“Oh you’re a real charmer,” I growled irritably. “It’s a wonder that you didn’t die earlier with pride like that.”
“You humans call it pride, I call it ‘knowing that I’m right’.”
“Alright, If you’re so wise and powerful then what do we do about Gregor? He’s going to want me hurt after what happened to him!”
“Yes, he will want to hurt you,” Umber agreed after thinking about this for a moment. “I believe your professor is right though. As long as you’re in the school he won’t try to hurt you. Outside of the school however...” Umber trailed off as the chubby elder forcefully grabbed me by the arm and lead me down a set of stairs that went below ground. We eventually burst into a sweltering dungeon room, lit only by a heavy furnace in the back of the enclosure. In the corner, sat three of the largest men I had ever seen.
Each of them looked like they hadn’t stepped into the sunlight for years. Their bald skulls were oddly pointed as if they had been specifically molded to the shape of a helmet. They each had a bulbous nose supported by a bushy moustache that suggested the three giants were brothers. The only major differences in their appearances were the scars on their faces.
“Jacob Ofpacis, I would like you to meet the Grimlar’s most senior masons, armor experts and smiths: Axel, Cudge and Gripper.” Each of the massive men gave a small salute at the sound of their names.
“Gods! He’s a tiny one!” Axel declared, strolling over to me.
“When we’d heard about this one we was expecting something a wee bit bigger,” Gripper agreed as he grabbed one of my elbows and gave it a shake.
“Grip, you were nearly three quarters his size when you was his age,” Cudge sniggered before standing up as well. Producing a well used tape measure from his coat pocket, he quickly began to take measurements.
“Shaddup you great pig!” Gripper shouted over his shoulder. “You know exactly what mam used to feed us: Oats on a good day, tree bark on a bad one.”
The three laughed uproariously at this.
“As if they feed the Ickle-Bits any better,” Gripper added, tapping me firmly on the gut.
“We got special orders for you.” Axel said mysteriously, as he quickly scratched my measurements on a piece of parchment.
“Oh?” I asked, trying not to sound disturbed by this.
“Orders from the Caterwaul in fact,” Axel added while strolling behind me. “We was told to make you your own sword and shield. Normally the Pronounced trainees just get rubbish hand-me-downs.” He shrugged his great shoulders. “I guess you’re pretty special then.”
I suddenly remembered the taborthodox agreement the Caterwaul had made and smiled slightly.
“Measurements are finished!” Cudge announced proudly.
“Don’t waste our time telling us that! Get the armour started!” Axel shouted back. “Stupid git,” he added quietly. “But yeah, normally it’s only the prefects and tier four Grimlars that get their own swords. Ever had any experience with weapons?” He asked while picking up the parchment filled with measurements.
“Very little.” I admitted bashfully. Axel nodded in understanding and made a small note.
“That means we shouldn’t be making anything too heavy for you. I’m guessing by the looks of you that you’re a righty?” He asked while looking down at my skinny twigs for arms.
“Umm... Yeah, how did you know?” This question was entirely ignored as he scribbled something else down.
“Now for naming the sword.” Axel announced grandly. “This part’s my favorite. “In the old days, it was customary to name the sword after the person it was for, or to not name the sword at all. We found out pretty quickly that caused a good bit of confusion.” He sighed, and placed a hand on the wall as if finding the memory extraordinarily painful. “Many people didn’t know which sword was which, and the swords that had names couldn’t be sold. Nobody wanted a blade that had someone else’s name on it.” Axel clasped his hands together and seemed to brighten slightly.
“Today however, we have the wielder name the sword. It saves confusion, and even gets the fighter a bit closer to his own weapon. Just tell us what you want to call it and we’ll engrave it.”
“Right now?” I asked, feeling suddenly uneasy.
“Well within the hour” Axel admitted, exhaling from his nostrils.
“It only takes you an hour to make a sword?” I wondered in amazement.
“Well, a lot of the prep work has already been done,” Axel admitted modestly. “Feel free to take a seat until we finish.”
I placed myself tenderly on a nearby wooden crate before lacing my fingers and looking up at Umber.
“Strange. You seem more focused on naming a stupid sword, then you were in naming me,” he said, silently fluttering closer.
I laughed coldly and swatted him away. “If you don’t have any suggestions, you should shut up,” I told him, bringing my pointer fingers to my temples.
Umber snorted at this suggestion. “Considering you named me, it seems fitting that I name your sword.”
I shrugged. “If you think of something good, I’ll consider it.”
The colour in Umber’s eyes grew more intense as he began to think. “How about Intrikill,” Umber opted while looking over at the smiths. I brought my lips to one side of my face.
“Intricate and kill... That’s clever, but maybe not the direction I was going for. Umber’s eyes flashed with irritation.
“We’re naming a weapon, not a child. There aren’t many directions you can take mortal,” he insisted fiercely. “Why, what were you thinking?” I opened my mouth ajar and scratched my chin, trying to get Umber to think that I was deep in thought
“Ungula,” I said, looking back up to him.
Umber glared at me in disbelief. “Ungula? Is that even a word? You humans and your precious little language.”
I clenched my teeth tightly and nearly bit off my own tongue. “I read it in a book once,” I said, quietly trying to contain my anger. “I happen to like it.”
“Why name it something like that when there are so many great word plays you could make! ‘Decappetite’ for instance, or ‘F’anger the Beast.’ You could even go with contradictory names! Those are always fun to figure out! Soundless scream is an excellent one. Or how about, The friendly foe. Work with me here mortal! You’re giving me nothing!”
“Wait just a minute,” I demanded, cutting him off with my hand. “What was the second one you said?” I didn’t know why, but one of those names distinctly rang out in my head.
“Soundless Scream. Why?” Umber replied as he drew closer.
“No, one before that,” I said, drawing circles in the air for clarity.
“F’anger the beast.” Umber sighed as if he was greatly disappointed in me. “Jacob, you know that’s a rubbish name. I was just brainstorming.”
“Yeah but it’s still your suggestion,” I objected, feeling myself twist into a grin.
Umber considered me with a scowl. “Why would you want a name like this?” Umber asked furiously
The Immage of Preston punching Gregor immediately leapt to my mind as I considered this. “F’anger the beast and you’ll get bit.” I responded with a slight chuckle.
Umber groaned in dismay and rolled his eyes so quickly it almost made me dizzy watching him. “That joke is dryer than any desert in the world. By carrying that name with you, you would have to live with it until you either lost the sword, sold it, or died. Are you absolutely sure you want that?” Umber asked, somewhat desperate to change my mind.
Unfortunately for him, my heart was set in stone. I tenderly approached Axel the smith and tapped him lightly on the shoulder.”
“You decided then?” he asked, completely focused on his work.
“Yes sir. I’d like to call it F’anger the Beast.”
“Aye?” he asked, turning around to look at me. “I don’t get it.” He scratched his hairy whiskers, and looked over at his brothers. “Oy! You lot, drop w
hat you’re doing and get over here.” Cudge and Gripper slowly made their way over, looking highly irritated.
“What’s this about?” Cudge asked, rubbing the soot off of his forehead.
“This kid wants to name his sword something weird and I don’t get it.”
“Well what’s he want to call it?” Gripper asked before throwing down a metal poker. They all looked at me expectantly.
“F’anger the beast...” I answered with considerably less confidence than the last time.
“You’re right! I don’t get it at all,” Cudge said, scratching his bald head awkwardly.
“Well it’s his sword. He can name it what he wants.” Axel said, putting his hands on his hips. “I have to ask though: Are you sure about this kid?”
I nodded and Axel bobbed his head back in forth in consideration. “Alright, you’ve convinced me.” he said as he turned to his brothers. “Get me my tools. I have some engraving that needs doing.” He winked at me slightly before sitting down at his bench to begin his work.
“Satisfied?” Umber asked in a deflated voice.
“Why yes I am,” I responded enthusiastically. “Frankly, you should be happy too. After all, you came up with the name.”
“I admit. It was not one of my better ideas,” Umber said, sounding hollow and slightly embarrassed. “Let’s hope the sword’s better than the name.” I nodded in agreement, before watching patiently as the smiths finished their creations.
“And here we are!” Gripper announced, proudly holding up a leather chestplate that was held together with shiny thread. “That stuff there is three-time tempered silk.” he explained, noticing my surprised gaze. “It promotes flexibility, durability, and strengthability-err, I mean strength,” He said, immediately correcting himself. “While I’m at it, here are some boots, gloves, and a helmet to go with it.” he added, showing me a few objects sewn together with the same shiny silk. “That should be me.”
The second brother Cudge came forward, holding a bowl shaped leather shield. “This thing’s made from mineral enhanced cork to deflect blows while at the same time being soft and spongy. The inside handles are lined with rabbit fur to prevent chaffing, and also have the added bonus of adjustable straps for when you grow big and mean.” Cudge smiled widely. “That’s me as well. Axel?” he asked, gesturing to his brother.
“Give it a minute!” he childed before hiding away what was in his arms. “It’s not ready yet.” A few more minutes passed in anticipation, before Axel brought forward an expertly molded sheath, corked by the hilt of a sword. I accepted it with great reverence, and began to examine it.. The hilt was a black hue, light enough to be mistaken to for a dark violet. Small white specks were imbedded into the handle giving it the resemblance of a starry night sky. In bold beautiful letters, read the name of the sword, which I traced over with my hand.
“F’anger the beast.”
I soundlessly unsheathed it, and found myself staring at a deadly looking double edged sword, which basked in the little light available. The blade was a white so bright that the sight made my eyes water. “It’s reinforced steel, edged with ferrovan for an edge that won’t get dull for about about ten years.” Axel boasted grandly. “Ferrovan is an alloy that mages use to tip their staves. You’re very lucky we happened to have a block of it in our closet.”
“Thank you. I couldn’t have asked for anything better,” I said bowing to each of them in turn.
“Well, you probably could have if you had better materials and more money,” Gripper admitted before rubbing the back of his head. “I don’t mean to burst your good mood, but you ought to know that these things don’t make you king of the world.”
As if responding to a cue, the pudgy elder in the corner of the room suddenly snapped awake. He rubbed his face and looked up at me grumpily.
“Oh great we’re done,” he said, stretching a kink in his back. “Let’s go before you waste any more of my time.”
I nodded and together the two of us clambered up the stairs with my new possessions in hand.
***
“I’ve got your lesson timetable here,” the elder told me, holding up a scroll of paper. He tore of the twine binding it and quickly unraveled it. “Your first class, fifteen minutes after breakfast will be reading skills with professor--”
“I know how to read,” I insisted earnestly. The elder’s eyebrow twitched upward in surprise
“How did a stupid orphan like you learn how to read?” he asked, looking at me suspiciously. I shuffled my feet uncomfortably.
“I taught myself,” I stated as clearly as I could.
“Read this,” the elder instructed before jamming the timetable text into my face.
“07:00 Breakfast
07:45 Reading comprehension: library
09:00 Sword skills-”
“Enough! I’ve heard enough!” the elder declared, throwing the paper at my feet. “Seeing as you can now magically read, I’ll need to make you a new timetable.” The stone hallway we were striding down suddenly opened up into a circular enclosure, dominated by a large white door, emblazoned with a curious looking symbol looked like a row of mountains bent into a circle.
“We’re here,” the elder grumbled suddenly. Before I had time to ask him what ‘here’ meant, he had marched off, muttering indistinguishable words to himself. I was now alone.
“Sort of alone,” Umber corrected me.
“Sort of alone,” I repeated, looking up at the behemoth door. I walked up to the entryway and yanked on the handle. At first I assumed it was locked, however after a long strenuous pull, the massive hinges gave way, granting me access inside. The room past the doors was well lit due to the back wall being mostly window. The second thing that struck me about the room was how filthy it was. Bits of torn paper grew from the food stained carpet which held the abused looking furniture in place. Books were inserted into shelves at odd angles, making it look like the cupboards were trying to eat them.
The culprits of this mess were a gaggle of young children who were giggling loudly over a game of dice. The oldest looking out of all of them noticed me suddenly and instantly fell silent. The others quickly rounded on the spot to see what he was looking at.
“Who are you?” the littlest one asked, timidly holding onto his chair.
“Shut up Igor,” A stubby blonde child rasped before slapping him on the neck. “That’s the one we heard about. The one who stopped Gregor from reading minds.” The kid holding the dice squealed loudly.
“Hey! Hey mister! Is it true you can make holes in silver plates? That’s really hard isn’t it?” The child’s mouth was clamped shut by the oldest.
“Be quiet! Or he’ll put a hole through you!” the older boy hissed, throwing him to one side. He looked up at me and chuckled nervously. “With all do respect sir, my roommates are complete idiots.”
“Are not!” The blue eyed boy protested from the back.
Startled terribly by this swarm of unexpected conversation. I tried to raise my hands in protest, however my arms were full of the armour that had been made for me. As the din of the arguing kids grew louder I suddenly found that I had been rendered speechless.
“SHUT UP!” The oldest one roared, very nearly knocking everyone to the ground in the process. Once the entire area had quieted down, he looked at me expectantly.
“Th-thank you,” I replied, trying not to appear shaken. The boy I addressed flushed with pride. “What is this place exactly?”
“You mean you don’t know?” The oldest kid asked, tilting his head to one side. “These are the distortion dormitories.”
“Distortion dormitories,” I repeated quietly. “As in, every distortion trainee lives here?”
“Yup!” The kid replied proudly. I scrunched my nose as I suddenly noticed the stench coming from the large common room. It smelled like warm sweat and rotting cheese. At least in The Clog you were too tired to smell anything. This was just wrong.
“How many distortion train
ees are there here?” I asked, resisting the temptation to cup my hand over my nose.
“Nine,” the majority of them replied in unison. I gently placed everything I had by the door while trying to think of something, anything to say to the large crowd in front of me.
“How old are you?” I asked, pointing to each of them in turn. For the most part, it seemed like the average age was nine or ten, with the oldest one being thirteen. “How long have you all been in the camp?” I continued. They each had to think about this question for a while. I didn’t blame them. It was always difficult for me to keep track of time in the camp because I didn’t need it. I wasn’t ever planning anything in the future, and I never needed to remember something from the past. I was stuck in the present, aware that days were passing by but just not caring.
Gift of Gold (The Year of Churning Bloods) Page 13
