Jabberwocky

by Daniel Coleman

Anger. Hate. He lashed out one arm, severing a small copse of trees at their trunks. He closed his eyes again and images of the past filled his consciousness. Days that were different, when he was not alone. When fury did not rule him. Days when hate was foreign to him. Days that were no longer days, but mere memories. The images persisted, but he was incapable of experiencing the former feelings and he was consumed.

  Alone no longer, he growled.

  With a bellow, he sent a flock of small birds tumbling into flight. Hatred filled him and he rose powerfully into the air. His rage had reached a frenzy and he would not rest until it was sated. As he flew in search of human prey, for only human prisoners would slake his wrath, the image of one human filled his mind. And one thought.

  Revenge.

  *****

  Tjaden was inconsolable. The town heaped praise on him after the match, but all their compliments and consolation stung like clothing rubbing against a wound—each word reminding him of the injury. Victory had eluded him, the Legate’s hands were tied, and he was a farmer for two more years. He enjoyed farming, and if he didn’t have his mind set on being an Elite he would embrace it with fervor, just as a coyote contented itself on a lizard dinner only after a fat rabbit had been snatched away.

  The crowd continued to press him, though Tjaden just wanted to get away. Each face that presented itself just caused his own to redden, and he found it hard to meet people’s eyes. Though they had nothing but supportive words for him he knew they thought he was an arrogant fool for entering the men’s competition.

  After the crowds thinned, the Legate approached. Tjaden forced himself to meet the man’s gaze despite his humiliation. But just like the townsfolk, the Legate congratulated Tjaden and let him know that his aggressive fighting was brilliant.

  “And more importantly,” he told Tjaden, “your mettle is as strong as metal.”

  “Thank you, Sir. I will see you at the Academy in two years.” He forced himself to say it, but for the first time he wondered if it would actually happen.

  “I believe you will, Tjaden. I believe you will.”

  Elora was especially enthusiastic in her congratulations and condolences. As she hugged him, Tjaden didn’t feel the pain in his forearm. Even his disappointment and embarrassment faded.

  She said, “I, for one, am glad you’ll be around for the next couple years.”

  As usual, he had no reply.

  Eventually the wabe cleared and people returned to their homes, still talking about the final match between Tjaden and Stefen. The majority was both saddened by the lack of a Legate’s invitation and agog at the drama of the day. The only way it could have ended better for the town of Shey’s Orchard and its citizens was if Tjaden had edged Stefen instead of the other way around.

  The following morning Tjaden was awakened by a pair of borogoves jeering disinterestedly in turn. He got out of bed and peered at them through his wooden slat window and decided he had been wrong—they actually did look more bored and pathetic than they sounded.

  They still don’t look half as pitiful as I feel.

  Breakfast was bread and slabs of rath meat with fresh juice. The brightness of the green meat and orange juice annoyed him. He forced down mouthfuls of food, casting a dismal feeling over the room.

  His relentless mother told him again that she was extremely proud of him. “Besides,” she insisted, “you’re only fifteen. You have time.”

  “I don’t want time. I want training. I’m ready now.” He was in the worst temper of his life. His voice was gruff and his manner as rough as he could manage.

  His father joined the conversation. “There’s no reason to be uffish with your mother, Tjaden. Maybe you are ready now, but that’s not the point. You know the life of a soldier is all about discipline and following rules. Well, this is your first test; how will you face it?”

  Tjaden set his jaw. Through clenched teeth he said, “I’ll pass any test they give me. Including this one.”

  He went to work in the groves with his whole heart and body, less one arm. Lacking the use of the arm frustrated him since he wanted to lose himself in work. He wanted to forget, if only for a few days. As he attacked weeds, dug irrigation ditches, and picked fruit the agony began to fade. But it still felt like a bruise in the back of his mind that refused to heal.

  One week after the Swap and Spar, Tjaden and his father finished work early. Tjaden grabbed his staff and loped to Falon’s workshop to see if Ollie was free. When he arrived they were making the last batch of soap for the day. He waited as they combined the lye solution and lard, mixed the blend, poured the finished product into molds, and placed it on shelves to harden.

  The two liberated boys made their way to the wabe planning their day and a half of freedom. Knowing Tjaden wouldn’t be content until they did some sparring, they decided to start with that.

  Located in the center of every town, the wabe was a place for gathering and relaxing. Each wabe, so named because it extended way beyond and way behind, featured a large sundial in the center. As certain as the sundial in the center of every wabe, were the toves which built their nests underneath. Toves constructed nests in other locations, but nowhere as predictably as under the oversized timepieces. They preferred the large grassy areas for foraging, and the tight plugs of sod they extracted as they gimbled kept the grass green and healthy.

  Toves were spindly and spirally from muzzle to tail. Their faces resembled badgers, but with a long, pinched proboscis of a nose. They didn’t have hair—their skin was similar to that of a smooth, brown lizard, and they had the stubby legs to match. A coiled tail protruded from their posterior which they used for boring into the ground. They gyred their entire body in successive circles as they sank their corkscrew tails into the soil. After boring the wagger to a sufficient depth, they extracted it along with a narrow cylinder of earth which they examined for worms and grubs.

  After shoeing a few of the slithy animals from the area, they prepared for their duel. Tjaden’s left arm was still bandaged and he wore a swathe to confine it. Ollie’s excitement at fighting a disadvantaged Tjaden showed as he fidgeted with his staff before they began sparring. Tjaden was usually a larger pup toying with the runt of the litter. But now that he was injured, Ollie acted like the big brother.

  Ollie scored much more than usual, and it was obvious by the way he spoke. “Give up now and I’ll stop hurting you. You fight like an injured borogove. I let you have that one ‘cause I felt sorry for you, cripple.”

  In the middle of a particularly long exchange, Ollie looked over Tjaden’s shoulder and asked, “Who’s that coming up the road?”

  “Yeah, I’m going to fall for that,” Tjaden replied, jabbing at Ollie’s midsection.

  “No, I’m serious,” Ollie said, blocking. “There’s a dust trail.”

  Tjaden took three steps back before looking away from Ollie and was surprised to see he was telling the truth—a line of horses approached from the South.

  There were no wagons in the group, so he knew they weren’t peddlers or traders. No one on the outlying farms to the south had a dozen horses or enough men to fill the saddles. As the horses approached it became clear that the steeds were more impressive than plain farm animals—those men were soldiers.

  By the time the company arrived in the center of town a small gathering awaited. The men on the horses were distinguished and solemn. With perfect posture and a dignified air, they exuded discipline. Their uniforms were dark blue, almost black, signifying the highest level in the king’s service. These were not mere soldiers. They were Elites.

  The soldiers rode in two columns. The Elites rode on the right, wearing swords or battle axes. Emblazoned on their uniforms and on their horses’ barding were the Circle and the Sword—the symbol of the Elites. Each was accompanied on the left by his Fellow. They wore the same uniforms, but without the Circle and the Sword. The Fellows’ weapons were more varied—mostly bows and crossbows, but Tjaden noticed one Fellow with a spear and an
assortment of throwing daggers.

  Tjaden took personal pride in the appearance of the unit. One day he would ride alongside these men.

  At the head of the column rode the Captain of the Elites. He was also the General of the army, and the most respected man in the Kingdom—Captain Darieus. The only person as well known was King Barash himself.

  Captain Darieus hadn’t visited Shey’s Orchard since Tjaden was seven years old, but there was no mistaking him. He was roughly the same age as Tjaden’s father. His face was lined with experience, and his back was as straight as decades of leadership. Rows of square medals covered the left side of his chest. He was proud, but did not come off as arrogant.

  He pulled his imposing mount up to the assembled crowd with his men forming two perfect columns behind him. After quickly surveying the crowd, his eyes settled on Tjaden. Allegiance filled Tjaden. This is a man worth following into battle.

  “I intended to ask for directions to Tjaden Mikelson’s residence. But either my deductive skills have gotten as rusty as a sword left out in winter, or he’s standing in front me.”

  “Yes, Sir. I’m Tjaden.”

  “Tjaden, I am Captain Darieus, of His Majesty’s Elite. We need to talk.”

  *****

  Half an hour later, five people sat around the table in the kitchen of Tjaden’s modest home—Tjaden, his parents, Ollie and Captain Darieus.

  His father said, “We’re honored to have you in our home, Captain.”

  “Thank you, Mikel. I’m sure you are aware I’m here regarding your son. As I was traveling to Palassiren we encountered Legate Whitroe. I questioned him regarding any promising recruits he had discovered and he was overflowing in his praise of Tjaden. Did Tjaden truly battle a bandersnatch single-handedly?”

  Tjaden cringed. Why did he have to bring that up? He’ll find out for sure I had to be rescued.

  “Yes, he did,” his father said. “I saw it with my own eyes.”

  Looking at Tjaden, Captain Darieus said, “Why did you not attempt to flee? The bandersnatch is a particularly ferocious fighter, but rarely pursues a foe. Until, of course, it reaches a frumious state.”

  Tjaden’s father answered. “A friend of his, a young lady,” he glanced at Tjaden, “was cornered on a ledge. The creature was advancing on her. I don’t think Tjaden thought about it, just jumped between them.”

  Tjaden decided to admit his weakness before someone else did. He interjected, “To be fair, Sir, I wouldn’t have survived if Elora hadn’t distracted it and my dad hadn’t shown up. The bandersnatch was aggressive, sure. But it didn’t feel like sticking around to let my father fill it with arrows.”

  “I’ve seen a bandersnatch dispatch a half dozen men armed with proper weapons.” Looking directly at Tjaden, Captain Darieus continued, “The gallantry displayed in that encounter is the precise attribute we desire in recruits. Not to mention your determined fighting despite the broken arm. Skill and discipline we can teach if a young man has a shred of talent, but heart…I believe heart is an innate characteristic.”

  Tjaden’s face flushed, but his back straightened and his eyes gleamed. This was not the empty praise of townspeople. Captain Darieus’ approval meant something.

  Actually, it means everything.

  “Tjaden, based on your outstanding performance despite debilitating injury, and unparalleled courage defending a vulnerable individual, I formally invite you to attend the Elite Training Academy.”

  Tjaden wanted to jump out of his chair and holler. He maintained his composure and managed to say, “Thank you, Sir. You won’t be disappointed.”

  “I believe you are right. You have remarkable potential, but training is exceedingly difficult. And being one of our most promising recruits will make it more difficult, not easier.”

  They struck hands firmly. Tjaden’s mother rushed to embrace him, and her tears wetted his face. His father shook his hand and said, “I’m proud of you, Son.”

  Tjaden had to fight back tears of his own. He would not embarrass himself in front of Captain Darieus.

  On his way out the door, Captain Darieus added, “Training starts in six weeks. Give some serious thought to who you will choose for your Fellow. A contingent of soldiers will escort you and your father to Palassiren when the time arrives.”

  It seemed half the town was waiting when Tjaden exited. Unable to control his excitement, he thrust a clenched fist into the air. That, along with the triumphant look on his face, sent the crowd into jubilant celebration.

  Before Captain Darieus mounted, he approached Tjaden’s father and in a voice not meant to be heard over the crowd said, “The young lady who…” The townspeople swept Tjaden away and he heard no more.

  Although Tjaden knew the next six weeks would feel like six years, he was caught in a swift current from crowd to throng to celebration. An impromptu feast was held in Tjaden’s honor. The residents of Shey’s Orchard converged on the wabe bringing food, musical instruments, and a euphoria that Tjaden had never experienced.

  Despite his exhilaration, one small part of him questioned if he had truly earned the invitation. Tjaden would never pass up the chance to become an Elite, but this was not how he wanted it to happen. He was grateful to the townspeople for not bringing up the fact, though he was sure he had lost some respect in their eyes.

  Elora attended with her family and they were even more excited than Tjaden had expected. After warmly congratulating Tjaden, Elora’s father, Aker, said, “Well, Elora, are you going to tell him the good news?”

  Elora took him by the hand and led him through the mob of well-wishers to a spot at the edge of the wabe.

  Tjaden couldn’t wait. “What is it?”

  “You’re not going to believe it. Captain Darieus wants Father and me to go with you to Palassiren for the induction ceremony!”

  Tjaden, already slightly immobile in Elora’s presence, was paralyzed.

  She continued in the best imitation of a gallant voice she could manage. “I am to ‘recount the heroic acts and selfless display of courage,’ and ‘relate the ferocious and brutal nature of the frumious bandersnatch’.”

  “No,” Tjaden exclaimed at the thought of being made an example for the other recruits.

  “No?” Elora responded in surprise.

  “No. Yes!” He was torn by conflicting emotions.

  “Yes?”

  “No…yes you should come, but no I don’t want a big deal made. I know how competitive those men will be, and this’ll just make my life harder.”

  “Well I’m proud of you. And I’ll tell the whole world if I get the chance.”

  “Elora,” Tjaden said awkwardly. “I didn’t do it for the whole world. I did it because you…” he grasped her shoulders and almost forgot what he intended to say when he stared into her brilliantly dark eyes. “You, not someone else, were going to die if I didn’t do something.”

  “So you decided to die instead of me?” Elora’s eyes somehow grew even wider and he couldn’t tell if she was angry or appreciative.

  “What do you call clubbing a bandersnatch on the side of the head? If that thing had an ear it would be deaf now.”

  Elora grinned as Tjaden continued, staring down into her eyes, “Besides, I’m still here. But I would have died for you.” High on his recent success he continued with uncharacteristic boldness. “For you I’d catch a live Jubjub bird, tame it, and teach it to say ‘Elora’. For you I’d fight a dozen bandersnatches using a fork for a sword and a corncake for a shield. For you I’d visit every town in the kingdom to prove there is no one to match your beauty. For you I’d kill the mighty Jabberwock.”

  Overcome, Elora wrapped her arms around him and disappeared in his embrace. For the first time in his life he wished he never had to leave Shey’s Orchard.

  Elora’s voice came out muffled. “Just come home, Jay. Come home.”

  He wished he could stay there all night, but the crowd swept the pair back to the celebration. His exultant mood had lit
tle to do with the festivities.

  The next day Tjaden asked Ollie to accompany him as his Fellow. True to form Ollie responded, “Of course I’m going with you. The real reason they invited you was because they knew I’d be your Fellow.”

  “Why didn’t they just invite you?” Tjaden asked, humoring him.

  “I’d make all the other Elite recruits look bad. As a Fellow I’ll be able to blend in. It’s for the best.” He nodded confidently.

  The days passed so slowly Tjaden felt like he had to physically drag time to get through each one. His arms healed from the damage the bandersnatch inflicted and the bone mended where it had broken. He continued to practice sparring and improve his physical condition. Tjaden felt stronger than ever.

  Plans and preparations were made as their departure crept closer. The town as a whole arranged to assist his mother with the groves while he and his father made the trip to Palassiren. Adele, Elora’s mother, insisted that she didn’t need any help. Aker had cast enough rough mirrors for her to finish while he escorted Elora to the capital.

  The evening before they were to leave, a more subdued gathering took place on the wabe. It was a chance for the townsfolk, including both of Tjaden’s brothers to wish him and Ollie luck and say goodbye.

  The sun had just set when they returned home. His father, looking very solemn, gathered him and Ollie. “After I escort you to Palassiren, it will be over a year until we see each other again.” He paused. “I…want to make sure you know I’m proud of you. Both of you.”

  For the second time in two months his father had praised him. Tjaden didn’t know how to react and felt a little uneasy. He realized there was something comforting about his father’s usual stoic nature.

  “Ollie,” his father continued, “I have something for you.” He went into his room and came out holding the yew longbow from the auction.

  Speechless, Ollie accepted the bow and examined the superb weapon. Tjaden noticed his glance out the window to see if any daylight remained. Surprisingly, there was moisture in Ollie’s eyes.