by C B Samet
“Suspension?”
I threw a knife, which lodged in the wood stump off center of the target. “I chaperoned a group of students on an excursion when a blizzard struck.”
He glanced at his wolf. “I recall you telling me. And what was the reprimandable offense?”
I threw the next knife, which also failed to find its mark. “Instead of bringing the students back immediately, because of the threat of the storm, I went to help other stranded hikers.”
Baird crossed his arms.
Another knife sailed from my fingers. Closer. “Some of the parents complained that I neglected the safety of their children and endangered them unnecessarily. My first responsibility should have been to the students.”
“Where were the students while you rescued the other hikers?”
“In a cluster of trees and rocks, sitting around a fire and telling jokes.”
“Hardly sounds life-threatening.”
“Dean Lariat convened the board to listen to the concerns of their parents. My disciplinary punishment was to have one day’s leave of absence.” I pulled the knives out of the post and walked back to Baird.
“Well, they must not be terribly concerned if the sentence is so mild.”
I threw another blade, but the tempo was off. The hilt struck the post and the knife flopped to the ground. I groaned. “It’s a gentle slap on the wrist,” I agreed. “The trouble is what the incident is representative of—I can’t seem to excel at any one thing in my life. Every aspect of every endeavor is like the blizzard—I try to do the right thing, yet inevitably someone or some group ends up disappointed, or frustrated, or angry.”
“You’re always late,” Natalie had said with disdain.
Another knife hurled through the air. This one cut smoothly and buried three centimeters off center. “Every aspect of my life competes with the other. I’m pulled away from my work or family for Queen duties—but the castle is constantly underwhelmed at my participation in continental affairs. They’re frustrated they have to send runners or messenger birds, or the captain herself, to find me rather than me being present at every deliberation. The more help I offer, the more they demand. My children complain I’m not home enough—though that doesn’t motivate them to behave better when I am home. Joshua and I hardly have any time together as a couple.” I threw another knife. Bull’s-eye. “I’m a wife, mother, teacher, and champion—but I’m proficient in none of those roles.”
When I walked over to collect the knives, Baird followed.
“Not dedicating one hundred percent of your time and effort to an endeavor doesn’t translate into a failure to excel.”
I blinked at him.
“Let’s take each aspect of your life and examine it: You and Joshua have careers, which you each support, and three children you share—that is success as a wife. Your children are strong and healthy—another success. No mother should spend every waking moment with her children. They need other experiences and enrichment. There’s a reason people say ‘it takes a village to raise a child.’ Even if you dedicated your life entirely to them, they would still find something else to complain about—such is the nature of children.”
He continued, “Next, your teaching. You’ve educated and enlightened hundreds of minds over the years—another success. If a few of them had to weather a storm then they’ll be tougher for it.”
I deposited the knives by the other weapons. “And my role as the Avant Champion?”
“I think you’re still defining what it means to be the champion when evil has already been defeated. You’re still molding that piece of clay, so it’s natural for it to feel incomplete at the moment. In time, you’ll form a pot ready for planting. The pieces of your life will gain balance.”
He stood before me until I made eye contact. “Are you happy?” he asked.
I opened my mouth and then shut it. I had moments of happiness with my family and my career. What defined if one was happy? Was it a certain percentage of time spent in a ‘happy’ state of being? If I hesitated, or couldn’t answer his questions, did that automatically make me unhappy?
Baird touched my shoulder. “Come. Let us meditate.”
I bit my lip, hesitating. I particularly lacked skill in the art of monk meditation. I was supposed to breathe and focus on a sense of unity with the one universal deity—the Unideit—but inevitably found myself fighting not to take a nap sitting up, or letting my mind wander towards the many things I needed to get done that day.
With a barely suppressed sigh, I followed Baird to the waterfall. The sun struck the misting water, creating a breathtaking rainbow. Together, we sat by the riverside as crisp water tumbled and gurgled past us. The moist air carried the sweet scent of the wisteria growing nearby.
Baird and I closed our eyes and communed with nature. I began with deep breathing, listening to the roar of the water as it drowned out the sound of the tweeting robins and rummaging squirrels. I thought of the time I’d rafted on this very river with Joshua—cold, frothy, tumultuous water churning around us.
As we’d sped down the river, the exhilaration of surfing on top of the mighty rush of water had filled us both. Up until the waterfall. That was where we plummeted straight down into the churning water. Breaking a leg and nearly drowning was an event I’d rather not repeat.
That led me to my next thought, and I remembered when Natalie fell off a horse and broke her arm. I empathized with the pain, and I’d told her the story of the waterfall. Fortunately, having a father with a magic healing stone meant she didn’t have to suffer long, and the damage to her arm wasn’t permanent.
Sitting beside Baird, I noticed with frustration that my mind wandered through memories, rather than sinking into the meditation I sought.
Think of nothing.
How does one do such a thing?
I lazily blinked my eyes open. The volcanic island of Mulan materialized around me. I sat on the black sand with legs crossed.
“You’re getting closer. Another ten years and you might master sixty seconds of meditation.” Mal sat casually on the beach, his legs crossed as he leaned back on his elbows.
“Now you’re mucking up my meditation?”
“You’re mucking it up on your own. I’m just enjoying the view.”
“It’s your island. You can enjoy the gray and black towering volcano anytime.”
“Not that view.” He gave a wolfish grin.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “The view of a terrifying warrior who skewered you once upon a time?”
His grin widened. “Yes, exceedingly terrifying with your little curls about your face and your cheeks flushed.”
I tucked a rogue strand of dark hair behind my ear as I glowered at him. “I am intimidating—ask any of my students.”
“Wouldn’t it be grand to have a conversation with anyone but you?”
I blew another curl out of my face. “Why should your limitations be a burden on me?”
He arched an eyebrow. “Am I a burden to you?”
“No,” I admitted. Mal was entertaining, helpful, and usually annoying—but he was never a burden.
Mal cocked his head to one side and studied me. His expression softened before he looked away. After shoving himself to his feet, he leisurely walked away down the shoreline. “I’ll leave you to your meditation.”
I watched his predatory figure saunter away, the rolling waves lapping at his feet.
“Abigail?”
My eyes shot open.
I was still at the sanctuary—the waterfall churning behind me.
Baird was frowning down at me. “I believe you were sleeping, not meditating.”
I scrubbed my hands across my face. “You try juggling three children and full-time employment! I graded papers late last night.”
I sighed. I couldn’t even achieve proper meditation.
Fury climbed into my lap, licking and nuzzling.
Baird put a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Go home and get some rest.
”
I patted Fury and his tail wagged enthusiastically. His delightfully soft fur sifting through my fingers felt more like therapy than meditation, anyway. “Hey, Fluffy. You’re a good boy, aren’t you? You accept me with all of my flaws, don’t you?”
“His name is Fury,” Baird corrected. “And you don’t even use that ridiculous voice with your children.”
I scrunched up the wolf’s fur. “You like Fluffy, don’t you? Yes, you do.”
Fluffy Fury yapped with delight.
I gave Baird a giddy grin, and he shook his head with annoyance.
3
Coco DeFay walked into my office, her polished black boots clicking on the floor as she circled the room.
I looked up at her over the papers I was grading. My desk was littered with books and papers—which might appear haphazard to the untrained eye, but I’d developed a vague method to counter my lack of organization.
Coco walked around the room, appearing out of place with her long, blond ponytail, glimmering silver breastplate, and clean, pressed blue tunic. Her attire was appropriate for a battlefield but out of place in an office.
“Another crisis?” I asked.
As she took a seat, Coco frowned. “I don’t only come to solicit your help.”
I grunted. With some effort, I recalled that Coco had indeed come for a social visit. Once.
But I didn’t mind. I’d come to enjoy Coco’s company, regardless of her motive for visiting, and I appreciated her dry personality. I wouldn’t venture to call us friends, though, as we didn’t socialize outside of solving disputes for the Queen.
“Your necklace is different,” Coco said.
I instinctively reached up and touched the thick necklace. It was encased in carved wood now, and the silver couldn’t be seen. Nor could the Warrior Stone within.
“After Windish figured out the source of my power—not hard to do when one wears a stone that glows—I took precautions to hide it better.”
Coco put the heel of her boot on my desk and crossed her legs, pulling a textbook into her hands and sifting through the pages. “Haven’t you had the same office for ten years?”
“Twelve.” I flicked my wrist around the room. “You see what moving would involve?” I had books, beakers, papers, and minerals, all overflowing on the shelves.
I gaped at Coco’s boots for a moment. She’d never taken the liberty of relaxing in my office before, so I’d never taken a good look at them. They were warrior’s boots made of leather with thick soles, yet elegantly slender.
Coco abandoned the topic of my office with a frown. “Minister Tarik has been polarizing the court.”
So, she had come about royal business.
I thought of Minister Tarik for a moment–a light brown-skinned man with a bright, insincere smile. “Isn’t that what politicians do?”
“We’re supposed to all work together.”
“What a magnificently naive concept.” I leaned back in my chair. “Is he undermining the Queen?”
“Perhaps.”
I waited for her to elaborate, but Coco didn’t. Often, our conversations were a series of incomplete discussions such as this.
I leaned forward, eyeing the book Coco was idly thumbing through. “Is there a particular chemical formula I can help you find?”
She snapped the book shut. “I heard about your suspension.”
“Punishment for saving lives,” I said grimly. “For every positive action I take, there is always a negative reciprocal reaction. Like chemistry.”
“You could transition to full-time champion—no longer subject yourself to the rules and whims of academics, or ungrateful parents.”
“But then I’d neglect the children of the grateful ones.”
She snorted.
I shot her a warning look.
Coco dragged her boots off my desk with a bored expression on her face. “Yes—the intrinsic rewards of teaching. I remember this conversation.”
Half of a conversation, like all the rest.
“There’s danger in constantly exposing myself, Coco. With each little favor I do for the Queen, more people see my magic. I’ve noticed over the years that people are becoming less grateful of me, and more suspicious. The wonder of magic has been replaced by wariness of it.”
“I’m sure you aren’t feeling deprived of glory?”
I leaned forward. “I don’t care about glory. I don’t care if people aren’t particularly grateful. What I don’t want is a mob—driven by paranoia and fear—to arrive on my doorstep armed and angry.”
Coco crossed her arms. “That’s absurd. No one even knows where you live … except the Queen’s messenger birds.”
“It’s a figure of speech. And I plan on keeping my estate as secret as possible.” If that was possible, when you had a half-dozen employees who could blab to anyone. I hoped we showed them respect and discretion, and that they’d show the same for us.
I looked back down at my students’ papers, scribbling a correction to a chemical formula.
Coco watched me work for several quiet minutes. “There’s a land dispute in Aithos.”
I shifted my gaze to her and narrowed my eyes. “I knew you had an agenda.”
“The people of Aithos respect you. You may be able to resolve this by little more than just showing up.”
“I’m raising a family and trying to hold down a job. You have five dozen guards at your disposal who could easily settle the matter.”
“Bloodshed could be avoided with your involvement.”
I pursed my lips. “When do we go?”
She stood. “This afternoon.”
“Fine.”
She exited my office without a trace of gratitude.
I looked back down at my desk. If I left for Aithos this afternoon, I’d be late for family dinner. Again.
A knock sounded at my open door.
“Coco, I—”
Dean Lariat stood in the doorway.
I stood up. “Dean Lariat.”
She leaned against the doorway. I’d become accustomed to seeing the Dean in this position. For a time, I even wondered if she needed the extra support—as if standing on her own required too much effort. I’d grown to understand how it conveyed that she was making an appearance without committing to a full conversation. It also enabled her to get the last word in and make a rapid exit.
“I hope you know I advocated on your behalf to the board. I negotiated them down to a single day’s leave of absence.”
“I appreciate that.”
“I explained that you’re the Avant Champion and exceptions must be made for exceptional people.” She ran a hand through her short, spiked hair.
I frowned. I didn’t want exceptions made for me because I was the Avant Champion. I’d have rather she advocate on my behalf because of my proficiency as a chemistry teacher or because the students found my classes invaluable.
“You do great work, Abigail. Students enjoy your classes.”
“Thank you.”
“And we’ve noticed a growth in university attendance since hiring the Avant Champion as faculty.”
I swallowed, standing stiffly.
“I know you do valuable work for the Queen. My concern is your ability to do both to the fullest extent. I hear that you never miss giving a lecture, but the students can’t always find you in the afternoon for tutoring.”
“If they schedule ahead of time, I’m here.” Students who dropped by might find a locked and unoccupied office.
Dean Lariat held up a hand. “Like I said, I’ll continue to be supportive of you—given your accolades...”
I had teaching accolades, but I knew she referred to my other role.
“…but keep in mind that I can’t have the university become a circus; where strangers come to see you because of magic.”
“That’s never happened,” I said firmly.
The Dean pushed herself off the wall. “Keep your roles separate, but strong—the Avant Champion at
the castle and a professor here. People always support a hero.”
As she left, I sank into my chair. When had life become so complicated?
When late afternoon arrived, Coco reappeared in my office doorway, signaling that it was time to travel to Aithos. I transported us instantly to the edge of town there. Red clay buildings lined block after block as we made our way to the courthouse.
Coco wore her captain’s uniform, earning stares from merchants and ranchers as we passed. I was dressed in my simple cotton tunic and pants, which I’d worn to the chemistry classroom earlier that day.
When we arrived at the courthouse, I followed Coco inside the tall, two-story building.
A man in sandals and a white toga approached. He appraised Coco’s attire, indisputably a Queen’s guard. “You’ve come about the land dispute. The farmers aren’t here.”
“Where did they go?” Coco asked.
“Out to Copper’s farm.” The man’s brow furrowed. “The situation has escalated.”
“How so?”
“All I know is that everyone rushed to Copper’s ranch at daylight.”
I extended a hand. “Take us there.”
He eyed my extended hand.
Perhaps I looked disheveled after a day of teaching, and there was a small, but unsightly hole in my shirt incurred by carelessness with sulfuric acid, but I didn’t look like a leper.
Coco bobbed her head. “This is Abigail Cross. If you imagine the Copper farm, she’ll transport us there.”
With no small measure of reservation in his expression, the man took my hand. When Coco grasped my shoulder, I transported us to the ranch. Dry, flat land with sparse trees materialized around us. In the distance, I could see the ranch house—a wood frame covered with brownish red brick walls. Horses roamed inside a fence which clearly marked the boundaries of the property.
The man in the toga swayed slightly, disorientated by the transport.
Before we could address him, though, a voice called to me.
“Abigail!” It was Allis, and his smile lit up the plains as he enveloped me in a hug.
With his straight black hair and robust belly, Allis appeared just as I remembered him from our journey, even if he was thirteen years older now. He’d accompanied me on the quest to raise—to become—the Avant Champion. Despite the arduous travel across the continent, exposure to the elements, and the stress of being part of a group strung together in a crisis, Allis’ smile had never wavered. After the Battle of Marrin Beach, he’d returned to Aithos to raise a family. Now he owned a bank, and was a respected member of the community.
