Bloodaxe

by James Tallett

  The apprentice lay there for an hour after the sun disappeared, enjoying the fading warmth of the day and idle contemplation of the clouds, sea, and sky. Finally, the light had sunk low enough that the young student knew he needed to go back to the dormitory and head to the dining hall, for idle contemplations and golden rays had stirred and filled his mind, but done little for his growling belly. Grinning at the idea of eating sunbeams for dinner, Tarranau moved on down the path, loose gravel and worn away earth marking a trail that had been used for a long time, so long that it overrode any right to close it.

  Lazy strides took Tarranau down from the cliffs, towards Tregonethra where it sat in a depression between natural walls of stone, walls that sheltered a wide inlet in the western shore of Bohortha Eilan. The city wrapped around the inlet, a mass of tall wooden buildings and shore front warehouses, with wood and stone docks reaching out across the beach and into the water, fingers stretching towards the open ocean. It was the home of the largest fleet that sailed anywhere in the world, a fleet comprised of deep sea fishing boats and heavily laden traders, carrying goods up and down the coastline, to and from the outer islands, of which Bohortha Eilan was the largest and most populated. It was on one of these boats that Tarranau hoped to make his career as a marine mage, as one of the guild.

  It was back to their school that he went now, a school of which he had been a part since his tenth birthday. The guild of mages that ran the school sent out small parties to the communities that were within their scope, including Tarranau’s. The marine mages examined all boys at the age of ten, testing them to see if they had magical talent. Those who did fell into two categories in the eyes of the mages: those with a simple affinity, and those with real potential. Having an affinity meant being tied closely to the water, often able to manipulate the element slightly. They were given a few years of training, until the age of fourteen, and then sent off, to become whatever caught their fancy. Usually, these boys worked as sailors or fishermen; knowing the waters as they did, they felt more at home there than upon dry land.

  For the others, those with potential, they were trained for nine years, from ten to nineteen, and it was into this track that Tarranau had fallen. As with all boys of ten, he had regretted leaving home, and cried a good deal in those first few months, for many of the boys were sad, and the teachers appeared stern and unyielding after a childhood that had been infused with familial closeness. Still, it was one thing to be turned down by the mages, but another entirely to turn them down, and thus Tarranau had gone to the school, even if it had nearly bankrupted his parents in the first few years, for mussel farming was not the most profitable of occupations, even if it always put food on the table.

  Now, Tarranau was eighteen and nearing the end of his time in the school, with less than a year remaining under the tutelage of the teachers. By this time, he paid for his own learning, through jobs that the mages gave to him, and by working on the docks. Students were encouraged in that regard, for it was felt by the guild mages that it helped young mages acquire an understanding of the life they would be living. So it was a common sight to see apprentice mages down on the docks in the early morning before the boats set out, or during the evenings as the boats returned and the bustle of unloading and repairing for the morrow began again.

  This evening, it was that hustle and bustle that drifted up to Tarranau as he made his way back into the city, along with salty comments and bantered insults. The path ran down a sloping hillside into the outskirts of Tregonethra, where a few spread-out houses slowly gave way to more and more packed-in buildings, the wooden structures growing taller as they crept towards the city centre, where many stretched into the sky, four stories tall. Tarranau’s destination was the one walled area of the city, placed close to the sea shore, but far enough round from the main area of the harbour that it did not take up land that would be valued for commercial purposes. Here was the school of the watermage guild, marked off as its own little community inside of the larger populace of Tregonethra, and it was into the largest of the halls within the compound, the dormitory, that Tarranau ventured.

  Tarranau went up the stairs to the second floor, heading towards his room. Walking along the long corridor, he passed a multitude of doors, each hiding a single small chamber, complete with bedding and a desk, the cause of crooked backs as students poured over texts by the light of a candle. Tarranau’s space was further along, down where the corridor went off at an angle, allowing the rooms in this small area of the dormitory to have a view out over the sea. His status as one with under a year to graduation had earned him this pleasant view out across the waters of the harbour, from which he could see those cliffs upon which he had been perched so recently, away off to the left. The vantage point was designed by the teachers to prompt thought of what comes after school, showing the harbour in which the graduates would spend many years working, and the sea that was the lifeblood of Tregonethra. Tarranau, however, was a young man, and not often given to the kind of introspection that the view was supposed to inspire, although from a sunny spot on the cliffs he would often spend hours trying to answer some of the great philosophical questions, including “What does come next for me?”.

  Chuckling at the futility of trying to answer that question, the young apprentice changed from his dirt and dust covered clothes into his formal student’s robes, required for all school related activities during the day, including meals and time spent in class or with a professor, although that latter requirement was oft waived by the more lenient teachers. Dressed in clothes that were appropriate, if showing signs of being put on hastily and with little regard for decorum, Tarranau jogged down the stairs at his end of the building and through the compound towards the dining hall, his dirty blonde hair bouncing as he ran. He’d left it late again, and the bell that marked the end of dinner would soon ring out, and Tarranau had to get in the door before that happened.

  The servant at the door, the man who would be ringing the bell, chuckled and shook his head at Tarranau as the apprentice ran for the doors, holding them open to allow the lad, gown flapping, to rush into the serving area. Tarranau quickly grabbed two plates of food that looked like it still retained some warmth, before sitting down at the nearest table, his stomach forcibly reminding the apprentice that the hour was later than it liked, and that he could still consume large quantities of food when given the chance. He waved to a few of the people that he knew, but they were finishing up their meals, and Tarranau was too busy eating to want a conversation.

  When Tarranau returned to his room, he collapsed on the bed, resting and digesting his meal. He fell into a half-awake coma, only to have his dreams split by the sound of a hand connecting solidly with the wood of his door. “Tarranau, you’ve got a message here from Magister Gothren.” The young apprentice staggered up, straightening as he walked over to the door, opening it to find a fourteen year old student holding up a scrap of paper and a bucket full of water. “He wants you to practice, Magister Gothren said.” “I can see that.” replied Tarranau. “I’m sure I’ll have a wonderful night, doing the same damn exercise over and over until I collapse from exhaustion. Oh well, thanks for this.” Tarranau took the two items from the young student, sending him on his way and closing the door with a foot as he re-entered his room, placing the bucket of water on his desk and flipping open the note. “Practice your water purification. You are deficient in this area. Magister Gothren.” Well, he was nothing if not direct, thought Tarranau. The apprentice looked into the bucket, which turned out to be full of brackish, salty water that was unfit for drinking or any other use. Shrugging, Tarranau sat down at the desk, placing his hands on either side of the container and staring into the thick green mess, focusing his will on making it pure, clean drinking water.

  Two hours later, Tarranau crawled into bed, the smell of salt water still wafting at him from the bucket. He’d cleaned it, mostly, but it still wasn’t drinkable, and he knew Magister Gothren would send someone round to collect it in
the morning. Shrugging slightly, Tarranau collapsed into sleep.

  The morning bell and the sun peering through his window dragged Tarranau out of bed the next day, groggy and bleary-eyed with the early hour, shortly after sunrise. Walking over to the desk, he reached down and splashed some water on his face, then went to the mirror to try and straighten the horrible mess of hair that sat atop his head. A glance told Tarranau that he had used the murky sea water from yesterday to wash the sleep out of his face, and back he went, this time plunging his face into the wash bowl that sat on one side of his work table, the fresh water waking him fully and cleaning off the green and salty residue. Another quick pass with the comb made him presentable, and, shrugging his robes over his nightclothes, he went off to the dining hall, in search of some breakfast.

  A bowl of oatmeal saw Tarranau on the way to his first class, about the theory and nature of tides and waves. Important for those who planned to be mariners, the apprentice never gave it much attention, except when the class was sailing, examining the sea from a boat. Today was not one of those days, and so he stayed in the back, paying attention with one ear, but mostly dreaming, as much about going back to sleep as any other occurrence.

  Tarranau struggled through most of the day, grabbing a quick lunch between two classes, before finally ending up in his last class. Unfortunately, this was the class was taught by Magister Gothren, the same one who had sent the bucket of sea water the night before as homework. It was a class called “The Theory and Practice of Transmutation”, and the teaching revolved around the alteration of one liquid into another, similar liquid. The most basic of these was purifying water, changing it from a less pure form to a more pure, and sometimes the other way around for practice. Tarranau was not skilled at either of these transmutations, nor any of the more difficult ones, and so Gothren drove him hard, especially as the apprentice was above average in all other classes that he took, although never the top of the class. Extra assignments such as the bucket were becoming the norm and resulted in Tarranau spending more of his time on his worst subject than on any other. He also knew what Gothren’s argument would be this time, since it had occurred several times since the beginning of the term, and always when Tarranau did not fully complete an assignment.

  Sitting down in the middle of the classroom, Tarranau ploughed through the class, the lecture about excising the impure elements, leaving the pure element of water behind, waiting for the moment afterwards when Gothren would dismiss the rest of the class and turn to the unskilled student and crook his finger, indicating that Tarranau was to stay behind and talk. The bell struck, dismissing the students and ending the class day. Tarranau got up and moved to file out of the classroom with the rest, but a discrete cough sounded behind him, and the apprentice turned around, catching Magister Gothren’s eye and his hand, which was gesturing to a seat just in front of the teacher, and on top of which was the same bucket of water that had been sent to Tarranau’s room last night.

  Tarranau made his way to the seat, sitting down and waiting for Magister Gothren to begin his lecture. Gothren stood up and began to pace behind the lectern, four steps to the left, then around and four more to the right, hands clasped behind his back, staring at the ground with occasional glances over at the bucket of the sea water and at the student sitting behind it. The teacher continued this pacing for more than five minutes, drawing it out so that Tarranau began to feel nervous and uncomfortable in the chair, wondering if he should be the one to speak first, even though Magister Gothren disliked being upstaged by students, and was often harsh in the class room on those who tried to make a counter argument to points that he made.

  Magister Gothren finally stopped pacing, turning to look straight at Tarranau, his face contorted into an expression the students had learned as one that meant he was angry or annoyed, and even more curmudgeonly than normal. Tarranau sat back in the chair, shifting away from the glare of the Magister, wishing that he had not turned around when the teacher had coughed. This was going to be one of the bad times, where the apprentice would have to withstand a long yelling period without saying anything to aggravate it more.

  “Do you know why you have been called here?”

  “Yes sir. Because I was deficient at water purification.”

  “No! It is because you are lazy! You do not try. You do not pay attention in class. Today, you were thinking about something else. You focus on anything but the assignment. Your attitude makes a mockery of the goals of this class, and your work is pathetic. You have barely completed a single task that has been given to you, and those that you do always take far longer than is required. Unless you manage to bring your performance in this class up to a level that is acceptable, I will recommend that you are unfit for service as a ship’s mage.” Given that almost every student in the school had a goal of being a ship’s mage, this was tantamount to saying that the student’s time here had been wasted. Tarranau’s parents would have scraped and struggled, shortening their own meals, and it would have come to nothing.

  “Well, what do you have to say? Do you have no response? Will you sit there mute and uncommunicative, just as you are in my classes?”

  “No sir.” There was little Tarranau could say. Talking back would infuriate Magister Gothren, and nothing the apprentice could say would help, so he just had to wait this storm out

  “Well, since I have you here, I want you to finish this task.” Gothren slammed the bucket on the desk in front of Tarranau, sloshing some of the water out onto the student’s robes. “Don’t wait, student, this is the time for you to show me you can actually work.” Magister Gothren swept his robes about him and sat behind his desk, his eyes a focused stare on the bucket in front of Tarranau. When the apprentice waited before beginning to focus on the water, Gothren gestured imperiously. “Begin, boy.”

  Tarranau sighed, placing his hands on either side of the bucket, leaning over to stare down at the water, and concentrated, clearing his mind of all but the purity of water, and envisioning the water in front of him as pure and as clean as the ideal water held in his mind. The apprentice closed his eyes, attempting to blank out of the sight of Gothren, but the image persisted in memory of the eyes focused on his face. Tarranau pushed it as far away as it would go, thinking only of the cleanliness of the water, hands grasped tightly around the bucket, his muscles taut.

  Tarranau began to sweat, the concentration demanding bodily exertion, the liquid slowly sliding down his face, pooling on the tip of his nose. It held there a moment, beading and swelling as more sweat ran down the apprentice’s face, before finally gathering and falling, its grip failing as it plunged towards the salt water in the bucket. The droplet hit the surface of the water, a loud plop as it slapped into the brine, ripples rolling out across the top, little waves rebounding off the sides of the bucket.

  The sound snapped Tarranau’s concentration, his eyes opening as he shifted away from his internal focus back to accepting input from external sources. The water in the pail coming into view as the blurring disappeared, his eyes refocusing on the desk before him. Tarranau looked at the water, and while it had cleared somewhat, there was still a green tinge. Algae and other debris floated on the surface, giving it a pungent, unpleasant odour.

  Magister Gothren uncoiled himself and adjusted his robes before walking over to the container. There, he paused, then dipped a finger into the water and brought it to his lips, running his tongue over the tip, savouring the taste as if it were a delicacy. Tarranau waited, one hand wiping the sweat off of his face and onto his robe, leaving a wet smear across his thigh.

  “You need work. There is touch, as well as willpower. Practice, and bring me another pail, purified, at the end of next week. Now go home and clean that mark off your robe. I will not have you looking uncouth while representing this institution of learning.”

  Those words of effusive praise ringing in his ears, Tarranau fled from the room, looking not to clean his robe, but to remove himself from the presence of that tea
cher. Tarranau’s first thought was to head to the cliffs for a view of the sea and a place of peace and quiet, but that option was stolen away when he looked upwards, for growing winds and grey clouds told Tarranau that a storm was coming. Up on those sheer rock walls, there would be no barrier between him and the wind and rain, and fog could easily disguise the drop from the cliff’s edge.

  Tarranau shuddered as he remembered the events of the spring of this year, when a young student had fallen from the crags, and thus the apprentice turned his feet from the path to the cliffs, heading instead to the harbour, where an open bar and a few coins would let him forget Magister Gothren for an hour or two.

  Tarranau arrived at the bar to find that he was not the only student from the school. A few of the rough around the edge lads, ones who had been born into sailor families, had already gotten a start on the day’s drinking. The boys were swapping stories and talking with the fishermen and other denizens of the docks, the people amongst whom they had been born. Tarranau heard their raucous laughter from where he stood near the door, looking for a quiet table to sit and ponder Magister Gothren’s recent threat.

  Spotting a booth in the back that looked quiet and small enough to discourage others from sitting with him, Tarranau went to the barkeep, getting a drink brewed from one of the seaweeds that grew along the shores of the island. Tossing a coin onto the bar, he sat in the booth with his back to the door and stretched his legs, enjoying a peaceable moment for the first time today. An image of the grim Gothren swam back into the forefront of his mind, causing him to reach for his drink and wonder what to do. Tarranau came from a family of mussel farmers, and it was expected that he would repay them by becoming a full-fledged ship’s mage, entitled to good pay, prime choice amongst the houses of Tregonethra, and eventually perhaps a position teaching at the school. However, a mage spent long hours, days, and weeks on ships, travelling from Tregonethra to Miath Mhor, up the coast to Arnich and Massick, or south and west to Buid, Dulais, Niam Liad, and even round the peninsula and through the islands to Bethra and the other westernmost towns. These were all long trips, some that might take months in either direction. After the first two weeks of the voyage, he would be eating salted pork and dried biscuits, living out of a cabin smaller than his room was now, with rancid water and the eternal rocking of a ship at sea.