Gift of Gold (The Year of Churning Bloods)

by Leone, Hudson

  “Byknokoter was a famous fighter who used only his fists. Omira was the most famous scholar in the world. Droog was the thief responsible for causing the first ever civil war.”

  No, no and no. Every suggestion I made, the creature edged further away. Aggravated, I scratched my head furiously, trying in vain to recall historical figures with neat sounding names.

  “We need to find shelter. It’s getting late,” Preston said while limply gesturing to the sky. The deep yellow eyes faded out of view as I directed all of my attention to Preston. I suddenly became aware that I had spent the last few hours without so much of a word to him.

  “Right,” I responded quietly. Now taking the care to observe the scenery around me, I could see we were in a gentle forest clearing, lightly dusted by a thin layer of powdered snow. The trees that sprang from the earth were neither large enough to sleep beneath, nor small enough to easily uproot. Preston and I tied our tarps together with the help of some nearby twigs, before suspending the apparatus to form a makeshift tent. The final touch was piling bundles of dry leaves on top of and inside the tent to keep us warm for the night.

  “Jacob, What were you mumbling to yourself just then?” Preston asked while dumping an armful of stones alongside the tent.

  I cursed silently. Had I been talking aloud? “I was just thinking about some history books I read once,” I responded as truthfully as I could.

  Preston stared at me suspiciously. “You don’t know how to read Jacob... Do you...?”

  I shuffled my feet uncomfortably, unsure if this was a conversation I wanted to have at the moment. The pause hung for a minute before I eventually conceded and explained my encounters with Professor Wenchenberg to Preston. The story I told felt strange and unrealistic when it left my lips. I told Preston about everything, from the day passes he gave me to the countless hours I spent learning how to read with him. No matter how hard I tried, my story carried none of the warmth the Professor's office and none of my gratitude for simply being noticed and cared for. I finished with a hollow conclusion before waiting to hear what Preston would make of it.

  He stared at me for a moment with wide eyes. “I’m aware of Professor Wenchenberg yes,” Preston said with wide eyes. He teaches distortion anti-magic in the school.” Preston shook his head limply. “I never thought he’d have such strong ties with you.”

  “But why though?” I asked, throwing a handful of leaves aside “Why has he taken me in and treated me like this?”

  Preston shrugged. “Perhaps he’s human?” he suggested lightly.

  I chuckled loudly. “Compared to the other elders I think you may be right.” Clutching my empty side, I slid into the tent and desperately tried to distract myself from hunger. I allowed my mind to stroll beside the deep canyon, reliving the disturbing scene again and again. Preston falling, and the earth; my earth stretching out to catch him. “What is my life compared to that of yours Preston?” I was saying once more. “What is my life, and what will it become now that we’re together?”

  Chapter four

  The Pig and the Prat

  Long ago a boy lived right here

  Free of mind and discipline.

  Only when I saw he was me,

  I saw he was dead.

  As we huddled together in silence, I quickly noticed that the leaves did nothing to retain the little warmth in the tent. Through some miracle, Preston had managed to fall asleep and seemed quite content to snore in peaceful silence, while I surveyed the forest with alert eyes. A branch snapped from somewhere off in the distance, causing me to flinch and stiffen all over. It suddenly dawned on me just how visible our tent was. Taking care so as not to wake Preston, I slipped out of the crude shelter and withdrew my sword. Five minutes of expectant silence crept by with only the cold twilight air to keep me company. From somewhere unseen, a deep earthy snort rang out.

  “Pig?” I inquired as my stomach crept into my ears. The thought of succulent pork brought my blood to a boil. I fervently began peering into the trees for any sign of life. Had it been my hunger fooling me? The lack of noise suggested that it was just a delusion, yet I stayed out, listening and clinging to the small sliver of hope that there was something just beyond my line of sight. Something besides the dead silence and the dead cold.

  Through a pair of faraway trees, I saw the pig. The silhouette of my prize ham waddled away, quietly grunting as it did so. I began to stalk it, shuffling quickly so as to catch up. Every time it seemed like I was just behind it, the pig would dawdle away, while innocently sniffing here and there. I lost sight of our camp within seconds, however this was of little concern to me. Gliding stealthily across the earth, I was pleased to find that my footsteps were muffled by the powdered snow beneath my feet. I edged along the base of a young spruce and saw the pig, who had stopped to paw at a small bush.

  I swiftly brought my sword down, however the outline of the animal quickly dissolved, causing me to fall headfirst into the cold earth. My first instinct was that it got away, but before I could think of anything more reasonable, I was struck hard in the gut. With my breath taken out of me, I fell back and struggled to scramble upright. In front of me, stood the largest hog I had ever seen, nearly twice as large as the creature I had encountered only seconds ago. The beast was covered with a coat of ugly black fur which was spotted with dry blood. The smell alone of the creature seemed to wilt the dry air around it with its pungency. The head was the strangest part however: Three sets of tusks erupted from various locations on the skull, making it look like it was wearing a helmet. Its wide ears were missing large chunks of flesh and were adorned with what looked like fat translucent gems. I rolled to the side just as it prepared to strike again. Now several meters away, the thing pawed at the ground. A vicious puff of air escaped the nostrils of the boar and it charged without warning. I was ready for it this time.

  Ducking behind a tree, I brought my sword down with full force. It went straight through the pig before the entire thing vanished with a flash. I cursed loudly and maneuvered myself out of the way, just in time for the beast to dash straight past me.

  “How in the?--” I had hardly time to finish this thought before three of the hogs materialized just in front of me and charged. My sword struck all three of the pigs, two of which disappeared with a bright flash of light. The sword that made contact with the last one only scratched it, but didn’t stop its advance. A rupture in my sides caused me to double over in pain and cup blood in my hands. I could see very clearly where the pig had impaled me and was crippled by the sudden lack of air in my lungs.

  Struggling to take a breath, I fell against a tree trembling. My mouth fell agape as I struggled to scream. From afar, I saw the creature preparing to strike me for the last time. The same unfamiliar heat flushed into my arms, inflating them with the pure fear from before. Exhausted beyond measure, in body, mind and blood; I fell to my left with only cold fundamental instincts left to control me. The mammoth pig struck the trunk of the tree, missing me by only a hair, and churning the leaves on the branches like they were caught in a vicious storm.

  Raising my hand with empty determination, I willed the tusks of the of the creature to bend. The animal whined in agony and violently tried to detach itself from the tree, yet its horns had been twisted around the perimeter of the sapling, fastening itself in place. The pig stopped for a moment, as it suddenly realized its predicament. I could see fear and desperation in its eyes. As I cradled my wounded side, I slowly stood up to meet the eye of the thing with resentment. I craved the sense of power I had over the hopeless thing. With anti-magic, I could torture it in any way I wanted for however long I wanted. A thin mist of blood flew from my lips as I coughed violently. Like a puppet on a string, I thrusted the sword upward, cramming the metallic thorn into the fat jaw of the beast. With one withheld squeal, the pig’s eyes turned cold. I fell as it did and shuddered as I hit the ground on both knees. I released the boiling heat in my hands with difficulty and saw the tusks of the creatur
e soundlessly resume their original shape. I wretched from the effort needed to stay conscious.

  “Preston,” I thought in between gasps. “I need Preston.” Twisting myself forward, I screamed when my trembling fingers tried to force my wound shut. My legs forced me off the ground for a second time, sending my head spinning in a fine white mist. Reality faltered yet I remained standing.

  The dragon eyes off in the distance seemed only mildly concerned with my predicament. They focused on me with a sly sort of bemusement, as if I was a child overreacting to a cut. They blinked and spoke only two words. “You’re safe.”

  They faltered out of focus as Preston approached running, wordlessly shouting something. A question maybe? I shook my head and fell back to my ground, rattling my neck in the process. As he took me in his arms, I gasped as a startling cold was spread over my wound, instantly detaching me from my pain. I felt the skin under my shirt churn and quickly shut. Breaths were now longer, movements were now smoother. I rolled my eyes back and gave an involuntary quiver while slowly expanding and contracting all of my muscles one by one. My sense of hearing returned with the savage sound of Preston gasping for air. Looking over in alarm, he looked more frail than I ever remembered seeing him.

  “Food...” He whimpered while handing me a small metal container. “Flint inside,” He clarified wearily. “Cook food.” Without any further questions, I hastily scrambled together a pile of sticks to breed the fire and easily lit it with the flint. I sloppily butchered the animal using flat stones and soon had real meat roasting over the fire. I Ignored the overwhelming sight of the fat dripping off of the cooked steak before me, and instead handed it Preston who tore it apart within moments. Grabbing hold of a nearby stick, I withdrew a large meat medallion from the fire which glistened like an over-ripened berry. Taking a large mouthful, I gagged on the initial flavour. It was saltier and more bitter than your typical meat and would have been difficult to stomach had I not have been starving.

  “This was a Himathor,” I concluded after some time. I had copied travel guides which warned of a beast like this. A Himathor is capable of making apparitions of itself appear and disappear at will, often using this ability to lure in prey before killing it. I shuddered. Unfortunately it worked fairly well on me. “Thank you,” I whispered to Preston who stretched a single eyebrow up in response. “I’m sorry I left the tent without telling you, and I’m sorry I nearly got myself killed.” I added but Preston only rolled his eyes.

  “Are you insane!?” he hissed suddenly. The quiver in his voice startled me.

  “I saved our lives,” I insisted, still gesturing to the Himathor before us.

  “You were nearly half a mile away from the camp and just about dead,” Preston responded. I stared at him completely abashed.

  “How did you find me?” I asked carefully. Preston crossed his arms and twisted his neck uncomfortably.

  “Your scream woke me up and after I got out, I saw a faint yellow glow off in the distance which turned out to be you.” I looked in amazement at the two deep dragon eyes who were overlooking the conversation.

  “You helped Preston find me didn’t you?” I asked translating my dialogue into thought.

  “You honestly think dying is an enjoyable experience?” they asked condescendingly. “Believe me mortal, I’d have lit up the entire forest before going a second time.” I shook my head in disbelief.

  “All this trouble to save me and yet you still won’t take a name,” I said, scoffing silently. The eyes immediately melted into a sneer.

  “You’re chatter is intolerable,” they commented dryly. “If it makes the mortal so very content, I will allow them to call me what they wish, under one condition,” they clarified sternly. “The very second I learn of my true name, I will be referred to as such until the end.” I nodded in understanding. Appearing somewhat satisfied the eyes continued: “What is it you will call me then?”

  “Now?” I spluttered. “You expect an answer now?”

  “Don’t test my patience boy. You name me now, or forever hold your tongue.” I brought my hands to my temples and thought for a moment. Then I thought for two, looking over the lapping blades of the fire which camouflaged the entity in front of me. I noticed that only the pupils seemed to be visible through the brightness. They hovered like deep umber chestnuts swaying in time with the fire. Suddenly I had a name.

  “I’ll call you Umber,” I told him while sitting up a little straighter. “I’ll call you Umber whether you like it or not. I’ll call you Umber through rain, through snow, through every pain I know, though I know I’ll call you Umber.”

  Umber seemed to glow slightly brighter, however his placid expression remained fixed. “So be it Mortal.”

  ***

  The two of us sat for a while in perfect silence, drinking in the morning sun which was now starting to creep in from the east. The fire, much to my surprise died down rather quickly despite my attempts to feed it. I asked Preston about where he had gotten the can of flint but he shook his head.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, shifting his weight away from me.

  Confused by this response, I asked why.

  “It’s going to make you feel worse knowing,” came the vague reply.

  I arched an eyebrow and folded my arms tightly. “Preston, it’s a just a bit of flint. I think you can tell me.”

  Preston seemed to shrink a couple of inches. He nervously licked his lips and twirled the hair on his head before sighing in defeat. “This goes deeper than you think Jacob. Are you sure you want to know?” he asked suddenly.

  “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know,” I replied, now losing patience.

  “Alright alright!” Preston said, quickly raising his hands. “The reason why I have this flint is because it was given to me.”

  “Given to you?” I asked suspiciously. “Why were you given flint? You could probably survive just fine without it,”

  “Yet the Caterwaul doesn’t like taking any chances,” Preston replied flatly. “As evil as he is, he doesn’t like seeing people with anti-magic die in the exams. He thinks it’s a terrible waste.”

  “So he gave you the flint to make you more likely to survive,” I concluded with a hollow ring in my voice.

  “Yeah,” Preston admitted weakly. “But it’s not just the flint though.” Everything about these tests is made easier for us. The test never changes Jacob, So we all walked in knowing exactly what to expect.”

  “Why have these king’s exams in the first place then?” I asked, quickly standing up. “What’s the point of having the same test again and again if the Caterwaul wants everyone to pass?”

  “He doesn’t want everyone to pass,” Preston corrected. “He only wants the Ickle-bits dead.”

  I shook my head and sat back down, now more confused than ever. “Why do the Grimlars have to kill the Ickle-bits? The more people they have, the more labour they have.”

  “Yet it’s not slave labour they want Jacob. The Grimlars want warlocks who can fight. If everyone was kept, it would get too crowded. The Grimlars only want to keep and feed the people they think are important.”

  I held up a finger to interrupt however Preston kept on speaking.

  “The king’s exam has been around since the Grimlars were founded. It was meant to prove to the king that the Grimlars he employes all have the necessary skills and anti-magic they need to fight, but that’s not really the case anymore. The Caterwaul uses these exams to kill off all of the ickle-bits while letting every warlock live regardless of how strong they are. It’s a trick designed to kill people like you Jacob! That’s why I didn’t want you to know.”

  Stunned by this answer, I ran a hand through my course oily hair and took a moment to collect my thoughts. “Has an Ickle-bit ever survived the exams?” I asked apprehensively.

  Preston nodded. “Whenever the school or Castle Lambalatrate needs a few more servants, the Caterwaul makes sure that a few of the Ickle-bits surv
ive. I don’t think any Ickle-bit has ever survived The Forest without the Caterwaul’s help.”

  “We’ve loitered long enough,” I interjected, feeling suddenly sicker than ever. “We’ve got two days to go and it’s not going to do us any good if we wait much longer.” Preston numbly agreed and together, the two of us began slicing the remaining Himathor into much more manageable chunks, which we skewered and carried over our backs. Much to my dismay we ended up leaving more than half of the carcass behind, as Preston insisted what we had would be plenty of food for the next two days. With some reluctance, the both of us silently left.

  As the scattered trees gradually shrunk away, we were allowed onto a high platform which just brushed up against the frigid clouds. My heart fluttered as I looked across the sneaking peaks and saw our flags standing on the very tip of the podium. Each one was equally large, with a golden grimlar’s helmet painted on the red fabric.

  “Umber can you tell how tall those flags are?” I wondered while squinting off in the distance. He didn’t respond. “Umber?” I repeated.