Gift of Gold (The Year of Churning Bloods) (19 page)

              “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 trainees 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.

              After a while, the kids around the table began to reply one by one. Most had only been here for two or three years however the oldest looking kid eventually said four. “Alright erm... What are your names?” I asked, hoping that this would be the last of the small talk.

              “Adam, Igor, Luka, Nestor, Pasha, Robert, Vadam, Vanya!” they each responded in rapid succession. I desperately tried to keep their names in my head, however within seconds I had forgotten them all. The oldest of the lot stepped forward and firmly took my hand.

              “Sebastian,” he said, furiously shaking my arm. Looking at Sebastian, one might not have expected much. He had a brutish face and a shaved scalp lined with the ends of coarse hairs beginning to bud. Yet despite these apparent setbacks, he managed to pull off a good natured smile, which warmed the entire room.

              “Jacob,” I responded, now feeling as though my limb had been twisted off.

              “You were in the forest weren’t you? What was it like?” the red headed one in the crowd asked, rushing up to my side.

              “He only just got out! How do you know he’s not traumatized by the things he saw?” another kid responded quickly cutting him off.

              “I’m not traumatized,” I insisted, half lying. The redhead smiled triumphantly at the other one.

              “See! He’s not traumatized! That means he can tell us what happened!” he exclaimed eagerly. The other one shook his head.

              “But do you honestly want to know what’s in that forest?” the blue eyed one countered. More bickering suddenly broke out. I wondered how these trainees ever managed to decide on anything. I tapped Sebastian on the shoulder and took him aside.

              “Do these arguments always happens?” I asked warily. Sebastian responded only with a goofy grin and a half-shrug.

              “C’mon Jacob. Let me show you to your room.” After awkwardly grabbing my belongings, I stumbled after Sebastian and braced myself for the worst. Sebastian lead me through a plain hallway before gesturing to the fifth door on the left and opening it with a flourish. A small bed with a colourful patchwork quilt made up the majority of the room. Beside that was a modestly sized window which overlooked the school gardens, dancing in the early evening light. Much to my surprise, there was even a multi-purpose desk pressed up against the far wall, along with a wardrobe and armour rack. I strolled to the desk and examined the books on its shelves, pleased to see many I hadn’t read yet.

              “So these rooms all belong to the tier one two and three trainees?” I asked, slowly spinning on the spot.

              “Yep!” Sebastian said proudly. “All Pronounced, Emphasized and Bellowed trainees stay here.”

              “Why aren’t there any Emphasised or Bellowed trainees in the distortion quarters then?” I wondered, sitting on my mattress to test its softness. Sebastian shrugged.

              “All of them got promoted I think. There were a couple tier two trainees in here for a while, but they became prefects at tier three, and were allowed to stay in the prefect quarters.”

              “What do prefects even do?” I asked, suddenly remembering that Gregor called himself one Sebastian’s face darkened.