“Do you want to see how it works?”
Everson turned toward his father and nodded.
“Quinn, would you please give the foot peddle a few pumps?”
“Me? Oh, yes!”
She hurried over and put her foot on the wooden foot peddle, her shoe appearing tiny on something made for their father’s feet. With a grunt, she pushed the peddle down and the bellows opened. When the peddle raised up, the bellows huffed a stream of air into the forge, waking the sleeping coals. Everson grinned. Quinn laughed. She pumped it again and again, gaining momentum as the heat flared within the forge.
“It works just like you said, Son.” Evers put a hand on Everson’s shoulder. “Wait until I present this to the guild. I have calculated the cost of materials, and I plan to start taking orders at the next meeting.”
“What?” Everson turned toward his father. “You’re going to sell this?”
The man laughed. “Yes. An invention like this is worth something. It’ll make smithing easier and forging faster. People will pay for that. You just watch and see.”
“Does that mean you could make these and sell them in other cities?” Quinn asked.
The man shrugged. “I don’t see why not. I’m not much for traveling, but I bet I can find a trader who will buy them and sell them elsewhere at a profit.” He squeezed Everson’s shoulder. “Just think, Ev. An invention created by an eight year-old being used throughout the kingdoms of Issalia.”
“The idea that something I had created might be used by blacksmiths everywhere awakened something inside me. Despite my…” Everson’s gaze flicked down to his gnarled legs, “challenges, I found a sense of purpose – a sense of self-value that I had never known before. I realized for the first time that I could be more than a burden to others.”
A tear tracked down his cheek and he turned away from the light. He thought of Quinn, seeking her strength to fuel him as he continued his story.
“My daily life rounded out after that. Quinn and I spent our mornings with friends. Torney and Travis joined the older kids at school in the temple, while a boy named Hillis and a girl named Bari joined our group. The next year, Rena, Norry, and Colton left the group to attend school, and again, new kids joined our group to take the place of those who had left us. It was a wonderful time, filled with precious memories.”
Everson smiled as he thought about those years, when everything was simple, new, and exciting. Sometimes when he looked at Quinn, he caught glimpses of the girl she used to be – effervescent, enthusiastic, and bold. Turning toward the light, Everson resumed his telling.
“In the afternoon, Quinn and I would visit our father at the smithy. He taught us to heat and shape metal, to file, punch, grind, and cast it. With the money earned from selling the foot-powered bellows, he would purchase extra raw materials for us to shape metal into something new.
“The first few works that Quinn and I created were rough, clumpy messes. With time, our skill increased as our understanding of the process expanded. Within a year, Quinn was creating her own figures of warriors and placing them on the shelf beside those created by our father. At the same time, I created a series of my own puzzles and set my father to the task of solving them.
“The joy of creating puzzles soon faded. While interesting, those creations lacked that satisfaction I had tasted with the foot-powered bellows. As a result, I set my mind to building a better something. I just needed to decide what that something was.
“An afternoon visit to my mother at the Foxtail Inn stoked the embers of an idea for my next invention.
“While watching her use a whisk to beat eggs into a batter, I noticed how hard she worked. I then made it a goal to make the task easier. For days and days, I drew sketches and tweaked my designs until I had something I believed I could produce. Over the next eight weeks, I created castings for a large gear and two small gears. Then I shaped narrow steel rods into a crank, two heavy whisks, and a body with a wooden knob at the top. When I assembled the shaped rods and the gears, I had created a blending tool that caused the whisks to spin when the crank handle was turned.
“I created a half-dozen other inventions over the next year, with varying degrees of success. When I reached the end of my tenth summer, my life changed again.”
4
Pity
Despite the early hour, the sun was hot, the air sticky. Everson stopped in the middle of the street and leaned against his new, longer canes – the result of a recent growth spurt. His father had wrapped rabbit fur about the handles, making them more comfortable to grip than the previous set. Those canes had served him well, lasting him nearly three years.
He stared at the building that would become his home away from home for the next six years. The sight stirred a distant memory, one of his father carrying him into the temple, of his mother pleading with the ecclesiast to help her son. Everson remembered the heat of the woman’s palm when she placed it on his forehead, recalled the somber look in her eyes when she opened them and shook her head. His mother had thanked the woman and wiped the tears from her eyes.
“Please don’t be sad, Mama,” little Everson had said, not understanding why she was crying.
She smiled at him and cupped his cheek. “I’m not sad, dear. I’m crying because I love you so much.”
He frowned, not understanding why loving him would make her cry. His father kissed him atop the head and carried him out of the building while little four-year-old Quinn trailed behind him.
As his reverie faded, Everson turned toward Quinn and found her staring at him.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I’m fine. Let’s go in.”
She led him up the stairs, waiting at the top as he methodically lifted his dead legs from step to step. When he reached the landing, she opened the door and he scooted past her, into the dark building.
Everson moved forward, past the entry and into the interior of the temple. A vaulted ceiling stood high overhead as colored light filtered through arched stained-glass windows. Row upon row of benches filled the room, all facing the glowstone altar upon the dais at the front. A black banner covered the far wall, marked by a circular symbol intersected by an eight-pointed starburst. The circular symbol was sewn in blue, the starburst a bright red.
A sign marked classroom graced a door to the side of the room. Quinn led Everson toward the door, glancing at him with a grin as she opened it.
Conversation and laughter greeted them as young voices filled the room, some of whom had undergone the change, some teetering on the edge. Rows of tables and chairs stood to each side, occupied by boys and girls ranging from ten to sixteen summers. Everson took a deep breath and led Quinn down the aisle, seeing unfamiliar faces mixed with ones he knew.
“Hi, Everson,” Dillon said as he passed by.
Everson gave him a nod in return. He swallowed hard at seeing her turn toward him, the girl appearing more beautiful than ever.
“Hi, Rena,” Everson’s voice croaked.
“Hello, Ev, Quinn,” Rena chimed as they passed her.
He then spotted Torney Jacobs, sitting with two older boys whom Everson didn’t know. It had been two years since he last saw Torney. In that time, the boy had grown significantly, which left his body long and lanky as the growth of his limbs outpaced the rest of him. The boys seated beside him were of a similar height, one thinner and the other heavier than Torney.
When Torney spotted him, he pointed and said something to the other two boys, causing a fit of laughter among them. Everson turned toward Quinn and found her face clouded over, her eyes gone gray. Hoping to avoid trouble during his first day of school, he intervened.
“Hey, Quinn,” she turned toward him as he used his cane to point toward a table in the front row. “Those two seats appear to be open.”
Without waiting, he shimmied down the narrow row and sat in the farthest chair, his rear dropping down into it with a thump. Quinn took the chair beside him as a middl
e-aged woman dressed in a purple cloak entered the room, trailed by a woman and man, both of whom were far younger. The older woman’s dirty blond hair – marked with a single streak of gray – was tied back in a bun. Age lines marked the corners of her blue eyes and a circular symbol marked her forehead – a mark Everson knew as the rune of Issal. He recalled the memory of his childhood visit to the temple and decided that she was the woman his parents had met.
The woman was a little shorter than the younger female instructor and nearly a full head shorter than the man, who stood tall with a thin frame, brown hair, and green eyes. His female counterpart also had brown hair and green, albeit much larger, eyes. Both were dressed in dark clothing and black cloaks.
“Everyone take your seats,” the older woman commanded in a firm voice.
She stopped at the fore of the room and waited while the students shuffled about, causing a ruckus as chairs slid across the stone tiles. When they had settled into place, the woman shared an inviting smile and gave them a nod of approval.
“Welcome, students. I’m Master Lomisse. The two instructors beside me are Pastor Birch” she gestured toward the woman, pausing before she turned toward the man, “and Pastor Dardis.”
“I hope everyone had a good break. I know how fast it passes.” She clapped her hands together and smiled. “Let’s begin our school year by meeting our new students.
“I’d like each new student to stand and tell the class your name and a little about yourself.”
She pointed at Quinn. “Young miss, would you please begin?”
Quinn stood, turning toward the class. “My name is Jacquinn Gulagas, but everyone calls me Quinn. My father is a blacksmith and my mother cooks for the Foxtail Inn.”
“Thank you, Quinn.”
As Quinn sat down, the woman turned toward Everson. “What about you young man?”
Everson’s pulse throbbed in his temple as his stomach twisted. Everyone was looking his direction. He gripped his canes and pushed himself up to stand, wobbling a bit as he got his feet beneath him.
“My…” he coughed, finding his throat dry. A smattering a laugher dotted the room, making him feel even more self-conscious. “My name is Everson. I’m Quinn’s brother.”
The woman raised one eyebrow. “Are you twins? You don’t look it.”
He shook his head. “No ma’am. My…birth parents died when The Horde took Cinti Mor. I was adopted by Quinn’s family.”
“Pity.”
Everson turned toward the voice. “What?”
Torney shrugged. “They took you in because they pitied you is all. Why else do it?”
Quinn bristled. “Everson is part of my family, Torney. We love him.”
“If you say so.”
“That will be enough,” Master Lomisse scolded.
As she moved on and had the next student stand to introduce himself, Everson plopped down into his chair. He had hoped that he would find himself welcome at the school, but Torney wouldn’t have it. Everson feared that the old bully had returned.
Later that evening, Everson lay in his bed, thinking on where things had gone wrong. His side was sore, his chest bruised. He turned toward Quinn’s bed and found her lying in the same position. With the way her eye had swollen shut, he couldn’t tell if she was awake.
The door opened downstairs, and Everson held his breath, trying to discern if it were his mother or father. Footsteps crossed the room and began climbing the stairs. The small tap of each step made it clear. His mother was home. Master Lomisse had, indeed, notified her as she promised she would. He swallowed hard, anticipating the worst.
Polly stepped through the door and crossed her arms over her chest. Quinn sat up, and Polly’s demeanor softened when she saw the girl’s face.
“Oh, my.” Her concern for her daughter was apparent by the look in her eyes. “I heard you were in a fight. Are you all right, Quinn?”
Quinn grinned. “This is nothing. You should see the boys who started it.”
Polly arched a brow toward Everson, who shrugged. He pushed himself up, grunting and gritting his teeth at the soreness in his torso. His mother sat on his bed and patted the spot beside her.
“Get over here.”
Quinn stood and crossed the room to join Everson. The anger he had feared seemed to have fled from her voice, now replaced by a worry that matched her expression. When Quinn settled beside her, she made the request that he was expecting.
“Tell me what happened.”
“It was Torney Jacobs, Mama,” Quinn was animated as she spoke. “He was mean to Ev for no reason at all. It’s like he wanted to be mean just to be mean.”
Polly sighed. “Torney has…issues. His mother died during his birth, and his father…let’s just say that Timothy Jacobs is not a nice man. I suspect that has had an effect on Torney. Your father and I try to teach you and your brother to have compassion, to be kind to people, and to be thoughtful of their feelings. I have a suspicion that Torney’s father treats him badly, which teaches him nothing but do to the same to others.”
“That makes sense, I guess,” Quinn admitted. “But, it still isn’t right.”
Polly shook her head. “No. It certainly isn’t right. I just thought it might help if you understood him better.” She hugged Quinn and kissed her forehead. “Now, tell me what happened. I should know in case someone from the school comes hunting me down at work again.”
“It started with me, Ma.”
She turned toward Everson. “Okay. Speak up.”
“When the day began, Master Lomisse had everyone take a simple reading test. I finished it before everyone else, and she put me into a group with the oldest kids. Quinn was grouped with the middle group, the same one as Torney even though he’s two years older. Some of the others, the ones who couldn’t read much, or at all, were placed into a third group.
“Things were fine for a while. I learned a few things and even found a new book to read, but then we broke for lunch.
“Quinn took my food and hers to a table to eat. As I was making my way to the table, Torney kicked one of my canes out, and I crashed to the floor. I landed on my side, and I hit so hard, I couldn’t breathe. I rolled over and saw Torney laughing with his friends. Quinn ran over and asked if I was all right. She helped me sit up and noticed my cane across the room. Did Torney do this? She asked. I didn’t respond, but she knew it anyway.
“Quinn turned toward him, and she grabbed his hair with both hands, pulled his head back, and slammed his face down into the table, right into his meat pie.
“The boy seated across from Torney jumped up and tackled Quinn, falling to the ground on top of her. Then Torney stood, his face appearing furious with a gash on his forehead and chunks of meat stuck to his cheek. He knelt beside Quinn and punched her in the face. I was afraid for Quinn, desperate to save her. So, I swung my cane at Torney’s back. He cried out and turned toward me. I was so scared, I swung again and hit him upside the head.”
Everson’s eyes were downcast. “The crack I heard when the cane struck him sounded horrible. Torney’s eyes rolled up and he tipped over like a lumberjack felling a tree. He just lay there, not moving – like he was sleeping or something.
“The next thing I knew, Quinn was on top of the other boy, hitting him in the face over and over and over.
“That’s when Pastor Birch ran in and pulled Quinn off the boy. Master Lomisse appeared, and she knelt beside Torney. The woman placed her hand on his cheek and closed her eyes. I watched in confusion until the cut on his forehead suddenly closed – all on its own! Torney’s body shivered, and he gasped for air, opening his eyes as if waking from a dream. I saw it, Mama. She healed him right before my eyes!”
Polly nodded. “Ecclesiasts can do that.”
“That’s amazing,” Everson noted. “Anyway, Master Lomisse was super angry with us. She told us that we needed to leave, all four of us. We were told to come back tomorrow, and that she would seek out our parents to tell them what happened.
If we get caught fighting again, she said we may be expelled.”
Polly put an arm around each child, hugging them. “I’m glad neither of you was seriously hurt.” She released her hug and looked at Quinn. “Although, you’ll have a black eye for a few days.”
Quinn grinned. “It’s not as bad as the other kid. I gave him two black eyes, and a cut lip…maybe even a broken nose.”
Polly chuckled. “While I don’t condone the fighting, I’m glad you’re looking out for your brother.” She turned to Everson. “I’m proud of you for helping your sister, too. However, don’t make it a habit to use your canes as weapons. They are meant to help you walk, not to hurt others.”
“I know Mama. I didn’t care much for how it felt to hit him anyway, even if he is a mean kid.”
“Just remember what I told you about Torney and his family. Try to think about how he feels. Maybe you can find a way to help him be less mean.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Okay, Mama,”
The door downstairs opened, closing hard. Everson gasped. His father was home early. Master Lomisse had spoken with him as well.
“You two stay here.” Polly stood and walked to the door. “I’ll deal with your father.”
The door closed, muffling the sound of her footsteps treading down the stairs. Both children stared at the door for a long time, hopeful that they had dodged further trouble.
5
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Master Lomisse paced in front of the classroom as she recited the tale. Everson and the other students listened closely, even the older children who had heard the story before. After all, the events described were the stuff of legends, but these legends were real history – history that had occurred only a decade past.
A Warden's Purpose (Wardens of Issalia Book 1) Page 4
