by J. T. Wright
She hurried to reassure him, but Trent didn’t register the second half of her speech. His face had twitched at the word “names,” and when she finished talking, he whispered, “Names have power. Trent. Es'trent. Useless.”
The Queen was the one who felt lost now. She had learned much about Trent while the tribe was still connected to the Garden. She knew he was both more and less than what his Status said he was. He was a twelve-year-old Al’rashian, and at the same time, he wasn’t. Either way, that word, “es'trent” should not be in his vocabulary.
The Queen hadn’t been a part of the World since the Awakening. Still, “es’trent” was not an Al’rashian word. It was from the Elvish language. That was a language an Al’rashian boy had no reason to know.
The Awakening had shattered the World. Bonds were broken, ties were split. Empires and kingdoms fell overnight as monsters, Beasts and Trials appeared everywhere. Travel became difficult, if not outright impossible. Communication between the races came to a standstill.
To make up for this, the World granted the Awakened the Common Tongue. The language of humans became universal. This was fitting since humans were the oldest race. Before the Fey, or Elves roamed, humans had mucked out an existence. The human language wasn’t as lyrical as Elvish, or as stirring as Dwarven, but it was expressive and met the needs of all.
The Fairy Queen might look like a young girl in the springtime of youth, but she was as old as Maven and the Garden. She had seen the Awakening and knew of its consequences. More than that, she knew of the World from before. Al’rashians and Elves had never mixed easily. Trent had no business speaking a language that was only spoken amongst Elven scholars.
Before she could ask him about the word, Trent spoke again, “Names are important. You don’t have a name?”
“I do have a name. It’s just that my name is hidden, but I need to choose a call name. Perhaps you can help?” She was eager to encourage Trent to interact with her. If a silly call name was the price she had to pay to spark the boy’s interest, she would pay it. “Most Fey name themselves after flowers or gems. I’ve always liked daisies. Do you think Daisy is a fitting name for a Fairy Queen?”
She pinched the skirt of her gown with two fingers of each hand. Her wings carried her up, and she spread the skirt wide as she spun in the air, putting on a display to promote Trent’s interest. He watched her for a moment, but then his gaze focused beyond her on the reward chest that was waiting for him at the fountain.
When he stood up, the Queen halted her dance. Her lips pursed as Trent pulled up his cowl and drew his hand downward, equipping his mask. He took a step toward the fountain, and the Queen floated beside him. Pausing, he turned his head in her direction, and she found herself looking at a distorted reflection of herself displayed in Trent’s featureless mask.
“I have no right to name anyone.” His voice was low, somber. “But Daisy does not fit. When I look at you, the word that comes to mind is Emira.”
He continued forward to claim his prize, leaving a stumped Queen in his wake. The lid of the chest yielded to his fingers. Inside was a single item. He took it out more carefully than Tersa had, and when it grew to its true size, he saw that it was a short sword. Under Appraisal, Trent learned only that the blade required its wielder to have 36 Strength and 40 Dexterity.
He snorted bitterly. Once, he had drawn a blade that required Attributes he didn’t have. Cullen had once laughed himself silly when Trent’s hand had been pinned to the ground by a weight that the sword couldn’t possibly possess. With one hand trapped, it had taken Trent more than a few minutes to re-sheath that weapon and free himself. He would not be foolish enough to attempt to draw this short sword now. He stored it away without a word.
In addition to a sword he couldn’t draw, he had received an Ability he didn’t want, and a Secondary Attribute, Perception, that he didn’t understand. For a Trial that was called the Garden of Clarity, it wasn’t living up to its name.
“What does Perception do?” He wasn’t sure who he was asking. The Trial’s Keeper was gone, and the Fairies had no reason to answer him. He knew that Trial Spirits were more than he had originally assumed, but Trials were governed by unknowable rules. The Spirit might not reply.
Behind him, the Fairy Queen started. She had been turning the name Emira over in her thoughts, considering it from all angles. It appealed to her. She had already settled on it but was puzzling over its meaning. She was certain the word had substance. That it wasn’t Elvish was all she could determine.
Trent’s question pierced the bubble that had fallen over her. “Oh! Perception is a rare Attribute. It is related to Intelligence, and it won’t affect your Mana Pool. Instead Perception expands your awareness, and helps you train your Skills. Its effects are subtle, but I don’t think you will find them disappointing.”
This information was supplied by Ashawan. Emira knew less about Secondary Attributes than Trent did. It had been less than an hour since she received her own Status, and she was still getting used to the idea that the numbers her Status contained defined her.
The Garden was being reticent. It could have answered Trent directly but chose to speak through the Fairy Queen. She understood why. She and the Garden both shared a sense of guilt over what had happened today. Though a Trial could no more act against its Keeper, than a Fairy could fight her Queen, the two couldn’t absolve themselves.
Perception was subtle? Once this information would have prompted a thousand questions, flooding Trent’s brain. Now he nodded. He would discover Perception’s effects on his own. He wanted to be away from this Trial and its false promise of clarity.
However, one question occurred to Trent. He wanted to know if there was another exit to the Garden, one that wasn’t connected to Terah’s temple. It wasn’t that he wanted to avoid Cullen and Tersa. He just wanted some time alone. He couldn’t face his friend yet, and he didn’t want to deal with the Sergeant’s methods and moods.
He didn’t ask, though, because it was pointless. The ghost of a smile flickered across Trent’s lips. Another exit didn’t mean an escape. Cullen would never allow a trainee to slip away. Tersa had never known he was a Bond, so his loss would mean nothing to her. She would find him if he ran. Tersa was stubborn.
These thoughts didn’t fill the hole, the ache, at his center. They did soften the edges. He didn’t have a master anymore, but he still had a friend and a… a Sergeant. Maybe he would join the Guard. He knew people there; he could find a place where he fit in.
No firm plans formed for Trent. No wave of acceptance flowed over him. But he wouldn’t run. He would return to Al’drossford and face what waited for him there. In its own way, returning was a Trial. Trials were meant to be challenged. Those had been Cullen’s words, but they resounded in Trent. They were a part of him before he had ever heard them. He would not run.
Trent turned away from the fountain. There was a crowd of Fairies behind him, standing with their Queen. The Fey were confused by what they saw. The slump had vanished from Trent’s posture. Head up, shoulders back, a semblance of life had been restored to the Al’rashian Swordsman.
He offered the Fairies a half bow, then strode forward. He was done here. The Fey followed silently, ready to guide him through the maze. Trent didn’t need their directions. Map hadn’t been the most helpful of Abilities in the past, but it would earn its keep now. Retracing his steps was child’s play.
The gate that had vanished when he entered the Garden was back, hovering in the air beyond the table full of bug nets. Trent never looked back, never glanced around until he reached it. Despite hanging in the air, the gate swung open when he pushed it. Instead of a view of the Garden’s brick wall, a portal to Terah’s temple was displayed beyond it. Trent stepped through, and the gate swung shut behind him.
Normally, at this time, that gate would vanish, only reappearing when a challenger completed, or failed, the Trial. The gate remained because the Fey, all of them but Maven, were leaving as w
ell. Maven had been a Keeper, a Keeper who failed her own Trial. Her former subjects had nothing to bind them to this place.
Surrounded by her people, Emira watched Trent leave. He never looked back, never spoke a word of goodbye. Other than a polite bow, Trent never acknowledged the Fey's company.
The Fairy Queen had no reason to complain about this. Trent was the one owed in this situation, but she couldn’t help but feel a pang of loss at his leaving and his callousness towards them. She hadn’t spent much time with the boy, barely exchanged a few sentences. But he had given her a name and created a place for himself in the Fairy Queen’s regard.
“Ashawan? Do you know what Emira means?” It still bothered her that her call name was a mystery.
The Garden’s reply was hesitant, “In ancient Al’rashian it means ‘beautiful beginnings.’”
Emira was shaken to her core. Fairy names were fluid and never shared with outsiders. Knowledge of a Fairy’s name, even an Awakened Fairy’s name, created a hold over that Fairy. It wasn’t as dramatic as it sounded. Even with their name, a Fairy was not easily controlled. However, the Fey lived in dread of the day a mortal learned their true name.
Emira, before she was Queen, had had many names. The one she had shed upon Maven’s fall had meant “sun-colored flower.” The name she assumed when she became Queen roughly translated as “a beautiful reign begins.”
It was a coincidence. Trent couldn’t have known. He saw the Trial differently than others. That was clear. But Emira was a guest of the Garden, not a part of it. Trent’s violet eyes and unique sight could not capture her soul. That he left with a piece of said soul tucked into his belt pouch? That was purely a coincidence.
Chapter 17
Cullen figured he had at least two days of peace and quiet. The Garden of Clarity was a remarkable Trial. There were no elaborate puzzles, no traps, or foes. There was no threat or danger of any kind. It was a simple place for meditation and self-reflection. That was the problem.
Adventurers looked for trouble. When they didn’t find it, they created it. Every flower in the Garden became a clue to be pondered. The dead ends in the hedge maze must hide secret doorways waiting to be discovered. Each challenger of the Garden found a different false purpose to explore.
It didn’t help that upon exiting, you were forbidden to discuss what had happened to you. You couldn’t speak of the Garden except to one who had already challenged it. Try as you might, you cannot write down your experience and pass it along. There was no getting around it. The Garden’s rules had to be followed.
Cullen wasn’t worried, though. Two days, he would give Tersa and Trent two days. The blindest of Recruits, namely Tersa, could solve the Garden in two days. It had only taken Cullen a day. He didn’t hold the record, but he was damn close.
No, Cullen wasn’t worried. There was food and water in the Garden, and absolutely no danger. You might prick your finger on a thorn, but it was impossible to encounter injuries worse than that. Well, there were the Fey, of course. But Cullen had talked with plenty of former Garden challengers, and one thing they all agreed on was that the Fey were red herrings. No one was stupid enough to rouse the anger of the Fairies.
Cullen had brought scores of Recruits to the Garden. This Trial had set the foundation for what he himself had become. He had walked through that white gate a General, bored and adrift. He came out a Sergeant with Mentoring Eyes, and a purpose.
Cullen sat leaning against a tree. He was dressed in a loose brown shirt and trousers. Sleeves and pant legs were rolled up. His armor stored away. He wiggled his toes to allow them the freedom they were so often denied by his boots.
He hadn’t been this relaxed in years. Here, in the empty temple, there were no worshipful eyes following him. He had no one around to whom he had to set an example. He could be completely at ease. He planned to spend most of the two days he had allotted, napping.
He held his pipe in his left hand and with his right, he patted a spear that lay in the grass beside him. Leave it to Tersa to forget her weapon. That girl was always giving him the nicest gifts. Imagine, knowingly entering a Trial without a weapon. They were going to have so much fun when she got back!
“Two days. That wretched, stubborn girl has two days. She takes a minute longer, I'll have her running in full armor from sunup to sundown till she wears out two, no, three pairs of boots. Boots made by Taylor. Shouldn’t take her more than five or six years.”
Cullen rumbled the threat without any real force. He was genuinely fond of the girl and hoped the Garden could salvage her. That didn’t mean he would set aside the discipline she had coming. He would punish her for dropping her spear in the face of the enemy. That punishment was automatically doubled when she left it behind. It didn’t matter that they had been fleeing divine wrath at the time. Tersa had to learn there were standards to be met.
But he wouldn’t hold it over her for years. Weeks at the most. It would take weeks for her to finish all the drills he had planned. Maybe if she finished the Trial as quickly as Cullen had, the Sergeant would cut her punishment in half. Probably not. Not that she could.
The gate in the towering hedge swung open. Cullen dropped his pipe with a muttered, “Shit!” Had the Runt finished already? It hadn’t been a full day yet. It was always a sunny summer’s day in Terah’s temple, but Cullen would wager dawn hadn’t arrived outside. Had another Adventurer entered the Trial before they arrived?
Cullen scrambled to his feet. He was painfully aware of the lazy image he presented. He couldn’t let Trent see him this way. His carefully honed persona would be ruined if tales of the half-dressed Sergeant made it back to Al’drossford. Where were his socks? Blood and ash! It’s not like he threw them aside when he took them off. They should be laying obediently next to his boots!
There was one! He pulled it on and scanned for the other. He’d been sitting on it! Fire and shit! How, by Rindel's black, merciless, heart, had that happened? Why hadn’t he spotted it earlier? He still had time! He pulled down one sleeve and adjusted the cuff. Maybe if he grabbed his gear and ducked behind the tree…
Time was up. A leg stepped through the open gate. It was followed by a body, a body that couldn’t be here. This was the worst possible outcome. How had Tersa finished the Trial before Trent?! Cullen was sure he was hallucinating. This couldn’t happen. Trent could be sworn to secrecy, but Tersa had never met a secret she didn’t share.
Cullen would have to leave Al’drossford, leave the Al'verren Kingdom altogether. He could be an Adventurer again. Or a Bandit. Bandit’s work hadn’t been horrible. Being a Bandit would be better. It would feel strange Adventuring without Lewis, Taylor, and all the rest. He would miss his life, but it was all over for him anyway.
Cullen stood frozen in disbelief as Tersa sauntered out of the Garden with a one-handed battle axe propped against her shoulder. She had it all planned. She hadn’t even noticed Cullen yet. It had taken her twenty minutes to design the perfect entrance, and she was focused on pulling it off.
First, the strut. Her steps couldn’t be too long or too short. Her hips had to swing just right. She was doing it! So far, so good. Three, four, five steps, stop! Feet planted shoulder-width apart, Tersa tossed her head in what she considered a regal manner. Her unbound hair fluttered around her, then fell over her face as she tipped her head to the side a bit too far.
Shit! You can recover, Tersa, get it together, girl! Puffing to blow her hair away from her face, Tersa unleashed her most devastating smile. She stretched exaggeratedly, lifting her new axe high with one hand. She hoped the blade caught the light just right so that the weapon could be properly seen and appreciated.
Ending her stretch, she gave her axe a twirl. This was a maneuver she had pulled off successfully many times with a mace. She hadn’t practiced it with the axe. There was no need. This was about style, not technique. Unfortunately, the axe was longer and heavier than her mace, with an entirely different point of balance.
Instead of
twirling, the axe broke free of her grip and lunged downwards. The weapon not only had a heavy curved blade, but it also sported a sharpened spike at either end of the haft. These details saved Tersa from being sliced and skewered by her own exuberance. The axe fell away from her and thudded on the turf.
Damn! Damn and piss! Why hadn’t she practiced? You can still save it. Maybe the Sergeant didn’t notice. She bent swiftly and recovered the traitorous axe. Now, little twirl… no. No twirl, just stab the blade into the ground and lean.
Her actions followed her thoughts. Tersa stabbed the axe's spiked tip into the dirt and leaned jauntily against the handle. Now the words. The words can make everything work out.
“Miss me, Ser…awahk.” Tersa fell to the ground. Throwing her weight on the haft had been a mistake. There was a spike at the butt of the axe as well as the head. A spike that gave Tersa a nasty cut on her side. Fortunately, the blade and the spike on the blade saved her from serious injury. Under her weight, the weapon sank deep into the ground, and Tersa fell beside it.
“Bloody Flaming Piss! Stupid axe! This is not how things were supposed to go! By T-t-t…. Gaahk!” Tersa remembered in time whose temple she was currently sprawled in and cut her curse short. Pressing a hand to her side, she jumped to her feet awkwardly. She grabbed ahold of her axe and tried to pull it free, with the intent of throwing it against whatever rock or hard surface she could find.
The axe resisted. Maybe it had cut into a tree root. Maybe it was alive and tired of Tersa’s attitude. Whatever the case, the weapon was well and truly stuck. Tersa’s face turned red as she tried to pull it free.
At no point had Tersa looked in Cullen’s direction. He was standing to the right of the gate, having pulled on one boot and pulled down one sleeve before Tersa made her appearance. Subsequent events had him spellbound, incapable of movement. He stood mouth agape, his other boot in hand, unable to believe his eyes.
He knew Tersa couldn’t have finished the Trial first, ahead of Trent. Terah, Goddess of Fields and Forest, had to be testing him. It was the pipe! She probably thought smoking was irreverent. That was fair. He knew fires weren’t permitted in the temple. He was lucky to get off with only a warning, in the form of a ludicrous illusion.
