Bloodaxe

by James Tallett

  Most students, Tarranau included, had realized that if they performed well in all of the classes without showing special favouritism to one or the other, they could avoid being embroiled in all of the back room politicking that infected the school. Unfortunately for Tarranau, and for several of the other boys at the school, they were overly talented in one area and lacking skill in others, meaning that they were seen as supporting one teacher against another. This was the case for Tarranau and Magisters Gothren and Holbenth, and since he was not skilled in the area of Gothren’s specialty, Gothren took as it a personal affront.

  Now, it sounded like one of Gothren’s best students had tagged Tarranau for something he had not done. Tarranau worried that he had been chosen because of his closeness to a disliked teacher. In this case, the teacher was almost certainly Holbenth, one of the younger teachers at school who had some different ideas about how things should be taught here, ideas based partly on the teacher’s more closely remembered period as a student. He’d spoken to Tarranau about them; after all, Tarranau was the student with whom he most associated.

  Tarranau wondered what Holbenth had done that might cause something like this, since there was usually a reason behind the petty squabbles of the school. Probably said something that drew the ire of Magister Gothren, or made fun of him. Tarranau knew why he had been chosen as the target, and it was that he was both the best student of Magister Holbenth and had the temerity to state that he wasn’t all that enthralled with the life of a ship’s mage. This was a sacrilege to those who taught at the school, all of whom had served on the barques. The only teacher who had taken it with any grace was Holbenth, who was still young enough to remember youthful rebelliousness and the desire to not be trapped in a laid out pattern of life.

  A resigned acceptance that he might get the wish not to be a ship’s mage granted sooner than expected spread over Tarranau, and he was able to find sleep in the uncomfortable chair.

  Tarranau was shaken awake by Magister Holbenth, his back cramping from the awkward night. The teacher stood there for a few moments, his hand on Tarranau’s shoulder, trying to apologize for what he was about to say.

  “Magister Gothren found the amulet he was looking for. It was a trophy amulet, one of those he keeps on display behind his desk. Someone had snuck in, taken it down and run away. Gothren, when he discovered the theft, was overcome with anger at the temerity of the person who would dare to steal something of such personal importance. He began waking his favourite students, asking if they had seen anything. Finally, a boy named Fradich said he’d seen you carrying it. Information in hand, Magister Gothren came and got me, in order that he not be accused of planting the item or ransacking your room for no purpose. After that, well, you know what happened.”

  “Magister Holbenth, tell me where he found the amulet. I’d like to know where it was planted, and how it happened.”

  “I’m sorry Tarranau, I was a little caught up in what happened. It was in a bucket of seawater on your desk. It sat on the bottom, covered with a little algae so it didn’t glint whenever anyone looked at it. Magister Gothren had looked everywhere else in the room, made a total mess out of everything, all your clothes and bed coverings sprayed about. That man is an utter pig, and could have at least behaved with some dignity, instead of wrecking your room out of spite. Then, after gleefully destroying everything, he looked around till his eyes alighted on that damnable bucket, and Gothren rolled his sleeve up and plunged in, fishing around until he came up with that muck covered amulet, almost capering as he waved it at me, yelling ‘I’ve got him! That child was trying to make a fool out of me, hiding it in the very thing I sent him for homework. I’ll see him expelled for this, you’ll see if I don’t’. With that, he skipped out of the room, far happier than I would have thought appropriate for a teacher who had found a student stealing. There was nothing I could do at that point, so I went back to bed and tried to salvage some sleep. Once I woke up I came here to tell you the bad news.”

  “So, when is the disciplinary board going to discuss my case? And do I get to defend myself at all, or will I be ejected from a school where I have spent most of my life and my family’s money without even being allowed to speak up? OH! Fradich… that boy is a bully, and a petty thief. He tried to get money from me when I was younger, threatening to hit me. I scared him off, but he does that now to some of the younger boys who won’t talk to the teachers. Blast, if only I could get one of them to speak about it. I know they won’t; after all, I’m the sinking ship and no one is going to jump on board. I’ll get a lot of sorry looks and quiet apologies and ‘I’m sad to see you go’ murmured in my ear, and that will be that, me gone and the school resuming its normal course. I’m always glad to see empathy that will help me with my new aim in life. I’m sure you’re going to give me the money from the school coffers for this last term, aren’t you? After all, I’m certainly not going to be here to use what it paid for.”

  Tarranau paused, looking at Holbenth, who was taken aback at the venom in the student’s voice. The teacher removed his hand from the apprentice’s shoulder and stepped away from Tarranau.

  “Three days from today. Magister Gothren was pushing for the board to convene today, but the members decided they wanted more time to gather information, including from you and me. I might also remind you that I am your friend, so I do not deserve an outburst of that nature.”

  “I know, I know, but you’re the only person I can talk to in these circumstances. If I speak like this to any other teacher, I get told off, and if I try and speak to a student like that, they wouldn’t understand. Also, you are the bearer of bad news, Magister. Few would react well to this. So, I have three days, at least one of which will be taken up talking to the members of the board, sitting around waiting on their whim and mercy, brought in to answer a question here, a concern there, and then sent to sit outside while they discuss my fate behind closed doors. Outstanding.”

  “Tarranau, I’ve spoken to the board this morning, and they asked that you remain within a close distance of the school, and that you don’t go down to the docks district. They haven’t released the news of what happened here, but neither do they want you trying to leave Bohortha Eilan while still under the good auspices of this school. That means you should not go to that beach of yours, either. Sadly, the board have also asked that you not converse with other students. They don’t trust you, you see. Anyway, we should get your room fixed up, even if you’re not going to use it much. If nothing else, we can pack your things for later.”

  Tarranau gave a shrug of the shoulders. “So they wish to make my last days here as unpleasant as possible? It doesn’t surprise me. I suppose I should be packing to leave, unfair though that might be. Still, I may be luckier than I expect. No sense worrying about it now though.” Tarranau made his way to his room, talking quietly to Magister Holbenth about happier times and places where things had not been so murky. As the student made his way across the school, he garnered reactions ranging from friendly and sympathetic comments to eyes down avoidance to the open sneers of a few students who took joy in seeing their betters fallen.

  Magister Holbenth’s comments from earlier were particularly apt when he and Tarranau arrived; Magister Gothren had scattered everything, not bothering to keep clothes folded or off the floor. Items had been tossed about in petty vindictiveness, done just because it was possible to do so. The two men set about restoring things to their rightful place, doing so in a fitful manner, neither wanting to speak or come to terms to with what the packing likely meant. Soon enough, the quiet was broken by Holbenth speaking: “I’m sorry, but I have to go, I’ve got classes to teach. I likely won’t see you again until one of the disciplinary hearings. There will be plenty of things for me to do, including giving my own version of the search of the room to the board. Goodbye, Tarranau, and may water speed you swiftly.” That said, the teacher turned and walked out of the room, disappearing down the hallway before the corner at the end took him from vi
ew.

  Tarranau spent much of the rest of the day sorting and restoring his things to where they belonged, undoing the damage that Gothren had caused in his vicious search to find the “stolen” amulet. With much to occupy his hands and little upon which to spend his mind, Tarranau looked to days ahead. The case was his word against Magister Gothren’s, and unfortunately all evidence swung to Gothren’s side, and even Magister Holbenth would be forced to confirm the amulet had been found in Tarranau’s room. The apprentice shook himself and sighed, head in hands. He was sure the trial would end in his expulsion from the school, a miserable send-off to what had been a pleasant experience.

  There were two options ahead for Tarranau. The first was several choices lumped together, but for him they all resulted in one thing: being forced to give up the practice of magic and instead become a menial labourer. Tarranau had neither the money nor the connections for any job above that of a basic clerk, and with Magister Gothren sure to mark him as an unworthy boy, Tarranau would be consigned to running and repairing fishing lines, or farming the mussel beds of the eastern coast next to his family. And if he chose the mussel beds, Tarranau would always be among people who would remember him as the “failed apprentice”, for the mage’s school was the most prestigious institution on Bohortha Eilan. Tarranau was set against having his life defined by an act that he had not committed, and was considering his alternative: leaving Bohortha Eilan and going to a city where the actions of this one institution would not dog him. A place where he could re-establish himself as a mage, utilizing the abilities he had learned at this school, rather than letting his childhood efforts be thrown away. Where to go was uncertain, for Tarranau was not a trader and did not know the geography of Bedwar Barthu Dirio. He had heard names such as Bethra and Arnich, but knew little more than that. There was also the matter of trading ports. Frequented by ship’s mages, Tarranau could not avoid the reach of the guild in them. Thus, he would be forced into the interior, away from the shoreline and the ocean with which he had grown up. A sacrifice, but preferable to being marked as a failure for his adult life.

  If Tarranau waited until the trial was announced, his name would be known among all of the sailors as a man who had been marked, and was not to flee Tregonethra. Tarranau was left with the option of leaving before the trial, a choice that would have him marked as guilty and fleeing a just punishment. However, the result would be the same either way, and he could at least leave on his own terms. Tarranau had finished repacking his belongings, and so when the time came, leaving would be easy.

  The next problem that arose was the matter of passage. It was all well and good to go down to the docks carrying his chest, but Tarranau would be spotted and confined to his room until the trial was over. Should he not bring his chest, Tarranau would need to retrieve it, doubling the chance of him being spotted. Perhaps Tarranau could move bags of his belongings at night and hide them for retrieval. That was probably his best chance, making several trips tonight, sneaking his bags out and hiding them in a warehouse near the docks. There was a back way into at least one of them, if Tarranau could remember where he had played as a child. Why, he could even arrange passage tonight, for the traders would be awake at all hours, their world timed by the tide and not the passage of the sun. Tarranau grinned, the first since he had woken. Maybe his life wouldn’t be so bad after all. He hadn’t desired the life of a ship’s mage, and here he was, that life taken away from him and a new one chosen. His whoop of joy echoed down the corridors of his dormitory.

  That evening saw Tarranau repacking all of his clothing and valuables into several large haversacks, each a dull and nondescript colour. There was a brief pause to get food, for tonight would be a long night. When Tarranau sat down to eat, none would stay near, for the story of Magister Gothren had been heard around the school, but many gave Tarranau quiet nods and pats on the shoulder as they walked by. Other students could be seen making comments to those at their table, but there was no jeering, afraid that any noticeable gesture would dump the apprentice who made it into their own trouble.

  Meal completed, Tarranau retreated to his room. He lay on the bed, thoughts running through his head of where he could go. The apprentice had acquired a map of the continent from the school’s library, but it was hidden near the bottom of the haversacks, and so Tarranau was unable to do more than recall his brief glimpse at it. Many of the cities and towns were concentrated along the coast, in the fertile trading region. Aside from a few oases and spurs of bounteous land, there was a barren waste in the middle of the map, a great desert. To the north and west of that were the mining settlements and mountains, where the sand petered out into a rocky badlands. Without remembering the names, Tarranau could not link up places that the sailors had spoken about with where he might want to go.

  Muttering to himself, Tarranau rolled off the bed, pulling at the bags, hand searching inside to find the map. He wasn’t going to make a fool of himself by walking up to a merchant and saying “I’d like to go north-west.” The sailors would be suspicious of such ineptitude. “Damn it, wrong bag.” Tarranau dug in the second bag, and after a few moments he pulled the map out, rolling it across the bed and weighting the ends down. Tarranau leaned over the map and peered, his finger searching for Tregonethra. Having not grown up in a sailing family, his practical experience with maps was limited. “Ah, there it is, Tregonethra.” Tarranau’s finger hovered over the bottom right corner of the map, pointing at the western side of the large island there. “Three routes, three routes… South would take me past Niam Liad, but there is a large collection of guild members there, for the city is the capital of all that it sees. Preferably not that way then. Straight across is Miath Mhor, but again, a trading port populated by men from Bohortha Eilan who would know me, or know of me. To the north then, to Arnich. Smallest of the three ports, and on a trading route. A good enough place to start.” The student’s finger had moved almost directly north from the city where it had started, pointing at a moderately sized town on a spur of the continent. “Yes, that will be my destination.” Tarranau knew little of the place, having heard of the other two ports far more, but that was a good thing, for it meant there would be fewer mages to avoid. The size of Arnich reduced Tarranau’s chances of finding passage, but if no ships were travelling there, Tarranau would go to Miath Mhor and strike out to the north with whatever caravan or ship was willing to take him.

  Furling the map, Tarranau walked to the window, eyes turning to the west, where the sun was setting over the waters, a white stream of light shimmering across the waves, pointed directly at him. There were the cliffs off to the left, where he had spent many a relaxed day, and where Tarranau had seen the boy who had fallen from their steep heights. The docklands stretched away to the right, the shouts of porters and of men heading to the bars echoing back up to his solitary window. The apprentice would leave behind good friends and many acquaintances. Tarranau watched the scene until the last sliver of the sun sunk below the horizon. He bowed as it slipped under the water, resting to appear another day.

  Turning from the window, Tarranau resumed his old position on the bed, hands cradling his head, thinking about life with new customs. There was still two hours of waiting to be done, and pictures of flowing green fields and cliffs tinged gold by the setting sun gave Tarranau happier days to look forward to. There was, however, the matter of money to be taken care of. Tarranau had enough to afford the passage, but once he arrived, his stock of coins would be sorely depleted. No matter. he had the entire journey to conjure an answer.

  Other thoughts gnawed at the edge of Tarranau’s mind, his family uppermost amongst them. What could he tell his family? Nothing, so as not to let anyone know where he had gone? That he was innocent and fleeing because he would be able to make a better life? But if Tarranau did not write, his family would only have the report from the school, a report that would besmirch his reputation. The apprentice knew that he had to write the letter.

  Grabbing parchment and
an ink well from his desk, Tarranau sat down, hand dipping the pen into the ink. There it held for many minutes, opening sentences and greetings playing out in Tarranau’s head. “How do I say I’m running away and may never see my family again? My parents will be crushed, no matter whether I am innocent or not. So will my siblings. I was the great hope that the next generation of my family would not have to farm the mussel beds. Now here I am, penning them a letter that will sink their hopes and dreams. I don’t even have money to send them. Should I send my mother any of my things, she’ll keep it instead of selling it, giving it pride of place in my room, the last remnant of the memory that was her child. A family shrine to a prodigal son.”

  Satisfied with his thoughts at last, Tarranau began to write, letting the emotions he felt pour through him onto the page, recalling incidents when he was little, swimming on the beach under the watchful eye of his family as they worked on the mussel beds, playing with other children in the village square, the moment when the whole family’s life changed as Tarranau was selected to be an apprentice at the school. That last event was to have been bracketed by the graduation ceremony only a month hence. Tarranau’s parents might have left by the time the letter reached their house, coming here in the vain hope of seeing their son’s named called and placed into the roll of honour, a boy who had become a man in the service of the guild. That, at least, Tarranau wished to spare his parents, and he would spend the money to ensure the letter went by fast courier. He owed it to his family that they not witness the public proclamation of his embarrassed status, and that they hear it through his own words.

  The apprentice grabbed another page of parchment, the black ink continuing to scrawl, more memories and wishes coming to mind. Tarranau tried not to dwell on what might have been, the great and deadly phrase “What if?”, but it came all too frequently into his writing, laments about lost futures, family events such as a birthday or a marriage. There were two promises in the letter: he would never marry unless his parents were there to witness the event, and that he would see them again. If Tarranau made enough money, he could afford to have his parents come live with him. It was a nice thought, and even as he was writing it, Tarranau knew that it would never happen. He could no more uproot his parents and carry them half-way across Bedwar Barthu Dirio than he could undo the charges against him.