much of his was a bit exciting. Memories would come and it was as if he was reliving his life. It was a funny sensation whenever a memory resurfaced. While it could be disconcerting, it was much better than the gaping void that existed prior to the recovery of a memory.
Monson scanned the books and smiled as he saw that the titles were shelved in alphabetical order. Monson guessed that Brian probably had something to do with this. He seemed like the type who would. A few of them caught his interest with amusing titles or nice-looking covers. Monson pulled a few. He was always looking for something to read and here was as good as any other place to browse. Most of the books were histories that were militaristic in nature. Some were accounts of modern conflicts: the Persian Gulf Wars, Vietnam, Korea, World Wars I and II, the Civil War—just to name a few. Most, however, were historic accounts of ancient battles. The Roman Empire and its many epic accounts was recorded in multiple volumes. One large series of books seemed to encompass Roman history, from the formation of the Roman Republic to the fall of the Byzantine Empire. Monson was relieved to see that despite the school’s obsession with Old Rome, there were many books dedicated to other empires, such as Egypt, Persia, and Syria. Monson idled around the shelves for a bit longer hoping to find something that might entertain him during his off nights. It was in that moment that something on the back-center bookcase caught his eye.
Lore of the Folk: a Complete Guide to Your Understanding of the Secrets of Coren County read the title. Curious, Monson pulled the book off the shelf and proceeded to examine the cover, which was dominated by a painting of a rock-laced waterfall. It was beautiful, almost as realistic as a photograph. Monson traced his finger along the right side of the picture. He wondered if these falls were actually in the valley, or if this was just some artistic license meant to make Coren County appear more interesting than it really was.
Monson flipped open the cover to look for something resembling a dedication or author's note. Instead he found these handwritten phrases: For Rose Mary, may you never find this, but if you do, hopefully it helps.
Monson continued to flip. The book was handwritten and was more like a scrapbook than a published piece. And what about the dedication? Now that was weird.
"Well, you seem a little out of place here, don't you?" Monson asked out loud. "What about this valley could be so interesting that someone would want to write a history of it?"
"Master Grey," a voice split the air from the other room. Mon
son recognized it as Brian's.
"Yeah, I'm in here, Brian." Monson quickly closed the book. He hesitated for a moment, and without really thinking, he tucked the book under his arm and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Brian was standing behind the counter of the kitchenette holding a tray with an assortment of food.
"I was not aware of your preference, so I brought you a little bit of everything." He set the tray on the counter and offered Monson a couple of different soft drinks. Monson grabbed a can, at the same time placing the book on the stool beside him. He cracked it open and started to drink.
"I don't usually drink a lot of pop," Monson commented, taking a sip of the blue-canned cola. It was a bit sweet, but he found that he liked it. Setting down the soda, Monson picked up a ham and cheese bagel sandwich and bit into it. It was simple, but tasty.
"What teenager does not drink soft drinks?" Brian leaned over the plate of food, but didn’t take any himself. Monson, noticing this, grabbed another sandwich and placed it in front of him. Brian looked startled.
"You look hungry." Monson gestured to the food. "Why don't you join me? Besides, we're probably going to be spending quite a bit of time together, so we might as well be friends."
Brian studied Monson with soft, unassuming eyes. He smiled gently and picked up the sandwich. "Thank you," he said as he took a bite, "but back to the soft drinks; I’m curious. Why do you not drink them? Are you an athlete?"
