Gift of Gold (The Year of Churning Bloods)

by Leone, Hudson

  “I don’t know,” I lied. “But I do know that he’s still out there.”

  “Yeah?” Robert asked, looking hopeful.

  “Yeah,” I confirmed. “He’s still in this room.” A sob malformed by laughter shot out of my chest. “All ten of him are still here. Still eager to learn and still full of smarts and humor and life.” Murmurs of agreement rang out through the group like a cooling rush of wind.

  “What are we going to do about this new professor?” Vadam asked calmly.

  I shrugged. “I dunno. I suppose any way you look at it we’re still going to have to learn. May as well just make the most of it.

  “But he’s not the professor,” Vanya said somberly. I nodded in agreement.

  “He’s not the professor,” I agreed. “But the real Wenchenberg wouldn’t have wanted us to mistreat anybody, regardless of who they are or what they do.”

  “You’re a good guy Jacob.” Sebastian said after finally pulling out of his embrace.

  I grinned, and rubbed his prickly scalp.

  “No, I mean it,” he said, gently pushing my arm away. “We always do such stupid things and it’s like there you are, just trying to fix everything without a single complaint.” I didn’t know how to respond to this, so I simply smiled. That seemed to be enough because within moments, the other members of the Montrose were smiling as well.

  “You guys want to make a fire?” I asked, raising my hands. The group surrounding me all cheered, and soon we were sitting in the distortion common room, whispering along with the fire and recounting old stories of Professor Wenchenberg.

  “The day I met professor Wenchenberg was probably the happiest day of my life,” Pasha began, stretching his fingers over the lapping flames. “I had just become a pronounced trainee, but I didn’t know where to go. I just wandered around the school trying not to cry until he showed up and gave me a plum tart which he had stolen from the kitchens.” He beamed proudly. “It was the nicest thing anybody had ever done for me and I’ll never forget it.”

  “I was writing in my notebook,” Robert explained quietly. “I hid from the Etaporium because I never liked fighting. I would hide every time they wanted me to learn to fight and every time I would always take my black notebook with me.” He looked up to the ceiling and tilted his head to one side. “Well one day, Professor Wenchenberg found me and at first I was scared that he would make me fight, but he only laughed. He told me what I was doing was called poetry and he called it the best kind of fighting you can do because it uses wit instead of brawn.” Robert finished his story with a self conscious smile before sitting down rather unexpectedly. On and on, the stories went, until I had feasted on the tales of all members of the Montrose. I went to dinner to digest, and eventually came back to my room to watch the setting of the sun with dreary eyes.

  “Put on Pride’s Grip,” Umber insisted for a second time.

  I carefully removed the pendant from the pocket of my bag, and tentatively wrapped my hand around its face.

  “Put it on,” He commanded.

  My breaths suddenly became very shallow as the memories from not even a day ago flashed back with greater severity than ever. My fingers carefully opened up the gold chain. Trembling with trepidation, I held it above my head.

  “You will never know until you try. Do it!” Umber roared.

  Startled, I accidentally let go and stifled a gasp as the pendant fell to my chest. I braced myself for the strange sensation of the world opening up, however that feeling never washed over me. I felt just the same as before. I gripped the pendant and examined it in curiosity. It appeared completely unchanged.

  I stroked the face of the amulet, and much to my surprise, felt it shift underneath my fingertips. I turned the face of the Pride’s bane counterclockwise and immediately the gems began to glow with a fiery red light. A sudden unexplainable surge of adrenaline passed through me with such spontaneity, I could help but tremble from the sheer uncontrollable energy of it all. A small ticking noise caused me to glance down at the pendant face, and gape as the face of Pride’s Grip slowly turned. It reminded me almost of a wind up toy or a clock.

  “Mortal! You’ve stopped breathing!” Umber shouted over my exhilaration. “I looked up at him in confusion, and to my absolute amazement found that he was right. I closed my mouth and pinched my nose but no matter how long I waited, that lust for air never came. I took a breath of air but felt no swoosh of relief which followed in doing so. I laughed, absolutely ecstatic from this discovery.”

  “For as long as the pendant spins, I don’t feel tired!” I sat and smiled but was still disturbed by a nagging thought in the back of my mind. “That doesn’t explain why the pendant had hurt me when I had put it on while underneath Castle Lambalitrate though.

  Neither Umber nor I said anything for a while. We simply watched the sun set while eager butterflies bounced in my belly. The sun dipped past the outermost reaches of the concentration camp crater and immediately, I felt the same terrifying cold constriction of my throat. The gems on the medallion had all lost their red glow and seemed almost to absorb the little light in the room. Fueled by my terror, I ripped Pride’s Grip from my chest, and lay back on my bed trying, desperately taking in whatever air I could

  “The necklace only works in the sun.” I concluded somberly. I looked to Umber for approval however he was too deep in thought to give me much attention. Tenderly tucking the pendant out of sight, I closed my eyes and tried not to think about the second round of the competition which would take place tomorrow.

  Chapter seventeen

  Creature of Dreams

  A candle of beeswax gradually erodes itself

  Sacrificing.

  Just for that ever enticing stench of something

  living in my domain.

  Its light is bright,

  Its flame is strong,

  But the wick is bent and strewn.

  Yet through my gluttony,

  I spent its hours,

  Dying in the noon.

  Oh fat of the candle,

  Oh fat of the fire,

  Just barely blue at the base,

  I know I’ve done you wrong my dear,

  Yet I won’t admit disgrace.

  As I stumbled out into the grey early morning, I flinched as a few freezing raindrops fell onto my face.

  “I still don’t understand why you haven’t decided to wear Pride’s grip,” Umber mumbled underneath his breath. I reached into my armour pocket to briefly verify that the necklace was still there, and turned to face him.

  “I told you already,” I replied quickly. “I’m worried that it isn’t sunny enough to work properly. What if I put it on right before my event, only to have it cloud up even further and ruin everything?”

  “As if keeping it in your pocket isn’t equally as dangerous.” Umber snarled. “What would happen if you dropped it?”

  I ignored this question and continued to walk.

  “Stupid as usual,” Umber sighed. “Just don’t come crying to me when you’ve lost one of the single most valuable things in the world.”

  “I’m not putting it on!” I insisted much to Umber’s dismay. As I advanced towards the Etaporium, an unexpected gust of wind covered my entire body with goose pimples. I rubbed my arms together and scowled at the crowds outside of the colosseum. It seemed as though the entire school had gathered to watch the semi-finals of the competition. “Why do there have to be so many people?” I asked to no one in particular.

  A large panel of elders, cloaked in a great many layers of clothing stopped me as I advanced. “Only competitors may enter from this point onward,” they insisted in usison.

  “I am a competitor,” I replied, removing the small ket from my other pocket.

  The elders recoiled a little and stifled chuckles. “Who’d you pinch that off of?” One of them muttered under their breath. The rest of them laughed obnoxiously.

  “No one sirs,” I responded patiently. “May I please go through?”


  “Not until we get your name,” The elder on the right said before withdrawing a scroll of paper and looking at me prudently.

  “Jacob Ofpacis,” I responded quickly.

  The elder spat on the ground beside him and rubbed his fat red nose.

  “Got’em. Jacob Ofpacis. Number ninety-seven.” The elder looked to his left and nodded. Before I could ask what they were doing, a fierce looking elder approached and forced a paintbrush to my chest, drawing what could have only been a very malformed two digit number. I blinked, and instinctively wrinkled my nose as I realized the figures had been drawn in mage blood. “Good luck,” The elder said, shoving me off to one side.

  As I hurried off, I could feel their laughter nip at my heels. I ignored this and continued into a small roped off pavilion which was specifically for the semi-finalists. A few tents had been set up, however seeing as just about all of them were filled with the other competitors, I stayed outside.

  Someone pointed at me from afar and whispered something to the person next to them, who craned their head in curiosity. They were no doubt talking about me. I quickly began to pace around, looking for anything I could do to make myself seem more normal, however the space I was encased in didn’t offer much variety. As I walked, the twine holding my confidence together began to split. People twitched at the sight of me. They jutted their heads or bounced their chests with suppressed chuckles. Some gaped at my youth and frowned in confusion, often times pointing limply with disbelif. No one ignored me. To occupy myself, I read a notice which was tied to a tall sign post with some grainy string. Written on it, was a timetable for the competitors. Numbers ninety-one to one hundred were the very last of the bunch, meaning I would have to bide my time for however long it took for the competition to finish. A list of carefully written instructions were scratched on below these.

  “Welcome Semi-Finalists.

  Approach the stadium when your number is called with your key and weapons ready.

  Instructions will be delegated once all competitors are present.”

  “Isn’t that helpful,” I mumbled to myself sarcastically.

  “If all you’re going to do is complain, then please shut up,” Umber said in response to my statement.

  Sighing heavily, I sat myself down on the thick rocky bed of gravel, crossed my legs and closed my eyes.

  “Calling trainees one to ten to the stadium please.” A nearby elder shouted over the muffled cries of the crowds before retreating suddenly. A couple of hardy looking trainees stood up, before slowly finding their way towards the Etaporium entrance.

  “I won’t lie. I’m scared of the Penelopis,” I said feeling slightly raw at the thought of fighting such an abstract creature. I looked up at Umber. “I should be scared right? Is there reason tobe scared?”

  “You overthink this,” he said, observing me with a small degree of bemusement. “You make it sound like your success is conditional on whether or not you fear. “To be timid or to stride with confidence; what difference does it make if you already know what the outcome will be?”

  “I don’t know what the outcome will be,” I stated angrily.

  Umber only laughed. “That’s not what you tried to tell me in Castle Lambalitrate.”

  I pinched my fingers together and tried in vain to keep my composure. “Nothing is absolute,” I responded after a moment of careful thought. “Life fades and friendships form. Competitions are won and professors are lost.” I brought to fingers to my forehead and sighed deeply. “I don’t know what the outcome will be and because of that I’m both hopeful and scared.” The eyes of Umber almost seemed to brighten slightly.

  “Calling trainees forty-one to fifty, to the stadium please.” I recoiled suddenly and turned my gaze. Had they already gone through all those rounds? It would be a very quick competition indeed if that were the case. I whistled through the small of my teeth and began to pat my feet together in boredom.

  “You’re a very strange mortal,” Umber remarked casually.

  I laughed at the obscurity of the statement. “Will I regret asking why?”

  Umber bobbed from side to side in uncertainty. “You’re strange because you take the time to think about things that are obscure and far away.” Umber stopped suddenly, appearing unsure if he wanted to continue speaking.

  I urged him on with a small nod but still said nothing.

  “You’re reaching for the moon when you can’t even function on the ground.”

  “The moon huh?” I wondered while looking up. Even though it was daylight, I could just barely see the outline of the white shape off in the distance. Umber fixed his gaze and suddenly cooled to a much more solemn tone.

  “You’re stupid for reaching so high but maybe all that stretching means you’ll grow up a little.”

  I laughed a little. “That’s awfully nice of you to say Umber. What makes you so interested in me all of a sudden?” I asked with a slight smile.

  Umber scowled and immediately shrank back. “Mere curiosity for the stupid thoughts that occupy the mind of my host.” He spat dejectedly.

  I said nothing in response and instead, quietly twiddled my thumbs while the elders barked out the lists of trainees competing.

  “I just want normality,” I told him in a whisper. “Whether normality be freedom or peace or anything for that matter, I just want people to be happy.”

  “Do you consider this love of yours to be normal?” Umber asked apprehensively.

  My gaze widened as my world gradually condensed on the spot. The spirit did have a point, I noted with some reluctance. If love is so abnormal, then surely I would just be one of the common people to be born without it.

  “Come to think of it, mortal, why are you thinking about this in a time like this? You’re about to fight after all.” I nodded slowly.

  “I’m about to fight,” I agreed. “Completely alone.”

  “Calling trainees ninety-one to one hundred.” The booming cry of the elder sounded out.

  “Almost alone,” Umber corrected.

  I restricted a smile, and slowly began to advance with stuttering steps to the Etaporium entrance. The nine other remaining trainees appraised me with mixed looks before eventually deciding to simply ignore me. We walked together in silence. The perimeter of the circular arena was just as it had been during combat trainings: Flat, and otherwise unimpressive. The only major difference were the two boxes resting in the center of the enclosure.

  One was more cage like in structure, obviously designed to keep something contained with as little extravagance as possible. This box was dusty coal black and aside from the iron locks, had no variation in colour or texture. From a small vent on the top of the box I could see a thin golden mist was seeping into the open air before suddenly dissipating. The other container was considerably smaller, and a great deal more pleasant to look at. It was a well maintained wooden chest with a large brass lock built into the front of the box. The trainees surrounding me stared at it with a starved lust.

  I fervently brought my sweaty hands together, and briefly glanced at the audience above me. I tensed in the shoulders to prevent myself from trembling. The last thing I wanted was for them to see me scared.

  At the front of the commotion was a panel of elder Grimlars, who looked mostly grumpy and otherwise irritated. The first of these people was a thin faced man with predominant rat like features. He scratched his filthy brown hair with his long yellowed claws before clicking his sharp teeth and sinking back into his seat. The second man was an expensively dressed pale figure, so casual in his movements there was almost an inhuman quality about about him. The last judge was immensely fat, with a groomed white beard that reached down to his belt. Out of all the elders there, he was the only one having any sort of fun whatsoever. He chuckled heartily at just everything he saw before pointing and prodding either judge beside him. Once poked, the other judges would look up briefly and nod without a great amount of interest. The oversized elder stood after a particu
larly lengthy laugh and raised his hands for silence.

  “Gentlemen! It is my great honor to present you with the last round of the semi-finals,” he said in a voice magnified through some kind of enchantment. The crowd surrounding him applauded weakly, however no one seemed to care either way. “Competitors! Your objective is as follows: You will all stand on the outside ring until the creature inside of the box is released. The first person to unlock the chest in the middle of the Etaporium will advance onto the finals.” He nodded to his right and left and raised his hands. In uniform silence we filed out into the open, spreading ourselves equidistantly around the starting ring.

  I glanced around at the other competitors. Everyone was either swaying on their feet or looking as though they were holding back vomit. A few trainees carefully began removing their weapons. Not wanting to seem silly, I reached behind me and began to unsheath F’anger the beast.

  Umber suddenly stopped me. “Don’t,” He warned. “You won’t be able to run properly.”