by Marc Mulero
“Who in Bura is that?” His voice was monotonous with awe.
Mun leaned shoulder to shoulder with Eres. “Weapons Master Sturn.”
Sturn’s show went on for another thirty seconds before their immaculately timed finale included a mock duel of grandeur – exchanging weapons mid-air, dashing parallel using the power of their boots like ice skaters racing around a rink, cueing fire to burst from the walls of the Elite Wing, and ending by performing a side by side long fiery backflip using the wind of their impellers. Both landed with one knee touching ground in a deep bowing position.
Everyone including Eres was out of their seats. Mun even climbed the table and stomped, making as much noise as possible to cheer on the weapons master.
As the show went on, Eres’ awe melded into something more sustainable – the pride that his keeper had preached of, like a suit of armor that could never be broken. This ceremony brought everything together: his lessons, the comradery, the excitement, the hate, it all fell under one proverbial roof now. If someone had asked him what Kor Vinsánce was, he would show them this. And if that same person asked him where he belonged, he would say “Here.”
An amplified roar nearly knocked down those cheering. There, from the left, the room shook when four giant paws crashed down onto the floor.
“Wow, the big guns!” Mun yelled back. “Seedar Trainers. Wow! They never bring these guys out.” He looked down at his friends and hopped back into his seat. “Better sit down for this one!”
Just then, a lasso-spinning lady sitting atop a large madum unfurled her whip and snapped it to gain everyone’s attention, as if the roar hadn’t already done so.
“Kor Vinsánce!” She yelled. “Are you proud?!”
Applause was thrown back at her while she caressed her icy blue tiger-like creature that was five times her size.
“We can’t hear you!”
Booms erupted.
“Yeehaw!” She whipped the madum, which then pounced over three tables in one hop, turned, and showed its fangs in fierce fashion. At the same time another trainer soared down from the section five bridge to crisscross onto the other side, giving every side-table full of students a front row view of very, very exotic creatures. The descending Seedar clasped a Klayan eagle’s single claw with some strange contraption, like he was zip lining through a forest.
Eres was dumbstruck, and Windel squealed to a pitch that should not have been possible. Most others were nervously laughing with excitement, likely wondering whether they could be the creature’s next meal, or maybe ripped to shreds for fun.
Four more glorious furry birds each splashed with their own rainbow wheel of color glided down from the high pointed ceiling. All of them were harnessed by one branched off string as their shirtless trainer was hoisted, sitting cross-legged midair and blessing the people below him very nonchalantly. He bowed after his slow pass-through, and in a flash, the creatures all retreated out of the spotlight.
Not a moment later, four slim female proctors leapt off of the highest section of the room, activated anti-gravity on their flenos boots, and spun like the most talented ballerinas on their slow fall. Eres knew that the finale had to be underway.
A pang of fear clutched his heart when he noticed large root vines crawling through windows and blocking out the light. He gripped Windel’s shoulder and squeezed hard, ready to sweep her to safety, but when she giggled at him and gently touched his hand to relax him, fear turned to embarrassment once more.
“Relax!” she whispered happily. “It’s just the proctors who have Reach.”
“What are you talking about!” Eres shouted in his loudest whisper, scared that the vines might hear him. “I’ve read all about Reach, it’s fiction… fantasy. Old tales of Umboro nonsense. You told me you didn’t believe any of it either. What-”
“Shhhh! There’s nothing fake about Reach. It’s just that, well, no one values it anymore. Technology is superior. And our links to nature are nearly dead. But it does put on a pretty good show…” She noted the vines now intertwining to make overarching bridges that connected overhead.
Pure light, like lightning, streaked through the air from high sections, where proctors waved their batons the same as on Meeting Day, and Ren’s octor spawned smoke from the ground like bubbling cauldrons brewing under their feet. Vasa’s orchestral music was again hitting a peak. Blurs of proctor robes swiftly flew past overhead, across the Reach-made bridges, and when all of the proctors disappeared into the darkness, a sole spotlight clicked on to show Keeper Decalus with his arms crossed over at his chest. Everyone gaped at him speechlessly until, in one swift motion, he burst the tree root bridges and spun to convert every airborne wooden shard into a harmless fiery ember overhead.
Eres felt his scalp heat up, thinking each sense that he possessed was tricking him. But when the music stopped and the standing ovation grew into a stadium’s roars, he could do nothing but join in on the feverish enthusiasm. He was beginning to understand why some adults would want to be proctors. They possessed collective grace. They were part of something, responsible for something. The keeper’s words resonated, because he now thought he understood what greatness was.
His mind quickly drifted to the time Ooma dragged him into the forest to test his Reach. She smiled, but nothing had ever happened that he could feel or see. Then he thought of something that still trumped this ceremony in his head, and that was the majesty of his fata bursting through colorful clouds. He wondered, was that his tech, or his Reach? Thinking that the tall tales of Illiad, or the lies in Bane’s Wrath, could have more truth in them than he originally thought was a revelation.
“Amazing, right? You should’ve seen your face.” Windel smirked.
Eres looked at her with awe, unable to form words.
Mun had just finished pumping his fist in the air before coming down and nudging Eres. “Woo! Yeah!”
The noise died down when the keeper showed the crowd the palms of his hands, indicating that he wanted silence. Proctors were lined one level below him, each with their hands behind their backs, showcasing their own uniquely designed robes of rich colors.
“A tremendous celebration met with worthy praise. Gratitude is in order for the incredible proctors lined up before me, for making this Kor what it is. Take a bow, take a bow.”
The curtains covering the windows were slowly drawn back up, allowing the suns’ light to illuminate the proctors. Decalus gave the students a moment to marinate in the wonder that had occurred, and then continued on.
“Now, if you will turn to your syllabi, you will see that your quarter class details are now filled in and blinking. Please take this time to find your proctor and classmates for a brief introductory gathering, and then the feast will take place on the great lawn out back.”
Eres’ brow furrowed when his class was revealed:
Class: Roots of Umboro
Taught by: Proctor Wudon
Location: Practical Wing – Section 5, Torium 1
Period: 12
“Isn’t this the proctor you mentioned on Meeting Day, who watched me and Crow fight?” Eres shared the parchment with Windel.
She gasped quickly and tried to cover it up. “Well, umm, yes. Roots is said to be the most difficult class because eighty will show up, and twelve will be chosen to stay. Four participants that Wudon thinks have Reach, and eight spectators that impress him with their knowledge of Umboro’s history. The good news is, you’ll be chosen for sure because you’re a nerd.” She tried to lighten her initial concern.
“Am not!”
“But as a spectator or a participant… who knows?” Her smirk lingered.
Is this why Ooma always tried to test my Reach in Dolseir? This class must be a trial to see who is worthy to be a Skrol, either by knowledge or talent. And it probably has everything to do with espers.
“Well, are you going to give me any hints not to get kicked out of my focus class?”
“Just make a face like this and Wudon will
love you,” Mun interjected, contorting his face into the deepest frown with a bulging eye.
“Hah, noted.”
“You’re going to see all ages when you gather by Wudon. My advice is to be yourself and don’t be intimidated,” Windel coached.
“You’ll be getting the award for vague clichés at the end of the year, for sure.” Eres grinned back as a smack stung against one of his lingering bruises. “And Mun, be careful, my house mother always told me that if you make a face, it might get stuck that way.”
They all chuckled before waving each other off.
Eres stepped toward a crowd that was piling around the man whose hair shadowed most of his face. Passions were still high from the ceremony, and the right combination of thoughts was cycling through his head to test his commitment once more.
Why do I have to hide? This place is great, it’s my true home. Windel and Mun, they’re part of my family now.
The image of his father that would normally have popped into his head didn’t appear. And all of his promises to Lorfa to keep quiet seemed to have been forgotten with time. She’d stopped reiterating the importance of it all because, for the first time, Eres was acting his age, and she didn’t want to interrupt that.
She can know that I’m not an orphan, that my fata is a Skrol, that I’m… I trust her.
He pulled out his oobs and messaged her: “Meet at feast under your tree, alone.”
A second later, a vibration climbed from his toes to his thighs before it faded. He stared at the device. “Nice ransom note… :). Sure.”
Eres chuckled and stuffed the device back into his bag before lifting his head to a pleasant surprise. “Joodah! What are you doing here?”
The giant embraced him in a brief one-handed hug and backed up. “Heya, Eres! Good to see you! Oh me? It’s only my sixth attempt to get into Roots class as a spectator. Keeper Decalus didn’t pick me, Proctor Yudo declined me, and in the three years since Proctor Wudon transferred here, he shot me down every time.”
“Ouch, why?”
“Maybe because it’s obvious I’m an Eplon, or maybe it’s because I don’t know enough about Umboro tradition, but I’ve been studying up!”
“That’s kind of the only stuff I know about. Maybe I can help you this time around,” Eres offered.
“So kind of you, my good man. I accept graciously.” He bowed.
Proctor Wudon lifted his head to inspect the crowd, revealing a collar decorated with a heavy black chain that was half hidden under his long robes. “Twelve of ninety this term.” His voice sounded strained, like he’d been punched in the gut, but it still had a fierce sharpness to it. He appeared to be a hundred years older than he was all of a sudden. “Roots are not for the ordinary. They are for the gifted and the learned. For many that I see here, not for the first time, this is not news. For the others, I am Proctor Wudon, and your trial begins tomorrow at suns down. Dismissed.”
Eres’ group was let out first. He walked side-by-side with his giant friend, both seeking information from one another, and each appearing eager to share as they made for the lawn.
“What happens if we don’t make it in?”
“When, you mean?” Joodah’s shoulders slumped slightly. “Then it’s back to free period. That’s why this Focus class is held outside of normal Kor hours. It gives students the opportunity for advanced training, for those who’re worthy.”
Eres reached as high as he could to pat the Eplon’s back. “Well, then that’s not an option, now is it? Tell me what we have to know so I can help.”
Joodah sniffed hard in frustration. “In the past it’s been a lot about Gushda and Rudo, what we know about philosophers of the First Races, mysterious outdated professions like Harbingers and Skrols - things that no one even studies anymore.”
Eres could have been offended, or ask why Joodah would say that no one wanted to be a Skrol like he did, but instead he said, “Well you’re in luck, because ever since I was a child, I wanted to be a Skrol. And to help, I’ve been forced to read about the Eternal and physical worlds since I first learned about them. So… you’re in good hands.”
Light returned to Joodah’s eyes. “Eres, where in Mustae were you five years ago?”
“Not here.” He laughed awkwardly.
They both shared opinions on their favorite parts of this year’s ceremony as hordes of students began to pile around them. Some immediately formed into a circle to practice CMID coordination, while others gathered around two Swuls who decided to spar with their Glite armor deactivated. A group of girls each with hair as silky as Eres’ clutched their books to their chests, conversing about something important regarding popularity. It was a day free of classes, and everyone was enjoying it.
Joodah bid Eres farewell with a hearty hug that he’d come to expect from the friendly giant. And as his body gently nudged students to sway from his path like a boat cutting waves, as soon as his rounded back was far enough out of site, Eres turned to the tree to find eyes on him.
Judgement from far away made him want to squirm in his skin. He was too distant to diffuse the feeling with words, hence he was forced to walk awkwardly up to Windel. It felt like it would take a day to get there. Her flowing dark hair, unwavering gaze, and a dimpled smirk made him feel naked, exposed, like she could see what he really was. Suddenly not knowing what to do with his hands, he touched his face like he had an itch, then questioned the length of his stride. The heat rising in his face made him feel even more embarrassed, until he finally made it to her.
“Hi.”
“Hi, long time.” She patted the grass for him to sit down next to her. “So how much do I have to pay to get my daughter back?”
Eres laughed and pushed her. “Oh, shut up.”
“I really have to teach you to oobs better so you stop scaring people off.” She didn’t let up.
“Eh, it got you here, didn’t it?”
“Touché!”
Eres set down his bag and prepared himself to do something he never imagined he would.
She stared him up and down enquiringly. “So… what’s this big secret meeting that we had to have without Mun?”
His thoughts were racing, guilt plaguing even the notion of calling her here. Was he betraying his family, his ooma, his fata? His secrets were eating him from the inside out. He had to tell somebody, had to confide in another to see what someone on the outside would think. She was Umboro, like him. Knew a Skrol, like him. Didn’t believe in their people’s Mysticism, like him. The wrestling with emotion was obvious in his face, until he finally opened his mouth to let it out.
“Well… I wanted to tell you… apologize to you, for the secrets that I had to keep.”
Windel sighed knowingly. “What, that you’re really not from an orphanage?”
“Hmm?” He was taken off guard, his face draining of color.
“Plesus,” she scoffed, “your hair is nicer than mine, skin smooth. You’re well-read and your temperament is calm… too calm to survive a house mother and house siblings. Have you even been to an orphanage? Because I have, and the conditions do not breed what you are, Eres.”
Eres’ mouth hung open until her words registered. Then he sat back quietly, woefully, playing with a few blades of grass.
Realizing she may have gone too far, Windel dipped her head to find his eyes and said, “You can take a punch though.”
A slow smile formed on both of their faces, but Eres still realized immediately that this was a mistake. Her eyes told him so. That’s when he grabbed his bag and rose to his feet.
“Welp, you figured me out.” He bounced once to shift the strap rightly over his shoulder, “I… I’m going to go since we have the rest of the day off. See ya.”
Windel made a face like she was watching a dying hlope fall from the sky. “Wait, Eres. Wait! Was it something I said?”
Eres walked fast, head hunched, on the way to the hill toward Dolseir.
“Wait. C’mon. Sorry if I was crude, I didn’t
mean to be...”
They walked in silence while Windel’s words lingered in the air. Eres had retreated internally, so the awkwardness didn’t bother him, but she on the other hand, couldn’t take it.
“Well, I’m going to follow you home unless you decide to talk to me.”
Once they trekked all the way up and over the hill, Eres stopped to look at her. “I guess I just didn’t realize how bad of a job I was doing at hiding the truth…”
“What is the truth?” She poked. “Are you in some kind of danger?”
“I… don’t know. But that’s never what scared me.”
“Then what is it, Eres? We’re friends, and if you need me, I’m here.”
He suddenly thought back to his home lessons on ellosay, how he was inadequately equipped for life, and how Windel could never possibly fancy him knowing that there’s not even a shred of hope of anything normal. His pelvis tingled where his parts should be. Embarrassment was evident on his face.
Still the trust was there as his eyes analyzed her. The time they shared built the strongest bond he’d ever had with another person. It almost felt like the Reach his ooma described when he would lay uselessly on the forest floor, only this connection was more visceral, tangible. He actually believed in it.
“My fata is a Skrol,” he blurted.
“I knew it! Why else would you have asked me about them? Why else would you want to become one? What’s his name Eres? My mother, crazy as she is, speaks often about the registry of living Skrols. The list is burned into my head.”
Eres felt like a weighted vest was just taken off his shoulders. He had no idea what an encumbrance holding something in was until just now, when it was lifted. It felt good, more powerful than the guilt that came with it.
“His name is Agden Way.”
That revelation sucked all of the positive feelings out and threw two new heavy chains around his neck. Did he just betray his father, expose him to danger with Seren Night on the loose? Her face said it all. This was a grave, grave mistake.
