When I finally looked at the creature’s face, I noticed that she was looking back at me, eyes half open from heavy bruises. I could have said that she looked tortured but somehow, it was so much worse than that. The woman looked humiliated. I slipped out of the classroom before anyone noticed me and vomited in the flower beds outside. I would get in terrible trouble for skipping class, but that really didn’t matter at the moment.
That was the first woman I ever saw naked. She was dead, bloody, cut open and beaten up, yet despite myself I couldn’t help but feel some sort of twisted sense of excitement. I felt like I had grown up a little bit more and I hated myself for it. Days later it occurred to me that the woman was a mage and this surprised me. She looked like someone you might have seen on the streets outside. I don’t know why but I expected mages to be bigger. She didn’t look like someone who could kill you. She didn’t even look like someone who would want to kill you. She had a gentle face with a mouth that looked like it was good at smiling.
Umber went a bit quieter after what we saw. For a couple of days after he only asked brief questions and never started any long conversations. Umber didn’t look sad or distressed but his colour seemed to bleach a little, like paint left out in the sun for too long. He liked to tease me about a lot of things, yet he never ever brought up that moment.
After a long time I began to forget what the woman looked like, even the details on her face. The one thing that really stuck with me was the smell. It was like rusty metal and rotten meat and blood and alcohol. I never forgot that smell.
***
The only lessons I ever really liked were the distortion classes. As strange as it sounds, it almost felt like a family to me. Yet out of nowhere, Professor Wenchenberg’s health began to fall alarmingly quick. During the course of one month, his office grew to be in shambles. Windows were kept open during snowstorms, the fire was never lit, papers were scattered everywhere, and swampy pools of wax gathered as his candles slowly burned out. The professor always seemed just as happy to see me, but this happiness was clouded up somehow.
I was honestly scared for him but no matter how many times I asked, Professor Wenchenberg would always say the same thing. “I’m getting old Jacob and I’ve found that age can be quite an unhealthy thing sometimes.”
“Well, tell me what to do!” I shouted, suddenly losing patience. “You need to get better and I can help you!”
“Your enthusiasm is refreshing but you need to know that I’m quite old. And with age, comes a great amount of regret,” the professor said, leaning back in his desk chair. He looked more frail than I ever remembered seeing him.
“You’re not that old!” I insisted, covering his shivering body up with a blanket. “You’ve still got black in your hair! You can still walk for crying out loud!”
The professor laughed weakly. “I appreciate the flattery but I’m far older than I look. I could tell you exactly how old and you wouldn’t believe me.” He laughed again, but I didn’t join in.
I decided that the least that I could do was clean his office up for him. I sorted his books, I arranged his papers and I scrubbed every inch of his tabletops with warm soapy water. I made a fire with the freshly cleaned fireplace and helped move the professor into a chair right beside it.
“Thank you,” he said before holding out a thick book.
“What’s this?” I asked, taking it with both hands.
“Oh just some reading material. I heard they were all out of these at the library and I thought you might like one for yourself.”
I glanced down at the cover and felt my heart skip a beat. The cover read, “A lovely guide to the biters” By D. Seased. “Thank you very much sir,” I gushed, immediately opening it up. A moment later, I thought better of it and looked up to the professor. “Do you mind if I read it here?”
“Not at all!” Wenchenberg replied as if this was the stupidest question he’d ever heard. “If I didn’t want you reading, I wouldn’t have given you the book.”
I bowed again and took a seat opposite him, where I could lay the open book across my entire lap. I was flipping through it when I noticed one of the pages was marked with a single bit of ribbon. I looked up at Umber and cocked my head to one side. “You don’t think this ribbon could mean anything special do you?” I asked eagerly.
“It’s just ribbon,” Umber said blandly.
“No but, what if this is the professor’s way of helping me?”
Umber looked down at the book and then up to me with exhausted disbelief.
“Yes it makes sense!” I continued proudly. “The professor must have deliberately marked this page so that I would know what I’m facing in the first part of my competition!”
Umber seemed unfazed by this explanation. “Mortal, maybe you’re right and this is all one big secret message. More likely than not, this ribbon just happened to be there by chance.”
“But it could be a hint!” I protested quickly.
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t take hints. I’m saying you shouldn’t depend on them. What does the page marked say anyways?” He asked, hovering above the text. To answer his question, I began reading.
“Magmots
Magmots are worm like creatures whose internal body temperature can melt most metal. They do this by jiggling pebbles in their stomachs fast enough to turn it molten. The molten rock is their primary form of defence, however it can also be used to keep other Magmots warm. They nest under naturally occurring springs of water in the mountains. A casual observer might mistake a Magmot habitat for a regular hot spring.
Magmots are the larvae form of the Pilford dagger beetle, which unlike it’s pre-maternal state tend to be peaceful. The Magmot eats just about anything that moves, but is also partial to a wide variety of lakeside mosses and hotwater crustaceans. It must be noted they eat a lot. Magmots can range in size from six to 12 centimeters. Approaching them unprotected is highly dangerous, however that doesn’t stop many blacksmiths from keeping them as pets to help smelt things around the forge.
Magmots can be recognized by their distinctive yellow red glow, similar to but not identical to gold when being melted. They have a number of ridges along their sides, which can expand and contract to help them move around. Magmots who take the appearance of a deep dark blue are in the process of maturing to their next form, and are not to be mistaken for dead. (A dead magmot is grainy grey.) There is no surefire way of killing a magmot. Water only aggravate them, and very rarely completely cools them off. Any attempt to pound or smash a magmot may result in serious injury, even if successful. The best known and most effective method of magmot extermination is to gather large rocks, and throw them from afar into the magmot den, hoping to crush them all safely.”
“And these things could be in the qualifying round?” I wondered, suddenly feeling faint.
“Mortal, they’re smaller than you think, and no smarter than your average human being. They can’t even see or hear! Why’re you scared of them?”
“They spray lava,” I replied seriously. “That’s a pretty good reason to be scared.”
“Look, you don’t even know for sure that they’ll be in this competition, just calm down,” Umber said, groaning impatiently.”
“How many do you think I’m going to have to kill?” I asked, my heart racing into my throat. “I could probably do one or two, but what if I’m up against a hundred?”
“You know what? Fine. Don’t compete in this competition. See what your professor thinks of that,” Umber said, looking to Wenchenberg.
“I hate you so much some days,” I stammered, raising a quivering fist in his direction.
“Hey now I haven’t done anything,” Umber said, stifling a mean laugh. “Your professor’s making you do this, not me!”
“He’s not making me do this,” I said through clenched teeth. “Besides, I’ve already agreed to his plan. I have to carry it out.”
“He’s playing you like an instrument and you don’t even know.”
Umber warned as I flopped the book shut.
I ignored him and walked over to the professor. “Sir, is this mine to keep?” I asked over his shoulder. “Sir?” I repeated, edging up to his side. I leaned down, suddenly unsettled but sighed in relief when I heard him exhale. I threw another log in the fire and walked out of the room.
Chapter ten
The Pit of Fire
The rich man pleases
counterfeited breezes
as he holds aloft a large paper fan.
Yet he’s never felt the real
one sandy summer wind,
which as far as he thinks is sin
“Wake up,” Umber insisted one morning
“What is it?” I grumbled keeping my eyes locked shut.
“How do you kill a Kaffkun?”
“What?” I asked, turning over to look at my pendulum clock. The hour hand was just scraping one.
“You heard me. How do you kill a Kaffkun?” Umber hissed.
“Why are you doing this to me?” I asked pressing a hand into my aching forehead.
“Well, because you ought to know shouldn’t you? How do you kill a Kaffkun?”
“No. I mean, I thought you didn’t want me to study. Why did you wake me up so damn early if you’re just going to ask stupid questions?”
“Well you didn’t even answer the first question,” Umber replied brightly. “Do you need me to repeat it again?”
“No,” I groaned. “You kill a Kaffkun by holding it underwater.”
“Good! Now how do you tell which part of the Vompolo is poisonous?”
“This is your way at getting back at me for skipping meals in the library... Isn’t it?” I realized suddenly.
“Yes!” Umber responded, looking so pleased with himself that I thought he might pop. “Now, do you need me to repeat the question?”
“No,” I growled “No, I’m just... Fine...”
***
I was surprisingly calm on the morning of the qualifications. Where others were pacing around the dining hall with their noses pressed in books, I was picking at my breakfast and staring at my reflection with a dirty spoon. I looked up briefly at the crowd of people crammed in at the back and sighed. It hadn’t gotten any smaller since I last looked up five minutes ago.
“I don’t understand why they wrote out only one timetable when nearly everyone’s entered,” Umber said, floating from one shoulder to the other.
“I know. It’s stupid,” I agreed, reluctantly scooping up a pile of grainy porridge. “Hopefully it will thin out after breakfast.”
True to his character, Preston came out of nowhere and took a seat beside me without saying a word.
I smiled and said good morning but he didn’t respond. “What’s the matter?” I asked, setting down my spoon to properly look at him.
“You didn’t tell me you were competing,” Preston said under his breath.
I bit my lip and tilted my head to one side. This wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have at that moment. “Well, I didn’t want you to worry,” I said, breaking eye contact to take a drink of water.
“Why did you decide to enter?” he asked, struggling to remain calm.
“Huh? I just... Wanted to enter.”
“You just wanted to enter. You,” Preston repeated in disbelief.
“Yes. I wanted to enter, so I did,” I declared, straightening my back up and nodding sharply.
“But why did you want to enter?”
“Look, Preston.” I said, starting to get angry as well. “Can we just talk about something else? I’ve got a lot to think about, and this isn’t helping.”
“What, me being scared for you?” Preston hissed. “You can’t do this Jacob, you have to pull out!”
“I can’t,” I blurted before I could help myself.
“What do you mean you can’t?” Preston asked, folding his arms.
I shushed him and tried to go back to eating my breakfast but Preston was having none of it.
“Why can’t you quit? Anyone can quit! What have you gotten yourself into now?”
I closed my eyes and leaned back in my seat. When I spoke, I kept them shut. “Look, chances are I won’t even get past the first round. There’s no need for you to worry so much.
“I can’t believe my best friend’s lying to me,” Preston said, sounding more amazed than hurt.
“Don’t say that,” I moaned.
“Oh but you are lying,” he responded. “You’re lying straight to my face and do you wanna know something Jacob? You’re doing a really crappy job.”
“Alright. Fine.” I said, slaming my hands down on the table. Fortunately for me, the dining hall was so chaotic that nobody noticed. “You wanna know why I entered? It’s because of the three wishes.” I held up my fingers as if Preston somehow didn’t understand. “If I win, I’m gonna wish the concentration camp free.”
“Really Jacob? Really?” Preston asked, looking anything but proud. “You’re going to politely ask the king to stop his own army?”
“King Esterjay is bound to these wishes by blood.” I whispered at an almost frantic speed. “If I win, he does what I say.”
Preston paused and slowly uncoiled his arms from his chest “How do you know that?” he asked quietly?
“Professor Wenchenberg told me,” I stammered in response.
“So this wasn’t your idea,” Preston continued, straightening up a little more.
I raised a finger in protest but stopped myself. “Alright fine. It was all Professor Wenchenberg. You’re terrible, you know that right?”
Preston laughed before immediately reaching up to cover his mouth. I smiled a little, quietly relieved I was able to calm him down a little. “I’m still mad at you,” he insisted, angrily launching into his breakfast to prove his point.
“I don’t blame you.” I said, automatically looking back at the large crowd. It could have been my imagination, but it looked like it was getting bigger.
“You’ll be competing in the Winston classroom at 12:00. I checked,” Preston said, absentmindedly picking at his food.
“Why are they using classrooms?”
“Probably because it saves time,” Preston said, gradually trailing off. “Why does the king want a Grimlar trainee to do all of this? Why not send out some of his more experienced fighters?”
“I was just asking myself the same thing,” I admitted sadly. “Professor Wenchenberg thinks the king could be mad.”
“The King has scribes, nobles and wise men who all help him make his decisions. Not all of them can be completely mad,” Preston said, his mouth full of eggs.
“So, there’s got to be another reason for having this thing,” I concluded somberly.
Preston nodded before dabbing the corners of his mouth with a well pressed napkin. “I wouldn’t worry about it Jacob. Just get through today alright?”
“Will you show me where the Winston classroom is?” I asked hesitantly.
Preston nodded absentmindedly, quickly finished his breakfast and lead me into the hallways without another word. After a few minutes of walking, we eventually came to a secluded corridor packed with nothing but nervous trainees. Fortunately, Preston and I were largely ignored as we took a seat against a small bit of open wall.
Almost immediately after sitting, an elder emerged from the classroom, squinting down at his scroll.
“David Arkoski.” he read in a hoarse voice.
A large headed trainee near the door seized up and awkwardly saluted. All eyes turned towards him as he stumbled out of the light and in through the passage. The elder sniffed, entered and closed the door behind him. The silence that followed in the next five minutes was terrifying. Everyone strained to hear past the door. Eventually, the trainee stumbled out looking shocked and very near tears. Much to my relief he appeared completely uninjured. After nearly three steps out of the classroom, he was ambushed by some larger trainee boys all demanding to know what had happened. Before he could so much as peep, the e
lder from before stormed out and began to loudly insist that under no circumstances should the competition be talked about outside the classroom. Straightening his robes proudly, the elder glanced at his scroll a second time and read out another name.
Gift of Gold (The Year of Churning Bloods) Page 18
