by Marc Mulero
Mundella rolled his silver eyes. “Too much time in the Academic Wing for you, hm?”
“You spend your time in the Practical Wing?” Eres inquired.
Before Mundella could open his mouth, Windel butted in. “This hotshot wants to take to the sky. Imagine, a pilot who refuses to learn physics.”
Mun motioned to Windel, implying that she was right. “I don’t know, the underground kinetics just don’t do it for me. That’s why you exist. And you!” he nudged Eres. “A future Skrol. I guess someone has to protect us from whatever it is that would doom us all to Bura.”
The three of them trailed back off into the grounds of Kor, chatting for the rest of the afternoon, enjoying the weather, the activity surrounding them, and the mystery of what was to come for year-seven.
Chapter 6
Beyond Kor
Eres trekked home that evening, on foot, with three suns falling slowly ahead of him and Kor Vinsánce at his back. He wanted nothing more than to hop home with the wind of his impeller carrying him, but his body was broken. Every whisper of air that seeped through his torn-up clothing stung. His limp was getting more severe as the minutes ticked on. And so, in fear that his next fall would be the one that immobilizes him, he kept his gadgets safely tucked in his bag bobbing beside him.
Eyes were to the floor, mind far away, recounting all the events that had transpired, processing every nook and cranny of the giant castle he was invited into, all the people he’d met. It was truly a day unlike any other. A day he would never forget…
As his journey home continued, twilight shifted the colors of his surroundings. The bright green forest began to fade to deeper jade, the vines of blood red, grey, and blue fell to maroon and more midnight shades. It felt like he’d been trudging for an entire day. Home had to be close.
A rumble in the forest startled him. Shrubbery wriggled, hlopes glided upward in a spiral like a formation of fighter jets, and the pounding of hooves galloping further away alluded to something large frightening the rest of the wildlife. Eres took a breath, drawn back to the present, and then let out a sigh when he realized there was nothing about the forest he didn’t already know. No mystery or danger that he hadn’t already experienced.
He scoffed. “It’s not like anyone would ever spy on a lowly Obrun. Unless of course they want me out of Kor already. I know,” he raised his voice, arms held out, “I’m an imposter! So come take me then! Expel me!”
Dolseir fell silent as if it were sad that the boy felt this way. And to bolster this notion, little animals nudged through the shrubbery with round, furry heads and chubby bellies that nearly scratched the floor as they scurried down a hill; the little beasts were determined to leap over the tiny stream separating them from the boy. And so they did, clumsily wetting their back paws and bushy tails before scampering up the next hill to meet him.
He looked down to see that he was suddenly surrounded, a determined frown fighting the expression of what came with a melted heart. “Owins… venturing out of Dolseir, for me?” And when they began to lick his wounds with long, spiky tongues while looking up with round, glossy eyes to see if he was alright, Eres’ tension was quickly dispelled.
He knelt down to pet them. “If anything in the forest ever ‘reached’ for me, it was always you guys.”
One hopped onto his lap and licked the multicolored bruise peeking through his torn shirt. It gazed up at him, tilted its head, and then fell asleep there on the spot. Eres giggled and leaned backward onto his behind, hearing the squeak of a few owins that were nearly squished underneath him. The rest bustled beside him, bumping into one another, gathering around like a bunch of children waiting to hear a story. Eight sets of oversized brown eyes blinked inharmoniously, looking to Eres and then to the sleeping owin on his lap, and then back again, likely wondering when it was their turn to take a nap.
Eres began to feel reenergized. His wounds hurt a little less and the fog in his mind started to clear. This reminded him of when he was younger: old encounters with owins in times of distress – when the world felt like it was crumbling around him back when, and how it felt that way yet again. He’d been too hard on himself, and now in the presence of these little creatures once more, whether it was just their attendance, the healing nature of their saliva, or both, he felt like everything could be okay. With this realization came another - the suns were falling further, darkness was approaching.
“Sorry little guys,” he gently lifted the napping owin and placed it softly in front of the others, “I have to go. But thanks for your support. I needed it.” He patted each one of them in gratitude before hustling on.
What could only have been ten minutes later, he saw a pink glow among the shadows ahead of him. Lorfa’s esper. That meant she was entranced in his mother’s memories. Perhaps he could sneak by and pretend he’d come home hours earlier, maybe he could change and dress his wounds so they didn’t look so bad, maybe she would be less inclined to scold if he were fast asleep in his chair.
He inched closer, slowing his jog to a walk, and then to a tiptoe. Soft footwear crunched quietly over grass, until he was only feet away from his ooma perched over her cane, swaying gently with the breeze and content wherever she’d drifted to.
Now inches away, Eres tried not to make a sound. He was a ghost, but like that strange feeling of being watched, a sixth sense, Umboro were keen to presence. And so with a huge gasp, Lorfa’s nostrils flared, her inky eyes burst open, and her staff flipped twice around her hand before it was in position to punish the boy who should’ve adhered to her rules.
“You leave an old woman to worry… have you no respect-” She cut herself off once seeing the shape of her grandchild. “Oh Mustae, what…” She dropped her cane and hobbled to clench his shoulders.
Eres rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, Ooma. Besides, you didn’t look so worried a second ago. You knew I was okay.”
Ooma pinched his shoulders hard. “Your mother’s memories are like a drug that calms my fears. Do this to me too often and I will overdose and be lost forever. Why can’t you just listen, Eres? My body fails me. If I were younger, I would’ve been on the road to Kor, ready to whack you until you learned your lesson. But I’m slow and old, and for this I’m forced to beg for you to be more considerate. What happened?”
She rubbed a finger over one of his wounds, and before he could speak, she kept on. “Owins? You were in the forest at this time?”
“No, Ooma, they came to see me on the trail home. I listened; I didn’t sway.” He tried hard to keep the conversation away from the cause of it all.
She was shocked, almost happy at this piece of news. It meant something to her, but Eres had a feeling whatever sign she felt this was, he wouldn’t share in the belief.
After a few moments of silence, Lorfa looked at him knowingly, and instead of asking him outright the reasons for his bruises, she instead asked, “How was your first day at Kor?”
He could’ve said a dozen negative things. Terrible. Punishing. Blindsided and poked fun at, scorned by a Swul, judged by every proctor that laid eyes on him… but that wouldn’t be fair, because there was goodness in this day. Greatness even. And as his mind sifted through all of it, one image paused his thinking: flowing dark hair, delicate features, and a laugh that made him beam even now, outside of her presence.
“It was great, Ooma. Truly.” He hugged her to further disarm, and made his way inside, pulling off his shoes and running up the stairs to change into something more comfortable.
Lorfa tapped her cane on the breathing floor a few times and hollered, “That’s all you’re going to give me? No details? Can you tell me if you made friends at least?”
Eres skipped back down the stairs, wrestled to put on an oversized gown and displayed his spherical octor that his father had gifted him. “I did. They helped me through Meeting Day, coached me on what syllabus to take, told me about the different wings of Vinsánce. One of them is a Dagos!”
Lorfa swallowed hard, but E
res didn’t notice. He was too busy curling up into his favorite chair by the window and getting ready to activate his gift for the first time.
“Interesting… stuma o futopi,” she mumbled.
“Hmm?” Eres turned his head.
Lorfa waved her hand and inched closer. “Dare I ask?” Her wrinkly hand touched Eres’ scratched face, as she stared at the speckles of blood staining one eye.
“I fell, Ooma.” He technically wasn’t lying… “I swear, it’s okay. I’m fine.”
“Alright, Eres. I’m going to respect your privacy… but if I see you in worse shape tomorrow, I’ll have to intervene.”
He sighed to feign that this notion upset him, while internally it felt like he was getting away with murder. “Dela.”
She nodded and kissed his forehead. “I’m glad you’re safe. Today was as hard for me as it was for you. But it seems, by Mustae, we both found grace.” She began to hobble away. “Don’t stay up too late now, tomorrow is your first day of class.”
Eres counted the footsteps before she was out of reach, and then rubbed a finger down the bright sphere. His temples instantly felt pressure where the two modules had melted into his skin. He could feel the device powering up and transferring visuals. It was a strange sensation, like someone had pressed two low humming motors on each side of his head and cranked them on. Soon, though, the device beamed to life. Images were bright, like live video recordings in short spans. He scrolled to the right as the octor categorized each instance in either exploratory, conflict, interactive, or education. Comfort was taken in all that he’d read in Illiad’s Octor. It was memorized, and a good primer for everything about the visual diary. He knew it was private, that only he could see anything that it projected, and that it was a great source of study beyond a notepad. It would be a great edge to have in Kor.
He zoomed in on the grounded view he had of Crow, looking up to his smug expression, that pale face and vibrant blue eyes. It was hard not to obsess about being humiliated in front of newfound peers. He could feel the heat culminating in his body once more. The sense of a hundred eyes on him, judging his weakness, snickering about the sacrificial lamb used for Crow’s show. He stopped the rolling image with his fingers, rewound it, and played it again, to remember the joy that this boy found in such dishonor. There was no grace in him besides his skill in a duel, only relishing in the pain of another.
When Eres had scoffed enough at the blows that he’d endured, he continued on, sifting through to when Mundella contorted his body from being on all fours to standing on two legs, his strange composition and the sound of bone rubbing between joints. Thereafter to the PA who gave him his syllabus, Creela, and her willingness to joke lightheartedly instead of focusing on his already bruised ego. Finally, the stream of visuals expanded to the inside of Vinsánce, to endless trinkets, proctors showing off, elite students dashing around, studying, or practicing their skills.
That’s when the image he’d valued most came into the focus within the octor, of Windel. It was brighter than his thoughts could manifest, forcing cheeks to flush as red as his tan skin would allow. Her kindness, her willingness to help, her grace, the intense sensation that was evoked. It was all so new and confusing. An overwhelming storm of sparks that he hoped wasn’t one-sided. That’s where he lingered until sleep claimed him, on a replay so vivid and beautiful that he wasn’t upset that his father had abandoned him, but instead was grateful that he’d bestowed this gift. And so, he slept pleasantly, wounds healing and intrigue growing, for tomorrow was a new day at Kor.
The next morning Eres had woken up revitalized, excited, ready to sprint his way back down the winding road that led to Kor Vinsánce. But his body was singing a different tune. Although less broken than the day prior, every joint still ached, and each bruise was even more tender. He felt like a punching bag that was one hit away from springing a leak. And now that the wounds had a chance to settle, he began to resemble one of those tribal Dagos he’d read about splattered with body art.
After a quick breakfast with Ooma - where he decided to briefly open up about the peers that he’d befriended - he was off. Syllabus in hand, bag around his shoulder, and impeller hidden, he waved to give Lorfa some peace of mind before disappearing from view. Before the hour was done, the coast had finally cleared.
A quick survey to confirm solitude was the validation needed for him to pull his beloved device. The entire way he hopped with the wind lifting him both body and spirit. He played with the settings, lowering the span to five feet for shorter spurts, then kicking it up to thirty for the most fun he’d ever had in his life. Decreasing the elevation to be almost level with the ground was an interesting thought to boost his run, but it nearly knocked him out when his feet dragged across the dirt, sending him into a wild tumble. But he just laughed, got up again and tried once more.
Every fall caused a few conservative jumps with normal settings, but soon thereafter he was gambling again. Higher elevation made his knees nearly buckle when he stomped down. Increased bursts of wind made him run in the air in desperation for ground, making him instantly somersault when he touched back down. He kept telling himself that he would make his father proud the next time he showed up, that he would be worthy to be a Skrol. Eres, a lonely Dawn from nowhere, would prove that his destiny was to belong.
Kor finally came into view once more. Less daunting and more magnificent than the day before, the castle begged him to scurry down the hill and catch up with the flood of students piling into all three entrances. He skipped down and kept the momentum up, feeling the contagious buzz of getting somewhere before it was too late. He buried his face in his syllabus which revealed something new: one line in the parchment began blinking blue, a notification of class that was to begin shortly. Not knowing why, this made him nervous. Thoughts of an entire classroom full of students staring blankly as he walked in late made his breakfast slosh around uneasily in his stomach. Then harsh eyes of an ominous proctor manifested, distorting to scold him, followed by a finger that pointed him out of class and out of Kor. Hands of students were clapped over mouths, similar to how they were yesterday when he was pummeled senseless.
“No. Today is going to be better,” he muttered to himself. “Academic is my wing. My world.”
One last look at his schedule showed him:
Class: Factions of Ingora
Taught by: Proctor Ren
Location: Academic Wing – Section 7, Torium 4
Period: 1
Eres rolled up his scroll and submerged himself into the crowd, lightly pushing people from his path to get clear. Annoyed looks began to follow him, then bickering commenced as he passed by. One bothered student even went so far as to pull a string of his shining hair. He flinched, considered turning around and having words with the jerk that couldn’t just see that he was trying not to make a fool of himself two days in a row, but then thought better of it.
A huge object suddenly collided with his shoulder. It felt like a rock crashed into his collar, but when it started massaging the small muscle separating shoulder from neck, his mind went haywire – it had to be a giant.
“What’s the hurry, my good man. You new here?” a large boy asked.
“Uhh.” Eres’ voice drowned out amongst the crowd. He craned his neck to make eye contact before responding. “Just trying not to be late on my first day.”
The kid smirked, his forehead stretching tight from the tightness of his bun, and then he reached for Eres’ scroll.
“Lemme see.” He unfurled the parchment, his gaze instantly pulled from the name printed in the top left to the blinking words in the center. An innocent snort escaped him. “Don’t worry, Eres, Proctor Ren is always late.”
They stared at each other for a moment, and then the burly boy’s eyes squinted cheerily when he watched Eres deflate like a balloon – a sigh of relief.
“Tornae, friend.” Eres raised his voice to be sure that the boy could hear him in the clouds.
But he
just waved his giant hands and said, “Oh no, oh no. I may look like I’m from around here, but I’m not Umboro. You could’ve just cursed me out and I wouldn’t know.”
Eres laughed and decided right there that he liked this person, and so he extended a slender hand to meet a giant one. “You already know my name,” he shouted. “What’s yours?”
People were starting to get annoyed. Grunts from behind the huge kid began to sound, and others exaggerated trying to squeeze past his bulky body. But the boy was in no rush.
“Joodah Roe. I’m from Sclar Ben Dee.”
Eres thought hard. He’d been studying the live map since it was handed down to him, and although pulling the desired answer in his head proved to be difficult, it eventually came. “You’re… an Eplon?”
“Was. Attentiveness and academia were never really my strong suits. So here I am, shipped off for nearly… wow, it’s been five years now. I’m a year-ten here.”
“If you were wearing robes, I would’ve mistaken you for a proctor.”
“Hah! Good thing I’m not wearing ‘em then.” Joodah felt the nudge of someone of similar size, then realized that they’d been holding things up. “C’mon, let’s get moving. I’ll point you in the right direction.”
Eres nodded and let the giant lead the way. All of a sudden, the packed entranceway appeared less crowded with a huge boulder bowling forward to clear a path. His red shirt made him appear as a big target, one that people were happy to say hello to. When he bumped fists with those around him it looked like an adult’s was tapping an infant’s. His bun bobbed, and Eres noticed streaks of white that zagged up from the back of his head to its top. Was this an Eplon trait? A fashion statement? It looked cool, and now he was excited to tell his other friends that he’d befriended a year-ten.
“Welp, here we are. Take this spiral up to section seven and Proctor Ren’s class will be the second on the right. Cool?”
Eres felt completely disarmed and comfortable in Joodah’s presence, a nurturing presence that was sent to guide him. “Cool. You’re the man, Joodah.”
